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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

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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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five-rivers · 4 years ago

Note

I hope I haven't sent this yet: idea for a Fenton-family-roadtrip fic, maybe Doorways: The Fentons stop at an inn that is allegedly haunted. And indeed there is a ghost there that tells them to "GET OUT!" Either Danny or Jazz thinks there's something off and they investigate. Long story short, the owners are killing guests to enslave their ghosts. The one who told them to get out was WARNING them (the only one not enslaved) but was too fresh dead to do more than repeat one phrase.

This doesn't quite get to the payoff, but I think it's a good start.

(Also for Dannymay 2021 Day 5: Doorway)

Danny pulled himself out of an uneasy but necessary nap as the GAV came to a stop. Last night's encounter with Superbia had left him drained, and, unlike his battle with Gula, he didn't have the advantage of being at home, in his haunt, near his portal, the other expression of himself.

“Time to wake up, everyone!” said Dad. “We’re here.”

Danny wanted to just go back to sleep, but Dad opened the door, so he peeled himself off the car seat and stumbled out. He smacked his lips loudly, yawned, and looked up at the building they had parked in front of. It was a pretty house. Three stories, painted blue. White trim. A wraparound porch with a swing bench.

“Where’re we?” he asked, rubbing one eye. Fighting Superbia had taken a lot out of him, and he’d only been able to doze on the subsequent drive to… wherever this was.

“Borden Bed and Breakfast,” said Dad, with only a shadow of his usual enthusiasm. “You don’t, er, sense anything, do you, Danno?”

Danny blinked sleepily at the building. “No,” he said, finally. “Need to look around t’make sure, though.” He yawned again. “Sleepy.”

“Wait, wait,” said Jazz, “this’s another one of your friends? Already?”

“Well… Yes? Eliza and Bethany own the place.”

“They’re twins. They were interested in telepathy and other psychic abilities,” said Mom, pulling luggage out from the back of the GAV. “At least at first. Later, we were able to turn them on to ghosts, a little but they were… How would you describe it, Jack?”

“Wishy-washy,” said Dad. “Always had an excuse not to do work. Fun to be around, though.”

Mom leaned in conspiratorially. “They were the two laziest people I’ve ever met,” she said. “Wanted to use ghosts to, I don’t know, make bargains with to do chores. Like they were some kind of, I don’t know, demons that could be summoned to do things.” Mom snorted. “Completely wrong-headed. Even if they got their hands on something real, they wouldn’t put the effort in to use it.”

“Mhm,” said Danny, dubious, but too tired to argue. He really didn’t sense ghosts, or anything else for that matter, so it was probably fine.

“Come on, we’ll introduce you while we check in. Don’t be surprised if things are a little… dusty.”

Jazz muttered something about cleanliness and beds. Danny had stopped listening and was now just following along behind his parents, almost blindly. Everything just sort of buzzed in the background.

They went up the stairs on the porch and Mom rang the doorbell. Was it normal to ring a doorbell to get into a bed and breakfast? It wasn’t normal for hotels. Danny rubbed his eyes and endeavored to be a little more self-aware and less zombie-like. Even if he was a member of the living dead.

A rotund woman opened the door and greeted Mom with surprise and joy.

“Maddie!” she said. “We weren’t expecting you for another two days.”

“Sorry, Eliza. Our plans changed,” said Mom. “I hope it isn’t a problem…”

“Not at all! We’re having a bit of a slow stretch. You’re our only guests right now. We’re wide open.” A smile stretched across her face. “Come on in.” She stood to the side.

“These must be your children,” she continued, as Danny and Jazz passed her. The entryway had a set of stairs and a little balcony on the second floor. Danny watched idly as one of the doors clicked closed. Eliza’s sister, maybe?

But, then, another woman, identical to Eliza in all particulars walked in from what looked like a formal dining room. He frowned. The wind, maybe? A draft?

He still hadn’t felt anything from his ghost sense.

His parents and the Bordens negotiated something about dinner and eating together as Danny had a staring contest with the doors on the second floor. Dad had to prompt him to follow the rest of the family upstairs.

“We all have our own rooms,” said Mom. “Isn’t that nice?”

“Not really,” said Jazz, in a low tone.

“But you always want your own rooms,” said Dad.

“Yeah, and then I get attacked,” said Danny. “Jazz, can I share with you?”

“Okay,” said Jazz, who was also listing to the side. “Whatever.”

The room was clean, as far as Danny could tell. Not a spec of dust anywhere.

He dropped face-first on the bed, Jazz hitting it soon after. He didn’t stay awake long after that.

Jazz woke up groggy and disoriented, the dregs of her dream still lingering in the back of her brain.

Get out.

She sat up, blinking. That hadn’t been Danny’s voice. He was still out cold. She looked around the room, edging towards their bags. They had ectoguns, which weren’t effective on everything, but still packed a good knockback, if nothing else.

But nothing else jumped out at her, and she tentatively concluded that she must have still been dreaming. Anything dangerous would have woken Danny up.

She sighed. She wanted to go back to sleep, but… She was awful and grimy, and this was a prime opportunity to avoid getting edged out by one of Danny’s marathon showers later. Regretfully, she levered herself off the bed and dragged her feet as she walked into the bathroom.

Still feeling bleary, she groped for the light switch.

The words get out were drawn on the mirror in soap. Something moved. Jazz brought the ectogun she was still carrying up and fired. The blast bounced off the mirror (for reasons never clearly explained to Jazz, ectoplasm behaved strangely with regards to reflective surfaces and especially silver) and hit the lintel of the doorway.

There was a silent, tense moment where Jazz realized she had shot at her own reflection.

She was becoming her parents.

Danny groaned from the bed, breaking the silence. There were some thumps from the other side of the wall as Jack and Maddie burst through the door.

“Okay, spook!” shouted Jack, “you have five seconds to… There’s no ghost here.”

“Um,” said Jazz, weakly.

“What happened, sweetie?” asked Maddie, swiping hair out of her eyes.

“I just… Was a little tense, I guess, and—” She turned back to the mirror, expecting to see the writing.

There was nothing there.

“Huh,” she said. “I was going to take a shower and I… Thought I saw something,” she finished, lamely. She must have been more tired than she thought.

Danny made another muffled sound and rolled over, taking the blankets with him and turning himself into a human burrito.

“Okay,” said Jazz. “That’s… Usually he’d wake up.”

“He’s used to ectoblast sounds,” said Maddie. “I know I don’t wake up for every one. We’re always testing new weapons after all.”

“Yeah, exactly,” said Jazz. “Normally, he wakes up. It’s kind of a self-preservation thing.” She walked over to the bed and poked him. “Danny?”

He let out a small grunt but otherwise didn’t respond.

“This is weird,” said Jazz. “This is weird, right?”

“Do you think he’s being effected by something?” asked Maddie.

“Definitely,” said Jazz. “Is it something here? I don’t know. I mean, that was only the second time he’s fought one of those… things.”

“You think he’s just recovering from that?” asked Maddie.

“Maybe,” said Jazz.

“I don’t like this,” said Maddie. She stepped closer to the bed and shook Danny’s shoulder, obviously hoping to wake him. After a few seconds, Danny turned intangible, forcing Maddie to let go.

He did not show any signs of wakefulness.

“That really isn’t normal,” said Maddie, biting her lower lip. She looked to the door. “I don’t like that Eliza and Bethany haven’t said anything, either…”

Jazz winced. They had made a lot of noise.

“You don’t think something got them, do you?” asked Jack.

“I don’t know,” said Maddie. “But we should probably check.”

“We won’t be able to move Danny if he’s phasing through us,” said Jazz.

“Right,” said Maddie. “You and Jack stay here, and I’ll go downstairs.”

“No, you girls should stay here, and I’ll go downstairs,” said Jack.

“Really, Jack, that’s…”

Jazz tuned out her parents’ argument. As much as she hated to say it – because it wasn’t fair to put so much pressure on Danny – the real problem was that the only person who could reliably deal with… things was out of commission, and for who knew how long.

The three humans would have to solve this by themselves.

#danny phantom #dannymay 2021 #dannymay #ask #answer #prompt #prompt fill

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egoludes · 4 years ago

Text

let me come home: two.

Summary: After years at a dead-end job shouldering everyone’s expectations for you but your own, you’re finally free to be whoever you want, go wherever you want. That is, until a series of unfortunate events strand you in Amber’s End, where the sheriff – and notoriously unmated pack alpha – decides to take you in.

Pairings: alpha!Steve Rogers x omega!Reader; side alpha!Bucky Barnes x beta!Sam Wilson

Notes: Wowowow - I don’t even want to count how many months it’s been, but we are finally back in business! I can’t thank you all enough for the love you showed on the first chapter of this and I am beyond excited to share this and hear what you think. Big reminder from the last chapter that parts one and two are all about setting the stage for Steve and our lovely reader. So, this is more or less 5k of more background. But, I really loved introducing Bucky, Sam, and Nat (Bucky especially because he’s going to be huge here!) and hope you enjoy them too. Especially my Heat Wave readers - mechanic!Bucky returns! And I promise parts three and four will be extra juicy to make up for it. Divider credit goes to @writeyourmindaway!

Chapter warnings: Werewolf AU, A/B/O dynamics, incredibly basic knowledge of cars that is probably incorrect

The drive to Steve’s home is short: five minutes from the diner to the base of a wooded hill, another ten to reach the peak. You follow him up a slanted stretch of road with eyes trained on his tail lights, but there are moments when your gaze strays. Sunset lingers on either side of you, framing the forest in a pretty glow. The blend of deep orange and soft pink is hard to look away from, even when you know you should be focused elsewhere, and you make your way to the top in that dizzying in-between.

When you finally come to a stop, it’s on a patch of paved road - a welcome change to the gravel before it - in front of a large wooden cabin. Behind you, the town’s spread out in a panorama, spanning for what feels like an eternity. You can see everything from here: the humble spread of Main Street; the blues and greens of the Hummingbird; and finally, the mountains, majestic and steady beyond that.

It’s the perfect place for the pack’s alpha to be and, coincidentally, has been the home of Rogers alphas for three generations now.

That lived in feel is the first thing you notice when you make it inside. The structure is sturdy, hasn’t so much as gnarled over the years. The decor, on the other hand, is dated. Doilies on some surfaces and beer coasters on others, there are hints of Steve and the alphas who came before him throughout. Still, it’s cozy, and you say as much in an appreciative hum as you pull your bag off your shoulder.

The first floor is all open space, and you can see most of it from your spot in the foyer. It doesn’t take long for Steve to situate you - sitting room, kitchen, bathroom, and master bedroom — before leading you towards the stairs. The walls along the staircase are full of memory; pictures of him and his loved ones that catch your eye as you ascend. You don’t have time to linger now, but make a point to look them over before you go. He’s piqued your interest too much not to be a little nosy.

The second floor, on the other hand, isn’t nearly as wide as the first. There are three doors in the whole hallway, two on either side with the third directly in front of you. He identifies each as the guest room, the storage room, and a study in that order, though he’s careful to call out that no one’s used the study in a long time.

There’s a story there, you’re sure, but any interest in it leaves when Steve presses the guest bedroom door open. The bed inside is too big for the room, one side even touching the walls. And like the rest of the house, it’s decorated in a way that reminds you of your grandmother; a quaintness that’s endearing on a man like Steve. But, as out of place as things might be, there’s an undeniable comfort walking into that room. Steve smiles when he smells it on you -- that cinnamon-sweet rise of contentment as you sink down on the bed at his behest.

“It’s a short tour,” he admits, leaning against the doorjamb, “but this is about it. You’re welcome to anything in the kitchen if you get hungry again tonight or before you go tomorrow. I’m usually up early, so in case I don’t see you, enjoy the rest of your trip. Take care of yourself.”

It’s new to you, how easily people can offer such genuine acts of care. He hardly knows you, yet there’s no doubt that he means what he says. The thought of it makes you return that thoughtful smile. “Thank you, Steve - you’re seriously a lifesaver.”

With a final smile, he leaves you to it, shutting the door behind him.

At the click, you settle further into the bed, toeing your shoes off and sifting through your bag for house clothes and a towel. Your travels so far have been an adventure, to say the least. Just a few months ago, you’d been working a stressful entry-level job on Wall Street. Pressed skirts, sharp teeth, the days were full of routine, but not the kind that’s pleasant. Everything was uncertainty and fleeting gratification as you competed, day after day, for a seat at the table.

Add to that the constant nagging from your family to find a mate — the endless string of blind dates, the passive-aggressive mentions of other friends’ announcements; it’s a wonder you’d endured it all as long as you had.

The decision to quit had been a long time coming. The decision to leave was a whim - the first you’d had in a long time. It was freeing to even be able to make the choice and the lack of commitment only grew more intoxicating from there. You feel freer, less suffocated, and so does your wolf — it’s a change you’d desperately needed.

That feeling is what follows you into the shower as you wash away the day, and back to bed in your loose pjs. As you settle in, you have to stop yourself from sighing out loud. The mattress is as tender as a cloud, molding to your body at every point, and after weeks of motel beds (and the back of your Jeep), you fall headfirst into that comfort. Sleep comes fast and stays put.

----

When you wake in the morning, the world is quiet. It’s a long way from New York’s chaos and you bask in it, eagerly at that. The sun filtering in through the window above you leaves kaleidoscope patterns on the sheets. Your hand moves to trace them for a bit, thumb to fractured color, until you’re awake enough to focus your ear to the house.

Like outside, Steve’s cabin is tranquil, not even a hint of the alpha’s presence. Given his warning the night before, it isn’t surprising, but you’re still a little disappointed. You’d hoped to repay him for his kindness somehow — maybe with breakfast, or whatever change you could spare. But, you’ll settle for what you can get: you make a mental note to try and catch him at his office before you leave town.

Weeks on the road have made your morning routine as efficient as it gets. So once you’re completely up, you’re out the door not long after, a slice of buttered toast between your teeth to get your system going. You find your car where you left it at the end of Steve’s drive and you approach with a bounce in your step, all thanks to the night of comfortable sleep.

Maybe you ought to grab Steve a fruit basket before you stop by.

You’re racking your memory of Main Street for bakeries or something close when you settle into the driver’s seat. But, gratitude towards Steve quickly becomes the last thing on your mind when you try to start your Jeep and get nothing but a grinding sound. It isn’t promising, but you try it again, only to get even less response before the car dies altogether.

