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jakesimfromstatefarm · 4 years ago

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notoriously yours | jay park

✰ summary: jay park is a rich kid. it’s safe to say he has everything every broke college student on his campus could dream of and more. but the one thing he doesn’t have, which money definitely can’t buy, is a girlfriend. and his friends won’t see of it. literally.

so what happens when his friends bet him to date someone for more than three months? what happens when jay decides that fake-dating someone would be easier than actual dating (because god forbid Jay–the campus’ notoriously known fuckboy–decides to commit to something once in his life)?

and what happens when that someone is you, his childhood best friend he hasn’t spoken to in years..who has absolutely no interest in being in his life anymore?

✰ pairing: jay park x y/n [ft. members of enha]

✰ genre: fluff, comedy, angst | fakedating!au, college!au, childhoodbestfriends!au, (kinda) e2l!au

✰ warnings: cursing, nothing suggestive but jay's a fuckboy so slightly suggestive themes, mentions of parental neglect/leaving, it's hella long (and i thought my last fic was long)

✰ wc: 14.7k (how did i get it this long oh lord)

✰ author's note: picture creds go to original owners/editors! peep that edit of jay that lowkey inspired this entire fic 👀also this took me so, so long bc i lost motivation half way thru and bc college is a thing,,,so i honestly don't know how to feel abt it so pls bare with me :')))) ALSO the dividers are weird bc idk how to add more than 10 pics for the dividers so pls excuse those ٩(× ×)۶i hope u guys enjoy!! <333

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Jay Park is a rich kid.

Jay Park has enough to buy every textbook he needs for his courses without having to look up the free versions online. Jay Park has enough to bribe his professors to let him pass every class with a perfect 4.0 GPA (but because the boy has morals, he doesn't). Jay Park has enough to afford a car to drive to his furthest class from his dorm building instead of walk or bike like every other college student, meaning he also has enough to afford a parking spot on campus (those things aren't cheap!).

Jay Park walks around your school's campus like he owns the place (and considering the amount of money his family has donated to the school, he practically does), looking like he just walked out of your local coffee shop's newest fashion magazine. His blonde hair is never seen untouched, his attire usually consisting of an undoubtedly high-end all-black fit, accessorized with multiple earrings and rings that probably cost more than all the overpriced textbooks you had to rent out this semester. It's safe to say that everyone knows Jay Park.

Bottom line is, Jay Park has everything.

Well, his friends beg to differ.

In their eyes, Jay Park has everything but a simple factor in the equation of love (or whatever love is to the minds of a couple of 19 year olds): commitment.

So yes, it's safe to say that everyone knows Jay Park. Because everyone knows he's the campus' rich fuckboy. (What's a college fanfic campus without one anyways?)

Jay doesn't go unreminded of this by his friends, to the boy's annoyance.

Jay is aware of this on a Sunday afternoon, in his dorm building's first floor lounge, where he and his said friends are having a study session.

They're doing anything but studying.

In fact, no one has any books out or anything. Not a single laptop in site.

"You don't think it's the slightly bit concerning?" Jake's words are muffled as he continues munching on the fried chicken that he spent majority of this study session debating if he should have it delivered through UberEats or not.

"I really don't, no," Jay shrugs as he continues mindlessly scrolling through his Instagram feed. They're having the same argument conversation that they've revisited multiple times over the course of their friendship, one that Jay has been lectured on too many times for his own good. He thinks his friends could become his new parents if they really tried.

"Look at it this way, okay. You're about to graduate college in a couple of years, into the big world. Like the actual, adult world. And that means you'll have to settle down. Which you can't do when you. have. no. commitment!" Jake punctuates each word with a single clap of his hands, desperate to get his point across.

Jay simply rolls his eyes. He looks over to Sunghoon, who's minding his own business, not bothered by the same topic he's heard over and over again. His eyes tell Jay you're on your own, in response to his blonde-haired friend's look of despair.

Jay thinks that maybe he should get new friends. Yes, that's the only solution here.

"My love life," Jay reaches across the table for a drumstick from the greasy tub seated in Jake's lap until Jake swats his hand away, "is none of your business. Also, ouch."

"Uh, it kinda is. Because of you and your reputation around campus, it kinda affects us, your best friends. How do you think we look, hanging out with the guy who's known to ghost every girl in existence after one night with them? No offense to you," Jake deadpans to him. Jay mentally reconsiders the term best friends.

Tough love. Jay tells himself it's tough love.

"Yes, because every girl totally hates Jake Sim, the teacher assistant of a physics class who volunteers at the pet shelter every Sunday and brings their pet golden retriever to campus every two weeks," Jay rolls his eyes at his Australian friend.

Jake sighs. "Okay, then I'm coming from a place of worry for you."

Jay groans. "Again, none of your business!" This doesn't stop Jake. He comes from good intentions, really, but Jay wants nothing more than to stuff the kid's mouth with some of that chicken to shut him up.

"What are you gonna do if one day you meet someone you like, genuinely like, and you screw yourself over because you've never been in an actual relationship before? A real, committed one. Like one that lasts at least three months."

"You don't think I can last three months in a relationship?" Jay questions the boy currently taunting him.

"Honestly? No. What's the longest relationship you've been in?" Jake cocks an eyebrow at his friend across from him.

One month and two weeks. But Jay's smart enough to not say that out loud.

"I can so last over three months," Jay mutters more to himself than Jake.

Jake laughs at that, pausing to take another bite of the drumstick in his hand. "Jay, I am willing to actually bet you. Bet that you wouldn't be able to." He leans back on the couch, the ball now in Jay's court.

Jay freezes, looking up from his phone, narrowing his eyes at Jake.

"Forget it, Jake. He's not gonna agree even if you offered him money," Sunghoon finally perches from beside him. Well he's not wrong. It's not like Jay is exactly in need of more money, per say.

"What kind of bet are we talking here?"

Sunghoon's right. Jay doesn't need the money, but he does hate being wrong. Even if it's over something as stupid as this matter.

Caught off guard by the blonde's answer, Jake blinks blankly at him and takes a second to think.

"Hmm..what about...what about if you can date someone for at least three months, and I mean an actual, committed relationship, then I'll do all of your physics homework next semester."

Jay's eyes sparkle at that. If there's anything he despises more than commitment, it's physics.

"And if I win, you have to buy all of my textbooks," Jake sits back from the edge of his seat with a smirk lying on his face.

Jay pauses to think about it. I mean, what does he have to lose? A couple hundred dollars over college textbooks? No. Because he just simply won't lose.

And maybe he'll learn what it'll be like to actually be in a committed relationship for once. Maybe he'll finally learn what it's like to actually devote yourself to someone, open up to them. He shivers at the thought. Never mind. He'll warm up to it. Baby steps.

Nonetheless, what could go wrong? Even if he does lose, at least his money would be going somewhere productive––towards his friend's education. Jay was probably gonna use that money on something useless like a blanket that resembles a tortilla (a burrito blanket, he calls it)––something he doesn't necessarily need, but must have, he would argue.

"Fine. Whatever, okay. Deal," he grabs Jake's extended hand in front of him and shakes on it.

Jake's impressively smiling at the boy as Sunghoon lets out a sigh, in disbelief with the two guys he calls his best friends.

Jay concludes that this will be easier than his Introduction to Photography 101 course he took his freshman year. How hard is it to find someone to date the Jay Park? Surely, everyone will be lining up once Jay switches his FaceBook relationship status from "it's complicated" to "single".

Turns out, it's not as easy as his class where all Jay had to do was take pictures of a pretty sunset, slap a VSCO filter on, and call it a day.

He comes to this realization on a Wednesday evening, as he's seated at one of the many study tables lined in the middle of the campus' library, staring down at his phone's dry iMessage app, with his laptop and blank sheets of scratch paper scrambled across the entire table, as an attempt to look half as studious as the other students studying in the facility.

Turns out, being known as the campus' fuckboy who ghosts every girl on campus isn't a good thing when it comes to wanting to find a real relationship.

He comes to this realization after failing to receive a single text back to the many ones he sent out throughout the first half of his day. The ghoster gets ghosted. Oh how the turn tables.

Jay groans dramatically as he tosses his phone on the hard surface of the table, earning himself a harsh shush from the librarian filing books in the aisle beside him.

He sheepishly smiles back as an apology, directing his attention back to his open laptop screen, where his untouched calculus homework stares back at him––his mind preoccupied with the looming threat of Jake's bet. Not that it was threatening in any way, per say, but Jay just hates losing. And from the looks of things, it's safe to say that Jay won't be celebrating any victories anytime soon.

Jay thinks he should just change his identity and just transfer to some boarding school in Switzerland. Yes, that's a much better solution than admitting defeat to Jake.

Jay sighs as he lies his head on the table, figuring he might as well just write the check for Jake's textbooks now. He wonders how he got here in the first place. Not how he got into the bet, and definitely not how he's sitting in the middle of the library, having yet to start his calculus homework due at 11:59PM tonight (he should really start that).

But no, he wonders how he gained the reputation as the campus' playboy. To be fair, his friends (mainly Jake), are constantly reminding him of his notorious habits. But how did they come a habit in the first place?

The idea of being in a relationship is nice, sure, but the commitment that comes with it? The idea of being dependent on someone? It's scary, vulnerable, and one that Jay can't picture for himself.

Maybe some people just aren't meant to be paired. Maybe some people, like Jay, like being independent and are meant to stay that way.

But Jay also likes affection. He likes the fleeting, warm feeling he gets every time he finds himself under someone's sheets. He likes the short-lived comfort he receives from someone else's touch, even though he knows it's going to cease to exist the second he steps out of those bedroom's doors. He just likes affection, simple as that.

That and he's a 19 year old teenage boy with needs, what did you expect?

And so what if he likes the idea of affection minus commitment? Is that so bad? Apparently it is, to people like his friends and the entirety of his school's campus, at least.

At this rate, he might as well pay someone to date him.

Wait. Jay lifts his head off the table's surface in realization.

He might as well pay someone to date him.

There's no harm in that, is there?

He wouldn't have to endure through an endless amount of dates to find someone he clicks with, then continue going on dates with said clicked person, all while trying to develop an actual, serious relationship.

He'll win the bet, get his physics homework done for an entire semester, and some lucky girl out there will be making profit for the small price of hanging out with Jay Park for three months.

And lucky for him, Jay knows the perfect candidate for this scheme.

Simple as that.

Just as long as said perfect candidate says yes.

And as long as Jake and Sunghoon don't find out. Or else Jay might really have to move to Switzerland after all.

You love your friends, you do.

Hana and Heeseung have been there for you when others haven't––they were by your side when you knew no one entering high school, and they were still by your side when you were all graduating said high school. Needless to say, you're eternally grateful for friends like them.

But right now, in this moment––with you seated in the middle of the campus' library, trying to write your essay, as your two friends blabber on and on about the most recent gossip across from you––your two friends could be your villain origin story.

But again, you love your friends, you do. So you don't have the heart to tell them to leave. You've managed to naturally tune out most of the conversation, anyways, for this––your friends coming to hang out while you're trying to study––is no rare occurrence by any means.

"Oh yeah, Jay Park texted me last night."

You hate how your brain's filter suddenly turns off at Hana's words.

You hate how your ears catch the sudden mention of Jay Park's name.

You hate how the thought of Jay Park gets to even occupy a single brain cell of yours.

You hate how you even know who Jay Park is. Well, knew.

Past tense. Because up until eighth grade––when Jay decided to just suddenly pretend you didn't exist––he was attached to you like a koala to a eucalyptus tree.

And if you had asked past Y/N, ideally, Jay would've never left your side. Ideally, he would've never left you to fend for yourself when entering high school. Ideally, he would've stayed your best friend through out all four years of high school and ideally, you would've eventually told him how you really felt about him after growing up with him all your life. And maybe it would've lead to a completely different story. But for the sake of this fic, we don't live in an ideal world.

So yes, if it wasn't for his attendance at the very same university as you, you would've forgotten about the boy who brought you the painful memories of your childhood.

And since the universe clearly doesn't work in your favor, avoiding Jay Park's existence like he's the plague would have to suffice. And it works.

For the most part.

Until some people, bring him up uninvited into your conversation. Like now, for example.

"When was the last time you guys talked anyways?" Heeseung mindlessly asks as he reaches across the table to grab one of the many snacks you usually bring to your study sessions.

"Uh..like a few weeks ago. Give or take. Whenever you threw your house party. Can't say there was much talking involved however," she teasingly says with a giggle and wiggle of her brows.

Heeseung's rolling his eyes as you scoff and chuck a nearby crumpled piece of paper that was once one of your many essay drafts at her.

She bats it away right as it's about to hit her face as she laughs. "Doesn't matter anyways. He ghosted me the next morning, as he does with everyone else. Telling you this now," she extends a finger right at you, "stay away from Jay Park. That kid's just bad news."

You nod in response, mentally telling her she has nothing to worry about.

Been there, done that.

College. Ah yes, the very concept of spending four years of your life imprisoned on a campus where you'll be tearing your hair out from stress and spending all your life's savings just for a laminated sheet of paper with a golden stamp at the end of it all. We live in a society.

Because of said college, and all the weight that comes along with it, you had adapted a strict daily schedule in order to not completely lose your mind. It's a simple schedule really, one of a typical college student who's just trying to get by everyday with as little mental breakdowns as possible.

Wake up, get ready, go to class, go to the library to do your homework, walk all the way across campus to get back to your dorm, shower, then sleep. Oh and eat, of course. And maybe if time permits, be an actual social being and socialize.

It's gotten you this far into the college life without dropping out so, you conclude, you must be doing something right.

Sometimes, if you're feeling nice to yourself, you'll tweak the schedule a bit to fit in some exceptions. Maybe squeeze in a little trip to the bubble tea shop that's on the other side of campus, or maybe get dinner at that one dining hall that you don't usually go to because of the unncessarily long lines (but because they serve ice cream, you go anyways). It doesn't matter what the exception is, you still plan it out to fit into your schedule somehow. Everything is planned out.

Sometimes, however, the universe disagrees with your schedule, to your demise. Such as today, for example.

Because what you didn't expect for today was for a particular blonde-haired boy who you haven't spoken to in almost six years (but who's counting?) to approach your table in the library––a table you were sure no one could find you at, as it was quietly tucked away in the back corner, right next to the Astrophysics shelves. Because who browses the Astrophysics aisle for fun? Actually, maybe Jake Sim would. Anyways.

You definitely didn't anticipate a visit from the boy you've been actively avoiding, so you definitely didn't expect the first words coming out of his mouth when he sees you for the first time in six years to be:

"Fake date me."

You blink up at him.

Yeah, definitely not expected.

But you only let it phase you for a split second, until you feel a slight annoyance beginning to bubble up deep inside of you.

"Wow, hello to you too Jay! It's been what––half a decade? Yeah I've been pretty good, thanks for asking!" The sarcasm is practically dripping off your tongue.

You don't know what runs through Jay's mind, but apparently it isn't common sense––or the ability to read the room. Because next thing you know, he's sliding the chair across from you out from underneath the table and making himself at home.

And he's smiling right at you.

Curse him and his smile.

But no, you're not giving into it.

Not yet, at least.

"What do you want?" You deadpan at him when he makes no sign of making the next move.

"A girlfriend," he deadpans right back at you, as if he was casually telling you what he wanted for dinner. As if you two were close-knit friends that could approach one another without any proper greeting. As if you two had kept your friendship all these years. As if you two even had a role in each other's lives.

"Can't help you there," you scoff, deciding to not even question his lack of manners on top of his uninvited presence.

"Aren't you gonna ask me why?"

"Well gee, seeing that the first few words you decided to say to my face for the first time in forever were a demand, a demand to date you no less, then....no," your monotone voice says as you keep your eyes focused on your laptop screen, not daring to look at the boy across from you.

In the Introduction to Sociology course you took your freshmen year, you had learned of one important term: interactional vandalism. Textbook definition being: "ignoring signals of disinterest in a conversation, leading it to an offense."

Your definition being: "are you oblivious or just plan dumb, read the room!"

This was interactional vandalism, alright. Whether Jay's truly oblivious or just trying to annoy you until your head explodes (it's really the former, but you're convinced it's the latter), he takes your signals of disinterest and tosses it right out of his head to continue the conversation.

"I'm stuck in this stupid bet with Jake--do you remember him? He bet me that I couldn't date someone for more than three months and I figured having someone fake date me would be easier than actually dating someone, right? That's where you come into the equation," he proposes as he leans back in his chair, as if he had just finished a sales pitch to a prospective customer looking to buy a car.

You couldn't believe this. You're 98% sure this has got to be a prank. You're mentally preparing for a camera crew to jump out from in-between the library's aisles any moment now and scream into your ears that you've just been punk'd!

The remaining 2% of you, however, wouldn't put it past the two boys to get themselves in such a situation. The last memory you had of Jay and his friends were pretty much their childish selves back in middle school. And by looking at the current scene unfolding in front of you...it's needless to say they haven't changed much.

"Again, can't help you there. Ask one of the many girlfriends I thought you had." Ouch.

"But Y/N, you've known me all your life--"

"Up until you dropped me a few years ago but sure, let's call it that."

"--and convincing other people is gonna make me look--"

"--desperate? Yeah."

"C'mon, Y/N. What do you have to lose anyways?"

"Uh..my dignity? Pride? Self-respect? Sorry Jay, not happening," you turn your attention back to your unwritten essay in front of you, mentally checking out of this conversation. This would be a good time for that camera crew to jump out now.

"Look, no one else is gonna do it, Y/N." Jay has always been stubborn, you suppose. But so are you.

"Yeah, because you've managed to push every being of the opposite gender away from you. You gave yourself this reputation in the first place," you give it to him straight. It's not like you had a relationship with him to uphold anyways––Jay himself broke that friendship years ago.

Jay hates that you're right.

You're always right. He remembers how he used to always go to you for advice and clarity on the world's biggest problems. Granted, the world's biggest problems to him at the time equated to what he should dress up as for the fifth grade Halloween party, but still. A tough decision, for the mind of a ten-year-old.

You abruptly stop typing and begin putting your laptop and textbooks away as you huff in frustration. There's no point in trying to get your work done now. The longer you stay arguing with Jay, the bigger your headache gets. The longer he continues to occupy any part of your brain, the bigger your headache gets.

Getting up from your seat, packed and ready to slam your head into your pillow, you turn to the blonde one last time.

"Look Jay. We went on our separate ways years ago. If you weren't so notoriously known around campus and my friends would stop talking about you, I would've long forgotten you. I'm sorry you're in this situation, really. If I were you, I'd just tell Jake I can't do it. Or don't, I can't tell you what to do. Just don't get some innocent girl involved in whatever stunt of yours this is."

Jay stares at you, mouth agape, as you find your way out of the library and through the main doors. By the time he comes back to his senses, he realizes how he looks plain stupid––standing in the middle of the library, the look on his face screaming befuddlement, to say the least. Jay quickly makes his way out of the building, in hopes of convincing you one last time.

Jay catches sight of your figure already half-way down the walkway that connects the library to the main quad of your school's campus. Geez, you walk fast.

Not fast enough to outrun Jay's legs, however. If Jay running after you through the middle of campus in order to convince you to fake date him doesn't show how desperate he is to win this bet, I don't know what will.

"Wait, Y/N!"

You groan to yourself before turning to face the boy who can't seem to take a hint and leave you alone. You stare at his out-of-breath state as he heaves up and down from the slight jog he had to endure to get to where you are. If you're humored by him chasing after you, you do a good job of hiding it.

He meets your unimpressed state before stating his final proposition: "I'll pay you. Five hundred dollars."

You nearly stop breathing.

Now this catches your attention––after all, you're but a broke college student who's just trying to survive. And preferably not by feeding yourself instant ramen cups every night.

And so, naturally, you begin rethinking about the opportunity presented in front of you. You narrow your eyes at the boy as you weigh your options.

The first problem being, it's Jay Park––the bane of your very existence. You spent the last few years of your life pretending he didn't exist...for good reason. Not only did he do you dirty when you were merely a couple of 13-year-olds, but you just didn't want to be involved with someone like him. Someone known for his nature, someone who left your own current best friend ghosted. And not that Hana herself would care, for she has called herself the "female Jay Park", but you're sure this would be breaking some rule in the girl code handbook. Plus, if you agree to this, you'd be betraying 13-year-old Y/N, the one who decided to never speak to nor think of Jay Park again––which by now you've failed, but you get the gist.

Second problem being, three months is a long time. Three months is practically the rest of this semester, and did you really want to spend the rest of the semester tied down to the label of being Jay Park's girlfriend? There would have to be some negative connotations that came along with that title, right? No offense to Jay, but being his first girlfriend since, what, high school could make you come off as..naive, for lack of a better term. As if the only person you could settle for was Jay Park. As if you barely had any standards for yourself. Again, no offense to Jay.

Needless to say, if your school's debate club had to argue on why you shouldn't be doing this, you're sure the negating side could win with these two reasons alone.

But before you're rejecting the boy currently standing in front of you one last time, you find yourself mentally listing rebuttals.

First of all, you'd be getting paid. And again, you're merely but a college student living the stereotypical broke college student life––burdened by the costs of tuition, textbooks, and midnight McDonalds runs for when you're out of aforementioned instant ramen cups. Five hundred dollars could provide you with more than enough chicken McNuggets to last you the semester, and maybe some more to treat yourself to an online shopping spree.

Second of all, it's not like you were going to do anything better with your next three months anyways. It's safe to say you were too busy being a diligent student to actually look for anyone to date, per say. And if anything, having a fake boyfriend might actually be helpful in your case. Your mom would be off your ass about how you're still single, for one. And two, your friends (though it's really just Heeseung) would stop trying to hook you up on blind dates with guys that you would choose Jay Park over any day (and that really says something).

Third of all, it's Jay Park. As much as you despise the kid, you still know him. He's not a complete stranger to you, no matter how much you try to deny it. It could be worse, it could be a complete rando asking you to date him. At least you two have some sort of history, which would take care of the typical small talk and getting to know each other bit of this equation. And truth be told, you'd be lying to yourself if you said you weren't a tad bit satisfied by the fact that Jay chose you, of all people, to pull off this stunt with him. You don't know if it's the nostalgia of your childhood memories rushing back to you, but it reminds you of the endless schemes you two used to plan behind your parents' backs all the time. Granted, your childhood schemes––such as the both of you faking sickness so you could skip school together––don't even fall close to being in a fake relationship with one another, but still. It's the thought that counts.

All of those reasons plus, Jay isn't the worst to look at. He may have a spoiled reputation, but at least he has his looks going for him, you'll give him that (you're still secretly wondering when and how did he get his glow up, but don't tell him that).

And so by the guidelines of a college student's logic that states the pros outweigh the cons, you come to the overarching conclusion that maybe, this won't be so awful after all.

"Five hundred?" You ask, just for clarification. Jay's immediately nodding at your words. You continue to ponder on your thoughts as he stares at you hopefully.

The silent atmosphere of your campus heightens the tension so much, you swear you're in one of those overdramatic pausing scenes that occur too many times in k-dramas.

You sigh, then nod.

"Okay," you're internally praying that you won't regret this decision. "I'm in."

The next time you see Jay is at 12:17PM on a Friday afternoon, as you're exiting the doors of the lecture building that's home to your awfully long Capitalism in the Western World class.

You're going down the steps of the building, mentally deciding where and what you're going to treat yourself to for lunch––as the three hour lecture you had just attended drained all the life and energy out of you––when you hear the slight call of your name.

Turning to the source, you're met with a waving Jay, leaning against the passenger's side of his car, parked in front of the lecture hall building you were currently leaving.

Great.

You walk over to where he's casually waiting––he's unaware of all the stares he's attracted from fellow students leaving the same lecture as you. Can you blame them? It's not everyday you see a sleek, black BMW that probably cost more than your tuition pull up in front of your Friday afternoon lecture. It's not everyday you see Jay Park waiting for anyone outside of his said sleek, black BMW that probably cost more than your tuition.

"Hi," you simply let out as you plant yourself in front of him, not sure whether or not to question him why are you here? Surely, he wasn't waiting for you?

"Hi," he smiles down at you. There's a beat of silence. "I was waiting for you."

Bingo.

"Oh. What are you, my chauffeur?" You raise an eyebrow, unimpressed.

"Maybe. I am your boyfriend, after all," he says into the air, loud and clear, as if he wanted people to hear. Well that is the point, you suppose.

But still, all you want to do is smack the smirk right off his face.

Before you have time to put your next question into words, he answers it for you.

"I'm taking you out for lunch," he declares as if you have nothing else planned for the day. Well, to be fair, you didn't have anything else planned for the day. Except for your usual library run. But you figure the library could wait.

"Oh, like on a date?" You raise your eyebrows teasingly at him as you get into the car, Jay holding the door wide open for you. "Is Jay Park treating me to lunch as a date?"

Jay fights the scowl (or is that a smile?) growing on his face as he bends down to meet your eye level from inside the car. "Don't flatter yourself, princess. We've got fake lives to live."

"Call me princess one more time and you won't have a real life to live," you flash him a sarcastic smile and slam the door in his face.

Jay meets his own shocked reflection on the passenger's side window.

Cute.

"When you said you were taking me out to lunch, I expected like...I don't know...the diner on campus. Not whatever this is," you mutter to Jay as the two of you are brought to your table by a waitress at an upscale sushi restaurant, one that is undoubtedly out of your usual budget, but for sure an upgrade from your dining hall's pizza you were planning to have. You should've figured as much, the drive here was a little more than out of the way from campus, and who are you kidding, it's Jay Park you're eating with.

You stare down at your current outfit, which consisted of a hoodie you've owned since your junior year of high school and leggings that you threw on without second thought this morning––because you didn't exactly wake up and decide I'm going to go to a fancy sushi bar for lunch today!

"Why are we here anyways?" You ask him when you're both settled in your seats and the waitress walks away after listing the chef's specials for the day.

"Oh, they have killer dragon rolls here, you have to try it," Jay tells you nonchalantly as his eyes rake the menu in front of him, blocking your view of him.

How dense can one be? Your hand snatches his menu as you stare into his unamused eyes.

"No, Jay. I mean, why are we here? It's not like anyone's around to see us put on a show anyways."

"Oh. I figured," Jay's quick to grab the menu back from out of your hands as he continues, "that we should sit down and establish how exactly we're going to deliver this performance. After all, you're stuck with me for the next three months."

