#fucking NOBODY. it is undeniable that i am better than i have ever been

[loverboybrightsideghost]

reblog and say as many as you can, but AT LEAST ONE (1) thing you like about yourself/are proud of yourself for. could be this month, this year, this fucking decade. i double dog dare you. love yourself bitch 🫵🏼🫵🏼🫵🏼

[boringkate]

the thing is that you're extremely lucky. I transitioned at 22 as well, and very much aware that starting that late is very much a roll of the dice. I have been on HRT for 3 years at this point and I have seen essentially no physical changes. I cannot even fit into most women's clothing because my shoulders are too broad relative to the rest of me. wearing what rare women's clothing I can fit my body into makes me so dysphoric it typically leads to a full scale emotional breakdown. nobody in my real day to day life could ever possibly take me seriously as ANY kind of woman. they couldn't even see me as a trans woman, my body is so hypermasculine I just scan as undeniably male to everybody. so I don't even bother with any of the social stuff and I have to just live my life day to day as a man. so like, I'm really happy for you and shit and you're really beautiful but your experiences are so incredibly PAINFULLY not universal.

I absolutely never said that my experience was universal.

I also feel like you have a distorted idea of what my life even is. I'm out here wearing baggy unisex graphic tees 24/7 too and doing my best to live some type of trans girl separatist life because I can't trust cis people either.

The idea that starting hrt at 22 is late is still a joke though. 22 is young as fuck. 22 is younger than average. I've been fucking trans sluts for a decade now and I don't think I've ever even met one that got put on puberty blockers.

To argue that nobody should transition at 22 would be to arguing that trans women shouldn't exist.

I am genuinely sorry that you're having a rough time. It's easy to see how you could end up hating both yourself and your life. Transphobia and transmisogyny and lookism and shit life syndrome are real af. YOU DESERVE BETTER.

But trans women (even happy ones that are encouraging others to transition) aren't to blame for your self loathing.

Transbians are weak in the knees for bitches with broad shoulders. I'm weak in the knees for bitches with broad shoulders. Transphobic misogynistic cishets are the ones that hate women with broad shoulders. They're the ones defining whats monstrous. They're the ones you should be resentful towards.

I mean this very seriously: You're beautiful. Not everyone may see it and you might not believe it, but you are beautiful. The world is wrong.

[johnnycagesrightnut]

Can I unlock the JonTim rant?

RARARARRARARARARARRARA I AM ACTUALLY BARKING I AM SO GLAD YOU ASKED 😁👁️

JonTim. First of all, to understand these two it is vital you Know they never dated. Never. Not once did the two of them date. Not for lack of feelings, they had plenty, but because they just never got the chance. They never had time. They were doomed, they were an unchangeable tragedy.

I firmly believe pre season 1, before our beloved horror podcast even starts taking place, pre promotion in Research Days they had stupid little crushes on each other. No bad feelings like in later developed seasons, purely wholesome feelings of nothing but adoration and awe. They were actual friends, the amount of shit those two got in together out following up on statements or whatever, they were like no one else. Nobody else had a bond like those two, not even Tim and Sasha. They were each others person.

I do think when Tim had finally gathered the stones and was ready, he planned on asking Jon out the next Friday. But then they got promoted.

Season One.

They never had time. Jon got busy and despite his overall done-with-everything-and-everyone vibe in S1 it never really came about when it was Just Tim. Just them alone again. Maybe in a sarcastic way but never really. Tim put off asking him out, figuring they were busy now and there would be a better time. He didn’t know now was the best time he would get, because every time after would be worse. If he had known maybe he would have asked. Maybe later he thinks about that in kicks himself in retrospect. Maybe he thinks about Jon when he presses the detonator.

Season Two.

S2 was perfect. The angst is setting in. Jon was paranoid. Everyone was a little paranoid sometimes after the Prentiss incident but Jon was the worst of it. Tim had started seeing him outside his house for god sakes. Jon was so suspicious of Tim, and less because he truly thought he was up to something and more so because he needed to Know Tim wasn’t. He needed to Know the one person who had been there wasn’t doing anything. Obviously Tim took it as suspicion and that drove wedge through them a bit. Their argument in episode 65 is SUCH a lovers quarrel energy. It’s SUCH a lover quarrel. Because you can love someone and be as angry as they were at each other. Those things can be felt simultaneously, and believe me when I tell you I do wholeheartedly believe they never loved anyone else the way they loved each other. Tim and Sasha were iconic, Jon and Martin were iconic and undeniably in love, but it wasn’t the type of love Jon and Tim had, nothing could ever rival that, and nothing ever did. If there was an option when Jon was happy with Martin in the safe house, happily in love if he could have Tim back alive, back with him but Martin wouldn’t be with them, he would hesitate.

Season Three. (The Grande Finale)

Tim has never been angrier. He is so alone. Nobody understands, not even the one person who used to understand everything, his everything, didn’t get it anymore. Tim’s lost everything. He doesn’t have anything left for him anymore. I’m not even sure if most of S3 he even knew Jon still loved him, but he knows in the end. Despite being in the Unknowing, Tim knows. He’s aware at the end. He knows Jon loves him more than anything, and he knows he feels the same. He knows then that there has never been a time Jon did not love him. He knows he’s glad to do this, to get back at something and his last moments to be a big ‘Fuck You’ to these entities, this thing that took his brother and in turn his entire life, but he knows he’s going to miss Jon, if you can miss from the grave. Even if you can’t he will miss Jon enough that he can. He knows he’s never going to see his love again, never will he make him laugh, or get stoned somewhere in the Institute like they did in Research Days, Tim regrets in these last moments never asking Jon. He thinks of how different things would have been if he had. And he doesn’t want to think of that anymore. He thinks of everything he’s doing, how now that this is what’s happening he won’t (can’t) change it, and grins, his last moments the biggest ‘Fuck You’ anyone’s ever seen. He thinks of a time he made Jon laugh in Research Days, remembers how pretty he thought Jon looked laughing, and he clicks the detonator.

Season Four (Encore.)

Jon wakes up six months later from a coma. Once he can form a coherent thought it’s about Tim. Where is he? What room is he in? After everything, after all this they had survived, and Jon knows Now. Now he has to make a move, he has to hold and be held by his friend, his lover. It’s a good thing Georgie and Basira are there when he wakes up, he can ask them. Ask them what room Tim was in. When he asks if Tim is alive it’s just for clarification, he knows what answer he’s going to get, that Tim was somewhere in the hospital. His heart shatters when they’re silent. Oh. He’s just woken up from a six month long coma and the love of his life is dead. No this couldn’t be happening. Please. Not Tim. He gets dizzy and he can’t see straight, too consumed by the hard hitting feeling of grief because for the first time ever, Tim is not there. He’s nowhere. He isn’t anymore. He was all he wanted and he did not exist anymore. He was ready now, he was going to ask Tim. Even now Tim was gone they paralleled each other, Jon was ready to ask and he couldn’t anymore, and Tim was ready to ask and felt he couldn’t. Death couldn’t stop them from being intertwined irreversibly with each other. Nothing could.

Season Five (honourable mention.)

Jon still feels him around. He’s happy with Martin but some night when he’s staring up at the ceiling he is reminded of earlier times of being absolutely baked at work with Tim, staring up at the ceiling of his office while they lay on the floor. He thinks of Tim laughing, and realizes he can still imagine Tim’s voice perfectly. And he misses him more than anything. He can feel him around the safe house sometimes, thinks he hears his voice. Sometimes he hears Martin’s footsteps and turns around faster than you’d ever see because for just a moment, he thinks it’s someone else. He loves Martin. But it’s not the way he loved Tim. Nothing will ever be like how he loved Tim. He just wants Tim back sometimes. He wants his best friend. He wants his lover back. And sometimes he can hear Tim’s voice so clearly in his head, imagines what he’d say if he could see Jon now. He can feel Tim’s hand gently in his face, wiping the stray tear away like he had done once before in research days. He can feel himself burying his face in Tim’s chest or shoulder. He missed Tim. Nothing would ever make that feeling go away. Tim would always be, and always had been his lover. Because you don’t need to be dating to be lovers, as long as you do love each other you are lovers. And no one could take that love from them. Jon obviously thinks about Martin and being happy Somewhere Else when he dies, but for a quick fleeting second, the last second he is alive, he thinks about Tim. And how maybe if he ends up Sonewhere Else it would be him Jon saw.

I did cry writing this.

@cult-of-the-eye

[cherish--these--times]

i just want to tell you how much i loved your post on media literacy & tedbecca!! really well put and what i hope reasonable fans not on our side would read so they’d realize where we come from! 💜

You absolute sweetheart. Thank you for telling me that. I should have been kinder in my approach but I am simply appalled, and sick and tired by a lot of people and now Brendan Hunt (not even gonna mispell his name, I'm fucking mad) for claiming that wanting Ted and Rebecca to get together was purely us silly fans being girly girls conditioned to want the male and female leads to end up together, so we could spice up our dull little lives with some sweet sweet Disney romance. I am INCENSED. I have seen quite a few queer people here rooting for them as well, which makes this reasoning even more offensive. Also to claim that he was surprised people would take it so personally is hilarious to me. Dude... have you ever been a fan of anything before??? Don't you know how much stories matter to people?? Wasn't it the goal when you made this show????

What antis don't seem to understand is that nobody in the TedBecca fandom was claiming that there were any romantic feelings between Ted and Rebecca. That would be insane because it just wasn't the case.

However, anybody with a modicum of critical thinking could see that they were playing with romcom tropes with them. But that's not even why I think most of us began to think we were heading there. What the writers did, in what remains a beautiful, masterful way, was lead the audience paying enough attention to understand that they were MEANT to be together. In a way far more profound than mere infatuation or physical attraction. No. They were each other's guarantee of true, long-lasting happiness. That's what they've established. Because they were similar in fundamental ways (a bit silly and immensely kind for instance). They had gone through similar things, including life-defining traumas on the same fucking day, at the same fucking time, and therefore could provide the other with all the support, the care, the devotion that the other needed. And they were doing just that! They could even communicate without words. They were undoubtedly making the other greater, which is exactly what Higgins wanted for Beard and Jane. They just had not realised it yet. Better still, I thought it was fabulous to have them go on their healing journey first, reach the top of the mountain, and THEN have them realise they were the love of each other's life. WHAT A BEAUTIFUL CONCEPT. Truly a spectacular story, and one they hinted at RELENTLESSLY. And until the very end. When in truth, they could have stopped this many moons ago by having Rebecca meet a nice, sweet guy (not Dutch guy, fuck him, he was creepy as hell) as soon as series 1 ended and be done with it. But no. Ooooh no. They kept that shit going until the very last episode. Even Rebecca begging Ted to stay was yet another romcom trope they dangled under our nose. They shot themselves in the foot with that one too, because Ted's determination to leave felt even more stupid and irrational when perfect solutions were handed to him on a silver platter by her (OUT OF LOVE). No wonder he didn't say a word, because nothing he could have said would have realistically justified his departure after what she offered. Nope. He kept his mouth shut because the true answer he had was: "I don't want to leave but the writers insist I must be this Magical Being that comes into people's lives to make them better and then go away in a poof of smoke and glitter. Mostly glitter. Ain't that a damn shame. I appreciate you, though."

To claim their story was never intended to be understood as such and say it was all on us for making shit up is simply untrue (and insulting, and you can fuck off). It was all there. Beautifully woven through every episode, in subtle but undeniable ways. Using, one could argue, The Lasso Way. A series of imperceptible moments all leading to the inevitable conclusion. Even this, I thought, was another hint……

And yeah, on top of that, I am FUMING over the misdirects (Bantr texting and matchbook in Ted's pocket, the latter really making my blood boil) and Dutch Guy being shamelessly Ted-coded (and all of a sudden everybody was overjoyed because he was the perfect guy for her even though everything he did that day, Ted had already done first. Minus the kiss on the ankle, offering her a foot massage and shaming her into drinking because that was fucking creepy and also Ted would never bad-mouth his ex).

I do take some comfort in seeing now a couple of articles online denouncing the way we, as an audience, were treated. You know, people who have media literacy, unlike us, apparently??

I'm angry, annoyed, insulted, but mostly I'm just sad. Because they ruined that show for a lot of people, including myself, and a few of their own characters in the process.

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ACOK: Theon IV (Chapter 50)

Until Theon had sent for her, she had lived all of her eighteen years in the winter town without ever setting foot inside the walls of the castle. She came to him wet and eager and lithe as a weasel, and there had been a certain undeniable spice to fucking a common tavern wench in Lord Eddard Stark's own bed.

+.+.+

She murmured sleepily as Theon slid out from under her arm and got to his feet. A few embers still smoldered in the hearth. Wex slept on the floor at the foot of the bed, rolled up inside his cloak and dead to the world.

Wait a second, was the squire in the room while they were having sex? Oh no.

+.+.+

Theon crossed to the window and threw open the shutters. Night touched him with cold fingers, and gooseprickles rose on his bare skin. He leaned against the stone sill and looked out on dark towers, empty yards, black sky, and more stars than a man could ever count if he lived to be a hundred.

So when they had finished, Ned rolled off and climbed from her bed, as he had a thousand times before. He crossed the room, pulled back the heavy tapestries, and threw open the high narrow windows one by one, letting the night air into the chamber. - Catelyn II, AGOT

Don't ever do this again, author. This is your final warning.

+.+.+

Theon poured himself a cup of wine and drank it down. All the time he was listening, hoping to hear a howl.

The one time this feeling is warranted.

+.+.+

Outside he heard sobbing as the castle folk were pulled from their beds and driven into the yard. I'll give them reason to sob. I've used them gently, and this is how they repay me. He'd even had two of his own men whipped bloody for raping that kennel girl, to show them he meant to be just. They still blame me for the rape, though. And the rest. He deemed that unfair. Mikken had killed himself with his mouth, just as Benfred had.

[...]

You'd think the others might be grateful he hadn't chosen one of them, but no. He wondered how many of them were part of this plot against him.

Hold on, what POV is this again? I thought I finished Tyrion's chapter.

+.+.+

As for Chayle, he had to give someone to the Drowned God, his men expected it. "I bear you no ill will," he'd told the septon before they threw him down the well, "but you and your gods have no place here now."

That's horrifying.

+.+.+

Drennan lay half-naked in the gatehouse, in the snug room where the drawbridge was worked. His throat had been opened ear to ear. A ragged tunic concealed the half-healed scars on his back, but his boots were scattered amidst the rushes, and his breeches tangled about his feet. There was cheese on a small table near the door, beside an empty flagon. And two cups.

[...]

Theon flung the cup into the hearth. "I'd say Drennan was pulling down his breeches to stick it in the woman when she stuck it in him. His own cheese knife, by the look of it.

[...]

Osha. He had suspected her from the moment he saw that second cup. I should have known better than to trust that one. She's as unnatural as Asha. Even their names sound alike.

Noo, I hate this. I have all the bad feelings. Osha, please don't try this a second time. Please don't do this again.

(George has nobody to blame but himself for that Yara nonsense. Practically gave them the idea.)

+.+.+

"Bran and Rickon have fled," he told the castle folk, watching their eyes. "Who knows where they've gone?" No one answered. "They could not have escaped without help," Theon went on. "Without food, clothing, weapons." He had locked away every sword and axe in Winterfell, but no doubt some had been hidden from him. "I'll have the names of all those who aided them. All those who turned a blind eye." The only sound was the wind.

The only sound was the wind. Bran, stop playing with my brain. Wait your turn.

+.+.+

The grizzled kennelmaster crossed his arms. "And why would I care to hunt down my own trueborn lords, and babes at that?"

Theon moved close. "I am your trueborn lord now, and the man who keeps Palla safe."

Apparently the misuse of 'trueborn' here is why some people believe Theon wrote the Pink Letter. Alrighty.

+.+.+

"Let me come too. I want that wolfskin cloak." A boy stepped forward, no older than Bran. It took Theon a moment to remember him. "I've hunted lots of times before," Walder Frey said. "Red deer and elk, and even boar."

Punk. Rickon was nice to you! Rickon isn't nice to anyone.

+.+.+

They assembled by the Hunter's Gate as the first pale rays of the sun brushed the top of the Bell Tower, their breath frosting in the cold morning air.

[...]

Reek arrived carrying a boar spear and an overstuffed washerwoman's sack bulging with god knows what.

Ramsay Snow is prepared; the murder of the miller's sons was premeditated.

Ramsay Snow's mother was a miller's wife, raped by Roose Bolton. Yikes.

+.+.+

"No Stark but Robb was ever brotherly toward me, but Bran and Rickon have more value to me living than dead."

"The same is true of the Reeds. Moat Cailin sits on the edge of the bogs. Lord Howland can make your uncle's occupation a visit to hell if he chooses, but so long as you hold his heirs he must stay his hand."

Theon had not considered that.

Maester Luwin will oppose Theon the best way he knows how: sound advice.

+.+.+

His father thought only in terms of conquest, but what good was it to take a kingdom if you could not hold it? Force and fear could carry you only so far. A pity Ned Stark had taken his daughters south; elsewise Theon could have tightened his grip on Winterfell by marrying one of them. Sansa was a pretty little thing too, and by now likely even ripe for bedding. But she was a thousand leagues away, in the clutches of the Lannisters. A shame.

In the previous chapter Tyrion informs the reader only a Stark can hold Winterfell, then we follow it up with Theon wishing he could marry Sansa to tighten his grip on the North...

Gosh, I wonder who has the next chapter.

+.+.+

The people of the north would never deny Ned Stark's sons, Robb's brothers. They'd have mounts to speed them on their way, food. Men would fight for the honor of protecting them. The whole bloody north would rally around them.

Excuse me, I was told they would only do this for Arya.

+.+.+

"I never knew a wolf to run up a streambed for miles," said Reek. "A man might. If he knew he was being hunted, he might. But a wolf?"

:)

"Long Lake. What else did you see around this girl?"

"Hills. Fields. Trees. A deer, once. Stones. She is staying well away from villages. When she can she rides along the bed of little streams, to throw hunters off her trail." - Melisandre I, ADWD

+.+.+

"We won't find them," the Frey boy said suddenly. "Not so long as the frogeaters are with them. Mudmen are sneaks, they won't fight like decent folks

You're literally a Frey.

+.+.+

Theon was about to tell him what he ought to do with his wet nurse's fable when Maester Luwin spoke up. "The histories say the crannogmen grew close to the children of the forest in the days when the greenseers tried to bring the hammer of the waters down upon the Neck. It may be that they have secret knowledge."

Suddenly the wood seemed a deal darker than it had a moment before, as if a cloud had passed before the sun. It was one thing to have some fool boy spouting folly, but maesters were supposed to be wise.

Maester Skeptic had a change of heart, it would seem.

+.+.+

When the woods began to darken, Theon Greyjoy knew he was beaten. Either the crannogmen did know the magic of the children of the forest, or else Osha had deceived them with some wildling trick.

Strangely enough, hiding in the crypts is a wildling trick.

+.+.+

"You know that old mill, sitting lonely on the Acorn Water? We stopped there when I was being dragged to Winterfell a captive. The miller's wife sold us hay for our horses while that old knight clucked over her brats. Might be the Starks are hiding there."

Theon knew the mill. He had even tumbled the miller's wife a time or two. There was nothing special about it, or her. "Why there? There are a dozen villages and holdfasts just as close."

Oh Theon, is the youngest brat yours? Sad.

+.+.+

Theon thrust his hand into the sack impatiently, groping amongst soft fur and rough scratchy wool. A sharp point pricked his skin, and his fingers closed around something cold and hard. He drew out a wolf's-head brooch, silver and jet. Understanding came suddenly.

[...]

"Prince Theon," Maester Luwin entreated, "you will remember your promise? Mercy, you said."

"Mercy was for this morning," said Theon. It is better to be feared than laughed at. "Before they made me angry."

Final thoughts:

Could the son of Rhaegar Targaryen ever hold the North without a Stark bride?

No.

-> return to menu <-

[ot7always]

In the Dead of Night

banner courtesy of the wonderfully talented @dee-ehn​ !

Word Count: 14.5k

Pairing: Vampire!Jin x Reader

Genre: Vampire!AU, friends to lovers, smut, fluff

Warnings: dom!Jin, sub!Reader, non-gory blood and knife injury (it’s there, but mostly humorous and/or with very little specific description), biting (like actual biting), vampire compulsion (nothing concerning consent-wise), marking, hair pulling, grinding, size kink, spanking (hand), fingering, praise, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, aftercare

Rating: 18+

Summary: Courtesy of my roommate, who summarized my story much better than I ever could:

A/N: It’s finally here! I meant for this to be about half the length and be released more than a week or 2 ago, but as you very well know, things don’t exactly go as planned in 2020. Regardless, I enjoyed writing this fic a lot, so please let me know what you think!

--

Saturdays at 3 am were supposed to be peaceful.

Well – at your apartment, that is. You couldn’t account for whoever elected to roam the streets of downtown at night.

But what was definitely not supposed to be happening was being awoken from your deep slumber by furious pounding on your front door.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

When you glanced groggily over at your alarm clock and saw the time, you could have screamed.

Just as you reached for your phone to call the cops on whatever psychopath was probably waking up your entire floor, your screen lit up with a text.

Suckjin [03:19]: plz open ur door

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Sliding out of bed, you hissed as your bare feet hit the cold hardwood.

This had better be fucking worth it.

Plodding out of your bedroom on tiptoes to avoid as much contact with the floor as possible, you made your way to the front door without even bothering to throw on shorts under your oversized t-shirt.

Whatever. You were sure that brat has seen thighs before.

While the knocks had thankfully quieted for a moment, he started up again just as you reached the door.

Before he could even dare bang his fist against the wood again, you were turning the deadbolt and whipping the door open, readying your fiercest glare for the broad man standing before you.

Right as you opened your mouth to start cussing him out, he sprung towards you, hands pushing you further inside your apartment and shutting the door before you could even blink.

When he turned to face you again, hands on his stomach, you prepared for the verbal onslaught you were about to send his way.

“Just what in the absolute hell do you think you’re-”

When your eyes naturally followed the path of his arms down to his stomach, what you saw there shut you up immediately.

Wide-eyed, you took a step back, eyes never leaving the sight before you. He-

As your breath quickened, a (miraculously clean) hand shot out to cover your mouth gently, though you were sure he was ready to clamp down at a moment’s notice.

“Please don’t scream.”

When you were finally able to break your gaze from his abdomen and look at his face instead, pleading eyes locked with yours, his skin paler than usual.

As frightened as you were, you calmed some when you processed the fact that he seemed to be standing before you just fine, albeit the fact that his eyes appeared somewhat unfocused.

You nodded, reaching a shaky hand up to remove his from your face, shivering at how cold and clammy he felt.

When you could speak again, you spent a few moments collecting your thoughts before you opened your mouth again.

���You - you have a knife in you!” you hissed, stepping closer to move his jacket aside to get a better look.

It wasn’t that gruesome a sight, especially not when he was wearing a black t-shirt, but it was no less jarring to have your friend show up in the middle of the night after seemingly being stabbed.

“I know that!” he hissed back, slightly exasperated, muffling a groan when you tried to inch his shirt up to glance at the skin beneath.

“Why the hell do you have a knife in you?” you whispered furiously, pulling him by the arm to settle down onto your couch.

He plopped down with a sigh of relief, his head lolling back momentarily. You hoped he knew that he was paying your cleaning bills if he bled all over your loveseat.

“Now, now, didn’t anyone ever tell you not to remove the knife if you get stabbed?” he said with a pained chuckle, sucking in a breath at the movement it caused.

“Seokjin, now is not the time to joke around,” you said, panic rising in you because you had absolutely no clue what you were supposed to do with a vampire who had a knife embedded in him. “Why did you come here?”

“Well you were the only person I could think of who would answer their door at 3 am-”

“Seokjin!”

“Sorry, sorry.” You didn’t tend to call him that unless you were genuinely annoyed, and he seemed to drop the humorous demeanor immediately.

“Why didn’t you go to a hospital?”

“I can’t go to a hospital.”

“What?! Why not?”

“Okay, correction – I didn’t want to go to a hospital.”

You let out a groan of frustration, fingers rubbing circles into your temples. This man was going to be the death of you. You had no idea why vampires seemed to have such an aversion to hospitals, but you supposed you could never understand. Despite their existence being generally accepted in society so long as they didn’t leave trails of bodies in their wake, there must have been some other reason nobody had ever shared with you.

“Seokjin, I really don’t know what to do here,” you whispered, an ounce of desperation and unease making its way into your tone. His expression softened at the sound, reaching for your hand. As much as he might have been trying to comfort you, the feeling of his hand unusually icy against yours only scared you more.

“I...” he trailed off, trying to figure out a good way to phrase this before settling on being straightforward. “...need blood.”

“Huh?” You furrowed your brow. “You literally have blood at home.”

“No, I, uhh...” he paused. “I need fresh blood to heal something like this.”

You froze. He needed fresh blood? He showed up here because he wanted... your blood?

“Aren’t there places you can go for blood?” you asked, tensing up at the notion of being bitten. It wasn’t that you were so totally opposed – it was no secret that people said it felt good. But you had never been bitten before, and you didn’t know what to think about Seokjin showing up here for that reason.

“I came here because I trust you the most,” he said, squeezing your hand. “Please. I promise I would never do this unless I had to. But please �� you can say no, but tell me right now, because this hurts so much.”

Seeing his pained expression and feeling the way his fingers gripped yours like a lifeline, there was absolutely no way you were letting him back outside to roam the streets. You had no idea how this really happened to him, but despite their general acceptance, vampire hunters still existed. Like hell you were going to let easy bait walk right into their hands.

Especially not Seokjin.

“I – okay, I just – I don’t know why I’m nervous.” Biting was a pretty private, intimate thing. Most vampires drank bagged blood, with live donors only in carefully-controlled emergency clinics or heavily guarded clubs.

There was, of course, the cases of vampire-human relationships or hookups, but most people didn’t tend to share the ultra-specific details of their sex life.

Not that you had never attempted research on your own, but anecdotes you found on the internet varied so wildly that you had to wonder whether they were even telling the truth.

“I promise I can control myself. I would never put you in danger.”

“No, I know, it’s not that,” you mumbled. “Just... will it hurt?”

“Oh. No, it shouldn’t.”

“It shouldn’t? I don’t know how reassuring that is,” you chuckled nervously. You weren’t about to back out now, but you had at least hoped that he would have a straight answer for you.

He took a shaky breath, and a pang of guilt went through you for asking so many questions.

“The more attracted a vampire and donor are to each other, emotionally and physically, the better it’ll feel for you.”

“And you?”

He smirked, and curse him for making it look good despite his unfortunate... situation. “Me? I’m a vampire, it always feels good.”

Right. You might have facepalmed at the stupid question that left your own lips, but his voice momentarily distracted you from doing so.

“Anyway, I know my face isn’t a problem, so unless you secretly hate me or something, you’ll be okay,” he grinned.

“I’m so glad you can joke around right now,” you snorted derisively. “If I secretly hated you, you wouldn’t be here, would you?”

“Fair.”

“Anyway, I’ll do it, just,” you winced. “Don’t call me a donor. It feels weird.”

“Deal,” he said quickly, pulling you closer to him. “Thank you for this. Really, I owe you.”

You sighed. “I can’t just let you bleed out somewhere in the world, can I?” You allowed him to pull you close enough that you were hovering over him with your legs touching his, and you stood awkwardly in silence. “Uhh, what should I do?”

He patted his lap in invitation and your face warmed at the notion, but you straddled his legs before your brain had time to dwell on it.

He raised a hand to nudge the collar of your shirt away from your neck, his icy fingers and the sensation of his nails on your skin sending a shiver down your spine. When his thumb rubbed gently against the warmth of your neck, you had to suppress a gasp at the surprisingly intimate touch.

When you focused your gaze on his face, his eyes were not fixed on your own, but rather on the movements of his own hand, his pupils obscenely dilated. You’d never seen him look so lustful, so hungry.

Heat undeniably flared in your core (much without your consent), and it was wishful thinking to hope that Seokjin didn’t pick up on your quickening breath or rapid heartbeat.

“I...” he whispered, trailing off before he’d even begun.

“Hm?” you answered, already feeling dazed before his fangs had even touched you.

“I need you to pull the knife out.”

Well, that certainly broke you free of your trance.

“What!? Me? You – I – me?” you stuttered in a very flattering display of eloquence.

“I’m... not sure I have the strength right now,” he admitted ruefully, and you could tell that if it were really up to him, he would be doing it himself.

Just what have you gotten yourself into?

“Fine,” you murmured, raising both hands to grip firmly at the handle of the blade. “Just – don’t bite me until I put this knife down, okay? We don’t need any more... accidents.”

He failed to hold back a laugh at that, and you managed to crack a grin in response. “Okay, okay.”

To think he had you so utterly flustered and at his whim only moments ago.

“On the count of three,” you breathed, bracing yourself for something you certainly never expected anyone to ask of you. “One... two... three.”

When you reached three, you flinched your eyes shut, pulling as hard as you could in one quick burst, desperate to have this all over before it started.

The sensation was something odd and unspeakable, and you turned to toss the knife on the table behind you before you could register the uncomfortable warmth on your hands.

But the exact moment the sound of metal clattering on glass reached your ears, your head was being wrenched back by large hands, plump lips and hot breath coming into contact with your neck before you realized he’d moved.

You could barely suck in a gasp before a hand moved to grip tightly at your waist, and fangs sunk into your skin.

White-hot pain lanced through your body like electricity, and for a moment you were thinking you were done for. Seokjin was wrong, maybe he lied, and you definitely lacked the strength to push off a dying vampire determined to drink.

But just as you opened your mouth, whether to scream or cry or whatever else, you were immediately silenced, a breathy groan soon pulled from your throat.

The sudden onslaught of pleasure flowing through your limbs had you weak, your body falling limp into sensation immediately.

Clearly prepared for this outcome, Seokjin only pulled you closer to him, the hand on your waist supporting your body, a hand fisted near your scalp keeping your head back. The casual display of strength pulled a whimper from you, your body feeling hot all over.

Your eyelids fluttered closed, and you had to wonder when you had opened them at all, because you couldn’t recall processing a single thing visually since his fangs touched you.

You thought that would be as good as it gets, but the pleasure only kept building and building. It rendered you almost completely immobile, your world reduced to Seokjin at your neck, the broad planes of his body below yours, and the myriad of bliss flooding your veins. Heat was throbbing in your cunt, your nipples hard and almost pained as they rubbed against the roughness of your t-shirt.

You raised your hands that were sitting idle at your sides to fist into Seokjin’s shirt, giving no thought to the fact that he was gravely injured in that spot only minutes ago, fingers feeling almost numb and not registering the wetness that was there either.

“Ah - Jin,” you cried loudly as the bliss only built, tossing your head back to bare more of your neck.

He growled ferally into your skin, the sound going straight to your core. He pulled you closer still, enough that your breasts pressed harshly into his chest, your hips slotted together.

Sighing happily at the pressure right where you needed it most, you ground desperately against whatever you could feel against you. When you felt the undeniable hardness of Seokjin’s cock against your cunt and its delicious friction against your soaked-through panties, you moaned obscenely.

You felt rather than heard his gasp in response, his grip around you tightening even further, enough that you felt out of breath.

You whimpered at the restriction, his strength keeping you from grinding against him no matter how hard you tried.

You cursed him internally, but there was no way you were going to formulate words at this point, your mind completely lost to euphoric delirium.

It felt as though you were floating, head thrown back as sparks flew up your spine relentlessly.

Despite the lack of proper friction against your cunt, you could feel pressure building in your abdomen. You were close, so close, so undeniably close-

Fangs retracted from your neck, and the sudden loss was like ice water being thrown over your head. You shivered.

The tight grip on you loosened, Seokjin leaning into the back of the couch and groaning.

When you opened your eyes you almost fell over at the way the world spun, dizziness and blurry vision almost distracting you from the orgasm that seemed only moments away.

Almost.

Blinking furiously until you managed to fix your gaze onto Seokjin’s face, you sucked in a harsh breath at the sight before you.

Irises swimming with crimson, pupils blown out, chest heaving, dark hair mussed, lips painted red, fangs still visible past his parted lips – he looked the very picture of sin.

Fuck.

Though if you had a mirror, you would see that you looked just as ruined – eyes wanton and desperate, teeth gnawing into your bottom lip, dark bruises colouring your neck. If temptation were a person, it would be you, sitting in Seokjin’s lap with your soaked panties still pressed against the bulge in his pants.

As you stared at each other, it was as though time froze. Neither of you moved an inch, seemingly content to remain in some kind of intense, sensual staredown for the rest of time.

But you’d never claimed to be a patient person, and when you finally felt confident that your body was yours again, you acted.

If he wanted to push you away, he could have. His reflexes always seemed to almost predict the future, and you were positive that if he didn’t want this, he would have stopped you. He was never one to avoid voicing his discontent, even if it was masked as a self-deprecating joke. Some part of you deep down expected him to end this before it had even begun.

He didn’t.

Your lips met his in a depraved frenzy, too far gone to make any attempt at starting slow. It was rough, and it was messy, and it was desperate, and you loved it. His fangs scraped at your bottom lip and you gasped, fisting your hands into his hair as your body remembered how it felt the last time those fangs breached your skin. But as you ground your clit into the sizeable bulge in his pants again, he froze.

Just as you were about to pull away to see what caught his attention, he pushed you away first, hands firmly on your shoulders.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he gasped, and it very much looked like it took all of his willpower to break away.

“What’s wrong?” you asked weakly, your head still spinning, body absolutely overcome by lust. In fact, he was looking a bit blurry again with how fast he moved you, and it took several moments of rapid blinking before you met his very concerned gaze. Nothing ever escaped him, and you were sure that your semi-weak state was very obvious to him right now.

Not that it affected how much you wanted his touch, his cock.

“You don’t know what you’re doing.”

Your brow furrowed. “I do know what I’m doing,” you said firmly – or at least, you tried, but it took far too much effort to wrap your tongue around the syllables, almost as if you were drunk.

“Y/N-”

“Why don’t you believe me?” you whined, this time sounding a bit more coherent. You tried to push toward him, but his hold was too strong. “You want it too, look at your face.”

He sighed, looking to the ceiling as though it held some answer on how to make this easier. “It’s not about whether I want it or not. You’re not thinking straight.”

“Jinnie,” you whimpered needily, reaching your hands toward the waistband of his pants. If he didn’t touch you soon, you swore that you would scream. “Please. I want it. I want you. I promise-”

He moved to snatch your hands before you could touch him, and your mouth clamped shut at the grip. His expression was almost pained for a moment before his eyes glazed over with a look that would have had you on your knees immediately.

His hand shot up to grip your chin firmly, ensuring that you couldn’t look away. Though, you didn’t think you could look away if you tried, drawn to the unspeakable darkness you found there, crimson still invading the rich brown.

“Why don’t you be a good girl and sleep for me?”

“Wh-what?” you choked out, but it was as though you’d lost control of your body, feeling as though you’d been awake for days without sleep. Your eyelids fluttered shut, but you forced them back open, groaning weakly when your vision fell upon Seokjin, his expression still dark and hungry.

You were about to open your mouth again, but something about his eyes was so captivating. Something about the red pulled you in, left you unable to think. Were his eyes always this beautiful? You wracked your brain, but came up blank. You wanted to open your mouth and ask him, but you couldn’t move a muscle. Even still, your face drew closer to his as though pulled in by a magnet.

His eyes roved over your face before meeting your gaze once more, and you missed the flash of sympathy that was present for only a moment. You were relieved when he looked at you again, fingers twitching with the urge to cup his face. You were content to look at him for the rest of time – if there was anything Seokjin had, it was time, right?

Attention focused on each other, he parted his lips, and you could have sworn your ears buzzed, desperate to hold on to every word.

“Sleep.”

Your vision went black.

--

You awoke to a hand scratching gently at your scalp, a great contrast to the relentless hammering of your head. You groaned, shoving your face further into your pillow, blocking out the light that was already worsening the ache of your skull, even with your eyes closed.

You were so comfy, so relaxed at the touch that you almost drifted right back to sleep.

Wait.

You lived alone.

Sitting up all in a rush, you gasped as the world spun. It only got worse when you forced your eyes open, a pained whine leaving your lips as even the limited light in the room only introduced more pain behind your eyes.

“Woah! It’s just me, it’s just me.” Seokjin’s voice came out in a rush, sturdy arms lowering you back to your pillow as he pulled the sheets up to shadow your face.

Right. Seokjin.

Your heartbeat calmed, recalling his arrival late last night. Though, what came next was all a blur you couldn’t bother trying to remember right now.

You heard him step away quickly, the sound of your curtains drawing completely closed having you let out a sigh of relief. His footsteps neared you again, his cool touch returning to stroke gently at your face, before moving to massage at the base of your skull.

His touch was so delicate it almost baffled you. You didn’t think he’d touch anyone like this, his displays of affection more inclined to loud compliments and playful roughhousing.

But you couldn’t deny that it felt incredible, your neck arching almost imperceptively as you leaned into his touch. The chill of his skin against yours sent a shiver through you, and you tried to ignore the fluttering in your chest.

“Are you cold?”

Blood rushed to your face at the observation, though you only gave a noncommittal noise in return. He didn’t need to know what was going on in your mind.

“My head hurts,” you mumbled quietly, a pout overtaking your lips. Seokjin had to force himself not to laugh at how cute you looked then.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he replied softly, lulling you back into a half-asleep state with the gentle motions of his hand on you.

You couldn’t tell how long it was before you opened your eyes again – it could have been 2 minutes or it could have been two hours. You couldn’t even tell whether you’d drifted off or not.

It was fortunately much darker than the first time you opened your eyes, much to the relief of your headache that had faded some, but was still thudding away.

What you didn’t expect, however, was to be greeted by the golden skin of Seokjin’s chest, the shadows of the room only making it look more unreal.

You blearily blinked several times before determining that yes, that was Seokjin half-naked and perched on a kitchen chair. You tried to get words out and failed, clearing your throat before trying again.

“Where are your clothes?”

He grinned. “A bit ruined, if you recall.”

Right.

At least his pants were still on. That was best for your sanity.

“Why does my head hurt so much?” you asked, luckily able to keep your eyes open now to look at him without the pain multiplying tenfold.

He winced, his chest aching at the pained expression on your face. “I’m sorry. That’s my fault.”

“What do you mean? Because you bit me?”

“No, not that.” He raised his free hand to scratch awkwardly at his ear.

