#i kind of find the concept of being locked in with strangers and working to find a way out weirdly exhilarating though

[puppyeared]

if escape rooms as team building exercises became popular im not sure if id be more excited or terrified

[gabessquishytum]

Burgess didn't summon Dream of the Endless in human form, he called to the Eldritch manifestation -- the "monster" with no human form and tentacles, that drives men crazy to look upon it.

Everything, human & animal, in the Burgess manse died the night of the summoning. Everyone in town or some miles from the actual house that didn’t die when Dream initally manifest went crazy. And unfortunately, Dream was trapped and couldn't free himself from Fawlty Rigg. The land and the house became a haunted and derelict, crumbling, with the Eldritch Dream trapped.

The crazy spread through the surrounding area slowly, but inexorably. With Dream forgotten, with his humanoid shape unknown,,,,,with the "story" of haunted land growing.

Hob, working on his first degree, on old architecture with haunted pasts goes to investigate for his thesis. Hob is old 😏 and has found that while most places, structures, have interesting histories, they are very rarely haunted.

Hob heard about the area around Fawlty Rigg being cursed, and certainly it was fodder for tales (Lovecraft's The Color Out of Space seemingly based on the area was published 30-ish years ago). But Hob has yet to find a place that drove him mad.

When he gets there a flock of ravens seem to be watching him - so at least animals are back?!? And creepy. Hob is only there for a few days when he thinks he hears his name being whispered on the air from the basement?? (a basement he hasn't been able to get into yet.) And every time he goes out to his car, there was a raven sitting on it,,,,,and today it spoke his name. So maybe this place is driving him crazy.

Jessamy: Hob Gadling! Thank dreaming. You can save Lord Morpheus!

Hob: I can save who now?

The raven tells him that his centennial stranger is trapped,,,,in the basement of this crumbling building. And that his presence has weaponized dreams and nightmares for the people in the surrounding area, driving every one mad! Hob as one of the only people who remembers, knows, Lord Morpheus's humanoid form, might be the only one who can help Jessamy's king back to himself.

Oooh this is a really interesting concept. Imagine what it's like for Hob as he goes through the crumbling house, into the basement, surrounded by the crushing feeling that something is just wrong in the air. Hob has felt a lot of weird stuff in his life but this is something else.

The thing contained in glass sphere is a squirming, pulsing, writhing. It's absolutely terrifying, and Hob nearly turns tail and runs. But at this point in his life he's not the type of man to just leave any kind creature locked up in a cage. He does as Jessamy told him, wipes away the paint around the sphere... and covers his eyes.

The sphere explodes, and Hob’s brain nearly explodes too. His consciousness is overwhelmed by an extreme burst of power. His nose is bleeding and he's still seeing terrible images in his brain when the explosion dies down and he manages to pry open his eyes.

There's his centennial stranger, sitting in the middle of the broken glass with sand seeming to pour around him. His eyes are glowing faintly and he's just looking at Hob.

And Hob isn't sure if he's gone mad like the rest of the people in the area, but he stumbles across the basement and scoops his stranger up in his arms, away from the glass. He's muttering that it's gonna be ok, and his stranger is clinging onto his and still leaking sand... its horrible. But Hob has never felt such pure joy in his heart.

He'd love to know what the hell he's holding in his arms! He's fascinated and, lets be real, kind of turned on by the idea of his stranger's power. He could swear that Jessamy winks at him on the way to the car.

Hob’s life just got hella fuckin weird... but hes going to do whatever it takes to nurse his stranger back to his natural self. However much sand he gets in the car.