Again, smacking the smirk currently resting on his face would satisfy you beyond relief. Just once.

"If I drop out halfway through, do I still get $250?" You tease, leaning back.

"Ha ha. Funny. No," he narrows his eyes at you from across the table. "It's all or nothing."

You dramatically huff to make a show just for his annoyance.

"Worth a try. But sure, let's solidify this. What's the game plan?" You sit up in your seat, leaning over the table as if the two of you were hosting a secret meeting.

"It's simple really," Jay mirrors your actions, face leaning in close to where yours is hovering over the table. "Just pretend to be deeply in love with me for three months, and try not to actually be charmed by my cunning looks."

If someone gave you five dollars for every time you've already rolled your eyes at him today, you wouldn't even need to be in this deal for the five hundred dollars.

"Wow, smooth. Can I just remind you you're the one paying a girl to be in a fake relationship with you because you're just not competent enough to find an actual girlfriend?" You lean back, arms crossing over your figure.

Jay, unfazed, laughs, tongue briefly hitting the inside of his cheek. "Touché."

Your eyes go back to the menu in front of you as a silence falls over the table. Because you're not a loaded trust fund baby who comes to fancy five-star sushi restaurants for lunch on a daily, you don't recognize half of the entree names on the menu. You spot the dragon roll Jay suggested, but seeing that a basic California roll is less expensive, your natural broke-college-student-instincts figure the California roll shall do.

"Okay, in all seriousness," Jay begins as he puts his menu down. "It's simple really. We'll just go on weekly dates and post cute pictures of each other once in a while and a little after three months, I'll just say it didn't work out. I'll give you the five hundo and boom, we move on with our lives."

It's clear Jay's put some thought into this. Safe to say he's put more effort planning this out than the amount of work he's been putting into his classes. Someone's got their priorities straight.

You're impressed to say the least––you figured Jay would just be the kind to go with the flow and wait for the situation to unfold on its own and maybe blow up into flames. But seeing as he was just as serious about winning this bet as you were with making five hundred dollars, your doubts about this entire situation were slowly withering away.

Don't get it wrong, though, you still despise him. To an extent, at least.

"And don't worry about the dates. I'll pay on your behalf, as the loving, doting boyfriend I am," Jay finishes with a wide, cheesy smile you can't help but return a growing smile back at.

"Well then, as the loving, doting girlfriend I am, I shall gift you coffee, breakfast, all that fun couple stuff, whenever you please. Or maybe unannounced, if I'm feeling nice," you figure you should pitch in as much if he's paying for all your dates. And deep down, you find the idea kinda cute. But don't tell anyone that.

"Wow, look at us. We should become Dispatch's couple of the year already!" Jay exclaims, earning himself a small giggle from you, which pleases him to say the least. He thinks that maybe when this is all over, he'll hopefully make a good friend (well, for the second time) out of it.

And you're thinking that maybe the next three months won't be as bad as you initially had thought.

As the two of you delve deep into a debate about who would be the better significant other to each other, the waitress comes over to take your orders.

And because you're laughing and Jay's brightly smiling at you from across the table, you order the dragon roll.

The second time Jay takes you out––this time he gives you a heads up to get ready––it's at a, once again, high-class steakhouse.

The third time, you insist on the on-campus diner that's popular amongst the student population. Partially because you feel bad for the amount of money he's spent on you (even though he couldn't care less), but mostly because if you have to put on another fancy dress to just eat an overpriced meal that doesn't even fully satisfy your hunger, you might lose your mind.

And by this third time, Jake is aware of this newly blossomed relationship.

"Three dates! I didn't know you had it in you, going on three dates with the same girl!" Jake excitedly exclaims as he jumps into the empty spot on Jay's dorm bed and shoves his phone's screen into Jay's face.

The smaller screen displays Jay's most recent Instagram post: an image of you sitting behind your too-small-to-be-this-expensive-steak and smiling right into Jay's camera––a memory that brings a smile to his face:

~ ~ ~

"C'mon! We said Instagram posts would be a part of the deal! How else can we convince people we're dating?" A pout rests on Jay's face as he stares at you from across the table in the middle of the extravagantly decorated restaurant he picked out for your second date. You remember your eyes bulging out of their own sockets when you saw the "$$$$$" rating Yelp gave the place when you searched it up earlier.

"Okay, okay! One picture," you give in, already slightly annoyed that you were here instead of the comfort of your own bed, where you could be rewatching your favorite Netflix show for the third time. But because you made a deal and because you're desperate for money, you had to follow through––so here you were.

You flash an unconvincing smile to Jay's camera, which doesn't satisfy him, to say the least. "At least pretend you're somewhat enjoying this date," he frowns at you.

You sigh, until a thought crosses your mind and a smile grows on your face. "Only if you get me boba afterwards."

He narrows his eyes at you, but then meets your smile. "Sure, whatever you want. But only because I've been craving some mango milk tea lately."

"You're a fruit milk tea kind of guy? Sorry, but I might have to fake break-up with you," you tease as you take a sip of your overpriced drink to go with your overpriced meal.

Jay scoffs, feigning hurt by placing his hand over his heart. "Ouch. But before you break up with me, let me get this Instagram post in."

"Wow. Your priorities are so straight," you roll your eyes at him, eliciting a cheeky smile from him as he watches you through his held up phone screen.

"3,2,1."

"Hey, I wasn't ready! That was like mid-laugh!" You reach over the table to grab the phone, but not quick enough for him to put his phone back into his pants' pocket.

"Nope, nuh uh," he laughs as you quickly sit back down into your seat, not wanting to cause a scene in an establishment as proper as this one.

"It's fine. It's a good picture, you look cute," he casually lets out, unaware of the blush rising to the surface of your cheeks, thanks to the fact that you were suddenly interested in playing with the left-over food on your plate.

"Jay! Delete it, I'll let you take another one," you whine from your seat, imagining just how bad a candid picture of you could be.

"Ugh, fine. Ever so picky." He playfully rolls his eyes at you as he takes his phone out and opens the camera app as you prepare yourself.

"Okay, how's this?" Jay turns the phone screen to you after he takes a few snaps on his phone.

"I approve," you grin at him as he goes through the pictures himself, unaware of the smile growing on his face.

"Okay now delete the first one," you point your finger at him, narrowing your eyes at him.

"Okay, okay! Bossy," he laughs as he raises in hands in surrender.

When Jay gets home that night, he recovers the image from his Recently Deleted folder, telling himself it's for the sake of the memory.

Obviously.

~ ~ ~

"It's not that big of a deal," Jay mutters from his spot as his eyes go from the Instagram post to his Exile and Belonging in Modern Literature reading that's due tomorrow, bright yellow highlighter in hand. Typically, you'd find the reading buried deep at the bottom of his school backpack. But because Jay ran into you this morning and because he complained to you about the amount of work he's fallen behind on and because you had threatened him to do his work or else you're not going on another date––a fake date that is––with him, he figured he should at least get one reading done and annotated, despite his strong dislike for highlighters (they hurt his eyes, okay?)

What he doesn't know, however, is how your threat was completely full of bluff––but don't tell him that.

"It is so a big deal, for you at least!" Jake hops off the bed and lands on the wooden floors of Jay's dorm room so hard, Jay winces and sends a mental apology to the poor person who lives below him.

Jake suddenly gasps. "I have to meet her, Jay! As your best friend, it's practically mandatory that I meet her."

Jay opens his mouth to protest, but not before Jake interrupts him once again. "Oh! We can bring Sunghoon too, it'll be so fun! The best friends meet the girlfriend."

Jay can't think of anything worst. Jay imagines that bringing you to meet his best friends would just intimidate you out of dating him––fake dating him, that is. Obviously.

He stares at his friend in agony then back at the reading in front of him––the one Jake said he'd come over to help annotate, but the intention completely left Jake's head the second he heard about Jay's recent dating life.

"You don't have to meet her," Jay says pointedly. "Plus, you already know her."

Jake frowns at his friend's excuse. "Yeah, but that was in middle school! This is different."

Jay's hands shuffle through the reading's pages in front of him as he realizes there's no way the two of them are going to finish the assignment at this point. He supposes he'll have to save death by blindness from highlighters for another day and hope you still agree to go out with him.

Jake suddenly gasps in realization.

"Oh my gosh! Childhood best friends turned college sweethearts," Jake says so dreamily, he might as well plaster heart eyes on. Hopeless romantic, this one.

Before Jay can argue, the piercing sound of three loud knocks echo through the small room, followed with a:

"Jay, are you in? It's me!"

Jay stills at the sound of your sweet voice. He whips his head to Jake, who is also frozen in place.

But the widened-eye boy is quick to come to his senses––unfortunately quicker than Jay himself––because the next thing Jay knows, Jake's eyes are lighting up and he's running to the door, ignoring Jay's screaming whispers through this seething teeth that were somewhere along the lines of Jake––stop, I swear to god if you open that door I'm gonna fucking--

"Y/N!" Jake swings the door wide open, revealing an overly excited him and a frozen Jay half-way to the door, as if he was about to grab the very boy welcoming you in. It's as if we're living in a Sims game and the player clicked pause on this very moment.

Jake's eyes are wildly going back and forth between you and your supposed boyfriend, as if he was waiting for Jay to run over and smother you in hugs and kisses...or something couple-y like that. Jay wouldn't know.

"Uh––hi," you're awkwardly standing inside the room now, a relatively large paper brown bag resting in your palms as you look around for a surface to place it on. Jay makes his way to you without a second thought, quickly taking the bag out of your hold.

"You seemed stressed out earlier, so I figured I could bring you some food as a little pick me up. I didn't know what you liked, so I kinda just got a little of everything from the dining hall. Nothing fancy," you're rambling, but smiling so excitedly at him, Jay doesn't know what to say.

Instead, his mouth slightly drops open as he stares at you in awe, mostly because he's not used to being on the receiving end of such spontaneously generous actions––all while Jake's still excitedly looking back and forth between the two of you, as if he was expecting a marriage proposal to come next.

"Oh wow. Thank you. Really," Jay, still touched by your simple act of kindness, softly says as he places the bag on the limited amount of empty space on his desk surface––the rest of it is covered with his untouched textbooks and unfinished assignments. He wonders if you did this out of playing your role or just because you wanted to. He internally hopes it's the latter. "Seriously, you didn't have to do."

"Nah, don't worry. I wanted to," you shrug with such a genuine smile that Jay realizes he actually missed your smile.

Despite having seen you during your brief run-in this morning when you were fetching your morning coffee, Jay realizes he missed you. The two of you haven't been seeing each other recently because of your busy schedule and if Jay didn't realize it before, he's now sure he missed your company and presence around.

Weird.

"Well, you two have fun! Sunghoon needs me for something," Jake suddenly chirps from his place near the front door, halfway through with putting his shoes on already, breaking the comforting silence that fell between the two of you.

Jay frowns. "But you said you were free all da––"

"SUNGHOON IS CALLING BYE!" And before Jay can even register what's happening, Jake's out the door without another word.

"Er..sorry about him, he's...weird," Jay scratches the back of his neck as he returns to his spot on his bed, mentally setting a reminder to yell at Jake later for leaving the two of you alone. Jay doesn't know exactly why, but he's nervous at the fact that you're here in his room. It's not like you two are complete strangers––or whatever you guys were before––anymore. "Good job on your part, though. How'd you know Jake was here?"

"Oh uh, I didn't"," you let out an awkward laugh. "I just felt like doing it."

Heat rushes to Jay's cheeks and he's not sure 1) what this newfound feeling is and 2) how to respond, yet again.

Having expecting you to leave after dropping the food off, Jay's taken by surprise when you take your shoes off and come over to his bed to look at the pile of work he's spread out.

"Is this everything you have to do?" You question the stressed-out boy as you flip through the various assignments, readings, and essays he put off in the past week.

"More or less," he groans. This is no rare occurrence by any means––Jay being behind in his work––but this time, Jay realizes he may actually be in deep shit, considering he has no idea where to begin.

Right as Jay's expecting a scolding from you, he looks up to meet a look of sympathy on your face. "Well, I mean, I'm pretty much done with my day. I can try to help, I recognize some of these readings from last semester."

Jay thinks to himself that the universe has sent him an angel through the form of you.

"Really? Wow, you were't kidding when you said you'd be a good girlfriend," he sends you a surprised look.

"I'm just being nice, Jay. A concept I'm sure you're not familiar with," you remark back at him, causing his forming smile to grow into a laugh.

"I can too be nice! Need I remind you of who's paying you $500, covering all of our dates AND giving you rides to class everyday?" He remarks pointedly at you, a teasing look resting in his eyes as you're reminded of the first of many times he's come to pick you up before class:

~ ~ ~

You're late.

This never happens.

But then again, your life's been a series of unexpected occurrences lately. Such as the fact that you're currently known as Jay Park's girlfriend, for one.

You're scrambling out of bed once you take one look at your phone and realize shit, you're already late for class. Throwing on whatever articles of clothing your eyes land on first, you're already mentally groaning at the fact that you'll have to skip breakfast and run across your campus to get to said class.

Curse your professor for hosting her lecture at the furthest possible building away from your dorm. Curse the architect who decided to make your campus so large.

You're running down the steps outside of your dorm building's doors when you're abruptly stopped by a familiar sounding cough. You look up from trying to gather all your belongings together at once to meet the gaze of the source of the sound––Jay.

"Wow, you're a mess," he smirks as he gets up from the spot on his car he was leaning against to make his way over to you.

"Gee, thanks! Good morning to you too," you flash him a sarcastic smile before your default frown quickly makes it way back onto your face.

"Aren't you gonna ask me why I'm here?" He grins as he grabs hold of your backpack to sling it across his own back as the two of you walk towards his car.

"Why are you here, Jay?" you sigh, your sarcastic tone hard to miss.

"To give you a ride to class, of course!" He's beaming at you, as if he's a pre-pubescent teen who just won their first girlfriend a prize from the arcade's claw machine.

Oh. That explains the car, you figure. Deep down inside, you're relieved that you'll no longer be bursting through the lecture hall's doors as a sweaty mess––a result of having to run across campus to get to class.

Determined to not let your satisfaction completely show, you resort with a little smile directed towards Jay as he opens the passenger door for you.

The second your enter Jay's car, the strong scent of coffee hits you, and your attention is targeted at the two small cups of coffee sitting in the cupholders of the car.

"Breakfast?" Jay asks as he enters through the driver's side and reaches into the backseat to whip out a small pastry bag. A small, deliciously smelling, pastry bag.

Okay, well. You suppose you could drop the annoyed act now.

Your eyes widen with joy as you grab the bag from him and open it to reveal your favorite breakfast sandwich. He's been taking notes, you'll give him that point.

"Okay, you win. Thank you," you grace him with a soft smile before taking a bite into the glorious gift in your hands.

"Of course, I was just feeling nice," he grins at you as he starts his car. "But don't get used to it." His tone is serious, but his smile directed towards you says differently.

And the fact that he still showed up to drive you to class the next morning.

And the next.

~ ~ ~

"And need I remind you who has to date your dumb ass for the $500 in question?" Your eyes narrow at the boy who can't seem to get that damn smile off his face.

Jay sticks his tongue out at you, ending the conversation. Really Jay? What are you, five? Well, mentally––probably.

You're looking around his minuscule dorm room for a place to sit down, and Jay can't help but feel embarrassed now that you're here, in his messy single studio room that pretty much reflects how Jay treats every other responsibility of his oh so hard life: neglected.

"Uh...here, you can sit on my bed," Jay immediately offers as he moves to the side to make room for your presence––and it isn't much, considering the university only provided him a twin XL bed which is definitely not built for two grown college-aged kids.

If you told yourself a few weeks ago that you'd be shoulder to shoulder on a bed belonging to the guy you cringed at the very thought of, you wouldn't have believed yourself. You wouldn't have believed yourself if you said you were actually glad Jay let you stay instead of kicking you out after delivering the food. Huh.

Weird.

"You know, this kinda reminds me of when we were kids. I always carried us through those horrible multiplication tests in the fifth grade," you wink at him as you settle in the spot next to him, hands grabbing hold of the papers in his lap.

Jay let out a laugh, nudging your shoulder with his. "Hey! The twelve times table is hard, okay?"

You roll your eyes at him––a habit of yours he's noticed whenever the two of you are together, but more recently, he thinks it's been more out of fun than annoyance.

He wonders why.

When Jay had first brought up the idea of bringing you as his date to his father's company dinner, you had expected a fairly fancy five-star restaurant with a formal dress code––for you've become accustomed to Jay's lifestyle. Turns out, your expectations can continue to be exceeded. Because what you had expected to be a simple dinner with a few other business men and women turned out to be an entire party, hosted in a hotel whose interior resembled something close to a castle (Or what you assume a castle looks like, as you've never personally been into a castle yourself, but this hotel is close enough).

Your eyes sparkle at the extravagant columns and diamond chandeliers hanging high above you, and Jay smiles at the expression on your face; like a little girl being brought to the amusement park for the first time ever.

"Wow, this is...wow," you mutter as you drink in the scene in front of you: people dressed in formal attire likewise to yours and Jay's, mingling and drinking what you imagine to be beverages that cost more than your entire life's worth.

Jay laughs from behind you, "Yeah the company goes a little...extra when it comes to these company dinners."

You scoff as you look up at him. "Oh really, you don't say?" You look around and you're suddenly aware of the many people surrounding the two of you and the attention you've acquired ever since entering the building.

"Jay, people are staring." You shuffle closer to him, your voice lowering down to a whisper.

"Well, it's not everyday the son of the company's CEO brings his girlfriend with him, so...looks like we'll be the talk of the party tonight. Smiles on," he winks at you, and you just know he's loving the attention the two of you are receiving right now.

"Jay Park? Is that you?" You hear a warm voice call out from behind the two of you.

The two of you turn around to meet the owner of the voice, a middle-aged woman dressed in an evening gown that matches the pattern of high-end brands you've been recognizing ever since arriving.

"Mrs. Lee! It's so nice seeing you again," Jay cheerily addresses the woman as the two of you bow in greeting.

You internally giggle at the thought of your Jay being so picture-perfect in the eyes of his father's co-workers.

"This is Y/N," he continues, his hand finding its way to your back, protectively resting it there as you go to introduce yourself. "My girlfriend."

You swear you feel goosebumps rise from where he's lightly touching you, and more so when he introduces you as his girlfriend.

You tell yourself it's just your nerves. Yes, that's it, you're just nervous. I mean, you're in a room filled with people who could easily pay off all your college loans with just a snap of their fingers, who wouldn't be nervous? Right? Right.

"Y/N! It's a pleasure to finally meet you, I've heard so much about you!" Mrs. Lee excitedly exclaims as you turn to Jay with a slightly confused look plastered on your face. He mirrors your expression as he shrugs, moving to stand behind you completely, bringing his hands to rest lowly at your hips.

His hands feel like feathers on the thin fabric of your evening gown, so light, so delicate, as if he's unsure if he's crossing a line. It leaves you wanting more, wanting to naturally lean against him and his warmth. You quick to shake the thought of your head as Mrs. Lee chirps up again.

"Jay's father is always talking about how you've been keeping Jay pleasantly busy nowadays! Good thing too, about time this poor boy settle down for someone as beautiful as you," the woman rambles on as you feel a blush creep up on your cheeks at the thought of Jay talking about you to his dad. If only they knew.

"We should probably go find our seats, I think the dinner is beginning soon," Jay says from behind you, saving the two of you from having to listen to Mrs. Lee's story of how she's known Jay ever since he was five years old and seeing him grow into this mature, loving, young man is so amazing. Oh look! I have baby pictures.

Yeah, he was more so saving himself from embarrassment.

The two of you bid your goodbyes before Jay gently uses the hand on your back to maneuver you through the crowd of socializing business moguls.

"She's not wrong, you know," you feel Jay dip his head so he's speaking near your ear, his warm breath tickling your earlobe, as the two of you make your way through the large foyer room.

"Hm?" You hum in question, turning your head up just enough to be able to make eye contact with him as he responds to your look of confusion.

"You look beautiful tonight," he says, eye contact not breaking once. You freeze in your steps.

You stare back at him in silence. Oh.

Your mind is panicking as it flips through your mental book of responses, unsure of what to say back. But because your mind is cloudy from staring at a put-together Jay in a dark navy suit to match your dress (mixed with the nervous butterflies in your stomach––have they always been there?), the only sound that's able to leave your lips is the small stutter of a:

"Huh?"

Wow Y/N, you had one job. A simple "thank you" could've sufficed! And you went with "Huh"?

You felt like a fifth grader who just learned from a friend of a friend of a friend that their crush likes them back.

"U-um. Mrs. Lee. What she said about you. You look good, really," somehow your nervousness made its way over to Jay now––his eyes flickering from yours to anywhere, anything, else in the room––the awkward tension growing tenfold each second.

Goddamnit Y/N, this is just Jay you're talking to, get a grip.

You're knocked back into reality when he slightly nudges your back to continue making your way to the main ball room, where the dinner is being held.

"Is that a compliment from the Jay Park?" Your smirk can't be seen by Jay, since he's still trailing behind you, but he can definitely hear it through your tone.

"Don't make me take it back," he chuckles, his words felt against your neck, leaving behind a tingly sensation you're not sure why you're feeling. You're glad he's behind you, so he isn't able to see the blush creeping onto your face for the second time tonight.

Jay gives a small nod to the people behind the check-in desk stationed at the entrance as the two of you waltz right into a large ball room lined with countless circular dining tables. So much for a small business dinner.

As the two of you approach one of the tables placed at the front of the room, you notice a familiar figure seated next to the seats reserved for you and Jay.

"Y/N!" Jake exclaims as he gets up from his seat to greet the both of you. "I'm so glad you made it, Jay was so excited to bring you tonight. Deadass would not stop talking about it."

Jay lets out a noise that falls somewhere between a cough and a goose being strangled, his widened eyes warning his talkative friend to just shut up. He's silently cursing the company for always seating his and Jake's family at the same table for these events.

"Aw, is that so? He's lucky he's cute or else I wouldn't have agreed," you grin, winking at your assumed boyfriend sitting next to you.

"Hey, YOU were the one excited to come! I recall a certain someone's face lighting up when I suggested we go shopping for tonight," Jay immediately retorts.

"Only because you were buying," you giggle, causing Jake to laugh as well.

"Damn, Jay. Tough," Jake jokingly adds as you laugh alongside him. The scowl sitting on Jay's face expresses the opposite of what he's feeling right now: warmth filling him up from the sound of your laughter and the image of you getting along so well with his best friend.

"I'm gonna get us some drinks, you two have fun making fun of me," Jay narrows his eyes at the two of you as he gets up from his seat. You bid him off with a smile before turning back to Jake.

"No but really though, this boy would not stop talking about you coming tonight. Then again, he doesn't really ever stop talking about you," Jake nonchalantly says, not knowing how much he was exposing his friend to you right now.

You raise an eyebrow up in response, "Oh really?"

"Seriously! I don't know what you did to him, Y/N, but this Jay I've been seeing recently is new. He complains a lot less about life nowadays, especially on the days he sees you," he leans back in his chair as his comment brings a smile to your face. Little does he know.

You stretch your neck up to find the boy in question and spot him right as he's returning to your shared table, two drinks in hand. You lock eyes with him from across the room and without a second thought, you're giving him a genuine smile that he's immediately returning.

Your heart beats faster at the view.

You wonder why.

It's 3:07AM when you hear the first ding.

You're not 100% sure as of why you're awake at this hour on a Tuesday night––perhaps a combination of your restless thoughts and feelings not letting you sleep plus the typical stress that comes hand-in-hand with the life of a college student.

It's 3:09AM when you hear the second ding, and you brush it off, assuming it was just Heeseung spamming you with memes again––something he does often when he also can't sleep (you found this out the hard way).

It's still 3:09AM when you hear the third ding, and at 3:10AM , you finally reach over and decide to acknowledge the being who's bothering you at this godforsaken hour.

Jay [3:07AM]: Y/N

Jay [3:09AM]: hi

Jay [3:09AM]: r u awake rn

Y/N [3:10AM]: unfortunately so

Y/N [3:11AM]: why are you up

Jay [3:11AM]: come outside

Y/N [3:13AM: jay it's 3am

Jay [3:13AM]: ye and? don't tell me ur a college student with a curfew

Jay [3:14AM]: plus im alrdy waiting for u outside so u have no choice

Jay [3:15AM]: :)

You groan at your bright phone screen currently illuminating your dark dorm room.

You ponder the consequences you may have to suffer tomorrow if you stay up any later than you already have. But considering the fact that you're probably just going to stay awake lying in bed for god knows how long anyways, why not?

(And you would like to point out that this decision has nothing to do with the fact that you haven't seen Jay in a few days and that maybe a tiny, tiny, tiny, part of you may have missed his presence. Nothing.)

And since that logic is obviously valid (you really gotta work on justifying your life choices), you're suddenly grabbing a hoodie from your closet and hoping it'll be enough to keep you, who's merely in an old band t-shirt from high-school and pajama shorts, warm.

The breeze hits your skin the second you open the doors to your dorm's building, and you're met with the view of Jay's sleek, black BMW that probably costs more than your tuition. He waves at you from the driver's seat, motioning for you to get in.

"To what do I owe you the pleasure at this hour," you deadpan at him with a stone-cold voice as you enter through the passenger's side door, hoping your tone was enough to hide the fact that you're giddy at the fact he invited you out at 3AM in the morning. Like a high-school girl sneaking out of her house to meet up with her bad-boy boyfriend that her parents dislike.

The second you enter his car, you're instantly comforted by the warm air blasting through his vents and his playlist softly playing in the background. Jay's pajama pants and messy hair give you more than enough information to know that he probably just rolled out of his own bed as well. You don't know why, but your view: Jay in his oversized hoodie with his unkept hair in front of your dorm building at 3AM on a Tuesday night, gives you comfort in weird ways you can't explain even if you tried.

But it's obviously just your cloudy, 3AM mind not thinking straight. Obviously.

"When I can't sleep, I go on drives around campus. It helps clear my mind," he says, looking over at you to give you a quick smile before starting his car. "Plus, SnapMap said you were still awake, so...figured you'd wanna join."

"Oh so what, you're my stalker now? You're not driving to the woods to kill me now, are you?" You tease, an eyebrow brought up. Jay lets out a laugh from beside you as he begins to drive further into your campus.