“Huh? Why then?” All of this was so confusing. Maybe you should have done more research on vampires in your life, though you never expected to be in this sort of situation.

“I, uhh... compelled you.” He gnawed nervously at his lip, but rather than the lashing out he might have expected, you only looked at him in confusion.

“You what? Why?”

“What do you remember from last night?” he posed to you instead.

As much as you tried to recall, you couldn’t focus on anything with the state your head was in. You remembered him arriving at your house, a bit of stupid banter, getting on the couch, sitting in his lap. Then, he bit you.

Then what?

You honestly didn’t know, and you couldn’t help the fear that crept its way through you at that realization.

“You bit me...” you trailed off, looking away from his face and instead staring into the sheets near where your hands laid.

He hummed in affirmation, clearly urging you to continue.

“And then, I don’t really know,” you whispered, an edge of panic in your voice.

He sighed. “That’s what I thought. Don’t worry, it’ll come back.”

“Did something bad happen?” You tried to wrack your brain for possible scenarios where he would have had to compel you to do something, and you came up blank every time. What could you have done? Attacked him? Or did he go crazy at the taste of your blood and attack you? No, that didn’t make any sense – you were lying in bed feeling perfectly normal besides the headache.

What the hell happened?

“Nothing bad happened. I just... made you sleep before we did something stupid.”

It felt like the more he told you, the less you knew. Before you did something stupid? As in, did something stupid together?

There was something about the way he was choosing his words that led you to only one conclusion – in fact, he sounded an awful lot like Taehyung bemoaning his drunken hookups.

There was no way you almost fucked... right?

You’d have to know, right? There was no way you would have gone along with that... right?

It wasn’t as though you’d never had a spur of the moment one-night stand, but with Seokjin? There was absolutely no way you would’ve let that happen. A person had to protect their heart, after all.

“Stop overthinking right now, you’ll just make the pain worse.”

“I’m not,” you protested, though you didn’t know why you even tried lying. It was a bit hard to trick someone who was both a vampire and your friend.

“I can literally hear you freaking out. Please just try to rest, you’ll remember when the headache goes away.”

You sighed, trying to ease the tension in your body you didn’t even realize you had. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” he said confidently, his hand trailing away to rub firm circles into your shoulder instead.

“Mm.” You might have said something, but proper words evaded you at his touch. You tried focusing on him rather than the thrum of your skull, and you had to force yourself to keep your eyes open.

The expression on Seokjin’s face was one you hadn’t seen before. His eyes looked into yours with a softness that felt unfamiliar, a soft smile overtaking his lips when he saw how exhausted you looked.

“Sleep if you’re tired, princess,” he murmured, pulling the sheets up higher to cover you more. “Do you want another blanket?”

You could feel your heart speed up in your chest at the pet name and his tenderness, and you cursed the fact that there was no way to hide anything from him. At least he was polite enough not to tease you like he did your other friends.

You were so momentarily flustered that you almost forgot to respond, only nodding in response as you curled further into yourself. If you were any braver, maybe you would have asked him to join you instead.

It was only moments before he was tossing the throw from your living room over you, and it almost startled you. Sometimes you forgot how eerily fast he could move, considering he usually slowed himself to your pace whenever you were together.

You let out a contented sigh as you snuggled into the additional warmth, already feeling only half-conscious. You had just enough energy to let out a mumbled ‘thanks’ before you were drifting off again.

--

When you awoke this time, it felt as though you were an entirely new person. For starters, your head felt blissfully quiet. You were sure you would have cried if you woke up to just as much pain. There was only so much you could take in one 24-hour period. Seokjin had really done a number on your weekend, hadn’t he?

Speaking of Seokjin, he was nowhere to be seen in your bedroom. Though you were sure he was still somewhere. It wasn’t quite his style to disappear without saying goodbye, and you were even more doubtful that he would just leave after biting you.

Biting you.

At the thought, images flooded your mind faster than you could process them.

His fangs at your neck.

The relentless pleasure that invaded every fibre of your being.

Your lips on his.

Your brazen grinding against him.

And, your refusal to stop despite his words.

Holy fuck.

Was it possible to go back to when you didn’t remember and you could ignorantly lay in bed with Seokjin stroking your head?

You sat up only to bury your head in your hands, letting out a loud, embarrassed, frustrated groan while you were at it. If Seokjin didn’t know you were awake before, he surely did now. But merciful as ever, he allowed you to wallow in your mortification alone.

Was there anything worse than trying to mindlessly and basically drunkenly make your way into your friend’s pants and get denied? Your friend who you maybe found a little bit (extremely) attractive in every way, shape, and form?

Well, of course there were worse things, but to you in this moment, it certainly felt like a new low.

It took you a moment to find your footing once you’d hopped out of bed, but luckily you felt good as new otherwise. If you stayed in here alone too much longer you would certainly lose the minimal nerve you had and never leave.

In your rush to make use of your bravery, you remembered at the last moment that you were still in just your panties and shirt with no bra.

When you made it to your dresser, you paused at your reflection.

It was almost... startling how normal you looked. Though, what should you have looked like?

Baring your neck and squinting at the image in front of you, you had to scratch at your neck yourself to verify whether you were imagining it.

Aside from bruises that already seemed to be fading, there were no marks on your neck. Did it really heal that fast?

Maybe you should have been a bit embarrassed that you were so clueless on the whole subject. But in your defense, information on the internet didn’t seem to be very reliable, and vampires, for some reason, seemed to love their air of mystery. Based on the few you knew well, you were pretty sure they got a fair amount of amusement out of the misconceptions flying around.

Finally fully dressed for the first time since Seokjin showed up unannounced, you flung your door open with all the confidence you could muster.

Which is to say, you cracked your door open just enough for you to stick your head out. Much to your dismay, your eyes met Seokjin’s on the couch almost immediately, your face ducked toward the floor as you slinked your way over to the living room.

You stopped on the opposite side of the table, the sight of the stained knife there definitely not helping in your hope to distract yourself from what a fool you’d made of yourself the night before.

Out of curiosity, your gaze shot up to examine his abdomen.

You didn’t know why the perfectly smooth and unblemished muscle you found there was of any surprise to you after the night you’ve had, but it was. There wasn’t a single trace of any injury or blood on him – in fact, he looked much cleaner than when he got here. Did he use your shower?

A throat clearing had your eyes instinctively locking with his, an amused smile playing over his features that shot embarrassment through your veins. Of course the one time your ogling was purely scientific, he had to catch you and make fun of you.

You couldn’t stop your sight from drifting back down, the concept of there being absolutely no trace of anything happening to him boggling your mind.

“You really...” you trailed off, eyes darting back and forth across his bare skin one last time just to be sure. “You really healed, just like that?”

He only nodded, tapping the unbroken skin for emphasis. “You can heal me, I can heal you. Convenient, isn’t it?”

You nodded back in response, silence taking over the room quickly. You didn’t know what you were supposed to do to fill it. You’ve never experienced an awkward silence with Seokjin before, his charming nature always keeping everyone around him comfortable. This sort of energy in the room with him... it was unsettling.

“Y/N,” Seokjin called out once the silence went on a moment too long for his liking. “Can you come sit with me?”

He scooted over to make plenty of room for you, but you felt almost frozen in place. Did he really want your company after you’d pretty much jumped him? Was he sitting you down so he could let you down easy, tell you that this has been real, but he refused to associate with someone with so little self-control?

You must have stood there staring for longer than you thought, because an unreadable expression crossed his face before he spoke up again.

“Are you scared of me?”

Huh?

“No!” you blurted out, your volume clearly surprising him. “Well, a little?”

“Oh.” If you weren’t paying such close attention to him, you would have missed the hurt that flashed in his eyes. But you didn’t.

“Wait, that’s not what I meant,” you said hurriedly. You wanted to smack yourself for being such a blatant mess. “I’m just... scared,” you finished weakly.

His gaze softened immediately, and he had to restrain himself from hopping over the table between you to pull you into his arms. You looked like you were trying to shrink into yourself, your shoulders pulled towards your chest, hands wringing nervously in front of you.

“Did you think I would be upset?” he asked softly. He leaned forward, earnest expression on his face.

That was an understatement. You could live with “drunkenly” coming onto someone, but you didn’t know what you would do if it ended up costing you your friendship. Maybe you were being overly dramatic, but you never claimed to be the most rational person.

You nodded slowly, your vision dropping to stare at the floor, hands wrapped around your middle, squeezing as you struggled to maintain composure. You didn’t know why your heart was beating a mile a minute, your palms uncomfortably sweaty. You usually didn’t feel this level of fear when confronting a mistake that, to a normal person, shouldn’t be such an obscenely big deal as you were making it. But Seokjin was certainly not a normal person to you, and any situation that lowered his opinion of you was one you would do anything to avoid.

“Hey.” The sudden gentle hand on your chin made you squeak, and you would have stumbled in your rush to step backward if not for the steadying hand on your shoulder.

You always seemed to forget that he could move so quickly and silently. Your heart might stop at this rate if he wasn’t careful.

His thumb stroked at your jaw as if he hadn’t just seen you nearly fall flat on your ass, softly tapping under your chin until you met his gaze.

“I promise I’m the furthest thing from mad right now. Nothing is even your fault, okay?”

“But-”

“No buts. Let’s talk, but I’m not upset. Okay?” he urged, eyes not leaving yours until you nodded. The smile he gave in return made you feel warm, the tenderness in his gaze doing things to your heart, the hint of a smile ghosting your lips.

The hand on your shoulder nudged you toward him, the other opening wide to welcome you into a hug.

You went easily, your arms wrapping around his bare waist as you tucked your face into his chest. The relief you felt at his reassurance was immense, and you melted into his touch. It was almost strange how well you fit together.

“Let’s sit,” he said, kind yet firm. He led you over to the couch, settling himself down into the spot where he seemed to have spent much of the past day in.

You didn’t know what possessed you to straddle his lap in the way you did last night. Maybe it was the way he looked at you warmly without judgment, or the way your body craved his nearness after getting a taste of his touch. But whatever it was, he didn’t push you away – rather, he reached for your hands, interlacing his fingers with your own.

This position wasn’t the most “innocent” to begin with, but with the memories of last night rushing through your head, of his teeth at your neck and the pleasure you felt, your breath sped up.

With the expression on Seokjin’s face, you were sure he must have been thinking the same thing, hungry eyes flickering from your lips back up to your waiting gaze. Unlike you, however, he didn’t seem at all embarrassed.

“Are you confused?” he asked suddenly.

Caught off guard by the sudden question, your brows furrowed. Though you didn’t know just exactly what he was referring to, what will all that happened, but your answer was still the same regardless.

You nodded hesitantly, but he didn’t speak, your puzzled expression telling him that you were still working things out in your head. The silence stretched on until you finally spoke up again.

“You didn’t tell me it would be like... that.” Euphoric. Dreamlike. Intense. No matter what word you used, it still didn’t feel enough to encompass what you experienced the night before. You’d never experienced white-hot physical and even emotional pleasure like that, not in all your years of life.

You dropped your gaze down to your joined hands, watching the way he fiddled with your fingers as he pondered his next words. It felt unusual to have a conversation with him in this way – you both tended to be people who said what they thought without thinking on it too much, with friends at least. But it was reassuring to see him so serious, to see that he really did care.

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think it was a possibility,” he finally said. He sounded confident in his words, but you found it odd that he was fidgeting so much. He hadn’t stopped moving his hands since taking hold of yours, and even his legs were starting to shift beneath yours. Why did he seem so nervous?

“What does that mean?”

“Is there anything you want to tell me?” he responded instead, leaving you staring at him, baffled.

“Huh?” you replied, immediately defensive.

You didn’t have the smallest idea of what that question meant, but he fixed his gaze on you inquisitively. Did he think you had some big secret or something? Sure, he didn’t know everything about your life, but there was nothing so exceptional about you that not mentioning it would be some sort of betrayal.

“Uhh, never mind.”

“What do you mean, never mind? You can’t just ask me something like then and then say that,” you huffed, lips forming a thin line.

“Sorry I just thought – do you remember what I told you when you asked if it would hurt?”

You swore he was going to give you whiplash with his questions, but at least this one was easy to answer.

“Sure, you said the closer two people are the better it feels. Something like that, right?”

“Right, so, uhh, it wouldn’t normally feel that intense, you know?”

The fact that he definitely seemed to know exactly what was going on and kept beating around the bush was more than a little bit frustrating. Considering he was normally as straightforward as a person could get, though, you opted to simple stare expectantly at him. But if he didn’t cut to the point in approximately 20 seconds, your annoyance would just about outweigh your concern.

“It shouldn’t feel that way unless you liked me back,” he finally said, all in one breath.

You could only blink blankly as you processed his words, but when it clicked, you went from mildly annoyed to incredibly flustered all in the same second.

“HUH?! Wait, back?” You could almost feel your headache coming back with how many directions this conversation has taken in less than 15 minutes. Your hands were starting to feel disgustingly clammy in his, but neither of you moved to separate them.

“I know this is so sudden, and I didn’t expect to be outed like this either and it doesn’t have to mean anything, like I know I like you a lot, like a lot a lot, but I don’t really know how much you feel about me or if it’s even that significant or just a passing attraction because either is possible and I’m really sorry if this made everything awkward-”

His ridiculously fast words were cut off by your newly-free hand clamping down over his mouth, plump lips tickling your skin as he stared at you, wide-eyed. You were sure if you tried this any other time he would (playfully) smack you, but he only stared.

“Really?” you whispered. To be completely honest, you never realistically considered a relationship, or even just a hook-up with Seokjin. You found him wholly and insanely attractive, but didn’t everyone? And it wasn’t that he was a vampire and you were a human – it was laughable to believe that you’d think that long-term anyway.

No, you just never saw him being that into you. He was almost ethereally beautiful, got along well with everyone, and had one of the most charming personalities you’d ever seen. His physique wasn’t even something that needed to be mentioned. With all that considered, all you ever cared to do was admire him from afar, content to have him as a close friend. It wasn’t as though he’d ever sent you hints that he wanted otherwise, either.

So to hear that your stupid little harmless crush could actually amount to anything?

You thought things couldn’t get any more unexpected.

When he nodded his confirmation, you couldn’t keep the grin from overtaking your face.

The giddiness clear on your face and the adorable sparkle in your eye sent unquantifiable relief through him, and the second you removed your hand, he opened his mouth to speak.

But somehow you were quicker than him, your lips meeting his before a single syllable could be uttered.

Unlike last night, you didn’t kiss him like you wanted to devour him, or like your body would light on fire if you couldn’t get as close as possible. This was calmer, slower, but it didn’t take long for that to change.

His fangs weren’t out this time, but that didn’t change the fact that you gasped as soon as his teeth dug into your bottom lip. Sparks shot up your spine at the sensation, your mind unable to stop thinking about what you felt the last time you were in this same position. How good it felt to be helpless to the pleasure battering down on you, held in place by strong hands and strong arms.

He’d probably ruined teeth for you for the rest of your life.

You let him do whatever he wanted, and he groaned into your mouth when you tangled your hands in his hair. Hands gripped your ass tightly and squeezed, pulling you in closer to him.

His hands didn’t even wander much further than that, but heat flared in your core regardless. When he raised his hips to brush the bulge in his pants against your aching centre, you could only moan and grind down onto him.

The pressure against your clit through the thin material of your shorts cut off every possible train of thought, and you were pretty sure that after all this, these panties would never recover.

You felt goosebumps raise on your flesh when a hand rose, nails scraping against your scalp. You arched your neck back ever-so-slightly, and Seokjin didn’t miss a beat in detaching from your lips to mouth at the skin above your collarbone instead.

He wasn’t gentle in the way he sucked bruises into your skin, a firm hand holding your head in place while the other held your thigh, his confined length rubbing languidly into your core. You whined and tightened your grip in his hair at the brush of teeth against skin, but much to your displeasure, he pulled away from you before clothes even started coming off.

“Wait.”

“Whyyyy?” you whined petulantly. Was he really going to do this to you again? You knew he was definitely in the right to stop things last night, but there was only so much you could take.

He bit back a smirk at your neediness, thumbing gently at your protruding bottom lip as he resisted the urge to tease you for your cuteness. This soft and pouty side of you was new to him, and he swore something fluttered in his chest.

“You should eat something, princess.”

“Huh?” you blinked, confused. You were about to protest when he spoke up again.

“When’s the last time you ate?”

“Uhh... dinner last night? Maybe 7? 8?”

He leaned in toward you, but rather than kiss you again, he reached for the table behind you. You craned your neck to see what he was doing, and frowned when he grabbed for his phone. Your bewilderment at what he was doing didn’t last long, however, his phone screen displaying the time for you in large, white font.

5:32 pm.

“Holy shit, I slept for that long?” You stared at him wide-eyed. No wonder he took a shower and everything. You were surprised he was sat there waiting for you for all those hours without complaint.

He looked a bit sheepish, tossing his phone to the side and leaning back into the couch, tugging you with him comfortably. At this point the fire you felt had been dimmed, but that didn’t mean you weren’t still a bit irritated at being denied twice in a row.

“Ah, that would be my fault... the compulsion really gave you hell,” he winced, stroking gently at your cheek with the back of his fingers.

“It’s fine, I feel okay. Wasn’t that my fault anyway?” Your face felt hot thinking back to your behaviour and the lack of restraint you showed, hand rubbing nervously at the back of your neck.

“Of course not,” he assured quickly. “It’s not exactly something easy to resist. But if you regret it, I’m really sor-”

“I don’t regret it!” you cut him off, immediately wanting to pinch yourself for being so loud. And hasty. And embarrassing. And horny. “I’m... I’m happy right now.” Your volume seemed to die as confidence left you, but Seokjin only beamed.

“I’m happy too,” he said simply, tone laced with sincerity. “But you need to eat, I can practically hear your intestines screaming from here.”

“What?!” Strange tension successfully killed, your hands covered your abdomen instinctively as though you could shield yourself from his vampire ears. “Can you actually?”

He let you stare at him in alarm for only a few seconds before he couldn’t hold his giggles back anymore.

“Not really, but you should have seen your face. Why are you so worried about it?”

You huffed, shoulders deflating at his teasing. “I don’t know! That has to be a breach of privacy or something. Who gave you the right to listen to my intestines?”

“I can already hear your heart just fine, would it really matter so much?”

The smile dropped from his lips within a second, and the sudden intensity in his gaze had you frozen. The energy in the room shifted in an instant, and you were at a complete loss for words.

You thought he was going in for a kiss when he leaned closer, but instead his nose went to nuzzle at your neck, trailing up into your hairline. The warm air he exhaled into your ear made you shiver, pressing yourself ever so closer to his bare chest. You didn’t know how he managed to work you up within seconds, but you felt so hot despite his cool touch, baring your neck for him.

“I can hear the way your heart speeds up when I get close...” he whispered, mouthing lazily at your soft skin before sucking harshly. Unsure of what to do with yourself, your nails dug into his biceps, breath unsteady.

“I can hear the way the blood rushes through your veins, the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.” A hand rose to palm at your breast, bare beneath the worn cotton of your shirt. You arched your back as he harshly rolled a hard nipple between his fingers.

“I can hear the way you lose your breath, your tiny little gasps...” You couldn’t hide the way you twitched when sharp fangs scraped against your skin, a whimper nearly making its way from your throat. “Just like that.”

“And just so you know...” His voice was like honey, warm and smooth and sweet, and you hung onto his every word. “I can hear the way your stomach is growling right now too.”

The noise you let out that moment was inhumane, somewhere between a squeak and a scream of disbelief.

He broke away from you with a blaring laugh, shoulders bouncing beneath your grip.

You moved to slap at his chest, but your hand was caught easily, and his laughter only continued. God, you were going to kill this man. Again.

Your face felt obscenely hot, and you could feel a pout overtaking your lips at the sight of him still giggling away in front of you.

“Jinnie,” you whined, choosing to display your discontent by breaking free of his grip and hopping up out of his lap.

Which was definitely not the correct choice, because you swore you could feel the rush of blood through your ears before a strong sense of vertigo washed over you, groan escaping your lips. You were sure you would have fallen face first into the floor if not for Seokjin’s steadying.

“Woah, do you feel okay? This is why I told you to eat,” he sighed, maneuvering you to lay down comfortably on the couch, sticking pillows under your head. “Just stay here and I’ll make food, okay?”

“No, wait, I can make it-”

As you attempted to push back up off the couch, he only gently pushed down with a quiet ‘tsk’ and shake of his head. As you opened your mouth to further protest, he leaned in close, the softness of his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

“Be a good girl and let me take care of you, hm?”

Your breath hitched at his sudden words, only able to stare wide-eyed when he pulled away from you enough to take in your face. The look in his eyes could only be described as devious – amused yet hardened, and you didn’t know if you were imagining the crimson bleeding into the brown of his irises.

“There goes that heartbeat again,” he murmured as though sharing a secret, the tender motion of his hand on your cheek in stark contrast to the want etched into his expression. “You’re going to be so much fun to ruin.”

--

For someone who didn’t really need to eat food to survive (though you’d been told time and time again that eating was fun), Seokjin made one hell of a good cook. Granted, egg fried rice wasn’t the most difficult nor time-consuming dish to make, but that didn’t make it any less tasty. In fact, you were grateful for such a simple and light dish, because you learned quite quickly that after an entire day without food, rushing to eat only brought nausea and discomfort.

Leaning against the armrest of the couch, the inside of your bowl was all you could see with how close you were holding it to your face. In your defence, though, you were greatly disinterested in the possibility of needing to clean a stain from your cushions.

As you took your time eating, Seokjin opted to tidy up a bit, dishes clanging in the kitchen before you heard him rearranging his shoes at the front door.

Thankfully, his efforts included removing the knife from your table and putting it god-knows-where, but you were just glad it was out of your line of sight. Maybe he thought that it was better for your appetite to remove the thing you’d literally pulled out of him.

You tried not to let your mind linger on just how... strange that felt.

He somehow managed to clean up before you’d even finished eating, the couch dipping beside you as he settled into his spot. Vampire speed truly was startling.

If you didn’t have your entire field of vision blocked, you might have noticed Seokjin’s fond look as you ate your meal at what could only be described as a forced snail’s pace. He had to suppress a chuckle at how antsy you seemed to be, clearly wanting to just shovel food into your mouth, but knowing you would only suffer for it. How did one person manage to be so cute and yet so seductive?

When you were done, you set the bowl down on the table with a satisfied sigh, jumping in surprise when a glass of water was placed into your newly-emptied hands almost immediately.

“Thanks,” you smiled shyly, face feeling hot at his attentiveness. You didn’t know how to react at having a man like Kim Seokjin doting on you. It was almost – no, it was – unbelievable, and your poor heart didn’t know how to act. It was one thing to have him kiss you like he was going to devour you, and another to be this sweet and this caring and this soft.

Setting the empty glass next to your empty bowl, you leaned back, unsure of what to do with yourself now that you were entirely unoccupied. Seokjin’s presence beside you made you increasingly aware of the awkward shifting of your hands and your uneasy breathing. He wasn’t that close to you and yet you could smell him – you didn’t know how he managed to make your floral scented shampoo smell sexy.

“Why are you so nervous?” he said lowly, nudging you into his side and tossing an arm around your shoulders. It was a simple move, and yet all you could think was how big he was, how easily he completely enveloped you in his hold.

“I-I’m not nervous,” you stuttered, and you could feel the blood rush to your face. You wondered if he could hear that, too.

A hand lifted your face in his direction, and you were met with an expression that very clearly read ‘are you really going to try lying to a vampire?’

“I don’t know why I’m nervous,” you amended, biting into your lower lip. His gaze followed the motion, eyes clouding over.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked softly, his thumb raising to release your lip from your teeth, the movement intimate enough to set your stomach aflutter.

“Are we asking that now?” you responded smartly, grinning when Seokjin only huffed a laugh.

“Let me be clearer then,” he said lowly, the abrupt commanding tone having you sit up straighter. “Can I kiss you, strip you, take you to bed, taste that sweet pussy on my tongue, and then fuck you?”

Heat flared in you at the words, your fingernails scratching against his chest before remembering he wasn’t wearing a shirt for you to yank him closer. You settled for making a beeline for his mouth, but a quick movement to grip your hair at the scalp kept you from getting close enough.

“Ah, ah,” he tutted, holding you still as he nuzzled his nose against your neck, humming in content when he brushed right against the spot he bit you yesterday. “Tell me yes or no, princess.”

You nodded with what freedom you had left – not much, with how tight his hold on you was, tiny pricks of pain sending sparks up and down your spine. His other hand pulled you closer to him, your hips halfway straddling him as he mouthed at your neck, acting as though he hadn’t noticed your response. It was clear that he was waiting for you to say something.

“Yes,” you said quietly, nearly forgetting what the question was from the way he was sucking softly at your neck. At the scrape of fangs against your skin, you only pushed back against the hand in your hair, exposing more of your neck with a soft sigh.

“You can’t stop thinking about it, can you?” he taunted, pulling you fully on top of him, his hard cock right against your core, and you wished that clothing wasn’t separating you.

He pressed those fangs against the soft skin below your ear, hard enough that the pain had you wincing, but not enough to break skin.

He was teasing you, and you were putty in his hands.

“I can’t stop thinking about it either,” he breathed, tonguing lazily over the stinging marks he left behind. You could only whimper and squirm in his hold, hands tangling in his silken hair. You didn’t know whether you wanted to pull him away or push him closer.

“To have you moaning in rapture right in my lap, so desperate for my cock, the taste of you on my lips...” His voice was so low you could barely hear it, barely process it, but the absolutely lust in his voice only spurred new waves of arousal in you. “Hearing you beg like that, fuck-”

He cut himself off with a sinful moan as he shifted his hips to rub himself right against your cunt, and you shuddered in response.

“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anyone so bad,” he sighed, breathing unsteady as he used his grip on you to rock you in time to his movements. “I’ve never had such a test of self-control. Maybe I should punish you.”

This voice was teasing, but your reaction was real, and there was no way to hide the way a moan escaped or the way your nails dug crescents into Seokjin’s smooth skin.

“Oh, you like that, do you?” he chuckled darkly as he leaned his head back into the couch, the grip in your hair tightening even more. A helpless whine left your lips, and you became uncomfortably aware of the way your panties were sticking to your folds.

“Tell me, do you think I should punish you?” he asked, his honeyed voice lulling you into a state you couldn’t even begin to explain with words.

You tried nodding again, hissing at the flash of pain when you tried move your head from his grip.

“Princess, haven’t you learned to use your words? I think I’ll bend you over my knee right here. What do you think about that?”

“Please,” you gasped without hesitation, freezing when you fluttered your eyelids open to meet his gaze.

If you weren’t sure whether his eyes were laced with red before, it was evident now. It only made him all the more enticing, and your vision fell down to his mouth instinctively when he ran his tongue over his teeth. A pang of heat went through you when his fangs bit into his lip, and before you were thinking about it, a hand rose to brush against his mouth.

Your thumb grazed a fang almost reverently, and Seokjin only watched on fondly at the wonderment on your face. You supposed it might have been strange to touch your friend’s – boyfriend’s? – teeth like this, but you had always been curious. Hell, you hadn’t even seen fangs in person before last night. As far as you knew, they only extended when feeding or when feeling strong emotions, and neither tended to be something you could casually see on the street.

You bit at your lip when sharpness pushed into the pad of your finger, but his next words broke you free of your reverie.

“Bend over then.”

He released you from his grip dizzyingly fast, leaning back to watch you.

You were surprised at yourself with how quickly you situated your ass over his lap, the self-consciousness you would’ve expected to be feeling wholly absent. Seokjin was just that captivating.

You wiggled your way into a comfortable position, sticking a cushion under your head. Now that your ass was sticking out right into his view, you felt more vulnerable than ever, knowing that his eyes and ears were trained on your every movement and reaction.

Hands pushed your long shirt up over your hips, fingers trailing lightly over the globes of your ass, separated only by the thin fabric of your shorts. But not for long.

Fingers reached under your waistband and tugged down before you could react, yanking your shorts and panties down in one go.

With air suddenly hitting your sodden pussy, you could feel heat rise to your face at how exposed you found yourself. But any thought of shifting and hiding was erased when you heard Seokjin’s loud groan.

“Shit, you’re soaked, smell so fucking good,” he hissed, fingers reaching to push messily through your folds.

You couldn’t see him putting his fingers in his mouth, but the depraved moan he let out afterward had you squirming in his lap.

After your shorts and panties were pushed onto the floor, a large hand ran tenderly over the skin of your ass, fingers digging in slightly.

“Is ten on each side too much for you?” he asked. There was no hint of teasing in his tone, his voice firm. He continued his soft stroking as he waiting for an answer.

“Uhh... I don’t really know?” you responded meekly. Sure, you had been spanked before, but it was never this... structured? To be honest, you didn’t really know what “a lot” would be in terms of numbers.

“It’s okay,” he soothed. “We’ll work our way up and see how it feels. Is that okay?”

You nodded at first, but quickly let out an ‘okay’ when you remembered how firm he was on a proper response.

“This means I’m trusting you to be honest and tell me to stop if it’s too much. I want you to feel good.”

“Okay.”

You released tension you didn’t realize you’d had at his reassurances, allowing your limbs to loosen as you adjusted to lay more comfortably. The sensation of his hands on you made you feel safe and secure, and you knew for a fact that for all his hard words and cold stares, he was still always searching for your approval.

You twitched in surprise as a few light swats came down on each cheek, almost as though he was testing the motion. But after being briefly taken off guard, you relaxed under his hands, body already warming up at each light blow. You barely felt anything aside from a faint sting, but you could already feel your cunt throbbing, anticipation having you dig your nails into the cushion beneath you.

But even despite his preparation, the first real blow had you gasping. Not because it was overly painful – in fact, those pinpricks of pain were laced with pleasure, radiating outward from where his palm had firmly struck you. No, it was more that with the control and precision he showed, another realization struck you at that moment.

He really knew what he was doing.

This wasn’t just a college boyfriend who wanted to experiment with things he saw in porn, or a random bar hookup who thought he was more than he was.

No, Seokjin was the epitome of calculated control, had you eating out of the palm of his hand with one simple word. One look and you were his.

And fuck, if that didn’t make you melt.

You sighed happily as a hit came down on your other asscheek, another wave of arousal soaking your cunt.

“Do you want it harder?” he asked, voice low. The tone felt almost like a personal attack, honeyed words piercing your eardrums.

“Okay,” you whispered.

“Yes or no. Don’t just agree to do things because I suggest it,” he scolded, punishing you with a swat to your upper thigh that stung sharper than his previous blows.

“Yes, I want it.”

“Hm,” he hummed, nails scratching over your skin, just barely missing the heat of your core. “I think I would be more convinced if you begged.”

As much as most of your embarrassment had already faded, what with being bent over Seokjin’s lap, it took so much more to put your desires verbally out into the world. But the throbbing in your cunt was fierce, and the warmth from his previous strikes was already fading. And you wanted more.

“Please,” you whined weakly before taking a deep breath to amp yourself up. “Please, Jinnie, I want it harder.”

You barely had time to process the tiny chuckle he let out before his palm came down on you again, the additional force behind it making you shiver despite the warmth that spread through you.

You didn’t know exactly how many more times his hand struck your ass, but your quiet moans were interrupted by his voice once again.

“Harder?”

As much as you felt good, it still wasn’t enough. The sting wasn’t enough, the heat wasn’t enough. You wanted more, needed more.

“Yes, please.”

“Mm, there you go. Maybe I should do this more often if you’re going to be such a good girl for me after.”

He punctuated his statement with a harsh blow to your ass, the strength of it forcing a moan from your lungs. A hand stroked tenderly over where it had struck, before doing the same to the other cheek. You whimpered as you felt another gush of wetness spill from your cunt, squirming as another strike rained down.

Yes, this is what you wanted.

The feeling was heady, your mouth open and allowing all the sounds to spill from your lips. Every cell in your body felt hot, from your fingertips down to your toes. You were certain you must have been making a mess of his lap with how wet you were.

You didn’t realize how heavily you were breathing until the smacks stopped, fingers gently kneading at the raw skin instead. Your skin felt almost burned, but more than anything, you needed those hands to slip between your legs. Now that there was nothing else to distract you, your neglected pussy was desperate for something, anything.

“How are you?” he asked several moments later.

His continued soothing touch dampened the fire of your skin before long, but that only furthered your arousal, shifting in his lap in search of some relief. You itched for some pressure on your clit, but it wasn’t possible in the position he had you in.

“Good,” you breathed, pressing back into his touch.

“Good.” He let his fingers creep ever-so-closer to where you needed him most, rubbing against where your wetness had spread, just beside your outer folds. “I think you deserve a reward. What do you think?”

“Please,” you whined immediately, but luckily, he didn’t seem interested in making you wait any longer. Maybe it was the fact that he had been waiting just as long, or that he was just tired of your constant fidgeting in his lap.

A finger slid in without resistant – unsurprisingly, what with the way you could feel the air hitting your slick skin. Your walls clamped down on the intrusion immediately, and another finger slid down to rub tiny circles onto your clit.

You whined in relief, but Seokjin unfortunately held you down to keep you from thrusting back onto his hand.

“So fucking wet,” he murmured, slipping another finger in when he felt how easily you took the first.

As much as one didn’t feel like enough, two of his fingers was so much bigger than your own. The stretch had you gasping, the friction against your walls and clit making you moan out.

As he scissored his fingers inside of you, the slight burn had you hissing, though the constant ministrations on your clit made sure the pain never became your focus.

“Mm, are you sure you can take my cock?” he mused, smirking at the way you were already whimpering, increasing the pace of his thrusts as your moans got more frequent.

“I can!” you blurted out, sounding almost offended. He had to stifle a laugh. You had always been fun to rile up, and sex was no exception.

“Hm, okay,” he hummed, amusement colouring his tone. You almost called him out on it before his fingers pulled out of you abruptly.

“Jin-”

Before you could question him, beg him to come back, hold him against you – three fingers started easing their way inside of you.

You tensed up almost immediately at the harsher burn at your entrance, the stiffness of your body not doing you much of a favour. He paused all movement at your struggle.

“Relax. I’ll take care of you, okay?”

His words had you feeling more at ease, a reminder that he was here, he wanted you to feel good, and he only kept on making that fact clear.

You made a noise of agreement, forcing your muscles to relax despite how much they wanted to clamp down. You wanted his cock, after all. You could take his fingers.

He took his time with you, slowly easing his fingers in and scissoring them apart, all the while his other hand resting beneath your abdomen, rubbing into your clit. You keened under his continuous murmured praise, moaning as he began to thrust his fingers.

“That’s it,” he whispered, his own breaths beginning to get heavy as he watched you twitch and whine at his hand.

Once the discomfort passed, your pleasure crested ridiculously fast with how long you’ve been waiting to be touched, filled. He stretched you open so wide, and you clenched around his digits at the thought of those fingers being his cock instead.

You were easily giving yourself away with how your walls were clamping down more and more, heavier gasps leaving you. The stroking at your clit wasn’t getting any slower, and soon enough you felt like you were going to snap.

“Gonna come all over my fingers, princess?” he asked roughly, his voice showing an uncharacteristic lack of control as he spread his fingers wide again.

“Please,” you said feebly, all other words having left your available vocabulary long ago. “Please.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll give it to you, baby.” The crook of his fingers took you by surprise, and with one, two, strokes against that spongy spot within you, you were gone.

Your orgasm stole the breath from your lungs, your legs going weak as waves of bliss hit you everywhere at once. His hands on you didn’t stop their motions, only sending new waves up your spine, shivers wracking your body as you grasped the closest object tightly – your nails digging into the cushion beneath you.

He only stopped when you started to squirm away as pain took over the pleasure, a whimper escaping as his fingers were removed.

If you thought you were getting a moment to breathe, you were wrong.

“Fuck, you’re going to be the death of me,” he growled.

Before you could blink, you were on your back, his lips attacking yours in a frenzy.

The grip he had on your thigh was sure to bruise, his still-clothed cock rocking into your sensitive pussy as he consumed your every thought, every desire.

You could taste yourself on his tongue, the realization only building the fire that had already been relit within you.

You allowed him to pull the shirt from your body, your skin left completely bare beneath his.

His gaze was somewhere between reverent and demonic, and he looked almost ready to pounce back on you before he paused.

“Bed?” His voice sounded strained, and you thought briefly back to what he said about how much self-control the past day has required from him. You glanced down at the bulge in his pants, and you had to keep yourself from grabbing at it, eager to give him his pleasure the same way he’d done for you.

“Okay.”

You didn’t think your lips formed the second syllable before you were being scooped up, your arms looping around his neck to steady yourself from the abrupt movement.

The walk to the bedroom was somewhat of a blur, your stomach lurching at the speed with which he moved. You’d known the man was quick, but experiencing it firsthand was partly unsettling, and partly... strangely sexy.

Your back hit the sheets with unexpected force, your body bouncing back up from the impact. You’d never considered strength to be such a significant turn-on, but combined with everything else about him, it seemed to make Seokjin the most dangerously attractive man you’ve ever encountered.

You thought you were about to get fucked into the mattress – the hunger in Seokjin’s stare only cementing the thought – but it seemed that he had other ideas.

“Jin-”

You were about to beg him to touch you, fuck you, do literally anything – when his hands wrapped around your ankles, spreading your legs apart enough that you could begin to feel the strain in your thighs.

The way he was gazing at your fully exposed core almost made you self-conscious before you took in the way his breathing was heavier than you’d ever seen it, the crimson completely having taken over the brown of his irises.

“I have – I have to taste you,” he groaned.

He sprung on you in an instant, plush lips wrapping around your clit and sucking before his tongue moved down to lap at your arousal.

While you were still a bit sensitive from your last orgasm, the discomfort was nothing in comparison to the bliss lighting up your nerves. You were a slave to pleasure under his tongue, hands holding you down as you attempted to buck up into him instinctively.

His tongue attacked you like a man starved, his unabashed moans into your heat leaving you gasping.

But as much as he was successfully making you lose your mind, you didn’t want to cum like this.

“Jin, fuck-” you whimpered, body aching to grind up into his face despite your next words.

He only hummed into your pussy at your noises, motions not pausing whatsoever.

“Fuck me, please,” you begged, a hand winding into his hair in an attempt to pull him off you.

You almost thought he was pretending not to hear you when he didn’t react straightaway, but not long after, he pulled off of you.

He didn’t even say a word in response, only shucking off his pants and boxers with a heaving chest.

You swore your pussy throbbed when you saw his cock, only moreso when he fisted it with a hiss, lips that were glistening with your arousal widening to reveal sharp white fangs.