[ackerifle]

Thoughts on the type of reader that Yandere Levi would fall for?? Headcanon’s if possible!

yours sincerely!

yan. levi ackerman x fem. reader

+ CW. — headcanon’s: reverse power dynamics/power imbalance deadlock, abuse of power & authority, mass enablers; awfully casual in comparison to previous works; not proof-read.

if i were to be so blatantly honest, i’d always thought levi would truly only be prone to falling in love with the first person who taught him how to read.

an absolute requisite quality, and there are far too many (unnecessary) layers to this particular headcanon that i simply must go into because i’ve overthought this concept an unfathomable amount of times. for one, it locks into every trope i enjoy, so forgive me because this will be extremely self-indulgent; someone who is literate would have likely had a good upbringing, perhaps hailing from wall sheena or even the royal capital, or someone in a position of power. it’s plausible to think that those living in wall maria, the underground, and even certain regions in wall rose are illiterate due to the fact that reading and writing is, in itself, a display of wealth and power during this time. and naturally, those who would have understood any cohesive form of text would have (presumably) been raised or lived in the more affluent areas within the walls.

however, all of the ranked officials of the survey corps are required to know how to read, for rather obvious reasons. the commander, section commander, captains and vice captains, even the squad leaders; it’s near indisputable that they all must know. and considering that levi is promoted to a captain position later in his life, it is needless to say he does eventually acquire the skill that is: learning the written language. i find it highly improbable that he was ever taught to understand it prior to becoming a legal citizen of the three walls, both due to lack of need (as there were more important matters that took priority), and because who would have taught him? surrounded by a populace that is already struggling and competing for basic necessities, traditional educational values such as reading and writing would never come of use when the main objective has always been to live.

aside from his upbringing and origins, i think levi’s lack of literary knowledge would be an insecurity of his, at least initially. levi is praised time and time again for being strong, but writing can be such a sophisticated skill— a stark contrast to what he has known, and it does something to his pride. so for someone to take the time and effort, especially if it were someone of importance to the corps. one who is already quite busy and most certainly has better things to do than lend a hand to a complete stranger who has been nothing but insolent and unpleasant, one who gets absolutely nothing in return but still takes the time to teach him, to be understanding, to be unprejudiced and to not mock him for something he couldn’t help, something he cannot be faulted for not knowing; then i think levi would fall hard for them. the act alone demonstrates patience and a genuine kindness, with a touch of respect, and levi hasn’t gotten much of any of that in his life.

additionally, someone who is emotionally intelligent with good judgment. how come? because we always want what we cannot have. now, that isn’t to say levi isn’t emotionally intelligent, he is quite in touch with his own feelings and that of others, but it is the fact that he has difficulties— or rather, lack of means to express them that he has issues with. levi is greatly accustomed to being misinterpreted by others, his intentions and sentiments aren’t always clear because he grew up in an environment where they weren’t allowed to be; so to be met with acceptance, even if it may not be fully grasped, or perhaps indifference entirely, it would be something new, something different, but something levi would be okay with.

after the passing of furlan and isabel, the only two people who would ever come close to being family to him, there are only a handful of people levi maintains any sort of strong bond with (in fear of losing even more), and only very few will ever witness such rare moments of vulnerability from him. but if someone were to read him in such a way where he simply couldn’t deny his emotions and feelings, where he just couldn’t hide from them, then just maybe they could teach him how to love as well. and perhaps i (mis)characterize levi too much like a scared little boy in spite of the fact that he’s a whole grown ass man pushing forty, but really, that is how i perceive yandere levi. he has faced too many losses to count, and levi is not the type to fall victim to love’s clutches so easily, but when he does, he just won’t let go.

and as for good judgment? someone who is decisive, confident in their own insight, with enough forethought to have the best interest of others in mind, but is pragmatically self-aware. as much as i can appreciate and acknowledge the insane potential of levi having a darling who is on the innocent side, naïve and even possibly sheltered, i personally find it much more appealing to pair him with someone who has witnessed and withstood the horrors of the world first-hand; as that alone would strengthen the chemistry between you two, a shared experience that truly touches the heart. a darling who is not instilled with false hopes, nor blinded by a romanticized picture of life to the point of delusion, but one that can balance their rationality and compassion. you’re mentally sound, until you’re not. because while i’d imagine his darling to be, bluntly, a very sane person, one who is begrudgingly tolerant to his antics and peculiar mannerisms, that also doesn’t have the heart to push him away; i simultaneously believe that levi would engage in borderline childish banter with you. he wants to be the reason you feel things because you cause him to feel things.