You groan out loud, head dropping to the steering wheel while your shoulders sink in defeat. It was inevitable, really - it’s been years since you inherited the car from your older sister and it was only through a slew of band-aid fixes that it made it this far.

Still, the timing can’t be any worse; you don’t have a schedule to meet, but it isn’t much of a road trip if you can’t make it on the road. You fish your cell out of your jacket pocket, hoping that your service has somehow improved between last night and this morning. But, you only have a couple bars - finicky connection at best - so, you head back into Steve’s home where you’re certain you’d noticed a landline.

When you find it, you also come across a phone book --- not the newest edition, but recent enough. The list of mechanics in the area isn’t long, so you thumb in the first number you see. The phone rings only twice before someone picks up.

“Barnes Garage?”

“Hi,” you start, perking up at the quick answer, “I just tried to start my car and it’s not working. It made this weird sound at first, then when I tried again, it just died.”

The man on the other end hums and you can hear paper rustling in the background like he’s taking notes. “Alright, we can send someone out right now to tow you in and take a look - what’s your address?”

“I don’t...actually know,” you admit, face hot from embarrassment when he goes silent. You must sound ridiculous. “I’m not from around here, so I’m just staying with someone. I’m not sure about the address.”

A chuckle rises from him that eases your shame just a bit. “Alrighty. Well, it’s a small town — tell me who you’re stayin’ with and I’m sure between the three of us here, we’ll know where to find ‘em.”

There’s a part of you that’s skeptical of that; but for a town so small and a pack so close-knit, maybe it’s possible. “Uh, sure. I stayed with Steve Rogers — the sheriff?”

The line goes silent again, this time so prolonged you think the call dropped. Then, the mechanic speaks up and you can almost swear he’s smiling. “No shit. I know exactly where that is, I can be there in fifteen? Maybe twenty? That work for you?”

“Well, I won’t be going anywhere, so that works perfectly.”

----

The mechanic manages the trip in ten, when you glance out the window at the sound of an engine to see a dark blue tow truck stalking up Steve’s driveway. You come out to greet it just as the man driving climbs out and nearly gasp. He’s as handsome as Steve had been: piercing blue eyes, an angled, stubble-lined face, and deep brown hair gathered at his nape. There’s something familiar about him you can’t seem to place, but it’s out of sight and out of mind when he closes the distance with a wide smile. “Well, hi there -- ‘m Bucky. Spoke to you on the phone.” You give him your name, to which he nods. “So, I’ll get your car down to the shop and we’ll take a look, see if we can’t fix you up today. You wanna come with me, or you staying at Stevi -- uh, Steve’s for the day?”

You shake your head . “Nah, I can come with - I was planning to head out of town today anyway, so I’m hoping I can just head out from your garage.”

“Hop on in then.”

The ride with Bucky is surprisingly warm. He’s not exactly talkative, but he’s engaging; asking questions where he needs to, humming out his interest when he doesn’t. You get so settled into the flow of quiet radio and chatter that you don’t realize you’ve made it to his shop until the truck comes to a full stop.

Barnes Garage sits at the corner of some of Amber’s End’s quieter streets. The large lot outside has a few cars parked with a path between them for new ones to be driven into the workshop. Bucky’s pulled your Jeep right into that path, though he’s stopped halfway between the curb and the garage building. “It’ll take me maybe a half hour to really dig in --- you can stick around or explore, it’s up to you, but I’ll let you out here.”

You climb out with a nod, thanking him before nodding towards the streets behind you. “I’ll probably head out - grab a few more things before I go. See you in thirty?”

For the second time in as many days, you’re exploring Main Street, this time with an eye out for the stores you didn’t visit the day before. There aren’t many, to be frank, so after the first few, you take to stopping in on some of the people you’ve met already. They seem surprised to see you again, but take advantage of your presence to tell you more about themselves, the town, their wares.

You realize quickly that none of the stories about Amber’s End really do it justice. It’s quainter than what you’re used to, sure, but there’s so much history there. It’s romantic almost - like the first turn of an old book or light filtering into a tea shop.

You think you’ll miss it when you leave, even if just for a little while.

When you get back to the shop, you’re a few souvenirs richer and have something nice to give Steve on your way out of town as well. Bucky is sitting at a computer - the model recognizably old but reliable like the rest of the town. He perks up at the sight of you, already waving before you make it all the way in the door and pull your scarf from around your face. “So,” he starts, walking to your car with a hand under his chin. “I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news.”

You grimace. “Ok --- good news first.”

“Well, I know what’s wrong with the car. The starter motor,” he taps a finger on the hood over the spot where the part lives, “is out. Completely done. But, we can get a part delivered here to get you back on the road.”

“Okay,” you eye him suspiciously. “Then, what’s the bad news?”

“Lookin’ at the places we get our parts from, they’re all outta stock for the model you’ve got. The soonest the part could be here is in a month, and even that might be generous with all the storms lately.” As if pre-empting your shock, he hands over an invoice to confirm it.

Seeing it written out, plain as day, makes you grimace. Staying anywhere for a whole month (or more) had never been in the cards; but, there’s no way you can afford a new car either - you were just barely making it through with the money you’ve budgeted as is. You take a long, hard look at the estimate Bucky’s handed you before taking a deep breath to gather your thoughts. “Okay,” you start slowly, “so how does this work? If I decide to wait for the part.”

He gestures to the door behind you that leads to the lot from earlier. “We have a reserve lot - it’s where we keep all the cars that are waiting on a part for service. I’d keep your car here - free of charge - until the part comes, then we fix ‘er up. You’d pay for the part now and the fix later, when we call you to make sure it all looks good.”

You nod, glancing up from the sheet briefly before looking back at the part expense. It isn’t bad in the grand scheme of things - certainly cheaper than a used car that’ll just give up on you in a few months anyway. But, it will be a good chunk of what you’d set aside for your trip and if you’re staying put for the month, there’s no way you can afford to do it without really settling in. Job and all. “Okay - let’s do it.”

“Sounds good.” Bucky’s eyes are full of sympathy as he watches you; from what little you’d told him in the ride over, being stuck in one place is the last thing you wanted right now. “You want me to get you to Steve? He’ll have some good ideas for what you can do next.”

The nervous knots that’ve been building since the conversation started uncoil some at the mention of the other Alpha, though you try your best to ignore it with another nod to Bucky. “That would be great.”

----

The sheriff’s station is small but busy when you walk in. Bucky trails ahead of you, walking with purpose that surprises you. At first, you chalk it up to the town being so small — maybe there’s an open door policy for the residents. But, then you notice the way deputies and junior deputies let him by without even batting an eye. The ones who do simply nod, offering a smile while Bucky walks right past them and reception into Steve’s open office door.

“Buck?” You can hear ahead of him. “What are you doing here..?” It dawns on you then that they must know each other; intimately, judging by the nickname and the pure ease that Bucky has as he maneuvers the station.

You hesitate to interrupt their moment, but Bucky’s response to Steve’s question is to angle himself so you can be seen from behind him. That’s when Steve notices you and you wave with a sheepish smile. “He brought me, actually - my car’s broken down and I don’t think I’ll be able to leave for a bit. I wanted to make sure you knew before you came home and found me still there…”

Your presence brings Steve to his feet and you notice that he’s in his sheriff’s uniform for the first time. Somehow, he seems more comfortable in it than the casual wear you’ve seen him in so far, but there’s no denying that he looks just as good. “Hey -- you don’t have to worry about that, I wouldn’t just kick you out. I’m sorry to hear about the car, though - anything I can do to help?”

“Unless there’s a way the local sheriff’s office can put a little muscle on an auto-parts dealer,” you tease, drawing a snort from Bucky beside you, “I think I’m okay. I’m hoping we can talk more about where I should stay when you get back, though?”

“Sounds good to me.”

With your big news out in the open, you turn on your heel to leave, but pause as another thought strikes you. “Actually, one thing I could use some help with: know of anyone hiring?”

Steve’s face turns pensively and you can see his mind working for an answer. “Not that I can think of, no…,” he offers, a little remorse in his tone, “but you know what? Most places are willin’ if you know who to talk to. How about Bucky take you around? See what you find?”

After giving his instructions to a suspiciously enthusiastic Bucky, Steve turns his attention back to you. You expect to see pity, but there’s nothing there but genuine concern. You feel a little warmth from it, like you’re protected just by standing in front of him, and wonder if this is how everyone in his pack must feel. “I’ll be back late today, so you can feel free to eat without me. Bucky will take care of you until then and help you talk to some folks about a job. You call me if you need me.” He brandishes a business card from a holder on his desk and pencils his cell number on the back before handing it over. “If you’re still awake when I get in, we can talk about your living situation. Otherwise, settle in for one more night and we’ll talk in the morning.”

----

Over the rest of the day, Bucky takes you to a few shops with vacancies: pharmacy, market, the doctor’s office. Nothing seems to strike a chord for you, though, and you start to grow dejected, anticipating yet another job you have to work out of necessity.

Then, Bucky pulls into the gravel lot of a tavern.

Widow’s Den is the name carved in large wooden blocks over the front door, and despite the afternoon hour, there are a few cars parked in front of it. When you duck inside, a group of older men and women sit, talking over beers.

A tall, broad man is working the bar, his laughter booming over a pop song you haven’t heard in years. Beside you, Bucky beams, scent thickening at the sight, and you realize quickly that this must be the person behind the ring on his left hand and the soft pink mark on the right side of his neck. His mate. It’s adorable to see — this charismatic alpha unraveled at one glimpse of the man he loves.

“Babe,” Bucky chimes for the bartender’s attention as you approach the bartop. Not that he needs to, though; it’s obvious in the way his scent spikes that he’s long since noticed Bucky’s presence and you nearly coo at that too. “Nat in the back?”

“Yeah,” he responds, not looking your way yet as he finishes pouring a drink. “Doing inventory, I think.” Once the drink’s delivered, he offers his full attention and that’s when he notices you. “Who’s this?”

Bucky grins, smile taking on a boyish quality as he slings an arm around your shoulders. “New girl, looking for a job. Her car’s in the shop with me now, so she’s staying with our lovely sheriff until it gets fixed up.”

The bartender’s intrigue is immediate, eyes widening before he grins slyly — as if privy to a secret you’re not — and folds arms over his chest. The pose accentuates the corded muscle along his arms and chest and you have to stop yourself from sighing. Is there anyone in this town that isn’t woefully in shape? “You’re kiddin'. With Steve?” You have more questions than you know what to do with, but there’s no time to think about asking one when his hand is thrust your way. “Well, then, nice to meet you, girlie. I’m Sam.”

The smile he offers you is welcoming, and you forget about the odd focus on your staying with Steve (it isn’t even official yet!) to accept his hand. When you share your name in return, the smile widens and he tips his head towards the stretch of hallway by the other end of the bar. “Head on back to talk to Nat -- Bucky can show you the way.”

The brunet rests a hand to your back, pausing only to give Sam a quick kiss over the bar before he takes you towards the back hallway. The vibe in this half of the building is noticeably different. Homey, like the staircase at Steve’s cabin. You recognize many of the same faces in these pictures as the ones back at Steve’s. Bucky’s against Sam’s shoulder, Steve head and shoulders over the rest. There are a few where he’s even bare faced, looking eons younger than he does now, but not a smidgen less intense, and you work out easily that they’ve all been friends for some time, maybe even since puphood.

It’s admirable to you, maybe even enviable too. You have friends from that age as well, but the unforgiving pace of city life had made it hard to stay close. The smiles in the bar’s pictures, in comparison, speak to nothing but growing bonds, year after year.

You can’t help but smile too.

“This way.” Bucky’s voice brings you out of your thoughts and into a half-cracked doorway. The room is cluttered, stacked with boxes and bottles. And in the center of the chaos is a woman with striking red hair, pulled up and out of her face. Her aura holds a candle to Steve’s; far-reaching, imposing, and immediate. There’s no mistaking her as anything but an Alpha, and when her eyes leave the clipboard she’s holding to focus on you instead, you struggle against the instinctive need to bow into yourself. But, years of Wall Street’s brutal pace (that cares very little for rank) steel you. You see something akin to amusement flash in her eyes when you meet her gaze head-on.

“What did I tell you about bringing in strays, James?” Her tone is level, but the words have no real bite. You look up at Bucky warily still, who reassures you with a little smile.

“This one’s not a stray --- not really, anyway.” He loops an arm around your shoulder again and you can tell the familiarity intrigues Nat. “She’s new in town - staying for a month or two until I can get her car squared up, so we’re hopin’ to find her a place to work.”

“Just a couple? That’s not a long time --- I mean, by the time you get settled in, you’re gonna be out of here.” A valid concern; one that the other shop owners had shared when Bucky told them your predicament. There isn’t much you can say to ease the worry, but it turns out you don’t have to. Nat turns the rest of the way to set her scrutinizing gaze on you properly and the look compels you to stay put; almost as if you’re presenting yourself to her. A stretch of silence sets in and the longer it goes, the more convinced you are that she’s about to reject you outright. Then, she clicks her tongue. “Hm. We don’t need much right now, but I could throw you a couple bucks if you want to help us bus tables or something. This is the only spot to really drink in town, so we could always use the help on busy nights.”

You’re so relieved you could kiss her, but you don’t need superhuman instinct to know that would not go well. You settle instead for a wide smile, the sort that’s contagious to the Alphas in the room who start beaming with you. “That would work for me!”

“Good,” she grins, setting her clipboard aside to cross her arms, “now to celebrate our new arrival.”

----

You spend the rest of the day at Widow’s Den, getting to know Sam, Bucky, and Natasha over glasses of their best liquor. They confirm your suspicion that they’ve known each other for some time: Steve and Bucky are lifelong friends, brought together by a schoolyard fight started by a Steve who wasn’t even half the other boys’ heights. Meanwhile, Sam and Natasha came into the fray during high school years, transfers from their deep South and Russian hometowns respectively. But, they folded into the fabric of the boyhood duo easily and had been a foursome ever since.

You still don’t know where Sam and Bucky’s relationship turned romantic, but there’s an ease there that makes you guess it has been a while. Natasha, like you, is unmarked, but it’s rare for Alphas to do that anyway. You’re curious to learn more about her in particular.