“I have to be inside you right fucking now,” he snarled, dragging your body down by the thighs to meet him where he knelt.

You felt almost feverish, your hands reaching to yank Seokjin by the shoulders, the need to be closer taking over your every thought.

He kissed you frantically as the head of his cock rubbed against your clit, your back arching up into him, his closeness still not close enough for you.

You were so close to pleading with him not to draw this out, but he settled himself against your entrance, his other arm supporting himself by your head. When he started to push in, you could only whimper.

You knew he was big when he grasped himself in his hand only moments before, but for all his preparation, it felt like you were being split open.

You clung onto his biceps as he rocked himself forward at a snail’s pace, nails digging into his skin as you clamped down on him reflexively. It burned, but you wanted it so bad. As much as the discomfort was intense, you could feel yourself getting wetter by the second, unable to stop panting into Seokjin’s mouth.

You whined as he nibbled at your bottom lip, one of his hands rubbing soothing circles into your thigh, the other in your hair. But when you felt fangs puncture your lip ever-so-slightly before he sucked it into his mouth, all breath was stolen from you.

It was only the smallest fraction of the pleasure you felt the night before, but that was enough to have your head thrown back, hips raising to meet Seokjin’s.

It almost seemed that he wasn’t expecting you to thrust upward onto him, a strangled groan leaving his throat as you shoved more of him inside you.

The stretch remained overwhelming, but the pain felt like a distant memory, new arousal making the glide smoother.

“Good?” he gasped against your collarbone, hot breaths hitting your skin as his hair brushed against your face. The arm holding him up was trembling at your side, the fingers on your thigh tightening their hold as if to physically hold himself together.

Part of you just wanted him to lose control.

“So good,” you moaned, shoving your hips up again, volume increasing exponentially when he allowed you to push him in to the hilt.

“Fuck,” he growled, arm moving to form a bruising grip on your other thigh, his chest moving away from yours. “Are you that desperate for it?”

The question was accompanied by a sharp snap of his hips that sent you reeling, too breathless for any sound to escape.

He spread your thighs apart even further, a hand beneath your left knee lifting your leg towards his chest.

The next quick thrust hit you even harder at that angle, a choked-out whine escaping you. Your fingers dug into the sheets as he ground himself into you, your pussy feeling split so overwhelmingly wide.

You were wound up so tight, you thought you were going to go crazy. It was impossible to think straight when he only did quick snaps of his hips at random intervals. You didn’t think you’d ever been hornier than this moment, and you swore you could feel the arousal leaking from your cunt.

You could see sparks of light behind your eyelids with how tightly you had them shut. You bit down hard on your bottom lip, the flesh still tender from Seokjin’s bite.

His thrusts became slow and deep, tiny gasps leaving your open mouth.

“Look at me,” he snarled suddenly, the sheer command in his voice sending shivers up your spine, gaze snapping onto him immediately. It took a moment for your vision to focus properly, still drowning in the sensation of his cock still moving within you.

If you thought he looked fierce, hungry, dangerous – you were his polar opposite.

To put it simply, you were a mess.

You were too lost in it all to notice the stutter in his hips when he locked eyes with you, but he almost stopped breathing entirely.

Your eyes were glazed over in pleasure, the tears just beginning to gather there only making their colour all the more enticing. Your expression was slack, and it looked like you couldn’t decide between clamping down on your bottom lip or leaving your mouth wide-open. You looked so vulnerable, so willing to put all of your trust in him to take care of you, make you feel good.

And fuck, if it wasn’t the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen.

His movements after that caught you off guard, his abrupt rough thrusting engulfing your body in flames of bliss, loud moan leaving you. As much as holding his gaze made everything feel so much more intense, you just couldn’t. Your head fell back onto the pillow, back arching as much as he would allow you to move in his tight hold.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groaned, his voice sounding almost helpless and he continued his movements, his arms the only thing keeping you from shifting up the mattress. As his gasps transitioned to groans and then loud moaning, you could feel yourself nearing your peak again.

He slowed his movements, the heavy panting reaching your eardrums and having you clench around him instinctively. The choked-out groan in response told you he was close, too.

“Jin,” you called out, the word so breathy that you almost didn’t recognize it despite it coming from your own lips.

You raised an arm to weakly grab at his body, hoping he got the message himself. You wanted him close, but highly doubted that you could manage to form the words right now.

Luckily, he seemed to know exactly what you wanted, dropping your leg and moving to hover over you, your breasts brushing his chest. He started thrusting slowly again, his head dropping to your collarbone as a hand wound into the hair at your scalp.

With him right on top of you, his pubic bone was brushing against your clit, the added stimulation having you whine loudly and dig your nails harshly into the skin of his back.

He didn’t seem to mind, a loud groan leaving him as he started mouthing at your neck, sucking bruises into the flesh.

But when you felt fangs briefly scrape over your skin, only one thought came to mind and refused to leave.

You wanted it, wanted his fangs to sink into you, wanted to feel that again. Now.

“Bite me,” you whimpered, pushing your head into the pillow and arching your back, eager to give him free reign as your orgasm inched closer and closer.

You expected him to protest, expected him to deny you, expected him to pull away.

But he did none of those things.

Instead, fangs sunk deeply into your neck with a feral growl, almost as soon as he heard the words leave your lips.

That same immense burst of pain rendered you motionless for a split second before that all-consuming euphoria descended on you.

You vaguely registered Seokjin moaning loudly above you as his hips stuttered, his lips locked on your neck. But you felt almost disconnected from the world, as though every nerve in your body was firing, your cunt pulsating around him as you reached the strongest high you’d ever felt.

It felt almost instinctual to grip at his back tightly, pulling him close, as if he’d ever want to leave. You didn’t even realize how loud you were being, your peak only going higher and higher, to the point of being overwhelming.

Tears streamed from where your eyes were clamped shut, moans turning into sobs as Seokjin ground against your overstimulated clit, your pussy clenched around him tightly.

You were so far gone you didn’t even notice the warmth spilling into you as he groaned loudly into your skin, his movements slowing before he pulled his mouth from you.

The crash was almost immediate, exhaustion and soreness taking over your limbs as you gasped for breath, the hands on Seokjin’s back falling limp. It felt like all the strength was sapped from your body, your consciousness half-absent.

You thought you heard Seokjin fussing over you, his hands wiping tears from your face, but to be honest, it was all a blur. He disconnected with you easily despite your mumbled protests, dropping a kiss on your forehead with a soft command not to move. You didn’t think you were capable of such a thing anyway.

You hardly registered his absence before he was back with a wet cloth. You didn’t know if that was because of his speed or because you were too tired to pay attention.

The next thing you knew, he had rolled you to lay on top of him, your face tucked into his neck as he stroked at your back. Normally, you might have complained about how much colder he was than you, but your skin was still so heated that the coolness was a relief.

You could tell that he was saying something quietly, unsure whether he was asking you something or not. His voice only brought you warm comfort, your arm moving to wrap around his waist.

You honestly weren’t too sure how long you laid there until your senses started coming back to you, but the hand on your back never stopped its soothing motions. The realization made you strangely embarrassed, wondering how long you’ve been out of it.

“Did I fall asleep?” you mumbled, nuzzling into the softness of Seokjin’s neck.

“Not really, it hasn’t been too long,” he responded, though the way he paused made it seem that he had more to say. It took a few moments before he got the words out. “Did I go too hard? Was it too much?”

Despite the low volume of his voice, he sounded almost frantic, and your brows furrowed. Why was he so worried?

“Of course not. I asked you for it, I knew exactly what I was getting into.”

He sighed heavily, his hands on you pausing. “I know, I just – I got worried when you were barely responding to me. I guess I was just afraid that you would be scared of me after.”

You felt a tinge of guilt at his concern, but logically it was nobody’s fault. As much as you wanted to take his face in your hands and tell him that you don’t regret anything and there wasn’t a world where you could ever be scared of him, you doubted your ability to do so right now. Instead, you hoped that simple reassurance could be enough.

“I loved it,” you said plainly, sleepiness clear in your voice. You were fighting past the fog in your brain to talk to him, wanting to make sure he knew where you stood.

“I loved it too,” he whispered before bringing up the blanket to cover both of you. “You sound tired. Why don’t we sleep?”

“Wait.”

“Hm?” he hummed in response, his confused expression hid from your view.

“Are you my boyfriend?” Your words sounded almost slurred with how close you were to unconsciousness, but his chest bouncing as he chuckled told you that he heard you just fine.

You were dangerously close to dreamland, but you caught his answer right before you fell asleep in his arms.

“Yeah, I’m your boyfriend.”

[all-about-seggs]

Dropped Façades-

Rating:❌ 18+, Explicit ❌

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x shy! female reader

Word count: 2K

Warnings: Masturbation, fingering, vaginal sex (on the rougher side)

 A/n: This is a happy!AU where everything is good and nobody dies OKAY?!ಥ_ಥ

Shining bands of morning light filled your vision making you squint from its brilliance but the sunny whether didn’t do much to deter the hazy clouds looming over your sunken heart.

   “ I’m heading off then”, the apathetic tone of your boyfriend’s voice matched his equally deadpan look as he called out to you from the front door.

 Another night of Levi staying over at your place came to a monotonous end. Ever since the beginning of your relationship, your nights have been a predictable cycle of him cooking for you, a few kisses exchanged before bed, that too if he’s feeling generous and then going your separate ways the next day.

Your shyness combined with the intimidating aura of the drill sergeant you were dating held you back everytime the sun went down and the ache in your core begged for attention.

Being an astonishingly disbalanced mix of prim and proper and foul mouthed, Levi didn’t left much to the imagination when it came to his likes and dislikes so you often ended up being what you figured he needed the most.

Be it keeping up with his mandatory cleaning or intervening everytime you know he’s on the cusp of whiplashing his subordinates, you were what placated him and brought serenity in his life.

You thought being in love with him and have it reciprocated would make the entire process as natural as breathing but the longer it went on the more harder it became to get out of your shell. Maybe it’s not the most idealistic phase of your relationship, self sacrifice was afterall, just a pretty word.

And the primary cause of your concern was completely at odds with the noble emotions of the duty you took upon as Levi’s girlfriend.

Lackluster was what the current state of your sex life could’ve been described as if it existed in the fist place. For the first three weeks of your budding relationship, not only work but your internal conflict was getting in the way of your understandable desires. And the fact that even he didn’t tried to make a move on you got you wondering if he was even interested in sex or in you physically.

Pushing the thoughts of potential sexy times with Levi away you walk over to the front door to send him off him, every second of the ten step way filled with the silence of unspoken words.

Even after he left, your stared at the empty place getting more and more annoyed by your own incompetence to speak out. Wanting to distract yourself from your current trail of thoughts you started to think of stuff to do until your laundry basket caught your eye.

There among your clothes laid your boyfriend’s shirt that he wore last light and despite your attempts at talking yourself out of the upcoming urge to play with your untouched pussy you find yourself grabbing the article out of the basket and onto your bed.

Spreading the shirt over your pillow, you take in Levi’s lingering scent. It was an embarrassing sight of considered from a second person’s point of view, creepy even. But right now this was all you had to calm your sexually frustrated self. Lying sideways on the bed you shoved your pants and underwear down your legs to get better access to your core.

As you caressed your clit you thought about how his own fingers would feel, the calloused and roughened tips of his fingers that held more strength than one cannot even imagine, just the thought of those digits entering you and stretching you out fuelled your arousal.

You were sure he could make you cum with his hands in less than half the time it takes you but gosh did you wanted his cock. You wanted to see it, touch it, suck it and choke in it if possible, how it would feel stretching your cunt and hitting that g-spot which made you shiver and scream for more. Thoughts of your pussy being filled to the brim with his girth overtook all five of your senses.

Letting your imagination run rampant your trembling body was practically making the bed creak, not even sensing Levi’s presence even when he was standing next to the bedroom door, arms crossed with a look of utter disdain.

“Have you been spending the past three weeks getting off of your hand?”, his annoyed voice overtaking your soft mewls pulled you back from the edge. Recovering from the initial shock, your naked body splayed out on the bed clammed up under his sharp eyes, thinking it’d be best to not hide your visibly throbbing pussy so you waited for him to continue, face and neck growing hotter by the second in shame and guilt.

   “ I forgot my shirt so I had to come back, but”, eyeing up the spit covered clothing he strutted towards you, “ it seems you’ve already taking a liking to it”.

Now taking a spot right next you, his one arm reached out, taking your chin in between his hand, he gave it a hard tug, to make you face him from an angle that made his callous eyes seem downright frightening.

“Look at that mess. Who do you think is going clean it up? ”, Levi’s voice was almost a hiss, an icy thread crackling along the cold air of your bedroom.

Drooling all over his shirt, you haphazardly started fixing your clothes you pushed yourself in a sitting position.

“I’m- I’m sorry! I’ll clean that up!”, You squeak, searching for some tissues or towel to wipe the fabric and making it a point to avoid eye contact. Watching you panic like he just caught you committing a crime, he heaved a sigh, half exasperated and half amused by your shyness.

His face didn’t give away his thoughts but surprisingly, his words did.

“I wanted you to feel comfortable enough to bring it up”, eyeing at the slick that covered your inner thighs he dropped his gaze to the ground before starting back up, “ but I guess I am partly at fault too for not taking any initiative either”.

“well?, it’s your turn to tell me what you want”, The stiff tone of his voice was offset by the gentle look of his eyes.

All his straightforwardness came to a halt when he saw you sitting there shell shocked. Your dazed look, induced by his unexpected words, became still for a while. Not wanting to be the only one who kept their cards closed you forced yourself to speak.

  “ Then, I want you to stay here……. And”, trailing off you meekly take a hold of his crisp dress shirt, still unable to look at him directly and hoping he’ll get the gist.

The next couple of seconds went by in a flash when your top came off and got thrown to the floor, with him pinning you down, Levi takes off the rest of your cloths and his effortlessly.

With only his boxers on he sat next to you, taking one of your thigh in his firm grip, he spread your legs open. Sharp gaze falling on your already moistened core he wordlessly slipped two of his thick digits inside, making you jolt at the contact.

“Move”, his command seemed both out of place and erotic at the same time, making you struggle a little before finding the right pace.

Back unintentionally arching against the bed you lift your hips, bucking against his hand while he leaned down to bit your nipple, coaxing a cry of pleasure out of you. Your entire body trembled with the sheer amount of effort it took for you to move.

“I saw you move your hips better than this when you were fucking yourself y/n. Faster”, his every word sent pleasant shivers up your spine, making you wonder if you always had such an authority kink. Or if you  were just naturally submissive in front of your deliciously dominant boyfriend.

You rolled your hips faster, gyrating them deeper into his fingers, only for them to be abruptly pulled out, making you feel empty. But in your daze you noted Levi's own impatience when he got off the bed to reach for his pants.

The thumping of your heartbeat filled your ears as you watched him take out a condom from his pant pocket. Revelling in the fact that he too wanted this to happen sooner or later.

Rolling down the latex over his shaft, Levi didn’t wasted a single moment before sliding himself into your sopping wet hole. His length stretched you enough to make you cum on the spot but you wanted him to take you higher so you waited for him to move. Settings his own pace he started plunging in and out of you ruthlessly, filling your senses with both pain and pleasure.

“You- You’re being …Too rough!”, Voice cracking by the force of his thrusts your entire body shifted higher up the bed and for a split second you worried about the state of your bed.

“Well we did decided to be more honest with each other”, with his voice as steady as his hard thrusts, Levi rammed his cock into with an unforgiving pace right off the bat “ and this is my way of doing this”.

It didn’t take him long to hit your sweet spot, your high pitched yelps just confirming his perfect angle and he snapped his hips again and again to reach the depths of your cunt.

The constant pounding of his cock was bringing you closer to your release, the toe curling pleasure just within your reach made you impatient so you bucked your hips to match his movements.

Levi’s pulsating member inside you soon gave you the final push you needed to experience the mind numbing euphoria you wanted for so long and with a few more rolls of his hips you felt him follow right after, with some low grunts of his own.

His muscular body falling on top of your, he breathed in your raw scent, tucking his face in the crook of your sweaty neck and for the first time ever you saw the sight of a disheveled and messy Levi Ackerman.

It was undeniably sexy, the way his bangs stuck to his forehead, body gleaming with a sheen layer of clean sweat. The pleasant fatigue you were experiencing took you in a dreamlike state from which you didn’t wanted to wake up from until,

“Get your ass off of the damn bed and go shower”, abruptly rolling you off of you, Levi’s words are almost like a warning.

“I’ll clean up in here”.

“Wait- what happened to my sweet and gentle aftercare?!”, Feeling a bit dejected you whined as you watched him put on his boxers, the seriousness of his face told you it’s better to just get off the bed without any questions. Your desire to bask in the afterglow of your hot sex coming to a premature end was expected. Yet you couldn’t accept it so this time you let your hesitation go, not wanting to repeat the same cycle of frustration you had experienced a while back.

“Then……..Can I expect some action in the bathroom too?”, biting your lips to hold back your smirk you turn to look at Levi for a response to your obvious attempt to elongated your intimate time together. “what?! Can’t blame me for asking you to make up for the past dry three weeks!”.

“If you behave like a good girl then I’ll give you something in the bathroom too”, not even glancing in your direction, he spoke nonchalantly, making quick work of the dirty sheets.

“ like what, a bath?”, Sceptically eyeing his face you silently hoped you had a longer night ahead.

“You were not the only one who was waiting for this you know”, his uncharacteristically soft voice made you do a double take.

Levi was smiling. But for all his delicate features, his smile was like a knife.

And this was all the confirmation you needed to know he’s gonna wreck you good and long.

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: IV

“I had a few, got drunk on you

And now I’m wasted

And when I sleep, I’m gonna dream of 

How you tasted.”

— Medicine, Harry Styles

A/N: if i said i’m apologizing for the way i left off ch3, yes i did ❤️ no i didn’t ❤️ it was fun ❤️ as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!! and if you enjoy the piece, please reblog it!!! it keeps content creators motivated!! without further delay, hope you enjoy what’s in store for Sherlock and Watson this chapter cause it’s uhhhh quite a bit of uhhhh ~stuff~ 😌

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

word count: 26.4k

content/warnings: a mild addiction to sexting, some pretty sparkly lingerie, a very interesting photo, a strange but satisfying gift, rough sex and degradation, pillow talk about the validity of the men in Twilight, the satisfying gift being put to even more good use, Y/N going over to Harry’s apartment for the first time, mild mentions of blood, and an impromptu Hamilton re-enactment amidst more lemon blueberry pancakes

///

For the next three days, the sexting grows more frequent. 

Harry feels somewhat humiliated by it, really. He’s an adult— a full-grown, two hundred and nine year old man— and trading nudes with a simple girl shouldn’t be getting him as worked up as it does. He should know how to handle his hormones better, and the thing is, he usually does. But no one in the last few centuries has made him feel as desperate as Y/N does; he hasn’t felt this helpless for someone since he was alive. The vampire just wasn’t prepared to handle the needy responses she so easily yields from his body and he’s horribly rusty on how to skate this thin sheet of metaphorical ice. It’s like he can feel it cracking and crunching beneath his feet, but he has absolutely no power over how to stop it. Any minute, it’s bound to take him under, and he has no choice but to allow himself to drown in it. 

The following seventy two hours are full of so many dirty promises and explicit images, his phone might as well be a porno hard drive.

After coaxing Y/N into a few orgasms through the phone and receiving just as many in return, a dangerous game is set into motion that Harry knows is probably unhealthy not only for his self-worth, but for the sensitivity of his anatomy. He can only get off so many times before his joints are begging for a break. 

He wakes up Wednesday morning with a stiff ache running along his inner thighs and ebbing across the underside of his balls, but there’s an undeniable contentment stewing behind it. He doesn’t truly mind the throb, comforted by the fact that Y/N is probably facing similar issues at the moment. He finds himself smiling coyly as he flips an omelette onto one of his marble-print platters, recalling the events from the night before. 

According to what he’d heard on the other end of the phone, present throughout the array of shaky gasps, cracked whimpers, and wet sounds of pleasure that had echoed from the speaker, Harry had made Y/N squirt. 

That was a tremendous stroke to his already huge ego. The idea that he’d been able to make her cum so hard that she’d soiled her brand new sheets had been circling around his head for the last couple of hours, fluffing his confidence. It’s a milestone achievement, to be honest. He’d done something that very few men have the skill to achieve in person, meanwhile he’d done it just by using his voice and extensive imagination. The arrogance he’s sporting right now is more than justified. His cheeks are starting to ache from how hard he’s grinning.

The vampire is so lost in his recollections that he nearly misses the chime of his phone, the unique ringtone that beeps out being as welcomed as ever. 

Harry scoops up his device while spooning a piece of his green pepper and mushroom egg dish into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully as he swipes into Y/N’s text conversation. He smoothers the giddiness fluttering in his stomach; he’s not a child. 

As it turns out, he’d killed those butterflies for no solid reason because the instant her message pops up, they come right back to life. 

Morning! Thought I’d show you what I’m planning on wearing to work today. 

Harry roughly swallows down his breakfast at the attachment following the caption, a shiver coiling down his spine. “Fucking hell.”

The photo is a mirror shot, taken in her tiny bathroom. It’s a full body image where she’s clad in a matching set of bra and panties, the material sparkly bright red lace. The bottoms are high-waisted, hugging her tummy and hips in a way he deems perfect, the lace decorating her skin beautifully. The bra is see-through, so he has an unrestrained view of her chest and he doesn’t know why, but he thinks he might love the way her breasts look in lingerie more than without it. Make no mistake, he’ll willingly drool over her no matter what, but there’s just such a refined beauty in seeing her figure in such an elegant piece. She’s like a present set out for him to unwrap, preferably with his teeth. 

Then he notices the garters and the next forkful of food lodges in his throat. They hug around her legs deliciously, the bands settled midway down her thighs as the straps run up the sides and clip onto the hem of her panties. Yeah, he would definitely use his teeth. 

After gawking at the artwork for a minute, Harry finally gathers himself enough to type back a decent reaction.

I’m pretty sure that outfit doesn’t apply to the workspace dress code. 

Y/N shakes her head in amusement at his response, giggling softly as she finishes shimmying into her black skinny jeans, buttoning them over the skimpy lace. 

I’ll cover up for the sake of the customers. But it’s just such a nice set, I figured someone else should get to appreciate it with me.  

Harry sets his utensil down on top of his plate, omelet only half eaten. His appetite has molded into a very different type of hunger. He pads out of the kitchen, feeling the ten AM sunlight filter through the glass wall of his living room and warm his bare chest and back. He heads for the bathroom that branches out of the entrance corridor, coming to a stop right in front of its mirror. He begins to clean up his appearance, combing his bed head into a presentable state (he hadn’t slept, per usual, but rolling around his pillows last night while he indulged fantasies about Y/N had done his curls in something fierce), fixing his royal blue briefs along his hips and dragging the waistband down to show off the dip of his prominent pelvic bones.

Once the immortal is done, he taps back with eager strokes of his thumbs. 

I can’t believe you’ve never worn that for me. That’s a criminal offense. Literally worth capital punishment. 

Oh, really? Capital punishment? And who are you to decide my verdict?

I’m the executioner, obviously. I’m in charge of dispensing the verdict and I promise you, I’ll see to it that you get what you deserve. It’s my civic duty.

Y/N scoffs at his quip, tugging her navy polo shirt over her torso and quickly running a brush through her hair. She puts it up into a neat ponytail, sighing lightly as she stares at her tired reflection. She wishes she could ditch work for the day and entertain more conversation with Harry, but she literally can’t afford to.

Well, you’re gonna have to wait while I go perform my own type of civic duty. Making the world a better place, one grilled panini at a time. 

Harry’s lips jolt. She’s so clever and witty, he doesn’t know how she could possibly be from such a dull, monochrome town. 

I understand. Justice calls. But before you go, can I send you a picture of what I’M wearing today? Could use a few style tips. 

That’s pretty ironic coming from someone whose last name is literally ‘Styles.’

I know, I know. But even fashion icons have their insecurities sometimes. 

Fair point, nobody’s perfect. Lemme see your OOTD, then.

The outfit of the day appears to be no outfit at all, according to Harry’s picture. It’s taken on a mirror, like her own, and it depicts him standing with one hand holding his phone in front of his face while the other seems to be doing jazz hands down his body playfully. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of deep blue briefs (probably because he’d completely ruined the maroon pair he was wearing last night, if his broken moans and heavy panting had been any indication) and they hug his frame flawlessly. The fabric is bunched around his lean thighs, tiger head tattoo peeking out to accompany the rest of the collection, which includes all the inkings running the length of his left arm as well as the butterfly and swallows across his torso. His v-line is evident as ever, dipping below the elastic band teasingly. His chest is broad and his biceps are taut, despite the fact that he’s not even flexing. He looks like a Greek statue and Y/N is positive the higher powers designed Harry with that specific thought in mind.

Y/N doesn’t realize drool is gathering in her mouth until it tickles the inside of her bottom lip. She snaps her jaw closed, clearing her throat sheepishly. Over a minute has passed of her just ogling and she can feel heat layering across her cheeks. She knows Harry probably has the cockiest expression on his face at the moment, obvious in the tone of the next comment he delivers. 

Damn, it’s that bad, huh? Guess I’ll have to change. 

No, it’s perfect. Simple, but effective. Very professional. 

Why, thank you! 

My pleasure.

Here, take this as a token of my appreciation. Hopefully it can help get you through the day. 

This specific photo is taken from an above point of view, as if Y/N were looking down at Harry’s body along with him. His pectorals and stomach muscles appear more defined, tattoos darker and skin more evidently sunkissed. Lower down, there’s the obvious outline of what lies within his boxers, snuggled up against his thick thigh and tempting her to let out a soft whine. Then, resting casually against his abdomen is his free hand, sporting a thumbs-up that gives a purposefully goofy vibe to the risky image. He’s such an idiot. 

The mortal’s answer is just as silly and lighthearted as his gesture. 

Thank you, I’ll keep it locked in my heart forever. 

I wouldn’t want it any other way. 

That’s the first interaction of many that further opens the door to their virtual sex life. Things hardly stay that innocent. 

That night when Y/N gets home from work, they undergo another round of phone sex. It starts off the same: cheeky banter that leads to cheeky pictures that eventually leads to utter filth. 

And that’s how they spend the next few days— taking care of each other’s needs digitally until Friday rolls around. There’s plenty of those encounters, but there’s definitely favorites. 

A session during one of Harry’s self-care baths, when he puts her on speaker and she talks him through tugging one out while the scent of lavender salts— which he’d chosen because they smell like her— leave his heated skin feeling soft and supple. Another instance where he makes her orgasm while she has gotten bored watching a scary movie marathon on her couch, the screams of the horror film mere background noise compared to all the sweet nothings Harry huskily mumbles into her ear, his dominant voice filtering through her headphone and instructing her on how to make herself feel good.

Harry messages her at three A.M. at one point, wide awake as ever, all of his thoughts occupied by the concept of Y/N laying on her tummy between his thighs and sucking him off at a slow pace. He can practically see her small hands wrapped around his girth, stroking up to meet her pretty lips, her tongue lapping at his tip eagerly as she whines around a full mouth. She’s always just so eager. Even at the crack of dawn, she’s awake by some miracle, and happily willing to delve into that fantasy with him. Her soft, timid tone drifts across the shells of his ears, explicitly sketching out how she’d take him all the way down her throat until she gags, and how she’d kiss all over the head of his prick just to smear his precum over her lips to then lick it off, and how she’d rock against his lap fast and hard while he takes her nipples between his teeth. How she wouldn’t stop until he’s dripping down her thighs and groaning into her throat. How she’d let him fuck her as many times as it takes to tire himself out. 

Harry obviously repays her, and it comes in the form of him painting out a scenario where she’s gotten home from a long day at the café. He tells her about how he’d be there waiting for her in nothing but his underwear, sitting back on his elbows in her bed, touching himself over his briefs just at the thought of pleasuring her. About how he’d lay her out and taste every inch of her body with his tongue, and how he’d run his teeth across her inner thighs tenderly while his fingers play with her clit, and how he’d have her ride his face deep and sloppy until she’s shaking and sensitive. How he’d tie her to the bed and toss her legs over his shoulders while he pounds her into the mattress, marking bruises across her neck as she sucks on his fingers and tightens around his cock like “the snug little thing you are.”

They even take their fun out of the confines of their houses and into public settings, just to give it an adrenaline high. Those situations are foreplay; it’s how they prep each other throughout the day for when they’re both finally alone and can truly help one another to the fullest. 

It happens Thursday on two occasions. 

First, to Y/N, who is sitting in the backroom on her lunch break, though she’s barely touched her food. She’s much more interested in what Harry has to say. Much more interested in how he says he wishes he could be there with her right now. That she could sneak him in through the back door of the restaurant and they could lock themselves in that tiny supply room, making sure no one would disturb what he’s about to do to her. That he would drop to his knees and drag her jeans down her legs, pressing damp kisses in the denim’s wake, biting hickies in the areas he knows she loves to receive them. He would mount her knees over his shoulders and bury his face between her thighs, looking up at her through heavy lashes as he licks into her desperately. He would have her grab onto his curls and guide his tongue just the way she likes it, and she’d have to bite into her cheek to keep from getting caught. 

He talks about how he’d take her against the supply shelves, one hand clamped over her mouth while he pants praise into her ear, her body jolting roughly upwards against the surface as she clings to his back. How he’d hold her up with the other arm and slam her down onto his cock, cooing things like, “Gotta keep quiet for me, sweetheart. Can’t make you cum if we get caught.” and “Such a filthy girl, sneaking me in here just to fuck you. Baby just wants to walk around the rest of the day full of me, doesn’t she?” 

That fantasy leaves her in a bothered haze the rest of the work day. It’s bad enough that she almost drops her tray three different times and has to ask multiple customers to repeat their orders. 

Y/N gets back at Harry, though. That revenge is the second occasion. 

The vampire had mentioned that he would be going out with his friends that evening to a bar and she takes full advantage of that. When the picture comes through, Harry nearly spits out his Manhattan drink. 

He’s sitting in a booth surrounded by his entire group and he’d been talking shit with Niall about golf. The vampire doesn’t care for the sport, but Niall loves it, and Harry loves getting on Niall’s nerves, therefore it’s all pretty self-explanatory. Mitch and Adam join in, with Mitch obviously supporting Harry, when he randomly decides to check his notifications. Even in the shrunken little banner, Harry can immediately tell the photo is graphic. Xander asks if he’s alright, telling him he looks freakishly pale and to get his eyes under control because they're in public. Harry blinks the red from his irises, hurriedly excusing himself and clambering up from his seat, jetting across the restaurant towards the restrooms. It’s occupied, much to his luck, so he settles for simply pressing his back against the wall of the corridor, leaning his head against the bricks and taking deep breaths to calm the raging in his stomach. He gingerly opens the message and his knees nearly give out. 

The image is taken from the back, probably using a timer. Y/N is wearing one of her big tees and another pair of cheeky lace panties, but this time around, they’re pastel peach and crotchless. She’s bent over with her ass up and spine arched, knees parted for balance, her shirt bunching downwards due to the angle. Her arms are pulled behind her back and her chest is flushed to the bed, wrists crossed submissively as she gazes at the camera over her shoulder. There’s an unmistakable sparkle in her eyes and he can tell she had sent this now on purpose just to fuck with him, knowing good and well that he was out and occupied.

The shot is more than he can handle and he has to swallow down the urge to stomp out of the bar, get into his car, race to her flat, and make her rethink her decision. Preferably, in the form of harsh spanks and overstimulation. He can see everything— the intentional rip at the crotch of the panties are meant for that sole reason. The closer he looks, he comes to realize that she’s wet, which in turn means she had been touching herself. She’d set this up perfectly, knowing that he’d easily be able to deduce that fact and that it would haunt him for the rest of the night. 

The monster releases a quivering exhale, typing back slowly and carefully, sight bleary. 

You’re going to regret that. 

Pinky promise?

///

When Harry arrives at Y/N’s apartment the next night, as he has for the last three Fridays, he doesn’t saunter up to her door and bang on it angrily. He doesn’t grab her by her hair and drag her into her room, how he’d intended. He doesn’t even have a single cinch in his sculpted brows. 

Instead, he raps softly on the door with one jeweled knuckle and waits calmly. 

The human goes to answer, her stomach twisting in excitement at all the possibilities of what punishment she might face for her antics. A small, sly smile buckles the corners of her lips at the thought, her fingers trembling as they wrap around her cold doorknob. She expects to find a furrow-browed, intense-eyed, red-faced Harry behind the threshold, who would shove past her, nab her by the arm, and throw her onto her bed. She expects him to yank his belt from around his hips while a distinct darkness swallows his emerald irises, his mouth curling into a sinister grin. She expects him to roughly command she get on her hands and knees, his palm finding the back of her head to shove her face-first into the sheets while he rips her panties down her legs and drags the cool leather of his accessory over her backside tauntingly.

What she gets is something— and someone— completely the opposite. 

When her door swings open, Harry is standing standing there, sure. But instead of looming over her with flaring nostrils and cruel intent, he’s decided to lean against the door frame with his arms folded casually. His body is completely empty of tension, his ankles are crossed offhandedly, and a small, bright red paper bag full of sparkly black tissue paper is hanging off his wrist. His expression is a relaxed facade of indifference, lips set into his usual signature smirk, no explosive emotions present whatsoever. 

That startles Y/N. This has to be an act; it feels like the calm before a violent storm and it has her shifting in her socked feet. Did he...Did he forget what she did? 

There’s no way he forgot. It was too brazen a move to dismiss.

Harry steps forward into her home, comfortable enough that he no longer has to wait for an invitation. Y/N moves to the side to let him through, hesitantly closing the entrance behind him, contemplating the man as if he were a ticking bomb. She does a quick sweep of his physique, looking for some other clue as to what he could be plotting, aside from the mysterious gift bag in his hand. He’s wearing a pair of flared denim jeans, a white tee with a royal blue cartoon bee printed in the center along with the words Enjoy health! Eat your honey! surrounding it, his white Vans, and an oversized colorful patch-work cardigan. The outfit is surprisingly domestic compared to his usual taste, but she finds it’s easily one of her favorite fits on him. He just looks so boyish adorable. 

The human comes up with nothing suspicious, glancing back up to lock eyes with her guest. Harry beams at her innocently and she knows for sure he’s planning something, but she can’t place what. 

“I got you this.” The vampire speaks up first, holding out the paper bag towards Y/N with his index finger, bouncing it encouragingly. “Take a peek.” 

The girl accepts the gift gingerly, giving him one more hard look before breaking away to investigate what lies beneath the tissue paper. She pulls out a small cardboard box, her eyes squinting slightly as she reads its print and surveys the label. The image on the surface appears to be of five silicone finger gloves, each about the size of a thumbtack, tiny metal plates embedded into the pads. She’s voicing her curiosity before she’s even finished studying the container. 

“What...What are these?”

Harry rolls his eyes jokingly, tapping the object for emphasis. “Read the fine print, love.” 

Y/N focuses on the region he’d pointed out, reciting aloud. “‘Vibrating silicone finger gloves. For the use of personal pleasure or with partners.’”

Then it all clicks. 

“Oh my God, you got me— what?!” Y/N’s head snaps up in shock, mouth parted and brows creased. “Harry, what?”

The young man laughs airily, gently opening the seal of the box in her hands, which she is now holding as if it were a weapon of mass destruction. It’s such a weird present to give in general, moreso all out of the blue, so she can’t be blamed for her reaction.

He uncaps the packaging, rummaging through its contents and pulling out two of the tiny rubbery gloves. They’re transparent and ribbed, obviously meant to deliver as many sensations as possible, and they’re about two inches in length. He slips them onto his index and middle finger, making scissoring motions for the purpose of symbolism, but mainly just to watch Y/N fidget. “I remember how you said you don’t have sex toys because you’d never really thought about buying any, so I went and picked these up down at my favorite shop. Jessi said they’re good for beginners.”

“Jessi?” Y/N’s voice is tight. She’s not sure how to respond to this; she’s never been in this situation before. No one has ever just given her a sex toy as if a were a candy bar. “Who’s Jessi and why do they need to know about my sex life?”

“She’s the manager.” Harry says matter-of-factly. He doesn’t seem to find anything strange about this encounter. “She helped me pick out my first pocket vag, so I trust her with my soul. Here, look. You just slip them on and—” He makes finger thrusting motions in the air, wiggling his digits playfully. “Big O. Not as good as what I can give you, obviously, but close enough.”

“Harry, you do realize this is a little…odd, right?”

The boy blinks at Y/N blankly. “What? Why? Sex is literally the basis of this whole thing.” He signals back and forth between them with his gloved forefinger. “It’s really not that weird at all, if y’think about it.”

“I just...it’s like…” 

Her argument fizzles to an end the longer she stares at him. He has the most wholesome expression painted across his handsome features, his eyes glossy with excitement. He looks genuinely elated about the present and she can’t find it in herself to question him any further. As unorthodox as this may be, it’s the first true act of kindness anyone has shown Y/N since she had moved to California. It’s the first time anyone has given the girl anything without her having to request it. She comes to the realization that Harry really is the only friend she has at the moment, and she refuses to pick and prod at that, lest he retract from her on the grounds that she’s ungrateful. Yes, this is a little atypical, but so is their whole dynamic. In his own twisted way, this is how Harry shows his friendship. 

The more she ponders on it, she starts to understand that this truly is something she should accept. He went out of his way to get her this gift, which solidifies their acquaintanceship. It’s sweet.

“You know what, never mind. Thank you! I love them.” 

The giddy smile that cracks his face melts her heart. “I’m glad to hear you say that.”

Harry then softly grasps her hand with his, tugging her down the entrance hallway, his intentions set on her bedroom. His voice takes on a deeper sultry twang, the corners of his mouth twitching suggestively. “Because on my way here, I was thinking, yeah? And I figured: who better to teach you how to use these than the person who picked them out.”

“Of fucking course.” Y/N huffs in amusement, shaking her head but allowing herself to be guided forward. “I should’ve known you had an ulterior motive.” 

“Heyyyyy!” Harry’s whine is offended, but the coy simper dimpling his cheeks ruins any defense he could possibly try to spin. “This isn’t an ulterior motive, it’s simply a supporting one.”

“Right.” Y/N states flatly, shuffling forward slowly as he backs down her corridor, momentarily glancing over his shoulder to orient himself. “Buying a fuck buddy a sex toy is totally selfless and mutually exclusive of the agreement.”