levi may be regarded as a man of brute force, but that isn’t to say he won’t delve into the intricacies of the human mind. taking into account where he was brought up and the survival skills necessary to navigate life, manipulation may not be his preferred method but if it is the one that works, then so be it. and it’s more so cunning if anything, he works you well because he knows you well. and this has been a long time coming, but let me just outright state my fondness for: the utilization of reversed power dynamics specifically with levi’s darling. someone who should logistically have more power than levi. whether that be in the military, socially, politically, or even financially; but simply cannot win because levi is irreplaceable and literally that in demand for humanity’s success. it makes it all the more hurtful when the enablers to his behavior are your equally respected peers who have no intention of helping you. ultimately choosing to feign ignorance because a single person’s suffering is worth keeping levi.

would he be able to bother and pester you had you been of lower ranking to begin with? most definitely, but as nice as it is to have someone — like a cadet, per se — follow his every whim because they have to, because that’s how the hierarchy intends, it is so much more rewarding and gratifying to bring someone above you to their knees— literally and figuratively. conquering you— no, having you, is the greatest gift there is. and just like everything in levi’s life, it is an achievement well earned, something he has worked hard for, rather than handed to him on a silver platter. of course, you are an individual, he does not strictly see you as a possession to be won or prize to be had, but you are also his. so in a way, you are, recompense for the hardships and miseries (amongst other atrocities) that levi has had to endure for god knows how long. and as humble as he is, levi’s a little entitled to some sort of compensation, no?

[luvistqrzzz]

L♡VE THEORY- sim jake oneshot teaser

i think im fallin' in you

deeply and slowly

NOTE- the earlier oneshot idea has been changed into an upcoming smau w changes to the plot, so check it out here!

PAIRING- jake x f.reader

SUMMARY- For you love was a game, like a theory better left un practiced. But what happens when you cross paths with Hybe Uni's star soccer player, Jake and sparks fly? Can he explain a way out of your love theory? Or will you get tangled in his games of love?

Alternatively where Jake Sim reminds you way too much about your first kiss from summer camp.

GENRE- fluff, angst, college!au, ex-crush!jake, crush/acquaintances to strangers to lovers, physics major!jake, photography major!reader

WORD COUNT- idk... hoping 8k to 10k// TEASER- 0.35K

TAGLIST- open! Send an ask or comment

@4hysgf @kishmish-ihate @noascats @tnyhees @beomgyusonlywife @txtbrainrot @chaechae-23

WARNINGS- profanity, drinking and college parties, jake being kind of a douche (dw he redeems himself!), more tba

RELEASE DATE- tba, but hopefully i'll finish writing this before my summer break ends

A/N- this is set in the same universe as The Accidental Polaroid, you can find some coinciding plot lines but the smau can be read as a stand alone ofc!

You were never good at sports. It wasn't like you hated the concept of it but rather you hated playing it. You had never been one of those physically fit and active people, eager to run around and multitask. Also you had terrible hand/leg eye coordination for a 20 year old.

When as a six year old, you broke your leg whilst playing soccer, you just grew a particular dislike towards it. Call it a childish habit or your inability to understand the game but soccer wasn't your thing. And that has continued well into your adult years.

Just like love.

Too bad for you, Sim Jaeyun loved sports. Or in particular soccer. Well, saying he loved it would have been an understatement because the boy literally breathed in the sport.

And it was during one such soccer match did you meet him. Normally you would have preferred to stay at home but majoring in photography had its pros and cons, one such being clicking pictures for the college's soccer team as they bathed in all their winning glory (or sweat).

You hadn't seen the players up close before but standing at the side of the field, your camera in action, you could understand why so many students gushed about their good looks. "Heartbreakers first, Heartthrobs second", your friend Kazuha had told you after her brief relationship with Taehyun.

You were, in all sense, a professional person. You weren't the one to be distracted by their looks, the game or the cheers the crowd erupted into when Hybe Uni won the match 1-0. But then you locked eyes with the star player of the match. It was like a flash, just enough for you to click a picture of him, not even five seconds but you felt yourself go still.