"Guess you'll just have to wait and see," he throws you a wink before reverting his gaze back to the road, mindlessly driving to wherever the road decides to take him.

A comfortable silence falls in between the two of you as Jay continues to drive endless routes around your campus. You look over to the boy driving next to you and take in his features––you don't know what changed, but you no longer feel the same anger or annoyance bubbling within you when you're around him. You're not sure when this changed, but you figure it's just the effect of desensitization. After all, you've been spending so much time with him, you're bound to get used to it. Right?

"Why were you up?" Jay finally asks after a few minutes of just the two of you silently basking in each other's presences.

"Ah, you know. The usual. Endless thoughts running through my mind, stress from school, nothing new," you sign, giving him a soft smile followed with a shrug.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

You answer him with silence as you search your head for the answer.

"I don't know. This is kinda weird, isn't it?" You don't know why you get a sudden surge of confidence, but before you can stop yourself, you find yourself rambling on. "If you had told me a month ago that I'd be here driving around with you when it's nearly 4AM, I would've laughed in your face."

Jay doesn't know whether to laugh or scoff. "Is the idea of hanging out with me that unappealing to you?"

You give him a serious look back. "I mean, up until a month ago when you needed me for whatever this game is, you literally pretended I didn't exist."

Oh. Awkward.

You freeze at your own words, mentally screaming at yourself for letting the words leave your mouth. Why, why, why.

"Y/N..." Jay says after clearing his throat after a few seconds of silence.

"No it's fine, it was a joke," you awkwardly cough and direct your attention to anything else around you right now. The view of your campus' buildings zooming by. The clicking of Jay's blinker when he switches lanes. The quiet roaring of his car's engine. The nervous tapping of his fingers against the steering wheel.

The rest of the ride is excruciatingly silent as he exits the main road and into an empty parking lot of some administration building made out of glass that has too many floors for you to count.

You don't know why you feel your heart beating in your throat as Jay puts the car into park––why you feel uneasy. You slightly turn towards him in your seat, hoping to pick up any sign of well...anything from him.

You don't know why you feel a twinge of guilt––it's not like what you said was necessarily wrong. If you were being honest, you were slightly bothered by how the two of you seemed to silently agree not to mention your past all this time. You were always one to seek answers, to seek closure. You couldn't help but bring it up––Jay was your best friend during those years. For him to just wake up one day and pretend you were nothing to him hurt you, and you couldn't help but still wonder what in the world you did to initiate his actions.

"I'm sor–" You're interrupted with his timid voice, as if he was almost afraid to speak.

"I'm not good with people." He's nibbling on his bottom lip, fingers nervously picking at a spot on the steering wheel.

You're opening and closing your mouth, unsure how to respond. You're 100% positive you look like a fish right now. Good for you.

"I don't know why. Jake calls it commitment issues but in order to have commitment, people have to stay in my life. And people just...don't. They're all bound to leave at some point. So what's the point of putting in effort into relationships if they're just going to leave you at the end?"

You're stunned by his sudden confession, not having been prepared for such a heavy topic to arise between the two of you. Up until tonight, your interactions had always been light-hearted and easy––you guys got along well. You didn't know this is how he felt all along.

But you knew where he was coming from.

You knew what Jay had gone through as a child––his mother having left him and his dad when he was young. You remember when your parents had told you the news at the young age of 13, and you remember the pain and sorrow you felt for your then friend. All you wanted to do was go to him and comfort him, but he had already cut you out from his life by then.

"Or maybe I'm the problem. My dad barely acknowledges my existence because he thinks giving me an allowance is all the parenting I need, my friends probably only stick around because they feel bad for me, you wouldn't even be here if it weren't for the bet, and, fuck, I'm literally known as the campus' fuckboy," Jay continues, falling deeper and deeper into the hole he dug himself.

He hates this, he hates opening up and feeling vulnerable, so he doesn't know why he's doing it now. He doesn't know why he feels comfortable voicing out his fears and worries when he's around you. But he does know it's a new feeling––one he doesn't know how to deal with.

"Jay," you lace your voice with as much comfort as you can provide. None of this is his fault, you want to tell him. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry? You didn't do anything," he says with a hint of bitterness and you can't tell if it's directed towards you or the topic at hand.

You're completely turned in your seat now to face him––despite the fact that he refuses to meet your gaze, afraid that looking at you is gonna bring out the most vulnerable in him. "You can talk to me. Talking about it makes it a lot easier. I'll always be here for you, as a friend."

Jay doesn't know what it is or why, but something in him snaps at the sound of a certain word falling out of your lips. Friend. Friend.

Friends don't make his heart beat nervously whenever he's around them. Friends don't keep him up at 3AM in the morning, pondering about his feelings for them. Friends don't provide him with this new, warm comfort he's become accustomed to whenever he's around you.

Deep down, Jay knows you didn't mean to add fuel to the fire. But because he's strong-headed, stubborn, and hates how vulnerable he feels next to you, he unleashes his emotions without thinking about the destruction coming along.

"It's none of your business, Y/N. Forget I said anything. You're just a toy for this stupid game and when it's all over we can go back to our own lives and forget this ever happened."

His sudden words cut deep, but they hurt him more than you. The second the words tumble out of his mouth, he's hit with the feeling of instant regret washing over him, and the lump forming in his throat restricts him from finding the right words to take them back.

The silence that falls between the two of you this time is different. It's a cold silence. A loud silence.

Jay feels his walls coming back up around him––the ones you managed to get through––and all he wants to do is apologize but he's terrified. Terrified of seeing your reaction, terrified of losing you again. For the second time.

You tell yourself he doesn't mean it. You tell yourself that he's just enduring more pain that one should ever receive.

But you also tell yourself that this wouldn't be the first time Jay leaves you in the dust.

You tell yourself that you're foolish for ever believing a friendship, or more, could come out of this act at the end. That you're so naive for feeling those stupid, stupid butterflies you've started to notice in your stomach whenever you see, or even think of, him.

"Okay," you begin with a firm tone. You're hurt, but you refuse to show it. You won't let him hurt you for a second time. Not again.

"Just...find me when you need me. As your fake girlfriend or just...me. I'm still here for you," is the last thing you say before un-clicking your seatbelt and leaving his car, beginning your walk back to your dorm hall.

Jay is unsure about many things in life. He's unsure about what he wants to do in the future, he's unsure of where he's going to settle in life, heck, he's unsure about what to have for lunch tomorrow. But he's sure about one thing.

That he's wearing his heart on his sleeve right now, and it's all because of you.

That you've become this new lifeline and he has to choose between holding onto you or drowning.

When Jay wakes up the next morning, his first gut instinct is to get ready to pick you up for class. But today's different. Jay doesn't know where the two of you stand now, especially after last night.

Jay doesn't know how to deal with this combination of unknown emotions he's been feeling lately. They didn't come out of no where, by any means, he realizes. They've been slowly growing over the past month of seeing you so often––like a plant he's been watering overtime, not expecting it to bloom into a flower so suddenly––but he figured it was nothing more than just enjoying the company of a friend.

Until he realizes that the term friend just doesn't suite you anymore––not to him, at least. And that scares him. It scares him that you've made him genuinely smile more in this past month than he ever has in his 19 years of living. It scares him that when he's around you he can't comprehend his own thoughts, his feelings. It scares him that you make him vulnerable, that you've changed him. That you've managed to make the walls that he's spent so long building and polishing to crumble with a simple tap of your finger.

In a perfect world, Jay would have already told you all this––he would be unafraid of how you would react, unafraid of your rejection, unafraid of losing this growing relationship with you. But alas, we don't live in a perfect world. And so when Jay drives to class that day, he drives right past your dorm building.

"Where's Y/N?" is the first thing Jake questions when he enters Jay's car that morning, confused by your absence, having been used to you being in the front seat every morning when Jay goes to give Jake rides to class as well.

"I don't know," Jay mutters, unemotional eyes focused on the road in front of him, not interested in continuing a conversation that involves thinking about you.

Jake hesitates as curiosity gets the best of him. "Did you guys get into a fight or something?"

Jay's hands tighten around the steering wheel of his car. "Or something. Let's just leave it at that."

There are a few beats of silence before Jake speaks up again.

"Well, I guess this works out because I wanted to talk to you about something."

Jay continues to stare straight ahead of him, focusing on just trying to get by without mentally beating himself up at the simple thought of you.

The simple thought of you and your smile. Your witty remarks. Your stupid eye rolls. Your laughter. Your kindness. So much for not thinking about you.

"I'm calling it off," Jake's words catch Jay off guard.

"Huh? Calling what off?"

"The bet. I'm calling it off. I don't care about the textbook fees I'll have to pay next semester. Look, fight or not, you and Y/N are good for each other, everyone can see it. And I really don't want this to end up being one of those messed up teen TV shows where the girlfriend finds out the entire relationship was based off of a stupid game and then they break up and the boyfriend falls into eternal sadness and regret. And I don't wanna see you sad, dude. So yeah! Congrats," although he's admitting defeat, Jake's beaming widely, just content with the fact that his best friend has finally found happiness through the form of you. "You win."

But Jay feels like the opposite of a winner. Because even though his only intention coming into this was simply winning the bet, his life isn't as simple as it was a month ago. Because he discovered something much more valuable than some stupid textbook fees or five hundred dollars or getting his physics homework done for an entire semester.

Something he's scared he's already lost.

You.

⸺ ⸺ ⸺ ⸺ ⸺ ⸺ ⸺ ⸺ ⸺ ⸺ ⸺

The next time you see Jay is at the same time and place as when he first ever appeared to pick you up––at 12:17PM on a Friday afternoon, as you're exiting the doors of the lecture building home to your awfully long Capitalism in World History class. This time, however it's different.

Because this time, it's one month later, and Jay Park is no longer a forgotten side character in the story of your life. This time, you're frustrated because it's been three days since you've last heard from Jay. And because it's been three days since you've last heard from him, you can't focus on anything else, and because you can't focus on anything else, you're falling behind on every other aspect in your life. Jay's somehow managed to become the center of your life without even having to be present.

Well, up until now. Up until you go down the steps of your lecture hall's entrance and look up to be met with a figure leaning on a car you're far too familiar with. You freeze in your steps as you make eye contact with the boy you've been thinking about non-stop for the past month three days.

Your mind tells you to walk away, to just follow your flight instinct instead of fight, to just go back to your normal life. But here's the thing. Ever since Jay's made his way back to your life, it's been far from normal.

And if you're being honest, you had no interest in going back to your normal life. Normal's overrated anyways. You find your legs bringing yourself over to him, your heart leading the way.

"Hi," you simply say, planting yourself right in front of him.

"Hi."

"What are you doing here?" You already know the answer, but you want to hear him say it.

"Waiting for you," Jay doesn't hesitate in answering you. This time will be different, he tells himself.

"I can walk myself home, thanks," you state, but your actions tell differently, as you make no sign of moving from your spot in front of him.

Jay's mind contemplates telling you everything. About how he regrets that friendship-breaking decision he made that one fateful day in the eighth grade, about his true feelings, about how he first suspected these feelings when he was 11 years old and saw you in your fancy get-up for the sixth grade dance but put it off as a little crush, and about how the same feelings grew into something so, so much more in the present. But seeing that putting all these thoughts into words would involve more than one functioning brain cell (which is all he's convinced he has in the moment, for the view of you staring up at him, looking like that, has his brain short-circuiting), he settles with:

"He called it off. It's over. The bet."

"Oh."

Silence.

Okay, Jay. This is your chance. Say it.

"Is that it?" You lift an eyebrow, awaiting for more explanation. When it doesn't come, you slightly nod and start backing away. "I'll see you around then."

Is that it? Do the two of you just go back to your respective lives now? How can Jay do that, when he doesn't even recall what his life was like before you entered it––and especially when he has absolutely no interest in going back to that life?

Fuck it.

"Y/N!" He stands up straight, a newfound confidence taking over. This time will be different, he tells himself. Because now, he knows what he wants. For sure.

You turn towards him, to see him already making his way towards you, stopping in his steps when he finds himself close enough to you that he can't concentrate anymore.

"I'm sorry for ditching you in the eighth grade. I'm sorry for ignoring you since then. I'm sorry for dragging you into this stupid mess and for pushing you away and I'm sorry for calling you a toy. Because it's far from truth. I like you. A lot. And––and I'm scared. I'm scared of what this means for us, because I just keep messing things up and all I know is that I don't wanna wake up tomorrow and realize you're not in my life anymore and––"

"Woah, woah, Jay. Slow down," you look up at him, the corners of your lips threatening to curve up into a smile. "You're an idiot, you know."

Jay's never really confessed his feelings to anyone before, per say, so he doesn't really know what to expect. But he's watched enough Netflix rom-coms in this lifetime (which is still not that many) to know that hearing the words "you're an idiot" isn't what you're supposed to hear after pouring your heart and soul out. Surely not, right?

"I––I'm not sure how to respond to that," he quietly says, searching your eyes for a sign, for anything. You giggle at his sudden shyness as you grab both his arms and look at him right in the eyes.

"It's okay. I get it, if anything, I'm also scared. But you somehow got me wrapped around your stupid finger, and I hate it," you smirk at him, your hands slowly making their way up his arms to circle around his neck.

Jay's hands naturally fall at your waist as he lets out a breathe he didn't even know he was holding as he returns your smirk. "Well, I could say the same about you. And I also hate it, for your information."

"Hmm, is that so? I guess it cancels out then, right?" You smile at him as he's pulling you in so close, your head turns cloudy.

Jay grins at you, his eyes holding so much joy and endearment as they quickly flicker down to your lips before returning to your own eyes. "I guess this only means one thing then."

"Mm, and what's that?"

And before Jay can answer––and because your life's been anything but normal lately––you make the first move this time, moving your head up to close the small gap between the two of you.

His arms instinctively tighten around you as you capture his lips with your very own, and Jay swears he's about to lift off into space right now. He's on cloud nine, and he makes no plans to touch the ground ever again.

The kiss quickly becomes fervent, all the pent-up tension that the two of you had for one another finally finding its way out, all the words that were previously left unsaid finally expressing themselves. You don't even care if you're being judged by the conservative faculty members of your school right now, or by the looks of fellow students walking past the two of you.

You try your best to keep yourself from smiling as he continues to press his lips against yours, his hand moving to hold your chin, guiding your mouth with his.

Before you find yourself getting carried away, you step back to take a breath, resting your forehead against his chest as his hands rest against your back. He smiles at the sound of you giggling against him.

Jay takes a step back to take one look at you and realizes, in this moment, that change can be good. And he's willing to undergo this change. As long as it's with you.

⸺ ⸺ ⸺ ⸺ ⸺ ⸺ ⸺ ⸺ ⸺ ⸺ ⸺

The next morning, you bounce down the steps of your dorm building's entrance to meet the wide, bright smile of your ex-childhood-bestfriend-turned-fake-boyfriend-turned-real-boyfriend waiting for you in front of his car, small pastry bag in hand. You smile back at him.

Jay drives you to class that day.

And everyday after that.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ :

✰ let me know what you think! if u made it til the end, mwah :') <3

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mistiell · 3 years ago

Text

Emotions are Great, Aren’t They?

Viktor x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Viktor have been dancing around each other’s feelings for years, both convinced the other doesn’t feel the same way. When Sky enters the picture, clearly head over heels for the man, you can’t help but feel jealous. Viktor notices, and finally decides to take matters into his own hands.

You’d met Viktor during your second year of schooling at the academy. You’d bumped into him in the library a few times, both of you having had a tendency to study into the early hours of the morning. This was your fifth time seeing him here and you had never once spoken to him. You wanted to, of course. You normally had little problem striking up a conversation with someone, but he always seemed so enthralled with whatever he was doing that you felt bad disturbing him.

He was currently hunched over a notebook filled with damn near illegible calculations. He’d been scribbling away for what you assumed was hours. You couldn’t remember the last time he’d paused to think. You looked up from your own notes to glance at his. You had somehow managed to decipher some of his borderline inane ramblings in that split second glance. An impressive feat given his handwriting and the fact that you were reading upside down.

“That’s supposed to be a one, not a two.” You stated, watching him startle and look up at you.

You had to stop yourself from laughing at his expression. He looked genuinely shocked that anyone was speaking to him, gazing at you with wide eyes. You wondered for a moment if he had even noticed you sit down in front of him however many hours ago.

You watched his brows furrow, “What?”

His accent caught you off guard. You found it strange that he somehow set your heart aflutter with a single syllable. You flushed and cleared your throat, “Your equation. Um,” you leaned over the table to point at his page, “This one.”

He followed your finger to the equation you were pointing at and stared at it in confusion, scanning the previous steps for errors. His tongue darted out to wet his lips briefly and you chanced a glance at them. They were slightly chapped. Your gaze travelled over the rest of his face, taking in his features. He was strikingly handsome. High cheek bones and a defined jawline. His hair was slightly mussed up, no doubt due to the countless times he’d run his fingers through it. And his eyes.

Gods, his eyes.

His eyes were like pools of liquid gold, highlighted in the moonlight filtering into the library. If you squinted, you could spot little speckles of bronze glinting in those honey coloured hues. A look of realization overtook the frown that was previously plastered to his face and he looked back up at you in wonder.

“You, uhm...understand this stuff?” You knew his question wasn’t meant to offend by the genuine curiosity in his gaze.

“To a degree, yeah,” He started erasing his mistake as you continued talking, “I had to take a math course last year and I recognized the equation. It’s a common mistake. I can’t count how many times I made that one.”

He chuckled at that and you couldn’t help but laugh along with him.

“Hey, what’s your name?” You ask, heart beating a little faster than it should be.

“It’s Viktor,” He smiles, “Yours?”

“Y/n.”

From then on, you’d gotten to know each other better and had eventually become close friends. You’d graduated from your program and gotten a job as a professor at the academy while Viktor had started working on HexTech with Jayce. You’ve formed a close bond with the two of them over the years. You grade papers in the lab, bring them coffee when they’re working late into the night. You also help them with their research whenever you have the time and actually understand what they’re working on. As of right now, everything in your life seems to be going pretty well.

Except for one small problem.

You are deeply and irrevocably in love with your best friend.

Which wouldn’t be a problem if he felt the same. However, you think- no, you know, that that’s not the case. Viktor, as you had learned over the years, wasn’t typically one for romantics, opting instead to pour all of his focus into his academic endeavors. You’d tried dropping subtle hints at the beginning. Flirting disguised as playful teasing, letting your thigh touch his whenever you sat next to each other, hugs that lasted just a little longer than they should. He never seemed uncomfortable. He always teased you back, never moved his leg away from yours. He’d even been the one to hold you a little longer than necessary when you hugged sometimes. For awhile, you could pretend that he really did return your feelings.

But then he pulled away.

You don’t know why it happened. All you know is that he suddenly started clamming up whenever you tried to express your affection. You figured he’d finally realized why you were doing what you were doing and wanted to let you down easy. So, you stopped. You were still close, of course. You both moved on relatively easily.

Actually, that’s a lie.

He seemed to move on relatively easily.

You, on the other hand, did not.

No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t suppress your feelings for him. You’d do well for awhile. You’d go a few days with him crossing your mind only a few times during the day. But the next thing you know, you’re staring at him from across the lab like a pathetic little love sick puppy. However, selfish as it was, you were content in the knowledge that despite not feeling the same for you, he also wasn’t pursuing anyone else.

Then Sky entered the equation.

She, too, was clearly in love with Viktor. Every time she’d enter the lab, you couldn’t stop the scowl that contorted your features. You knew it wasn’t her fault. You had to admit, she’s actually really sweet. But that’s what makes her even more infuriating. She was so sweet it was almost sickening and somehow, Viktor had seemed to take a liking to her. Maybe it was just in your head, but you could’ve sworn you’d caught him staring at her. The same way you stare at him whenever he’s working.

Somewhere along the way, you’d started filling that emptiness in your chest with meaningless flings. It started at an event of some sort at the academy. You can’t remember what it was for, all you cared about was that it was a distraction from the way Sky was practically throwing herself at Viktor. You’d been sitting at the bar when someone, you think his name was Mark but you were too drunk to be sure, approached you. He flirted with you and you flirted back. When he offered to take you home, you figured you might as well. So what if Viktor doesn’t want you? This guy sure does.

From then on, it became a sort of habit for you to find someone to go home with every time you attended an event. Sure, you weren’t proud of it, but it beat sitting alone all night. However, it didn’t happen every time, so you guess that’s one less thing to feel bad about.

It never mattered how many people you romanced, though. It never helped quell your feelings for Viktor.

And yet, here you sit at the bar of yet another gala. You’re wearing a gorgeous viridian dress that’s made of a very expensive satin, flirting with the first guy you’d laid eyes on. You’re sure you’d feel ashamed if it weren’t for the alcohol coursing through your system. Just before you can leave with him, however, a certain someone intervenes.

“Excuse me, can I borrow her for a moment?” You’d recognize that accent anywhere.

“Viktor?” Low and behold, there he stands. He’s wearing a red button down with a black vest over top and holy shit, is he hot.

No.

Stop that, Y/n.

“Actually, we were just about to-.” Viktor cuts the man off with a tense smile.

“Thanks, we’ll be right back.” He grasps your arm, leading you out of the crowded room and into some abandoned hallway. You can still hear the classical music playing ever so softly in the distance.

“What do you want, Viktor.” You can’t stop the bitterness from seeping into your tone. You almost feel bad at the way his face falls but your mood is far too sour and you’re far to drunk to truly care at the moment.

“What is going on?” There’s some semblance of what you think is hurt in his voice and you scoff.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do. I know something is wrong so you might as well just tell me.”

“You’re smart, you figure it out.” You aren’t entirely sure why you’re being so hostile. It doesn’t feel good. You don’t like speaking to him this way. You’re just so fed up with trying to pretend that everything is fine. The growing resentment towards your own emotions has to come out somehow.

Guess this is how it’s manifesting.

“I-.” He swallows and huffs, expression twisting in frustration, “I’m not a mind reader, Y/n. I can’t simply know what you’re thinking.”

“Well then why don’t you ask Sky. She always seems ready to scramble to help you with whatever you want.” You know it doesn’t make sense. You know you aren’t making a very convincing argument.

“She’s my assistant. That’s her job.” The look on his face is the same look he gets when he’s focused on a particularly difficult equation. He’s studying you. Analyzing your face, your posture, the way you avert your gaze and squirm under his own, the sheer intensity of it making your cheeks flush and your knees grow weak, “What do you have against her? She has been nothing but kind to you.”

“She’s done nothing but swoon over your every action since she started working here! Excuse me for getting a little fed up with the flirting!” You’re raising your voice now and he’s clearly growing irritated.

“What does it matter if she’s flirting with me? Why... why would that bother you?”

You hate that his voice stays steady while yours trembles with raw, unbridled emotion. You hate that he has this kind of hold on you. You want to scream, cry, lash out at him for not understanding how much he’s hurt you, unknowingly or otherwise.

So that’s what you do.

“Why does it bother me? Are you serious?” You shout, tears wetting your lashes as you come closer so that your faces are mere inches apart, “We’ve been best friends for years and she waltzes in and suddenly you barely even look at me! I’ve been there for you through everything and suddenly some new piece of ass enters the picture and I’m no longer of importance? Gods, Viktor, I’ve been in love with you for years. I even thought you felt the same once upon a time! How-, how is it that you fell for her first?”

“You-, you what?” He gapes at you.

Oh fuck.

“I-,” Your heart drops to your stomach as you scramble to fix your mistake, “I don’t-, I didn’t mean-.”

Before you can finish, he crashes his lips against yours. It takes you a moment to register what’s happening, but when you do, you melt into his embrace. He pulls you flush against him by the small of your back and your hands slide up the sides of his neck, lacing themselves in his hair. He smells like vanilla with a hint of motor oil. Fitting for him, you think. Your heart is pounding and his touch leaves jolts of electricity dancing across your skin. You feel light and overwhelmed and alive in every sense of the word.

When you finally part, it takes a moment for you to open your eyes. When you do, you find him looking at you with something almost unbearably soft in his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” His voice is barely above a whisper as he thumbs your tears away, “If I knew, I would have done that sooner.”

“What about Sky?” You sniff, watching his expression carefully.

He brushes a strand of your hair behind your ear and sighs, “She’s not you.”

You swear your heart would’ve burst if it could. He presses your foreheads together and brushes his nose against yours.

“Viktor?” Jayce rounds the corner and you both look at him like you’d been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to.

“Oh my god, finally!” He exclaims and your face twists in confusion, “It’s about time you two got together.”

“Wh- You knew?” Viktor asks, staring at his friend with an almost exasperated look on his face.

“Of course I knew! Everyone does! Except you two, apparently.” He laughs, “Speaking of, Mel owes me 10 bucks. Excuse me, love birds.”

The two of you look back at each other with absolutely bewildered expressions on your face and burst out laughing.

When you calm down, you set your hands on either side of his face and brush your thumbs over his cheek bones, “Do you want to go get coffee with me this weekend? Finally have an official first date?”

“I would love to, my dear.” He smiles and leans down to peck your lips softly.

It took years to get here, but suddenly, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that Viktor is here and he’s kissing you and Gods, it’s everything you could’ve ever imagined. And now that you have it, you’re never going to let this feeling go.

__________________________________________

A/N: This was long as hell and took for fucking ever to finish. I’m not a huge fan of the ending but I hope you enjoyed!

#arcane #arcane x reader #arcane x y/n #arcane x you #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor x y/n #viktor x you

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kira-fluff · 4 years ago

Note

Heeey!

Saeyoung, Yoosung, Jumin and Zen reacting to to “hotel only one bed” trope ? ♥️

a/n: of course you can lovely! <3 *AHEM* Lemme just say this trope is ELITE and I will NEVER not love it // also, i’m writing it like it’s before they’re dating (OF COURSE) because I want it to be spicy (actually that’s the only thing that would make sense for this prompt but you get my point whatever). ALSO also I’m basing the fancy hotel off my stay at the Ritz Carlton (it was like $25,000 a night) because my grandma couldn’t manage money N E WAYSS. Also, if y’all could let me know whether you prefer Y/N to MC pls lmk k thx

TW: drunk old lady w/no filter, gets pretty suggestive because I couldn’t help myself, an overbearing aunt, savage Italians, and loud hotel neighbor

Note: omfg i accidentally made this so long oh well here’s yo present lmao

“There’s only one bed” PT.1 PT.2

Saeyoung

Getaway missions are mad cool until you can’t sleep

When you finally neared the parking entrance to your hotel you were SO looking forward to taking a nice hot shower before shimming into the covers of your crisp, (clean, you hoped) sheets.