Harry takes a turn and crosses the threshold into her bedroom, releasing her arm and instead, he opts for wrapping his fist into the loose material of her large Transformers tee, twisting the fabric around his knuckles and giving it a sharp yank. She stumbles into his chest and almost drops the box. 

The vampire gazes down at her with half-lidded eyes, long lashes tempting and plush lips the color of roses. “I never said it was mutually exclusive. I just said it wasn’t meant to be evidently inclusive.” 

He takes the box from her grip, sliding it onto her nightstand so that any obstacles between them are eliminated. He beckons her closer with a flick of his wrist, feeling heat erupt across his chest as her palms slap down against it to steady herself. She’s always so warm, almost like a furnace. It’s a nice contrast to his ever-present coldness.

Harry’s cupped fingers nurse the slope of her jaw, tilting her chin up to level his, Cupid’s bow ghosting over her own teasingly as a grin threatens to betray him. His accent is thick, heavy with condescension. “Now do you want me to fuck you or not?”

Y/N gulps audibly, the sudden jump in her heart rate causing Harry’s cock to give a foreshadowing twitch in his designer jeans. Her eyes soften with a form of weepy desire, head nodding in his grasp. 

Harry’s top teeth catch on his lower lip as he appraises her from over the crest of his defined cheekbones. “I don’t think I heard you, pet. Must be the AC draft.”

The mortal’s eyes fall shut as she composes herself, a shaky sigh faltering past her nostrils. She tips forward onto her toes, connecting her itching mouth to his. Harry allows it, listing his head to the side to grant her more access, his free arm roping across the dip of her spine and pressing her front flushed to his. The kiss is soft and heated, full of drunken tongues and muffled whimpers. It’s tame compared to most of the others they’ve shared, but Harry likes it. It’s sloppy and intimate; only the beginning of what he knows will be a long night. 

Her words sting the ridges of his lips, hot and bated. “I want you to fuck me.” 

Harry speaks into her mouth, tone gentle but packing a punch. “Get my belt off for me, will you? I’m tying you to the bed tonight.”

He doesn’t have to ask twice, a dark chuckle vibrating across his tongue when her fingers immediately begin to fumble with his belt buckle. 

Once Harry has looped the leather tightly around Y/N’s wrists and has knotted them to one of the wooden railings of her headboard, he sits back on his heels to admire his work. Y/N is splayed out across her mattress with her arms suspended above her head, bare thighs clasped in anticipation as her t-shirt gathers around her waist. Her hands are curled into fists, nails digging into her palms as she watches Harry leisurely shrug off his cardigan, keeping eye contact with her the whole way through. His tattoos stand out against the buttery light of the single lamp on the table, tanned arms flexing sinfully. 

He shifts around, laying down onto his stomach and coasting his palms up her quivering legs, kissing over her kneecaps and along the crease of her inner thighs, bunching her shirt further up her body as he goes. As soon as he spots the first garter, he blacks out for a millisecond, vision washing red. 

“Fuck, wait— did you…?” His voice is strained and desperate as he shoves the rest of her clothes up her torso, pulling her shirt over her head and letting it rest at her elbows. He hums appreciatively when he’s met with the full cherry-colored lingerie set from a few days ago, garters and all. “God, you did.”

Y/N’s gaze falls timidly, a sheepish smile brushing over her face. “I thought you’d want to see it in person, since you seemed to like it so much.” 

“Mm...” Harry struggles to swallow, fingers hooking under the straps that clip to the hem of her underwear, pulling the fabric from her skin and letting them snap back into place. He revels in the tiny noise she lets slip, the pads of his digits now toying across the frilly bands encircling her upper legs. After a thoughtful heartbeat, Harry speaks up, wistful but vehement. “I’m going to make you soil your sheets again.” 

Y/N bucks a tad at his promise, wrists stressing against the leather belt, but Harry’s practiced enough bondage in his lifetime to know she won’t be getting out anytime soon. He parts her knees open with his palms, dragging his silicone-covered fingers down her clothed clit and tutting when she lets out a stuttery gasp. 

“Always so sensitive, aren’t you, angel?” The vampire pets at her core patiently, heat pooling at the base of his abdomen as he feels her panties damped with every stroke of his touch. “Christ, you’re already soaking through.”  

“Want more.” The girl’s plead is strangled as she actively forces herself to keep her legs wide open, knowing that if she were to allow them to snap shut, Harry would only pry them apart again. “I’ve been thinking about this all week. Please.”

“All week?” Harry drags tongue across the inside of her thigh, nipping at the flesh tauntingly, the amber specks in his eyes glittering amidst his lashes. He continues to rub through her underwear, drinking up all the little noises streaming from her throat. “Tread lightly, dove. You’re swelling my ego.”

“I just…” Her hips give another jerk when he wriggles two rubber-clad fingers into the crotch of her bottoms, spreading her open just a bit and grinning against her skin at how wet she’s become. “I just need it hard tonight, Harry. Need you to leave me sore.” 

“I always leave you sore.” The monster reasons mockingly, taking one of the garters between his teeth and tugging, releasing so it stings her like before. “You’re gonna have to be more specific.” 

Y/N trembles out an exhale, gathering herself enough to give him what he wants. “I need you to fuck me like you hate me.”

Harry grabs onto either sides of her panties, slowly peeling them down her legs and then scooting closer forward, planting an open-mouthed kiss right onto her bare clit. She mewls in return, her restraints creaking the bed. He continues pressing messy wet pecks to her cunt, feeling her tense up each time his soft lips suckle her fervently. 

“Is that why you sent that picture?” Harry wonders aloud, pausing his motions and raising one eyebrow at her. “Because you wanted me mad?”

The human nods, face wracked with guilt. It’s cute that she feels bad, especially because Harry had, in actuality, enjoyed her little stunt. Seeing her bent over like that, in a position that shows she couldn’t wait to please him— that she couldn’t wait until Friday came around so he could do to her whatever he deemed fit...It was the best form of edging he’s ever experienced. But for the sake of giving her what she wants, he’ll bite the bait. 

Harry rises up onto his knees, parting her thighs further as he fits himself between them, the pads of his gloved digits dancing across the thick of her damp clit. He bends down until his nose smudges over hers, the breath of his low words hot against her parted mouth. 

“Well, it fucking worked.”  

Harry taps his index and middle fingers against his palm in one quick flick and the tiny metal plates situated along the tips purr to life. He sinks knuckle-deep inside of Y/N, cold rings catching on her folds as he curls upwards to get at that special spot that resides along the pit of her tummy. The moan she releases it so raw and broken, it sends a zip of lightning through his veins. 

He fucks her like that for a while, with his strong chest poised against her heaving own as he marks love bites onto the cleavage spilling from her lace bra, his skilled fingers pumping into her at a harsh pace that has her legs shaking on either sides. He thumbs over her clit messily, the silicone molds sending waves of vibrations through her clenching walls as he relentlessly toys with her g-spot, her arms thrashing against his belt. Fragmented sounds of bliss freely stream from Y/N’s mouth without shame, his name intermingling amongst the whimpers as her head throws back against the headboard. Harry grips her throat in one hand, holding her to the sturdy surface as his other bobs between her thighs roughly, the bed groaning as a result of their intense actions. His wrist begins to ache from how hard he’s going, but the tears trickling out from the corners of Y/N’s eyes and the way she’s panting into his mouth are enough to keep him going.

“Look at me.” Harry squeezes her jugular tighter, garnering attention. She forces her eyelids open, inhales hiccuping when he braces his cool forehead to hers, his irises the color of a forest at midnight, pupils blown out of proportion. His teeth dig into her bottom lip just to feel it swell, a growl stirring the gravel in his chest. “Is this what you wanted?”

“Y-Yes.” Y/N boggles her head feverishly, glimpsing down over her sweaty cheeks to see the way his veins are chiseling along the forearm that is flexing between her drenched thighs. “Fuck, it’s so g-good.”

“Yeah? How about we go a little higher, hm?” Harry scrapes the pads of his fingers against that spongy place inside her, pressing the vibrators down and the motion clicks the toy into a higher level of intensity. 

Y/N writhes in his grasp, back arching off the headboard as deeper, more concentrated rumbles lap throughout her body. “Harry— I— that’s— God, just please!”

Harry takes ahold of her jaw as he continues finger-fucking her without remorse, his short breaths warm against her burning lips. “That’s my girl. Taking it hard and loving every second.” 

Y/N’s eyes lull back into her head. She doesn’t know why, but hearing Harry call her his girl satisfies her in a manner so deep, she didn’t know it existed. Just hearing him recognize her as his— as something he claims for himself, almost like an extension of who he is— stirs a foreign form of fulfillment in the back of her mind. 

“I’m—” The girl chokes on her sentence, finding it difficult to concentrate with so much pleasure coursing through her system, as well as with Harry painting hickies across the side of her strained neck. “I’m gonna cum.”

The immortal’s voice is stern and authoritative. “No, you’re not.” 

“I am, I can’t hold—”

“Yes,” Harry’s grip firms, pace sharpening into unapologetic slams, “you can. And you will. If you cum before I let you, you’re not getting anything else from me for the rest of the night. Do I make myself clear?”

Y/N’s cunt tightens around his fingers, warning him that she’s about to peak. “Harry, I’m sorry—but— but I—”

“Do I make myself clear?” 

Y/N has no hope that she can keep it in, but she adores the darkness swirling in Harry’s eyes at the moment and she’ll do anything if it means getting to witness it for a while longer. “Yes.” 

“Good.” She winces when she feels his teeth skim her earlobe, his whisper dripping with arrogant amusement. “I told you I’d make you regret it.” 

And he really does keep his oath. Minutes simulate hours as Harry continues to flirt her just along the seams of relief, pulling her back every time he sees her about to tip. Whenever he feels her begin to spasm around his slick fingers, he gives her a cautionary quirk of his brows accompanied by a testing, throaty, “Don’t you fucking dare.” or a simple, silent shake of his head. By some miracle, she manages to reign herself in every time, but each ruined orgasm makes it harder and harder to stifle the next. She doesn’t know how many times it happens; she stops counting after four. 

After what feels like decades of torture, Harry finally releases his hold around her jugular, allowing her to properly gulp air for the first time in a while. He sits back against his heels, pulling his hand from between her thighs with a sarcastic sympathetic hiss. “Poor thing.” 

He watches as a trail of her juices strings from his digits to her cunt, eventually snapping in the middle as he lifts his hand to study his work. Her release drips down his knuckles and palm, gleaming in the dim lighting. A mildly sadistic glint washes over Harry’s irises and for a split second, they look almost red, but Y/N dismisses it. Her brain is too fogged to trust right now. 

The boy’s sight flickers past his hand to where Y/N lies limply, wrists bruised from the bonds, arms quivering weakly, and legs trembling in overstimulation. He’s never seen her look more beautiful than now. 

He locks his bright eyes to her exhausted own, watching them shatter to pieces when he pushes his drenched fingers past his pillowy blushed lips. His lashes flutter as her taste washes across his tongue, sweet and decadent as always, a soft groan thrumming deep in his throat. God, he can only imagine how delectable her blood must be at the moment, honeyed by the plethora of endorphins he had repeatedly coaxed into her. He can't wait to feel its warmth fill his mouth later tonight.

Harry removes his fingers with a wet pop, licking across the back of his hand with finality and giving her a daring once-over. “Do you still want my cock? Or are you too sensitive for it, darling?”

He sounds so conceited and self-assured, it causes Y/N’s pride to flare. She wants to make him eat his stupid words.  

The mortal licks her chapped lips, wetting her dry throat and clearing it softly, wiping away the sweat on her forehead with her shoulder. “I still want it.” 

An impressed expression decorates Harry’s features. “You think you can take it?”

Y/N’s jaw clenches with dedication, her thighs spreading open a tad more and she wills herself not to flinch. Her chin cocks upwards. “I know I can.” 

Harry’s brows kink challengingly, a borderline evil smirk sewing onto his face. “Let’s see, then.” 

As it turns out, Y/N can take it. However, she knows for a fact she won’t be able to walk right for at least the next week.

Harry lowers his jeans and kicks them off, reaching into his navy briefs and tugging himself out, giving his length a few pumps for good measure as he shifts forward toward her. He flips the girl onto her belly as easily as he’d turn a sheet of paper, tying one arm around her hips and lifting them up as he slides a pillow below. He situates her accordingly onto the cushion, her ass slightly elevated to give him more range of depth. He pats at her backside lightly, telling her to part her knees and she does so obediently, gripping onto the leather strap around her wrists anxiously when she feels the bed shift with his weight. Harry lowers himself over her body, the tee covering his broad chest soaking up the thin sheet of sweat on her back. He moves all of her tangled hair to the side, burying his fingers into her roots and yanking her head back cheekily. He runs his nose across her damp cheekbone and chuckles when she jumps slightly at the feathery sensation. 

“You’re pretty stubborn, aren’t you?” 

Y/N gnaws on her bottom lip as she struggles to swallow, throat taut from the angle he’s put her in. Her voice carries a confident bite, despite her compromisable position. “I like to think I am, yeah.” 

“Well, you know what that makes you, right?” Harry murmurs as he lines himself up with her entrance. 

“Mm-mm. What?” 

The vampire presses a lingering kiss to the tittering pulse in her temple, feeling it thunder below his skin as he forms his next comment slowly with an ominous edge. “It makes you a brat.” 

He feels her heartbeat trip. 

“And you know what I do to brats?” 

Y/N shakes her head as much as his dominant grasp will allow, body tightening in suspense. 

“I fuck them until they break.” 

Y/N learns that he’s telling the truth. The first thrust Harry delivers is swift, hard, and unbelievably deep; it causes her to let out a choked scream that no one else has ever drawn from her before, except for him. It’s like he can tap into certain aspects of her body she was unaware of; parts of her waiting for the right person to come along and reveal them. She feels that stroke rip into her tummy, but the pain of his size is something she’s become accustomed to in the last three weeks. She hardly feels it anymore; it had molded from a sharp throb to a dull ache, due to how often she’s experienced it. 

Harry doesn’t waste any time, quickly picking up a sloppy, adamant pace that has her hips bouncing against the mattress. He twists her hair around his fist, mouth pressed to the side of her head as his hot pants of exertion send a prickling through her scalp. His other forearm keeps him anchored to the bed as he pounds into her with absolutely no hesitation, the sound of skin slapping, cracked whines, and raspy grunts filling the tense atmosphere of her chilly room. 

“Is this what you were hoping would happen when you sent that slutty picture?” Harry grits out, short nails digging into the comforter beneath. “Wanted to get me all riled up just so I’d do your back in?”

Y/N mewls weakly in response, hands clinging to each other within the makeshift cuffs. 

“If you wanted me to fuck you like I hate you, you could have just asked. I’m more than happy to give you whatever you want. You don’t have to tempt me.” The vampire gives a particularly deep slam, laughing breathily when the girl’s back instinctively arches forward, paired with a watery yelp of, “Oh!”

Harry’s tongue grazes across the shell of her ear, teeth catching the skin. “But since you did, I’ll give it to you just— like—that.” His thrusts match to each word, fingers coiling harder into her locks. “You deserve it. Especially when you had the nerve to act like such a spoiled little brat right to my face.” 

Y/N’s not sure what emboldens her to speak, but her snarky remark is already halfway down her numb tongue before she can stop it. “Don’t pretend you didn’t like it.”

Harry hums tauntingly, circling his hips in long strides that urge a series of fractured whimpers to scrape out of Y/N’s sore throat. “Say it again. Go ahead, say it. I want to see you try.”

She remains silent, spine shuddering as she bites down on her tongue to avoid making any more noises that might condemn her.  

Harry roughly cranes Y/N’s neck to the side, buttoning their lips together in a filthy kiss that has her cheeks boiling. “That’s what I thought. The only thing that sharp tongue is good for is licking down my cock.” 

She gasps against his mouth shakily, tears of sheer bliss gathering along her waterline. “You’re such a fucking asshole.” 

Harry can tell her comment holds no true malice behind it; she’s too sweet on him— too whipped on what he gives her— to ever mean it. She’d only said it to provoke him into a power dynamic struggle. But the thing is, Harry’s dealt with feeling powerless before, so he had spent years teaching himself how to win. How to always win. 

“Am I, now?” His next line dismantles her entire plan. “Would an asshole let you cum?”

And just like that, her whole demeanor crumbles. “I take it back. I’m s-sorry.”

Harry releases her hair and nips at her ear mockingly, beginning to withdraw himself. “Oh, I think it’s a bit too late for that, minx.”

“No, no! Harry, please. I’m sorry. Genuinely. I promise I won’t say it again. Just…” She tugs helplessly at the belt restraints, trying to twist around to look at him directly. Her voice is wringed out. “Just please.”

The boy pushes a few stringy curls out of his eyes, pressing his tongue into his cheek coyly as he glances down, suggestively smoothing one hand over her ass. He gives it a firm squeeze, lifting his palm teasingly and feeling her tense in anticipation. “Do you want it?”

Y/N glimpses at his bejeweled hand with hunger, then back at his eyes. “Yes.”

“Tell me you want it.”

“I want it.”

“Sorry, I seem to have forgotten what ‘it’ was, exactly. Jog my memory, will you? What is it you want?”

Her irises harden in spite at his shit-eating comment. He’s well aware of how shy she can be when it comes to admitting she wants a spanking, and he’s playing that to his advantage. He’s swimming in the way she squirms. 

“I...I want you to spank me.”

He tsks, shaking his head as he twists his HS rings around to face inwards. “You forgot something.” 

Y/N’s fingers tighten into begrudging fists. “I want you to spank me, please.”

“There’s a good girl.” His low, accented purr sends electricity through her nerves. “You’re so cute when you beg.”

Harry’s hand comes down swiftly, digits fanned out so that all of his rings print across her backside. It’s not hard enough to hurt, but strong enough to leave a satisfying sting. He loves the way she jolts forward with a hushed curse of surprise, and he adores seeing the shape of his initials marked across her clammy skin. It’s poetic, almost.

“So pretty.” His mumble is wistful as he massages deeply over the region he had just bruised, but it holds unyielding authority. “Whose is it, doll?”

“Yours.” 

“And don’t you fucking forget it.” The creature lifts one palm to do it again, pausing once more just to rev her further. He reaches forward with the other, shoving her face-first into the mattress to get her back to straighten out. “Look forward and don’t make a single sound.”

Y/N obeys, but manages to sneak a peek at his reflection through the waxy wooden surface of her aged bedframe. He looks so good perched behind her with bare heaving shoulders, looking down at her exposed figure over the crests of his sharp cheekbones, brows furrowed into a starved expression that gives away he’s enjoying this probably more than she is. Her voice comes out small and weak. “Yes, sir.”

Harry’s entire face tightens at the word and she feels him throb against her backside. 

“Now beg me to let you cum.”

///

The next morning when Y/N’s eyes flutter open to the grey light streaking in through her curtains, the first thing she senses is a pair of eyes staring at the side of her face. 

She turns her stiff body over toward where the sensation stems and sure enough, she’s met with a pair of sea glass irises filled to the brim with humor. Harry’s laying on his side with his hands tucked below one of her pillows, tousled ringlets sticking up in wild tuffs (thanks to the activities they’d engaged yesterday), he’s completely bare since he likes sleeping nude (though he’d had the decency to cover himself with sheets from the waist down), and his voice is slower and raspier than usual (a result of being dormant for the last eight or so hours). 

“You drool in your sleep.” 

Y/N tucks her hands against Harry’s cold pectorals, snuggling deeper into his chest and pinching at one of his nipples in playful revenge. “No, I don’t.” 

“Yes,” he reaches up and shoos her hand away, proceeding to wipe at the side of her mouth, where dried spit had accumulated. He makes a theatrical gagging face, cleaning his thumb off across the collar of her t-shirt. “You do.”

Y/N sighs in exasperation, making a bold leap to a different topic to avoid talking about her embarrassing sleep habits. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you staring at people while they sleep is weird? Like, serial killer weird?” 

Harry tucks a few matted strands of hair behind the human’s ear, thumbing over her cheekbone tenderly. He hardly ever indulges in such actions, simply because they’re typically reserved for actual couples, which he and Y/N are definitely not. But last night— after he had finally finished being a prick and allowed her cum along with him, and after she had fallen into the bed with exhaustion taking her under, and after he’d had his greedy fill of her blood for the week— he’d gotten bored of playing on his phone. He’d burned through three cold case documentaries on Netflix and played enough Mario Kart to memorize the race charts; it had grown old quickly, and he eventually just locked the device and placed it on her nightstand. He spent the next hour staring at her hideous ceiling, and the one after that fantasizing about taking down her tapestry and burning it in the oven. And finally, after hours of mindless daydreams and letting his eyes chase the city lights dancing across the walls of her room, he had settled onto his side and watched her sleep. 

Harry did it simply because he had nothing else to distract him. He figured it would eventually bore him enough that maybe— just maybe, if he was lucky— he would fall asleep alongside her. But he didn’t, so he just ended up gazing at her slumbering face until dawn. He had been surprised by how oddly beautiful Y/N looked sleeping— how relaxed and tranquil, with her features soft and skin seemingly made of flawless porcelain. That intrigue had bled into the moment they share now, resulting in his touch drifting down the curve of her jaw and across the faint dimple on her chin. He follows the slope of her neck and admires the smoothness of her flesh with the ridges of his fingertips, hearing her breathing stutter ever so slightly. His heightened senses make it feel as if he’s running his digits over velvet and the only concept he can compare it to is touching forbidden artwork at an exhibit. It’s exciting, but he knows that if he keeps going, he could end up getting himself into a crock of shit. 

When the pads of his fingers land on two prominent purple bruises he’d forgotten existed, he’s broken from his soft stupor. He retracts his touch as if she were made of iron, forcing himself to ignore the pout that automatically plumps her delicate lips. 

He clears his throat awkwardly, a tight chuckle stringing his vocal chords. “Staring at someone in their sleep seemed to work just fine for Edward Cullen, though.” 

Y/N snorts sharply, rolling her eyes up towards her headboard. When she sees his belt is still hanging off of it from the night prior, she hurriedly glances back down, pretending not to have seen it. 

“It’s funny you say that because as I recall, he literally admitted to being a murderer. I believe his exact words were,” she exaggerates her voice into an angsty cry, grasping at her chest dramatically, “‘This is the skin of a killer, Bella!’”

Harry bursts into boyish giggles, falling fully onto his back and swiping his palm up his face, fingers remaining perched over his closed eyes as he laughs. He sighs airily, shaking his head as an afterthought. “What a moron.” 

“Truly. His dad was hotter.” 

“Way hotter.” Harry agrees passionately, burying his hand into his messy curls, attempting to comb out some of the tangles. “And he was a doctor. What a man.” 

“Bella really fucked that one up. She had a midlife crisis over choosing between a sad vampire who looked like he had chronic constipation, and a yappy dog with a shirt phobia. All when Carlisle was right there. Brain damage, honestly.” 

“A moment of prayer for the mentally incapacitated. Couldn't be me!”

“Couldn’t be me, either.”   

“Fuck, yeah.” Harry throws his hand up, inviting Y/N to give him a high five. “To good taste.”

She gladly delivers. “Exquisite taste.”

An instance of comfortable silence suspends between the pair of lovers, filled with the soft thrum of the air vent and the distant chirping of birds outside Y/N’s windowpane. She traces her index nail over the wings of the swallow tattoos along Harry’s collarbones, seeming to be deep in thought. She then speaks up once again.

“Emmett was pretty hot, as well.” 

“You know what? I’m happy you mentioned that ‘cause— full disclosure here— I’d ride him like a fucking bull.” 

Now it’s Y/N’s turn to explode in a fit of giggles, nose scrunching and eyes crinkling shut as she loses herself at Harry’s graphic confession. 

“Why are you laughing?!” The fact that he sounds genuinely appalled only spurs her sounds of glee. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t take that chance if you got it. Like, okay, he’s an airhead, yeah? I’m aware. But fuck’s sake, look at his body. I’d happily let him beat me at arm wrestling if it means I get that celebratory dick afterwards.”

The mortal manages to calm down a handful of heartbeats later and Harry feels strangely proud of how he’d made her pulse spike. 

“You’re valid for that, don’t worry. I couldn’t have said it—” A single giggle interupts her sentence, but she reigns it in before it can spiral. “I couldn’t have said it better myself. Literally. There’s no way to express it better than exactly how you stated it.” 

Harry smirks softly up at the ceiling, folding his free arm behind his head as the other wraps securely down Y/N’s back, absentmindedly rubbing in gentle soothing circles. “My mind. It’s amazing, innit?”

“It’s definitely something.” 

Another span of cozy quietness fills the atmosphere of the room, longer than the last. Harry doesn’t mind. He finds it appeasing, and he continues to delight himself with running his touch up and down Y/N’s spine. He’s not sure how much time passes, but he’s aware that it’s probably a bit. His theory is supported by how he witnesses the beam of watery light that filters over the duvet gradually fade from silver to a sunflower yellow, indicating full daybreak. 

Even then, he doesn’t say a word, too caught up in this innocent bubble of domestic bliss to pop it so suddenly. He just lays there and listens. Listens to the birds harmonizing with each other across the branches of the tree outside. To the steady breaths that fill Y/N’s lungs with cool air, faltering past her nostrils in the same manner and fogging the metal of his cross necklace. To the faint sound of footsteps trotting down the staircase outside her apartment, and to the vague spritz of the sprinkler system going off at the front of the complex. To the distant honking of car horns in traffic, and to a random conversation between two friends as they walk past the pavement just under Y/N’s balcony. He hasn’t felt this at ease in eons. 

Harry just allows himself to grow in tune with the world around him— a world he’d been convinced was against him for the longest time. A world he was convinced stole his happiness and replaced it with the shackles of a blood-driven afterlife, for no other reason than because he’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time and met the wrong person. But now, he feels like he’s in the right place, at the right time, spending it with the right person— or at least a half-decent person— and he doesn’t want to let it slip between his fingers so soon. He wants to bask in it, even if he knows it’ll pass. 

And eventually, it does pass, and Y/N is the one who brings it to an end. 

The girl slowly peels away from Harry’s side, his lips dipping downwards slightly at the loss of the warmth she radiates. He thinks she’s about to get up to probably go use the bathroom or to make breakfast, but instead, she just bends her upper body over the edge of her bed to retrieve something from the floor. She comes back up with the box he’d brought her the evening before (which had ended up on the ground as a result of her bed rocking violently), setting it in the small space between their laps. She then returns to her place cuddled into his torso, looking up at him with an expression that Harry can only interpret as expecting. 

The vampire glances down at the container and then back up to Y/N’s face, raising his eyebrows curiously, voice tinged with comedy. “What did I say about bringing sex toys to the dinner table?”

Y/N stares up at him flatly for a second, fighting off a smile. “I just wanted to thank you again. It’s nice of you to bring me a present, even as strange as this one.” 

Harry sucks at his teeth, waving a hand dismissively, blinking down at her with slyness sparkling around his pupils. “What are friends for, if not for buying you vibrating finger gloves and then fucking you with them until you cry?”

Despite having been acquainted with Harry’s crude humor for three weeks now, it still manages to make Y/N’s cheeks sizzle. It could also be the fact that this is the first time Harry has openly accepted Y/N as a friend. It’s the first time he’s ever mentioned her name and that word in the same sentence, meaning that she can now shake a weight off her shoulders— a weight that had insisted he was only using her for sex, that he would eventually grow bored of her, and that he would throw her away once he was done. It’s good to know that’s not the case, and that the friendship aspect of their agreement is true to its name. 

“Right.” Y/N’s smile is full of so much genuine warmth, Harry feels like she could outshine the sun. “What are friends for, if not that. Thanks, Harry.” 

He wonders what she’s thinking, and he finds himself wishing that he had the one valid trait that idiot Edward Cullen possesses: mind-reading. But he doesn’t have it, so he simply returns her gesture and skates the conversation how he best deems fit. “You don’t have to call me ‘Harry’ all the time, you know?” 

Y/N’s brows cinch in entertained confusion. “What would I call you, then? Sherlock?” 

Harry scoffs lightly at the inside joke, shrugging one shoulder casually. “I mean, you could, if you want to. It might take some getting used to, but I think I can shoulder a full-time second identity. Just for you.” 

“How chivalrous.”

“You ain’t ever met a man like me, sweetheart.” He boasts in an over-the-top American southern accent, prying another round of laughter from Y/N, similar to the one before. “But you could also just call me ‘H.’ It’s what most of my other friends use.” 

“H.” Y/N repeats, getting a taste for the new nickname. It’s simple, unlike him, but it somehow fits. She then recalls something from a show she’d watched when she was younger and she can’t help but bring it up. “So, like, just your first initial? Like in Gossip Girl?”

Harry’s face immediately drops at the comparison she makes to the cringey teenage soap opera. “You know what, I take it back. You’re not allowed to use it. Illegal. Banned. By an official court. Gavel and all.”

“I’m just making a point!”

“Yeah, a shitty one.” 

“Oh, whatever. You’re just mad I debunked your little hipster alter ego. ‘That’s a secret I’ll never tell. Xoxo, H.’”

“Restraining order.” Harry pinches at one of her love handles, an evil grin dimpling his cheeks when she squeals. “Actually, nevermind. We’re going straight to the electric chair. Immediately.” 

“You don’t get to decide my punishment, remember?” Y/N slaps at his wrists, trying to ward off his attacks but failing miserably. “You’re just the—stop!— just the executioner.” 

“That’s right. I get to strap you to the chair.” Harry finally lets up on the tickling, his lighthearted grin taking on a slightly seductive hue as he momentarily glimpses upwards towards where his belt is hanging. “Though you’d probably like that, wouldn’t you?” 

“Fuck off.” Y/N smothers her palm against his face, breaking eye contact as she feels her ears bristle with heat.  

“Mm, exactly.” Harry gnashes at her hand playfully, but she manages to yank it away before he gets a bite in. “You can’t even admit you like being called a whore.” 

“Hey!”

“What?” The vampire gives her a cocky look, wagging his head knowingly and then mimicking her voice in a higher pitch. “‘I’m just making a point!’”

“You’re a dick, you really are.” 

“And yet you still ride mine, so who’s the one with the real issues here? Specifically, daddy issues.”

“I’m done with this conversation.” Y/N huffs, returning her attention to the box beside her thigh, muffling the twitching across her lips. 

She takes the cardboard into her hands, tracing over the small flap used to pry the top open. Harry watches her with interest, pondering as to what could possibly be scurrying around her skull that she seems so caught up with the context of the gift. He’d gotten it because he knew they would both benefit from it. It’s as simple as that. 

“You know,” she starts, but her gaze remains glued to the box, “I feel kinda bad ‘cause, like...You got me this gift, I have nothing to give you in return.” 

Harry’s face contorts into a silly frown for a moment, tone humorous. “It’s fine, Y/N. You don’t have to give me anything back. I got it ‘cause I knew we’d enjoy using it together, and because this way, you have something to play with when I’m not around. And you can send me videos of said instances. It’s truly a win-win. A double-ended gift.” 

“I suppose.” She mumbles softly, continuing to pick at the lip of cardboard sticking out. “But I feel like it’s only fair that you get to use it, too, don’t you think?”

And then the reason she’s insistent about this dawns on Harry. The way she’s avoiding looking at him directly, how her heart rate is slowly ebbing upwards, how she is gradually scooting closer to his body, how he can feel her thighs are clasped tightly below the comforter. How the scent of honey and lavender has intensified. How she keeps glancing towards where the sheets are crumpled messily around his hips in a haphazard attempt to remain civil. 

When the monster speaks, it carries all the arrogance brought forward by his discovery. “If you wanna give me a handjob with the toy on, just say so.” 

The human’s head snaps upwards, her expression one of utter alarm at his lewd comment, but he can see right through her act. It’s obvious that was her intention all along— the desire in her eyes is poorly masked. She looks so adorable, pretending not to know what he’s referring to, her palms gripping the box slightly tighter than before. 

Harry twirls a strand of her hair around his finger nonchalantly, giving it a jesting tug. “I just find it funny how much of a horny menace you can be.”

“What—?”

“And it’s not even ten A.M. yet.”

“What do you—?” 

“Y/N,” Harry sighs tiredly, giving her an omniscient look, “I’ve slept with you enough times to know when you want something. It’s written all over your body language and you’re pretty shit at hiding it in your eyes. Just admit you want to and I’ll let you.” 

The faux shock slowly melts off her face, replaced by sheepish humiliation at being so easily sussed out. She chews on her bottom lip pensively, struggling to sew together the appropriate words to communicate the very inappropriate activity she wants to engage in. Harry has to withhold from leaning down and taking a bite from her tempting mouth.  

She inhales a deep breath through her nose, puffing it out slowly and tapping her fingers across the box nervously. Her voice pipes up so softly, it’s almost inaudible. “I want to give you a handjob with the toy.”

Harry gently cards his fingers into the mussed roots along the back of her head, using that hold to guide her sight upwards until it meets his. He leans down, smearing his lips over her own, feeling static pass through the ridges of their skin. “That’s all you had to say, darling. Go ahead, then. Make me cum.” 

Y/N swallows thickly, lashes fluttering bashfully as she pastes her mouth to his in a soft kiss. It’s a simple action with just their lips and nothing else. No tongue, no teeth, no sucking, nothing sloppy or desperate— not yet, anyways. He can tell she does it as a way to ease herself into this. She wants to, that much is arousingly obvious, but for some crazy reason unbeknownst to him, she’s still shy about it. That’s what happens when you come from a conservative raising: you get intimacy issues. He of all people— with his Victorian era background— would know. 

The hand Harry has cupping the nape of her neck shifts over a smidge, ending up splayed across the side of her face. His palm rests on her cheekbone and his fingers in her locks, his wrist cradling the back of her skull as he patiently deepens the kiss. His chest begins to heave slightly, a familiar sensation already frothing at the trench of his stomach. Harry can feel Y/N’s clumsy movements as she unboxes the vibrators, digging through the packaging and trying to slip them on blindly, not wanting to break away from his embrace. The way he’s flirting his tongue along the inside of her top lip is just too consuming to leave. 

After a few seconds of grappling and a string of annoyed curse words, Harry giggles lightly into her mouth, nudging the tip of his nose across the bridge of hers. The jade tint in his irises is waltzing with amusement, all at her expense. “Sometime today, love.” 

“I know, I’m sorry, I just— I can’t— they won’t—” The mortal releases an irritated growl into their kiss, reluctantly splitting away when it becomes clear she won’t be able to get the rubber gloves on without giving the task her full attention. “God, I’m such a...Sorry.” 

Harry rolls his eyes in mirth, pecking sweetly along the angry creases present over her forehead and between her brows. He thumbs over her cheek affectionately to soothe her nerves, his other hand scratching distractedly at the back of his neck. He filters curls through his fingers as he waits, bicep jolting in the process. “It’s fine, I’m just teasing. I’m not going anywhere, babe.”

“Thanks. Just give me—” The girl pauses her actions for a second, jutting her chin back up towards him and locking the vampire into another quick kiss, solely for the purpose of keeping him interested while she figures herself out. She breaks away again, returning to her mission. “Just give me a minute.” 

Now that she can see, Y/N successfully wriggles all five of her fingers into their designated molds. She prods at them gingerly, copying Harry’s actions from the night prior, using that experience as a manual. The mini-vibrators purr to life, a buzzing sensation trickling down her fingers. She glances back up at an awaiting Harry, who gives her such an easy, good-natured smile, she instantly reaches up and glues their mouths together again. 

“You’re so eager.” The boy grins into the kiss, jumping a bit when he feels her tittering fingers duck beneath the covers around his lower torso. “It’s hot.” 

“I just want to make you feel good.” Y/N mumbles, one palm braced to his strong shoulder as the other rides down his bare abdomen. She can feel his grip on her hair tightening the closer she gets to his cock. “That’s all.” 

“Guess I’m just the luckiest— shit.” Harry’s quip is interrupted when Y/N wraps her digits around his length, giving it one slow, testing pump. His jaw drops open and he begins panting into her mouth, the corners of his lips ticking upwards into a smirk as an intense pleasure swells between his thick thighs. “Jesus fucking Christ, that feels— fuck, that’s incredible, oh my God.”

“Yeah?” The human asks timidly, gazing up at him dreamily from below her lashes as his eyes lull back into his head. “Not too much?” 

Harry loves how attentive she is— how she’s checking to make sure he’s alright before continuing. If he had a heart, it would surely be glowing right now. 

Harry gulps down the lump in his throat, voice more strained and needy than she’s ever heard it. “No, I’m good, I’m good. Keep going.” 

Y/N gradually sinks her palm back down to his base, feeling his cock twitch desperately as the vibrators work their magic. She slowly slinks back up to his tip, thumbing over it carefully, pressing the toy on her thumb pad right over his slit. The garbled moan that emits from Harry is a sound her ears will never forget. It’s a sound she wishes she could record and listen to on a loop. 

“Fucking hell, don’t— please, just— oh—” Harry stutters through a plead, voice bleeding, naked chest now heaving wildly against her own. His hips buck forward into her hand, but she maintains a steady grip, keeping the vibrator pressed to the center of his cock’s head. 

“Don’t what?” She whispers into his mouth, suckling at his Cupid’s bow and reveling in the little broken noises he pours onto her tongue. 

Harry’s breaths are shallow and pained, the grip on her hair stronger than she thought possible as the fingers of his opposite hand yank at his own feverishly. He’s barely able to choke out his next sentence. “Don’t stop.”

“I won’t.” Y/N begins to fish for a solid rhythm, her strokes setting into medium pace and gauging the receiver's reaction. “How’s that?” 

Bright colors web across Harry’s eyelids and he feels like his soul is being torn from his body. “Y-Yeah, that’s perfect, baby. It’s so good— you’re so good.” 

“I am?” Y/N swipes her thumb over his tip again, and when he whimpers brokenly against her lips, she does it again. It urges the same exact reaction, but more shattered. So she does it again. And again, and again, and again. And each time it happens, his hips jerk more violently, chasing her intoxicating touch. She can feel Harry’s precum drip down his length and leak between the cracks of her fingers. 

“You are, you’re just so fucking good to me.” Harry’s spewing words at this point, brain half conscious, half floating in bliss. Whatever dam of common sense holds his mind together crumbles, all of his thoughts rushing out in the form of jumbled phrases and cracked whines. “You get me going like nothing else, pet. You get me going so easily, it’s embarrassing. You make me cum so hard, it feels like I’m touching h-heaven. And your mouth— God, y-your mouth. It’s the best I’ve ever had. It’s so soft and warm, and your lips are so pretty and silky. I could kiss you for hours. And your tongue— you know how to use it so well. You lick me once and I’m already on edge. And every time you get down on your knees, I think I’m gonna pass out.”