As time moves on, the bar fills more and more and you get a glimpse of what your life will be like for the next few weeks. The crowd is certainly diverse - people of all ages filing in with friends or on their own. In an odd way, there’s two bars existing in one - young and old, energetic chatter and introspective talk.

By the time you leave, you’re a little tipsy and Bucky guides you out with a hand on your back. So far, you haven’t come across any other omega in their circle, and you wonder if his constant touch is a result of that instinct to protect you. The conversation on the ride back to Steve’s flows more freely now that you’ve spent so much time together and when he drops you off, he surprises you with an offer for a hug. When he glimpses that surprise, he laughs. “None of that now - you’ll be seeing a lot of me from now on, so we’re friends, sweetheart.”

You laugh and step into his arms - you suppose he’s right.

----

It’s near one in the morning when Steve finally comes home. His midnight patrol had been as uneventful as usual ---- a blessing, he thinks, considering how distracted he’d been during the run. His wolf is restless, agitated by the thought of this new omega being around longer than expected. He found his thoughts trailing to her during his time in the woods, particularly as he passed the quarry he’d found her in, and there was an eagerness to find out how the rest of the day with Bucky had gone.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little nervous. His friend, dear as he is, can be a handful, even for him.

When he comes in, he’s shocked to find you still awake in the living room, a mug of what smells like herbal tea in your hand as you flip through a book from his shelf. You look up at him from the book, a dopey smile to your face, and that’s when the other, underlying smell on you hits. Alcohol --- something woody that’s familiar. He guesses Bucky must’ve taken you to Widow’s Den, which would explain why you’re still up at this time.

“Hey,” he speaks up, nodding at you, “couldn’t sleep?”

You shake your head, book forgotten as you cradle your tea with your other hand. “It’s been a busy night - still a bit wired!”

Fair, he thinks. “Tell me about it - did it go well with Buck?”

You start to ramble about the day - the places you tried, the time at Widow’s Den, the offer from Nat you ultimately accepted. He tries not to tense too visibly, but he can’t hide the way his scent sharpens the way it often does when an Alpha is on edge. He can see the impact it has on you instantly; the way your excitement slows and your eyes dart to try and pick out what caused it.

He reassures you - or does his best to - with a smile, urging you on. He won’t explain this yet, but the crowd at Widow’s Den can be rowdy when they want to be, especially when they’re from out of town. Nat and Sam will show you the ropes --- and step in where they have to --- so you’ll be in good hands; but he wouldn’t be Steve if he didn’t worry. You’re the newest wolf in town now --- a part of his pack, even if just for a short while.

When you’re done recapping the day, his smile grows, the gesture deliberately wide to make up for his worry catching you off-guard. “Well, I’m glad to hear it went well - Nat and Sam are good people, they’ll take care of you.”

“I believe it.” You pause, running a finger along the rim of your mug. “Which reminds me, I… I don’t have to stay here. Once I start working, I think I’ll be able to check in at the Hummingbird, see if that room’s opened up.”

Steve gives you the same stern look from the diner and you almost giggle at the sight. It’s hard to see the same intimidating alpha now that you’ve heard a little about him from his friends. “Come on - what kind of pack leader would I be if I kicked you out now?” He stands from the couch, eyes -- and stomach -- starting to turn towards the kitchen. “I won’t stop you if you prefer the motel, of course, but the offer to stay here will be open until your car’s ready to go.”

“Are you sure...?”

His stern face softens, giving way to another smile. “Positive - don’t worry about it, okay?”

After the last twenty four hours, it’s hard to doubt his capacity for kindness, but reassurance is always appreciated. You thank him one last time as he stalks into the kitchen, wishing you a good night, and when your tea is finished, you pad up to the guest bedroom with your chest feeling as warm as your tummy.

As you finally doze, it’s with a head full of excitement; like a kid the night before a field trip. You didn’t expect it, sure, but you’re ready, anticipant, for the start of your life for the next two months.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #alpha!steve rogers x reader #mcu x reader #werewolf!steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers fanfic #werewolf!steve rogers #alpha!steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction

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bitchiha · 4 years ago

Note

Kakashi and/or Yamato NSFW headcannons? I high key love ur blog btw 🥺✨❤

A/N: UHM YES LETS DOOOO THIS I LOVE YOU BTW AND THANK YOU!! <3 Yamato and Kakashi are like.. my favs. So thank you. I wrote for both of them!

Another side note: I decided to post some requests b4 my angsts bc Im almost done them and I can't neglect them anymore. I am the worlds biggest procrastinator, but I am trying my best.

✎ NSFW (Yamato, Kakashi)

Kakashi

I mentioned this before but both him and Yamato are touch starved. The only difference is that Kakashi needs it more. Like Yamato can control himself a little bit at least, but not Kakashi. Like if he’s gone on a mission longer than 3 days Kakashi is losing his mind.

Best horny Kakashi is horny Kakashi after reading his nasty books. Hands down. Man, it just gets him so worked up because he’s not imagining the characters in the books. Noooo. He’s imagining you and him.

Once when he was reading Icha Icha in bed he was reading a particularly nasty chapter I hope you know where this is going... Once the chapter was done he put the book down and looked over at you like all sly and shit. All the sudden he’s like “come sit on my face.” And the way he says it is so like.. idk how to describe it, but it’s like sly and cocky and curious all at once.

First time you ever sat on his face and it was the closest thing that you’ve ever gotten to heaven girl. Like you were seeing stars.

He’s into anything and everything tbh. Wants to try everything he reads in Icha Icha for himself. Which is amazing bc there’s always something new he wants to try. Everytime.

Loves pet names. Definitely calls you a whole dictionary full of them and they vary depending on what you two are doing exactly.

He likes giving oral a lot tbh. Like a lot a lot. It’s probably bc he knows he’s so damn good at it lmfoaoaoao. He’s read this stuff a hundred times over in his books, so he knows how his tongue should be moving and all that good stuff. Wants you to sit on his face all the time bc he likes how good it makes you feel. Also, likes when you are vocal.

Likes lingerie but he will have it off you in 0.5 seconds so he can drill your shit tbh. You’d have to swat his hands away from trying to peel them off, but you can’t keep them away for more than 5 minutes.

Such a tease. He won’t admit it, but he actually likes making you cry when you're getting it on lol. Just a little. It makes him feel like he’s living out a scene in one of his books and it makes him so much hornier. Like he’s probably denied you 10 times now and so you’re just a mess and he gets so carried away. But when he finally gives in it’s the best dick ever. Bye lol.

Will want to do sooo much nasty things in public. He’d actually be good at hiding what the two of you are doing though, for the most part. I don’t think he’d do anything super crazy though. Mostly things that work you up to get prepared for when you two go home.

Has definitely done it with you in a public washroom. Clamped his hand on your mouth so you wouldn’t get caught and girl he rocked your shit good.

Kakashi is both an ass and tits guy, but you know what he likes better? Thighs. Loves having them wrapped around him, straddling him, lol likes his face being between them and anywhere he can grip them tbh. Like even in public he’ll have a hand somehow on your thigh 24/7. Doesn’t matter if their chubby, small, whatever. He. loves. them. Also loves hips.

Doesn’t mind if you ever wanna take the lead. Go down on him after he comes back from a mission. Shower w him, take a bath with him, literally just do it. But take care of him good. He will repay you later.

I don’t think he’s loud. Probably likes giving you validation a lot, but you’ll only get some noises out of him. That doesn’t mean he isn’t enjoying himself bc he is, my goooosh he is.

However, after missions he’s just too tired to stop himself and he will get a lottt more vocal. Plus it’s his tired voice so it’s 10x more attractive. Lots of Groans.

So like I said, he may not be loud but look at his face. You can tell he’s enjoying himself by his facial expression. Like if his eyes are squeezed shut and his mouth is open slightly you are making him see stars. Or if he’s really focused and intent, that’s when he is doing something he just read about in one of his books and boy is he enjoying it. Orrr if hes got a cocky smirk that’s when you know he’s gonna tease the life out of you.

Has dealt with Naruto, Sakura, Sai and Sasukes attitude problems all day. So if you wanna try and give him some at home he will lack the patience. Will be so rough and you’ll like it, but it will hurt to sit down for a few days.

Has 0 self control if you wear skirts or dresses. Like he just wants to put his hands under it. You look so pretty in them too and he can’t stop staring. Has definitely left your skirt / dress on when he’s fucking you at least once.

CEO of making you blush. Gets you flustered all the time. He literally can never get enough of you. Sometimes you’ll just catch him giving you that stare. Or just like checking you out and you’re like: Kakashi we are in the middle of the village control yourself.

You really can’t get him to be jealous. You’ve tried everything and anything but he never gets riled up. He can make you jealous, but he doesn’t do it a lot. I think the only time you can really get him worked up like that is if you unintentionally make him jealous. If he knows you’re trying to, he won’t let it work. But if you don’t know it makes him so flustered. Like if you tell him you’re going on a 4 day mission with Yamato. He’ll be pissed lol. Why the fuck didn’t Lady Tsunade tell you two to go together?? Why you and tree boy?

Then all the sudden he’s making out with you in the middle of your kitchen. Muttering under his breath about how unfair that is. Like this man is gonna have to sit here for 4 days by himself while you’re out on a mission with Yamato?? Frustrated sex lol. Also will definitely leave hickeys. Have fun covering them up on your stupid 4 day mission with yAmATo. <3

Another thing; you’ve done it on every surface possible in your apartment. The kitchen table, the bathroom counter, the shower, every gosh darn wall. Probably even on a chair at your dinner table... What can I say. HES WHORE KNEE

Yamato

You will definitely be eachother’s first times. If you’re with him you’re with him for the long run. He isn’t gonna give himself to anyone like that. Nope, you’ll know you’re stuck with him once he starts to get intimate.

That being said, I don’t know why but I don’t think he’d be very self conscious about himself tbh. Like he’s touch starved as fuck already and so inexperienced so like.. now that he’s experiencing physical contact like he’s never had before my guy is short circuiting. Any touch from you feels wayyy to good for him and he could care a less about anything else when he gets going.

Also, he’s kinda loud - like not the type to scream lol but I mean like .. if you’re making him feel good (literally anything you do makes him feel good tbh), then you will know. Looots of groaning and grunts. Omggg and if he needs to keep really quiet he will probably muffle his moans by burying his face in your neck or tits lol.

I don’t think he’s the type to dirty talk too much or degrade at all. The only time he will really get into dirty talk, being rough and maybe some degrading is if you make him jealous. It only works if you use Kakashi for it and my god you’re asking for trouble if you do

Say something like “wow Kakashi you’re really strong,” or laugh at all his jokes and Yamato will seethe quietly. You’ve got to keep that up for a while to get him super worked up and when you do.. HE WILL DEFINITELY GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO CRY ABOUT.

When you get home he drilllls your ass girl. Like you’re all teary eyed because he’s been denying your orgasms and now he’s drilling you into the mattress oml. You’re like begging him and sobbing and he’s so fucking mad lol like he doesn’t care

“Stop crying. You thought everything Kakashi said was just so funny tonight, so go ahead and laugh, laugh like how you were laughing with him. Not so funny now is it?” “Think he can make you feel like this? Didn’t think so.”

Will feel so bad in the morning. Like he’ll actually feel so bad. Will make up for it in any way you ask him too. You liked it though and you riled him up on purpose, you won’t tell him though. You 1000/10 do it again. Kisses you all over to make up for it.

Everytime you do, you can’t look Kakashi in the eye for a good week bc you’ll only think of Yamato drilling your ass.

Praise kink 10/10. He will probably be so depressed and will lowkey cry if you degrade him. What he likes is praise. Fucking fuel that mans ego and be a vocal for him too ;) he likes knowing that he’s rocking your shit good.

CALL HIM CAPTAIN like he’s not really into being called sir or daddy or anything like that but my lord.. if you call him Captain.. ugh. It gets him everytime. Also darling too.

Uhm he realllyyy likes when you take care of him after missions. Especially if it’s a long mission or one with Team 7 because that shit stresses him the fuck out. He’ll have so much frustration he’ll need to get out by the time he comes home.

Perch your ass on the couch and wait for him. Bonus if you cooked him food first. Or if you wanna run a shower for him while he eats. He will insist you join him.

Also... He’s not slick at all when he introduces ideas like that, he probably says it bluntly like.. “y/n.. I really want to take a shower with you right now.” and his face would get all red too lol

But after some missions he’s just way too tired to fuck your ass up. This is usually like after most of his missions with Team 7. He will still somehow manage to be horny tho. Like he’s been gone for days and had to deal with moody teenagers the whole time and he would really love if you just sucked his dick rn. That always reallyyy gets him going. Probably will cum fast bc of how good it feels to him tho, but there’s a lot of it y’know. He’d also be loud too. Like too lazy to try and keep it down loud. Lots of groaning.

Like I said, he’s horny as fuck. Literally being around you just turns him on sometimes. Even at home. Like If you wear a tank top with no bra when you’re lounging around, he’s already horny. Short shorts? Hor-fucking-ny!! Sometimes he’ll get embarrassed and hide it from you, but let’s be real you feel the same way about him so it’s fine

Titty guy 100%. I’m sorry but like if you have big tits don’t expect him not to bury his face in them. Always gives them extra attention. Likes when your riding him and their bouncing. Wear Lacey bras, he loves them so much and he will keep them on the whole time so he can just admire it on you.

He doesn’t like the idea of doing anything in sexual in public. He has a reputation to uphold and he is not about to throw it out the window like that no matter how much he wants too. Its frustrating sometimes bc like you could be walking around the village together and he gets a good glimpse of your ass and now he’s thinking some nasty things. Then he’s got a really uncomfortable hard on to hide till you get home.

He gives you splinters by accident sometimes. Like idk how. Especially if youre sucking him off. His hands are gripping your shoulders and you feel a prick on your collarbone and you yelp. He’ll apologize profusely, but he can’t control it when he feels like this so it happens sometimes. You get used to it though. Won’t admit it but he doesnt even try to control it if his dicks down your throat bc.. when you yelp it feels reallyyy good.