And it wasn't only because of the fact that the dyed blonde haired boy looked attractive with the smirk on his lips and the playfulness in his features as he stared straight into the camera. No, it was his eyes. His warm brown eyes that you had seen somewhere…

why are we so complicated?

love's a word i've always hated.

Feedbacks are highly appreciated <3!!

work belongs to @/luvistqrzzz do not copy, repost or translate my work

[filthyfluffyfantasies]

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . DL;DR - this fic is not meant for anyone under the age of 18 as it contains the following: a/b/o dynamics - and writer's personal twists on werewolf lore/ the concept, shitty parents who lock their clueless daughters up in a bedroom because they think it'll stop everything that's going to happen, a mother figure reminiscent of Margaret White -the 1978 version, swearing, reader is locked in her bedroom, sneaking out and being 'rescued' by billy hargrove, an ooc/good side of billy hargrove. this one is also kind of tame.. but a little weird, imo. just protecting my own ass with the warning up here because some people see a/b/o on a piece and lose their entire goddamn minds over it. writer does not give permission for her works to be reposted, with or without permission. ✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

prompt - a/b/o ( bonus ficlet; pt 2 of 3 )

character | fandom - werewolf!alpha billy hargrove | stranger things

reader | original character - female reader, clueless!omega reader & non -or vague, description.

words - roughly 4.2k

tagging -< taglist here >

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . you find yourself in the throes of heat, clueless as to what's happening to you, with your mother flipping out. enter billy hargrove rushing in to the rescue.. it's only right to thank him with a makeout in the Camaro, right? ✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

When heat fever hits an Omega, it’s hard and it’s fast. When it hit you, thanks to being blissfully unaware of the whole Alpha/Omega and werewolves do exist and everything that goes along with, you’re blind-sided.

First it’s the unbearable body heat. It feels like you’re sitting in a volcano’s lava stream and someone’s siphoned out all your blood, replacing it with scorching lava. This, of course, was put down to a cold. Maybe a bug that’s gone around a time or two already this month. Either way, you plopped yourself in an icy bath because you’re determined already, nothing is going to spoil your plans for the night.

Then it’s the jittery shakes. As you’re trying to fix your hair and do your makeup to get ready to go, the shakes hit and it’s so bad that you smear cherry colored lipstick outside the outline of your lips. And you have to re-do your mascara at least three times, by the time you get the shakes to subside just a little, you’re into the third phase.

Your entire body tenses. Everything, from your gums to the soles of your feet hurt. It feels like you’re being pricked with a thousand tiny needles and stabbed by a million little knives. This happens at the dinner table, because of course it does.

But then there’s a sharp sting. You drop the fork in your hand and clutch your opposite wrist against your body. Your mother is looking on in concern. Fear making her eyes wide.

And since she’s been drinking for about three hours by this point, the accusations start to flow. Instead of motherly concern, you get accused of being a little slut with some big, strong Alpha boy all day. She even threatens to call the school and make sure you were there all day long.

❝ Gee thanks, ma..❞ you sass, ❝ I feel like I’m dying and you blame it on your weird hangups about sex and boys..❞ you roll your eyes as your mother paces the dining room, a hand in her hair, mumbling about how this wasn’t supposed to happen to you, this gene was supposed to be completely out of the family line by now.

❝ When you’re done being weird, I’m getting dressed to go out with Bethy and Sean. I promised I’d take them trick or treating before my movie.. Since you can’t seem to find it in yourself to be a normal mom just one night..❞ you rush out of the dining room to go upstairs and throw on a pair of jeans.

You’re halfway up the stairs when your mother catches up to you, pushing you into your own bedroom at the top of the stairs as she locks the door from the outside and tells you that it’s for your own good. ❝ I'll not have you become a sex-addicted wolf whore. Not in this house.❞ she calls through, ❝ You'll stay in here until you learn to ignore these sinful urges.❞

You spend about two and a half hours pounding on the door until you're too exhausted to continue. ❝ Please, ma. Please open the door, I'll be good, I swear.❞ your voice dies away and you flop down onto your bed, taking several shaky breaths as you stare up at the ceiling.