Y/N sighs shakily at Harry’s string of confessions, staring up at him with wide eyes as his own stay shut loosely, long lashes perched on his rosy cheekbones, handsome features slack with euphoria. She doesn’t halt her motions, continuing to pump him excitedly. The girl passes her thumb over his tip every time she gets to the top, and gives a hard squeeze every time she thunks down against his base, twisting her wrist as she glides back and forth between the two points of reference. That combination seems to work well, evident in the steady stream of vulgarities falling from Harry’s swollen lips as he thrusts upwards to match her pace. His groans splash across her tongue, traveling down her throat and burning into her stomach. She wants him to cum probably more than he does.

Y/N glimpses down, watching her sheets tent as she works Harry over, the outline of her knuckles pressing into the turquoise fabric. It’s such an erotic scene and she knows it’ll be branded across the front of her brain for years to come. She cranes her neck back up to look at the vampire, her breath catching in her lungs. He looks so pretty with his dark pink lips parted in pleasure, his damp ringlets matting along his sweaty hairline, his structured jaw ticking, and his usually sharp traits softened by ecstasy. She’ll do anything to make that image last.  

“Tell me more.” Y/N murmurs, swimming in the praise he is so willing to dish out. 

His eyes flicker for a heartbeat and in that instance, they look oddly darker than normal. Almost crimson, but she knows it’s due to the shadow of his lashes. The words that spill from his mouth next make her forget all about that occurrence, his voice melodic and dark, sticky against her wet lips. 

“Your hands are one of my favorite things about you, I think. They’re smaller than mine and I love how your fingers don’t touch when you wrap them around my cock. I love how they leave my back raw with scratches, and I love how they look tied to the bedpost. I love it when they press flat against my chest when you ride me, and how you lean back on them when I’m on my knees with my head between your thighs. I love how they yank at my hair when you’re about to cum, and how they grip my upper arms when we make-out. I love how your nails dig into my thighs when you're going down on me, and how they look fisting at the sheets when I’m taking you from behind. And I love how they feel tugging me off, like you’re doing now. I just love how perfect they are— how perfect you are.” 

Y/N is left speechless, Harry’s monologue ringing in her heated ears as he gazes at her intensely amidst heavy, barely-cracked eyelashes. His broad chest gasps for air and he takes it upon himself— despite his wrecked appearance— to smush their mouths deeper together, pooling moans across the roof of her own.  

“I’m—” His breathing throttles, voice coming out softer than she’s heard it in the last three weeks. “I’m gonna cum.”

Y/N nods her head numbly, strokes becoming lazy and fast, eager for him to finish. “I want you to. I want you to cum for me so bad. Please?” 

Harry’s hips writhe in a tell-tale sign that he’s about to tip. His whimper tastes sweet on her tongue, the meaning behind it pure syrup to her ego. “You’re the only one who makes me feel this good.”

The mortal whines gently in return, eyes falling shut as she feels him grow heavier in her palm. “You’re the only one I want to make feel this good.” 

The knot of white hot pleasure in his belly begins to unravel, his entire spine shuddering as a result, all strain beginning to wash out of his system in spurts if blissful electricity. He can feel his orgasm racing up his prick, pulling his composure along with it. He gives one last jerk against Y/N’s cupped fingers, feeling her press her vibrating thumb over his slit one more time for good measure. When the first milky ribbon spurts out, that’s when he feels it. 

Harry’s eyelids fly open in alarm as black veins protrude along the whites of his eyes, all his muscles contracting at once, defense mode activated. Y/N’s lips are on his neck. 

His first instinct is to do what he always does and guide her away from that sensitive, highly forbidden area. His fist tightens in her hair and he’s about to yank her back up to his mouth when suddenly, the icy tension present in his veins disappears. It’s replaced by a soothing warmth, which travels through every crevice in his body and kindles his climax, his impulsive hatred for being touched in that specific region funneling away completely. He can’t remember a time where this has happened before. 

Harry’s grip loosens hesitantly as he treads into this unexplored territory, allowing her to continue suckling along his throat. The sensation would usually garner a reaction similar to that of a molten metal brand being placed on his skin, but now— for some startling reason— he doesn’t feel any contempt. He just feels relaxed and cradled in the best way imaginable. The impact is pleasant this time around, and he finds himself wanting more of it. So, he lets her give him more. He lets this strange girl kiss and gasp and lick against his jugular while she finishes getting him off, his own desperate sounds of need bouncing around the brick walls of her bedroom. He lets her coax wave after wave of cum out of him, feeling it splatter against her bedspread and coat over her hand. He whines and grunts into the hair along the crown of her head, tears blearing his eyes as her scent of sugar and flowers clouds his mind. And when his release finally sputters to an end, he lets out an elongated groan so deep, it makes his chest ache.

“Fuck. You’re...You’re an absolute angel.”

Y/N draws her hand out from beneath the bed sheets, turning off the vibrating finger pads by pressing them against her palm. She looks down at the milky substance covering the toys and before Harry can make even a sound of encouragement, she’s already licking it off each individual piece. The girl looks up at the vampire as she cleans every trace of him off her fingers, swallowing it all down with a doe-like tint across her hazy gaze and murmuring a soft, “You taste good.” over a full mouth. Harry just watches silently, heavy breathing slowly starting to even out. God, she really is such a fucking godsend.

The next couple of minutes list by in a blur, all of his focus taken up by the feeling of unsettlement pricking at the back of his brain. Why had he let her touch him there? Why had he let her touch him in a place no one has since before his death?

Y/N puts the toys back in their box, putting them off to the side to thoroughly clean later. She reaches down, bunching up her bedspread in her hand and wiping Harry’s pelvis, thighs, and tummy down until he’s decently clean, as well as whatever is left on her hand. She then snuggles up to his side once again, laying her head into the crook between his arm and pectoral muscles, staring up at the ceiling thoughtfully along with him. The irritating red tint across Harry’s chest, stomach, and neck gradually fades away, and he barely flinches when he feels her sponge her lips against his Adam’s Apple. She lulls the tip of her middle finger up along the vein of his cock one more time for finality, smiling slyly when he hisses in sensitivity.

The immortal tilts his head down to appraise her, sniffling lightly and allowing a weak, watery smile across his raw lips. His tone is feathery and detached. “That was…Christ.”

Y/N giggles softly, nodding along to his unspoken opinion. “It was fun. Really fun. We should do it again sometime.” 

Harry splutters into a drunken laugh, mind still floating around the room. “I don’t think I could survive that again.”

Y/N grins up at him cheekily. “Pussy.” 

Her friend breaks into an expression of utter offense, cheeks still slightly rosy. He shoves her head roughly as vengeance. “Hey! Piss off. Don’t blame it on me, blame it on the male anatomy.” 

The girl shakes her head up at him, eyebrows shrugging mockingly. “Excuses, excuses.” 

“Whatever.” 

A moment passes, and then Y/N speaks up again, her index finger poking playfully into the center of his bare chest, right over the butterfly tattoo. “Also, you’re washing my sheets. Your mess, you clean it up.”

Harry grins against her forehead, scratching lightly at the back of her scalp. “Fair enough…Wait, is that why you wanted to do this? ‘Cause you knew I’d soil your sheets and you could force me to do your laundry?”

That hadn’t been her motive at all, and Harry knows that, but she plays along anyways for the hell of the joke. “Perhaps.” 

“Wow. I feel used.” 

“Too bad. Go do it. Now. Before it stains.”

Harry stares at her like she’s sprouted a second head. “I literally can’t walk right now! I can’t feel anything below my waist.”

Y/N lifts the comforter off her body, symbolically showing off the bruises his fingertips and rings had left the night before. “Well, neither can I!” 

Harry reaches down and touches the marks, chuckling to himself. “How unfortunate. Who’s gonna make breakfast, then, if neither of us can even stand?”

“We could UberEats some iHop.” 

“Who’s gonna get the door?”

“Well, I can’t solve everything on my own, now can I?!” Y/N slaps his hand away from her body. “Contribute! You’re the lead detective, after all.” 

“I am, aren’t I?” Harry cocks his head to the side in recollection, remembering his role in their imaginary dynamic duo scenario. “And because I’m the lead, I say…” He ropes his lean arms around the human and buries his face into her warm neck, pulling her close and intertwining their legs together, trapping her to the mattress along with him. “I say we just bum around for a bit longer. Just until one of us can actually muster up the strength to leave the bed.” 

Y/N makes an exasperated noise in the back of her throat, but makes no apparent attempt to leave his embrace. “Fine.” 

“Mystery solved, then! Elementary, my dear Watson.”

“You’re so dumb.” 

The pair stay cuddled for a bit, with Y/N’s hands loosely gripping Harry’s forearms, tracing across his mermaid tattoo absently. She wanders in her thoughts for a period of time, lost in the sensation of Harry’s warm breath fanning down her neck, his hot lips pressing small kisses behind her ear every once in a while. She likes their morning after routine; it’s innocent and fun and sharing moments like this makes it easy to forget her troubles. She wants more of this, and she finds herself trying to come up with ways to convince Harry to spend the night more often. This is only the fourth time he’s stayed until morning and she wants that number to grow. 

An idea dawns on her and she’s voicing it before her inhibitions can kill it off.

“Do you...Do you maybe wanna stay over the rest of the weekend?”

Harry draws his face from the alcove of her soft neck, eyebrows poised in curiosity. “The rest of the weekend?”

“Yeah!” Y/N shifts her gaze up to look at him, hope swirling around her pupils. “Like, spend the rest of today and tomorrow over, and then leave tomorrow night ‘cause I have work on Monday. Does that, like...Does that make sense?” 

“Yeah.” Harry says slowly, mulling over her offer, thinking back to his schedule. He doesn’t think he has any commitments this weekend that would require him being home— none he can’t cancel easily, anyways. He’d told Mitch he’d go see him play again at the pub later today, but it’s the same set as last time, so he doesn’t think his best friend would mind if he missed it just this once. Niall was planning a barbecue at his place on Sunday, but the Irish bloke does one almost every other week so it’s nothing Harry can’t make up. Plus, what type of idiot would pass up two day’s worth of amazing sex? The more, the merrier.

Y/N watches the vampire’s expression carefully, trying to interpret whether her request was out of their boundaries. She doesn’t want to make him feel like she’s trying to tie him down or suffocate him, she just wants to spend a bit more time in his presence, rather than through a phone screen. Her tone comes out dismissive, with just the tiniest hint of panic. “It’s okay if you can’t, though. Like, if you have other plans and stuff, I totally get it. Or if you just don’t want to, that’s fine, too! I just thought it’d be a fun little thing we can do since we already talk so much on the phone and everything, so I guess I just kinda figured you wouldn’t mind—”

“I get it, Y/N.” Harry interrupts Y/N’s unhinged word vomit, voice amused and nonchalant. “I think I’d like that, yeah.”

Y/N blinks in giddy surprise. “Really?” 

“Well, don’t sound so shocked.” Harry laughs lightly, fingers toying with the pearls laying across his clavicle. “The sex is pretty fucking good and I’m more than happy to have it at my disposal.” 

“Right.” Y/N gives him a deadpan look, shaking her head at his bluntness, reaching forward to fiddle with the chain of his cross necklace for the sake of having something to distract her from smiling like a fool. “Great, then. I have some old boxers that I know will probably fit you and an unopened pack of toothbrushes under the sink, so I think you’re set.” 

Harry’s lips purse at the mention of the men’s underwear, brows creasing a tad. “You just casually have men’s boxers laying around?” 

“They were my ex’s and I kept them out of spite. But don’t tell anyone, I don’t wanna get locked up for robbery.” 

The tightness in his chest— which he hadn’t even realized had formed— melts away. “My lips are sealed.”

“Good, or else I’d have to kill you.” The girl states darkly, a theatrical seriousness to her appearance. 

“Oh no.” Harry wails sarcastically, knotting a fist into her oversized tee and pulling her closer, connecting their lips and grinning into the kiss. “I’m shaking in fear.” 

Y/N gives in without much of a fight, hands still clinging to his forearms, a smile of her own creeping across her cheeks. “Asshole.”

“The only thing I’m relatively afraid of is my dick falling off. You have the sexual drive of a rabbit.” 

“Oh, like you’re any better?” 

“I’m innocent in all this! You’re usually the one instigating. I’m just a mere pawn— a poor, unsuspecting nun led astray.”

“God, I can’t believe I let you fuck me.” 

///

The following weekend, Harry officially invites Y/N over to his house. 

It had been talked about in passing a while back, and he figures it's only fair considering all the time they’ve ever spent together has been solely at her place. Plus, he could tell she was curious to see what his living situation is like, which is valid. You can tell a lot about people through their home, and when you’re sleeping with someone on the regular, you want to learn as much about them as possible. It’s important to know who you’re getting into bed with. Literally. 

Harry’s proud of his condo. He keeps it clean, he keeps it organized, and he keeps it styled in a manner that combines his Victorian gothic roots with modern day aesthetics. The floorboards of the apartment are made of waxed light-wash wood, most of the expanse of his living room covered in a furry dark grey rug. The lightness of the ground is contrasted by the matte mahogany walls, of which the largest is covered in Harry’s collection of first edition artwork. He had picked out every single piece himself throughout the span of the last two centuries, ranging from modern digital technique canvases to nineteenth century oil paintings, all arranged in neat alternating rows from oldest to newest. He can’t help that he’s such a stickler; his mom had raised him so. 

Though his art wall is his pride and joy, the glass wall that overlooks the city skyline comes in at a close second. Harry loves the city, despite the fact that he was born in a seemingly irrelevant town whose only redeeming quality was the bustling public market. Urban regions are just full of so much life, excitement, and potential, which are all concepts he never really got to explore before he transitioned. Cities represent everything he wanted as a young man, when he thought he had prosperous years ahead of him and an entire life left to build; they represent diversity, unique experiences, and endless possibilities. When that was stripped from him, he began to bounce around different countries and cities all over the world, seeking a place that would fill the hole his dreams had left behind. Los Angeles fit that space like a puzzle piece. 

That glorified window just means more to him than anyone could possibly know. Sometimes at night, he’ll just stand by it with his arms relaxed across his chest, watching the city gleam and glitter as individuals from all different backgrounds go about their business, blissfully ignorant to the beautiful concept that they all contribute to something much bigger— a concept that only centuries of wisdom could reveal. When he’s not wracked with jealousy and spite, looking out that window and witnessing the world change and evolve is therapeutic, in a way. It allows Harry to live vicariously through others who get to have what he never did. 

Aside from his art collection and the glass wall, the chandeliers that hang from his cavernous ceiling are third on his list of treasured possessions. They’re special and no one on this earth owns anything like them; Harry made sure of that. They were created by a Swedish interior designer Harry commissioned about ten years ago, so they are custom-made in every aspect of the term. They took months to construct and finalize, which is hardly difficult to believe, given their grandeur. Each chandelier is made of two extensive layers of delicate golden chains, all arranged around a wire center, connected by light bulbs at each peak. It gives his home a chic, avant-garde atmosphere that mirrors his personality down to the last chain link. 

The rest of his flat is tailored to compliment these three major determining factors. The wood paneling all around his apartment is carved with intricate, loopy designs, his two rounded coffee tables are made of the same marble that resides across his kitchen counters, and his kitchen sits directly under the second story ledge with elongated fluorescent poles embedded into the room’s ceiling, eloquently highlighting the creme walls and polished detailings of all his appliances. His sectional couches are made of an off-brown leather, covered in large rectangular couch cushions with a checkered print embroidered across the pillow cases, and weighted fleece blankets litter some areas of the elegant sofas. A wide staircase leads up to the second floor, made of grey glass steps and metal railings. 

The top story of his condo is less Victorian era, more modern composition. The ground is dark maroon carpeting, and the ledge leads to one singular corridor that splits into two seperate rooms at either ends. One is the master bedroom, and the other is an accompanying bedroom which he uses for storage. His room isn’t anything extravagant, per se. It’s big, but his decor is minimalistic, covered in all different muted shades of blacks and greys, from the comforter on his king-sized bed to the tall dresser. A fifty inch flat-screen is mounted on the wall, but he hardly uses it since the one in his living room is larger; it’s only really there as an ornament. Starburst lights hang from his ceiling— smaller, downplayed versions of his chandeliers— and his walk-in closet stands parallel to the entrance of his bathroom. 

The humongous bathroom was meant for two people, pretty obvious in the double-sink set up, but he doesn’t dwell on it much. He isn’t one for dating, and he’s just happy to have that luxury because it comes in handy the morning after one night stands. He has a jacuzzi-like bathtub, lined with water jets and all, and a big walk-in shower with a large overhead panel instead of a regular showerhead. The whole room is made of dark marble and porcelain, and he couldn’t possibly adore it more. Some of his best experiences had happened in this room, explicit and otherwise. 

In the end, Harry has every right to be arrogantly proud of his apartment. It had taken him months to decorate, years to fill with fond memories, and an immortal lifetime to find. He loves it with every trace of his soul, even when others disagree. Namely, Niall, who had mocked his sophisticated relics and old-timey architecture from the first time he’d set foot past the threshold; “You went the dark gothic route? Really? Way to feed into the stereotype, Dracula.” 

But no matter what anyone says, this is who he is, and he couldn’t be happier. After decades of migrating and aimlessly searching the globe, he’d finally found a place he could call home, and absolutely no one could take that from him. Especially not some Irish moron who doesn’t even know the definition of “foyer.”

How Harry manages to afford his flat is a whole other intriguing tale.

It had come up in a pillow talk conversation with Y/N once, and he had told her the story he feeds to any human who asks. He’s a regional manager for an offshore company and it’s mainly a lot of online work. Handling duties through business emails, videochat meetings, job portals, and things of the such. It paints a valid image as to why he’s home all the time. He also claims to be the company’s lone contact stationed in California, so he handles all of the responsibilities that would normally be bestowed upon three or four people. This paints a valid explanation as to how his imaginary position would tether such a high pay grade, which justifies his luxurious living arrangement.

That story is part of the truth. Harry does indeed have ties with corporate businesses. That is, ties to their CEOs’ pockets. It’s surprisingly easy to get past secretaries and security dressed in a nice suit and thousand dollar leather shoes, especially with the help of compulsion and Harry’s golden charisma. Thanks to those tools, he has managed to convince some of the biggest leaders in corporate California to quietly deposit generous sums of money into his bank account once a month. And with his persuasive supernatural abilities, he convinces them to write it off as regularly scheduled charity donations in their minds. That’s how he makes a living for himself— by scamming the rich. Xander likes to take the piss and call him a sugar baby, but Harry sees himself as more of a modern day Robin Hood, instead. 

Mitch says his charade is unlawful, but considering how corrupt the business world already is, the vampire feels next to no guilt. The one percent have always taken advantage of those poorer than them— that was obvious even back in Harry’s time— and he doesn’t see anything wrong with taking advantage of them right back, now that he has the means to. How’s that saying go? “Fuck the bourgeoisie” and all that. 

Everything taken into consideration, Harry’s pretty excited to show Y/N his condo. Watching people’s faces break into awe the second he turns the lights on always gives him such a deep surge of satisfaction. It makes all the hassle worth it.  

The immortal is currently sitting in his vintage car, flicking through his Spotify playlist to find something to entertain him while he waits for Y/N to finish her shift. He had offered to pick her up, knowing that it’s what any courteous host would do, and she had appreciatively accepted, telling him she’d be out by eight P.M. It’s seven fifty-three now and Harry had arrived around seven fifty, taking the slot right in front of the cafe’s entrance so she can spot him as soon as she walks out. These ten minutes are the longest he’s ever had to endure, which says a lot considering he’s endured tons of patience-testing moments in his two hundred years.

Harry swipes his thumb down the glass screen of his phone, sampling songs left and right to see what will stick. After listening to the first few chords of an array of forties dance music, seventies rock and roll, and twenty-first century bubblegum pop, he settles for Rodeo by Lil Nas X. Harry has a very intricate taste in music— it’s one of the traits he’s most proud of— and Mitch often tells him he’s too snotty when it comes to his preferences. He’ll admit it freely that, yes, he can be a piece of work musically, but just because he thinks the industry peaked in the seventies doesn’t mean he hates modern music. He likes most of it, including rap, and Lil Nas X happens to be one of his favorites, much to everyone’s surprise. Most of the artist’s songs are eccentric not only lyrically but also instrumentally, to the point where it’s almost comical— who names a song Panini, of all things?— but the music is catchy and Harry can let loose to it easily. 

The vampire also happened to meet the musician, on one occasion. He ran into him at a club and after a few drinks and some banter, somehow ended up getting invited over to a party at the celebrity’s Malibu mansion. That night is a blur, definitely due to the copious amounts of alcohol and psychedelics, but Harry remembers they had fun and that the guy was worth a listen. In fact, he was the genius that came up with the theme for the rapper’s Rodeo music video. 

A light knocking on the passenger’s seat window brings him out of his memories. Y/N stands outside, hugging her arms loosely over her tummy, decked in her usual work uniform of a navy polo and black skinny jeans. When the two lock eye contact, she gives him a soft wave and a tired smile. Harry lifts two fingers in greeting, returning her polite gesture and swiftly lowering the window. He leans forward across the center console, his grin taking on a playful hue, voice carrying the same effect. 

“Uber for Y/N?” 

The girl snorts and rolls her eyes, but plays along, reaching forward and jiggling the handle of his black Cadillac symbolically. “That’s me, yes. Open up.” 

“Eh, eh, eh.” Harry tuts, wagging a finger in her direction and then making a motion that tells her to back away. “I’m gonna have to see some ID. It’s one of our new safe driver policies. Gotta make sure you are who you say you are, miss.” 

Y/N’s expression drops flatly, eyes half-lidded as he smiles up at her brightly, batting his eyelashes innocently. “Open the door before you end up sucking your own dick tonight.” 

Harry’s shit-eating face falls so fast, it causes her to burst into laughter. A soft click vibrates through the handle below her fingers. “I’ll waive the background check. Just this once.”  

“Yeah, I figured as much.” Y/N taunts, yanking the door open and ducking into the shotgun seat, gently tugging it closed behind her. 

Once the human is situated in her spot, she releases a lengthy sigh, sinking down against the cushions as she grabs her seat belt and clicks it into place. 

Harry puts his cell phone down into the cubby hole below the stereo set, setting the car in reverse and slinging an arm behind her headrest to get a better view as he backs out of the parking space. His gaze momentarily flickers to her slumped form as the car retreats slowly, tone curious. “Long day?”

Y/N glimpses over, giving him a quick once-over and taking in his olive green Nike jumper, ripped denim boyfriend jeans, and pastel yellow Vans. He looks so boyishly cute, which is ironic given the premise of tonight’s rendezvous. The shoes (which he had worn the night they’d met all those weeks ago) and the position he’s in (perched above her with his sharp jaw and neck flexing as he cranes his torso to look for oncoming traffic) flashes her back to the first time she had been in his car. They had been way less acquainted, she had been much less relaxed, much more nervous, but the encounter very much carried the same exact intentions. That recollection makes her lips quirk a bit. The pair had grown so comfortable with each other since then, that Friday evening feels like it happened decades ago. 

“Yeah.” Y/N murmurs softly, gladly indulging a deep inhale of the vanilla and tobacco scent she had become familiar with, allowing it to soothe her nerves and wash away the stress of a hard day. “I’m just happy it’s over and that the weekend’s finally started. Wanna forget all about it.” 

“Well, that’s what I’m here for, love!” Harry plops back into his seat, shifting his car into drive and gifting her his famous brilliant smile, dimples winking to life as he taps his ringed fingers across his steering wheel humorously. “I’ve made you forget your name plenty of times before; I’m pretty sure I can erase one shitty work shift just fine.”

Y/N scoffs at his pompous claim, reaching up and prying the hair tie out of her locks, looping it over her wrist and shushing her stiff roots. She tucks strands behind her ears, the corners of her mouth twitching in endearment at the giddiness of his aura. “Just drive, Sherlock.” 

The mortal isn’t surprised to find that building in which the vampire lives is one of the tallest in the city, and that it’s basically smack in the center, as well. One look at Harry and anybody could immediately tell he thrives off being the center of attention, so of course his home is a direct reflection of that. Refined boy, refined personality, refined environment. It’s practically a law of science. 

Once Harry’s car is parked and the ignition rumbles to a smooth stop, Y/N unbuckles her seat belt and goes to unlock the passenger’s side door. Right as her hand is wrapping around the handle bar, the door swings open of its own accord and she just barely manages to stifle a blood-curdling scream full of shocked fear. When her eyes focus, Harry is standing there holding the door open for her, features painted with cocky amusement. 

“How did you—?” The girl whips around to look at the empty driver’s seat, eyebrows cinching in bewilderment as she turns back to face him. “How did you get around so fast?” 

Harry shrugs his shoulders offhandedly, reaching one bejeweled hand down to aid her out of the vehicle. “I did track when I was younger. Made me a fast walker.” 

Y/N hesitantly takes it, body language still slightly tense from the jump scare. With his help, she gradually climbs out, the door shutting behind her as she sweeps her sight around the parking garage in wonder. This is the first time Harry has ever invited her anywhere, let alone to where he spends most of his life. She doesn’t want to miss a thing. Even the simplest aspect can tell you a lot about a person. 

Y/N jerks a tad when she feels her friend’s cold fingers slipping down her palm, sifting between her own. She glances down at their intertwined hands for a second, a warm glow bursting through her chest. She’s always admired how his are so much bigger. 

Harry tugs her forward toward the elevator at the other end of the parking lot, bottom lip caught between his teeth in a sly smirk. “C’mon, Watson. Let me show you around.” 

Y/N stumbles after him, allowing the boy to guide her to where she needs to go as he weeds through cars effortlessly. She suddenly chimes up from behind, asking a random question to fill the leftover silence their footsteps spare. “That car next to yours had such a weird license plate. What the fuck does ‘craic’ mean?” 

Harry chuckles knowingly, perfectly aware of whose car she is referring to. “It’s this odd thing Irish people say. Utter rubbish, honestly.” 

A comfortable quietness fills the air of the elegant elevator as it shoots up towards the twenty-fourth floor of the skyscraper, the only other sound being the gentle lullaby of a nameless tune wafting through the speakers above their heads. Harry finds himself studying Y/N as she looks out at the city through the glass walls, the lights of the exterior buildings casting a beautiful buttery gleam across her relaxed characteristics, along with a radiant glint over the surface of her glossy eyes. Despite the slightly smeared mascara staining her waterline and the inherent frizziness her hair carries after being pulled into a tight ponytail all day, Harry finds that she looks nice. Pretty, even. 

The girl senses him staring, craning her head to return his gaze, the edges of her lips lilting upwards lightheartedly. He returns the gesture, peeling away to focus on something— anything— else. He deems the control panel a worthy replacement.

As the numbers on the dial drag by, Harry finds himself absentmindedly thumbing over Y/N’s knuckles. She doesn’t seem to notice or mind, so he continues doing it, massaging the crest of each bump and pressing down gently along the troughs. He enjoys the sensation of her silky warm skin heating his icy own, and he ponders whether she likes how cold his touch is, or if she hates it as much as he does. He expels that notion from his mind; he refuses to let such a stupid concept upset him. He just keeps caressing her hand, restraining his mind from ambling too far into its meaning. It’s just to pass the time. 

He keeps the movements going until their ride skates to a joltless halt with a sharp ding! and then he steps out, having to give his full attention to leading her down the long corridor to his flat. Y/N is so caught up in drinking up her surroundings, she almost bumps into the creature when he comes to an abrupt stop in front of the entrance of what she can only deduce is his home. Harry drops her hand, much to her disappointment, fishing into his back pocket for his keys. He patiently filters through his keychain, picking out the right one and working it into the lock, a soft click emitting from the mechanism. 

Harry pushes the door open with his palm, standing off to the side just outside the threshold and tilting his head towards it, posture bowing slightly. “Ladies first.” 

Y/N thanks him quietly, taking a cautious step forward into his hallway. She can’t help the way her heart skips a beat at his gentlemanly tendencies; she rarely meets anyone as respectful as Harry seems to be and she finds his old-timey attributes to be refreshing. Helping her out the car, taking her hand to guide her through the parking lot, rubbing at her knuckles innocently, holding the door open for her— it’s all such an archaic form of chivalry she wishes she’d see more often these days. She doesn’t know if it’s a British thing, if he had just been raised like that, or if he simply does it to get laid, but she’s thankful for it either way. 

With one last glance at her friend over her shoulder, she begins wandering down the dark narrow path unsurely. The sound of the door slinking shut behind her and Harry’s footsteps ease her. 

She stops once she senses the corridor open up into a larger space, which she guesses is his living room. A soft gasp escapes her at the sight before her. The whole area is washed in darkness, the only source of light stemming from the large glass pane that stretches from the floor of the apartment to its tall ceiling. Dozens of buildings and cars glimmer below, the breath-taking image of the lively city looking almost like a snapshot from a professional movie. It’s absolutely gorgeous and she feels like she could stare at it for eons. 

A chilly hand suddenly presses along the dip of her spine, ushering her forward an inch or two, Harry’s invisible voice and warm breath hitting the shell of her left ear. “S’cuse me, dove.”   

The boy reaches behind her for the light switch and the condo bursts into radiance with one simple flick of his wrist. 

“Oh...my God.”

Harry’s home is something straight out of a luxury catalogue. The light floorboards and the mahogany panels. The massive leather couches and hand-sewn cushions. The extravagant chandeliers and glass staircase. The marble kitchen and generously packed liquor shelves. The ginormous wall of priceless artwork, littered with pieces from all different eras of history. It feels like stepping into a decor wonderland.

“Not too bad, huh?” Harry pipes up playfully, anchoring her back into reality from the floaty stupor that had consumed her mind. 

“Not too—? Are you kidding?” Y/N sputters incredulously, whizzing her head to the side sharply. “You were keeping an entire Four Seasons royal suite from me?!”

Harry belts out a bundle of childish giggles, the edges of his eyes crinkling and the tip of his button nose twitching. “I never thought of it much, to be honest. I’d grown to like your place.” 

“Right. Because a creaky mattress and a kitchen the size of a broom closet is so much more satisfying than chandeliers and a fucking glass wall.”

The vampire glimpses around his flat indicatively. “Okay, I see your point.”

“Exactly.” 

Y/N drifts forward, running the tips of her fingers across the backrest of the aged leather sofa and along the corners of the throw pillow, doing a slow circle at the middle of his home, taking everything in a second time around to make sure it isn’t a mirage. “Fuck, this is incredible. Is your boss looking for any more regional managers, by any chance?”

Harry follows after her, tucking his hands into the back pockets of his boyfriend jeans, chewing along the inside of his cheek to suppress a proud smile— a result of her explosive reaction. “I’m afraid my position is the one and only, sorry.”

Y/N droops her shoulders in exaggerated contempt, presenting a shitty English accent to tease him. “Bollocks.”

It garners the designated feedback, her tummy somersaulting at Harry’s exorbitant laughter. 

The boy comes to stand before her, cocking his head to the side questioningly towards his kitchen. “Can I offer you a drink?”

Y/N glimpses over at his bar area, eyes dancing over his extensive array of fancy bottles. “Oh, please do.”

Despite only having known Y/N for a few weeks, Harry has gotten quite acquainted with her tastes, even outside of sexual matters. She doesn't like the taste of alcohol, but she likes its effects. And he likes them, too, if he’s being honest. Her blood always begins to smell more appetizing after just a few sips and the way her cheeks heat up so easily when she’s buzzed always makes his breathing trip. 

He works his extensive skills, pulling from his liquor cabinet and mixing flavored liquids and syrups until he comes up with something that he thinks the girl will enjoy. It’s fruity, with hints of peach, lime, and strawberry, but also warm and fulfilling, with a rich whiskey and a few dashes of bitters. He plunks in a couple of ice cubes and mixes it together with a bar spoon, tapping it against the rim with finality and swiping it over his tongue in a quick taste test. He’s pretty happy with his concoction. 

Harry glances up to where Y/N is leaning against the armrest of his couch, her legs crossed before her as she stares at one of the abstract paintings mounted on his wall. It’s an original, as are the rest of them, which he had purchased some odd seventy years ago from a barely known artist whose talent had gone to waste in the world. It’s a deconstructed sunflower, with the color palette inverted and the strokes of the brush uneven and jagged. Odd and complicated, but beautiful, nonetheless. Its complexity is what makes it significant. 

The vampire slowly wanders over from his kitchen, holding her drink in one hand and a cloth napkin in the other. He takes the spot beside her along the armrest, speaking wistfully as if recalling a fond memory. “It’s a flower.”

Y/N nods slowly in recognition, peeling her gaze away with the corners of her lips jilting. “Mmhm, a sunflower.”

Harry’s brows jump in shock. Barely anyone ever guesses the identity correctly. He’s found that as time passes and humanity becomes more reliant on technology rather than cognizant knowledge, society in general has reduced to a more pea-brained state than ever. As a result, the amount of people who can interpret and understand the meaning behind complex artwork has greatly diminished, unfortunately, so he’s pleasantly surprised to find that one of the few who still possesses that talent happens to be the girl he’s shagging. “Wow, that’s a first. It’s so unusual, no one ever really gets it.”

“I guess I just have an affinity for the unusual.” His guest quips, giving him a jesting shrug of her eyebrows and a suggestive grin. 

You have no idea.

“You underestimated me, Holmes.” 

“That I did. My sincerest apologies.” Harry returns her joking simper, proceeding to then dip an index finger inside the stout glass in his grasp, bringing it up before her face. “Taste.”

Without breaking eye contact, Y/N parts her lips and allows him to coax the wet digit in, the tangy flavor of the mixture making her taste buds tingle. She encloses her mouth around his finger, lulling her tongue along it slowly with a mischievous glint shining across her irises. 

Harry’s prominent jaw clenches as he watches the scene unfold, breath bated and a moan threatening to betray him. She truly wastes no time.

He gradually pulls his finger from her tongue, struggling to clear his throat, missing its texture already. “How is it? More syrup? More biters?”

Y/N gazes up at him drunkenly, though it’s definitely not from the liquor. Her lips quirk cheekily as a result of how visibly frazzled she’d gotten him. “It’s perfect. Better than anything I’ve had at a club, that’s for sure.” 

“Yeah?” Harry taps his opal ring against the bottom of the lowball glass, trying to reign in his previous composure. “Think I could be a bartender?” 

“You don’t hit me as the type of person who has the patience for it.” The girl remarks wittily, slinking her head to the side and biting back a giggle when Harry makes a face at her.

“You make a valid point, I suppose.” The vampire responds with an airy sigh, nodding in surrender. “The stupid blabbing from drunk morons and impending fear of being vomited on would be too much for me. I wouldn’t last a day.” 

“You wouldn’t last a single night, let alone a whole day.”

“Alright, pipe down!” Harry deadpans, bumping her shoulder with his vengefully. “You’re bruising my ego.”

“It’s humongous,” Y/N snorts, shoving him in return, “it can take a few hits.”

The pair sit there in silence for a suspended moment, just taking in the expanse of the art before them. Harry then turns his torso towards her once more, bringing the drink in his grip up to her mouth. “Here, have a proper sip. Put my all into it.” 

Y/N obliges, looking up at him with her signature doe-like air of trusting innocence, allowing him to tip the hem of the cup against her mouth. The cool beverage filters through her taste buds and down her throat, the sweet and sour mixture leaving an enjoyable tingle in its wake. A few streams of the liquid bead out of the corners of her lips and Harry impulsively gathers them with the side of his index finger, the napkin in his other hand completely forgotten. 

As he goes to pull back in order to clean up, Y/N leans forward and traps his digit between her lips like before. This time, there’s a more insistent sultry hint sparkling around her pupils. 

“Christ...” Harry pants, watching Y/N work her way down his forefinger with a silent groan hinging on his teeth. 

He doesn’t deny himself from indulging the dirty action this time around. Her mouth is as soft and warm as ever, sending chills racing down his spine despite the sweater hugging his body. His mind slips for a second, reminiscing in all the other ways he’s felt the inside of her mouth before, a faint red tinge splattering across his cheekbones. 

Y/N draws his finger out, kissing messily across its length and over the pad, looking up at him through tension-heavied lashes. She doesn't speak a word, but her intentions are clear in the electricity between them.

He can’t hold back any longer, his next comment coming out as a pained growl. “God, you’re such a filthy little thing.”  

She hums softly in the back of her throat at his explicit compliment, suckling at the center of her bottom lip needily. “I like being your filthy little thing.”

Harry swallows thickly in order to keep himself somewhat tame, fangs suddenly pricking his tongue in warning.

The mortal scoots closer to him, sifting her fingers between his around the drink and bringing it upwards, downing the last couple of inches in one go. She draws the cup from his grasp, reaching over to set it down carefully on the coffee table before turning back and snuggling deeper into his heaving chest. 

Harry scoffs in amusement, but he can feel a certain charring scratching at the back of his throat. “Drinks like that are meant to be savored, darling. You’re not supposed to just pound them.” 

Y/N stretches her neck upwards, taking his earlobe between her teeth, lips wet and cold from the alcohol. His lashes flutter when her warm breath hits his skin, contradicting the sensations from before. 

“Why don’t you let me worry about how I drink, and you can worry about a different kind of pounding.”

And that’s all it takes, really. That’s all it takes for Harry to completely drop any self-control he has left. 

The creature jars his face towards her, large hand shooting upwards to grip her jaw firmly, holding her in place as he crashes their mouths together. It’s all tongue and clacking teeth, desperate whines and stuttered gasps. Y/N’s hands fumble for something to tether to while Harry takes it upon himself to grasp at her opposite hip with his free hand, yanking her onto his lap. She buries her fists in the cotton fabric of his jumper, balancing her knees on either sides of his parted thighs. The boy’s fingers coast from her jaw down to her throat, tightening ever so slightly. The action is minimal, but it reveals that flare of dominance Y/N has become addicted to. 

“Do you want it here?” Harry rasps against her eager tongue, smirking into the kiss when he feels her start to rock along the bulge that is beginning to tent his denim pants. “Do you want me to bend you over the couch and fuck you, baby? With the chandelier making your skin glow? Where we can put on a show for the whole city to see?”

It’s a tempting offer and his words obviously have some form of impact, seen in the way Y/N’s grinding takes on a hungrier, deeper pace against his clothed cock. 