I’ve always had a thing for Yamato.. so I kinda went off on this LOOL <3

#yamato #captain yamato #yamato headcanons #kakashi x reader #Kakashi Hakate #kakashi headcanons #Naruto Shippuden #naruto imagines

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imo-chan-imagines · 4 years ago

Text

『 As your boyfriend | FKBU Headcanons 』

Characters: female!reader, Kambe Daisuke, Kato Haru

Tags/warnings: Fugou Keiji Balance: Unlimited (anime), 18+, strong sexual references, fluff, angst, Haru's PTSD, headcanons, daddy kink and cockwarming (kind of?) for Daisuke, breeding kink for Haru *coughing intensifies*

⚠️ 18+ CONTENT! MINORS: PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT ⚠️

A/N: Felt like writing some more for these boys because ~holy shit~ do I love them, and I maybe went a teensy bit overboard. Oopsie! 🤭 But anyway, have y'all seen episode 6?! Let's freaking gooo! (No spoilers, don't worry) Thanks for reading! Enjoy! Imo~

Kambe Daisuke

First up: daddy kink. I know it, you know it, we all know it. So let's not beat about the bush

Quite dominant and firm with you (see: daddy kink)

But he absolutely loves spoiling you

Expensive gifts, like one-of-a-kind necklaces, seductive perfumes, satin dresses, lace underwear, etc.

He loves dressing you up and showing you off

But he also loves spoiling you in bed more like ruining, I am deceased

A lot of butt grabbing in public hnng

He likes it when you don't wear any underwear because it makes for easier quickies like bent over the sink in the bathroom at his favourite club

He likes you sitting on his lap in front of people, too aye papi

American gangster vibes, honestly

He's not really one for soppy, romantic PDA, but he loves you letting people know that it's him you want and nobody else

He loves the look on people's faces when you call him 'daddy' that grin will be the death of me

Especially the look on Haru's face, lmao. He blushed like a tomato and couldn't speak a coherent sentence for a whole hour

Hickeys. Lots and lots of hickeys. And don't even think about covering them up

Daisuke loves sleeping naked and has a habit of walking around the house in just a towel when he gets out the shower fight me

He's also completely oblivious to what it does to you

A MASSIVE bed with super soft, satiny sheets. They feel like clouds uwu

He gets HEUSC to remind him of important dates, like birthdays, anniversaries, etc.

Date Ideas: Unlimited sorry, not sorry

From fancy restaurants, to exclusive movie premieres, to late night helicopter rides to the other side of the country, Daisuke can and will pay for anything if it makes you happy

He also lets you introduce him to lots of new things, like trying different kinds of street food on dates, going rowing on the pond in the park, having a go at karaoke, renting bikes and cycling round the city, going hiking at the nearest nature reserve or wilderness, etc. adorable

He's like a curious kitten when he's trying new things, putting a lot of trust in you to guide him through it

He always looks perfect in the photos you snap, even the ones he wasn't aware you were taking, and it's a lowkey frustrating that he nearly always looks prettier than you

But it's not his fault, so you'll only pout for a little while

His face is pretty hard to read most of the time, but you eventually get used to it and pick up on all his little mood indicators

His ears move when he's happy, and you can't convince me otherwise

He'll hold your heels for you when your feet hurt on a night out

He smells of leather and sandalwood, and his kisses taste of expensive whisky and cigars

He loves it when you bite his lower lip while making out

He's kind of possessive, but in a protective way

He never thought of himself as a particularly jealous person, until one night he came back to the bar and saw some other guy hitting on you the attention was definitely unwanted on your side

It made his blood boil – clenched fists, piercing glare if looks could kill

But he managed to stay calm and maturely tell the guy to get lost, with his arm snaking round your waist

Daisuke made it very clear that it wasn't you he didn't trust. It was that he didn't trust that guy – or any guy, for that matter

His favourite ~position~ is on a table or other surface with your legs over his shoulders

He's a god at eating you out

He's a god at everything in the bedroom, tbh

Saint Laurent condoms, because he's that fucking extra I'm screaming

His hair always falls out of place when you're fucking it's so hot and cute, wtf

It's a lot of glitz and glamour on the surface, but when it's just the two of you, you know just how much you mean to him

The King of Aftercare™

He used to suck at aftercare until he properly tried it. Then he realised that he needed it as much as you did le cry

Back rubs, forehead kisses, playing with your hair, soft whispers in your ear

He holds you so tightly that it gets hard to breathe, and you can feel his heart beating hard against your back

Sometimes he likes to just stay inside you after finishing

He enjoys the feeling of you around him, and honestly, you like just feeling him being inside you cockwarming, kind of?

Soft little nuzzles with his nose in his sleep even better when he's fallen asleep while still inside you

He's not perfect, but being with you makes him try to be better

Help, my heart's so full 🤧

Kato Haru

This man is a sweetie pie, honestly

Not just boyfriend material, but husband material put a ring on it, hun

Lots of home cooking, and it all tastes so good you honestly believe he could just quit being a cop and open up a restaurant

He loves cooking with you, too. It's fun bonding time

Sometimes he stands behind you and guides your hands etc. it sometimes goes a little further, if ya know what I'm saying 👀

Knows how to do all the chores and housework, and actually does his share look at my practical hubby

Random pillow fights that turn into cuddle sessions

He talks in his sleep waaahh, so cute

Sometimes it's utter nonsense, like 'Don't let the donuts escape'

Other times, it's things like, 'I love Y/N so much,' or 'Let's have babies,' while he's holding onto you, and you just melt

Spooning. So much spooning

Lots of budget date ideas, like building pillow forts, watching sunsets and stargazing from the balcony, going for hikes and runs together, going for picnics, feeding ducks at the pond, etc.

One time, a duck chased him around the pond because he had the bread, and he had to run for 20 minutes before it gave up thank God for all that cardio

The Master of Flat Pack Furniture™ – because he takes his time and actually reads the instructions

Daisuke had a ™ so Haru needed one too

Takes good care of you on your period and actually knows about different sanitary products

He smells really fresh and clean, like Imperial Leather soap and air-dried laundry as long as he hasn't been on a stakeout, lmao

He loves taking showers with you, but like, actual showers

The first and only time you had shower sex was hot and steamy until:

1. You realised that water does not a good lube make and 2. He slipped and accidentally shoved his dick in your ass instead

You fully passed out, and he was so frantic that he bundled you into the car and drove you straight to the ER you were in just a towel, might I add

You both look back on it now and laugh, but he was genuinely scared

Shower sex = never again

But he loves it when you straddle his lap and start grinding on him bonus points if you kiss his neck and run your hands through his hair

He's a pretty vanilla boy when it comes to sex, preferring positions like missionary and cowgirl, and liking a fairly even balance of power

He got super embarrassed and flustered when he finally mustered up the courage to suggest having car sex

And then even more embarrassed and flustered when you actually ended up doing it

He was blushing so hard the entire time and came really quickly, which only added to his embarrassment but you thought it was cute

He has really sensitive nipples which you use to your advantage

He absolutely loves hates it when you send him nudes or try and sext him while he's at work, because he gets a massive boner and will either have to live with it and probably get laughed at by those goobs in the office, or deal with it in the bathroom, which feels wrong to him on so many levels

Doesn't really stop you sending them though, because whenever you do, he comes home and fucks you really well

One thing that's not vanilla about him is how much he likes cumming inside you breeding kink, welcome to the party. Please take a seat

He didn't tell you about it for the longest time because he was embarrassed about it and was afraid you'd think it was gross or something please cum in me, sir

He was so relieved when you were understanding about it and open to the idea of indulging him

But he genuinely really wants kids some day he'd be a great dad

His PTSD doesn't stop him being a good boyfriend, but he's convinced that it does

Most days he seems okay, like he's over it, even

But sometimes you'll wake up in the middle of the night and find him curled up in the bath, shaking and crying into his knees my poor baby, I can't

Excuse me while I go and cry into my pillow for a while

You're his safety net

When he feels like he's drowning, you keep his head above the water until the waves eventually calm and recede, and he can breathe again

He hates putting so much on your shoulders

But you swear to him that you wouldn't want to be doing anything else, and that you're not going anywhere

This got so angsty, my heart can't take this 😭

#imo chan imagines #fugou keiji balance: unlimited #fkbu #the millionaire detective balance: unlimited #fkbu headcanons #fkbu x reader #kambe daisuke #kato haru #kambe daisuke x reader #kato haru x reader #fkbu smut #fkbu fluff #fkbu angst #i love them so much #one does not simply choose between daisuke and haru #both? both is good

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sirowsky · 4 years ago

Text

The Flowers Always Know

Description: When a mad scientist uses you as an experiment while you’re on holiday, the Heroics only just manage to save you. And in your recovery you become very close to the leader of the group. (Slow burn)

Warnings: Language

Link to Masterlist

Comment: Hint to what the title is all about, and plenty of Máma Moreno.

Chapter 6

The house was a mess, to say the least. You had left in a hurry that evening, after things had taken a very sharp turn towards very bad, shortly after your dinner. You’d been glad that you had only eaten a light pea soup, when it came back up again some ten minutes later. You’d only just made it to the bathroom, but after the food had been coughed up, a large amount of fresh blood had followed, and you knew you were in trouble. Why you hadn’t called for that ambulance was anyone’s guess, but then, you had never liked being a bother, and you had been perfectly capable of walking out to the cab. It was just that, in the twenty minutes that the drive had taken, you’d gotten significantly worse. Your whole body had started hurting, you’d begun bleeding from the nose and ears, and just as you got to the hospital, you had begun to get spasms and cramps in your spine and legs. When you staggered into that emergency-room, you did it truly convinced that you’d leave it in a coffin.

You shuddered slightly with the memory, as you walked through the house, opening all the blinds and pulling all of the curtains back again. It was already late, and thus dark outside, but you wanted to wake up to a house that bathed in sunlight in the morning. The kitchen was probably the worst, in terms of the amount of cleaning that would need to be done. The remnants of your cooking that evening where still on the counter and in the dishes, and the amount of mold that was growing in there was somewhat disturbing. You couldn’t leave that for the morning, you’d lose every ounce of appetite waking up to that crap. So, you set about throwing away everything that had been left out on the counters and in the sink, and quickly scrubbed all the open surfaces clean, before handwashing some of the glasses, plates, mugs and cutlery, that had gotten dusty even sitting in the cabinets, in the four months you’d been gone. Once the kitchen felt usable again, you went to the bathroom to check what state that was in. It wasn’t too bad. You flushed all the pipes and let the water run in the sink and the shower for a good half-hour to clean them out, and begin to work away the smell of stagnated water. The toilet needed a decent scrub too, but it could wait until morning. It was after midnight when you’d finally changed the sheaths in the bed and settled in for the night.

A sharp rapping on your door woke you after what seemed like mere seconds. But the sun was up, so you looked at your wrist-watch – 06:15 – and sighed. Who the fuck would be there at that hour? Grumbling into your pillow, you turned over and decided that whoever it was would have to come back at a more decent hour.

“Come on now, mujer, I don’t have all day.”

You physically jumped at the sound of Anita Moreno raising her voice behind your front door. She wasn’t shouting, just applying a good amount of force to her voice. Just enough to make you feel a size smaller than usual. You scrambled out of bed and grabbed a robe which you put on whilst walking towards the door. You had no idea what you looked like, but you hoped there was an air of scarecrow to you. You’d found her intriguing when you first met her the day before, but she was little more than a damned annoyance right now. You were not a morning person, and especially not today when your body was tired and sore from the tests.

“I’m not gonna ask if you know what time it is, because you obviously do, and you obviously don’t care, so don’t beat around the bush and just tell me what the hell you want so I can go back to bed and finish waking up.”

“You always this cheerful in the morning?”

“Yep.”

“I’ll be sure to let Marcus know.”

“What does my morning mood have to do with Marcus?”

“Nothing. Yet…”

What? No, no, don’t let her distract you, idiot.

“What do you want, Mrs. Moreno?”

“Tell me, what kind of flowers do you like?”

Nope. You’re not doing this, whatever it is, you’re not doing it at 6 fucking 15 in the morning.

“Have a nice day, Mrs. Moreno.”

As you went to close the door, she simply barged right in, straight past you, and completely unbothered walked into your kitchen while you scrambled after her, shocked and abruptly furious.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”

“Don’t you cuss at me, mujer.”

“If you want me to treat you politely, then don’t fucking barge into my house uninvited.”

“Calm down, I’m not staying for breakfast. I just want you to answer a few questions.”

Unbelievable.

“You’ve got some nerve.”

“I’m old, mujer, I don’t have time for intermissions. Now, tell me, what kind of flowers do you like?”

You were fuming, but this woman was a super. She wasn’t leaving until she decided to leave. So, you took a breath.

“Dahlias.”

“Interesting choice. Why?”

“What does it matter? What do you want from me?”

“Do you know the origin of Dahlias?”

“Why? Am I to expect a pop-quiz banging on my door tomorrow?”

“The Dahlia came from my ancestors, the Aztecs, they called it The War Flower. Nowadays, it’s known as the King of summer flowers, because of its wide range of shapes, sizes and colours. It has something of a demanding presence, you never walk past a Dahlia without seeing it. And yet, it doesn’t ask you for much.”

“Do you have a point, or is this becoming a lecture on the mythology of flora? Because I will go back to bed and ignore you until you leave.”

“It’s an observation. What’s your opinion on supers?”

“Are you serious? Ugh, forget it, of course you are. Fine. I have nothing against them, but I don’t adore or idolize them. They’re flawed just like the rest of us.”

“What’s Marcus’ flaws?”

“He’s… too kind for his own good sometimes. He let’s people walk all over him if he thinks that it’ll keep the peace. And he… tries to carry the whole world by himself if you let him.”

She smiled.

“Good. You’re hired. I expect you at Heroics HQ at 7 am tomorrow morning.”

…what THE FUCK…?!

She walked back towards the door, while you stood dumbstruck just staring after her. She had reached the door by the time you unfroze and ran out to the hallway.

“Wait, what the hell are you talking about? Hired for what? I didn’t ask you for a job.”

“No, you didn’t. But you need one, and I’ve got one. Take it or leave it, if you’re not there by 7, I’ll know what you chose.”

You stood in the door, watching her disappear into a black SUV, and drive off.