You pull yourself up from where you'd flopped onto your bed about thirty minutes later and take a few shaky breaths. Your heart is still pounding, this is the first time your mother has resorted to locking you in your bedroom since you were at least 10. It feels like the walls are closing in rapidly until you hear the sound of your younger siblings laughter down below because your bedroom window isn't fully closed.

As soon as you realize you left the window cracked, you start to work at it. And it’s hard because it’s an older window, it likes to stick for absolutely no reason. As you’re doing this, you hear a lone howl.

It’s coming from the thick treeline across your backyard. You turn your attention back to what you’re doing. It wouldn’t be a surprise or anything, you do live near a forest, there are animals in said forest.

That’s the only thing today that’s had a logical explanation. - the thought comes along with another round of searing heat, this time it’s so hot to your body that you’re dizzy. Your mouth is dry.

Then the howl echoes off the night all over again. It’s getting closer.

You pump your fist in victory as you manage to raise the window to your bedroom about halfway. It’s enough for you to fit yourself through. The movie you were  supposed to be meeting your friends to see in town is long forgotten by this point, you’re more focused on not becoming Carrie White to your mother’s Margaret.

You’re about halfway out the window when you hear your name being hissed from the ground below.

It’s Billy.

He’s leaned against the trunk of the tree that houses your little sister’s tire swing. Watching you. ❝ You’re gonna break your fuckin’ neck.❞

❝ It’s better than being here when my mom gets in with the siblings.❞ you hiss, frantic. You drop from your window to the roof of the front porch just now. Billy’s on autopilot. Nothing on his mind but getting here, to you.

❝ Give me a second, goddamn..❞ he crushes out the cigarette he’s half finished with and hurries over, stopping at the side of the wrap-around porch.

To any of the neighbors, this probably just looks like a teenage girl sneaking out to meet her boyfriend. To you, it’s a full-blown panic because your mother flipped out for no good reason earlier.

❝ Jump down. I gotcha.❞ Billy knows this is a terrible idea, if he wants to sever the connection completely, this is the last place he needs to be right now, but.. He’s been bombarded by everything about you and when he could feel you panic all the way across town, he fought like hell but it was a battle he lost, sneaking away from Tina’s stupid party and rushing here. To you.

You eye him warily. Swallowing hard as you squeeze your eyes shut and jump. Strong arms are waiting, there’s never even a split second where it feels as if he’ll drop you. It doesn’t surprise you, you’ve seen him lifting weights in the gym after school. He can lift more than almost all the other boys without even breaking a sweat.

❝ Hey, whoa..❞ you realize what’s going on, the fact that somehow, Billy Hargrove knows exactly where you live without ever asking. You look at him and he grumbles. ❝ What? Is this not what you just spent twenty minutes wishing for, doll? We don’t have time t’ talk right now, alright?❞

And there’s something urgent. Something wild in baby blue eyes. It’s almost as if he doesn’t want to be here himself, that he’s here against his own free will. Like he’s not in control of his own decisions.

And you’re not sure why, but your last visit to your grandma at the state home your mother shoved her into, that all comes rushing back. She kept talking about how ‘things aren’t always what they seem to be.’.. Then she started to tell you about your family bloodline being descended from a pack of Omegas… Female werewolves.

What any of it had to do with your latest argument with your mother, you weren’t sure at the time.

But so much of what your beloved grandmother said that day has actually happened since. And she’s always just kind of… known things.

Your mother says she’s crazy, that it’s dementia or something. But given the way your day has been going, you’re starting to wonder.

As you’re cycling through the whole thing in your mind, Billy’s made it to his idling Camaro a block away and he’s opening the passenger door, placing you in the passenger seat. From the backseat, a girl with flame-colored hair speaks up quietly. 

❝ Hey.. I’m Max..❞

You nod. Give her a weak smile. Because the whole episode you were having earlier took a lot out of you and when you jumped down into Billy’s arms a few minutes ago, you were half afraid you wouldn’t make it because your whole body felt boneless. Like rubber or jello.