It was past 3AM when Saeyoung finally drove his elegant vehicular device (because what other word is there for it) into a secured parking space

“Because I don’t trust those shady valets, y/n.”

“Whatever you say, Seven”, you replied groggily.

You hauled ass up to the front desk, then to the elevator of the exquisite hotel you were staying at

not that you cared

because S L E E P

but Saeyoung likes to quote Jurassic Park (because of course he does) like “I spare no expense, y/n”

“I’m too tired to laugh”

*gASP*

“Not everyone naturally stays up until the early morning light before going to sleep.”

“It really should become a thing, it’s honestly very iconic of me.” (it’s not)

By the time your conversation ended you were glad to see your hotel number and a little key card slot.

Saeyoung made a show of sticking the key card in like a spy or something

it was funny for normal y/n but not for tired y/n

“Here’s your room, M’lady.”

He held the door open to your room as you looked around the room

a large, lush bed set before a ginormous flat screen TV with complimentary expensive chocolates laid before you as well as complimentary take-home elegant towels and slippers.

suddenly, you heard a knock on the door

blinking in confusion, you opened to see it was Saeyoung

“Um.. hey! What’s up?”

Saeyoung looked a bit bewildered himself before saying,

“Hey, so, I realized my key card was the same room number as yours and I was like ‘That’s weird!’ so I called the front desk who verified that I had placed a reservation for one room, not two, so I hacked into their system to see what went wrong and if I could change it but it looks like they’re completely booked and I think I had made the reservation before I knew that you had to come along and I’m so sorry”

he was breathless after the mouthful he just gave you

As it was 3AM a drunk, old woman was tripping her way to her room and shouted much louder than she should at 3AM, “Kiss her already n’ fuck, ya youngin’s!”

Saeyoung’s hair now matched his face :)

His ears were tipped bright red before coughing awkwardly

“I can sleep on the ground. I’ve done it plenty of times, it’s actually pretty comfy.”

“Um, Sev’ I’m not going to make you just sleep on the floor. If you want--”

“You’re not making me, y/n, I want to do this”

“Actually I think I’ll sleep on the floor, I sleep a lot better on the ground”, you fibbed.

“You’re sleeping on that big ass bed.”

“No you are.”

“If you don’t listen I’ll sleep in the bath tub instead of the floor.”

“Then I’LL sleep outside the room!”

“LIKE HELL YOU WILL!”

“WATCH ME”

the phone rang, a worker politely asking you to quiet a bit down because even with your luxurious privacy walls, guests could still hear you arguing.

Saeyoung began whisper shouting, “Guess that settles it.”

he plopped on the ground, fake snoring with his arm as a pillow

you sighed

“Fine, if neither of us are going to agree to this then we are both going to sleep in this bed.”

Saeyoung blushed lightly at your boldness, a tad worried you’d find him creepy or weird

You started again, beginning to undress a little, causing Seven to yelp in panic and turn around immediately, shielding his eyes,

Now in your tank top and your leggings you’d been wearing under sweatpants and a t-shirt, you said, “I’m gonna go take a quick shower and go to bed. I’m so tired.”

Seven turned around only when he’d heard the bathroom door shut

he sighed, What am I going to do with this girl.

By the time you’d come out of the bathroom, drying your wet hair, Seven was lying on the bed, clad in casual t-shirt and jeans.

“Come on, Saeyoung, you have comfy clothes! It’s okay, change! I’m done in the bathroom now.”

“Nah, this is fine.” This was not fine. Saeyoung was out of his area of expertise of expecting the unexpected because God you were so unpredictable.

“Please” you jutted out your bottom lip in a little pout, being sure to make eye contact with him

Something glowered in his eyes for a split second before he half-smiled saying, “Ah, little Y/n, you know I can’t say no to you when you go all sad on me.”

He stepped into the bathroom to change, but let’s be honest. He was freaking the fuck out.

he covered his flushed face, changing into his soft sweatpants and a cozy sweatshirt. he was scared

the more comfortable he became the more likely he’d accidentally get closer to you and then you’d freak out because you’d hear the sound of his heart beat like it’s a fucking rave concert and then you’d be weirded forever and quite possibly never talk to him again

but on the outside, he stepped out of the bathroom, whipping his phone out with a huge smirk saying, “Smile”

you threw up a peace sign with your tongue sticking out

he laughed before sending it to the RFA chat

707: Sleepover lolol [see attachment]

immediately both your phones blew up with buzzes of notifications from the chat

you laughed lightly, brushing a stray hair from your face to tuck it behind your ear

this was gonna be a long night for Seven.

Zen: UGH get away from her!!!!!!!!!111!!1!!

Jumin: Maybe you should learn to type first.

Zen: shut it cat freak

Zen: seven answer

Zen: hey

Zen: y/n, text “qwerty” if you’re in any kind of danger

Jumin: What a strange code.

You: qwerty :(

707: lololololol

Zen: !!!!!

Zen: ASJDHKJFASHFKJA

Jumin: -_-

Zen: WE NEED A CAR, NO A HELICOPTER im omw!!

You: just kidding <3 i’m fine you guys

707: lololol

Jumin: Have a bit more faith in your subordinates, Zen.

You closed the chat and muted your phone, expecting the incoming argument that was quickly to ensue.

You patted the bed lightly, ushering Saeyoung to lie down next to you.

He obliged, though he politely laid at the far edge of the left side of the bed.

You yawned before shutting the light off and whispering a “good night”.

Saeyoung glanced at the clock. 4AM. Only 15 minutes had passed. You were breathing softly in your sleep within the 10 minutes after you’d said goodnight and here he was still awake.

You suddenly tousled in your sleep, and Saeyoung raised his head, whispering a soft, “Did I wake you up?”

You replied with a soft moan before abruptly turning left onto his corner of the bed and grabbing for the first thing you’d felt -- his torso.

Saeyoung’s breath hitched as he felt you exploring the new found “object”, running your fingers up and down his torso and nearing dangerous areas below

Saeyoung whisper-shouted, “What are you doing?”

He leaned closer to hear your reply, but your only answer was more soft little snores

Saeyoung sighed, trying to lightly grab your wrists without waking you up, and directing toward yourself

no matter how hard he’d try, your arms kept finding his own

your nails would softly ghost over his chest or neck, causing him to shiver and blush profusely

again, he sighed, trying his hardest not to give into your sleepy state

until you broke him with a soft utterance, “Sae....young..”

Saeyoung’s eyes widened to the size of saucers before he dared to look down at you, your hair curling on the bed every which-way.. your mouth slightly agap...

he groaned, his brows furrowed and his eyes shut

at last he slunk his arms around your torso, being sure to respectfully keep them high around your waist

he buried his face in the crook of your neck to subconsciously try to hide his ever growing blush (and erection)

I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this ‘friend’ thing when you’re driving me this crazy, y/n.

You awoke to a sleeping Saeyoung, his toned arms enveloping your small body in a hug

shamelessly, you laid still for a few moments longer.

Yoosung

this bean is lonely uwu

so when he’d invited to you go with him on a trip his uncle had paid for, you felt bad saying “yes” because it’s a paid trip!!

until he begged you because his cousin Chaewon would be there and he was always really pushy and borderline a huge fuck boi

so you conceded

but hey free trip for the both of you minus shitty family gatherings with no one you know, right?!

you hope there’s at least one dog. and alcohol.

dog + alcohol at a party = an actual fun fucking time

you were glad Yoosung was there with you because he honestly couldn’t agree with you more

You opened your beach-side resort room to find there’s only one bed.

Yoosung blanched and quickly dialed his auntie, who’d made the resort reservations

“Ah...hi auntie! Um, how come there isn’t a separate room for me and y/n?”

his aunt cackled into the phone, “Aren’t you an old fashioned little gentlemen!!! Awe~~~ you’ve grown up to be such a good boy! <3 Well don’t worry, I won’t say a word to my sister or your pops. Enjoy the time you have with your adorable girlfriend and get it on a little!! I’ve got condoms if ya need ‘em honey~~ Remember dearie, when the shlong is not covered, the child support better be.”

Yoosung hurriedly hung up the phone, his face completely red, praying you hadn’t heard the conversation that’d just ensued.

You did

but you smile and say, “So.. what’d they say?”

He cleared his throat before saying, “Well, --err.. Basically there’s been a little mishap. B-but don’t worry!! I can just ask Chaewon if I can spend the night in his room.”

“Didn’t you say he leaves a sock on the door handle every time--”

“YES but I want you to be comfortable, okay! It’s really not a big deal.”

You shyly smiled while looking down before softly saying, “You can sleep with me.”

Yoosung’s eyes widened and you quickly looked up, your face flushing to a deep crimson

“I-I-I meant in the bed!!! With me. We can lie together. In the bed---- I mean we--”

Yoosung could practically see the steam coming out of your ears and the room felt a LOT hotter

“S-sure! Sounds great.” he had a feeling if you didn’t agree you’d end up embarrassing yourself further.. and he didn’t want you to feel bad. And he didn’t want those thoughts circulating his mind again.

“Alright, so I’m going to hop in the shower, y/n... unless you want to go first?”

Gulping down some complimentary water you’d found in the hotel mini fridge, you quickly replied with a shake of your head.

Nodding, Yoosung make quick work of washing his hair and trying to give himself a pep talk before he would be sleeping next to you.

Thankful for the big size of the resort bed, you climbed under the covers, already beginning to feel sleep take you

When Yoosung had at last dried himself off and walked out to the bed area of the resort room, he gazed at how small you looked, hugging a soft pillow in your arms, your eyes fluttered shut

He looked away, feeling like a creep.

He shut off the light after making a call to the resort staff to wake him up at 8AM as directed by his uncle’s itinerary

He slid under the covers, shoving a pillow in between the two of you as a little border to separate the two of you

it wasn’t until further in the night when Yoosung had felt a jolt and he looked up in panic, through the blackness recognizing the pillow-border had been cast onto the ground

and even more noticeably, your leg was swung over his hip, your body flush to his own

your arms were snaked around his neck

he felt like he could feel every inch of you

your soft breath just below his ear

your soft .. er.. chest... against his torso

your stomach and .. the rest of it... against his own

Yoosung could not breathe

like someone actually help this man for he is losing oxygen by the minute

He squeezed his eyes shut and make the executive decision to wait it out til morning

he was terrified that if he’d move you, you’d wake up and see just how much you affect him.

And so, when the phone rang that morning, you’d startled, looking up to see your tangled limbs lying on top of his own

“oH MY GOD I’M SO SORRY YOOSUNG UGH IT’S A HABIT OF MINE AHAHHSAHDAJSHS”

he looked at you with eyes that had noticeable circles under them (darker than even after his LOLOL gaming)

“you look like you didn’t sleep much.... --- Is it because of me!? Oh my god I’m so sorry you should’ve just shoved me off or something seriously I didn’t mean to do it on purpose, honest!!”

“N-no, no it’s really not!! I promise!!” He tried his best to grin, though it probably looked like a grimace, because the next thing you said was, “I’ll make it up to you”

“You don’t need to do that. Really, I liked it.”

It took a moment for him to realize what he just said.

“I-I mean I like you! I mean I liked sleeping with you!!! I mean--!!”

Yoosung was quickly spinning circles in his mind

you couldn’t help the little giggle that came out of your mouth, “I guess we’re pretty similar, huh?”

Yoosung smiled lightly, “Yeah, guess so.”

You walked out together toward the breakfast area of the resort

“Hey”, you started, “Is.. Did you mean what you said? About liking me?”

Yoosung glanced away, taking a deep breath before saying, “Yeah, yeah I did. I really like you.”

You couldn’t hold back the big ol’ smile that took over your face as you proudly declared, “Me too!!”

Right when Yoosung was going to go in for a kiss, he saw his auntie suddenly right next to the both of you

“Oh my GOD when did you get here?!”

She smirked, “My question first, dearie, what did you two like?”

Neither of you answered, your cheeks growing red

“You know, the first time your uncle did it with me I felt the same way. Like, what a man! Must run in the fam--”

“OKAY! THANK YOU FOR THAT AUNTIE BUT BREAKFAST IS CALLING MY NAME MM SMELLS GOOD SEE YOU LATER.”

Your blush didn’t leave you as you smeared strawberry cream cheese on your toasted bagel

This trip was going to be very VERY difficult. Thank God there was alcohol. And Yoosung. And probably dogs. And Yoosung.

Yeah.

Gotta love relatives.

Jumin

You received a call from a stern voice you didn’t recognize

<<“Hello. This is Mr. Han’s chauffeur. I’m approximately 6.3 miles away from your residence. Do not worry about clothes or other necessities. All will be provided for you.”>>

“Uh.. thanks? Where....?”

<<“Mr. Han has invited you to join him on his stay at the Ppalgan Vineyard Estates. Have you not received the notification?”>>

You glanced at your phone, seeing two unread messages on your phone.

You read them, feeling bad you hadn’t seen them before.

“Yes, yes of course. Thank you. Tell him I said thank you. Are you sure it’s okay for me to attend?”

<<“Miss Y/L/N, Mr. Han gave me specific instructions to assure you would be able to come with him. I have been ordered to give 2 minute updates following your being picked up. I can assure you, it is his utmost wish that you join him this weekend. I’d be honored to thank him on your behalf, though I feel it would mean much more to him if you said it to him rather than me.” >>

“You’re right, thank you. And thanks for driving me. And for all the other stuff you said”, you replied nervously.

<<”There is no need to thank me, Miss. I am glad to serve Mr. Han in anyway I can.”>>

The call hung up before you could spout out more thank yous

you phone buzzed, startling you.

you clicked the notification

<<(XXX-XXX-XXXX HAN COMPANIES) I’ve arrived at your residence. Let me know if there is anything I can carry for you. Sent 13:52>>

You quickly texted a reply of gratitude before rushing down the stairs out of your apartment, not wanting to make Jumin’s chauffeur wait.

“Good to see you Miss Y/L/N. Is there anything I can get you? I have been given orders to purchase anything you may want or need on our way to the airport.”

He quickly texted something on his phone, presumably a text to Jumin about your safe arrival to his limo.

“A-airport? You mean, like, flying? Are you sure I don’t need my wallet? It’s not too late for me to go grab it, right? I have my debit card on my phone too, otherwise.”

“Miss Y/L/N you are not to spent a single won on this vacation. All is paid for.”

“But my clothes... I don’t want Jumin to have to pay for all new things!!”

"I assure you, money is not something Mr. Han wishes for you to be concerned with.”

You’d stayed silent at that, feeling bad that you’d already bothered the poor man who’d just been ordered to drive you, not reassure you of Jumin’s financial affairs.

You grew quiet, looking out the window as trees, streets, and cars zoomed past you.

“If you so wish, there are numerous meals options in the compartments below the seats as well as alcohol, carbonated beverages and iced water glasses. You are, of course, welcome to any of these. Please do not hesitate to notify me if there is something you’d like instead. We’d glad to make it a regular option in all of our limousines.”

You flushed, embarrassed at the amount of power Jumin’s words, and effectively, your own seemed to have on the entire Han Conglomerate as a whole. You laughed a little, it was funny thinking to yourself that you had so much power as to decide snack options for Jumin’s cars.

Jumin was extra like that, he always went above and beyond to make you comfortable. You loved that about him. It made you feel a little spoiled, so you instinctively rejected most offers at things that seemed to further complicate his worker’s duties.

You had no idea that when the chauffeur had said airport he meant the Han Private Airway Transportation Zone.

As in... private jet.

It was hard not to feel like you were in a whole different world.

Not that Jumin treated you that way... but it was hard not to notice!

You bowed in thanks to the driver before hastily finding your way to the nearest man standing in another black suit, his hands folded together in front of him.

As soon as you uttered your name, his whole demeanor changed and he instantly had gone from cool and collected to humble and overwhelmingly kind.

He’d quickly made his way to the boarding area, escorting you to the jet before leaving you at a polite distance way from Jumin who’d been looking at you from the moment you’d entered the aircraft.

His eyes searched your own as you’d yet to discover his presence

He couldn’t help but rake his eyes up and down your body, admiring the way you could look just in anything.

He at last saw you searching the spacious cabin, at last laying eyes on him.

His heart pounded faster, as if your noticing him made his heart leap in joy

You looked relieved and smiled, running over to him and sitting down next to him

“Hi Jumin!! Oh, should I be calling you Mr. Han? That’s what your chauffeur called you.. sorry if that’s what I should’ve been addressing you as!!”

His deep voice rumbled in your ear, causing you to shudder, “Jumin is fine.”

You gazed up at him through your lashes, noticing the way his perfectly tailored vest made him look so... well... for lack of better word...hot.

“Wow. You look...” Your eyes moved from his hair, to his face, to his neck, to his torso, slowly to his groin, to his legs... before you realized what you’d been doing and quickly your eyes shot up again.

You bit your lip, “You look nice.”

“Nice?”

You laughed shyly, and slightly (embarrassingly) breathless, “Yeah. Yeah you do. Nice.”

Jumin couldn’t help the sly smile he’d been holding back before replying, “You look beautiful.”

You flushed and looked down, squirming in your seat a little before looking at him once more, offering a small, “..thank you..”

After a few minutes of silence, you’d decided to change the subject, chattering on about how you wondered what this mysterious vacation would hold

Jumin couldn’t help is concentration half on every word you were saying, but also your lips. Slowly licking his own, he nodded along when you’d gotten especially enthusiastic, grinning slightly when you’d gotten so excited you’d leapt out of your luxury seat.

Within a half hour of the trip to your destination in Italy, Jumin had trouble concentrating on much else.

Get it together, Jumin, you’re not some fool like Zen.

It’d gotten worse the more you’d leaned further in your seat, your chest becoming slightly exposed

he covered his mouth with a hand, opting for looking out one of the many windows of the jet.

You’d always caught his attention and made him lose his focus -- something he’d never lost before he met you

He blamed the strawberry sent that you’d always carried with you

He wasn’t much for expensive, faux perfume that so many of his father’s skanks would wear... it was like no other.

After a few hours of grueling torture on your part (though you hadn’t know every single time you’d grabbed his hand or arm it’d sent his heart on a sky dive) Jumin was glad to have arrived in the gorgeous Italian acreage of the countryside.

It was even more beautiful at the dusk of night, you’d decided

Immediately a shiny vehicle pulled up, ready to transport you and Jumin to the estate you were to be residing in for the weekend.

Upon pulling into the culdesac, you almost scoffed at the word “estate” -- it was more of a country in and of itself, land stretched beyond what you could see

The mansion itself stood on pillars and high, Gothic windows.

Inside, flying buttresses decorated the building, giving it an elegant and aged ambiance that you just adored

“It’s so beautiful.”

He smiled at you then, watching you take in the wonders he’d realized he took for granted.

He was then directed to a double-door entrance way, “Your room, Mr. Han, Miss Y/L/N.”

“Separate, correct?”

The man stood in surprise, looking slightly aghast, “T-they never specified such details.”

“Contact them immediately to confirm. I’ll work it out from there.”

“Yes, Mr. Han.” From there, the man scurried away to contact the head of the estate.

After a few moments, he returned, “The Rossi Conglomerate had assumed that you’d brought your fiance with you.”

“Did you mention I don’t have one?”

“Y-yes, of course! But, Mr. Han, your father--”

Jumin sighed, “I’ll take care of it.” with a wave of his hand, the man was gone

You thanked him on his way out.

Jumin looked at you, searching for a reaction of displeasure or worry

When he didn’t find one, he began, “I was notified the Rossi had booked their other estates to their American investors. My being here is a formality, but it is business. It would be a great discourtesy to demand--”

You smiled reassuringly, “Jumin, don’t worry about it.. we’ll share the bed, okay?” You held your hand in his own, rubbing soothing circles on his knuckles.

Jumin looked at you, choking on his spit slightly.

“Y/N you do understand that--”

“It’s fine, Jumin!! It’s late already, I’ll just put up my hair.. and.. do you know where the night clothes would be?”

He watched as you fixed a bobby pin between your teeth before running your fingers through your hair, watching as you arched your back to--

“Jumin? ...you don’t know?”

He cleared his throat, looking away, pink dusting his cheeks

“Bathroom.”

You thanked him, unaware of his watchful eyes

It had been a few seconds since you’d entered the bathroom before he heard a loud and alarmed, “..UM....JUMIN...?!”

He’d quickly made his way into the bathroom

“What’s wro--”

He looked and laying on the long granite island of the large bathroom was a silky set of lingerie as well as a note in Italian you couldn’t read.

Jumin’s words stopped dead on his lips as he stared at you, then the silky underwear set, you, silky underwear, you.......silky underwear.

On the outside, Jumin liked to think he came off as calm and collected, saying, “I can get you something else to wear.”

But when he’d made it two steps out of the bathroom he had a little collision. And by collision, I mean his face.. and the wall.

He looked in every drawer, finding nothing. He presumed clothes would be delivered as specified. But it was late already.. their servants are dismissed, only the protective guards surrounded the inside and outside of the estate.. explaining the situation to them didn’t seem very promising.

Of course you were kicking yourself, before you’d found their little....gift... you’d cast your days clothes into the washer. They were probably soaked by now.

Maybe I could use a hair dryer...? Or I could stuff them in the dryer??

Either way you’d be without clothes for.. too long.

And nothing would be greater punishment then showing all that in front of the man you had completely fallen for...

You heard a knock on the bathroom door. You listened from inside.

“Hey, I, uh, couldn’t find anything. Do you think you could wear your clothes from today?”

You whimpered, on the verge of tears, “I already put it in the washer!”

He knocked again, “Can I hand you something?”, he asked, undoing the buttons of his formal shirt.

“C-close your eyes!”

Jumin chuckled darkly before covering his eyes and handing her his collared shirt

“I’d give you the pants, too, but I don’t think they’d really fit you. Could you look at what they’d provided for me? Maybe slip on something from mine.”

“N-no! That’d be even worse for me!! .. and you!” You blushed again imagining him half naked

You hurriedly shuffled through the drawers, but to no avail.

You gulped, slipping on the lingerie to ensure that maybe something would be covered before buttoning Jumin’s formal shirt on you as well.

it was so big it didn’t leave much for the imagination

but you decided through a 10 minute pep talk that you’d suck it up and try your best to make his shirt into a night gown.

You at last stepped out of the bathroom, Jumin’s head shooting toward the sudden noise before taking you in

He could scarcely breathe, much less come up with a coherent sentence

you were in his shirt...

with barely any clothes on underneath

and you looked up at him shyly, biting your lip a little

drawing even more attention to your lips

Jumin had to stifle a groan, opting to head to the bathroom to change

After splashing some cold water on his face in a poor attempt to get his head out of the gutter, he quickly got on his pjs

after you both were ready for bed, Jumin sat on the bed, opening a small novel he’d been enjoying, Anthem.

His attention was immediately diverted from the dystopian fiction when he saw you were stretching

His shirt rode up high as he took in the way the lingerie perfect accentuated your curves, though it didn’t cover much below the waist

Noticing your folly, your eyes widened in shock before you immediately put your hands down

which, just your luck, made it all worse.

the sudden movement disheveled the shirt, causing it to ride down completely on one side, openly displaying the soft brassiere beneath it

Jumin slammed his book so hard it left an echo in the large room.

Great. He couldn’t even make it look like his book was suddenly unbelievably interesting that he just so happened to not take notice of the obvious sight before him.

You blanched, feeling a breeze along your shoulder, gasping before running to your side of the bed and pretending you don’t exist anymore

Meanwhile Jumin is in a c r i s i s

In the most eloquent of words, his mind said holy fucking motherfucking shit oh my God fuck fuck fuck AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH oh my god shit shit shit fuck shit sdfasodjgiajsidogjosdg MALFUNCTION!! WARNING!!!! RUN BITCH!!!

But Jumin didn’t run

because mama ain’t raise no bitch

but also because if he stood up it would be blatantly obvious that he had--

Stop thinking about it, Jumin.

He tried to redirect his mind to his 5 senses, a grounding technique he’d learned when he got too anxious when he was younger

But sight seemed to dominate it as his mind replayed your facial expressions, the way your hands awkwardly tried to cover yourself up, the way you looked the way he’d take it all off---

Oh God. I’m deep in shit.

He had never been so pissed at himself... and embarrassed.

He looked over at you, a horrible decision, really.

You were still awake, your face was redder than the strawberry sent that adorned you

“s-sorry..” you whispered, willing yourself to try to forget, “pretend that never happened..”

Jumin was practically feral and you were saying it never happened?

Jumin couldn’t just pretend he didn’t just see a fucking goddess

but he would for you

“..........pretend what never happened?”

You sighed, a small smile on your face as you quickly turned to thank him

but he was a LOT closer than you imagined

he was propped up on one elbow, looking down at you, his head slightly angled.

And suddenly your faces weren’t so far apart.

And you couldn’t help but slowly close your eyes

Jumin felt confusion when you’d done this

he can be a bit of a pea brain, so he of course said, “I’m sure you’re very tired.”

He shut off the light, reaching over you

You held back the big frown you’d gotten when you realized he’d rejected you

unbeknownst to you that it took everything in him, from the moment he’d saw you in the jet cabin, not to scoop you up in his arms and make out with you the whole way there.

Zen

Was Zen going to invite you to his own fucking tour?

Of course he was

he liked flexing his connections

and most of all, showing you just how much he cared about you

and loved you

but not the love part because God if you ever found out Zen might jump into the nearest body of water and never return

not that he didn’t have any confidence

he has lots of it

but it all kind of disintegrates when he gets to talking about his real feelings

But come on, it was blatantly obvious to anyone who had heckin eyes

or ears

or just any functioning body

the way he’d try to subtly throw an arm over your shoulder

or he’d lean in whenever you spoke

or the way he’d readjust his posture when you walked into a room

or the way everyone caught him staring

like anytime you weren’t looking

or when you are looking because he is “built different”

So the limo ride to the fancy hotel he was to stay at was something that had him looking forward to the tour, but also dreading it

you’d sat close to him in the limo because his agent and other workers were sitting along with him.