Did that actually just happen? It must have, there was no way in hell you’d ever even dream something like that. You shook your head, and decided that there was no point in going back to bed now, your head was buzzing, so you might as well have breakfast and get the cleaning going. As you went to the bathroom you caught your reflection in the mirror, and smiled to yourself. There was definitely an air of scarecrow. You turned the TV on while you made tea, and tried not to think about what had just transpired in your kitchen. You had always loved coffee before, never started the day without it ever since you were 16. But your body seemed to have become oversensitive to it after your cellular breakdown. You’d had your first cup about a month ago, and it had really done a number on you. You’d been hyperactive for hours with uncontrollable twitches and insistent trembling in your hands. You’d given it a second try a week later, but even just half of a small cup had resulted in the same outcome, so you had accepted that your coffee-days were over. You were actually really starting to like tea, especially the spicier types.

The news showed a highlight reel from the Heroics latest outing, and you found yourself glancing at the footage, looking for a glimpse of Marcus. You saw him flash by as he fought someone, or something, you weren’t sure, and then again when the fighting was over. He looked confident and strong when he was out there. When he had an enemy in front of him, and a clear task. It was enticing to watch. Oh, who were you kidding – it was fucking hot! You shook your head and turned the TV off as you finished your breakfast. There was a lot to do to get the house in order, and you had a plan to get it all done. The problem was that a certain uninvited guest kept popping into your head, distracting you with thoughts about flowers and what the hell that job was all about? So, by lunchtime, you weren’t anywhere close to where you’d hoped to be. You’d managed to wipe down all the surfaces where dust accumulated, and the vacuuming was done. But you’d hoped to have washed the floors and beaten the carpets and cleaned the refrigerator and freezer by then.

Oh, well. Rome and all that.

You decided to have pizza for lunch and called in an order. But later, as you were eating said pizza, you had something of a lightning moment. You didn’t need to sit there and just fidget and wonder and worry about what you were gonna do tomorrow. You could just go back to HQ and talk to Marcus. He’d only be happy to see you, he’d said as much when you went to find him to say goodbye. It hadn’t been a very long exchange, since you’d been eager to get going, knowing there’d be things you’d have to do before going to bed. But he had said that he’d miss you and that you’d always be welcome to visit them. So, why not? If anyone could tell you what Máma Moreno was up to, it’d be her son.

Authors’ Note: I love criticism, don’t be shy to let me know if there’s anything you like/don’t like/have questions about.

@blueeyesatnight

@farfromjustordinary

#marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno fic #we can be heroes #we can be heroes fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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miyalove · 4 years ago

Text

white day | akaashi

—pairing: akaashi x gn!reader

—warnings: swearing (that’s about it), unedited*

—synopsis: 2.6k | white day (noun)– a holiday celebrated in mostly asain countries that, if a man is given gifts on valentines, they have a chance to return the favor with a gift of their own.

knock.

your hands shake as you retract them back to your side. holding a few more bundles of homemade chocolate in your arms. your figure is on high alert, anxious eyes frantically raking over the familiar carpets and doors of tokyo university dorm halls. it feels like a whole hour passes without a sign of life on the other end of the door. you nip at the bottom of your lip, is it really that late? he couldn’t possibly be asleep, right?

you should probably just leave. go and give the rest of the chocolates to the remaining of your friends then come back and check on akaashi later. it’s what your mind tells you to do but your feet are planted to the floor.

knock just once more, your heart whispers. you have about four more boxes to deliver after akaashi’s own. suddenly you’re caught between a crossfire against your mind and your emotions; deliver the others! one side screams, knock again! they other yells back.

you’re standing there for a good, minute or two when your eyes shot up at the white board half-heartedly hung to the door, “akaashi’s room” it reads… your palms flail against your legs, eyes downcast to the floor.

“akaashi… keiji,” the name leaves your lips in a wisp of sound. you can feel your heart skip a beat at the way it rolls perfectly off your tongue and then you smile. you’re beaming at the floor, slowly raising your head to stare at the creme colored door.

your eyes shine with an unknown confidence, your dominant arm lifts up meeting the cool surface of the door once again; knock, knock, knock.

you stand there for a while before the sound of the bathroom shower being turned off sets into the silence. well, at least he wasn’t ignoring me. you sigh in relief, the smile on your lips growing impossibly bigger.

seconds pass and the door is swinging open revealing the tall build of your very familiar classmate akaashi, “oh, hello (l/n).”

he’s dressed in casual clothes readying himself for sleep, you assume. a towel is in his hands, ruffling through his damp hair, “i apologize for keeping you waiting.”

his face is stoic, eyes blank and there isn’t even a smile one his pressed lips but you’re okay with that. you’ve known the taller boy long enough to know that casually showing physical emotions wasn’t his strongest point. so you smile, ignoring the quickening pace of your heartbeat.

“it’s totally fine, akaji!” you wave off, “i wasn’t out here long.” he nods, eying your figure before ultimately locking his stare on the boxes within your arms, “you seem like you need help with those boxes, (y/n).”

it’s not a question but you know what he means.

you lightly giggle at his words, “yeah, it does, doesn’t it? i’ll tell you what, do you know how you can help me with these boxes?” he shakes his head, his hair moving too. his genuine concern has butterflies ticking your insides.

oh god, you can feel your cheeks heating up already, “by taking that red box, right there on the top. you see it?”

he nods, reaching out for the one you described. slightly his brows furrow at the little card that dangles from the box, “to keiji, from (l/n) (y/n)” it reads. there are hearts that dot every “i”. he hums appreciating the details, “this one has my name on it.”

“yup,” you tease, “it’s yours, silly!” there’s a beat of silence that blanket the two of you. he stares at the box examining it’s every detail while you stare at him.

“happy— happy valentines day, keiji!”

you’ve been able to keep your cool for the most part. going to your crushes private dorm room and then giving him chocolates on the day of love is really gutsy! he could seriously reject the chocolate and shove it back in your face… it’s a thought that makes a chill run down your spine.

what if he rejects you?

the panic rises in your stomach. at first, it gets queasy and you can feel your arms slipping around the boxes. this isn’t even a romantic confession, it’s for friendship but what if he throws it on the ground? screams in your face saying the two of you aren’t even friends?

you hate this.

you listened to your heart before, staying put and waiting for the door to be open. you didn’t regret that much and you thank your emotional side because it made you take this risk but that’s the thing.

it’s a risk.

even with a somewhat good outcome, there’s always a bad one too. sometimes even multiple bad ones so without thought you move your legs forward taking quick steps away from the door, running.

“happy va– valentines, keiji! uh, enjoy the– the– chocolate!”

you can’t see or even hear if he does anything in response to your rushed and rather rude leaving. your heart sputters in your chest a million beats a minute. your palms flush against your heated checks (dropping some boxes as you do so but you could care less about that right now).

you hated that.

and you hate your feelings too.

you find yourself thinking about that awkward incident a lot. and every time, your cheeks flare up in color and your stomach drops. since then you and akaashi haven’t had a proper conversation. there are times when you see each other in passing and make brief eye contact. you share a small smile and he nods in exchange for your greeting.

other times, like in when you’re out in about, there’s nothing. both too busy studying in the library, partying with friends, and making new ones to simply stop to start a conversation.

mornings are brief.

“good morning, (y/n).”

“oh– uh, good morning, akaji.”

as are the same with nights.

“have a good rest, akaashi.”

“you too, (l/n).”

it’s how your usual conversations are. it’s turned into the norm for the both of you, short. and you’re okay with that, honestly. at least minimal talking is better than him completely ignoring your existence, right? and it’s those kinds of positive (somewhat at least) reassurances that help you drift to sleep.

especially on nights right before another holiday. a holiday celebrating love one more, nights right before white day.

your arms feel heavy and it’s not just from the work out you forced yourself to endure that morning. boxes upon boxes of gifts and chocolates pile in your arms. it’s a struggle to keep them all steady, but your managing— somehow. it completely flew over your head that today is white day! let’s just say that your mind was a tad bit preoccupied last night…

your classmates had all gotten you something, returning your affections on valentines day like true gentlemen. some made handmade gifts like and other’s opted for the easy way out with store-bought flowers or assorted chocolates.

the ding of the elevator pulls you out of your thoughts. at the same time, you let out a tense sigh, as much as you adored your classmates— all these gifts were going to fall soon. you take a step out of the lift, heaving the gifts.

there’s so much, you deadpan. if only someone could help–

“(y/n), would you like some help?”

oh god, you know that velvety voice anywhere. walking forward, the figure appears in your peripherals. his dark hair is the first thing you take notice of. the second is his hands reaching out to catch a fallen box.

“um, yea– yeah. that would be great if you could… help,” you curse at your stuttering. the young boy nods, as he stands in front of you. he takes a few boxes lessening your load, you awkwardly smile.

“thank you, akaji.” you nod, “my room is–”

for a split second, you see an emotion flash in his eyes. it’s much too quick to decipher. and it’s times like these when you wish you had the power to read minds because dear god, you’re nervous.

“i know where your room is, (y/n),” and then he’s off taking long strides towards your room that was coincidently near his. you’re following his steps, the air around you silent yet comfortable.

but despite your calm demeanor, your mind speaks your true feelings, why does he know where my room is? it’s no big deal! his room is right next to yours, of course, he knows where it is!

“we’re here,” his words break you out of thought. your eyes shoot up to his handsome face, tracing the outline of his lips before moving onto his eyes. akaashi is a piece of art. he’s by far the most good-looking boy in your class and the most thoughtful as well.

his passion for literature and how caring he is through words rather then actions makes your heart stutter and your stomach tumble.

he has so much power over you and he doesn’t even know it.

“(y/n), please unlock the door so we can go in,” did you just freeze up staring at your crush? god, how embarrassing! if he noticed your staring, he doesn’t say. your face flares up, cheeks a deep red it could rival tendou’s dye job! you rush to the door, unlocking it with a simple swipe before turning to your bed and dropping the boxes.

the pretty setter follows suit, although he’s a bit more tamed with his movements. your mind can’t stop reeling about what just happened. he caught you checking him out! what kind of person just openly does that to their crush?! you mentally groan, this is a disaster!

“thank– thank you, keiji. you can leave, now. if you like,” you don’t look at him. occupying yourself with sorting out the gifts you carelessly dropped onto your cushion. a minute passes and there’s still no movement in your peripheral. risking a chance, you look up.

the sight before you has you shocked.

akaashi looks down his handsome face downcast and his gaze is focused on a small box in his hand. the box is in the shape of a heart with a white bow tied around it. you’re not able to see his expression but judging from the sudden air of tension— it couldn’t be good.

“akaashi? are you… alright?”

there’s no response. his face turned away from you but his hand is extended. the pink heart lays in his hand. is he… giving this to you? the realization makes your knees wobble. you study him once more, your brows furrowed in confusion. his peachy skin has the slightest hints of pink on his cheeks and your almost glad that this intimate moment isn’t only affecting you.

maybe he likes you too, there goes your heart again… it’s white day, remember? reminds your logical side. shakily, you reach out your hand. fingers brushing over his slender ones as you grip the small box.

it’s featherlike against your hands.

what could possibly be inside?

your fingers working to undo the ribbon then lift the cover. you can feel akaashi’s dark eyes on you, no longer is he looking off to the side. you’re expecting chocolates or maybe even a small stuffed animal inside but– you’re even more surprised at the reveal.

it’s not chocolate or even a small gift but rather a small piece of paper nestled comfortably in pink strands of box fillers. you immediately recognize akaashi’s handwriting neatly scowled on the sheet, “look… up?”

and you do.

what you see is akaashi, unsurprisingly, but he’s not so far away anymore. instead, he’s right in front of you. his face merely inches away from yours, his cheeks still flushed. but he’s not looking away, no, in fact, his gaze seems locked on yours.

your heart is beating a hundred beats per second. everything is blurry and the only thing you can really make out is him. his rosy cheeks, his eyes that glimmer in the dim lighting of your room, the soft scent of citrus and fresh laundry. things that just scream; him.

and then he’s leaning forward.

lips pressed against your own in a soft pucker. instantly, your eyes flutter close getting lost in the feeling of his warm lips on yours. chills run down your spine and everything feels like it’s so much more. gently, his hand cups at your jaw guiding your mouth against his. sending your heart on a mini-rampage within your chest.

your hands fly up to his shirt fisting the fabric out of pure nervousness. you can feel his chest against your own and you wonder if his heart is beating as fast as yours…

he swiftly tilts his head to the side, deepening the kiss. his other hand makes amends running through the strands of your hair. white hot bliss burns in your veins as you let out a small gasp for air. feeling bold, he takes his chance of pressing his tongue into her mouth.

it was all so much. his scent, his lips against yours sending you to heaven, the goosebumps forming, your mind racing, your heart pounding.

you need air!

you abruptly lean back, hands no longer gripping his shirt but rather flattening out against him. immediately, his eyes shot open drinking in your flushed out manner. the two of you linger in that state for a bit. his eyes tracing every detail of yours.

cheeks pink and slightly sweating, eyes wide and mouth open panting for air. does this mean he likes you too? your mind’s racing, thought after thought piling over one another until–

“i’m sorry– i thought… you– i apologize for making you uncomfortable.”

uncomfortable?

his cheeks are tinged and lips glisten in the light, slightly swollen. his eyes are downcast focusing on the floor rather than yourself. his hands to his side fingering at the pockets of his pants.

he looks so dejected. so sad at the mere thought of your rejection. he looks like a child that got told they weren’t allowed to eat their favorite treat. his eyes don’t shine with the courage to meet your own anymore. it makes your heart drop, a small pout forming on your own lips.

you’re quick to explain your thoughts, “no keiji, i wasn’t– wasn’t uncomfortable at all… i just– everything was just so much.” his brows furrow in confusion. that certainly caught his attention real fast…

“i… don’t understand what you mean,” is his response. if it weren’t for the fact that he kissed you and you knew he returned your feelings than you probably would have been long gone by now. it didn’t matter if it was your room or not. the awkward tension was just too thick!

deciding to not beat around the bush, because if you knew anything it’s that akaashi isn’t one for making things complicated. you let out a playful sigh, “akaashi keiji, i like you. that kiss did not make me uncomfortable in fact it was the opposite of that. and i would not mind if you– you did it again.”

and nearly as fast as it appeared, your confidence ran right out the door. there’s a few seconds silence, you no longer stare at him but rather his sock covered feet. even if you knew he returned your feelings this is still beyond embarrassing.