Billy gets into the Camaro and stomps the gas, the sound of Metallica filling in the thick silence that settles over the three of you. As the Camaro blows past the sign heading into city limits, Billy reaches out to lower the radio.

❝ For fucks sake, stay awake, alright?❞ as he grumbles to himself about this being a really, really bad idea and how he should’ve just ignored what he was hearing -and feeling because of it, because it’s only going to end in tragedy.

Max speaks up quietly. ❝ You don’t have to become him, Billy. How do you know any of that?❞

❝ Because I do, alright!❞ Billy snaps before going quiet. The car spins to a stop at the curb in front of the arcade. Billy nods to Max and Max wordlessly collects her skateboard, rushing out of the car as if hellhounds were on her tail.

This leaves you all alone with Billy.

The boy who has been a constant in your brain lately. The boy who scares you and yet, you feel connected to somehow. The boy you want more than anything but the fact that you want him actually sort of terrifies you.

The Camaro starts to drive away. By the time you’ve managed to totally overthink everything, the Hawkins sign is blowing past all over again. You glance over at him. Studying strong facial features as he drives and makes a point to stare at the road ahead.

You can’t take the silence anymore and you’re just about to say something but Billy beats you to it first. ❝ You don’t have a clue what’s happenin, do ya, doll?❞

You shake your head No at him. He grumbles under his breath as he brings the Camaro to a stop in the gravel parking lot out at the quarry. When Lover’s Lake is too full, this is another popular makeout spot, or so you’ve heard, anyway.

You wouldn’t know personally, the most you’ve ever done with a boy is a little kissing, a lot of heavy petting in the back row at the Hawk. And then your mother fucked all that up by throwing a tantrum when he forgot you warned against stopping by and she lost her entire mind upon answering the door to find said boy standing on your porch. He wouldn’t even look at you the next day and when word got out that your mom was a nutcase, it wasn’t as if any of the boys were lining up after that.

Your heart is racing. Of all the places to take me, you think to yourself, he picks a popular makeout spot. What’s he planning?

Billy coughs abruptly as soon as he catches on to your noisy mind yet again today and this time, he speaks up. ❝ Do y’ have t’ think so damn loud, darling?❞

You jump a little, drawn out of your own noisy thoughts. You give him a blank look and Billy shrugs but he doesn’t bother explaining himself, instead he chooses to remind you that he’s asked you a question. And it’s a question he expects an answer to because that answer is going to help him figure out how in the hell to handle this little situation the two of you find yourselves in at present.

❝ I asked you something, doll. Kinda waitin’ on an answer.❞

He stares at you expectantly as you shift and squirm in his passenger seat, each move of your sexy little body sends that totally unfiltered sweetness in your scent wafting right up his nose. It’s hanging so heavy in the air between you both that he almost feels like he’ll choke on it. And yet, he can’t get enough of it and the sweeter it gets, the harder his cock gets, pushing painfully against the front of tight blue jeans.

It’s so bad that he has to shift in his seat and hope that takes away some of the pressure. When it doesn’t work, he lightly punches the wheel.

You watch him struggling with himself quietly as you try to think of an answer. You don’t have the first clue what’s going on. Beyond the episode earlier and just a few bits and pieces of the ramblings of an old lady with bad dementia, you’re fucked for an answer.

❝ No. Not a single clue.. But my grandma, she kept talking about something big happening to me.. The last time I visited her in the nursing home.❞ you go quiet. Billy rubs his chin thoughtfully. 

At least somebody tried to warn you. Now, he thinks to himself, I need to figure out just how much her grandmother told her, if she believes any of it. ❝ Okay, what’d she tell you?❞ he asks, baby blue eyes settling on you. When you lock eyes with him and see the way his seem to glow in the dim car, you gasp and your jaw drops. Billy acts as if the fact that his eyes glow in the dark is completely and totally normal. 