“I want…” Y/N finds it difficult to voice her desires, the responsible party being the manner in which Harry glues cracked mewls onto the roof of her mouth. “I want it in your bed.” 

She doesn’t know why, but she just wants him to take her some place where the moment they share is intimate, unseen by the prying eyes of others. She wants to christen his bed exactly how he had done hers; she craves that strange connection, for some reason. Y/N isn’t naive, she knows she’s not the only person Harry has had in his home and in his sheets. But she wants that experience, nonetheless, even if it doesn’t necessarily mean anything. She knows she’s not his only, but at least she’s one. 

Harry slowly breaks their kiss, brushing the tip of his nose across her own in a small comforting gesture. He blinks at her groggily, the copper specks in his eyes glitzing under the golden hue of the lighting. When he speaks, its soft and low, almost as if he doesn’t want to risk another soul overhearing. “Okay. Whatever you want, it’s yours.” 

Y/N almost doesn’t get anything she wants, given that she nearly kills herself on the trek up the stairs, courtesy of her weakened knees and wobbly ankles. Harry just barely manages to save her, but he finds the occurrence too hilarious to spare her the embarrassment. 

“Stop laughing, it’s not funny!” She exclaims indignantly as he helps her up the last few glass steps, clinging to him like a scared puppy, her hands still shaking with adrenaline. “I could have died!” 

Her shrieking only makes him laugh harder and he nearly keels over, palm clutching his stomach as if to keep it from popping. “I’m sorry, I really am, but it’s just— your face when you— and how you tripped sideways— I—”

Y/N shoves him hard towards the corridor where his bedroom lies, but it’s hard to maintain an angry demeanor when the young man’s giggles sound like bells and when he looks so cute with his curls flopping across his forehead. “Dickhead.” 

They’re almost at his bedroom door when Harry grabs onto her wrist, tugging her roughly so that she lurches forward into his chest. He plants a wet kiss onto the bridge of her nose, expression entertained. “Stop being such a bad sport. It was pretty funny.”

“Yeah, okay.” She huffs begrudgingly, glancing down impatiently at his plump lips as he walks backwards down the hallway with her in tow. “You can invalidate my rage once you have a near death experience yourself.”

The irony of it all. 

Harry kicks the door open, ghosting his mouth over Y/N’s and watching her sight do a quick sweep around the area. “Welcome to my lair.” 

The human likes his aesthetic. The room has different hues of the same color, so it all ties together nicely, and the hanging lights look like miniature versions of the two large ones downstairs. The bed is huge, which is a relief because for once, they won’t have to actively worry about accidentally rolling off the edge mid-fuck. “It’s nice. Very chic.” 

“Thanks.” Harry reaches up and cups either side of her neck with his palms, dragging his damp lips over her chin and down the center of her jugular, smiling against her skin when he feels her shiver. “It doesn't have a bookshelf wall like yours, but I make due.”

“Yeah.” Y/N wisps out weakly, leaning her head back as he speckles his mouth across that sensitive point on her throat he discovered ages ago. “I bet.”

She feels Harry’s touch travel down her torso, cold fingers suddenly smearing across her love handles beneath her work shirt. His grip tightens at the hem with the intention of pulling the polo off, breath hot as it washes over her collarbones. “Wanna find out just how good I make it work?”

Y/N’s arms instinctively raise on command, her reply shaky and fragile. “Yes, please.” 

Harry makes it work. He makes it work so fucking well. He doesn’t need crazy positions or any vibrating toys to make her feel good; he just knows her so thoroughly by now that he’s able to tend to every single one of her needs like it’s his sole purpose. The sex is missionary, with her splayed out across her back upon his mound of feathered pillows, her thighs clamped over his hips as he slams into her at a harsh, curt pace. Her calves are tied around the backs of his thighs, her nails are carving memories into the broad expanse of his shoulders, they’re both panting curse words and encouragement into each other’s mouths, and he’s cradling her to his chest as if he wants to absorb her heartbeat right through her ribs. If only obtaining one were that easy. 

Y/N allows her head to fall back against the cushions, drawing away from the prolonged kiss only because she needs air to continue. Harry’s lips busy themselves elsewhere, running down the valley of her chest and toying with one of her pebbled nipples. Y/N’s back gives a sharp arch the second he brushes across the sensitive nub and the taunting coo he releases goes straight to her core. 

“Liked that, darling? Like it when I kiss you there?”

The girl’s lashes have fallen shut, her eyes lulling around in their sockets as he maintains a steady rhythm between her thighs, ramming into her with so much force, the headboard is knocking into the wall. It’s loud and intense enough that Harry has to fit one of his palms between the railings, bracing the weight of the bed in order to prevent a hole from forming. 

Y/N’s voice fills the dense atmosphere, so shattered and raw, she can hardly understand herself. “It feels so— so good, H.” 

“I love it when you call me that. Sounds so pretty coming from your lips.” The vampire’s tongue flicks over her nipple a handful of times, dark veins momentarily webbing over the whites of his eyes at the cracked whimper she lets loose. “And of course it feels good. I always make you feel good, don’t I? Always make my girl cum so—fucking—hard.” 

Y/N’s trembling fingers card into the curls along the nape of Harry’s neck as he thrusts to his words, twisting them around her knuckles and swimming in the throaty groan he pours over the clammy skin of her breasts. Her whisper sounds distant and dreamy. “Please...Please don’t stop.”

Harry gazes up at her through heavy lashes, lapping at her chest more fervently, accent thick and deep. “I won’t, baby. Not until I have you dripping all over my sheets.”

After a few more minutes of fractured moans bouncing around the panels of the room and the noise of wet skin slapping together, something catches Y/N’s bleary eyes. She wills past the blissful fog in her mind, focusing on the intriguing object hanging from one of the railings of Harry’s bedpost, swaying back and forth wildly due to his strong tempo. 

“Are those...Are those handcuffs?” 

Harry’s attention jumps to where hers is pinned, his powerful stride coming to a gradual stop. He’s heaving and shuddering above her, ringlets matted to his jaw and across his temples, cheeks flushed the prettiest shade of cherry red. His Adam’s Apple bobs once and he gives a short nod. “Y-Yeah. I’ve had them for a while...”

The hope dripping from his voice is practically palpable and Y/N interprets it easily. She glances down at him as he takes quivering inhales against her chest, his eyes bleeding lust. Her mumble is so quiet and soft, he wonders how it’s possible for her to make some of the preposterously loud sounds he’s used to hearing whenever he’s buried this deep. “Use them on me. Please?”

Harry bends to her request without hesitation. He locks her wrists into the restraints, sponging a kiss onto each before giving them one hard tug to check for security. He then regains his rough slams, but with more fervor than before. 

The monster sits back onto his heels, groping her waist roughly and working her against his thighs, watching welts form on her flesh along the pads of his fingers. Y/N unconsciously begins circling her hips to match his speed and the fractured groan that rips out of him makes her walls tighten. He looks incredible looming in front of her, head toppled back between his shoulder blades, bouncing to his every ram. His throat flexes with the weight, jaw taut and inked pectorals glistening with sweat under the dim lights dangling from his ceiling. “That’s it, pet, just like that. Love the way you ride it. You’re so fucking tight and warm and...and just— Christ, just fuck me.”

She wishes she could frame this moment in time and drag it out forever.  

Harry swings his head forward again, blinking the blurriness from his vision to take in the image before him. Y/N just looks so fucking gorgeous like that, tied down at his beck and call, her chest bouncing pertly as her fingers bunch around the chain link, thighs clinging to his waist as she chews her bottom lip raw in an attempt to control her noises. 

The vampire ducks down, connecting their mouths in a sloppy kiss that cajoles her into spilling all the moans she had been withholding. He feels them trickle down his lungs and diffuse into his bones, flames lapping across his insides as their foreheads bump and noses smudge, ragged breaths intermingling. “Let it out for me, hm? Wanna know how I’m making you feel, don’t care who hears.”

As if that isn’t enough, there’s an instance where Harry’s animalistic senses suddenly enhance and he comes to the realization that the metal cuffs have made a tiny laceration along her skin. 

A thin trail of blood travels down her suspended arm, but she doesn’t seem to notice, too lost in the pleasure Harry is pounding into the pit of her stomach. So he simply leans upwards and licks the sweet droplet clean, feeling heat spark across every fiber of his being. He laps up the entire stream and then presses a tender kiss to her palm for good measure, grunting out a gentle, “There’s a good girl.” when she whines at the affectionate gesture. 

The release Harry is getting from between Y/N’s legs mixes with the ecstasy her blood brings, and it shoves him over the edge in a manner he hasn’t experienced since that first time they slept together all those weeks ago. Since the first time he tasted what lies in her veins, while also simultaneously getting to taste the indescribable relief her body so readily brings him.

After all is said and done that night, something peculiar happens. After they both milk their orgasms for everything it’s worth, and after Y/N gives into exhaustion in his arms with her wrists bruised and a content watery smile on her face, and after he gets a heftier drink from her neck and heals the two little puncture wounds with his own blood...The most bizarre, unexpected event occurs. 

Harry falls asleep soundly for the first time in months, and all he dreams about is how Y/N tasted. 

///

Y/N wakes up the next morning to her body covered in Harry’s Nike jumper, to an empty spot beside her in the messy duvet, to a familiar tune tinging her ears from a distance, and to a satisfying ache between her thighs. 

As soon as she cracks the bedroom door open, the smell of pancakes wafts in through the chilled morning air. Specifically, lemon and blueberry pancakes. Her grandmother’s lemon and blueberry pancakes.

A shiver runs down Y/N’s spine the second she sets a toe along the cold glass panels of Harry’s staircase. She takes a deep breath, pulling the extra length of the sweater’s sleeves over her fists and tugging the hem of the article downwards as if she could convince it to cover more than just half her thighs. She carefully works her way down the steps, flinching at the iciness that travels up her legs with every motion. When she finally thunks down emptily onto the light-wash floorboards, her body has grown accustomed to the temperature. As she pads across the furry rug in Harry’s living room, she finds herself wondering why everything connected to him is always so unusually cold— colder than any normal person could withstand. His touch, his lips, the tip of his nose, his forehead, his chest, even his thighs; everything is always freezing, and she doesn’t understand how he can bear it. It’s such an odd affinity to have. 

The human gradually wanders into the vampire’s kitchen, peeking inside the room from behind one of the archway’s walls. What she sees throws her for a loop. 

Harry is cooking breakfast, as she expected from the sweet scent she’d awoken to, but he’s doing it in a manner she never really expected from him. 

Music stems from a portable speaker he has situated at the center of the marble kitchen island, blaring loud enough to fill the entire giant home with high notes, guitar chords, and acapella riffs. The young man is dancing across his kitchen as he cooks, clad in nothing but a set of black Calvin Klein briefs and a pair of fuzzy magenta socks. Y/N rakes down his body, admiring the crimson and purple love bites she had left on his chest and the raspberry red scratches zig-zagging across his back, the marks flexing with the movements of his muscles. They’re strangely faint, for some reason. Practically barely there. 

She chalks it up to the fact that maybe she hadn’t bruised him as much as she’d thought. 

Y/N forces herself to keep her mind from straying onto anymore explicit topics; it’s probably not even ten A.M. yet. She needs to get herself under control.

Grooving while in the kitchen isn’t necessarily weird (she’s guilty of it herself), but Harry’s dancing techniques very much are. The only accurate depiction of it is that for a boy in his twenties, he dances like an old geezer in his eighties. His moves are choppy and old-schooled, almost like what you’d expect to see in a nineteen fifties disco hall, and watching him ebb and flow across the tiled ground to choreography similar to that of Dirty Dancing and Footloose... It would send anybody into a fit of laughter. Especially since Harry is so tall and lanky, so how he manages to move in such a way is beyond her understanding. 

Aside from that, his choice of music is baffling, as well. Not only because she recognizes the soundtrack, but because she would have never expected someone like him— with his cocky behavior and overly-confident caliber— to be into these types of songs at all. She always pegged him for the seventies rock and roll type. 

“You like Hamilton?” 

Harry’s actions creak to a halt and he whips around towards where the disturbance had stemmed, spatula clutched in one hand and a marble plate stacked with pancakes in the other. His face breaks into a bright smile, voice slathered with dramatic friendliness. “Well, look who finally got up! I was starting to think you were dead, Sleeping Beauty.”

Y/N narrows her eyes at him mockingly, walking over to the kitchen counter and propping herself onto her elbows, chin in hand as she watches him set down the platter of food before her. She tips forward onto her toes, taking a deep inhale of the homey, sugary smell, letting it wash over her in flashes of childhood memories. “Are these like the ones I make?”

“Lemon and blueberry, yeah.” Harry bobs his head casually, turning around to place his metal spatula down into the sink, as well as to retrieve a glass bottle of maple syrup from one of his cupboards. “They’re pretty close, I think. I’ve never seen you use a recipe or measuring cups or anything when you make them, so I kinda eyeballed it to the best of my ability. Hope I did your nan justice.”

He pours a decently-sized glop of syrup over the mountain of treats and Y/N watches excitedly as it trickles down all the layers. He then pushes back from the table, pulling open a drawer and rummaging through, continuing to whistle along to the tune of Satisfied as he bops the cabinet closed with his hip and sets down an extra pair of forks and knives beside the plate. 

Harry cuts a neat triangle out of the pancake at the top, pointing at her with his fork as he shrugs his brows nonchalantly. “And to answer your question from before: yes, I do like Hamilton.”

“Hm. Interesting.” Y/N murmurs, going cross-eyed as Harry offers her the forkful of food in his possession, poking at her mouth playfully and getting maple syrup all over her lips. She opens obediently, allowing him to feed her the piece. “You don’t really seem like the type of guy— oh, wow, these are actually really good!”

Harry bites into his lower lip with his two front teeth, a proud smile dimpling his cheeks as the light draft from the air vent ruffles a couple of his sex-mussed ringlets across his forehead. “Yeah? You mean it?”

The mortal nods her head vigorously as she finishes chewing and swallowing, wiping away some of the leftover syrup from her top lip with her middle finger and sucking it clean. “Yeah! You hit it spot on.”

“Aces. I should be on The Great British Bake Off.” Harry makes a small, celebratory fist bump next to his hip and the childish gesture makes Y/N snort softly. 

“Like I was saying, you don’t really strike me as the type of guy who would be into musicals.” The girl comments, watching her friend cut another triangle out of the first pancake and pop it into his own mouth. 

The vampire chews thoughtfully for a second, lifting one shoulder offhandedly and swallowing fully before talking. “I’m really not, to be honest. But this specific musical is pretty good. The songs are catchy.”

He nudges the other pair of utensils across the counter for emphasis, silently inviting her to dig into the dish along with him. She accepts, slicing down the other side of the stack as he leans forward onto his elbows, mimicking her stance. He gives her a curious glance. “What about you? Do you like musicals?” 

Y/N shrugs, poking a few chunks of food onto her fork. “Not really, but I had a major Hamilton phase back in college. That’s why I recognized it.” 

Harry hums in understanding, picking a blueberry off and chewing it slowly, a sly smirk beginning to tweak the corners of his mouth. “So were you, like, a nerd back then?” 

“Well, I wouldn’t say a nerd, but I had decent grades and was pretty quiet.”

He swallows down audibly, blinking impassively. “That’s literally the definition of a nerd.” 

Y/N returns his flat expression. “Fuck off.”

Harry throws his palms up in peaceful surrender, but he still has that shit-eating grin present. “Alright, fine, fine...It’s okay if you were, though. You were probably one of those cute ones, y’know? With the clunky glasses and innocent goody-goody face.” 

“Shut up.”

“Oh, and with one of those short little plaid skirts?” He releases a pained groan, clutching his chest and closing his eyes for a second. She has no doubt he’s sketching some type of graphic image of her in his mind. “God, I bet you looked so good. Do you still have it? Can you wear it for me?”

“I said shut up!” Y/N reaches forward and stabs at his tummy lightly with her fork, ignoring the warmth crawling up her neck and across her cheeks. “Fucking perv.”

Harry smacks her utensil away with his own, giggling lightly as she tries to prick him again, continuing to fight her off. “I’m just asking a question! For science!” 

Y/N twists her fork around his, trying to outmaneuver him into dropping it. “How could my fashion sense in college possibly contribute to science in any way?” 

The vampire easily catches onto her play, slipping himself out of her grasp and trying to trap her makeshift sword down against the tabletop. He purses his lips into a simper, glimpsing up at her through his lashes and quirking his brows cheekily. “Biologically, of course. It contributes to my solo reproductive activities.”

“You are vile.” 

“Really? ‘Cause you seemed pretty happy to help with said activities last night.” 

Y/N drops her fork onto the brim of the platter, reaching up to massage at her temples and keep herself from swatting Harry’s eyeballs out of their sockets. “I’m finished.” 

“Yeah,” the jade of his irises glimmers coyly as he sets down his utensil beside hers in a ceasefire, “you definitely finished.”

Harry chuckles boyishly as Y/N drags her palms down her face, trying to hide away how flustered he’s getting her. She decides to change the subject, not caring to steer the conversation smoothly at all, but rather jumping to another topic right away. “So does this mean you have all the lyrics memorized? Since you like them so much?” 

“I do, yeah.” Harry taps his fingers against the marble counter to the beat of the song currently playing. “Do you?” 

“I was obsessed, so of course I do.” Y/N reasons, her own digits following in tune with the immortal’s. “I think Non-Stop was probably my favorite to sing. It made for a good shower concert.”

“Well, it’s settled then.” Harry quips happily, reaching for his phone and tapping across the screen. “We’re duetting this. Right now. C’mon, Burr.”

Y/N’s motions stop, shyness creeping in from the back of her brain. “Oh, I don’t know, Harry. I never really—”

Her refusal is interrupted by the beginning of the arrangement mentioned, the notes blasting through the speaker as Harry purposefully turns up the volume to drown her out. He taps at his ear symbolically, mouthing, “Sorry, I can't hear you!” and he doesn’t even attempt to ward off the evil grin creeping across his face. 

“Harry, I’m serious—” 

But it’s already too late. Harry juts his hand out in front of him, pointing at his companion with a theatrical edge as he begins to serenade, picking up the slack of her part. 

“After the war I went back to New York. A-After the war I went back to New York. I finished up my studies and I practiced law. I practiced law, Burr worked next door!”

He looks at her expectantly, urging her to jump into the next half as her assigned role. Y/N muscles down her hesitation and recites the lines timidly with her brows creased in hesitation, but at least she’s participating. “Even though we started at the very same time, Alexander Hamilton began to climb. How to account for his rise to the top?”

Harry joins her in the next stanza, grabbing her hand midair in encouragement, trying to shake her out of her rut. “Man, the man is non-stop!”

Y/N is surprised at how well they sound harmonizing together, and she can feel her discomfort slowly begin to melt. She watches as Harry freely boasts his solo with absolutely no remorse, making grand gestures as he slides down the side of the counter, his movements dragging her along. 

“Gentlemen of the jury, I'm curious, bear with me. Are you aware that we're making history?” The boy taps at his chin to symbolize that he’s thinking, acting out the story the lyrics construct. “This is the first murder trial of our brand-new nation, the liberty behind deliberation.”

He points at Y/N once again and she does the supporting vocals, gradually beginning to gain more confidence. “Non-stop!”

“I intend to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt, with my assistant counsel—”

Harry doesn’t even have to cue Y/N this time around; she picks up her half immediately, falling into line with him flawlessly as if they’ve done this a million times before. “Co-counsel. Hamilton, sit down. Our client Levi Weeks is innocent, call your first witness.”

Harry quickly rounds the corner of the kitchen island, giving her body a grand spin as he draws closer, coming to stand right before her. She gives him a fake exasperated look to match the attitude her character depicts, shaking her head in disapproval. “That's all you had to say.”

“Okay…” The creature yanks Y/N forward into his bare chest, leaning down and flirting his lips right over hers tauntingly, eyes half-lidded in amusement. “One more thing—”

“Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room? Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room?” The girl rolls her eyes dramatically, shoving past Harry’s shoulder and she finds it humorous how these lines fit so well, almost as if they were actually directed at him, calling him out on the arrogance he always seems to dote. “Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room? Soon that attitude may be your doom.”

Harry swivels on his heel, following her as she scurries outside the kitchen entrance, running into the living room. 

“Why do you write like you're running out of time?” Y/N grabs onto one of the couch cushions, pretending to scribble over it with a fake pen. “Write day and night, like you're running out of time? Everyday you fight, like you're running out of time.”

Harry swipes at her from across the couch, trying to grasp onto the jumper she’s wearing. “Keep on fighting in the meantime.”

Y/N ducks out of the path of his grabbing hand, chucking the pillow forward and it bonks him square in the face. She sticks her tongue out at him as Harry scowls dully, climbing onto his sofa and scuttling towards her on his hand and knees.

She jumps just out of reach, diving across the other end of the furniture. The vampire throws his weight to try and tackle her to the sofa, but she just barely escapes. He ends up toppling over the backrest due to his over-abundant momentum. 

“Non-stop!” Y/N waves her middle up at him triumphantly as he pushes himself up off the ground, giving her a challenging look as he takes off after her once again. 

The pair continue to sing back and forth, with Harry chasing Y/N around the living room and kitchen as he belts out his part of the song, Y/N always somehow managing to slip from his grasp as soon as her turn hits. They’re a mess of giggles, silly faces, and boisterous actions as they reenact the play and neither can recall a time they had ever had more fun. There’s never been an instance when they felt so comfortable with another soul that they are willing to run around half-naked, screaming lyrics at each other in their underwear, not caring who sees or overhears. It just feels so second-nature.

A section of the song comes up where a woman is singing and Harry immediately takes up the part, placing his hand on his bare hip and standing in the most feminine fashion he can possibly muster, fanning at his face. “I am sailing off to London, I am accompanied by someone who always pays.” 

The exaggeration makes Y/N bend over laughing and her distraction allows Harry to nab her. He pulls her into his embrace by her forearms, cackling through the following stanza as she wriggles and squirms to try and get free. “I have found a wealthy husband who will keep me in comfort for all my days.” 

Y/N finally gives up on trying to thrash herself free, going limp against his chest and glimpsing up at him with begrudged annoyance, but a fond smile is unmistakably buckling her cheeks. Harry leans down, singing right in her face just to flaunt his victory, their noses brushing. “He is not a lot of fun, but…”

And then, there’s a shift in the ambiance between them. 

Harry gazes down at her as she giggles up at him from his arms, full of so much genuine warmth and excitement, she could power the entire city if she wanted. Her shoulders are heaving slightly as a result of all the running, there’s still faint traces of black mascara smeared under her waterline and down her cheeks from the previous evening’s exertions, she has some acne scarring littering her cheekbones that look fairly recent, and her hair looks like it could nest a family of at least ten birds. But despite these imperfections, Harry finds himself feeling oddly endeared by it all. These flaws are all things he’s gotten used to and has grown to treasure in Y/N. They make her who she is. They make her witty, and they make her clever. They make her fun, as well as trusting. They make her likeable, and energetic, and kind. They make her a good friend and a generous lover. They make her... her. Harry gets the feeling that if she didn’t have all of these traits— if even one was missing— this little arrangement they have going wouldn’t have flourished the way it did. 

Yeah, maybe he would have slept with her once or twice more just to scratch an itch, but he most likely would have let it fizzle to an end after the fact. Her personality paired with these small details— albeit, not all entirely attractive— that make up her existence play a key role in the dynamic they share. And he wouldn’t trade them for anything else— wouldn't trade Y/N for anyone else. Not anytime soon. 

A warm surge travels through his chest, filling his veins like kerosine, heating him from the heels of his socked feet to the tips of his ice cold fingers. An unorthodox swelling sensation twists inside his ribs, right where his heart used to beat, and he finds himself reciting the next line in a soft voice packed with more emotion than he’s shown or felt in the last two centuries.

“There’s no one who can match you, for turn of phrase…”

Y/N seems oblivious to all of the unsettling experiences he’s undergoing, her amused expression not changing in the slightest. Harry allows the rest of the song lyrics to pass by, the lump in his throat too heavy to fight. Instead, he just keeps staring down at Y/N with brows frowning in confusion, his breathing coming out bated and shaky, and that knot in his chest continuing to tighten until it becomes painful. He gets the sudden urge to kiss her— to feel her lips press to his and feel her give into him the way she always does. The way she has for the last four weeks. He doesn’t want it to be sloppy or desperate or sexual; he wants it to be intimate, soft, and caring. He wants it to be special. Something they share. Something only they share.

Then, that moment passes. That flicker of weakness that had leaked through vanishes and Harry feels like he can breathe properly again.

He breaks their locked eyes, releasing Y/N from his hold and taking a swift step back, coughing awkwardly to try and rid the tickling sensation in the back of his throat. He scratches at the nape of his neck nervously, fiddling with his baby curls and attempting to piece himself back together after that unexpected and unwelcome intrusion of his innermost feelings. Though, he doesn’t know if that spectacle even files under the category of emotions; from what he remembers, they aren’t supposed to tangibly attack you in such a manner. It felt more like a violation— like someone had gone in and started poking and prodding at his subconscious with a metal skewer. 

“Harry…?” Y/N inches closer to him, concern prevalent in her voice and across her features as she stretches her hand out caringly. “Are you okay? You look like you’re about to be sick.” 

“I-I’m—” His voice comes out higher than usual and quivering, so he coughs once again to get it under control, taking another step back. He's scared that if she touches him, that horrible burning sensation will come back. “I’m fine. Just...Just forgot the lyrics.” 

“Oh, okay…” The girl doesn’t sound convinced with the answer, but she lets the subject falter anyways, her hand dropping back down beside her thigh. “Just checking.” 

“Yeah, I got that. Uh, thanks. But I’m all good now.” He holds up a clenched first and juts out his pinky, wiggling it for significance. “Promise”

Y/N scoffs gently at his playful deed. “Alright, then.” 

Harry eyes her attentively as she returns to her previous spot in front of the plate of pancakes, retrieving her fork and starting to pick at them like before, as if nothing had happened. As if Harry hadn’t just almost had a cardiac arrest, despite the fact that the organ responsible had crumbled to dust ages ago.

“Are you gonna eat anymore?” Y/N signals down at the stack of pastries before her questioningly. “Because if you don’t get some now, I’ll eat them all myself. Don’t think I won’t. They’re better than the ones I make and—”

The vampire suddenly feels like bile is rising up his throat and his words spew out before he can think to stop them, though he’s not so sure he would. 

“Do you want to stay over the rest of the weekend?”

[evilmortys]

okay,  so,  here  are  my  thoughts  on  the  finale,

i’m  gonna  start  with  the  things  i  didn’t  like,  just  because  of  who  i  am  as  a  person!  my  feelings  are  mixed,  but...  looks  lovingly  at  evil  morty.  he  truly  was  the  only  exception  as  usual  ♥

i’m  not  going  to  lie,  this  whole  thing  felt.  rushed.  although  some  of  rick’s  meta  commentary  about  not  touching  citadel  shit  because  it  was  canon  and  he  and  morty  were  supposed  to  be  going  back  to  lighthearted  one  off  adventures,  and  “the  second  he  reveals  that  he’s  evil,  we’re  out”  made  me  laugh,  it  also  felt  very  disingenuous  and  ham-fisted.  having  him  do  all  these  fourth  wall  breaks  honestly  took  away  from  the  impact  of  what  this  episode  could  have  been,  but  whatever.  

i  just  got  the  vibe  that  they  wanted  everyone  to  stfu  about  the  citadel  and  evil  morty,  so  they  quickly  stuck  together  this  episode  that  dealt  with  fans’  demand  in  one  fell  swoop  so  they  could  move  on  from  the  existence  of  both  plotlines.  i  honestly  thought  it  was  a  bit  wasteful  since  tales  from  the  citadel  resonated  with  a  lot  of  fans  and  it  was  an  interesting  bit  of  worldbuilding  with  compelling  narratives  going  on.

you  already  all  likely  know  how  irritated  i  am  with  morty’s  character  degrading  so  much  once  again.  this  entire  season  has  been  building  him  up  to  becoming  so  much  more  capable,  only  to  wrench  it  away  from  him  again  by  instead  having  his  co-dependency  with  rick  ramped  up  to  the  point  it  was  literally  out  of  character.  this  has  come  out  of  nowhere.  at  no  point  in  the  show’s  entire  run  has  morty  ever  been  this  needy  with  rick.  

again,  i  feel  like  this  may  have  been  written  around  what  eventually  ended  up  happening  at  the  citadel,  with  the  revelation  that  mortys  are  ‘bred  for  forgiveness.’  it  would  have  been  far  more  compelling  for  our  morty  to  have  continued  to  go  down  the  path  of  being  decidedly  unforgiving  of  rick’s  bullshit,  thereby  making  him  deviate  from  the  norm  in  a  similar  way  to  evil  morty  himself  and  implicating  that  the  cycle  of  a  morty  going  to  these  extremes  is  going  to  be  repeated  once  again.

rick  did  not  deserve  or  earn  voicing  the  recognition  that  his  dynamic  with  morty  was  toxic,  and  abusive.  are  you  fucking  kidding  me?  the  smartest  man  in  the  universe  only  JUST  clocked  onto  that?  bullshit!  he’s  known  all  along,  and  he’s  been  using  it  for  his  own  gain!  he  doesn’t  get  to  just  say  it  with  that  regretful  voice  as  if  he’s  been  clueless  /  oblivious  to  it  this  entire  time.  they  just  wanted  the  audience  to  feel  sympathetic  for  him  by  throwing  in  this  tidbit  and  a  tragic  backstory,  as  if  that  even  sort  of  makes  up  for  everything  he’s  put  his  family  through.  

abandoning  the  people  you’ve  hurt  is  ALSO  abusive  and  toxic  behaviour!  he’s  done  it  time  and  time  again!  how  is  acknowledging  the  fact  that  you  hurt  people,  that  you  hurt  your  family,  the  people  that  love  you  despite  the  fact  you  objectively  don’t  deserve  it,  then  ditching  them  once  again  instead  of  staying  with  them  and  improving  as  a  person  and  helping  everyone  heal  from  what  you’ve  put  them  through,  ANY  BETTER??  he  never  changes!!

i  also  couldn’t  really  process  the  fact  that  rick  just  handed  morty  his  portal  gun  like  it  was  nothing--  i  feel  like  him  topping  it  off  and  using  it  behind  rick’s  back  should  have  been  a  bigger  deal  than  what  it  was.  also,  morty  would  not  break  a  guy  out  of  a  mental  asylum  without  a  second  thought.  he  simply  wouldn’t  do  that.

we’ve  fallen  right  back  into  the  status  quo  of  morty  being  stupid  and  rick  being  the  smartest  one  in  the  room  who  always  knows  what’s  going  on,  even  when  he  actually  shouldn’t  for  the  sake  of  a  few  meta  jokes.  which  is  more  annoying  than  i  can  put  into  words  tbqh

obviously  i  hated  all  the  parallels  they  were  attempting  to  make  between  rick  and  morty  having  a  romantic  relationship  and  “breaking  up.”  never  has  morty  behaved  so  uncharacteristically  in  any  other  episode  of  the  show.  it  honestly  felt  disrespectful  to  all  the  growth  he’s  had  as  a  character  to  reduce  him  to  something  so  pathetic.

i  guess  this  is  less  of  a  thing  i  disliked,  and  more  of  a  commentary  on  rick’s  character?  but  once  again,  his  hypocrisy  really  leapt  out  at  me  once  it  was  revealed  that  he  always  has  a  hand  in  bringing  together  beths  and  jerrys  in  order  to  ensure  that  more  mortys  will  end  up  in  the  multiverse.  i  find  it  unbelievably  sad  that  he’ll  willingly  ensnare  the  two  of  them  in  the  throes  of  a  relationship  that  he  knows  is  likely  to  become  toxic  and  cause  the  both  of  them  to  be  miserable  throughout  their  time  together;  they’re  rarely  happy  /  compatible  together  and  always  end  up  sticking  it  out  for  the  kids.  it  also  makes  his  constant  shitting  on  jerry  even  more  egregious  and  almost  serves  to  call  his  love  for  his  daughter  into  question  for  me.  he’s  using  her  as  a  means  to  his  own  ends  by  manipulating  situations  so  she’ll  meet  jerry  and  they’ll  likely  end  up  together.  

don’t  get  me  wrong,  i  actually  really  loved  the  fact  he  had  a  hand  in  founding  the  citadel  he  now  loathes  so  much,  and  i  think  the  constant  creation  of  mortys  as  grandsons  ‘bred  to  forgive’  ricks  is  so  fucked  up  and  awful  in  the  most  intriguing  way.  it’s  akin  to  him  fiddling  with  the  concept  of  keeping  mortys  in  constant  pain  to  cloak  his  comings  and  goings  around  the  multiverse  (on  paper,  morty,  on  paper!),  except  this  time  he  did  it  in  reality.

evil  morty.  oh  my  god,  evil  morty.  my  saving  grace.  my  ray  of  light.  i’m  so,  so,  so  pleased  with  the  way  he  was  handled.  while  i  admit  i  was  looking  forward  to  more  of  a  slow - burn  thing,  getting  a  bit  of  insight  into  his  presidency  and  possibly  exploring  a  dynamic  with  him  and  c-137  (we’ll  get  to  that)...  i  honestly  still  really  loved  what  ended  up  happening  with  him,  even  though  i  still  believe  on  some  level  that  they  just  wanted  to  tie  up  his  narrative  thread  so  fans  wouldn’t  remain  fixated  on  him.

of  course  he  did.  of  course  that  motherfucker  rick  created  a  boundary  within  the  infinite  multiverse  that  ensured  he’d  always  be  the  smartest  man  within  it  as  far  as  mortys  and  other  people  in  his  life  were  concerned.  i’ve  always  found  it  odd  that  such  universes  were  never  brought  up  even  in  passing;  the  nature  of  infinite  possibilities  always  dictated  that  someone  smarter  than  him  must  exist  out  there,  and  that  worlds  existed  where  he  was  nobody  special.

him  being  morally  gray.  i  could  cry.  i  was  clinging  on  to  the  hope  that  it  would  be  shown  he  hates  ricks  more  than  he  looks  down  on  mortys,  and  it  absolutely  was.  while  he  was  okay  with  killing  and  hurting  mortys  to  achieve  his  own  “selfish”  ends,  it’s  clear  that  he’s  unhappy  with  the  cycle  of  abuse  from  their  infinite  grandfathers  that  pushes  him  to  these  extremes,  loathes  the  concept  that  mortys  are  not  supposed  to  defy  their  ricks.  “if  you’ve  ever  been  sick  of  him,  you’ve  been  evil  morty  too.”  he  hates  ricks  FAR  more  than  he  does  mortys,  and  you  can  pry  that  from  my  cold,  dead  hands.  he  believes  mortys  are  beyond  help  because  of  the  way  they  stick  by  rick--  the  fact  they’re  literally  created  with  being  yes-men  for  rick  in  mind.

he  didn’t  seek  to  make  changes  for  the  greater  good  of  other  mortys  within  the  citadel.  i  think  he  understood  on  some  level,  it  was  impossible.  i  think  he  has  this  belief  that  other  mortys  are  part  of  the  problem,  because  they  perpetuate  the  cyclic  dynamic  of  toxicity  and  harm--  they  don’t  move  to  break  free  from  it  the  way  he  does,  and  so  he  feels  no  guilt  leaving  them  behind  while  he  breaks  into  the  aspect  of  the  multiverse  where  rick  has  no  power.  it’s  honestly  heartbreaking  that  he’s  come  to  have  a  mindset  like  that.  

i  think  seeing  c-137  reach  out  to  help  rick  up  once  again  instead  of  accepting  what  i  hope  and  pray  was  a  semi - genuine  offer  to  join  him  as  he  departed  was  just  yet  another  instance  of  him  witnessing  a  morty  doing  the  most  to  save  the  man  who  makes  their  lives  a  living  hell.  if  he  was  truly  unsympathetic,  he’d  have  made  no  such  offer.  if  he  thinks  a  morty  is  capable  of  pulling  away  from  the  hold  ricks  have  on  them,  he  wants  them  out  of  this  shit  just  as  much  as  he  himself  wants  to  break  free  from  it.  i  think  he  has  the  mindset  that  i  know  they  tried  to  play  it  off  with  “haha  the  other  seat’s  a  toilet,”  but  i  don’t  think  that  was  the  case  and  they  were  once  again  just  undermining  the  moment  for  no  good  reason.  SCREAMS!!  don’t  get  me  wrong  what  he  did  WAS  selfish  and  evil.  but  in  a  way  you  can  understand  where  it  derives  from

again,  it  REALLY  irritates  me  they’ve  undone  so  much  of  morty’s  character  just  to  ensure  he  wouldn’t  end  up  taking  evil  morty  up  on  his  proposition.  if  morty  had  retained  even  a  tenth  of  the  character  growth  he’s  been  having  from  late  season  four  until  towards  the  end  of  season  five,  wherein  it  began  to  unravel,  he’d  have  left  rick.  undeniably.

the  yellow  portal.  oh  my  god............

it  made  me  so  fucking  emotional  to  see  that.  he’s  won.  he’s  free.  

[chihirolovebot]

GODD- THIS NEW CHAPTER JAKCKEKDJEKC

I’m literally going feral over the reader’s independence. So often in stories, we see the reader glued to their love interest’s side with no motivation or drive of their own. They often feel like a film of saran wrap that the author just kind of, slaps on, which is why the execution of this story is so goddamn incredible.

The reader has depth and a certain je ne sais quoi that’s so undeniably “Danganronpa” that it only could’ve been achieved with intense, in-depth knowledge and thought about the plot and themes of the game. Not only do they feel like they were yanked straight out of the game, the way they behave and act feels real, and tangible, and human. We see them mourn, and grieve, and cope, and recover, and strive to do better, and AOCKEOKFKDJ- forget the fanfiction sector, there’s almost NOTHING in modern media that executes this kind of story well.

Following that train of thought, the reader’s relationship with the other characters has been developed so well. My worst pet peeve in a story is when the reader only interacts with their love interest and no one else, and yet everyone still seems to love them, but this story doesn’t have that problem at all. It’s so lovely seeing the reader interact with everyone, and provides such a nice breath of fresh air from the usual death and despair of Danganronpa.

God- there’s just so much that’s so incredible about this story, but I’m running out of words to describe it without sounding like a broken record. (Not that I think it’d be bad- you deserve a constant source of compliments running 24/7 for the absolute masterpiece)

So yeah, I look forward to seeing a new chapter at some point in time, but please take as much time as you need to get it up there!