So close that your ass got pushed further and further onto his lap

because damn where the fuck are we and why are there so many goddamn potholes

Zen tried to steady you by firmly grabbing your hips

which was NOT the move

because now that you were firmly set on his lap, every bump felt like a fucking war against his hormones.

Like a gentleman, he quickly opted to seat you next to him, not wanting you to feel embarrassed

still, he could feel you being pulled closer to him with every long turn the limo made or every bump or abrupt stop

and it was torture.

like this man is sweating

but by some miracle you arrive at the hotel in one piece! Yay!

but Zen’s soul has left his body~~

so you get set up

You open the room, “Look, Zen! This bed is HUGE!!”, you ran over to it and plopped your face onto the sheets

He chuckled, watching you act like a little kid excited about a hotel for the first time

his brows furrowed when he realized there was no door separator between your rooms

He immediately called the front desk

all you could over hear was “No, there seems to be some kind of mistake”

and “I reserved two rooms -- conjoined”

“Alright, ok. Thanks.” and then he hung up.

“So..” he sighed, “They can’t get another room because they’re completely booked. Someone must’ve recognized the limo and lots of fans immediately bought up all the rooms in hopes of seeing me.”

“It’s alright Zen! I can ask to switch with your agent or something!!”

“NO!” Zen said a little too loudly. “No. Um, look it would be bad because he’s a man.”

“Your a dude, too, Zen.”

“I-- yeah, but that’s different because I’m a guy you can trust.”

“True..”

“So I’ll sleep on the couch, ‘kay?”

“Zen, no! You need your beauty sleep to be ready for your performance tomorrow!!!”

“It’s alright, really!”

“I’ll sleep on the couch!”

“Like hell you will.”

“Please :(”

“Y/N, seriously--”

“Then how about this! You and I just sleep in the same bed!”

Ever the dramatic soul, Zen gasped with his palm over his heart “How SCANDALOUS!”

“Aren’t you supposed to be Mr. Playboy?”

“Only for you, baby”, he winked.

You stuttered, “T-that’s not funny! Seriously don’t make it weird you horn- dog!”

He threw his head back in laughter, “Horn-dog?! I thought you said you trusted me!”

“Not when you’re obviously thinking about doing this and that to me!!”

“Doing this and tha---Hey! Who do you think I am?!”

There was suddenly a loud bang on the wall and a burly man shouted, “GO TO FUCKIN’ SLEEP YOU OBNOXIOUS, SEXUALLY FRUSTRATED LITTLE SHITS!”

You smirked, holding in a laugh saying, “Sounds like your fans are getting jealous.”

Zen’s mouth dropped and you began laughing hysterically

“T-that was like a 60 year old man!”

“I’M 42 YOU LITTLE SHIT”

You fell back on the bed, laughing louder

Zen shouted back, “WELL EXCUSE ME, SEXY, 42 YEAR OLD MAN”

There was silence before a harsh knock sounded at your door

All Zen’s bravado disintegrated and he made a dash for the bed, whispering loudly for you to “Turn off the fuckin’ lights, turn off the fuckin’ lights!”

You stifled more giggles rising up to your throat as you clicked off the light, making sure the room was locked, and climbed into bed

you breathed out your last laughs, sighing to yourself contentedly before noticing the close proximity you were to Zen

You stared at each other for a long moment

You leaned in closer

Zen placed a palm on your cheek, gently cupping it

he softly whispered, “Can I kiss you?”

You answered by harshly connecting your lips

The two of you feeding off each other’s oxygen as Zen bit your lip, causing you to gasp and open your mouth to make way for his tongue

you whimpered, feeling faint from lack of oxygen

the two of you parted, out of breath

Zen wanted to say something smooth like “I’ve always wanted to do that.”

but instead he said “I’ve always wanted to do you.”

He mentally smacked his head, blaming the lack of oxygen for his stupidity

But you smirked up at him coyly, replying, “Then why don’t you?”

Um yeah rip your hotel neighbor he will literally hate both of you so much

I had honestly SO MUCH FUN writing this!! Let me know if you want, like, a part two to this. I think I’d just be so fun lol

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mountswhore · 3 years ago

Text

𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭 — mason mount

summary: you and mason mount were polar opposites — you thought you hated each other. until you’re sent clubbing with him and a few friends.

notes: requests are still open!

“I’m not your princess.” + “Are you hurt? What happened?”

for @masterclassbaby

If there was one thing you’d realised to be complete bullshit within the dating world: it was that opposites attract. Because they in fact do not.

You were an easygoing person, you enjoyed spending time with your friends, even if that meant at a club for five hours, but you’d prefer a barbecue with drinks. And being the only single lady in your group left, they made it their mission to set you up. They’d searched high and low for a worthy suitor, to find Mason Mount. One of your friend’s boyfriend’s friends.

He was also an easygoing person, was very fun to be around and always made people laugh. But as they introduced the pair of you, it hadn’t gone to plan — it had gone worse. You’d clashed over a debate, disagreeing with each other completely and now you refused to go anywhere with your friends if he were there. It was clear their plan had failed, and that the pair of you just didn’t like each other.

But Declan was adamant. He knew you quite well, he knew what made you laugh, what your interests were, and technically, you lined up perfectly with this man. So whenever one of your friends would host a barbecue, they knew you’d say yes, and Declan would invite Mason, claiming to not have known you were coming. The barbecue was a disaster. Once again, you’d disagreed on something and spent the whole evenings in different rooms.

But whenever you’d talk or see each other, not willingly, he’d use that horrible nickname. Princess. It was ghastly. He’d heard you ask for a specific rosé to go with dinner once, and ever since then he’d seen you as completely high maintenance. And labelled you as a princess. Your friends thought it was the beginning of a blooming relationship, but Mason quickly shut it down. Saying, “as if, if she’s fussy about wine with dinner, she’s fussy about men.”

Your friends were really pushing this dating thing on you both, but you weren’t having any of it. You’d be caught dead before you were being intimate with this man boy. It seemed that every time you were hanging out with your friends, Declan was with Mason, and the two of you would spot each other again.

“Happy with your wine, princess?” He sneered, grabbing the glass you’d poured for yourself and sipping on it, all whilst maintaining eye contact. He was an asshole, a hot asshole.

It hurt, but you couldn’t deny he was your type. He was just so handsome, and the way he interacted with Declan and the people he actually liked, you could see why he was a good friend. But to you, you didn’t get on. Not at all. There was a tension, and you could quite name what it was. Mason seemed to hate you.

Mason couldn’t deny you were attractive, because you were. Declan showed him your Instagram, and he was almost drooling at you. But meeting you in person, the way you both interacted, it didn’t work the way he thought it would. It’s not like he hated you, he’d sometimes hide a laugh after a joke you made, trying to not inflate your ego. There was just something about you, he was sexually attracted to you, sure, but he enjoyed toying with you. It was a long game of teasing to him, slowly getting you to fall for him. He didn’t think you’d take it the wrong way and assume he hated you.

“Clubbing tonight, babe?” A friend had asked, catching you on the phone just as you left work. You knew what they were doing, you’d ‘accidentally’ bump into Mason again. It’s like they wanted you to fight.

You sighed and started your car up, phone squashed between your cheek and shoulder. “Sure, where?”

You heard a few giggles in the background, matching one of them to Declan. He had a distinctive laugh, more like a cackle. “That place we got like 28 free shots from,” your friend reminded you, “sound good?”

“What a good night that was.” You reminisced, turning out of the car park of your work building and making your usual route home. “Sure, I’ll be there.” When you’d gotten home and showered, you’d held onto the glimmer of hope that Mason would actually change how he felt about you. That he’d go from hating you and despising being in your presence, to wanting nothing more than to be in your presence, and your bed. You put your best dress on, best heels, best everything. Ready for Mason.

“There you are.” Your friend groaned, pulling you into a hug, and behind her was none other than: Declan, two more of your friend group, and Mason. You saw him wink at you, and you rolled your eyes, knowing this would be the longest night you’d have to endure Mason’s shit. “Why’d you take so long to get here?”

“Her carriage was far too slow.” Mason put on his best posh accent, earning a laugh from the rest of the group. You just glared at him and entered the club, hoping you didn’t see him for the rest of the evening. And you didn’t. But he saw you.

He watched you throughout the night, more to keep an eye on you if anything. In the taxi to the club, Declan and your friends were telling him all about your drunk alter ego. The second you’d had more than 5 shots, you were a different person. Bumping into people, falling over, climbing onto tables, kissing random men. The last one had Mason’s jaw clenching, but he ignored it and decided he’d keep watch. To make sure that nothing like that would be happening. He’d zone out of Declan’s conversation, watching as you moved your hips. The music had drowned out, the people around you becoming blurry messes, and it was only you.

His little bubble of Y/N had soon disappeared when he’d lost sight of you, immediately sending him into panic mode. He looked around at the faces that once surrounded you, trying to find yours. He’d gotten up from his seat at the bar, frantically walking around the dance floor to find you getting almost trampled on. You looked up at his concerned eyes, and Mason had lifted you up, carrying you outside of the club and round the corner, where it was a little less populated.

“What happened? Are you hurt?” He peppered you with questions, scanning your arms and legs for any damage. But you pushed him off. It was clear you were drunk, your eyes half closed and your balance completely gone. Even though you’d pushed him away from you, your arm was still tightly around him as you held yourself up.

“I’m fine.” You slurred, the world around you spinning as you clutched onto his shirt, “really I’m good.” It was a well-known thing that when drinking, once you get outside, it’s worse. It never really hits you until you leave the room. Mason searched around for a bench, but couldn’t find one. Instead, putting his jacket on the ground and helping you sit down.

“Thank you, Mase.” You smiled sweetly, a smile so sweet that he couldn’t help but smile too. “This is very nice of you, it’s the nicest you’ve ever been to me actually.” It burnt hearing that. Mason knew he came off as a dick to you, but he didn’t hate you. Not in the slightest.

“You’re welcome, princess.” He replied, keeping the dickish personality alive. It wasn’t him at all, he wanted to be sweet and intimate with you, but you didn’t want him. Or so he thought.

You tutted and picked your head up from his shoulder, your glare almost burning holes into his eyes. “I’m not your princess.”

Mason just laughed at you, pushing your head back onto his shoulder gently and keeping his arm around you. He was so protective of you tonight, and as much as he played around and was mean to you, he’d never let another person be that way to you. He knew he didn’t mean it, and deep down, you knew that too. “Yeah, yeah.” Mason shrugged off your remark, holding you closer to him.

“You’re lucky you’re super hot because I would not want to go on a date with someone as mean as you.” You mentioned, not even understanding what you were saying. It was as if you didn’t have a filter, you were just saying whatever was on your mind.

“I’m super hot, am I?” He questioned, a smirk on his lips as he looked down to you. You’d met his eyes and groaned, resting your head in your hands now. With utter shame coursing your veins.

“Oh God,” you whimpered, emotions getting the best of you, “now Mason knows I like him. This day sucks, I want to go home.” Mason was glad to be stone cold sober, as now he’d remember how you felt.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered back to you, lips dangerously close to your ear, “Mason likes you too.”

#money mase #mason mount x reader #mason mount smut #mason mount imagine #mason mount blurb #mason mount

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typewrittenluck · 3 years ago

Text

as the seasons change

C!Technoblade x gn!reader highschool!au

Word Count: 9.1k

Pronouns: they/them

A/N: this is literally so self indulgent, i spent a whole day writing this because im going through my techno feels rn. it basically follows the story of oblivious Y/N and Techno throughout the four seasons :)

Warnings: Underaged drinking, Swearing, Smoking, Drugs (very brief)

Suggested Songs: The State of Grace, Taylor Swift/ MEET ME AT OUR SPOT, THE ANXIETY, WILLOW, Tyler Cole/ that way, Tate McRae/ Falling, Chase Atlantic/ Compass, The Neighborhood

SUMMER------------

The August air was thick with the heat of the almost-setting sun. Her rays beat down on the backs of the group of teens, and mosquitos filled the silences between them with their incessant buzzing.

A small crack of static preceded the soft sound of music, accompanied by the sharp smack of Niki and Jack’s celebratory high-five.

“Didn’t you start setting up the speaker like an hour ago?” questioned Wilbur, who was sunk into a half-broken lawn chair that he had found in the garage.

“Yeah, it would have been much faster if you had asked Techno” chimed Y/N from their place leaning against the above mentioned man’s leg.

His grunt of response was cut short by his little brother, Tommy, bursting into laughter.

“Because he’s TECHno! Get it?!”

Everyone groaned and Wilbur smacked Tommy upside the head, grumbling about “shouldn’t have let you come hang out with us”

Y/N giggled at that, but took sympathy on the boy. “Aww don’t be like that Wil, Tommy, I thought that was hilarious.”

“Don’t encourage him, Y/N” Techno leaned down to murmured to them in his low, monotonous voice.

There it was. The way he said their name! The way his calf felt under Y/N’s back! The way he whispered sentences directly to them, as if it was some closely guarded secret. It was enough to bring butterflies to their stomach as they praised whatever higher being was out there for the heat of the day covering their blush.

“It’s so fucking hot,” Fundy moaned, kicking Wilburs shin from his place lying facedown on the grass. “Can we go to the pool or something?”

His request was met with a spectrum of responses, varying from Tommy’s “YES, PLEASE WILL? PLEASE!” to Technoblades indifferent shrug.

Jack took note of Technoblades open response with a shout of laughter. “TECHNOBLADE IN THE POOL! I WOULD PAY GOOD MON-”

“I’m not getting in, dumbass.”

“Why? Scared you’ll ruin your hair?”

“No, he doesn’t want us to know he’s secretly jacked under the sixteen sweaters he wears.”

Technoblade picked up the hem of his sweatshirt, making eye contact with Niki. She has a point.

“How do you wear that in the Summer?”

“It’s n- TOMMY!!”

Shrieks of laughter follow Tommy’s water gun assault on his brother. “When did he slip away to go get those?” Y/N wondered aloud.

“WHEN ARE WE LEAVING??” Tommy asked enthusiastically.

---

A crowded minivan, a stop to pick up Tommy’s friend, and a raid of Phil’s linen closet for pool towels later, the group arrived at the neighborhood pool. The sun hung low in the horizon as people spilled out of Phil’s van and began dragging the pool toys and water guns towards the gate.

The air around the black metal bars barring their entrance to the pool seemed to quiver.

“I think Wil has the pool key.” piped Niki in response to Fundy throwing his weight against the fence.

Fundy, in turn, sprinted back to the car, where Wilbur was taking inventory of snacks (and probably hiding the best for himself).

Technoblade looked down at the two younger boys and Y/N conversing in hushed whispers. All of a sudden, they screamed out in perfect synchronization, in equally high pitched voices,

“Let me innnn! Let me in pleaseeee!”

And promptly burst into giggles. Y/N almost toppled into Techno, both from laughing and the slight weariness from the heat.

The pool noodles he was balancing beneath his arms (laden with tote bags of pool toys and towels) toppled to the ground, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was Y/N’s hand steadying themself on his chest, and the way his face began to heat up almost unbearably considering the weather.

“Oops, sorry!” they squeaked, leaning down to pick up the fallen noodles.

Technoblade was burst out of his daze by the return of his brother and Fundy, who triumphantly swiped the access card against the pad before kicking the gate wide open.

The clang of metal against the concrete pool clubhouse sent reverberating waves into the air, and everyone winced as the metal continued to drag.

Pool entrances varied, Niki, on the one hand, took her time tip-toeing into the water by the stairs, while Tubbo and Tommy almost knocked each other out crashing over the edge to the deep end.

Y/N chuckled at their antics, but seeing as they had settled on not getting wet today, they picked out a chaise in the shade and pulled a book and pen out of the small bag they had brought with them.

Technoblade watched them with almost unwavering interest, unless someone happened to look his way, in which case he would quickly turn back to his phone, scrolling aimlessly through his home screen until they turned away.

From his spot under the little roof of the clubhouse, he had an almost unobstructed view of Y/N, and how they chewed at the end of the pen they used to annotate their book. Oh how he wished he could read the little notes they scribbled in the margins, or the drawings they would surround words with when they got distracted from reading. And the way that pen dangled from their lips, their tantalizing, soft lips. Taunting him, almost. And their jewel-like, bright eyes. Always so inviting and playful; like the way they were meeting his right now-

Shit

He hadn’t realized he’d been staring that intently. A small quirk of their eyebrow and a smirk on their lips was enough to make his heart give out. But not now. Not when they were waving their hand so intently to get him to sit next to them. Pretending to ponder the decision and gather his belongings, (when in reality he was just collecting his bearings), he walked over to them.

“See! You don’t always want to be alone, Mr. I’m so antisocial and I hate everyone!” they smiled, patting the adjacent seat.

You’re the only exception, he thought, his brain screaming and pushing to let the words leave his mouth. He couldn’t though, not when they could never think of him the way that he thought of them.

So he answered with a small smile and a chuckle.

“What are you reading?”

“The Picture of Dorian Gray! Remember you said you thought I’d enjoy it?” they answered with enthusiasm, that sparkle still evident in their eyes.

It warmed his heart to know that they had taken the suggestion and committed to the book, which was admittedly a pretty tough read, because of him.

“How could I forget?”

Their smile widened and they buried their head back in the book, that cursed pen once again being squished between their plush lips.

Technoblade peered over their shoulder to see that they were nearing the middle of the book, where Dorian returns from his theater date with Basil and Henry. Feeling satisfied enough that they were invested in the story, given their gasp and furious scribbling in the margins, he felt it safe enough to stare at them under the orange-tinged glow of the sunset.

Of course, he forgot about the crowd of his friends who were nudging each other and whispering about his infatuation with you. The whispers reached Wilbur who narrowed his eyes in his twin's direction and made a mental note to ask him about it later.

Once dark hit and the water began to run a little too cold for anyone's taste, they began to wrap themselves up in towels and raid Wilburs snack stashes. The snack distribution was cut off by Wilburs phone, screen lit up with a zoomed in photo of none other than Philza.

DADZA!!! Read the contact name as Wilbur swiped the screen and held the phone between his shoulder and ear, continuing to hand out snacks.

“OI, where in fucks sake are you lot? It’s an hour past the devils ass why i…”

The rest of Phil’s screaming faded as Wilbur walked away to calm his father down.

“AN HOUR PAST THE DEVILS ASS” Y/N screamed with laughter, sending the entire group into raucous peals of giggles.

“Yep, mhhm, we’ll be there” Wilbur walked back towards the group, motioning for everyone to get in the car.

“Yes dad I know, yes, okay we will drop him off. Okay, bye” Hanging up the phone, he ushered people back into the car, holding Tubbo back by his upper arm so that he could sit with easiest access to the door.

After dropping Tubbo off, and then doubling back and driving around town to drop people off at various houses, Technoblade, Tommy and Wilbur were alone in the car with Y/N.

“Here. Here. WIL! Pull over!”

The van screeched to a halt as Y/N clambered over Tommy’s long legs, almost falling out onto the pavement. They leaned against the door of the passenger seat, thanking Wilbur and bidding farewell to the brothers. Just before they stepped away, Technoblade leaned down and kissed the crown of their head where it was leaning against his open window. Their stunned expression was lost in the dark and the window slid shut as Wilbur slammed the gas pedal to make it back in time before his dad’s curfew.

“What the fuck was that”

Technoblade gave him a glare, which lost its effectiveness when paired with the burning red blush flooding his face and neck, highlighted under the harsh white lights of the car. He turned his face away and resigned to staring out the window, the night air filtering through the small crack giving his face a little bit of relief.

“Okay at least tell me, are you together?”

“No.”

“But he likes them!” piped up Tommy from the back seat, looking up from his phone where he was playing a game.

“No I- I don’t” Damnit The crack in his voice gave it away.

Wilbur, sensing that it seemed to be more of a sensitive topic than he thought, decided to drop the subject for the time being, and Tommy was already absorbed back in his game.

The rest of the drive was spent in silence as they raced against time and the rules of Philza Minecraft.

AUTUMN----------------------

School started a few weeks after the pool night, which was followed by many late nights and summer fun by the friends, the knowledge that half of them would be away to college next year heavy in the atmosphere. To say the least, Junior year was not treating Y/N well. They were almost always working on homework, if not doing SAT prep, and they rarely went out with their friends. The only time Technoblade got to see them was during his AP Lit class, and because of it, he considered himself the luckiest man in the world. Ms. Ren’s Literature classroom was the only place Technoblade seemed to see the old Y/N, the one from over the summer who got enthusiastic over books and gave him playful punches when he was a little too mean to their friends. Now, the only Y/N he saw was a stressed, tired person who was always carrying an energy drink in one hand and a stack of homework in the other. Except for in Lit. Y/n’s eyes would brighten as they discussed the reading from the previous night and their legs would jostle Technoblades from under their shared table to show him an annotation they had made. Technoblade assumed they were just rejuvenated from the literature, never once letting the thought cross his mind that maybe, just maybe, he was part of the equation too.

On the rare occasion that they would hang out with their friends, they would be easily prone to tears and every conversation would be redirected to how tired and stressed they were. Of course, Technoblade wanted them to be happy, and felt enormous empathy for his friend in the harshest year of high school, but he had suddenly become hyper-aware that the clock was ticking on his time left with them. He was a senior this year, and while Y/N still had a year left to go, Technoblade would be on his way to college, perhaps out of the country, in less than a year. It wasn’t wrong to want to make the most of his time with them.

It didn’t help that this internal time bomb was also counting down the opportunities he had left to tell them how he felt.

-----

He decided to get to them when they were in a good mood, and more likely to say yes. After Ms. Ren had finished assigning the reading due by Monday, he turned to the beautiful person who sat next to him and muttered in a low voice,

“How’s your weekend looking?”

They looked up with a bright smile and whispered back

“I have tons of homework but I should be able to knock it out with a good day of work. Why? What do you have in mind?”

He knew this was the right time to ask you.

“Just be ready by 4pm on Saturday.”

----

Technoblade sat on the edge of his usually neat bed, now strewn with almost every sweater he owned. He was picking a stray piece of lint from the sweater nearest to him when he saw his brother walk past, then backtrack out of the corner of his eye.

“What’s got you all indecisive?” Wilbur asked, gesturing vaguely to the sweaters and random articles of clothing adorning his room.

“Wait! Is today your date with Y/N?”

“It’s not a date.” grumbled Technoblade.

“Then why are you so stressed about what to wear?” he replied with raised eyebrows.

Technoblade groaned and threw himself on top of the pile of wool on his bed. “I just need this to be perfect. Y/N needs a break, and they deserve everything to be just right.”

“And you want to impress them” sang Wilbur, now nudging Techno aside to sift through his sweaters.

Technoblades noise of indignation was muffled as Wilbur threw a cream colored sweatshirt at his face.

“What about this?”

“I couldn’t find what to wear it with.”

Wilburs sigh rang through Technoblades room as he opened the closet, now in his proper mindset as the family fashion consultant. Garment after garment was thrown in Techno’s general direction, and he leaned and reached to grab them all.

“Try that”

Technoblade walked out of the bathroom to find Wilbur rummaging through his jewelry.

“When did I say it was fine for you to go through my stuff?” asked Technoblade, shoving Wilbur away. Wilbur shrugged in response, motioning for Techno to open his hand so that he could drop his selection of rings and necklaces into his open palm.

As Wilbur walked out the door, he thought he heard a faint “thank you”, and smiled to himself.

-----

“This is elaborate”

“I’m a dynamic man Y/N.”

Y/N laughed at his response to the back seat of Technoblades car, which was filled with “supplies” for the evening.

“That outfit sure is dynamic.”

“Why?” Technoblade asked nervously, drumming slightly on the steering wheel. “Do you like it?”

“I love it! I didn’t think you could get any hotter but you somehow pulled it off!”

Realizing what they said, Y/N’s cheeks flushed a deep red and they began to pick at their flannel. As soon as Technoblades surprise wore off, and the butterflies faded back to the dull sensation that always seemed to linger when he was around them, he let out a snort of laughter. That sent both of them into a fit which continued until Technoblade hit a pothole from laughing so hard.

Y/N’s momentary fear only made them laugh harder, but Technoblade attempted to quell himself before he no longer had four functioning tires.

“Do I get to know where you’re taking me?” Y/N asked. They had driven a little ways out from the city, to the vaguely familiar areas that one only drives by when they’re leaving town.

“Yes.” He replied, slowing the car into a small parking lot. “Because we’re here.”

The pair entered the small bookshop and a bell rang overhead. The store smelled of dust and books and Technoblade saw Y/N breathing the scent in like a breath of new life. Of course, this ended up in a small coughing fit which he pulled them out of with a few pats to their upper back.

“Okay we are on somewhat of a schedule, so I need you to go get a book. Any book, and meet me back at the register in 10 minutes.” He said, grabbing them by the shoulders and making direct eye contact. “Okay, Go!”

And they both got lost in the mazes of words.

At 4:30 sharp, Y/N found Technoblade waiting for them at the register with a stiff red hardcover. He reached out for their book as they reached for their wallet.

“Tech, no, you don’t have to buy me books I can get it myself”

If for nothing else, the way they shortened the already shortened version of his name made his heart stutter, and he was overcome with the sudden urge to buy them every book in this store. But he wordlessly nodded his head ‘no’ and paid for their two books.

As they walked back to the car, Y/N admired the way his jewelry glistened in the sun. The gold necklaces contrasting against the black turtleneck he wore under his sweatshirt made them think of the summer, when his rings would shine under the sun and in the light of their almost nightly group bonfire. Technoblade opened the door for them when they got to the car, pink hair flying in his face because of the wind. Before getting in, Y/N threw their arms around his neck in a hug.

“Thanks”

They mumbled into his neck.

He blamed his pink cheeks on the cold.

-----

“Let me carry something!” Y/N argued as Technoblade led them down the path of a park a little ways away from the bookstore.

“No.” he answered, a basket and three bags dangling from his arms.

The argument continued as they made their way down the paved path, leaves crunching underneath their feet. A little ways into the walk, when the conversation had faded to discussing the latest reading assigned by Ms. Ren, Technoblade stopped Y/N by throwing a tote bag-laden arm against their chest.

“Here.”

He parted the branches that covered a small, unpaved path that led deeper into the trees.

“How do I know you’re not trying to lure me here to kill me?” mused Y/N, already a few steps ahead of the pink-haired man on the pine-straw path.

“Yeah hold on, let me just get my axe out from this basket real quick” deadpanned Technoblade, earning a giggle from Y/N.