“i like you too, (y/n). and i wouldn’t mind if we did again either,” almost at the same time you look up he’s pressing a chaste kiss on your plush lips. that same fluttering feeling erupts in your stomach and you can feel the heat rising up on your neck.

it’s then that you realize, you’ll never get used to kissing akaashi.

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avenging-fandoms · 4 years ago

Note

now as for spencer, you'd both reluctant to house sit for rossi but spencer told you that it'd be ok bc he was going to house sit too so you finally agree but when the day came spence would drag you out of bed and he's all "we'll get more alone time this wayyy" bc everyone always teases u for being in a relationship

“ughh..” you moan as you get a text from rossi. spencer sat down with dinner and looked at you with knitted eyebrows. you showed him your phone and he smiled.

“he texted me too asking if i could house sit. i guess he’s just trying to see if one of us will house sit, or both of us” you whine and throw your head back, spencer laughing at you. he leaned over and kissed your exposed neck, nudging his nose against yours. “just say yes. it’s gonna be fun, i’m gonna be there too!”

“yeah like that helps” you tease and he pokes your stomach, making you jump.

“but just think. that beautiful pool, the kitchen, his speakers all around his home..” you hum and kiss him, smiling against his lips. “you in?”

“as long as i’m with you, handsome”

a couple days later, you and spencer had to wake up early to meet rossi at his house before he left on that friday. spencer was all ready and showered, while you were still very sound asleep.

spencer smoothed out his button up in the mirror, turning around and placing his hands on either side of you. spencer softly kisses your shoulder, collarbone, neck, jaw, cheek, nose and lips and smiling as you stir. “wake up, gorgeous girl. we’ve got some house sitting to do”

you groan, trying to pull the sheets over your head and failing as spencer’s hands press against the covers. “spencer, can’t we just stay here? i love rossi, i just don’t want to do anything”

“we can do nothing at his house. especially that pool. and we can have alone timeee. no penelope barging in on us, they’ll never know where we are” he mumbled against your neck, planting a soft kiss on your skin. you smile, looking at him and running your fingers through his hair.

“alright.. i’m in” you sigh and spencer kisses you all over your face, exciting to finally be alone with you. you take a shower and put on your bathing suit under shorts and a t-shirt, spencer watching you with a sparkle in his eyes. “did you-”

“-pack? yes. i packed both of our bags. shampoo, conditioner, toothbrushes, all of what we need” you wrap your arms around his neck and push your fingers into his hair at the back of his head. “i’m really happy to be with you.. and only you.. for the whole weekend”

“well if we keep standing here, we’re not getting anywhere! come on, spence” you grab his hand and your bag, spencer grabbing his and you tape a note to penelope’s door before she could wake up. you two sneak out and run down the stairs of the apartment building.

‘heading out for the weekend with a friend. i’ll be back for work sunday night. love you p <3′

spencer drove as you sat shotgun, singing the songs obnoxiously with the windows down. spencer couldn’t help but laugh, kissing you at every red light and stop sign. you guys finally pulled into rossi’s driveway, grabbing your bags and running to the door.

you knock on the door and hear ‘it’s open!’ spencer gives you a quick kiss before you both walk in, david throwing his arms up in happiness. “ah, the lovebirds!” he announces and you laugh, giving him a hug with a kiss on the cheek. “don’t worry, i didn’t tell anybody you two were house sitting, i told them i had another friend house sitting. it’s just you two. a little bit about the house i wanna tell you guys about before i go. obviously, eat anything you want, alcohol included” rossi winked and you laughed. “guest bedroom for you two, there’s a bathroom with it. i just ask you to please don’t go into my room. it’s my space, y’know?”

“totally! we understand, don’t worry” spencer nodded and david smiled.

“good. alright.. well i think that’s about it. call me if you need anything, you know i suck at texting. and i will see you two sunday night!” you and spencer wave goodbye to rossi and watch him drive out of the driveway. you turn to spencer, biting your lip and walking backwards to the alcohol cabinet.

“yn! it is.. 9 in the morning!”

“and? a shot wouldn’t hurt!” you giggle and pour one for yourself, looking at spencer. he sighs, grabbing himself one as well. you silently cheer and pour him one too, putting the bottle back. “ready?” he nods, waiting for the countdown and shaking his hands and scrunching his face as the alcohol burns his throat. “amazing, i love seeing you drink” you smile, giving him a kiss. you take his hands and make him pull your shirt off, your eyes never leaving his. you take off your shorts and hang them on the back of the chair, backing up slowly to the backdoor.

your fingers unbutton his shirt and bite your lip, letting go as you reach the last button and jumping into the pool. spencer rips off his shirt, shoes and pants, jumping in after you. he grabs your waist and pulls you to the surface, holding your neck and kissing you hungrily. your arms lazily drape over his shoulders, legs around his waist.

“now are you happy you agreed to house sitting?” he mumbled against your lips and you laugh, nodding. “me too. no one but me.. you..” he pressed a button on a remote you had no idea where he got it from, music playing around the house. “and elvis”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid blurbs #spencer reid imagines #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #fluff #criminal minds #matthew gray gubler

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pm-my-hubbies · 4 years ago

Text

Best Years | R.C.

Requested by @imawreckandiknowit

Pairing: Rafe x Female!Reader

Word count: 1.7k

Warning: a bit of angst with fluff

Song Prompt List

You've got a million reasons to hesitate

But darling, the future is better than yesterday

I wasted so much time on people that reminded me of you

Gave you a million reasons to walk away

Of all the moments I envisioned for myself, Rafe Cameron climbing through my bedroom window with sweat slicking that forehead of his was an image I never conjured. He radiated confidence whenever and wherever, never seeking out help because he believed it was for the weak. However, he stood before me after pleading for my hand in an idea I’ve constantly tried to push to the back of my mind.

I’m in love with him. I could take the leap forward but everything we’ve been through prevents me from doing so. That one brief period between us, the one time we did give intimate moments a shot had been ripped away from me. He was quick to move on as I sobbed in my shower for months until the water ran cold of slithering down my back. Yet... I remained close to him.

I stayed by his side through all three relationships, patting him on the back to ease his pain. In reality, I was breaking inside because his tears for other girls confirmed his love died for me. Now, he stood before me claiming the opposite.

“You could’ve walked away.” His voice broke the tension before us after his first set of words. “But you didn’t. Why?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know R—”

“Don’t give me that Y/N.”

“Then don’t ask stupid questions. You know why I didn’t walk away Rafe and I’m not gonna say it.”

He only stared, confirming what I knew to be true. “You’re right. I can’t play dumb.” He dragged himself over to my bed and placed himself on the disheveled sheets with his head hung low. “The answer finally came to me today. The whole time, I built up this image that you had moved on and you were done with me. It was my fault we ended things back then. So, I chased after every girl that reminded me of you and when we ended things... it hurt.” He picked his head up, gazing into my eyes with watery ones. “They walked away with your traits and I felt like that was all I had left of you.”

I couldn’t watch him eat himself away anymore with the memories he had to relive. My legs climbed his sitting frame, straddling both sides of his body. “Rafe, why did you do it?”

“I felt like I wasn’t ready.” He answered, his hands sliding up my waist. “Yes, I have all of the money in the world to give you. But I felt like I wasn’t on your level yet. You’re smart, sweet, unique. You’re everything a guy could want and I wasn’t that yet.”

His thumb moved up to swipe my cheeks. I watched him remove it from where they were to see a clear liquid caught under the moonlight peeking through my window. God, I can’t be seriously crying.

“That’s not your decision to make, Rafe. That’s my own. I decide if we’re the right match and... I honestly thought we were perfect for each other. We balanced one another out. I missed that.”

“I know, I do too. And I’m sorry for just everything I’ve put you through.”

“I’m still here right?” I acknowledged with a gentle smile.

“You are. And I don’t wanna leave you again. I wanna be right here. With you.”

But I'll build a house out of the mess and all of the broken pieces

I’ll make up for all of your tears

Pictures I’d long forgotten in the comfort of my attic polka-dotted the walls in the tiny living room. Two currant red sofas protected a wooden coffee table standing in the middle with issues of my favorite magazines spread out on the surface. The stand beneath the flat screen consisted of Rafe’s and my Blu-Ray favorites, as well as the dust-free PS4 and brand new PS5.

“So, what do you think?” Rafe questioned from behind. “Do you like it?”

Once upon a time, this apartment reeked of Rafe Cameron. He was a man that only spoke for himself and never me. But now, since we’d been taking things slow the past couple of months, he flipped the switch to assure me this place was now ours.

I belong here, is what he wanted to inform me. He’s not the best with words to tell me I have a place in his life. So, his actions spoke for himself.

I swiveled on the balls of my feet to grin at him with love coating my eyes. “I love it.

I'll give you the best years

Past love burned out like a cigarette

I promise, darling, you won't regret

The best years

Beth from Chem was back in town. According to the locals, it was rumored she’d regretted ending things with Rafe and was back to whisk him into her arms. They’d even went as far as informing her that he was now with me (and more than likely for good) but her stance didn’t budge.

Currently, we were throwing daggers at one another. She’d been trying all night to gain the attention of my boyfriend through initiating the conversation or offering to be his team mate for beer pong. Truthfully, it was embarrassing to watch as Rafe shot her down every time and the eyes on the onlookers shifted to one another in amusement. We all knew her motives.

“Stop looking like that, you’re gonna form wrinkles.” the man of the hour chastised me with a shake of his arm as it was looped on my shoulders.

“I can’t help it when your ex is the one who started it.” I answered, gritting my teeth.

“Who?”

“You know who.” I slapped his arm.

Seeing him chuckle phased me. The old Rafe would’ve hopped at the opportunity of some girl ogling him, especially if the girl happened to be a previous fling. When we were friends, he’d slip away to take care of business with the young woman and I’d watch from afar with longing eyes, wishing I were the one he chased for the evening. Even when we were briefly together, I could feel his hesitance in wanting to stick around but the dumb me pushed it aside for selfish and desperate reasons. This new guy that clung to me like a koala hugging a tree pulled me closer to plant a kiss on the crown of my head.

“I know baby. But I’m not going anywhere. And she can try all she wants but it’s not happening. Not now, tomorrow, or ever.

“Just you and me?”

“You and me.”

I wanna hold your hair when you drink too much

Carry you home when you cannot stand up

You did all these things for me

When I was half a man for you

I wanna hold your hand while we're growing up

As I hacked the contents of the evening into the toilet, Rafe’s hands grabbed my hair to pull it into a makeshift ponytail. His free hand rubbed soothing circles into my hunched back. Embarrassment ran through my body at the sight of him having to see me like this.

Once I was sure I was finished, he aided me in standing to my feet to cleanse my mouth of the harsh taste. His hold on me remained even when I placed my orange toothbrush inside my mouth.

I spit some of the toothpaste into the sink. “That was fucking embarrassing.”

“Really Y/N?”

“What? I’m just saying. I don’t want you to see me like that. Ever again. I’m not drinking that much anymore.”

He didn’t say anything. His mouth was a thin line and his eyes observed me from the mirror as I finished my business of cleaning my mouth. Before I could exit the bathroom, his arm jutted out to halt my movements.

“Look at me.” He commanded in a soft but firm tone. I did as instructed. “You’re gonna be sick and I’m gonna do the same thing. You’re gonna probably go back on your word and drink that much again and guess what? I’m still gonna be there.”

“Rafe—”

“No Y/N. Look: you took care of me when I wasn’t shit back then. I barely looked after you as a friend and as a boyfriend. I’m here now and I’m repaying you for all you did for me. I’m doing what I should’ve done back then. Do you hear me?

I nodded. “I hear you.”

“Good. Because I’m here for the long run baby. I’m gonna do all the shit like holding your hair when you throw up for as long as I live.”

I'll give you the best years

Past love burned out like a cigarette

I promise, darling, you won't regret

The best years

I'll give you the best years

The sun caught the diamond ring on my finger at the right angle, along with the wedding band underneath it. With my other hand, I snapped a shot of the sight with my phone.

“Never thought I’d see you doing that.” Rafe snickered from beside me.

“Can you blame me?”

“Nope.” He answered, popping the ‘p’. “Honestly, it makes me feel like I’m doing something right. I feel like for you to take a picture of something like your hand, it means a lot.”

After sharing the picture to my Instagram, I faced my husband in the lawn chair next to me. In his arms, he held our sleeping bundle of joy who hadn’t released his fathers fingers from the moment he picked him up for nap time.

“Everything you’ve done and continue to do for me means a lot, Rafe.” I replied. “If you haven’t figured out by now, my constant tears express how much I love you. Whether it be cooking a special dinner for me or taking Y/S/N out of my arms after a rough day, I’m crying because it means a lot that you’re looking out for me.”

He leaned over, tightening his hold on our son to lightly kiss me on the lips. “What can I say? I promised you the best years and you’re getting it. Until death do us part.”