OH WOW this is such a long thoughtful comment hello!!! it took me a minute to answer because i like to dedicate longer answers to this kind of feedback SO i apologise for the wait but here we are!!!

i cannot tell u how big of a pet peeve it is when the reader-insert for a story is just, like u said. a piece of saran wrap. like even if the personality the author gives them isn't anything like mine, it's still way more interesting than them just being a mary sue for lack of a better term. PLUS giving the reader a stronger personality makes writing their development so much more fun and interesting?? i feel??

getting the 'danganronpa-esque' writing n dialogue down was SO difficult because there is just a Way they talk which i cant even describe its just. the most normal dialogue ever followed by monokuma giving the most batshit insane monologue u have ever fucking heard. u go from sobering conversations between shuichi and kaito about guilt and grief to tsumugi talking about getting deepthroated by a squid. the whiplash between characters n conversations was definitely one of the hardest parts to pin down lol. i am SO flattered u think the reader-insert fits into the world of dr, and not only that but they feel real to u?? that is Insane. thank u very much u have no clue how much that means to me personally.

AND YEAH ok ok i think i said this in the preface of the fic in like chapter one but holy shit yeah, imagine going thru the whole story and the only one the reader had attachment to was kokichi. it definitely wouldn't work with the themes i highlight in my work (not just living for other people, living for yourself, and establishing a middle ground between trusting everyone and trusting nobody) especially with a character like kokichi, who blatantly flies in the face of those themes. it also just wouldn't work for the type of character arc i wanted the reader to go through — they want to want to live, and first they do this through loving the people around them and feeling that they 'owed' them to stay alive, and just now they're in the process of learning to live for themselves. but they could never have gotten to that point without the affections and connections to people like rantaro, kiibo, kirumi, kaito, tenko and shuichi. like. if the reader ONLY had a strong connection with kokichi, they could never have learned all those valuable lessons and grow as a person. kokichi provides something else entirely for the reader — he is a challenge and someone that makes them question their morality and the way they think. he's not going to be any help in making the reader realise they want to live (except when he's doing a little mansplain manipulate malewife).

thank u very very much for this!! i apologise that i rambled a lil i just Have many a Thought abt this fic and i could probably talk for days abt it. im very very happy ur enjoying it!!!

[xwing-baby]

Impulse: Part 1 (Javier Pena x Reader)

Summary: Top of your class, the DEA have sent you to Colombia to be the poster child for their new ‘placement program’. You’re thrown in at the deep end into the drug war. With Agent Pena as your mentor, what could possibly go wrong?

Warnings: ANGST! Explicit drug and alcohol abuse from the beginning, depressive thinking/intrusive thoughts, swearing

Word Count: 4.8k

A/n: My first ever Javi fic, of course I had to make it the angstiest thing I’ve written in a long time!!  This is part one of the first part of the story which is also the end of the story... just had to make it confusing for you. 

Disclaimer: I do not have any experience with cocaine or addiction, all writing is based on my own research and is not a good representation of how it really is! Don’t do coke kids, it’s never good.

Part 2

---

Four in the morning, the sun was just above the horizon and you were stumbling home from yet another party. Enough tequila swam through your system that you didn’t really think about the wellbeing of your neighbor when you tapped on his door. You wanted to keep going. Javier, you decided, would make the perfect company. And maybe you could continue that kiss you had not stopped thinking about since it happened four months ago! You grinned devilishly at the thought and knocked harder on the door.

“Javi! Javier!” You rapped on the door. “Javier Peña, abra la puerta!” You sang, leaning all your weight on the door as your world span fast around you, “Javi,”

“What?” Javier opened the door suddenly, causing you to fall into him. You laughed as you caught yourself on his arm. You had woken him up, he was dressed in a wrinkled t-shirt and sweatpants with his hair bushy and wild. 

“Hola!” You grinned up at him, not hiding the way you checked him out. You were obviously drunk and high, eyes red and shining brightly even in the dim light of the apartment block hallway. Javi wrinkled his nose as the smell of you hitting him, tequila and cigar smoke clung to you.

“Again?” Javi sighed heavily. This was the third time this week you had woken him up, accidentally or on purpose, coming home drunk. He was starting to worry about you. 

“Si,” You grinned from ear to ear, You were in more of a state than last time. For one you were still speaking Spanish, something Javi had rarely ever heard you speak. You must have been with your local friends, he surmised. “No lo siento Javi. ¡Es divertido!”

“It’s not fun, you’re a mess. Get in here,” He pulled you by the arm into his apartment, shutting the door behind him.

“Eres enojado?” You asked, still grinning. You walked backwards into his apartment, tripping down the step and landing with a thud on his leather couch. You cackled with laughter.Javier frowned and put his hands on his hips, of course he was annoyed at you! It was four in the morning and you both had work the next morning. You dramatically flopped back on his couch and huffed at his grumpy attitude, “It’s only polite, Javi! They gave it to me!”

“It’s poison!! He exclaimed, “Why would you do that to yourself?” 

“It’s helping,” You proclaimed. 

“It’s not helping anyone, you’re gunna fuck up sooner or later.” Javi warned, as he had done many times before. 

“I got that list,” You protested, “That was helpful!”

“And what will you do when they work out that you stole it?” 

“No lo sé,” You shrugged. You reached into your pocket and grabbed the last of the coke you had been given. You wanted a little more. You pulled the tin out of your pocket and placed it on the coffee table at your feet.

“You-,” Javi started before he noticed what you were doing, instantly he was on you, “Para!” He exclaimed as he snatched the coke from your hand before you had time to open it. 

“Necesito!” You whined, pouting at him. You were lying, you didn’t need it. You wanted it, a lot. 

“No,” Javi snapped.

“Lo siento, Javi,” You pleaded with him, eyes locked onto the packet in his hand.

“You’re not though, are you? Fucking look at me!” He yelled. You startled and looked up at him as tears pricked your eyes. “Quit it. Now. You know what this shit does, stop it. Whatever you think you’re doing is not worth it, okay?”

“Pero-“

“No. Me vale!” He cut you off. “You’re better than this, Y/n,”

You sustained eye contact for a moment. The room was deathly quiet, he glared at you with fierce intensity. You had never seen him so angry, if you weren’t so drunk you would have instantly buckled under the pressure. The only thing your drunk brain could think of was how hot he looked, you wondered how rough he would be with you if he was this angry. You couldn’t help the snigger that crept up in your throat at that thought. You clamped your hand over your mouth to stop the laugh, Javi rolled his eyes and shook his head in disbelief.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry!” You laughed, “It’s just you can’t look at me like that and not fuck me!” 

“Jesus christ,” Javier pinched the bridge of his nose. What little patience he had for you was running out fast. You continued to laugh. 

“Can I stay here?” You asked.

“Take the couch,” Javi waved you off, his back turned heading back to his bedroom. 

“I can’t sleep with you?” Your voice was laced with innuendo, he knew what you wanted. A part of him was tempted, your dress left very little to the imagination, but he knew he couldn’t do it.

“You’re drunk and high,” Javier said plainly, “and we’ve spoken about this before. No,” He was firm with you. He hated having to reject you for a second time but he wasn’t a complete monster. He wouldn’t sleep with you in this state. 

“Worth a try,” You laughed, thankfully giving up quickly. Javi shook his head and walked away again, “Muchos gracias, Javi,” You called after him. He shut the door. 

--

You woke up as the early morning sunlight pushed through the windows. You groaned and turned over, finding you were not in your bed but on a couch. Startled, you sat up and nearly screamed when you recognised the apartment as Javier’s. Luckily you were still fully dressed with your shoes still on, nothing had happened. Memories of how you got there were blurry, you remembered knocking on his door but had blacked out after that.

The clock on the wall said it was six am. You could go upstairs to your own bed clean up and hope that maybe Javi wouldn’t hear you and confront you about it. 

You stood up from the couch, trying not to think about all the things the man had done on it, and grabbed your jacket from the ground. As you stood up the strength of your hangover kicked in, you grumbled. That was when you noticed the discarded coke packet on the counter. You stopped. You knew you shouldn’t pick it up, you didn’t need it. But the taste caught at the back of your throat and you found yourself wanting it. It was undeniably addictive, you had promised yourself you wouldn’t take it this far but the foul substance had made its bed.

“Go home,” Javi’s voice broke you out of the trance. He was only wearing sweatpants, hair mussed up from sleep that you had most definitely disturbed more than once. He pulled the cocaine off the table and threw it into the trash before you could reach it. You gulped, shame rising like hot steam through your lungs. You grabbed your things and left, running straight upstairs to your own apartment.

It was still early but you knew you weren’t going to be able to sleep again. Shame was swirling up in your throat. How ironic that a DEA agent was addicted to the thing she was meant to be stopping? But you weren’t addicted, you reasoned with yourself, you were fine. This was no different to when you lived off Redbull for a month during finals, it was a matter of changing some coping mechanisms. It was a reaction to the stress of being so close to Escobar yet so still so far. You could change it, you had control. 

You made a coffee, instant and black. It was bitter and disgusting but it would keep you awake. You collapsed onto your tired old couch and flicked on the tv to a telenovela rerun. You barely understood what was going on but the hilarious overplayed drama was light enough to stop you swimming into the depressing pool of thoughts currently threatening to drown you. 

Eight o’clock came and you were ready to go to work. You were used to this routine now, hungover and tired, you knew you weren’t at your best but until this morning nobody knew about your slow descent into chaos. You weren’t surprised to find Javi’s truck gone without you. All you could remember from last night as how mad he was, and his face this morning only proved it. You dreaded seeing him. 

Luckily, you were spared the hassle of public transport by Steve who trundled down the stairs after you and offered you a ride. The conversation was light and everything seemed normal for a moment. You got to work, Steve ran off after a call from Javier leaving you with a mountain of paperwork to hunt through. For once you didn’t care, paperwork didn’t judge you.

A few hours passed and the boys returned. You did your best to ignore them while they bickered, hoping that you could melt into the background, until someone tapped on your desk. 

“Hey, I’m talking to you Rookie,” Javi’s voice made you look up. “Come on, we’re going,” 

Before you could say anything he threw your jacket at you and you had no choice but to follow him outside. You tried to rack your brain for why Javi would be taking you anywhere today, especially after this morning. You had expected him to ground you, to be impossibly angry at you, not take you out. You climbed into the passenger seat of the truck and Javi didn’t say a word. He didn’t look particularly angry, he looked stressed but he had looked like that since the day you got down here. He was silent, letting the radio play between you, when all of a sudden he reached over and turned it off. 

You looked over at him, expecting him to start his lecture but he didn’t. He let the silence sit between you for the rest of the journey. Somehow it was worse, you’d rather he got mad at you and shouted. It was just unsettling.

Finally you pulled into the embassy, you flashed your badges at the gate and parked. Fear was starting to grow now. Was he going to get you fired? He wouldn’t bring you down here for that surely? He would have called and said what he wanted, he hated coming down here unless he had to. You stayed quiet, too scared to ask, and followed him inside. 

Javi greeted the assistant at the door, as smooth as ever somehow managing to melt her in her chair in five seconds. You smiled and waved to her, she scowled at you as soon as Javi had turned his back. 

“He’ll be in a minute,” The girl called after you as you entered the Ambassador’s office. You took one chair, Javier took the other, in front of the large mahogany desk.

Unlike Steve and Javi you didn’t see the ambassador often, often left in the office while they had meetings about things higher than your post. Your heart was beating so hard in your chest you thought it might burst. You rubbed your hands on your jeans and fidgeted in your seat. Why in hell were you here? 

Before you could bring up the courage to finally ask Javi the Ambassador walking into the room. You stood up immediately to shake his hand, Javi stayed seated.

“Y/n, nice to see you again,” The ambassador smiled kindly as he shook your hand. “Agent Peña,” He greeted the agent next to you, who nodded casually.

“You too, Sir,” You tried your best to sound confident. The Ambassador sighed heavily as he sat in the leather chair, took a sip of the water at his side and began the meeting.

“So, I got the call from your coordinators this morning, they’re coming down on Monday for the review. I thought we should have this meeting together to discuss things before they come down,” 

Your six month review! That was what you had forgotten. Half relieved that your mentor hadn’t brought you down here to completely humiliate you, you smiled and nodded. With everything going on you hadn’t noticed the months fly past so fast, you barely remembered what day it was anymore. 

The Ambassador carried on with the meeting, unaware of your panicking. You nodded along, answering his questions in short yes or no answers, he then moved to Javier. As your mentor he was the one in charge of delivering your progress onto your coordinators. You watched him speak, sound not registering anymore. You hoped to god that he wouldn’t throw you under the bus and tell the entire truth, he knew how much this meant to you surely he wouldn’t. 

Nervous, you stuffed your hands into the pockets of your jacket. You almost had a heart attack when you felt something inside. A small metal tin, rounded and rusted. You immediately knew what it was and froze. There was coke in your pocket. Javi gave you a sideways glance, as he noticed you stiffen up suddenly. 

You wracked your mind for where the hell the tin had come from, until you remembered. This wasn’t your jacket, Maria had given it to you a few months ago and never asked for it back. You hadn’t worn it before today and had no idea that your friend’s stash lay inside the pockets. You tried to stay rational, tried to listen to the important conversation happening around you but your hand stayed clamped around the drug in your pocket. It would help you concentrate, it could calm you down. You could take it and nobody would notice. 

“I- I’m sorry can you excuse me for a moment?” You blurted out, interrupting the ambassador.  He frowned at you, surprised by your interruption. You had gone white with panic, obviously clutching at something in your pocket but he didn’t think anything of it. He nodded and you ran out the room before he could verbally release you. 

You tried to remain calm as you ran through the halls of the embassy, it seemed like everyone was watching you. They knew exactly what you were doing, they were judging you. You ran into the first women’s bathroom you could find, quickly checked nobody was in any stalls, and locked the door behind you.

Throwing the package on the sink like it was burning through your hand, you stood over it, watching it intensely like it could jump away at any moment. The voice in your head kept tempting you, calling you weak and useless, to do it to get rid of it. Nobody would know if you took it. You’ve given in this far why not do it. It will help you calm down. Take it. 

As if you were possessed, you unwillingly opened the tin and poured the powder onto the surface. There wasn’t much there, barely a pinch full, hardly anything at all. You couldn’t just leave it there now, someone would definitely know it was yours. They all knew why even bother hiding it anyway. You should take it. You were too weak to resist it. Take it.

And you did. The chemical shot straight to your brain giving you the brilliant feeling you had been missing. You sighed in a relief as you felt every anxiety fade from your body. It wasn’t that bad, you feel better with it, the voice in your head said. You weren’t wrong. You did feel better. You looked it too, your cheeks had colour again, you smiled and laughed to yourself as it took hold.

You brushed away the excess powder and unlocked the door. You nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw Javi leaning against the opposite wall. His arms were crossed over his chest, judging you with a cocked eyebrow. He had been waiting for you. You sighed and rolled your eyes immediately walking away from him.

“Don’t stand outside the women's bathroom’s Javi. It's creepy,” You snapped as you passed him. 

“You missed a bit,” Javi commented, following closely behind you. 

“Fuck off,” You grumbled. Despite yourself you wiped your sleeve over your nose. He was right. 

“Shooting up in a bathroom is real low, Rookie, even for you,” He snarled. You continued walking down the hall, ignoring him. You were as angry at your actions as he was but you didn’t have control anymore. You couldn’t stop yourself, “Hey! I’m fucking talking to you,” Javi grabbed your arm and sharply pulled you backwards, pressing your back into the wall and trapping your body between his.

“You’re hurting me!” You complained, shoving him off you with as much force as you could give. It didn’t get you far as he pushed you to the wall again with as much force. Your back slammed against the cold stone hard, no doubt bruising it. 

“Then listen. What the fuck is the matter with you?” He snarled, “Doing that shit here? Or anywhere in fact! You are completely out of control,” You ground your teeth, seething with anger, “Do you have no respect for yourself?” You struggled against him, trying to get away again to avoid the question, Javi held you in place. “Not going to say anything?” You looked away, purposely turning your cheek to him, “Get a fucking grip or I’m sending you home,” He growled. 

You didn’t answer, staring at the patterned tile floor. Finally he gave up. With a grunt he let you go and stalked away down the corridor. 

As he disappeared around the corner, a tidal wave of anger and frustration flooded your system. You kicked the line of chairs next to you, crying out curses as you sent them flying across the corridor. The metal clattered against the stone drawing people out of their offices, they all stood from their doorways and watched you, judging you. You heart hammered in your chest, chest heaving for air and you glared back at them all. You let out a deep breath and turned on your heel, leaving the mess behind you, and walked outside.

Despite himself, Javi had waited for you in the parking lot. You jumped into the passenger seat without a word, slamming the door hard to get your point across. You couldn’t tell if you were sweating from anger or the drugs coursing through you. Neither of you said a word for the journey. Javi had said he needed to, and you weren’t able to string together a coherent sentence for everything you wanted to scream at him yet. 

You were too focussed on the music playing from the stereo to really notice where you were going. The rhythms and lyrics seemed to float around you and soak into your skin. You didn’t see Javi’s furious scowl when you unknowingly started to dance in your seat, something you couldn’t help but do when listening to Columbian radio no matter your mental state. You were having a good time until the car stopped and the music was cut abruptly. Snapping out of your trance you looked around and realised you were at your apartment. 

“Get out. You’re done for today,” Javi said, his voice was eerily calm and you knew to be terrified. Quiet Javi was always the angriest.

“What?” You asked dumbly. 

“Get out!” He leant over you and pushed the door open. You frowned, but slipped out the truck and did as you were told. Javi pulled the door shut behind you and rolled away, leaving you standing on the sidewalk opposite the apartment building completely dumbfounded. 

You were stuck to the sidewalk, staring at the building. The sun beat down on you, scorching your skin yet you couldn’t feel it. You were numb to everything.

Your first thought was to find Maria and get more coke to hide further into yourself and avoid the awful shame creeping up your neck. The speed the thought entered your head petrified you. Your control was slipping through your fingers like sand and your body was screaming to move. Everything inside you told you to give up, that this was the tipping point and you might as well jump because what was the point in pretending anymore. If Javi knew what was the point in trying to cover up how much that narcotic had taken over your life. There was no point at all, you might as well enjoy the feeling whilst you could. 

You turned to leave, letting go of all self control. Your legs knew where to take you, you didn’t even need to look where you were going. But you did, when three steps from your original position you crashed into a woman carrying a bag of groceries. She yelped, the sudden sound snapping you back to reality. 

“What are you doing standing out here? Shouldn’t you be at work?” Connie startled you when she touched you, you had barely noticed her approaching. She frowned, concerned, when she took in your glazed appearance, “Sweetheart?”

“I’m okay,” Your voice cracked as tears filled your eyes. 

“Oh darling, come inside. Come on,” Connie walked across the road, expecting you to follow but you didn’t. You couldn’t bring yourself to move, you wanted to run in the opposite direction. You knew if you went inside you would have to tell her what was happening, you didn’t want to make her as mad as Javi was already. “Y/n? Sweetheart you’re scaring me, what’s wrong?” 

“I fucked it all up,” You whimpered as you began to cry.

“Come with me, I’ll get you some water,” Connie bartered, still you didn’t move. Too scared to admit to her what was going on, “Just come inside, please,” 

Finally, you nodded and followed Connie into the building. She walked you into the apartment, sat you on the couch and left to get a glass of water. You hadn’t stopped crying, everything in you was telling you to go and get more to calm yourself down again. You knew not to believe the thoughts but they scared you tremendously. You have really gone too far now. 

Connie passed you the water, and you drank it gladly. She crouched down in front of you, pressed a hand to your forehead and checked your pulse trying to work out what was wrong with you. 

“Did you take something?” She asked. You tried to shake your head and deny it but the way she’s looking at you, sternly but with so much care in her eyes, you couldn’t lie to her. Your no turns into a yes and you instantly recoil from her each touch, hiding in your hands. “What was it?” 

“It was only meant to help,” You cried into your hands.

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what happened,” She pressed. 

“Maria gave me some coke, and it was fine and fun and it helped me get that list from them,” You started to babble, all your words tumbling from your mouth before you could get them into any sensible order, “and everyone was so excited and then I went out kept doing it and then yesterday I ended up at Javi’s and I was tired and-,” 

“Slow down,” 

“It’s my six month review,  and I got so worried then I found it in my pocket! I didn’t know it was there and I just did it! Then Javi caught me again and he kicked me out here!” 

“Do you know how much you took?” 

“Like a tiny bit but I’ll be fine in an hour but-,” Tears slipped from your eyes once again, “What am I going to do?”

Connie didn’t know what to say. She knew you had been going out more with some new friends, Steve had complained because he was always woken up by you when you came back drunk from a party. That's all she thought was going on, you were partying, drinking, like you should at your age. But as she had come to learn, a lot of things in Columbia were not what they seemed. It seemed the darker side of life here had managed to get it’s claws well and truly into you. It broke her heart to see you like this, so broken up. 

You stayed with Connie for the rest of the afternoon, sat on the couch riding out the end of you high. TV kept you company and Connie chewed her nails trying to work out what to do. She thought should call Steve, but if Javier was the one to drop you off here, he probably already knew. She wondered how long it had been going on for, she didn’t get to see you as much as her husband and his partner, whenever she’d seen you you seemed fine, if a little hungover at times. When she thought about, all three of you had taken on destructive habits to cope with the hell you saw every day. Steve was becoming more aggressive by the week, while she knew she was safe she didn’t like what she saw when he flipped out. Everyone in the building knew about Javier’s escapades and now you. It was upsetting to watch from the outside, she couldn’t imagine what it was really like to go through. 

You woke up half an hour later, muddled and more tired than when you’d fallen asleep. 

“Feeling better?” Connie asked with a sympathetic smile.

“Feel like shit,” You muttered. Your head pounded and the heaviness still sat in your chest. That was the kicker, the coke could mask feelings very well but every time you sobered up they were still there waiting. You sighed heavily, pushing yourself to sit up where you’d slumped over, and rubbed your face with your sweaty palms. “What am I going to do?”

“I don’t know sweetie, but I’ll be here to help you,” Connie said kindly, as she sat on the couch next to you. You felt awful for dragging her into all this, yet another person you had let down, ”I think you should tell your boss? Or you’re coordinators, maybe they’ll help,” 

“I’ll be sent home!” You protested, tears filling your eyes once again, “I don’t want to go home, not now!” 

“You can’t keep it to yourself, it will only get worse,” She said, you nodded sadly and cried on her shoulder as she pulled you in for a hug. “I suggest a hot bath, watch some cheesy movie- I managed to find that Indiana Jones movie on tape. I know you love Harrison Ford,” 

“That sounds nice,” You smiled weakly. Connie let you go and grabbed the movie along with a bottle of wine for you. You gathered yourself together, enough to get yourself from Connie’s couch to your own at least. 

“I’m sure Steve won’t notice it’s gone. Go and chill out and watch the movie, have a bit of normality for a change. You’ll feel better I promise,” 

“Thank you Connie, you’re a really good friend,” 

“It’s no problem sweetie, like I said I’m always here for you,” 

Connie gave you another tight squeeze before you left. Iin the hallway you heard the clatter of Javi’s keys in his door below. You wanted to apologise to him, you wanted him to help you! You wanted things to go back to how they were before all this but you knew Javi wouldn’t talk to you. He’d displayed his distaste for the people that fell under the powder’s spell before, he wasn’t going to help. He had trusted you to sort it out yourself but now it was abundantly clear you couldn’t. 

Once again your brain reminded you how easy it would be to get some more coke to cheer yourself up. You could go downstairs and walk down the street, find one of your friends and be happy again so quickly. You didn’t have to feel this pain. 

This time, you ignored it and locked yourself in your apartment. You took yourself to bed immediately, not even bothering to turn on any lights along the journey through the tiny space. You fell on the bed face first. As soon as your body hit the soft material you curled up as tight as you could and began to cry. 

You had failed. You had let your team down, let your coordinators down, let your classmates down and let your family down. You didn’t even want to think about the conversation you would have to have with your mom as to why you were coming home six months early from a placement you fought so hard to get. You thought you could handle it, but you couldn’t. You failed.

--

Part 2

Translations (disclaimer I'm sorry if these are wrong I've been learning Spanish for all of 3 months hence the limited use)

Abra la puerta - open the door

No lo siento Javi. ¡Es divertido! - I’m not sorry Javi, it’s fun!

Eres enojado - are you angry?

No lo sé - I don’t know

Para!- stop!

Lo siento- I’m sorry

Pero- but

Me vale - I don’t care

The next part will be out next Friday! Want to get tagged? Let me know! 

Tag list: @beskar-tano @buckysbeloved @beskarbabs @all-hallows-evie @harrys-stan @browneyes-djarin @themidnightsun-12​

gunna be cheeky and tag some mutuals i think may be interested? @ithinkwehitametaphor​ @wille-zarr​ 

[stanzoeywade]

Tiptoe - Poppy x MC

Taglist: @somewillwin @uhh-the-green-thing @jmojellybae @simp-pony @made-me-deep-blue @uselesslesbianfr @it-lives-in-braidwood-manor @belvoiresqueenbee @alexlabhont @samanthadalton @crazzyplays @sparring-hyena @baexpoppy @cloakanddaggerthings

Summary: Poppy and MC meet in summer and they were dating but broke it off, not related to free falling dhaisja don't ask about ch3 idk either.

A/N: uhm hi I've been a ghost for like months lol but I heard from a little birdie that queen b is coming back in September and I'm so ready to clown for my wife Poppy again. Based on song below which is a bop. I also did not check my spelling or grammar I die like a dumbass. My one braincell would like to thank u all and Gabi for this fic 💗

There's hardly anything in this world that captivates you, until you see her. Her flawless skin, her blonde hair and those deep chocolate orbs that you just want to stare at and drown in forever. Who knew such a beauty existed? It boggles you to know that the Min-Sinclair heiress is perfect. One might say that you're jealous but deep down you know that's not the case. Jealousy? No, it's not jealousy, you're enthralled by her. It's not even because of how fucking gorgeous she looks, it runs deeper than that. There's just this weird sense of kinship that you feel when you look at her. She's more than the ranking, she's vulnerable and actually cares, something you saw when you went to the animal shelter.

The way her eyes sparkled when she saw the rescue animals, the way her mouth curved into that gentle smile. Who knew the queen bee of Belvoire had a heart? Her vulnerability is further shown when you realise that the golden girl of Belvoire has her own scars, her pride a by-product of the hurt caused by family and so called friends.

Having seen the forefront of it all, Belvoire is cutthroat. Everything matters, the clothes you wear, your family name. It's a free for all, no one cares who gets burned, low blows exchanged, it's all a big mind game and those who fall under pressure lose not just their reputation but everything they have worked for. But apart from all of that, she's still the first thing that makes you smile.

It's damning, the way your mind and heart races at the thought of Poppy. The way her eyes light up when she flashes that gentle smile, where one look is all it takes to make your knees weak and the blood rushing up your cheeks. You've never seen such a beauty, her smile is like a soft ray of sunshine, warming you up. However, she's also as mysterious as the moon, especially since she acts so sweet and the next minute she's as cold as ever. It's enough to give you whiplash.

Such gentle and delicate features, yet her personality is as fiery as the sun, I guess it's true what they say, the sun is beautiful yet staring at it can become painful.

It's confusing as to why Rosie's fallen so hard for Poppy, they've been rivals from the start, with each other's goal to come out on top. Things have definitely changed after the night they slept together, Poppy's words have no actual bite to them. If she were brave enough Rosie would've called Poppy out on it, but she's so confused on where they stand that she doesn't want to risk this newfound "friendship" if one can even call it that.

It suddenly hits Rosie like a brick. 'Wait, has Poppy been courting me in her own weird way or am I imagining shit?' She becomes more confused as Poppy seems to stare at her longer than she ever did, sometimes Rosie would meet eyes with Poppy who seems to have a longing stare as if she has so much to convey yet has no courage to do so. Sometimes it gets to the point where Poppy blushes after she realises that both of them have been staring at each other for too long. Both of them being a flustered and blushing mess, looking away as if they've been burned from getting too close to a fire.

Most people in Belvoire would argue that its not longing and wistful glances that the two are exchanging, they'd say that those were intense glares formed from the ongoing rivalry that the two have established in public, but anyone who personally knows Poppy and Rosie would say differently. There's also an ongoing bet between the students of the school. Some argue that Poppy and Rosie are secretly dating whilst the rest argue that they absolutely loathe each other and the ongoing stares are to intimidate each other to give in and leave Belvoire.

Zoey and Veronica are secretly in cahoots in which they bet that the two are definitely dating or in Veronica's words "those two are definitely fucking" which earns her a fond smile as well as a roll of the eyes from Zoey. Chloe suspects something between Poppy and Rosie, considering they genuinely don't seem to put energy behind the insults they throw at each other. She doesn't think that the two are lovers but she definitely thinks that they're secretly friends.

It's not until Veronica sees Rosie wink at Poppy when she thought nobody was looking, and she was certain that the blonde would glare at Rosie but imagine her surprise when Poppy flirts back by winking back. In which she's all too excited to text Zoey about. "Omfg bitch, you won't believe what I saw today, like holy fuck the two gays were flirting when they thought no one was looking." All she gets in response from Zoey was "show receipts pls."

Rosie can feel herself falling for Poppy, both of them know that things have changed. Neither seem too interested in fighting and when they do argue, it's all for show, after all no one knows that they're secretly pining after each other. She suddenly remembers how they met.

-Flashback-

Being relatively new to New York, Rosie was eager to meet new people and what better way to start off than hooking up with strangers from a random bar? After all, the city was big and it's been a while. As soon as she arrived someone immediately caught her attention. One Poppy Min-Sinclair, dressed to the nines, she was definitely Rosie's type. Not really expecting anything Rosie struts towards her, in hopes of beginning a conversation.

At first Poppy seemed uninterested, scoffing and she felt a presence near her. She didn't really want to deal with anyone considering they're usually just random guys who wanted to hook up in the bathrooms or worse they're drunk as fuck trying to flirt with her. However, imagine her surprise when she looks at the person that dared to sit by her. Poppy would be lying if she said that the girl in front of her wasn't her type. She seemed sweet, and had a gentle smile. It was also a bonus that the girl seemed to know how to dress herself.

When their eyes met, there was this lightning spark that just fit into place, the two had chemistry. It was undeniable, the two just knew how to push and pull. The banter was there, so was the attraction.

Poppy wasn't shy about showing her attraction, obviously checking Rosie out, which earns her a low chuckle from the other girl. "At least buy me dinner first before you undress me with you eyes?" said Rosie with mirth dancing around her eyes, whilst Poppy just laughs, soft and languidly slow. At which point Rosie knew she was screwed, the blonde in front of her looked like she just walked out of the runway, and her laugh was definitely something Rosie wanted to hear more of.

She's pulled out of her epiphany once Poppy speaks, voice sultry and pulling Rosie in like a siren. "My name is Poppy Min-Sinclair, and I do what I want sweetheart." The confidence she exudes is shown in her voices. It's addicting the way the blonde presents herself, every move calculated and poised. Every word that leaves her lips is deliberate and elegant in her own unique way. If she was in her right mind, Rosie would've been terrified by how enraptured she was by this girl in front of her.

Rosie wasn't one to back down from a challenge therefore she decides to tease the girl in front of her. "Is your name supposed to be important? I've never heard of it. Anyways, since you've introduced yourself so nicely, my name's Rosie." Poppy just raises an eyebrow at her semi-surprised that the other girl hasn't heard of her. "Sorry babe, the whole world doesn't revolve around you." said Rosie with a cheeky smile and wink and before Poppy can retort Rosie finishes off by saying "but it definitely should revolve around you, I mean look at you, you're mesmerising."

If it were any other person, Poppy would have definitely rolled her eyes and walked away, but Rosie seemed to mean it. The other girl definitely looked like she wore her heart on her sleeve, and it was just so damn endearing that Poppy, against her usual M.O., she decides to stay and talk to the other girl. 'She looks cute enough, but if she's gonna be annoying then I'll just ditch her later.' thought Poppy.

Both women were intrigued by each other, and one thing led to another. Before they knew it they were together in a hotel room. Neither of them cared about who made the move first, all they knew was that they had to have each other one way or the other.

Despite her pent up desire and lust, Poppy still cared about her reputation, after all even if she was on break it didn't mean she can be careless, plus she didn't exactly want to expose Rosie to Belvoire's dirty laundry, the girl seemed nice enough and Poppy wasn't about to mess with this girl. Sure she's a fucking bitch but that doesn't mean she wants people to suffer because of her unless they've wronged her or any of her friends in some way. She's petty but she's not that petty.

God knows Belvoire is a shithole.

They're definitely closer than what should be conceived as acceptable, considering Rosie is literally one step away from kissing Poppy. Not like either of then cared considering they were too focused on each other to pay attention to their surroundings. It's only when the bartender coughs that the two pull away from each other as if taken out of their seemingly lulled state.

Rosie's about to say goodbye, considering the blonde seems like she's torn between leaving or staying, but she's caught by surprise when Poppy yanks her arm back. "Where do you think you're going, little lamb? I didn't say I was done with you yet." The way it was said was enough to make Rosie shiver. The way the Min-Sinclair heiress said it so confidently, it didn't help that she looked to be the epitome of lust and desire at that moment, but from then on Rosie knew she was fucked, both literally and figuratively.

Before she knew it she was pulled into a car headed to the nearest luxury hotel, which just so happens to be a presidential suite at The Ritz. Rosie didn't show but she was shocked. She knew the girl was rich, I mean come on her clothes are fresh off the runway and the blonde exuded power and wealth. But this was like a bucket of ice water being dropped on Rosie's head, this was definitely something she wasn't expecting.

NSFW AHEAD

She's taken aback by the inside of the hotel suite, she expected it to be fancy, but nothing could prepare her for the plush king sized bed, as well as the overall layout of the room. It looks like something straight out of an IKEA magazine, Rosie can't help but think.

"Well, are you just going to stand there or are we actually going to fuck?" says Poppy. Rosie is taken aback from how bluntly Poppy put it. Speaking of which, the blonde girl is already half way through removing her clothes. She couldn't help the gasp that escapes her as she gawks at Poppy and the way her body looks so perfect, unblemished milky white skin that looks so soft, all Rosie could think of is leaving marks in her wake. She licks her lips in anticipation as Poppy gives her the come hither gesture, and Rosie is immediately lured in, like a moth drawn to a flame.

Her hands immediately raise up, helping Poppy out of her clothes, until all that remains is Poppy's underwear. Her eyes scan Poppy's body and out of the corner of her eye she can see Poppy's satisfied smile. Rosie is pulled in, her body pulled in flush against Poppy. Her eyes dart over to Poppy's lips as she leans in to kiss Poppy. A hand covers her mouth as she hears "Not yet Hughes, it's unfair if I'm the only one in my underwear."

Rosie's ears are definitely bright red at this point and she's pretty sure that her whole body is flushed, but she gives Poppy a show as she takes each article of clothing slowly, piece by piece as if testing Poppy's already short patience. As she takes her blouse off, Poppy's staring at her so intensely she can feel her legs wobble. The look conveying an unspoken promise. It's enough to make her a little self conscious, but her confidence is regained as soon as she sees how flushed Poppy is. It also helped that she saw Poppy gulp, looking at her like she's the only thing in the world. "See something you like, Min-Sinclair?" she can't help but tease and the blonde rolls her eyes.

"You were doing so well until you started speaking. Just get your ass over here. I'm not used to waiting for things I want." said Poppy. Rosie struts over to Poppy.

She's immediately back at Poppy's side, the Min-Sinclair heiress looking her up and down which makes Rosie nervous as the way Poppy stares is intense. Her doubts are quickly quelled as she's soon tugged harshly the collar. Poppy pulls her in roughly for a kiss, as their tongues dance and weave against each other, battling for dominance. They both step forwards towards the bed, and the noises that come out of Poppy is irresistible and music to her ears. She sounds incredible and Rosie can't get enough and with a flick of her tongue Poppy is putty in her hands.

They both fall towards the bed, Poppy ending up under Rosie. They pull away quickly to catch their breath, and Poppy's eyes are blown so much so, her pupils are dilated like a cat ready to catch its prey. Her lips parted and bruised, taking in oxygen as if all of her breath has been taken away. If Rosie thought she was in charge, she's got another thing coming. Their position is switched, as Poppy expertly flips them over, landing her on top of the other girl. Rosie ending up with her back against the bed as Poppy straddles her. "You're a good kisser, Hughes." she says and Rosie smiles mischievously "I try." she replies.

Poppy's quick to kiss Rosie again, as if she's her only lifeline teetering her to the world. Every kiss shared feels like sparks flying, the intensity and passion leaving them both breathless. It's not like Rosie's gonna give in and let Poppy top her, she quickly pull Poppy by the waist, bodies completely flushed against each other before rolling over so that their position is once again switched. This time Rosie comes out on top.

Before the other girl can complain, Rosie's quick to shut her up but trailing kisses from lips to her neck. Poppy smells like fresh cherries and vanilla, which for some reason is very fitting. After all cherries are sweet but the fruit itself can be dangerous, however there's a hint of danger. After all cherries do have cyanide in the seed. The whimpers and moans that come from Poppy's mouth are sensual and spurs Rosie on even more. She can't get enough of the blonde.

She can feel Poppy's nails taking across her back, and she's sure that those are definitely going to leave marks, not like she minds considering she's too far gone from the sound of Poppy's moans and whimpers.

Rosie looks at Poppy and she can't help but admire how beautiful Poppy looks under her, eyes half lidded and chest heaving. "You look better when you're quiet, Princess." said Rosie, but instead of reporting Poppy just pulls her back in and their lips are clashing against except this time its rough. Poppy pulling and tugging at her hair, while leaving small nibbles on her lips. Rosie knows that her lips are going to be all sorts of red and bruised the next morning.

Rosie's hand finds their way to the waistband of Poppy underwear, and she can feel the wet patch. She slides her hand inside and moves her fingers to find Poppy's clit, where she rubs small circles, and she feels the blonde jolt from the sudden contact and Rosie is about to apologise until she hears Poppy's breathy moans. "I swear to god, if you stop I'm going to fucking kill you." whimpered Poppy.

Rosie just smiles against Poppy's skin as she continues teasing Poppy until the other girl is a panting and whimpering mess. "I need your fingers inside me Hughes, stop fucking around and actually start fucking me." It's said so desperately Rosie finally grants the blonde her wish and starts pumping her fingers in and out until the blonde cums, back arched away from bed and a loud and filthy moan is all the can be heard. Rosie helps the other ride out her orgasm by cooing gentle words and leaving kisses that are definitely going to leave marks on the Poppy's unblemished skin.