A few moments later, the path opened up to a clearing with a few fallen logs and a small brook trickling near the edge.

“This is beautiful Tech! How did you find this?” they asked with an awestruck expression.

He hid the way that his ears flushed with his hair and busied himself laying out the picnic supplies he had dragged all the way out here, mumbling something unintelligible.

Once he was done, he looked up to find an empty clearing, Y/N nowhere to be found.

“Y/N?” he called

He received a response in the form of a small yelp and a rather loud splash. “Over here!”

“What the hell were you thinking?” he asked, sprinting over to the edge of the stream. Their giggles calmed him a little bit, but didn’t absolve him of all his worry as he subtly looked them over for any injuries.

“I thought the rock would be steady enough to hold me” they pouted, gesturing vaguely at the rock in question, now shiny with water.

Technoblade sighed, rolling his eyes at their antics, but hoisted them up nonetheless. Once they were back on solid ground, he curled his finger around the back of his sweatshirt's neckline and pulled it over his head, almost knocking off his glasses in the process. He missed the way Y/N’s eyes narrowed and focused on the way his black knit turtleneck hugged his figure, tucked into the dark brown trousers Wilbur had dug out of his closet just hours previously.

“Are you warm?” asked Y/N with an incredulous look, teeth slightly chattering.

“It’s for you, dumbass. You’re almost sure to get sick in those wet clothes.”

Y/N’s heart stuttered at the gesture, and at the way Technoblade shushed them when they tried to argue.

He turned away as Y/N shed their dripping flannel and replaced it with the sweatshirt, warmed by his own body heat.

When he turned back, he almost lost his breath again. Seeing them in his sweatshirt, the sleeves dangling past their fingertips and their hair a little tousled from pulling the garment over their head, messed with him just a little bit. He ignored the way that his cold-nipped nose was turning redder and redder and instead gently picked up their hand to guide them over to where he had set up the picnic, next to a towering tree with a thick trunk.

Both of them were hyper-aware of the way that his fingers held theirs, and the warmth that seemed to radiate from their touch. Neither one of them wanted to let go, but as they plopped down onto the picnic blanket sitting on the ground, their grip fell apart.

The loss of contact made the October day seem colder.

The muffled crunching of the leaves under their butts filled the air as they settled into a comfortable position and began digging through the picnic basket Technoblade had brought with food. The tension in the air slowly faded as they began to eat and the atmosphere filled with the joyous conversation of the two painfully oblivious teenagers.

When they had both finished eating, Technoblade pulled out the bag that he had brought from the bookstore and handed Y/N their book. The smile that graced their lips as they mumbled out another ‘thank you’ brought another wave of butterflies down Technoblades stomach. He pulled out his own book and made himself comfortable against the thick tree trunk behind him. Y/N reached into their back pocket and pulled out a ballpoint pen, the cap of the pen riddled with chew marks.

The damn pen.

They stuck it between their teeth and let it hang off of the right side of their mouth. Technoblade felt his chest heat up as they nudged him over to share his spot leaning against the tree. He opened his phone and hit play on a mix of Arctic Monkeys and Gang of Youths, before leaning back to where his shoulder was pressed with theirs and opened his book.

Time seemed to forget its rules in this quiet little forest, with just Y/N and Technoblade lost in their separate worlds of words. The peace was only ever disturbed by Y/N occasionally scribbling something down in the margin of their book, to which Technoblade would demand to see, and they would fall into a small discussion about the topic.

These occasions slowly began to wane off until Technoblade felt Y/N lean their head against him with a thud. He looked down to see them fast asleep, half leaning on his shoulder with the pen still clutched between their fingers. He took note of the way the pen was balanced like a cigarette and the small puffs of air following their cold breath resembled smoke. Ignored the way his heart was almost convulsing on itself, he chose to wrap his arm around them and savour the moment.

Because he was aware that before he knew it, it would be over.

WINTER---------------------------

The student media center had a hushed atmosphere to it, as people took advantage of their last afternoon to study for semester finals. Winter break would let out the next day, but for the overwhelmed Juniors and Seniors now crowding the library, the excitement would not set in until they quelled their nervousness over the last final of the semester.

One of the study rooms situated in the back was now crowded with the notorious friend group as they crammed for their last final. Fundy, Jack and Niki were trading around their history notes, Wilbur and Minx were arguing over the proper situation of a unit circle, and Technoblade was flash quizzing Y/N on the Polyatomic ions. Their frantic studying was interrupted by their friend, George, who had gotten bored of watching his two best friends during their last football practice of the semester. He quietly walked in and took a seat in the corner, pulling out a notebook and studying something or the other.

“Why aren't Dream and Sapnap here cramming with us?” Minx asked George.

“They have their ‘weightlifting’ final tomorrow” seethed George, most likely jealous of his friends’ somewhat pointless final.

Everyone laughed, and some groans of similar jealousy rang through the air right before the cracking loudspeaker of the school crunched to life, announcing that the doors would close at 6:00. Y/N looked down at their watch face, which read 5:45.

“Fuck, I’m never going to learn these charges! Don’t even get me started on the fact that I don’t have the solubility rules memorized!” squeaked Y/N in frustration. Everyone gave them a sympathetic look, knowing the rigorous emotional and mental demands of taking AP Chemistry.

“Don’t worry, you still have the whole night to study!” consoled Fundy.

Technoblade felt his heart break at the way their eyes filled with tears of frustration.

“My siblings scream way too much, I can never concentrate at home”

“Come study at our house!” exclaimed Wilbur. “We can kick Tommy out so he won’t bother you!”

Wilbur sensed their hesitation and cut in before they could say ‘no’

“Come on, Dad won’t mind, he loves you! And it gives us an excuse to send Tommy out!”

Y/N turned their head in questioning to Technoblade, who grunted and nodded his head.

“I mean, if you’re sure”

Eager nodding.

“Thanks so much Wil!”

---

It was 11:50 and Phil’s living room resembled something closer to an FBI clue board, with flashcards and chemistry notes strewn on every possible surface. Wilbur had retired to bed after reviewing his Calculus notes one last time, and Tommy was spending the night at Tubbo’s. Phil leaned against the doorway and watched his son coach his best friend through the last few chapters of the textbook with a smile on his face.

“Make sure not to go to sleep too late! You need enough sleep for your final!” he called, retreating up the stairs.

Y/N checked their watch and sighed at the time. “I should get going soon.” they mumbled, beginning to collect their notes.

“Stay the night” suggested Technoblade, pulling a blanket over their shoulders to protect them from the December chill that seemed ever-present, even with the crackling fireplace illuminating the room.

“I can’t-” A yawn cut their sentence “I can’t stay, I don't have anything and I’ve wasted enough of your time already”

Technoblade took them by the shoulders and looked them in the eyes, albeit having to lean down. “You can never waste my time”

Shivers ran through Y/N’s tired body and they offered him a weak smile.

He plucked the pen that was hanging from their mouth out and feigned disgust as he wiped it on their shirt, before throwing it in the pile of stationary by his feet.

“How about you stay for a hot chocolate?”

The invitation was too hard to resist so they gave in, as long as it was “only ten more minutes”.

Technoblade filled two mugs from the pot of the beverage that Phil had left on the stove, and topped it with marshmallows and whipped cream.

Y/N took the mug from him with a ‘thank you!’, and led the way back to the living room to nestle under the warmth of the fireplace. The pair were both exhausted from the day of studying, and chose to sip their beverages in silence. Before either of them knew it, they were both asleep under Y/N’s blanket, cuddled up against the cold of the night.

---

They woke up to the banging of Wilbur running down the stairs.

“Shit, you two are still asleep?”

Y/N jumped up, knocking over their empty mug in the process. “Fuck, what time is it?” they asked, urgently rummaging around for their bag.

“8:00”

“What time is your final?” grumbled Technoblade, still half-asleep with no intention to get up until his final later that day.

“8:20” they whined, almost breaking down.

“Hey, it’s fine, go get clothes from my room, take anything you want. I’ll drive you.” said Technoblade in a calming voice.

Y/N looked at him with desperate eyes and thanked him before retracing the familiar path to his bedroom.

Technoblade cracked his back and followed Wilbur into the kitchen, intending to make Y/N a nutritious breakfast and pack them a lunch, but was met with Wilburs smirking face.

“What’s the deal?” said Technoblade in his monotonous low, pulling things from out of the fridge.

“Are we going to ignore that you and Y/N slept together?”

“Gross you perv, we just fell asleep studying”

Wilburs smart-ass response was cut off by the arrival of the person in question, clad in one of Technoblades sweaters and sweatpants and ripping their fingers through their hair to attempt to tame it.

Technoblade ignored the all-too-familiar flutter of his heart at seeing them in his clothes and handed them a yogurt bowl he put together. “Let’s go, you can eat it in the car.”

They definitely broke laws driving at breakneck speed, but they pulled into the school parking lot at 8:15 and jumped out of the car, Technoblade following them to make sure they made it to the Chemistry classroom on time. With a minute and a half to spare, they arrived at the door to the classroom, earning a sigh of relief from both of them.

Dr. Yachtrong ushered Y/N into the classroom, but not before Technoblade placed a kiss on their forehead and wished them good luck. They entered the classroom in a daze, which they quickly shook off when the tests were passed out.

---

The final bell rang for the day and the cheers rang around the school, drowning out the crunchy loudspeaker announcements to “have a good Christmas” and to “make good decisions”. Y/N had headed off to their last few classes following the Chemistry final, which had gone as good as one could expect a Chemistry exam to go. They were fairly sure they had passed which at this point, was a major win. As they left the History hallway, they saw their friend Karl leaving the art classroom.

“Karl!” they waved him down.

“HEY! Y/N!!!” he giggled excitedly “Schools out!”

“I know!”

Excited chatter filled the hallways and they bumped into Sapnap, Punz, and Dream leaving the weights room.

“How was your weightlifting final?” snickered Y/N

Punz answered with a slight push to their head. The group was shot out at the front courtyard, where almost all of their other friends were waiting.

The celebratory mood was punctuated by Karl inviting everyone over for an “Epic School Sucks Party” at his house later that night.

Y/N looked around, searching for the pink-haired man that had been flooding their thoughts more than usual lately.

He had been acting differently, nervous even, since the day they fell asleep on him at the park. Y/N was only scared last night's incident would make it worse.

“He’s probably finishing up his Latin stuff” murmured Wilbur, leaning down to their ear.

Y/N’s ears burnt a bright red upon knowing that Wilbur knew who they were looking for. They looked up to answer, but he had already gotten immersed in a conversation with Quackity and George.

The man in question came out of the front doors of the building and made a beeline for their cluster of people upon seeing them. Y/N couldn’t help but admire the cuffs he wore on his slightly pointed ears, and the way his long pink hair fell behind his-

“Oi Y/N is that Technoblades sweater?”

Screw you Minx

“Y/N spent a surprise night over last night” snickered Wilbur, wiggling his eyebrows.

“It's. Not. Like. That.” screeched Y/N, punctuating each word with a smack to Wilbur, somewhat drowned in the laughs and gasps of everyone in their group.

“Why are we hitting Wilbur and can I join?” asked Technoblade once he integrated himself into the tangle of people. The laughs hushed as everyone turned to look between Y/N and Technoblade.

“What?”

-----

The heat of Niki’s curling iron sent warm shivers down Y/N’s neck, a grateful contrast to the harsh December chill plaguing the outdoors. She blew gently on the warm hair before letting it all fall back, tousling it to break up the curls.

“Thanks Niki!” said Y/N gratefully, examining themselves in the mirror. “You’re going to have to teach me how to do this someday.”

Niki laughed, already standing in front of the bathroom mirror to apply her eyeliner. With one eye closed, she spoke to the person now standing behind her, checking their outfit from different angles.

“So really, what’s going on between you and Technoblade?”

She knew of their intense crush on the pink-haired boy, which had started somewhere between 8th grade and freshman year, but she also knew that Y/N tended to be more closed off about their deep personal life.

Y/N sighed, almost in disappointment. “Nothing. And that’s the problem.”

Due to Niki’s sympathetic look thrown their way, they fell down a rabbit hole of ranting which led them to where they were now; on the floor beside Niki’s bed with Y/N’s head in her lap.

“He always acts so weird around me. One minute he’s holding my hand or kissing my forehead, and the next he won't even look at me, or only answers in short sentences. And it stresses me out because I think he hates me, but then he does shit like buying me books just to go read in a forest with him, or staying up all night with me to study for my Chemistry final, and I just-” They took a deep breath, containing their rambling.

“I just get more confused.”

----------

Karls party was in full swing by the time Niki and Y/N got there. They were met at the door by Sapnap and Quackity, who for some reason were handcuffed to each other, and were both giggling and flushed. Y/N and Niki hung their coats on the rack by the door and walked into the festive atmosphere of the house, seeing familiar faces in every corner.

Despite the rowdy environment and the deafening noise, the party was relatively small, consisting of only 20 or so of Karls friends.

They followed Quackity and Sapnap into the living room where a semi-circle of people was lounging on various couches, passing around a blunt and playing what seemed to be truth or dare.

Ah. That’s where the handcuffs came from.

Niki and Y/N decided to play, Niki offering to go fetch them both drinks in the kitchen as Y/N found their place in the circle. To their surprise, Technoblade was there, seemingly uninterested in the game and more invested in something he was doing on his phone. Upon seeing Y/N, he gave them a smile, cheeks flushed with alcohol, and gestured to the small spot between him and the couch armrest. All eyes followed Y/N as they perched on the armrest, mumbling a small ‘hi!’ to Technoblade.

Niki returned with two drinks in hand and shared a knowing glance with Y/N, as well as a miniscule smile, before handing them their drink and taking a seat on a cushion next to Jack and Minx.

“Okay okay, In honor of our new guests arriving, Y/N, truth or dare?”

Y/N knew by the looks everyone was giving them that choosing truth would not be the best option.

“Dare.”

A small sigh of disappointment left Karls lips before a mischievous light came into his eyes and he perked up again. “I dare you to sit in Technoblade’s lap”

Snickers echoed across the group as Technoblade looked up at the sound of his name. He looked up to where Y/N was balancing themself on the edge of the couch, and with some burst of courage, that was probably induced by the alcohol, he wrapped his arm around their waist to tug them into his lap with a squeak of surprise.

After recovering from their initial embarrassment, Y/N turned to the man whose lap they were in. “Techno, truth or dare?”

He huffed but quietly breathed out “Truth”, suddenly very aware of how close their face was to his. After a few brief seconds of eye contact which seemed to last an eternity, they stuttered out

“Umm, do you,- actually, how did, how did they get you to play? This game... I mean?”

“BOO! WHAT A BORING FOOKIN QUESTION!” called Minx from the cushion she was on.

His response of how he didn’t mean to get dragged in to this “stupid middle schoolers game” was slightly slurred as he took a big chug of whatever liquid was floating around his red solo cup.

This worried Y/N. They never saw Technoblade drink more than enough to get him slightly tipsy, but they brushed it off on end-of-the-semester excitement. In any case, they would confront him when they got the opportunity to talk to him alone.

---

Said opportunity arose after the Pizza arrived, and most people began to file into Karls movie room to watch whatever garbage show he decided on running. Y/N stayed back, intending to have full access to the pizza and Technoblade, noticing this, stayed with them. Y/N hopped up onto a counter and pulled the pizza boxes to them.

“Hey Tech?”

“Heh?”

“Are you okay? I haven't seen you drink this much before?” they asked, running a concerned hand through his hair before pressing it to his forehead to check how hot he was.

His eyes closed and he nuzzled into their touch.

“I guess I’m just nervous.”

“Nervous? What do you have to be nervous about? It’s winter break” they answered, a small smile on their beautiful face.

This was his chance.

“I have to start applying for colleges.”

Fuck, he missed it.

-----

The food brought a new bought of energy to everyone at the party, and by 3 in the morning, the celebration was still heavy in the air. Everyone thanked whatever brought Karl’s parents to buy a house far removed from any close neighborhoods, so the noise wouldn’t earn them a police visit.

Loud music blared from the speakers in the living room, which had been cleared of furniture to make space for the energetic teenagers.

Y/N took turns dancing with Niki, Minx, and Jack before being stolen away by Sapnap who spun them around until they almost threw up. Eventually, Y/N ended up on the outskirts of the dancefloor, where they saw their favorite apathetic pig-boy leaning against a corner, snickering at everyone who was embarrassing themselves in their drunken haze.

“WANNA DANCE?” asked Y/N leaning towards him to enunciate over the music.

How could he say no? When they were looking up at him with those big, bright eyes and a slight sheen of sweat over their face.

-----

The party began to dissipate nearing the hours of dawn. Around 5, people began trickling out. Except for the select few who had decided to just crash with Karl.

Technoblade and Wilbur parked a little ways away from their house, walking the rest of the way and ushering each other up the tree by Wilburs bedroom to sneak back in.

It was locked.

“You dimwit, didn’t you unlock the window?”

“Of course I did you arse, where do you think I snuck out from?”

Their bickering was interrupted by a small tap on the glass by none other than a smirking Tommy.

“Leave it to him to only wake up when he wants to annoy us”

“Tommy, let us in.”

Tommy made a rubbing motion with his index finger and thumb. Looking at Wilbur and sighing, Technoblade pulled his wallet out and held up a 10.

Tommy made a ‘more’ motion

20. Then 40. Then 50.

“So generous of you lads, come on in!” he giggled, snatching the money from his brother and leaving the window open for the two to clamber in awkwardly.

Technoblade snuck back into his room, stripping off his sweaty clothes and falling onto the mattress. Before he blacked out, he saw two notifications come in.

BitchBur: I took these pictures tn, thought u might want them ;) (8 images attached)

And

Y/N <3: I hope you figure out the college situation! <3 let me know if you can hang out sometime :D

He opened Wilburs text to find a collection of candid pictures Wilbur had snapped over the course of the night. One of Y/N in his lap, a few of them laughing together over pizza, a few of them on the dance floor, and what had to be his favorite: a picture of them kissing his cheek as a ‘good luck’ for his arm wrestle with Dream.

A smile creeped onto his face and he felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for his brother. He set the last picture as his wallpaper before turning off his phone and falling into a realm of blackness.

SPRING------------------

“That was my very last AP Exam!” exclaimed Y/N, walking through the door of the coffee house where all their friends were lounging.

The small shop erupted with cheers as they celebrated everyone finishing their school year. The cheers eventually died out, though, as the realization sunk in. Tomorrow was graduation.

The seniors in the group, Wilbur, Technoblade, Minx and Fundy were all going off to college.

Wilbur to England, Fundy to the Netherlands, and Minx to Ireland. The one person who hadn’t decided on a college yet was Technoblade.

“Why do you all have to leave the country?” whined Y/N.

A chorus of similar sentiments left the other juniors who were scattered around a few tables that had been pushed together.

As the conversation descended into dorms and expenses, Y/N received a text from Technoblade. The shock of the ‘ding’ made the pen that had been balancing between their lips clatter onto the floor.

Apathetic pig-boy: come outside

Y/N looked around, not having noticed that Technoblade had disappeared from the table. Taking advantage of the conversation everyone else was immersed in, they quietly snuck out, but not without avoiding Wilburs keen eyes, which narrowed upon realizing his brother was not at the table.

They wandered outside, finding Technoblade sitting at one of the outdoor tables covered by the awning.

“My Yale email came in.” he said as soon as he saw them walk outside.

They jumped with barely contained joy. “What did it say?”

“I wanted you to be here when I opened it.”

Everyone knew that Technoblades dream college was Yale. He had talked about it ever since he was a little kid, screaming about Greek mythology on the school playground. Y/N knew that it was Technoblades biggest ambition to study literature at one of the most renowned colleges in the world, but they still felt a twinge of sadness. On top of losing half their friends, they couldn’t lose the one person that meant the most to them too.

“Open it!”

Y/N leaned against the back of Technoblades chair, almost falling over his shoulder as they watched the loading icon on the college’s website.

Technoblade clicked on the notification and they both read it together

Congratulations! We are glad to inform you…

“THAT YALE UNIVERSITY HAS DECIDED TO ACCEPT YOUR APPLICATION! TECH I'M SO PROUD OF YOU!” Screamed Y/N, wrapping their arms around his shocked figure. They placed a million kisses all over his face, gushing about how proud they were of him, ignoring the gut wrenching feeling inside of them.

“What’s the screaming about? Did you two finally get together?” Asked Wilbur as the group flooded out of the coffee shop to see what the commotion was about.

“Yale accepted me.” mumbled Technoblade, just loud enough for them to hear.

The cheers that followed his announcement almost made their small hometown collapse. Congratulations were exchanged and backs were pat, and in the mess, Y/N managed to sneak off to the side. The only person who noticed was Niki, who followed them to the corner of the parking lot where they were kicking at the asphalt with their converse. She sat down, and the two rested in silence, the April wind blowing their hair all over the place.

“He’s leaving.” He’s leaving me. They wanted to say, but they didn't.

Niki gave her friend a small side hug, somehow interpreting the sentence accurately. “He’s pursuing his dreams Y/N, you know he doesn’t want to leave you.”

“How do I make him stay? It’s selfish and I’d feel like a bitch but Niki I don’t think I can live without him.”

“Y/N.”

“Hmm?”

“You need to tell him how you feel.”

----

The next day brought sunny skies and the enthusiastic atmosphere of graduation. They had all managed to snag themselves some graduation tickets to see their friends finish high school.

Jack, Niki, and Y/N were sitting in a Wendy’s parking lot, waiting for the clock to hit 11:45 so they could start making their way to school. It seemed empty without the Seniors of the group, as they were all at school getting ready for the ceremony. Y/N voiced this concern aloud, to which Jack responded, “We’ll have to get used to it. This is how it’s going to be next year.”

And the three fell into silence, sullenly dipping their fries into their frostys.

----

Jack, Niki, and Y/N let themselves be jostled into school with the crowds of emotional parents and kids who were already bored of the event. They found decent seats, near the front aisle and set their belongings down.

Not a moment later, they were greeted by Philza, who filed in with the rest of the boys extended family to sit beside them.

The dimming of the lights led to hushed whispers erupting from the previously rowdy crowd.

Procedure came and went, the salutatorian and valedictorian giving their respective addresses to the crowd, the speech of the somewhat bored principal, and finally,

“Without further ado, presenting the Graduating Class of 2021!”

Cheers erupted from the crowd as names began to be called.

Within the first five minutes, the boredom began to set in and Jack began a game pigeon game, which Phil demanded to be added to. The four played the digital card game until they were pulled out of their concentration by a familiar name being called. They erupted into cheers as Fundy walked across the stage to pick up his diploma and shake the Principal’s hand. The process was repeated until Minx, her eyes shining as she shook the principal's hand earnestly, then flipped him off quickly behind his back, which sent the auditorium into a fit of laughter.

Person after person was called up, until...

“Technoblade Minecraft”

Philza almost cried. He stood on his chair, screaming in excitement for his son which made the boy in question flush as he collected his diploma and took a rather rushed leave off the stage, but not before seeing the heart that Y/N made with their fingers in his direction.

The same general act happened during Wilburs announcement, except that he laughed and gave his dad a cheering motion with his hands.

---

The group spilled out onto the lawn of the school, congratulating people they knew when they saw them. Technoblade and Wilbur joined their family, receiving hugs from a very emotional Tommy. Y/N, Niki, and Jack waited behind for their friends to finish up with their families before tackling them in hugs. Screams and whoops came from the puddle of people on the floor, everyone yelling things to each other. The atmosphere was charged with happiness, and relief, and one couldn’t help but feel elation despite the bittersweet nature of graduation.

“Alright mates, party at my house!” boomed Philza over the noise.

The infamous graduation party. They had planned the two-part party in middle school, when they had had their first sleepover at the group's “hub”, aka Philza’s house. Since then, the party had become a reality and the first part would be executed tonight. The next being, of course, when the remaining half of the group graduated.

A marquis was set up in Phil’s garden, now uncluttered and full of spring blossoms. It was such a different atmosphere than it had been last summer, when their bonfires would stretch out into the early hours of the morning.

Food laden tables were scattered around the marquis, and to everyone's delight, a chocolate fountain rested on one of them.

After collecting food and gifts from various guests, the group found themselves sitting under the shade of a large tree with a rickety old treehouse balancing on it, which Tommy and Tubbo were attempting to devise a plan to get into with the help of their friend Ranboo, who didn’t seem as enthusiastic about the idea as the others.

“My flight leaves next week.” sighed Minx, leaning against Niki’s shoulder.

“I’ll be out of here by July the latest”

“Phil’s taking us to London next week and I’ll just be staying”

Everyone turned to Technoblade to reveal when he would be leaving for college.

“I’m going to Connecticut a week before the beginning of the term”

“So how long will you be home this summer?” Y/N asked, setting down their cookie.

“Between travelling and dorm set-up, I’ll probably only be here for about two weeks total.”

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears as they pushed their head into Technoblades chest.

“I just-” sniffle “I just can’t believe you’re all leaving!” they cried, muffled by Technoblades button down.

This sent everyone into a fit of tears as they all began hugging each other for what seemed like the hundredth time that day.

The moment was interrupted by Phil, who came out of the house with a camera and various props. Encouraging everyone to gather around and take pictures. Everyone scuffled around to fix their disheveled appearances and began making their way to Phils makeshift photo booth.

“Tech- wait!” called Y/N, pulling him back by the forearm. “Your hair”

They put pressure on his shoulders to get him to lean down so that they could fix his stray hairs.

Right then, looking at the way Y/N’s shoes sank into the ground and feeling their light touch in his hair, he decided. I have to tell them. This is my last chance.

“Hey Y/N?”

“Hmm?”

“I-” deep breaths, “I need you to-”

“Come on, lovebirds get in the picture!” called Phil, walking over to drag them to where everyone else was.

Y/N gave him an apologetic look, woven with the silent promise of later.

Damnit Dad.

----

The pictures had lasted what felt like eons, but between the corny props and the harsh afternoon sunlight, they held valuable memories.

But Technoblade had no interest in them at the moment, as he dragged Y/N behind the trunk of the tree they had sat at before.

The sunlight filtering through the leaves made Y/N’s face all that much more beautiful, and Technoblade struggled to tear his attention away to focus on telling them. He gathered up his courage and opened his mouth to speak.

But the only thing that came out was “OW!”

As a pinecone bonked off his head and rolled away on the ground, leaving chips of it in his hair.