OBX supporters (taglist): @jjmayybank @princezukohere @teenwaywardasgardian @jarritoswhore @ethereal-honeygold @pink-meringues @thecurlsofgod

#outer banks #obx #rafe cameron #drew starkey #rafe cameron x female!reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x reader #drew starkey x female!reader #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x you #drew starkey x reader #outerbanksedit

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fullsuuns · 4 years ago

Text

true blue | n.jm

pairing: jaemin x fem. reader

genre: angst, fluff

wordcount: 6.4k

tags: camphalfblood!au, forbiddenlove!au, demigod!jaemin, mermaid!reader, jaemin is son of poseidon in this, it’s also told in jaemin’s pov

warnings: none

synopsis: in which na jaemin finds out he’s more gifted than he initially thought and also takes the risk of falling in love with a mermaid.

song rec♫: neptune - sleeping at last (highly rec this song as it alone inspired this entire fic)

na jaemin had always been a lover of water.

growing up in busan, he always felt inexplicably drawn to the ocean. be it the way the water always felt refreshing to the touch and would instantly clear his head, or how the tadpoles would dance around his toes when he dipped his feet in, he didn’t know. all he did know was that he adored it.

maybe it had been the initial reason he’d joined his highschool’s swim team during his senior year. something about diving straight into water and moving his body in a way that almost felt like second nature to him. getting praised for doing so was just another factor in what drove him to spend more time at the school’s pool than, quite literally, anywhere else. though in his last year, jaemin quickly became a commended athlete for his extraordinary talent.

what other people didn’t know, especially his classmates and his coach, is that na jaemin could do something with water — something that he was sure other people couldn’t. at first, jaemin told himself it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary; that making the water ripple beneath him without even pressing his palm to the surface wasn’t odd.

except it was — that was what he soon realized.

of course, making water move didn’t seem like a big deal; jaemin would reassure himself that it was most likely due to the pressure coming from the pool’s installed filtering jets. everything seemed fine as jaemin dove into the body of water. he hadn’t noticed the pretty bad scrape on his arm, either — and from what? he didn’t even know.

when jaemin had surfaced, his eyes caught the slight discoloration to his submerged skin almost immediately. he brought his arm up and out, water sloshing around him as his eyes inspected the scrape. the wound looked pretty gruesome under the white light, the harsh lighting of the natatorium almost making it appear worse than it probably was.

he was about to just let it be, swim a few more laps — at least that was the plan until he saw water creep its way up his arm. several streams ran over the wound, collectively healing and sealing the scrape up. now in its place was nothing but unblemished skin, as if nothing had ever happened.

jaemin was shocked. his mouth had hung wide open, eyes almost bulging out of his skull as they drank in his now seemingly perfect forearm. he was quick to dart his eyes for his surroundings, hoping no one had witnessed what exactly had just happened. there were various students, all a part of the water polo team, but they were all too busy with setting up equipment to notice jaemin’s situation. he was thankful.

he swam to the edge of the pool after that. he pushed himself up, gushes of water splashing around him as he exited. jaemin power-walked to the locker room, wishing that whatever he’d seen was just a figment of his imagination and that it never actually occurred. he didn’t spare his arm another glance for confirmation, choosing to ignore the incident for his own sanity.

nothing intense had happened since that day, and jaemin had graduated from highschool peacefully. of course, the swim team’s ace had been scouted by big universities, but jaemin had already been set on dropping swim after the pool incident, so he politely turned each one down. (each agent had looked at him incredulously, but jaemin just smiled humbly, thanking them before parting ways.)

the summer after his senior year of highschool had been pretty boring. several hours into the night for various nights in a row, jaemin played call of duty with his friends donghyuck and jongho. he was sure that he even developed eyebags, but ignored the mirror every time he stepped into the bathroom. cold showers always fueled to restore his energy almost completely, keeping him going despite donghyuck’s whines that they didn’t do anything. jaemin would tease that the brunet simply just wasn’t as cool as him.

one day, jaemin had decided to pick up the mail that arrived at his mother’s house just so that she didn’t have to. he was surprised to see a handwritten letter addressed to him, even going as far as having a wax seal on the back. jaemin had dropped the rest of the mail pile onto the kitchen table instead, focused on prying the single envelope with the hard-to-budge seal open.

the letter wasn’t anything fancy, really, but it hadn’t been written in korean. initially, it was written in a language jaemin couldn’t decipher — or at least that’s what he thought until the characters started to float and move around right before his eyes. out of shock, jaemin dropped the letter and envelope to the floor. he’d squeezed his eyes shut, spewing mantras of it’s just the redbull, it’s just the redbull.

jaemin eyed it for a while, the crinkled cream paper unmoving in all its glory. his mother still hadn’t gotten back from work, so it was just him in their house. still, jaemin refused to pick up the letter for five more minutes.

he should’ve known that that had been the start of it all; that it’d be the inevitable start of na jaemin finding out he had magical blood running through his veins.

he simply ridiculed the idea, ridiculed the letter in its entirety until his mother had gotten home that one fateful day only two weeks ago. she’d told him that it was all true — about how jaemin was a descendant of the all-mighty poseidon, god of the seas, and that he was a lot more gifted than he thought possible.

he wanted to cry, laugh, maybe even scream, because he desperately wanted to be told it was a joke. still, the memory of his mother only looking at him with serious, unplayful eyes bore itself into his mind. in that moment, fourteen days ago, jaemin knew that it was true — knew that that was the reasoning behind why he was always different.

na jaemin didn’t want to believe it. he still wanted to be in unnerving denial, even as his mother drove him to what she said was the boundary line that connected the human world to the gifted world. even when their car had stopped at a clearing and she had exited the vehicle, she still motioned jaemin’s figure out.

“i can’t go beyond here, jaemin. you have to go on your own.” she told him when he finally stepped up to her.

“but why?” he asked. jaemin didn’t want to admit it, but his heart was beating sporadically beneath his chest at the thought of having to do this alone.

“i’m not like you, jaemin. you must go on your own and figure out your destiny.”

she’d given him a hug, promising she’d call him. jaemin wanted so badly for her to tell him this wasn’t what was actually happening, that it was some planned-out prank that would land them both on television and get them thousands of dollars, but he knew it wasn’t in his mother’s nature to pull something like this.

as he stepped deeper into the forest with backpack on his shoulders, jaemin looked back to see his mother wave at him. he waved back, a wistful look crossing his features momentarily as he stared at her. with a newfound sense of bravery, and one last look at the woman who raised him for twenty years of his life, jaemin turned back around and ventured farther into the forest, leaves crunching beneath his boots as he searched for whatever it was exactly that awaited him.

jaemin was surprised, shocked, flabbergasted to see that whatever his mother had told him about actually turned out to be true. forty minutes into his walk, and with the sun threatening to set, jaemin reached a clearing.

it greets him in the form of tall, wooden trunks that are formed to create a singular entrance. above it, greek lettering rearranges itself into korean before jaemin’s eyes (just like they had on the letter), and soon, camp halfblood is sprawled over the wood.

he didn’t know exactly what to do from then on. jaemin heard a yell being shouted from inside the open territory, and someone was quick to jog up to him.

“new comer?” the person asked. he looked to be around his age: black hair, youthful brown eyes, and a similar build to jaemin.

he nodded, albeit a little cautiously.

“i’m jeno,” the raven said, grinning, “son of ares, god of war.”

“i’m jaemin.” he greeted. “son of poseidon, i think? at least that’s what i was told.”

jeno’s eyes widened, marveling at him. “no way, poseidon?”

jaemin only nodded again, more confident this time.

safe to say, it took jaemin a while to get used to his new life. word of the one and only poseidon’s son was quick to spread around the camp — or at least that’s what he assumed, because only two days had passed before he’d found out everyone knew of him.

with jeno teaching him battle techniques and all about camp life, jaemin grew grateful at the chance to be given a friend in his new life. of course, there were still times that he missed his old ones.

(he’d told donghyuck and his other closest friends that he’d be away on an internship in the united states for some time, and that his cellphone service wouldn’t allow for international calls or texts. it was a lie, but it seemed believable enough that they didn’t question him.)

jaemin was lucky to reach his mother on the phone the night he’d first arrived at the place two weeks ago. he informed her that he’d gotten to camp safely, that he’d even met a new friend, and she’d been relieved. his mother told him to stay safe and to call her more often, to which he agreed he would do.

more time passed, and jaemin had met more friends: renjun, son of athena, chenle, son of hermes, and jisung, son of demeter. they were all nice boys, despite their initial gawking at finding out that jaemin was a direct descendant from poseidon himself. although the shock was there at first, they were quick to dismiss it in favor of treating him normally — or as normally as demigods could treat eachother — and jaemin was grateful for it.

he’d even gotten his own cabin — a gift from his father — chiron, head of camp, told him. it was a grand cabin constructed close to the edge of camp, away from any and all others (jaemin was happy to learn that) as it overlooked the vast ocean it connected to. over time, jaemin grew to love visiting his dock in favor of clearing his head. the water around him felt like home, and it still served to calm him and keep him peaceful when he was conflicted.

jaemin would visit the dock several times a week just to get a sense of grounding. there were times he would play with the water beneath him, ghosting his palms over the surface to practice creating ripples. the fish that swam under the water were always spooked.

it’d been two months later that something truly happened, something that he never expected to see — or, well, hear.

jaemin thought it would be just another ordinary thursday, except that idea changed when he heard faint groans of pain from behind the giant boulder to his right.

he knew that the rock was beyond the boundary line that separated the camp from the outside world, but jaemin always pinged himself as the curious type. he was quick to round the rock, wanting to figure out what exactly had been making noise.

he didn’t know what he expected, but he certainly didn’t expect to see you laying a ways away from the ocean, tear streaks on your face as you distinctly cried out in pain.

jaemin was quick to rush over.

“oh my god, are you okay?” he asked, panic in his voice as he knelt down next to you.

your tail shimmered under the sunlight, and jaemin was sure he knew what you were. he’d read about creatures like you all his life. he thought mermaids would just be folklore, imaginary. he didn’t believe them to be real at first, but jaemin had also found out he was a demigod so he wasn’t exactly sure about what was real or not anymore.

you definitely seem to be real, at least that’s what jaemin thought to himself.

he was refocused by the time he heard a whimper escape your lips, fear evident in your eyes as you tried to shimmy away from him. with your attempts being fruitless, jaemin’s heart ached momentarily when you lifted your tail only to wail in agony.

“it’s okay,” he assured. jaemin brought his hands forward to show you that he hadn’t been holding a weapon. “i won’t hurt you. what’s wrong? i want to help you.”

you bite your lip. your voice is quiet, yet almost melodical to him when you speak. “my tail. it’s my tail. i can’t - i can’t move. it hurts too much.”

jaemin looked down to see what you were talking about. sure enough, he saw several gashes lining the ends of your tail, some chunks to your fin even ripped off.

his eyebrows knit in sorrow, worry. “who would do this to you?”

he didn’t expect a response, it’d been more of a rhetorical question that he’d wondered to himself. still, he heard your quiet answer. “fishers.”

jaemin looked back at you, smiling in hopes that it could be enough to soothe you down a bit. he didn’t miss the way your irises still held traces of caution and fear, but he was quick to reassure you.

“don’t worry, just let me do something real quick. i promise you’re safe, i won’t even touch you. just let me help. can i help you?”

he waited for you to nod, for you to give him permission to help you. hesitantly, you did so.

you were still a close enough distance to the ocean that the water came alive at jaemin’s command when he held his hand out. he looked to you for any sign of discomfort, letting his tensed shoulders go lax when he only found twinkles of surprise and curiosity in your eyes. jaemin didn’t let the water get swallowed by the sand as it trailed up to you. he directed his palm towards your tail, the water running over the broken fin of your tail.

what happened next made you gasp and jaemin grin. the water was slowly beginning to mend your tail, restoring the previously broken off ends with new, healthier ones out of thin air. by the time your tail was repaired, and you had flapped it experimentally, you cried out in happiness.

“no way! no way, my tail!” you give it another flick, just for good measure. “it’s back!”

jaemin saw the grin on your face, saw the way your eyes shone so brightly, and he had to admit that it served to bring a smile to his lips.

that had been jaemin’s first encounter with you.

two weeks had passed.

jaemin was sure he’d never see you again after that, telling himself you’d most likely never come back a second time. he didn’t tell anyone of his encounter with you; hadn’t mentioned anything about mermaids to anyone. still, two weeks passed and he couldn’t get you out of his head, because simply to him, you were the kind of ethereal beauty beyond those descended from the aphrodite herself.

he’d been seated at his cabin’s dock again. the water was calm, nothing but the faint chitter-chatter from camp the only sound that could be heard. in his silence, jaemin constantly found himself wondering if you would ever come back, if he’d ever cross paths with you again as he dug into his pocket for a stray coin. he threw it into the ocean, watching it leap for several seconds before sinking below the surface.

he let out a sigh.

“maybe something like that was too good to be true,” jaemin spoke to himself. “silly me.”

except, jaemin was quick to turn his head when he felt something hit his bicep. looking down, he saw that what he’d been hit with was a singular pebble — round and smooth and definitely hand-picked. he chose to ignore it, telling himself it could’ve just been a coincidence. then he felt another hard collision to his arm.

he turned faster this time, eyes fleeting as they scoured for location of the source. the top of a head behind a boulder caught his gaze. it disappeared almost instantly, but jaemin knew he saw it. a tiny spark of hopefulness was quick to rise within him when he realized that that had been the rock he’d previously seen you behind.

jaemin got up to his feet, grabbing the small yet striking pebble in his hand. he’d looked over his shoulder, made sure no one saw him crossing over the boundary before he made his way over to the boulder.

jaemin reached the top of the rock soon enough, sitting down as he waited for you to come out. he’d purposely tip-toed so as to not let alert you that he was approaching, and it’d worked as he heard a shriek from you once you made another appearance. the surprise of it had you falling back into the water, in turn making jaemin both laugh and clap his hands in amusement.

he grinned teasingly at you, holding up the pebble next to him. though he wasn’t happy about you throwing stones at him, he was ecstatic to learn that you came back. “is there a reason you’re throwing rocks at me?”

jaemin watched you emerge from the ocean in all of your radiance. he took note that from under the clear water, your tail was fine now, no longer needing care. he also took note that your hair was still pretty despite it being stuck to your wet body, and that you had a mesh bag tied to your wrist.

“yes, actually,” you answered, laughing. your eyelashes fluttered extra prettily against your cheeks when you brought the bag up to him, and jaemin was completely enraptured. “i want to thank you for helping me.”

“you don’t have to thank me,” jaemin said. “but i’d love to know your name.”

“y/n,” oh how beautiful your voice was to him. “and you, my savior?”

a smile prodded at jaemin’s lips. “y/n,” he echoed, testing your name on his tongue. he loved it. “i’m jaemin, na jaemin.”