-NSFW END-

-FLASHBACK END-

The casuak hook up turns into dates and outings, and both of them start to catch feelings for each other. As much as it surprises Poppy she genuinely enjoys the time that she spends with Rosie. The other girl always making sure to make Poppy smile. It doesn't help that Rosie had this weird way of knowing when Poppy was upset or stressed in which she'd always do something to help the blonde feel better. Rosie's become a constant, a home away from home in a sort. Always there even on Poppy's worse days, not giving in even when Poppy's relentlessly cruel and bitchy. If she weren't so fucking smitten Poppy would have thought that Rosie was a Saint considering how patient she is. However, she refuses to confess her feelings to the other girl first, after all she's a Min-Sinclair and they don't confess ever. People confess to her.

They're both stubborn, therefore they both refuse to even acknowledge their budding feelings for the other. Though there have been too many times where Poppy has gotten jealous when people stare too much at Rosie, though it's reserved and usually subtle. Poppy quietly stakes her claim by always having some sort of physical contact with Rosie. It could be something as simple as a hand on Rosie's forearm or wrist. But the real warning comes from her passive aggressiveness when others get too close to Rosie or the glares that are given if anyone is dumb enough to try and flirt with the other girl.

It's not like Rosie is any better. Whilst Poppy is subtle with her jealousy, Rosie is not. She's always quick hold Poppy's hand as if to signify that the blonde is hers and it's even worse if anyone ignores that. She becomes more physically affectionate. She hugs Poppy as if her life depends on it. There's also been a few times where if Rosie's patience was tested she'd get really jealous and the next time they're intimate she always leaves marks where no one but her or Poppy knows. It's also when she becomes quite dominant in the bedroom and it genuinely entertains Poppy so much so it's become her second favourite past time. The first definitely being their intimate moments.

It gets to the point where both of then get so frustrated they confess how they feel that the same time, which becomes one of their inside jokes considering they both felt like idiots for not confessing their feelings sooner.

However, it's not like summer lasts forever and both of them end up breaking it off, since Poppy actually likes Rosie and she refuses to put her through the shit that goes on in Belvoire. "It was fun while it lasted, Hughes, but I'm sorry. I have to go back and I'm not sure I'll ever see you again." said Poppy, voice cold as ice as if the whole thing didn't matter. Poppy would be lying if she said that it meant nothing, considering she's never been happier. The other girl definitely had a special place in her heart but as they say if you really live someone you have to let them go. She might be cruel but she's not about to fuck Rosie's life up by involving her in the stupidity of Belvoire, she deserves better. Maybe after unibersity she can find Rosie and they can try again.

Rosie's quite sure that she's never going to find anyone that makes her feel the way Poppy does, but she's not one to make things more complicated. "I'm glad I met you Poppy Min-Sinclair, it's been fun while it lasted. Maybe someday we can meet each other again."

Imagine her surprise when it turns out that Poppy attends Belvoire, both of them shocked to see each other again. The only difference being that Poppy seems much colder than the one she met before. Her eyes didn't have that shine or hint of mischief. It looked too detached. "What are you staring at?" said one of the girls following Poppy. Her eyes widened in surprise as the person her roommate Zoey warned her about was Poppy. She's barely acknowledged by Poppy as she just walks away without a word.

Things start to get more complicated as both of them are put against each other, as they compete for the top spot. It's not like Rosie really cared about the fucking thing, in all honesty she didn't even want to compete with Poppy but it's not like she had a choice considering no one cared that she didn't want to compete with Poppy. It gets to the point Rosie avoids Poppy altogether, not really wanting the unsolicited drama with the other girl.

It becomes even worse when rumours start that th reason why the two girls avoided each other like the plague was because Carter was cheating on Poppy with Rosie, and this gets blown out of proportion during the football game in which the screen shows a poorly photoshopped photo of Rosie and Carter kissing.

The way Poppy looked at Rosie broke her heart. Poppy looked tired and upset. She looked like she was betrayed and worse of all the look was directed at her. It's made even worse when Poppy wordlessly looks away, tears on her eyes as she runs to get away from the stadium.

Things change when Rosie chases after Poppy. It's the first time she sees Poppy cry, and it breaks her heart because how can she be so foolish. This was the person she fell for, and it sucked because she was the reason why Poppy was upset.

She approaches Poppy carefully, and as soon as she's noticed. Poppy's eyes narrow into a glare. "What do you want Hughes? Haven't you done enough already?" she yells, her voice full of venom. The words sting, but Rosie marches on, as she apologises. "I know I'm the last person you want to see, but I wanted to say I'm sorry. You didn't deserve all of that." She reaches out to try and comfort Poppy but she stops as remembers that she's the reason Poppy was crying in the first place. They both stand there in a tense silence, both not wanting to speak until they both say something at the same time. "Why didn't you tell me that you go to Belvoire?" they both say in sync.

Rosie lets Poppy speak first. "If you said that you were going to be attending Belvoire, maybe things would have been different." she says and this catches Rosie's attention. "Different how?" she asks and Poppy looks at her eyes softening as she says "I would have admitted that I was falling for you."

That's how they got back together.

[yourlmanburg]

yet another smp sibling // eret + gn!sibling!reader

(hello i genuinely do not know what got blown up in doomsday please let that slide lmao, also i am honestly really sorry about how late this is - i was super tired yesterday and i’ve been busy all day today lulw but even so, i hope you enjoy this even if i didn’t have the energy to edit it whoops)

word count: 1,343

summary: eret reveals they have a younger sibling and shows them around the dream smp

request?: yep! thank you @brianawithonen!!

---

Your brother had been streaming for about half an hour or so now while you were busy doing homework, but if you’d been watching, your heart would’ve melted. Alastair had somehow let it slip that he had a little sibling and his chat was going crazy as they spoke nothing but good about you, singing your praises and making it clear how much you meant to them.

“I can actually go and get Y/n if you guys would like?” She asked her chat, and needless to say, they were delighted with the idea of meeting another SMP sibling. You were sitting at your desk when you heard a knock at your bedroom door, spinning around to look at your brother.

“Aren’t you streaming?” You asked before he could get a word in. He wasn’t supposed to end yet as far as you were aware.

“Yep! Do you want to play on the SMP for a little bit?” They asked kindly, their tone preventing you from feeling too pressured. You couldn’t lie, the thought of showing yourself to tens of thousands of people both scared you and excited you - what if somebody you knew was watching the stream and they didn’t know you were The Eret’s sibling? What if nobody liked you? What if you said something wrong and got cancelled, or even worse, what if you got Alastair cancelled? Despite the negative thoughts crowding your mind, you realised how much joy the Dream SMP had brought to Alastair. You knew how much it’d boosted their career and you know how many lives he’d changed, and you knew about the friends he’d made. Maybe this was a chance for you to have the same as that for a segment of a stream.

“Sure!” You exclaimed with a grin, leaving your work where it was and following your brother into their recording room.

“Here we go, chat!” Alastair said with a smile, passing you a spare headset and pulling out another chair for you. “This is Y/n, my mini me, who is surprisingly good at Minecraft.” They chuckled as you looked at her with fake betrayal.

"Surprisingly, huh?" You chuckled, slipping on the headset and sitting beside your sibling. 

“Oh, by the way, I’m on the VC in case anybody wants to join - is that okay with you?” She asked and you nodded, already taking over his game and walking around on the Dream SMP. This was so surreal.

“So what do I do?”

“Well, I can show you around if you’d like?” Alastair looked at you with a small grin, to which you nodded eagerly. You began in (the remains of) L’Manburg and you were shown around the Greater Dream SMP, the Badlands, Manifoldland and even El Rapids, and you couldn’t lie; you were impressed by some of the structures your brother had built. Everything was going better than you’d expected and you really did enjoy spending time with Alastair like this, until you heard the familiar Discord chime and a very distinct voice that you just could not ignore.

“HELLO ERET!” The legendary TommyInnit screamed down your ears, unaware of your presence. Alastair chuckled, letting him know that he was with his younger sibling.

“Why do you have a child with you? Do they know that I am a big man, bigger than them?” oh, somebody sounded confident as ever.

“Wanna bet?” you spoke up, Tommy for once finding himself at a loss for words.

“You suck.” he stated bluntly, causing you to burst into fits of laughter. Alastair was a little more on the unimpressed side, however, asking Tommy to calm down with the somewhat aggressive remarks. Of course, he was only answered with incoherent angry mumbles, followed by another Discord chime.

“TUBBO!” both Alastair and Tommy shouted at the same time, Tubbo greeting them with an equal level of enthusiasm. A little yellow banner across the screen told you that he’d just logged into the game, his avatar appearing not too far away from your brother’s.

“Hey Tubbo, did you know Eret is with a child?” Tommy asked him like it was the biggest deal on Earth. Tubbo let out a confused laugh, asking Alastair if this was true or if Tommy was just spouting bullshit as usual.

“Hi,” you giggled before Alastair had a chance to reply. “I believe I am said child.”

“Oh, hello!” he greeted you happily, running over towards you in Minecraft and crouching in front of your character. 

“Tubbo, right? I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Who’s Tubbo? I am Big Law and Big Law only.” you laughed at how serious his tone was, feeling as if you were really, finally seeing why the SMP meant so much to your brother. You barely knew them yet these people were some of the nicest you’d ever met (despite the fact that you’d already known of their existence and tuned into more than enough streams prior to this) and you truly felt as if you belonged - if only you could become a permanent member in the intricate storyline.

You, Tubbo and Tommy played around for a while longer with your brother by your side, every so often speaking up but he was mostly just watching you. Watching the smile on your face and the shine in your eyes; this was clearly where you wanted to be, if he could just…

Alastair pulled out his phone, opening up discord and clicking on his conversation with Dream. Meanwhile, you were very invested in the business you were starting up with the two boys, trying to persuade people like Nihachu and Ranboo to buy from you.

Dream joined the game.

You paused for a second, looking up at Alastair with a grin. You’d always wanted to meet Dream and she’d always said that he was a busy man and you just had to wait for a chance, could this be it? Could you finally be able to speak to the Dreamwastaken?

Even so, you carried on as you were. You tried not to show your excitement in fear of being seen as an overly obsessed fan, when you saw a familiar green skin hopping over to where you, Ranboo and your two new friends stood. Turning to face him, Tommy and a very confused Ranboo began shouting at you to make a deal with him for your business when somebody joined the call.

“Hello?” the new voice greeted, and it was undeniably Dream. 

“Hello!” you replied enthusiastically, as did the others. 

“Y/n?” Oh my god, he knew your name.

“Yeah?”

“What’s your Minecraft username?”

“Y/u/n, why?” Dream left the game and there was a pause. Nobody else in the call was speaking, what was happening? Had you just fucked things up? You looked up to Alastair for reassurance, and he nodded at you with a warm smile, but you still didn’t understand.

“Okay!” Dream spoke up again, dragging out the “o” and rejoining the server. “Eret should be sending you the IP address now, go and try logging in on your account, you should be whitelisted.

And you were. You’d finally been whitelisted on the Dream SMP.

All because of your brother.

That night, you sat on the sofa beside Alastair, tired from many hours you’d spent on the server, but happy. The happiest you’d been in a while. As much as you were afraid to admit it, ever since they joined you’d longed to have what they had with everyone, you longed to be part of the plot. You finally had that chance.

“So?” She asked you with a smile. “How was today?”

“Fucking incredible!” you replied, making them laugh. You leaned into Alastair’s side, looking up at him with a tired expression. “Thank you, Alastair, seriously. You’ve just made one of my dreams come true - pun intended.”

“I’m glad! I’m so happy to have you there now, I really think you have the potential to become a really crucial character.”

“Really?”

“Really. Now go and do that maths homework you left.”

“I hate you.”

[lavenderbexlatte]

seriously?

stray kids 1.1k words female reader insert Reader x Han Jisung EXPLICIT/NSFW

🖤 warnings: tongue piercing, oral sex (f receiving) 🖤

🚨🚨 no extra warnings, i think??

connect with me! / masterlist

“I swear you’re gonna like it!”

That sentence, coming from Jisung, is never good. He said the same thing before he showed you the birthday cake he baked for you, the one that he literally dropped on the floor and reconstructed using frosting and toothpicks. He said something very similar before revealing that he had put Shrek-green hair dye in poor blonde Hyunjin’s shampoo, leaving his hair a sickly Nickelodeon Gak color.

So your standards aren’t very high for whatever he’s about to show you.

“What did you do?” you ask flatly.

“Something cool,” he promises.

“Do I need to call anyone?”

“No! Why don’t you trust me?” he whines, and when you open your mouth to protest, he holds up a finger, “Don’t answer that!”

“Jisung, I love you so fucking much, but I am very scared,” you say.

Granted, the two of you are just sitting on the couch in your apartment, on a weekday evening, so at least you have full control of whatever’s about to happen. If you need to call the fire department, or your mom, or the most powerful anti-Jisung agent, Chan, then you can do it.

“Show me,” you tell him.

Without preamble, Jisung just opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue. You don’t see it at first, and that makes you even more concerned.

“What am I looking at?”

Jisung rolls his eyes. “Thith!”

Against your better judgment, you lean in closer, to see a small silver stud through the center of Jisung’s tongue. He got his fucking tongue pierced. You can’t help throwing in another jab before you let yourself think about how hot it is.

“Is that a sore?” you ask, squinting at it.

“It’th a fucking pierthing!” Jisung sputters, around the tongue that is still firmly sticking out of his mouth.

“When, why, and how did you get this?”

Jisung draws his tongue back into his mouth to answer you properly. “Couple weeks ago? Changbin said I was a pussy and I would never do it. So then it was a matter of pride, and I had to.”

You know that’s not the end of it. You know Jisung too well.

“And…?”

“And…” he wilts, caught, “And Minho told me they’re good for goin’ down on people.”

“Oh, my God,” you sigh.

“Really, if you think about it, I did this for your benefit,” Jisung says, a persuasive edge to his voice.

“It’s not like I hate it, I just can’t believe you let them talk you into this,” you reply.

Jisung smiles. “You don’t hate it? So you…like it?”

“You’re pushing your luck.”

“Oh, you definitely like it!”

He’s right, but he’s still a pain in the ass who pierced his tongue on a whim and a promise it would make him good in bed. It’s such a thoroughly Jisung thing to do, incredibly stupid and undeniably sexy at the same time.

“Are you gonna let me test it out?” he asks you, smirking.

You level him with an unimpressed look. “Can I trust you with that thing?”

“You should trust me with all things,” he pouts, “What is this relationship even based on if you don’t trust me?”

“Pity.”

“Ouch,” he claps a hand over his heart dramatically. “You wound me. Shot to the heart. Only thing that can make it better is some sweet, sweet pussy.”

“You’re gross,” you whine, shoving him.

“Watch it! If I bite my tongue neither of us are getting anything!”

You stand up, leaving Jisung staring after you with a dumb smile on his face. It’s just his regular smile. But it’s dumb.

“Ji, you’re such an idiot.”

“I love when you dirty-talk me,” he replies.

“If that’s what gets your dick up, then you might have a problem.”

“Nah, I just love it when you’re mean to me,” he simpers, still absolutely teasing you and doing a good job of it.

You scoff at him and try to be nonchalant as you head for your room. You’re no fool – you have every intention of making Jisung prove the worth of his stupid piercing. But getting too excited will just inflate his ego even more.

“Hey baby,” Jisung says, right on your heels as you let yourself into your bedroom.

“What?”

“Why’re you going in here?”

“Finding the perfect blunt object for the murder weapon,” you say, shutting the door behind him.

Jisung raises an eyebrow. “Ooh, dangerous. Kinda sexy.”

You haul him closer by the collar of his t-shirt, “Do you ever shut the fuck up?”

“Nah.”

He gets in the last word before you’re kissing him, and he just laughs against your lips as he fits your body more firmly against his. You’re laughing, too, by the time the two of you pull apart for air. As much as you love busting his balls for all the ridiculous shit he pulls, you adore Jisung, and the idea of him jumping headfirst into body mods just for sex is strangely flattering.

You make quick work of his clothes, and he pulls yours off with the same impatience. Some days are good for taking it slow and savoring every part of the experience with tenderness, but not today. You have an idiot boyfriend with a tongue stud to put to the test.

Jisung, for his part, seems to be extremely excited to prove himself. He has you on your back against the plush material of your duvet as soon as the two of you are bare, and with a wicked grin, he lowers his mouth to your breast and licks over your nipple with his pierced tongue.

The metal stud rolls over your skin with delicious pressure, and you can’t help the way you gasp at the new sensation. Jisung isn’t awkward with it at all, the way you would expect.

“Damn, who’ve you been practicing this on?” you mutter, as Jisung traces the piercing down your torso, dips into your navel just to make you laugh.

“Nobody,” he says cheekily, “Unless my hand counts?”

“You practiced eating out your hand?!” you cry.

“Only, like, twice,” he shushes you. “It’s fine.”

“Why are you like this?” you complain.

Jisung settles himself between your spread legs, bringing his face down level with your pussy. “Gonna show you why.”

You wouldn’t call Jisung a natural at oral, but what he lacks in precise technique he more than makes up for with raw enthusiasm and a great sense for your body signals. He’s gotten more and more cocky over the time you’ve been together, and this stupid piercing is only amplifying his confidence.

He drags the piercing carefully over your clit, and it’s so intense and so new that you squeal, loudly, hips canting upward. Jisung’s head pops up, surprised, eyes wide and excited.

“That good?” he asks.

“If you fucking stop I’m gonna kill you,” you hiss.

Jisung grins up at you, tongue darting out to lick at some of your wetness on his lip, that stupid piercing winking in the dim light of your room.

“Awesome.”​

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Reckless (Dark Fic)

Summary: Waking home at night after a concert with her best friend she didn’t notice the police car standing on the other side of the street. Or the man following her in the middle of the night on her short way home. She could already see her house when she was pressed with her back against the wall, her hands handcuffed over her head. She should have listenend to her husband earlier who wanted to pick her up…

Warnings: Explicit, con noncon, mentions of stalking, obsession, breeding kink

Pairing: Dark!Walter Marshall x Nameless OFC

Wordcount: 2.8k

A/N: Okay so here it is. It’s something completely different to the stuff I write usually, but it’s been on my mind for weeks. Please read the warnings. I don’t want anyone coming in my ask box complaining about how sick I am. Thank you to @ladyreapermc​ who edited the shit out of it. Love you x

Masterlist

Humming to herself she walked down the dark road after attending a concert of her favorite band The taxi dropped her and her friend off at her house, where she had a beer before making her way home. It was only a five minute walk, so she declined someone bringing her home.It was a small town and it was almost midnight, on a school night. The only thing that would scare her along the way would probably be a stray cat.

With her headphones on, she fought the urge to sing along. She had to go out more. Between her job, the house, the man... She smiled to herself as she thought of him, probably still at work, trying to stay awake. When she met her husband almost 6 years ago, him being her knight in shining armour when her card was declined at the gas station, she thought he was just being nice, when he paid for her fill of gas. They got married two years after they met.

She didn’t notice the man following her as she took the shortcut through the dark alley to the right, already seeing her house in the dark just across the street.

Walter had watched her ever since she and her drunk friend got out of the taxi. She didn’t know that he had been watching her at every opportunity he got when he was free. No one would ever suspect a police officer being a creep.

He stayed seated in his unmarked police car, across the house she disappeared in. He wondered if she would be walking home by herself. As it turned out she was. He watched her say goodbye to her friend before she put her headphones on and all but danced down the street.

He waited until she was almost out of sight before he got out of his car and followed her. He knew that she lived only a couple minutes away. He knew there had been a concert in town and had seen her as he drove by the location hours ago. She was wearing that light blue summer dress. He loved how it looked on her. How it clung to the volume of her breasts and barely reached her knees.

He shook his head in disbelief when she took the shortcut through the dark alley. The light there went out months ago and nobody bothered to fix it, leaving that stretch of street completely in darkness,the light from the lamp post outside barely doing anything to help.  It was the perfect place for what he had in mind.

She still had no clue that someone was following her, too lost in her music, too distracted to care and it gave Walter even more time to plan his move, to keep his identity concealed for a few more moments because she knew who he was, of course. He earned himself quite the fame after the killer twins a couple of years ago. He was the famous Detective Walter Marshall, the one who made everyone feel safe. No one would ever suspect that he could do the same things he arrested people for.

She was just about to step out of the alley, when she felt a strong hand around her left wrist, her back being pushed almost violently into the wall. A scream died on her lips when another hand covered her mouth.

“Don’t even think about it…” A gruff deep voice startled her as she pulled her hands up against his broad chest.

She didn’t even notice that she had started crying, slowly blinking her eyes as she tried to make out the face of the man who held her with his body against the wall. Once again, she tried to push him off, still not being able to see just who it was, though she knew the voice.

“If you want it the hard way…” He growled, the hand over her mouth moving to her neck, holding her still in a choke as he seemed to search for something. Her fingers scraped and slapped the strong forearm connected to the hand holding her still, but her struggles barely fazed him. He was so much bigger than her, so much stronger. Her resistance was futile.

Once he found what he was looking for, Walter grabbed one of her wrists, watching as her eyes widened in surprise at the familiar click and the cold metal surrounding her wrist tightly. He tugged her arm up, releasing her throat long enough to grab her other arm and pull it up, handcuffing her to the rusty metal railing of a fire escape stairs hanging right above her.

“No… No No No No no…” She shook her head as panic started to set in. Why didn’t she stay at her friend’s house?

“What brings you here in the middle of the night, sweetheart? Look at me.” He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him.

“Det… Detective Marshall?” She asked. She would recognize the eyes of the handsome Detective anywhere.

Marshall might just be the most handsome man in the small town they lived. Always polite and helpful, even if somewhat grumpy, but right now there was also something animalistic about him that she found highly attractive.

“How many times did I tell you not to wander alone through the night, hm?” He asked.

“But.. It’s safe around here…” She managed.

“Clearly not.” He grinned down at her and she shivered.

“What… What are you going to do to me?” She whispered.

“Oh… Nothing you’re not going to enjoy.”

His hand ran down her side, pausing at the bare skin of her thigh and she finally realized what was about to happen.

“Please… Please don’t. You’re better than that…” She whimpered, tears escaping her eyes.

“Oh hush… I’ve seen how you look at me. Don’t pretend you haven’t fantasised about how it would feel….” His hand forced itself between her legs. “if I’d touch you right here.”

She pressed her eyes close. Imagining being everywhere but here. Her arms above her head felt heavy. How was this happening?

“Stop struggling. You’re clearly enjoying this…” He hummed, feeling her warm and damp core with his fingers.

“You could have had this the easy way. Without forcing me…” She cried.

“Where would be the fun in that, hm?” He asked. “I see you around all day, wearing all these sexy clothes, and you don’t even notice that everyone is staring at you, don’t you?”

She looked at him, noticing how his dark gaze watched her every move. He was so handsome. Would probably be even more handsome with a new haircut, yet the dark curly hair that screamed to be touched made him appear even more… beastlike.

She had always been fascinated by his eyes. How they seemed to hold all the answers in the world. She never would have thought that a deep inside he caged a monster that he now was ready to unleash on her.

“Just get it over with then…” She said, suddenly feeling very tired. He pushed his groin against her pelvis, making her hiss. She could feel his hard cock, as he brought his face so close his breath tickled her skin and she could smell the coffee he must have had earlier that night.

“Oh no… I want you to enjoy this….” His lips crashed down on hers, all teeth and tongue, his hips rolling against hers. “And I want you to scream my name every time I make you cum.” He whispered into her ear, biting her earlobe as his fingers ripped her panties off, making her gasp.

Why was this happening to her? And why on Earth did she start to enjoy this?Anywhere his hands touched her body seemed to be on fire. She could feel herself getting wetter and wetter everytime his hand wandered down her body, despite her best attempts to keep her legs closed. But if to deny him accept or to offer herself some blessed friction, she didn’t quite know.,. However, Marshall was undeniably stronger and pried her thighs open, pushing his clothed thigh in between them. The whimper that escaped her lips, she didn’t know if it was of fear or relief from having the supple muscle pressing against her aching flesh.

“I wonder if you taste as good as you look…” His grin was more a bearing of teeth of a hungry predator as he cupped her breasts, squeezing them harshly, making her whimper once again.“Like they were made for my hands…” He yanked  the neckline of her dress down, the noise of ripping fabric filling her ears and exposing her hard nipples to him.

“And wearing no bra… It almost seemed like you wanted this….” He whispered in a mocking tone, before he leaned down and bit onto one of her nipples, making her cry out.

She struggled against the handcuffs, wanting nothing more than to escape, yet at the same time she didn’t want him to stop. She hated herself for enjoying  the way he sucked on her nipple, hard. She would have marks from him for days.

“Everytime I see these tits I’m hard as fuck. Do you feel that?” He pushed himself closer against her. “Sometimes I think about you when I’m alone. How you feel. But fuck the real thing is better than I imagined.”

Gasping she threw her head back against the wall as she felt his other hand on her pussy. He pushed one finger in, making her cry out, while his other hand pinched her other nipple.

“So tight and wet.” He groaned, looking up at her. He brought his finger up, licking it.

“Better than I imagined. Tell me how many men fucked this pretty pussy?” He asked, taking a step away from her. He looked at her, so helpless, her arms over her head, her lips flushed and swollen from his kisses.

He couldn’t believe his luck. Having her here. Where she couldn’t run. At his mercy.

She didn’t answer him as she watched him open the fly of his pants. She could see his gun on his holster, making her gulp. Feeling herself shivering as he pulled his cock out, she closed her eyes. He was big. Probably too big for her. She could only hope that he would prepare her a little. Otherwise this would be even more painful than it already would be.

“Aww don’t close your eyes. Look at what you did.” He hummed. Breathing in deep she opened her eyes, looking into his.

“Like what you see?” He asked. In one last effort to stop him she brought her knee up as he stepped closer. It didn’t do anything.

“You fucking slut.” He growled, slapping her across the face, making her cry out.

“I was going to go gently on you, but you don’t want it gentle, do you?” He pushed the remains of her dress up, spitting into his hand rubbing his hard and throbbing cock.

“You want to be treated like the whore you are…” He grabbed one of her legs under her knee, pulling it up around his waist, his cock at her entrance.

“No… No don’t.” She cried.

“Oh shut up. I can feel you dripping on my cock already. Want me to cum inside you, huh?” He chuckled. She shook her head, a million scenarios going through her mind. She could end up pregnant from this.

“At least use a condom…” She pleaded. He stopped, looking down at her.

“No. I think I want to risk you ending up pregnant with my baby. Maybe that’ll teach you a lesson.” He said, before she felt him push inside of her.

All breath seemed to be pushed out of her body. She must have been wetter than she thought because it didn’t hurt as much as she thought it would. He hissed, pulling out of her before he thrusted his cock inside of her in one motion making her scream.

“There you go.” He hummed. He could see the tears in her eyes. “Don’t act like you don’t enjoy it.” He groaned as he bottomed out, only to slam back in, making her moan. He grabbed her other leg, pushing her against the wall as he began to thrust into her almost violently.

She whimpered, the feeling of his hands grabbing her legs so hard it would leave marks as he fucked into her, making her cry more.

“Even better than I imagined. I think I wanna make you cum…” He whispered. She felt one of his hands leave her legs, that she unintentionally crossed behind his back, as his fingers found her clit.

“You like that?” He rubbed her nub, swallowing her cries as he kissed her hard. She bit into his lip, making him groan.

“Fuck you Walter.” She hissed. She could see the muscles in his jaw twitch as he looked at her. Two of his fingers rolled her clit in between them, making her cry out.

“Cum for me you fucking slut.” He growled, thrusting harder into her.

“No…” She cried, even though she could feel herself getting close.

“If you don’t cum, I won’t stop.” He threatened. “We’ll be here until you cum, no matter how long and how often I cum inside of you.”

“No.. Please….” She cried, turning her head away from him.

“Look at me.” He growled. She swallowed the lump of shame and arousal clogging her throat, turning her head towards him. “I want to look into your eyes when you cum. I can already feel you tightening around my cock. And you better scream  my name when you cum.”

He marked every word with a hard thrust making her cry out. Hot tears burned tracks down her cheeks as she tried to fight him off, but her movements seemed to be meeting his thrusts, sending spikes of pleasure up her body.

She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of making her cum, but the way he was fucking her, the way he was touching her, pushed all of her buttons. With every thrust, every flick at her clit she felt herself growing closer. He brought his other hand to her neck.

“You better cum now…”

His movements grew harder, faster as his hand closed around her neck, choking her. The knot inside of her exploded, leaving her breathless as she cried out his name, her orgasm taking over her body. She shivered against his body, not even noticing as his hand left her neck, landing on her ass as he pushed her into him with every thrust. She didn’t feel the handcuffs around her wrists, the metal biting into her skin, leaving a bracelet of bruises.  She only felt overwhelming pleasure, riding out the longest and probably most intense orgasm she ever had in her life.

“Fuck. Yes. Just like that. You ready for my cum, slut?” Walter growled. She only whimpered in his response, caught between pleasure and disgust as she felt him still inside of her, his cock pumping his seed to where she least wanted it. Silently crying, she felt his forehead on her shoulder as they both tried to catch her breath.

She heard the rattle of keys, before his hands opened the handcuffs.

“Slowly.” He shushed, as she groaned. He put her arms around her shoulders, as he picked her up, her gentleness such a contrast to the brutality of moments before. She breathed in deep.

“Are you okay?” He whispered. She blinked her eyes open, looking at him. The dark gaze, the monster was gone, and left was only her Walter. He rubbed his hands over her wrists where she slowly got the feeling back.

“I’m perfect.” She sighed blissfully. He didn’t set her down, instead picking her up, but not before he made sure that she was fully covered. When did he pull up his pants?

“Was that good?” He asked. She finally opened her eyes, looking at him, as he slowly walked towards their home.

“I didn’t know you would really do it.” She said. Even in the dark she could see him blush.

“You trusted me with your fantasy and I was kinda curious.”

“It was just like I imagined.” She said, kissing him softly. “And it was kinda hot seeing you so… dominant.”

“Really?” He asked with a grin. She only nodded, playing with the soft curls on the back of his head as he searched for the keys to their house.

“How about a long hot bath and then we go to bed?” He asked as he unlocked the door.

“Sounds perfect.” She smiled tiredly. “I love you, Walter.”

“I love you too, baby.” He smiled back, before he kissed her forehead.

[shimmershae]

The more I think about it, the more “Find Me” feels like an echo of “Ghosts.”

Allow me to explain.  In probably the most rambling and incoherent way possible, lol.  My earlier post on Twitter about Season 10 being an exercise in grief and longing really got me to thinking.  Not just thinking.  Ruminating.  

Anywho.  

Posting the rest of this beneath a cut because nobody asked for this (I swear I haven’t imbibed or ingested any illegal substances).  

It doesn’t take long for Carol to be established as an unreliable narrator in “Ghosts.”  At first it isn’t completely obvious because there’s just enough fact in the fiction that Carol’s triggered brain stirs up.  Daryl’s there and he’s concerned about her.  He’s supportive.  Both things he’d been before, especially since Henry’s death, but there are just enough elements in those chemically and grief induced hallucinations of hers that make you go--oh wait a minute.  Like she’s having a break from reality but she’s desperately grasping for that which grounds her and that’s Daryl.  

Am I making any sense here?  I feel like I’m not.  

Let me approach this from another angle.  

Following the airing of “Find Me” various people mentioned that Daryl, similarly to Carol in “Ghosts” wasn’t exactly the most reliable narrator.  That things weren’t necessarily as they seemed.  The word toxic was bandied about but other than Leah giving Daryl an ultimatum to choose her over his family and Daryl dwelling in deep, longstanding depression?  There wasn’t much else overtly deserving of that moniker. 

Argh.  I’m still not explaining myself well.  Let me just jump right in the deep end of probable delusion here.  Sometimes it’s fun to splash around, lol.   

Wouldn’t it be wild—sad AF but still wild—if Leah was already dead when Daryl met her?  

Bear with me here.   

Like Carol in “Ghosts” Daryl is obviously struggling.  He’s grief-stricken.  His brother is lost to him and after he betrayed him no less.  His close friend is mired in her own grief--she’s just lost her mate, probably recently discovered she was carrying RJ, and it wasn’t too long before that they had all lost Carl.  And that’s not even considering Carol, who’s allowed herself to be pulled away, lured by the tantalizing chance of doing things right this time.  Of rearing a child capable of surviving in the harsh world they live in.  Another thing to remember is Daryl is not that far removed from his torture at Negan’s hands.  So he’s more fragile than he’d willingly admit to anyone.  

He’s searching the woods for a man that isn’t there.  Now he’s no more aware that Rick was taken than the rest of Team Family, but he’s unwilling to give up hope and so he searches and because Rick’s not there and hasn’t been since shortly after that bridge blew up, Daryl’s doomed to always come up empty.  To always feel disappointment.  To never have his grief assuaged because as long as there’s no body in the form of a Walker, there’s still hope.  Or plausible denial.  Take your pick.  

He’s tireless in his search.  He’s methodical.  He plots out the places he’s already scoured on a hand-drawn map.  A map that just so happens to get ruined by an awful storm and Daryl seems to reach his breaking point, screaming out into the roar of that storm.  Walking through the barrage, the harsh rain and the violent lightning, unconcerned for his safety.  

Dude has a bit of a mental break.  He’s undeniably emotional.  

It’s not long after that he stumbles upon Dog.  Or, more aptly, Dog stumbles upon him.  

That puppy immediately lightens Daryl’s heavy heart and helping it find its way home gives him purpose.  He’s a tracker after all.  He could have easily traced Dog’s steps back to that cabin.  

Funny that Dog was always coming to him.  That he was roaming free in woods that were full of hidden dangers.  

I don’t know about the rest of ya’ll but that cabin looked abandoned when Daryl first discovered it.  Maybe not long abandoned, but it didn’t look inhabited by the living. And that’s the weird thing.  How did that Walker get into the cabin?  Did Leah just leave the door wide open for it?  Did she also leave the door wide open for Dog to escape?  Why was he always such an unaccompanied furry minor? 

The thoughts swirling around in my brain, lovelies.  They’re going to force me to go back and watch that fucking episode again aren’t they?

My point is that Dog essentially leads Daryl to the cabin. The Walker’s inside and then he stumbles upon Leah, who bursts onto the scene like she wants to be Sarah Connor or something. Daryl ends up in restraints and Leah questions him and ultimately lets him go and WTF, lovelies.  Who does that in the ZA?  As a woman all alone in a cabin miles from anybody else, in the company of a man she doesn’t know from Adam?  If ever there’s a time to have stranger danger...

Right from the start, this chick doesn’t really add up.

So Daryl leaves the cabin.  He resumes his search for Rick and he seems to give very little thought to this Leah or the cabin.  Until Dog finds him again.  

Strange isn’t it that he keeps stumbling back in her path around the times that Carol visits, when she draws further and further from his reach and closer to the fairytale he thinks she’s living at the Kingdom?  

Did Daryl ever go to that cabin without following Dog? I can’t remember.  The episode was beautifully shot but ultimately too painful to rewatch for my Caryl loving heart.  

Anywho.  

When Daryl and Carol come upon that cabin in the woods, Daryl’s flashbacks begin.  They’re hazy around the edges and not as clearly defined as the moments he spends with Carol.  Speaking of the moments he spends with Carol, how coincidinky that so many of them echo his moments with Leah?  Or do we have it all backwards?  Hmm?  

Things are so convoluted sometimes on this fucking show it leads one to question their sanity.  

Let me ramble out a few wild thoughts for you lovelies again and you tell me if I’ve completely lost it, lol.  

What if Dog was simply an orphaned, abandoned Dog that found Daryl in the woods?

What if Daryl followed the trail Dog had traveled in reverse and stumbled upon the cabin?  

What if the cabin was abandoned because Leah was already dead?  What if she’d taken her own life?  What if Daryl saw the cross/grave outside and the picture inside and his grief-stricken brain conjured up a whole tragic story for this woman, this Walker roaming around inside this house, and she became his coping mechanism?  You know.  Kind of like Rick did Lori when he had his own break with reality.  They’ve all suffered so much, lovelies.  They’ve all got PTSD.  It’s just manifesting in different ways.  

I mean, all of this would fit the label of sad that NR and others have given this little tale.  It would even fit toxic because Daryl let grief and loneliness swallow him for a while.  

As Carol pulls farther away from him, Leah just keeps popping up more and more.  

Daryl essentially loses himself in his own fairy tale only it’s a nightmare painted in soft colors and Leah asking him to choose is basically his own psyche saying to him “do you wanna live here in this fantasy land and numb your pain or do you want to relive the awful reality of Rick being lost and Carol slowly fading from your life day by day?”  And at first he’s like, you can’t make me make that choice because Daryl doesn’t want to give up hope, no matter how futile it seems.  But then Carol makes what she tells him might be her final visit for a while and anger leads Daryl right back to that fucking cabin and oblivion.  Back to the solitude of his tortured thoughts.  

That note, lovelies.  It felt like by choosing Leah he was choosing a lifetime of being alone more than it did him choosing the hope of a new love.  That “find me” for all the world felt like he was willing hope to find him again.  Hope in the form of love in the form of Carol.  

Listen.  I never said this would make sense, lol.  

When Daryl gets back to that cabin, Leah is gone.  Her picture is gone. 

Truly it felt like she’d never been there.  

Even more so when you consider how run down the cabin looks in present day when Daryl and Carol seek shelter in it.  

I can’t help it.  Some small part of me?  Well, it thinks that Daryl told Carol about Leah (whether she existed or not) as a way to both make her feel better than he wasn’t out there in those woods completely alone and to maybe move the needle a little bit on the nature of their own relationship.  Both in the past and present day.  

And while he and Carol are struggling through the ever-shifting nature of their feelings for each other, Daryl has climbed out of his own darkness and found hope again in Judith and RJ.  In the family he’s embraced again. In the communities.  And he’s angry and unsettled because he wants the same for Carol but she doesn’t seem to want that for herself.  

He still wants her to find hope.  

He still wants her to find him.  

He still wants her to find love and peace.  

Help me, lovelies.  These two have broken me, lol.  I promise.  I’m stone cold sober.  A little, okay a lot, tired.  

Wouldn’t it be wild, though?  If Leah really wasn’t what she seemed?  If she were a figment of a broken, lonely man’s tortured imagination?  

Undeniably sad AF but wild all the same.