“Look out below!” Called Tubbo from somewhere above them. So they managed to get in. Damnit.

Y/N took his hand and led him to the other side of the tree, away from the boys’ field of destruction. They sat down gently, pulling Technoblade down with them to pluck the pieces of pinecone out of his hair.

“Here. Distraction free! Now tell me what you’ve been trying to say because there’s something I need to tell you too.”

That gave Technoblade the perfect opportunity to gather his nerves. “You go first”

“No, it’s fine you!”

“No you go!”

It seemed as if the stars had collided and sent out particles so many eons ago with the knowledge that everything would lead up to these two kids coming to the same conclusion at the same time.

“I love you”

Their eyes met as they stared, wide-eyed and gaping-mouthed at each other. Overcoming the initial shock, they began to ramble.

“I didn’t think you felt the same way because you always got quiet around me and then you woul-”

“Can I kiss you?” Technoblade interrupted them, not really hearing their rambling through the buzz going through his brain.

They nodded shyly in response as he wrapped his hand around the back of their neck to pull them dizzyingly, tauntingly closer. He looked into their eyes one more time to make sure they were serious, but Y/N was already closing the gap between their lips. They hoisted themselves into his lap and gripped his hair to bring him impossibly closer.

But alas, in this group of people, nothing goes unnoticed or undisturbed.

“EW! TECHNO’S KISSING Y/N!” screamed Tommy from the balcony of the treehouse which resulted in whoops and cheers from everyone at the party.

“FINALLY!” yelled someone amongst the crowd.

Y/N felt their ears burn a bright red as they buried their face into Techno’s neck.

“Yeah Y/N! Get some!”

“Oh fuck off!”

A/N: i hope u guys liked it :D, also this is my first time writing with they/them pronouns so if i made a mistake pls don’t hesitate to correct me!

#c!techno #technoblade #technoblade x reader #mcyt x reader #technoblade fluff #technofluff

224 notes · View notes

downwiththemutantnjnjaturtles · 4 years ago

Note

turtles in mating season?

TMNT X fem reader

The Turtles during mating season [Bayverse, slight nsfw]:

Leo

• Normally Leo is very patient; he has to be

• What drives him up the wall about mating season™ is the fact that his usual discipline is kicked to the sidelines fairly quickly

• Though he does actively try to remain composed, sometimes he slips

• And he gets agitated at his brothers, snappy, etc

• At first he was too uncomfortable, but if he's feeling especially wound up he'll vent to Splinter and or ask for advice (the latter, rarely)

• Since there's female around yk. it gets a little more intense

• Is possessive of you unlike usual

• because usually he's pretty chill but this is a different time for him

• Leo usually has a pretty moderate libido but it becomes a lot more aggressive (not as in he's being overly aggressive towards you—unless you want that? 👀)

• Goes out of his way to try to impress you while also being subtle about it; he doesn't want to look like a tryhard

• but instinct's like: "you gotta score with her, bro," so he has less of a filter during the season.

• He still wants to maintain a level of decency/dignity though, so he stays as reserved as possible if his brothers are around

Donnie

• Donnie has done plently of his own research about it, so he knows what to expect, but that doesn't make it much easier when it actually comes

• All of the boys are prone to being somewhat more agitated than usual during the season, but Donnie is less in his brothers' faces about it.

• But he wants you to spend most of your time in his lab with him tho

• He even locked it up once while the two of you were in there to keep his brothers out

• Gets a lot more touchy than usual, needs more physical contact

• Becomes extremely restless

• Gets very defensive because, well, all of the boys are going through it around the same time so things are a little more tense

• Donnie's libido fluctuates a lot due to how focused he is on his work, so sometimes he'll go without for a week or two and other times it's too much to ignore for a couple of days straight. Imagine that but for an extended period of time and you have Donnie during mating season

• But Don is still very private about his desires and doesn't generally make a display of it in front of his brothers.

• The season is where he feels most conflicted because it's a matter of brain vs instinct at that point—it makes him feel a little self conscious because it's a very obvious reminder of his nature (as a turtle)

Raph

• If you thought Raph was handsy before, this is a whole other level

• During the season he's more aggressive toward his brothers but conversely, softens up for you quite a bit

• But also way more public about his desires, even moreso than usual, he could not care less at that point

• A lot more persistent in his pursuit for sex

• Raph's one of those with a high libido on the regular, but mating season just amps it up and this is a source of many squabbles between all of you as he becomes way too distracted/flippant about work

• Loses his sense of priority

• Don't try to tease him. There is little to no self control at this point

• A lot of waking you up in the middle of the night for a round because he's up at that time usually anyway

• Like Donnie, is also very restless

• More likey to get into physical altercations with his brothers if he feels for any reason that they're overstepping their boundaries with you

• which the boundaries at that point are:

• don't touch y/n. At all. No hugging, no casual hands on the shoulder for any reason, none of that, he makes this very clear to everyone

Mikey

• Unless his brothers are really pushing it, he doesn't get irritated as much as the others, rather even more excitable than usual

• Mikey is normally very touchy because he loves physical contact but again, it's mating season, so it's only amplified

• He's very open and doesn't care if his brothers know if his antics

• Doesn't exactly care to understand logically why he's suddenly feeling so antsy but in his heart he know

• Mikey's most intuitive next to Leo so him and Blue know when it's coming on

• Becomes a lot more emotional

• Tries to roughhouse and play fight with you a lot more because his energy levels skyrocket

• whuch usually turns to kissing and touching to be honest

• He's not stupid he knows what he's doing, just doesn't care to rationalize it

• But low key gets way more protective of you and even though he stays pretty sociable with his brothers, he knows how they're feeling too and it bothers him so he seems a bit more reclusive to them than usual

• Is more prone to feeling bad about himself over rejection if he shoots his shot with you and decline for whatever reason

• so just be gentle on him he's quite sensitive in this time

#tmnt #tmnt 2016 #tmnt bayverse #tmnt x reader #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 2014 #tmnt leo #tmnt donnie #tmnt raph #tmnt mikey #leonardo x reader #donatello x reader #raphael x reader #michaelangelo x reader #leo x reader #raph x reader #mikey x reader #donnie x reader

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kamotoshi · 4 years ago

Text

safe [chōsō x reader]

pairing: chōsō x fem sorcerer! reader

genre: fluff with (seriously faint) hints of angst

warning(s): contains manga spoilers for chapter 62!

word count: 2.3k

overview: after spending many years as a sorcerer, you’ve believed certain things to be true. but a chance meeting with a curse that’s developed into a deeper relationship changes your perspective.

notes: want some listening music? here are two songs that helped me write this: summer fling by kang + effervescent by toonorth

A quiet, but gasping breath fills your lungs with a pocket of cold air when you wake from a dead sleep with a start. Instinctively, your hand flies in front of you, directed towards the doorway to obliterate whatever intruder you automatically assume has roused you from your deep slumber. However, much to your surprise, you’re completely alone. Rubbing your eyes, you turn your head towards the alarm clock on your bedside table to check the hour.

Ah, it’s that time again.

With a gentle sigh, you slide out from beneath the warm covers, causing your skin to break out in a wave of goosebumps at the chill in your room that you throw on a sweater and pants to combat before heading to the kitchen of your small but cozy living quarters. Sleep refuses to relinquish its grip, and you ungracefully bump into a few surfaces in the process of preparing two, hot cups of tea and finding a blanket to drape around your shoulders.

The rush of crisp air that greets you when you finally make your way outside of your abode livens you up a bit, though, and you wrap your arms around yourself to retain as much warmth as you can. Following the stone path decorated with glowing lanterns brings you to the front gates of your school—a place you know to visit whenever you wake up with such a start in the dead of the night. The drinks in your hands radiate heat that staves off the bite of the cold as another gust of wind howls past you.

In the darkness of the night, only lit ever so faintly by the twinkling stars in the sky and the waning moon, your eyes search for the visitor who seems to have fallen into a habit of making their presence known around the same time on every odd evening. Sure enough, the thumping of heavy boots against the stone walkway winding near and through Jujutsu High’s campus draws your attention to a tall figure wandering around nearby. The baggy cream clothes draped over his body beneath a vest the hue of blood instantly give away his identity, along with the dark, spiked hair gathered neatly atop both halves of his head.

Before his name can leave your mouth, he turns around to face you, as if he senses your presence the same way you sense his on the nights that he chooses to visit. It’s almost as if he uses some unseen force to disturb you from your sleep so he can steal away anywhere from a few minutes to hours of your time. Of course, this possibility would seem at least the slightest bit insane to an average person, but, for you—a jujutsu sorcerer—it cannot be discounted for the sole reason of what your visitor is: a special grade curse.

Wordlessly, the man you’ve come to know as Chōsō after a twisted event that led to many more spontaneous encounters such as this approaches you. His dark gaze skims over your figure before settling on your own, making your heart thud gently in your chest. Placing his hands in his pockets, he glances at the drinks you’re holding and asks, “Will you come on a walk with me?”

As a sorcerer, it should be second nature to meet the request of a cursed spirit with a no followed by a prompt exorcism. However, in all the times that he’d come to visit, he hadn’t appeared to do so out of ill will or inclination to get some sort of revenge. He’d always sat on the outskirts of the campus or walked around the lush forest surrounding it with you, making as much or as little conversation as you’d liked. In spite of how powerful you knew he was and the nature of his being, you didn’t feel particularly put off by him. In fact, you often found yourself thinking about him and when he’d stop by next more than you probably should.

Slowly, you nod, passing him one of your mugs so the two of you can be on your way. “Thanks.”

The sky above is surprisingly clear, given the school’s location in Tokyo, aside from a few, lingering clouds that float past the moon on their way around the part of the world you call home. It’s oddly peaceful considering your company for the evening. But you’d never really felt uneasy in his presence to begin with. And you certainly don’t feel threatened now, with the way he only seems focused on trying not to spill any of the tea you’d so kindly prepared for him as the two of you traverse a dirt path near the school’s grounds.

It's also a bit ironic, you think, that the route you seem to have fallen into the habit of taking leads you near one of the many, small shrines—gems hidden amongst the forest’s depths—but he appears to have just as much of an affinity to the location since he never suggests going elsewhere.

Beneath the gentle, pale glow from above filtered through leafy branches extending over you, Chōsō’s features take on a soft, almost peaceful appearance. He seems to bask in the symphony of crickets singing as he takes a deep breath and sits down on the grassy hill directly beside you. His dark eyes dipping down to the lip of the mug in his hands before shifting over to meet yours catches you off-guard since you hadn’t realized you’d been watching him so attentively.

“Hmm?” he wonders and takes another sip of his tea. His voice and your own pounding heartbeat are the only things you can hear above the sea of noise.

Inquisitively, you ask him a question you’re sure he’s used to hearing: “Why do you keep coming here?”

He sighs and glances at the grass beneath the two of you before answering, “I get overwhelmed.”

“Overwhelmed?” you echo.

His head bobs in a slow nod as he tilts it up towards the sky once more, making his dark eyes twinkle in spite of the hint of sadness that seems to be lingering behind his gaze. “I’m always expected to do things. To pay the price of being granted my life here. And sometimes, all I wanna do is just sit and look at the sky.” There’s a small, but undeniable ache of empathy in your chest as you allow your eyes to flit over every feature of his face, searching for the words he’s not saying. But with his straightforward, unabashedly honest manner of speaking, it’s unlikely for him to leave you wondering.

After taking a drink to fight off the chilliness, another question leaves your lips. “You could go anywhere to cloud watch or stargaze, though. Why come all the way here?”

“I want to.”

Your fingers tap against the ceramic of your mug. “But being here puts you in a lot of danger. Why would you want to go somewhere like this to escape?”

Without a hint of hesitation, his dark eyes find your own once more as he states, “Because you’re here.” A moment of silence passes between the two of you filled with the ceaseless chirps of crickets during which you attempt to mask any effects of your racing heart and the heat crawling up your neck at his confession. However, the shock that strikes you like lightning must be written on your face, since his eyebrows furrow slightly with confusion at your reaction, and he adds, “I thought I made it clear I come here to spend time with you.”

For a few seconds, your lips make quivering, unsuccessful attempts at forming words your vocal cords won’t allow you to voice before you direct your attention to the mug in your hands filled with tea, instead, and try to regain your composure enough to speak. “W-Well, I knew that, but why?” is all you can inquire with a quiet murmur.

His chest rises and falls in a deep, shuddering breath as a cool gust of wind whistles through the trees. At first, you wonder, with the slight glossiness to his eyes and his sudden inability to meet your gaze, if his emotions are the source of the tremors you notice in his jaw. However, the realization that he’s cold soon reaches you at the sight of his arms folding across his chest. Wordlessly and without thinking, you close the little distance between your bodies and drape part of your blanket around his broad shoulders.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, uncrossing his arms so one of his hands can hold the side of the blanket you’ve given him while the other plants itself on the grass behind you. The unexpected warmth radiating from him that seems to engulf you in the tight space you’re now sharing makes it hard to resist the temptation of resting your head on his shoulder.

“I miss my brothers,” is the gently spoken truth that leaves his lips, “I wanted to give them a better life. My failure to fulfill my role as their older brother is something that weighs heavily on me, even though I know they’d tell me they forgave me if I had been there in their final moments.”

Following his moment of vulnerability, the two of you find enough courage to make eye contact, and you struggle not to lose yourself in the seemingly endless depths of his midnight-colored irises. With your faces mere inches away, you’re granted a closer look at him than you’ve ever had before, and it seems, from the way he’s watching you so intently, that you’re not the only one enjoying the unexpected intimacy of the moment.

The muscles in his neck tense with a thick swallow before he continues, “But when I’m here with you, I feel like it’s okay that I’m still alive even though they’ve passed. You don’t look at me with hatred in your eyes or expect anything from me in exchange for my existence. You accept me as I am.” Another gentle breeze dislodges a few strands of hair tucked behind his ear that you naturally move back into place for him before your hand warm from the drink you’d been holding comes to rest against his cheek. “Why?”

His fingertips ghosting along your own neck and cheek leave sparks of electricity on your skin in their wake. But you manage to organize the thoughts threatening to escape your mind at the tenderness of his touch enough to whisper, “When you fought with me instead of against me, I realized that maybe the way I’ve been taught to view the world we live in isn’t entirely accurate. You risked your life to save mine. You defied the rules about the world I once thought were true. And because you showed me that you cared about my life, I want to do the same for you.” A hint of a smile playing at his lips brings a warmth to you that you don’t think even the heaviest of blankets could provide. Taking a deep breath to slow your heart—which had been racing since he’d locked eyes with you—you ask, “Is that why you want to come here?”

“Hmm?”

“Because you care about me?”

He nods earnestly as his thumb skims over your cheekbones, and the adoration glimmering in his eyes like the stars in the night sky above brings your face closer to his. With a timidness you wouldn’t have expected from him, his lips meet with yours in a short, fleeting kiss, as if he’s testing the waters. The way you chase his after they separate, though, serves as a silent confirmation and has him deepening the kisses your lips return to his to share. Given his relatively blunt yet quiet personality, you’re pleasantly surprised by the slow, sensual manner with which his lips move against yours. You’re sure the two of you could remain in this secluded part of the woods forever, under the cover of the shadows masking you from the pale moonlight as you lose yourselves in the moment, but the reality of the situation marks its painful return when you pull away.

“I care about you a lot, and I want to see you more often,” he breathes, “But the last thing I want is to put you in danger. That’s why I’ve been visiting every once in a while and in the middle of the night.”

Moving your hand to his shoulder to rub it gently, you murmur, “I know; I want to see you too, Chōsō.” In an instant, his arms are around you, pulling your body flush against his, and the action fills you with a bittersweet feeling, since this is only the first time you’ve been so close to him, yet you’re unsure of when you’ll get to share more affectionate moments with him like this one. “We’ll find a way to make it work,” is the promise you whisper into his neck while he nestles his face in yours.

After a few, long moments of silence have passed during which your mind exhausts itself by tirelessly attempting to form solutions to an issue you never could’ve imagined you’d have in your lifetime, you start to relinquish your grip around Chōsō. He, however, isn’t ready to do the same, and refuses to budge.

Instead, he answers your curious hum with, “I’ll let you go back to bed soon, but is it okay if I hold you for a little longer?” Even though fatigue is starting to settle in, you consent and wrap your arms around him once more, resting your head against the side of his and nestling your face in his hair as you let your heavy eyelids close. “I’ve just never felt this way before.”

“Which is…?”

Your heart flutters against his chest in cadence with his own against yours at his answer.

“Safe.”

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk spoilers #choso x reader #chōsō x reader

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gogolucky13 · 4 years ago

Text

Partition

Summary: Bucky likes to remind you he’s yours.

Pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Word count: 2,049

Warnings: Smut. Oral sex (m/f receiving). A slightly dom Bucky? Underlying fluff. Mild swearing. (18+ only please).

A/N: This is a submission for @saiyanprincessswanie‘s 500 Followers Writing Challenge (congrats Missy!!). And yes, title and part of the story were inspired by that Beyoncé song. 😏 Hope you like! 😊💜 gif not mine.

You always hated going to these things. Extravagant parties full of pretentious people who care only about the money you have and the money you can make them. There was never a lack of trying on your part to convince Bucky these events were stupid. He mostly agreed, but “we gotta make connections and keep the ones we have happy” would always be his response.

Therefore, you find yourself in yet another expensive dress sitting by the bar and mindlessly sipping at your cocktail. A silky black evening gown covers your body, accented with the finest gold jewelry. Matching earrings and necklace set for your birthday last year, and a diamond bracelet for your fifth wedding anniversary.

Bucky has been absent for most of the night. Once you make your introductions and the rounds of tedious small talk, you leave him to conduct whatever business he needs to attend to with whoever he needs to. You know he makes dirty money, but that doesn’t mean you like to hear the logistics of it.

At the bar, two women whom you’ve met before stand on either side of you, chatting about whatever new designer purchase they’ve made. You tuned them out not long after they invited you into their conversation. It’s getting a bit late, and you’re always ready to go the second you arrive at these things.

Eyes full of resolute scan the crowd of people for your mobster husband so you can get the hell out of here already. An area full of high top tables catches your attention, and it’s there you spot him, chatting animatedly with a woman you don’t recognize. Before making your way over to them, you sit and watch the scene, a sly smirk curling the corner of your lips.

His body language is friendly, but doesn’t give the invitation for any advances; however, it seems the woman either isn’t getting the hint or just doesn’t care. It’s quite obvious when she’s flicking her hair back to give a better view of her cleavage and placing a flirtatious touch to his arm that she’s attempting to sell herself to Bucky.

But still, there’s no pang of jealousy ripping through your chest. No shade of green filtering your vision. On the contrary, you’re finding the whole situation rather arousing.

Watching this woman throw herself at the man who has told you countless times he’s yours and yours alone. Knowing her advances will get her no where is creating a tempting desire to stir your insides, and spurring on the want to interrupt their conversation to take Bucky away from this party and give him a sensual reminder of why he so willingly claims to be yours.

Walking up behind Bucky, you slide a hand up over his shoulder and down his arm as you come to stand beside him. The woman he’s been talking with quickly shifts her gaze from Bucky to you, and there’s a less than an unimpressed look warping her features. And that look quickly turns to one of annoyance when you’re telling Bucky you’re ready to leave and he’s following behind you without giving the woman a second thought.

Once outside, the limo that brought you to the event waits out front for you. Pinching the silk of your long gown, you give the driver a curt nod before slipping into the backseat, Bucky close behind.

The latch of the door echoes in the silent backseat and needy hands begin trailing up the black fabric of Bucky’s thigh.

“What’s this, Doll?” Bucky chuckles, whiskey and temptation lowering the tenor of his voice.

“Mm,” you hum, fingers lightly brushing the tip of his hardening length, “you look so good tonight.”

Red painted lips place featherlight kisses to the skin of Bucky’s neck. The contradicting sensations of tender lips and assertive hands induces a feral growl in his chest.

“Doll…” A husky warning as he glances to the front of the car.

Silver fingers reflect in the passing streetlights when he gestures for the driver to close the partition, other hand sliding up the bare skin of your thigh where it peeks through the slit of your dress. A gentle squeeze to the flesh and he turns capturing your lips with his. Tongues quickly intertwining, the kiss is becoming heady, and you’re desperate for more.

“Let me taste you,” you whisper, shifting to kneel before him in the backseat.

The clinking of a belt buckle rattles the heated space, and you’re quick to remove Bucky’s thick member from its clothed confines, tip already glistening with arousal. Taking a moment to wet your lips, you look up to him.

Hooded blue eyes watch you intently as you lick a single strip up his length, tongue running hungrily over the pulsating vein. And then you take him fully into your mouth. Coarse hairs tickling the tip of your nose, and a red ring of lipstick appears at the base of his cock.

A subtle claim to what is yours.

Hitting the back of your throat, an almost pained moan is stifled from above you. A hand is moving to help keep your hair out of the way, and you flit your eyes back to Bucky, who holds his bottom lip harshly between his teeth. He glances to your dress, and you can practically see the desired want reflecting in his darkened eyes.

The thin strap of your dress slips off your shoulder, exposing a breast and Bucky is throbbing in your mouth. Sure to be mindful of every inch of him, you switch between a mix of short and quick, and long and slow movements, and he’s panting above you as he starts to come undone.

And when gentle fingers massage the soft skin below his cock, Bucky is writhing and thrusting up into your mouth.

“Fuck,” he hisses, the grip on your hair tightening, “I’m gonna…ahh.”

Hot spurts of his seed hits the back of your throat, and you swallow it eagerly. Releasing him from your mouth, a strand of saliva laced with his arousal strings from your swollen lips to the tip of his member.

“Such a good girl,” Bucky muses, leaning forward to swipe a thumb over the mess around your mouth.

Lipstick smeared, mascara stained cheeks, and eyes glossed over in pure desire, Bucky is ready to be home now. And the carnal look he’s giving you has your thighs clenching together, desperate for any form of release until he can take you to bed.

“Just wait until we get home, Doll,” he says, “By the time I’m done with you, you won’t be able to sit for a week.”

The ride back home is full of impatient touches and heavy pants. Soft moans on heated skin mixing in lust. And then the car is finally pulling into the driveway of your home, Bucky quick to dismiss the driver for the night.

Before you even make it through the front door, Bucky has a tight hold of your wrists, securing them in place above your head. A thick thigh is pressed between your legs, the wetness of your arousal dampening the fabric of his suit, and his body pushes yours firmly against the wall.

“What has you all hot and bothered tonight, Doll?” Bucky speaks along the shell of your ear, breaths of hot air tickling the skin of your neck. “Or should I say, who’s got you all hot and bothered?”

You attempt to stifle a moan when he begins to trail gentle lips on your skin. And it takes you a moment to respond, voice breathy, almost whiny.

“That woman you were talking to,” you say, attempting to catch his lips when they get close, but he denies you. Instead, humming in affirmation he heard you, lips kissing their way down to your chest. “She just kept throwing herself at you.”

Another hum, the light vibrations reaching straight to your core.

“You know I’m only yours, Doll,” Bucky replies after he brings his lips back to hover over yours, blue eyes nearly black. “Do I need to remind you?”

A pitiful whine falls from your lips, swallowed up by the kiss Bucky eagerly presses to your mouth. Metal hand takes both wrists in one, while his flesh hand snakes between your legs. Warm fingers slip under the lace fabric of your panties, slick along your wet folds.

“Seems you already know I’m yours.” You feel the pleased smirk through the kiss and are about to quip back with something, but your words and all thoughts are cut off when you feel the first finger slide inside you, then another. “Mm, always so ready for me, aren’t you?”

Languidly, his fingers move in and out of your heat, expertly curling up inside you.

“Buc—”

But the call of his name dies on your tongue when you feel his body pulling away from you. The pressure of his hard muscles is gone, leaving you feeling slightly weak. The metal hand above you releases your wrists, and before you can comprehend, the feel of Bucky’s slick tongue running along your folds has you almost buckling at the knees.

A tender touch to your outer thigh, and he brings a leg over his shoulder for easier access. Your hands quickly find their way into his hair, an attempt to hold yourself upright. Chest heaving as you feel yourself climbing closer to the apex of pleasure.

“I’m…I’m close…”

And when you feel the soft licks of his tongue on your clit, your vision blurs and you’re crying out in ecstasy. Hands gripping tightly on the hairs at the root, no time to think about how painful it might be for him.

Pulling his fingers out, you’re still in a daze but instantly miss the feeling. Bleary eyes watch as Bucky licks the arousal from them before he’s kissing you again.

“C’mon Doll, I’m not done with you yet,” Bucky says against your lips, guiding you to the kitchen.

Desperate hands are removing the straps of your dress, the silk falling to the tiled floor, and Bucky lets out a hungry growl. Turning you to face the island, a warm hand runs along your spine as he bends you over, the marble cool in contrast to your bare chest.

A kiss to your thigh when he kneels down to take off your panties, and then you hear the sound of his belt buckle jingling behind you. Fingers run along your core before you feel the thickness of his length filling you up.

Leaning over you, the buttons of his shirt indent into the skin of your back, his lips against your ear when he speaks in a gravelly voice.

“Do you believe I’m yours yet?”

“Yes, Bucky, yes,” you whine. “Please, move.”

“As you wish.”

He places a tender kiss between your shoulder blades before he’s standing upright and his hips begin thrusting into you. First he takes it slow, giving you the chance to adjust to his size, and when you reach an impatient hand to squeeze his thigh, nails digging harshly into the flesh, he picks up the pace.

His movements become almost unforgiving, but he knows what you can handle. Rough hands grasp at your hips before one slides up to gently grip the back of your neck, giving way to a new angle. He’s deep inside you, the tip of his cock repeatedly hitting that one spot that has your eyes watering in pained pleasure.

He takes you in the kitchen, finishing with a deep grunt, a heavy body collapsing on top of yours. Soft lips and teeth giving tender bites to your shoulder.

Then he takes you again in the bedroom, slower this time, each thrust and kiss full of loving passion. He knows you never question if he’s yours and yours only, but he never passes up the opportunity to remind you that it’s true.

Pushing inside you for one final time, his face is buried in your neck and you hear the muffled moan as he releases inside you. When he pulls out, he doesn’t give you the chance to move away from him, bringing your body against his. Kissing the top of your head, he speaks softly into your hair.