“jaemin,” you had repeated with a giggle, swishing the bag around in your hands. it was so, so easy for him to be intrigued by you. “i’ve brought you seashells as a gift.”

his heart had fluttered when you placed the mesh bag of trinkets into his palms, various seashells moving around in his grip. the bag was wet. droplets poured down onto jaemin’s jeans, but he found that he didn’t mind. not when you gave him a bright, beautiful grin that had his breath hitching.

that was his second encounter with you.

it wasn’t long before jaemin really, truly started to fall for you. every friday, he’d meet you at the same rock just outside of the boundary line after duties at 3p.m — or, well, when the ocean’s current direction shifted for you (he came to figure out that mermaids simply didn’t calculate time). still, these were the days he awaited most.

he’d share stories upon stories with you about both his camp life and human life. he grew fond of how you attentively drank up every detail from every story he shared with wide, beautiful eyes. you, too, shared counts of your life at sea, though they were more dark if anything.

jaemin’s eyebrows furrowed when he heard of how your kind was hunted, sought after for your fins. you’d told him about how they were magical in the sense that they were able to heal the weak and restore them back to full health. jaemin now understood why you had been so scared the first time he saw you. though he smiled at you reassuringly, his heart broke beneath the surface.

jaemin had grabbed your hand, interlocking your fingers together with a whispered promise. “i’ll never let anyone hurt you again.”

no one knew of jaemin sneaking out beyond campgrounds to meet you. no one even knew that he was sneaking out in the first place until two months in.

jaemin was careful enough to not let anyone see you, always hiding you away from the direct line of sight from camp just had something go wrong.

nothing ever did, at least until that one friday.

he’d been perched at his usual spot on the boulder, sitting cross-legged with you in front of him, your top half emerged enough from the water so that he could place his lips on yours. there was nothing but the ocean and the forest around you, a calm serene setting for when he would kiss you under the shade of the giant camp tree.

jaemin held your hand out, your palm facing towards the sky. you’d giggled, asking him what he was doing, to which he only shushed you with another kiss to your lips. he had to pull away when you placed your free hand on his cheek, deepening it ever so slightly.

“sneaky sneaky.” jaemin tsk’d.

you hummed, tongue darting out across your lips. “nice chapstick. is that cherry?”

“yes it is,” he answered. “now hush, i’m trying to show you something.”

he returned to drawing a figure on your skin, connecting your palm to his right after. your eyes glimmered as you watched in awe, eyes trained on the watered silhouette of a seahorse that floated between both you and jaemin.

“wow, it’s - wow, jaemin. that’s amazing.”

jaemin’s heart thumped from beneath his chest, as it always did each and every time you smiled at him. you tapped an index finger at the floating water, yelping when some of it ran down your arm and back into the ocean. you were shocked at first, but quick to let out a sweet laugh right after. jaemin was happy to see you happy. jaemin was happy that he could make you happy.

maybe he’d been too caught up in you — too caught up in the melodical beauty of your laugh to notice anything unusual. his eyebrows furrowed when he saw your eyes settle on something behind him, the deep pools of your irises growing the same fearful look they had when he first met you, and a panic arose within him. you didn’t say anything as your eyes met his, but you were quick to duck back into the water. jaemin watched you swim away below the ocean with a weak and confused heart.

that’s when he heard it.

the faint, distant call of a camper.

jaemin visibly tensed, his jaw hardening and back straightening at the intrusion. the water that he’d controlled, now fallen, served to create a damp spot on the rock. his eyes scoured the ocean, but he saw no trace of you anywhere. he’d hoped that whoever was calling for him didn’t actually see you.

with a heavy sigh, he turned around to face the random camper — someone he’d never even seen before. still, jaemin tried to muster the best fakest smile that he could account for, even when his blood simmered. the intruder only looked at him warily before turning away, scurrying back to camp.

he was now left alone with nothing but the ocean around him. the sun had almost set, glow peaking just enough from behind the mountains, and that’s when jaemin realized just how fast time would pass when he was with you. sometimes, there were fridays where he would return to camp after darkness had grown, after spending hours talking to you about nothing and everything all at once, but he never once regretted one of those days.

a few days later, jaemin thinks word got out to chiron that he’d been sneaking past the boundary line, because soon he gets summoned into the centaur’s office for what he presumes is that very reason. the place smells of smoke upon his arrival, and the cabin has a surplus of antiques from olympus that decorate the interior. it’s nowhere near as elegantly built as his own cabin; jaemin thought this as he watched the crackling fire from the fireplace. he pushed that down when his wandering thoughts were interrupted by the rough clear of a throat.

chiron is stoic with his gaze, but jaemin is unphased. if he was really here for what he thought he was here for, he didn’t care.

“i hear you’ve been sneaking out of camp.” ah, so jaemin’s assumptions were proven correct. there was a disapproving lilt in the centaur’s tone that made jaemin almost flinch. “to converse with a mermaid?”

jaemin knew he couldn’t lie to weasel himself out of this situation — it simply wouldn’t do him any good when everyone already knew anyway. he’d had the feeling that the camper he’d seen would tell someone as soon as he returned back to camp, but jaemin didn’t care in that moment. he’d been too caught up in feeling distraught over your untimely goodbye to think about the probability of his secret getting out.

he just sighed. “yes, i have.”

except chiron already knew.

“do you know the danger that outside creatures could impose on our kind?” he berated. “that boundary is put in place to keep us safe, keep us away from the danger that the outside world brings. i will not have you stepping outside of that field again - for a pesky mermaid much less.”

jaemin felt his blood boil at the words, at the way the centaur spoke of you so unnervingly. his hackles raised in defense, eyes unsparing as he spoke with a tone full of venom. “do you know who i am?”

chiron must have been taken aback, because surely he hadn’t expected jaemin to challenge him so outwardly.

jaemin continued. “i’m son of poseidon, god of the seas, and unless you want this entire place flooded by the ocean’s water, you’re going to leave me alone, and you’re going to leave her alone. i can handle things on my own.”

he didn’t spare the centaur another word nor did he allow him to respond. instead, jaemin rose from the desk he’d been leaning on, storming out of the cabin and halfway across camp towards his own.

jaemin meant it when he said he wouldn’t let anyone hurt you again. he loved you too much to let anything bad happen to you.

the week that followed was too tense. jaemin hadn’t spoken to his friends in a while. he told jeno he needed alone time, needed to think — to which the raven assured him to take as much time as he needed. by then, everyone knew that na jaemin was seemingly in love with a mermaid, as gossip about those descended from the most powerful of gods always spread like wildfire. he didn’t mind it though, maybe that would get aphrodite’s daughters off his back for once.

the next friday was quick to come.

that entire morning, jaemin had buzzed to see you. he’d missed your eyes, your voice, your lips, and positively everything about you that he grew to adore in so little time. he wanted to speak to you again, to make you laugh again, and to get the chance to kiss you again.

he’d arrived at your spot that evening, your favorite flower freshly picked in his hand. he even went as far as to truly making sure no one had followed him this time by coming out earlier than he usually did.

jaemin waited, and waited, and waited. there was no sign of you anywhere; no breathtaking glimmer of your tail under the translucent water as you swam around him, no teasing splash as you coaxed him into getting in with you, and certainly no familiar ripple as you got ready to emerge from under the ocean.

he waited. but you never came.

jaemin realized he’d been sat there for hours when he saw the ever fading sun begin to hide itself behind the mountains. they’re the same hours he would spend with you, but the time that passed now left him sluggish without your vibrant presence.

still, he didn’t move. he refused to until the day turned into night.

hours later, the sun got replaced by the moon — the subsequent result of time that had passed.

jaemin soon gave up. he figured you’d come another day, and it was left at that.

except with every trudging step back to his cabin, his heart ultimately cracked. the now droopy flower in his hand mirrored the sorrow he felt when he placed it on the nightstand next to his bed, a lone petal falling. he’d been ready to see you again, been ready to give it to you (jaemin remembered that vague memory of you telling him of your favorite flower weeks ago, and he wanted to see that familiar sparkle of delight light up your eyes — simply because he adored it too much).

unable to sleep, jaemin laid awake for some time that night, staring up at the wooden ceiling of his cabin. when he did manage to feel sleepy, eyes fatigued, he closed them with one thought plaguing his mind: he didn’t know where you were, but he really, really hoped you were safe.

jaemin didn’t give up.

instead, he opted to visit your same meeting spot every day after he finished daily training, hoping you’d come back to him at some point. at times, he would bring his ipod and play your favorite song — a song you’d told him stuck with you from a passing cruise ship. you sang the lyrics so prettily, and though tranced, jaemin still managed to jot them down on a piece of paper so that he would have it by the next time you two met up.

he grew to miss you more and more with every passing hour he spent by the unmoving water. he found himself missing the way your eyes would crinkle when he cupped your face to press chaste kisses to your lips, and how you would laugh into his mouth each time. jaemin was sure he hadn’t felt this way about another being before, and he told himself he’d rather walk through the gates of hell than let you go like this.

so jaemin waited. patiently.

another two weeks passed, yet he still came back each day.

it’d been two fridays since jaemin had last seen you. time felt still when he sat on the rock, but he found entertainment in watching voyagers travel from a distance. he noted that the clouds were gloomier today, a sort of overcast that almost threatened to storm against his surroundings, but jaemin didn’t pay it much mind other than that. instead, he found serenity in closing his eyes, and favored listening to the sounds of nature around him.

jaemin first felt a splash hit his left hand, but excused it as just a random ocean wave that’d gotten a little too powerful (those weren’t all too uncommon, especially when a rainstorm was near). with his eyes still closed, jaemin breathed deeply, ears twitching only when he heard the faint chirp of birds behind him.

there was another splash a few seconds later, though this time it’d been undoubtedly bigger than the last. jaemin peered one eye open when he felt both of his arms get drenched, the water now drenching his lap.

safe to say, his mouth dropped open in surprise. a soft gasp followed when he saw you floating in front of him, in all of your divine radiance. your hair was soaked, sticking to your body. droplets of accumulated water had decorated your flushed cheeks, your eyelashes wet with saltwater. still, you looked as gorgeous as you always had to jaemin — maybe even more this time.

he didn’t know how to react — didn’t know if you were actually truly in front of him. he’d waited countless hours for you to return back to him, return to your spot, yet he never expected to see you so abruptly like this.

you opened your mouth to speak, but jaemin had beaten you to it.

“y/n?” he asked almost incredulously. “is it - is it really you? are you really here right now?”

you only nodded.

a grin was quick to plaster itself across jaemin’s face, soon falling when he noticed yours didn’t mirror the same excitement. instead, he took in your sad eyes, the familiar spark that would shine beneath your irises no longer visible. he was confused; sadness was something jaemin had never seen from you.

“what’s wrong?”

“jaemin, i -” your voice sounded distressed, breaking before you could even say anything else. jaemin tried to reach out for you, to comfort you, but you pulled away from him in time so that he couldn’t touch your face. hurt panged at his heart instantly, and he was sure the confusion was evident on his face.

you gulped. “we can’t be together, jaemin.”

it took a second for your words to register, but when they had, they felt like a painful punch to his throat, and jaemin’s heart metaphorically plummeted to his feet.

he recoiled, bringing his arms back to his body. many different emotions swim through him all at once, unsure of how to feel exactly. he looked at your face for any signs of bluff, but was only met with sad, unmoving eyes.

“what? y/n, what? why?” his voice cracked, words laced with distress.

he watched your eyes well up with tears, and his heart continued to break. above the both of you, the sky grew darker, a flurry of clouds passing over the sky rapidly quicker than they ever had before.

you cleared your throat. “we can’t be together, jaem. we’re from two different worlds, and i don’t want you to end up hurt because of me. i - i don’t want that. so you have to let me go. you have to. i just want you to know that i love you and i’m so thankful for you, and i’m so, so sorry that i had to do stumble into your life.”

jaemin wanted to reassure you that you were all he ever wanted — all he ever needed as he heard you babble. he opened his mouth to speak, wanting so badly to console you, but was quick to get interrupted by a loud roar of thunder.

water came shortly after. it poured heavily around the two of you as the atmosphere thickened. jaemin felt his hair get damp, his clothes growing heavy with rain, but he was completely unphased by it when he looked at you — looked at who he fell in love with.

he watched you look up to the sky, felt his eyes begin to water.

“i have to go now. zeus knows i’m here, and he’s not happy,” your voice was distraught as another heavy clap sounded through the sky. the sound made you jolt. “i won’t forget the time i spent with you, na jaemin. thank you for - for showing me your world. and telling me your stories. and loving me as i am. i love you, i’ll truly never forget you, but i have to go.”

jaemin wanted to cry in confusion. he didn’t want to say goodbye. he’d waited too long just to see you again.

tears poured down his face rapidly as he shook his head in denial, begging you to not leave. he reached out his hand to your submerging figure, crying out when you retreated back into the water and swam away with nothing but a final glance at him.

jaemin cried for who knows how long, uncaring of the rain as it pelted his body. the usually refreshing feeling of water no longer served the same purpose at calming him. instead, his body wracked with countless sobs — crying because he missed you, crying because he waited so long just to hear your voice, and crying because he wasn’t sure if he’d ever see you again.

all the other times that jaemin didn’t want to leave this spot felt incomparable to how rooted he felt to the rock in that moment. the sun was gone by then, and jaemin had cried his heart out so much in those hours that his eyes turned puffy and his mouth was parched from dehydration. he didn’t move, couldn’t move when he heard a voice call to him. he didn’t budge, even when he felt a firm hand drop to his shoulder.

jeno sat next to him, silently looking out at the ocean. he, too, ignored the pouring rain.

“i’m sorry, jaemin.” he consoled. jaemin was thankful there was some sort of apologetic tone to his words, it was nice to know someone felt sympathy for him. “maybe it was for the best.”

tears were fresh again as they brimmed behind his eyes. he let them fall.

“i loved her - god, i loved her so much.” the words were strained, tension raw in his throat, but he still managed to choke them out.

“i know she loved you too.”

weeks went by at a slow pace, and jaemin wasn’t any better. he’d still sneak out and visit the ocean sometimes, visit your rock, even when he knew you wouldn’t return a second time. he’d speak to the body of water as if you were there, as if you were in front of him once again. more often than not, jaemin would just cry.

camp isn’t any better from then on; he didn’t find joy in anything anymore. when he wasn’t at the ocean, he spent most of his time in his cabin, crying and reminiscing fond memories he experienced with you. his friends checked up on him every once in a while, but nothing seemed to mend the brokenness of his heart.

he’d heard talk around camp of ongoing sea complications in korea, especially back home in busan. everyone had been confused as to why it happened so suddenly, but jaemin knew. he knew that he was the one causing the sea levels to rise, and in turn, making water travel farther up the city beaches. jaemin couldn’t bring himself to care, though, because he had lost the one thing he cared about most.

jaemin couldn’t bring himself to care because he had lost you.

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