“I’m yours forever, Doll.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #saiyanprincessswanie 500 followers challenge

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spideyobsessed · 4 years ago

Text

Before It’s Too Late - Prologue

peter parker x avenger!reader

Synopsis: With all the life changing events taking place, will you ever get to overcome some of your biggest fears?

Chapter one

“Come on, Y/n! Do it for me!” your best friend pleaded.

“I told you not at school! It’s not my fault you went out drinking on a Tuesday.” you scolded Gwen, who is being dramatic as always.

“Please! I’ll give you 5 dollars.” She clasps her hands together and pleads some more as she shoots you a sheepish smile. You let out a sigh and shake your head, knowing you’d give in to her eventually. “How about you just hand over your jello?” You bargain, doubting she even has money with her.

“Deal!” She cheers loudly before groaning and holding her head.

Ignoring your whiny friend, you scope out your area of the cafeteria. Once you were certain there were no eyes on you, you turn back to Gwen, “This is the last time I’m doing this at school.”

“Yeah yeah, just hurry!” She rushes.

You take a deep breath and focus all of your energy towards your hands. You place your fingertips on either side of Gwen’s head, a purple aura radiating from them. As the energy transfers from your fingers to her temples, you watch a wave of relief mask her face.

“Better?” You ask her, the purple already gone from your fingers. “So much better. Bless you, almighty Y/n!” Gwen bows her head and graciously hands you her jello cup. You let out a loud laugh before accepting the treat, “You are ever so welcome, peasant.” She shoves you slightly before joining you in laughter.

“I saw that, ya know?” A third voice suddenly appears.

Your eyes widen when you see who the voice belongs to. Michelle Jones. This girl notices everything and now she’s just seen you use your abilities. So dumb. So careless. How could I let her catch-

“See what, Mj?” Gwen interrupts your panicked train of thought.

The odd girl invites herself to sit at your table. She squints her eyes while looking back and forth between you and Gwen. “I saw how close you guys were just a minute ago. It just seemed like something is going on.” She speaks with subtle confidence, as if she just cracked a big case.

“What? Uh no. Nope. Nothing going on here, that’s crazy talk.” You chuckle nervously. The blonde girl besides you gives you a disappointed look, “Nice save.” You gulp hard and your palms being to sweat.

The secret is out. I’m done for. I’m going to live the rest of my life as a lab rat being poked and prodded every single day-

“I don’t know. Things just seemed kinda... fruity over here.” Your thoughts interrupted once more, this time by Mj and her idiotic comment. She and Gwen begin to laugh as you bury your face in your hands, your nerves settle, thankfully.

“Very funny, very funny.” Gwen manages to say through her laughing fit, “but we all know who Y/n really wants to swap spit with.” she points a finger.

You turn your head, and almost as if it was second nature, your eyes land on the guy you’ve been crushing on since 8th grade year.

Peter Parker.

You feel the heat spreading across your face and you’re sure your pupils are dilated out of this world, but none of it is enough to tear away your gaze. Gwen let’s out a high pitched “Aahh” as she attempts to replicate that of a beautiful church chorus (and does quite the opposite). You’ve learned to tune out your best friend’s theatrical tendencies.

The smallest smile creeps onto your lips as you watch him and his best friend, Ned, laugh and toss grapes into each other’s mouths. Gwen and Mj share a knowing glance before continuing their antics.

Look at him! The way he grabs his stomach when he laughs, the way his eyes crinkle in the corner when he smiles too wide, the way his curls droop over his forehead. He’s perfect... Oh no.

You whip your direction back to the girls next to you, “Is it that obvious? Does everyone really know I like him?” Your nerves return. “You only make it like super obvious, dude.” Mj snorts, stealing a fry from your tray. You sigh and start to pick at your rightfully earned jello.

“Too bad he doesn’t even know I exist.” You grumble, fully and shamelessly basking in your own self pity. “I can fix that,” Mj smirks, “Hey losers! Get over here!” She shouts from across the lunchroom.

She instantly captures the attention of Peter and Ned, who are obviously use to her ever so friendly nicknames, and everyone else in the cafeteria. You make brief eye contact with the curly haired boy and fight the urge to just melt in your seat.

Sweat starts to bead from your forehead as you turn to Mj and whisper harsh words of protests. “Just go with it, Y/n.” Gwen attempts to reassure you. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. Please please please don’t embarrass yourself, you thought as they approach your table.

“Yes, Mj?” Ned questions her with his eyes squinted. You can tell they’re both worried about what might come out of her mouth. Quite frankly, you are too! Mj has no filter and is too unpredictable.

You try to avoid making eye contact with Peter, which is really hard to do considering he’s standing right next to you. You smell the strong scent of cologne and suddenly your throat is drier than the Sahara Desert. You sit in silence as you fiddle with your fingers.

“You guys know Gwen and Y/n, right?” Mj speaks in her monotone voice as she points a thumb over to you and Gwen.

This brings out a loud chuckle from Ned, “Uh duh! Of course we know Gwen Stacy and Y/n Y/l/n.” You can’t help but tilt your head over to Gwen, who is just as confused as you, but seems to be entertained by the event unfolding before your eyes.

“What Ned means is, uh.. y-yes. We’ve seen you guys around. And totally not in a creepy way or anything. We’re not stalkers. I just mean I’ve seen you pass by my locker. Not that I was looking for you or anything. I-It’s just that- well...um. I’m gonna.. stop there.” Peter finally chimes in with a painfully awkward laugh, but you swear it’s music to your ears.

Mj clears her throat, “Anyway, it’s your lucky day, nerds. Liz is having a party this Friday and these ladies don’t have dates, so you’re gonna take them. Ned with Gwen and Peter with Y/n.”

While Mj sits back and watches in amusement as Peter and Ned take turns stuttering words of confusion and hesitation, you lean over to Gwen, “Are we just going to let her set us up with them?” “Shh. It’s getting good.” Gwen shushes you.

“Well what about you, Mj? Won’t you be like.. the fifth wheel?” Ned asks a pretty valid question.

“As a young woman, I will be attending the party alone because I refuse to contribute to today’s patriarchal society norms.” Mj answers the question, sounding even more serious than you thought was possible.

The four of you are left speechless, none of you really knowing how to respond to that subtly backhanded statement. Mj continues, “They’ll be ready by 8:00 though. So don’t be late.”

“Demanding much? What if we had plans on Friday?” Peter scoffs while crossing his arms over his chest.

“You two have plans on a Friday night that don’t include a lego death star?” Mj mirrors his actions, calling his bluff.

Peter trades a defeated look with Ned and drops his arms. “No.” he sighs. “Good! So like I said, 8 o’clock. You’re dismissed.” Mj asserts before waving them off.

You get a sudden jolt of confidence and shoot Peter a small smile. He gives you one in return as he walks away with Ned.

“Really?!” You slap your hand on the table as soon as you were sure the two boys were out of earshot. “I believe the words you’re looking for are “Thank you, Mj. You’re the best!” but whatever.” The sarcastic girl smiles, obviously satisfied with her ‘leadership skills’, as she likes to call it.

You could just burst with embarrassment, “Oh, I have a few words I want to say, alright.” However, the bell rings before you get the chance.

- - - - -

The final bell of the day had finally rung and you walk to your locker in a slump. You spent the last three hours replaying the impromptu game of matchmaker at lunch over and over again in your head.

I can’t believe Mj pulled that stunt, you thought, but why was he so against it? He probably doesn’t want to go with me.

You absentmindedly put away your books and shut your locker. As you begin to walk towards the exit, you don’t even realize that the boy you’re constantly thinking of was right next to you.

Peter jogs a bit to catch up with you. “Uh h-hey, Y/n.” he says timidly, his voice making you stop dead in your tracks.

Your eyes widen and your legs now feel weak once you realize it’s really him. “Peter, hi!” you practically yell. Don’t seem too excited! You cringe at your eagerness before giving him a more calming, “Hi.”

The two of you chuckle at how awkward you both are. After a few seconds of silence and avoided eye contact, Peter is the first to start a conversation. “So lunch was pretty...” “Interesting?” you finish his sentence. “You read my mind.” He breathes as he looks down at his shoes.

You take this as your chance to apologize for your very bold acquaintance friend’s behavior. “I’m really really sorry about Mj. I had no idea she was going to do any of that. You and Ned don’t have to take us, if you guys don’t want to.” You manage to push out in one breath.

“No, it’s okay! I know how Mj is.” He reassures you with the sweetest smile possible. “I actually came to ask you what you’re wearing on Friday. I wouldn’t want to be underdressed.”

Heat immediately rushes to your face. This is not a drill! Okay, okay. Just breathe. Be cool. “Uhm I really haven’t given it much thought yet.” You tried your best to keep your composure despite the happiness coursing through your body.

“Oh, that’s totally cool!” Peter hesitates for a moment before saying, “Maybe we could, ya know, trade numbers and you can let me know later.”

You nod your head, maybe one too many times. “Yes, I think that’s a great idea.” You tell him, unable to hide the big smile plastered across your face.

The two of you chuckle once again at the awkward, yet somehow endearing, tension as you switch phones.

I can’t believe this is happening.

You can’t help but take notice of almost every little detail.

Peter’s phone has a screen protector, but still has a good sized crack on the top left corner.

There’s several unread messages, emails, and missed calls.

His home screen is a picture of probably the most beautiful sunset you could get in Queens. And oddly enough, the picture looks like it was taken from the very top of one of the skyscrapers.

I wonder how he got this picture.

After taking in as much as you could, you finally put in the 10 digits of your number. You simply put your name in as “Y/n” and locked the phone, handing it back to Peter, who was taking his sweet time.

Once you got back your phone, you see that he did not keep it as simple as you did. He put his contact name as “Peter :)))” and somehow managed to take and upload a contact photo as well. You smile widely at the sight on your screen.

“Awesome! So I’ll... text you later?” You say more as a question, but Peter doesn’t seem to notice this. “Yes, later! Sounds great.” He smiles as he walks backwards in the opposite direction from you.

“Y-yeah, uh, later!” You say as you copy his actions and also begin to walk backwards. “Later.” Peter gives you that smile that you love so much. You quickly turn around before he could see you blush anymore than he already has. Anyone with decent eyesight can see that you ended the day happier than you started it.

Okay, okay. Thanks, Mj.

- - - - -

“Oh what’s that, Peter? You want my number?” You say out loud, reenacting your conversation with Peter just minutes ago. The stares of strangers walking by you go unnoticed because you’re in your own little world, thinking about the boy of your dreams asking for your number!

“I mean sure, but I can’t promise I’ll get to you right away. There’s just SO many people blowing up my phone.” You say with a sigh as you dramatically place the back of your hand to your forehead. Wow, I’ve been hanging around Gwen too much.

You laugh to yourself, and continue your routine trek home until you hear a faint cry. To your right is a little girl, no older than seven years old, sitting on the stoop of these apartment buildings. You take a quick glance around, checking for any adults she might belong to. When you see no one around, you decide to check on her. With caution, you stroll over to where she’s sitting, and it was in this moment that you realize she’s cradling a small kitten.

You crouch down to her level, “Hey, sweetie. What’s wrong?”

The young girl looks up at you with her big, tearful eyes and then back down at the kitten. You let her sniffle a few times and muster up the courage to speak. “It’s my kitty.” her voice cracks, “He’s really sick, but my mom said we can’t go to the vet.”

You look down at the poor cat. His fur is matted, his breathing is labored, and he looks as if he hasn’t been eating. You can’t help but pity the both of them.

She can barely finish her sentence before breaking down again. Instinct kicking in, you start to rub small circles on her back in order to comfort her, “Don’t cry, don’t cry. I can help him!” The child instantly perks up.

“How are you gonna do that?” She questions skeptically while simultaneously placing the small creature in your hands.

You flash a smug smile before wiggling your fingers in front of her face. “With magic.” You whisper. The little girl’s eyes sparkle as she gazes upon the purple aura beaming from your hand.

You had no problem showing off your abilities to children. With their hyperactive imaginations and short attention spans, they don’t pose a threat when it comes to exposing your secret.

Finally turning your attention to the sickly kitten once more, you press your index and middle finger to its stomach. Just as it did with Gwen earlier today, the purple energy moves from your fingers and onto the kitten. It only takes a few seconds for the cat to spring out of your hands and back to its tiny owner, moving with full strength and purring happily.

The little girl gasps in pure amazement as she picks up her cat and squeezes it to her chest. “Thank you so much! I love magic now!” She squeals, a hint of sparkle still in her eyes.

You let out a lighthearted laugh and ruffle her already messy hair a little bit. “Sure thing, hun. You take good care of him!”

“I will, I will!” She smiles brightly before rising to her feet. “Mommy, mommy! Spiderman feels better now!”

and with that, the little girl disappears through the door.

Did she really name that cat Spiderman?

You roll your eyes and shake your head before carrying on.

- - - - -

“Alice, I’m home- woah. What the hell is this?” You spit in shock at the sight in front of you.

Your Aunt Alice walks up to you and gently pulls you through the doorway. She lets out a loud over exaggerated laugh, “Y/n, we have a guest! Don’t be rude when we have a billionaire in our house.” She whispers the last part to you.

“Uh- right! My apologies. I’m Y/n Y/l/n.” You walk up to the clean cut man with an outstretched hand.

He whips his sunglasses off of his face and you immediately feel ten times more intimidated and a hundred times more confused. He pushes himself off of your couch and steps in front of you.

The man placed his firm hand in yours and gives you a subtle shake, “I know who you are, kid. I’m Tony Stark.”

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

The next part!

Okay guys that’s the end of the introduction chapter!! I hope you guys like it! I’m sorry it’s everywhere right now, but it’ll start making more sense as it goes on, like most stories do.

I’m open for some feedback!! Let me know if the chapter was too long or too short. Maybe it could use more dialogue or less dialogue. Whatever you have in mind, just please be nice!! I haven’t written a story like this since I was like 15 so I might be a little rusty. If you’re still here, thank you for reading this far!!

edit: Sorry for any typos!!

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x avenger!reader #peter parker imagine #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #peter parker x stark!reader #steve rogers #spiderman #spiderman: far from home #spiderman: homecoming #tom holland x reader #tom holland #sebastian stan #avengers x reader

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unbridgeabledistances · 3 years ago

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hi❣️❣️ so this morning i saw this post by @emsemotional and i haven’t stopped thinking about it!!! so here is a soft & short pre-s11 ficlet about gallavich getting high together <3

Sometimes Ian would come home so tired after a long day of work— aching limbs, a buzzing brain too syrup-heavy after lifting boxes and pushing carts and stumbling through idle conversation with middle-aged coworkers—to really think about anything other than pushing one foot in front of the other through the creaky front door, anything other than pulling himself up the stairs with a firm grip on the railing and collapsing face-first onto the bed.

Usually Mickey was already there, sprawled on the bed like a kid at a sleepover, watching some dumb video on his phone, ending a hard day of whatever the fuck Mickey was up to these days since the lockdown started, since Mickey had cloistered himself away within these four walls after the wedding. It was a reaction to the pandemic, sure— but it was maybe also a reaction to the breezed-by attempted shootout of their floral-scented honeymoon suite, a reaction to the world feeling a little more looming and frightening now that Ian and Mickey were married, yes, but so much of the home that Mickey had known before he’d been locked up was gone, replaced by shiny new apartment complexes and organic grocery stores.

Ian wasn’t going to question it— this lockdown shit was hitting him hard too, was grinding down on his hard-fought sense of stability and rhythm and pressing in on his grand notions of work ethic and savings and finding a place, somewhere, for the two of them someday. It seemed like since the wedding, shit in general had only gotten worse and worse— he and Mick were fine, they were existing, but something about a global pandemic stopping the roller coaster on its tracks as it headed up the mountain, leaving them suspended, had torn something irreparable in them both— they weren’t going to go back to that shiny-faced, post-wedding bliss that Ian had wanted to savor forever.

He’d give anything to go back to that time between then and now, between whenever they returned from their honeymoon and whenever he’d developed a now-permanent slouch in his shoulders from long days at a dead end job, and a scruffy five o’clock shadow that he didn’t really have the energy to deal with both when he came home from work and when he crawled out of bed at 5 in the morning before sunrise, shifting out from under Mickey’s hand that always rested with a solid weight on Ian’s chest as he slept. Today, Ian fully expected to turn the corner into their room to that same habitual evening scene—Mickey laying there on his stomach, brows furrowed in the same permanent lingering discontent that they both seemed to be harboring these days, watching a video of some outdated trend blasting at full volume.

Instead, Mickey was seated in the bed, a pillow smushed between his back and the wall, hair ruffled and eyes bleary like he’d just woken up. He was wearing a dark tank top, the neck damp with the summer humidity trapped in the room that could barely escape through the narrow window— and he had a packet of rolling papers in his hand, a grinder beside him on the bed, his eyes drifting up and then back down to his task as Ian entered the room.

“You just get up?” Ian tried to keep his voice measured, tried to bite down any edge of resentment.

Mickey’s eyes flickered up again from where he was silently rolling the blunt in a tight cylinder, then freed a hand to flip Ian off.

“Was fucking napping. Still on my honeymoon, man.”

Ian rolled his eyes, letting out a little puff of air through his nose, but he kept his mouth shut— this was it, the whole crux of their problem these days, that they were both taking this shitshow of a situation very differently. Mickey was allowed to sleep the day away in his grungy threadbare bathrobe if he wanted to— in the same way that Ian was allowed to get up at the crack of dawn and leave him alone at the house all day, was allowed to be up his ass about money and expenses and “financial planning.” The world was burning around them, was tilting off-kilter— and they both had different ways of finding a rope to grab on to, of keeping their feet on solid ground.

Mickey was lifting the paper to his tongue now, then sealing it shut with practiced fingers. Mickey had always been good at rolling blunts—he was always patient and methodical in a way that Ian rarely was with shit like this, shit that felt meaningless and the aesthetics unnecessary. Mickey was still looking downward at the rolled cylinder in his fingertips; maybe because he was focused on his task, or maybe because they were out of practice being around each other since Ian had started his job. He barely made eye contact with Ian as he stretched to grab a lighter off the nightstand and doused the end of the blunt in flames with one fluid movement.

Ian shook off his sneakers, walking over to perch on the edge of the bed and watching as Mickey inhaled deeply and let his head sink back against the wall. Part of Ian, flaring up as a small twinge in his stomach, felt oddly jealous— how could Mickey be so fucking chilled out right now, while so much was uncertain and Ian was working his ass off to keep a roof over all of their heads?

And still. That wasn’t fair. Deep down, Ian knew that.

Mickey finally shifted his gaze upwards after taking another hit, tapping the blunt against the rim of a mug that they kept on the nightstand as an ashtray— and then reaching the smoldering cylinder out to Ian, who was still sitting on the side of the bed like a stranger who’d stumbled into the room. Mickey’s arm reached out— a contrast of rough hands and tattooed knuckles that delicately pinched at the filter, tilted at a practiced angle over the linen blanket.

It struck Ian that this was a peace offering—they’d been so close yet so distant for weeks, sleeping pressed together at night but mostly traveling in their own orbit. This outstretched hand was Mickey wanting to share an experience, a moment in which Ian could breathe—a moment that Ian could let him in rather than putting up walls of demands and stress, looking through Mickey rather than at him as he headed out the door.

And knowing this, Ian reached outwards, fingers fumbling on the paper.

It had been a while since Ian had smoked—the first few weeks of quarantine they’d pretty much been constantly high, alternating between sleeping and smoking and fucking and smoking again. But after a while, the doubts and the demands started lurking in, and the space of their bedroom felt too constricted, too close. Ian had lifted himself out of that space, finding a job and ending their days cocooned in the bedroom together— and Ian hadn’t really let himself deflate since then.

Mickey was content to stay in this comforting space behind closed doors, and Ian let him— Mickey hadn’t had a place like this, a place to lay and get high and watch videos on his phone, for years at this point.

Ian took his first drag, and felt the bitter smoke linger at the back of his throat before blowing it outwards. He let out a dry, sputtery cough, one that started in his throat and seemed to end in his ribcage, making him hack again and again— and Mickey let out a disbelieving laugh, lighter than Ian expected, and reached over for the bottle of tepid Gatorade that was sitting on the nightstand.

“Fuckin’ lightweight, man.”

Now it was Ian’s turn to flip him off, swigging back the Gatorade with tears burning in the corners of his eyes.

Mickey just chuckled again, and plucked the blunt out of Ian’s fingers.

And— fuck. How long had it been since Ian had let himself feel like this, loose-limbed and heavy-headed? He wasn’t even sure if the weed had hit yet, or if it was some Pavlovian response to the act of smoking, of inhaling deep and feeling his belly expand amid the humidity hanging heavy in the room— but instantly Ian felt the trickling in of a pleasant buzzing in his brain, of the warm and floaty release of his clenched shoulderblades, the fuzzy warmth of starry-eyed admiration as he turned his head and watched his husband take another hit, blowing curls of smoke out of his pink mouth in an exhale.

Ian must have been staring for a second too long, eyes lingering on the contours of Mickey’s jawline as the cloud of smoke dissipated in front of him, because Mickey turned and furrowed his brows.

“The fuck’re you looking at?”

Ian just smirked to himself, causing Mickey’s forehead to crease even deeper—but he held out the blunt again, and Ian took it, reaching over to give Mickey’s knee a light squeeze in thanks. It was better this time, breathing the heavy air into his lungs, letting it out with a sigh. He was definitely feeling the actual weed now, the feeling soft as cotton that made everything a little easier, a little lighter.

Mickey was definitely there too, slouching back against the pillows and lazily flicking through his Spotify library to find something to let drift through the room through the tinny speaker of his phone— usually he’d play some sort of weird ass techno music that neither one of them actually listened to, or some sort of mellow pre-made Spotify playlist that Mickey would only stoop to listening to when he was high out of his mind.

It felt like there was a heavy blanket wrapped around Ian’s body—warm and liquid, keeping him weighted on the bed. And without really thinking, he let himself slump down farther on his side, slouching down onto Mickey’s shoulder. At first, Mickey stiffened at the unexpected touch— then Ian felt his shoulderblades relax, his body soften as they laid leg to leg, arm to arm.

Tentatively, Ian fumbled until his fingertips tangled with Mickey’s, until they were slotted just right— the movement felt like it took multiple minutes, like they were suspended and swimming through time.

Mickey peered to look at their clasped hands. “Gay,” he huffed out under his breath before bringing the blunt to his lips again.

Ian snickered, like that was the funniest shit he’d heard in weeks—because honestly, it was. They’d been drifting apart, on separate edges of a jagged faultline— except now Mickey was here, his same grumbling self, and their bodies were pressed together, and they were warm, warm, warm.

Ian buried his face in Mickey’s neck, continuing to laugh until he felt a dull ache in his abdomen. After what could have been an hour for all he knew, Ian finally peered his head up again— Mickey was tracing a pattern up and down his arm, eyes half-open and listening to the music, until he turned to Ian with a bemused expression. “You good?”

“Do you want a snack?”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “You sound like you’re fuckin’ babysitting Franny right now.”

“Well, I want a snack. So I’m gonna go downstairs and get one.”

“M’not fucking getting up, man.”

Ian poked Mickey in his side. “C’mon.”

Begrudgingly, Mickey let Ian pull him up by his elbow, rubbing at his eyes like a sleepy toddler and stubbing out the blunt that was still in his hands, letting it fall into the mug.

They crept down the stairs to the moonlit kitchen— Ian had a fleeting thought that they probably thought they were being stealthier than they were, given how he kept feeling like he was about to stumble over his own feet—and Ian flung open the kitchen cupboard, rifling around for a half-eaten bag of Doritos on the top shelf.

“Stop slamming shit, Franny’s sleeping.”

Ian perched on the edge of counter, Mickey hoisting himself to sit next to him, and Ian placed the chip bag between them, letting them eat in a comfortable silence. Ian forgot how fucking hungry he always got whenever he was high— he and Lip used to creep down the front staircase after sharing a joint and blowing the smoke out the cracked bedroom window, eating fistfuls of whatever bargain junk food was in the cabinet. Ian felt a sudden softness that this silly childlike ritual, in this home— this belonged to Mickey now, too.

Ian noticed a bit of cheese dust on Mickey’s chin, and he licked at his thumb and smeared it away without thinking. Mickey immediately swatted at his chest, ducking away and bristling like a cat that didn’t want to be pet.

“Stop treating me like a fuckin’ five year old!”

Ian felt his shoulders shake with laughter— one wave, then another, and all of a sudden he was laughing again for no fucking reason at all, laughing because it felt good and warm and spread through his belly. Mickey rolled his eyes; but a grin was cracking through, sloping the corner of his mouth upwards.

“I’m never getting high with you ever again,” Mickey breathed it in a chuckled exhale. “You’re getting too fuckin’ old to handle this shit, your eyes are all red and everything.”

Ian shoved him back in the chest. “I’m not a fucking lightweight.”

“Mhm.”

Ian hopped off the counter, dropping the crumpled Doritos bag back on the shelf and slamming the cabinet shut again with an alarmingly loud whack that resounded through the kitchen and made Ian jump— and this time Mickey was laughing, and Ian was slumping forward against Mickey’s shoulder again, leaving a damp spot on the shoulder of his t-shirt where tears sprang up and spotted.

And then the moonlight softened; Mickey began to run a hand up and down Ian’s back, from sternum to spine to shoulder blades and back again— and Ian was suddenly reaching his hands for Mickey’s hips, reaching through the haze of dark cotton and softness around them. Now it was just blood rushing against blood, sweaty skin pressed together against the cool linoleum of the counter. Ian’s head dipping down, dropping kisses and pulling gentle bites of teeth on skin— Mickey pulling in breaths of air and doing the same, leaving scalding marks with lips that Ian could feel echoing and rattling in his entire body.

They made their way upstairs, wading in the darkness, wading against each other, bodies floating— landing on soft bedsheets, tugging and giving way.

#was maybe going to continue this but i am... bad at writing smut adjacent things lol #just thinking about happy giggly boys in love being happy and giggly!#and also feeling yearny for the very specific feeling of laying in bed w someone & smoking & feeling all safe #and warm and cushioned from the world #i hope this maybe gave u those feels!#rori shut up #also p&p update will be up next week- this bad boy is a long one!#love u all #gallavich #gallavich fic #shameless #shameless fic #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian x mickey #ian and mickey #ixm

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 4 years ago

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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.”

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