❝ She kept trying to tell me that I’m the descendant of wolves? And soon, something is gonna happen to me. I think she called it..❞ you fumble around in your brain for the term she used and as you repeat it back to Billy, your whole body starts to burn all over again. ❝ Mating season. Yeah, that’s what she said. But she’s got dementia and she’s always had this weird fixation on wolves and stuff, so..❞ you shrug and fall silent, staring out the windshield of the car.

The orange sunset is starting to fade, the sky is painted with shades of pinks and purples now, hints of a darker inky blue peeking out of the clouds that surround the full moon. Billy’s staring up at the sky too, trying to figure out how to proceed. When he sees you clutch your right wrist against your own body, he reaches out, snatching your arm and pulling it so that he can look.

The second he raises your sleeve, he bites back a groan.

The same marking he saw turning red in the shower this morning is sitting on your wrist, flesh raised and red, angry as if it’s a fresh burn. He bites his bottom lip and when you pull your wrist away, he almost wants to hold onto it for a few seconds.

Just because he’s in the same position as you are right now, body on fire, mind scrambled and jumbled with the biggest portion of your thoughts focused on each other.. In varying sexual situations, he shifts in his seat as he remembers the daydream you were having earlier this morning that he was forced to endure as he sat beside you.

You circle back to his bizarre statement about you thinking too loud. And you’re gaping at him. ❝ When you yelled at me about thinking too loud..❞ you pause as you try to tell yourself this all absolutely has to be some kind of weird fever dream, that’s the only explanation at this point.

Because the only alternative is that your grandmother isn’t crazy like your mother claims. And if that’s the case then that means everything she’s been saying for years about the family bloodline is.. True.

Billy speaks up quietly, ❝ I wasn’t yelling, but anyway.. What about it, doll?❞

❝ You did yell.❞ you’re pouting just a little. Billy snorts in laughter quietly. And then he clears his throat. All he wants to do at this point is get to the bottom of it all. Figure out just how hard it’s going to be to sever this stupid bond his wolf has chosen to make on his behalf without any consent from him at all. You’re picking at a loose thread on the edge of your sleeve and staring down at your own lap intently. Because this is a lot for you to take in.

Not to mention, the longer you’re surrounded by him and his everything, the more you’re tempted to lay down and offer yourself up to him in the backseat of his Camaro. And you sense that this isn’t exactly what he wants. That for whatever reason, he dreads this. He’s been fighting it, if his own noisy thoughts are anything to go by. Then it hits you.. You’ve been thinking you heard him talking to you randomly all day but if he can hear you thinking it’d make sense that the same can be said for you.. Right?

❝ Fine, whatever. Look, can we just get back on fuckin track here?❞ Billy asks as he takes a cigarette and lights it up. He offers you the pack and you take one for yourself. He leans into you and naturally, it’s way too close. Close enough that the tips of your noses brush and when this happens, that woozy feeling is back. And so is the searing fire that’s been running through your veins all night.

You sway just a little and swallow down a lump because your throat’s all dry and it’s bothering you. Billy speaks up quietly. ❝ Shit. Fuck. I was hopin’ this wouldn’t fuckin happen, darling..❞ as he shifts in his seat all over again and stares at you.

He’s losing this fight too, all restraint has flown right out the window with the dying embers of the cigarette he’s just finished off. You bite back a whine as you feel yourself starting to spin out of control and you find yourself leaning into him just a little too close for the second time in a day, just like you were in class earlier.

Billy grips your upper arms and stares into your eyes. He hasn’t even touched you and there’s this fucked-out glow in them, lust blotting out your irises. He knows you’re dripping by now, this has him almost drooling because the scent of you is entirely too sweet to resist a second longer. 

You speak up, a tiny and wavering voice. ❝ You were hoping what wouldn’t happen, hm?❞

He chuckles. It’s a dark and dangerous sound. Rather than be completely crass about it, he grabs hold of your wrist and places your palm up against the way his cock is so hard it’s about to burst straight through his jeans. You shiver and whine because feeling how hard he is only makes the flood between your own thighs so much worse. You’ve been wet all day, no thanks to him.

❝ Do you get it now, doll? I shouldn’t be here with you right now.❞ Billy trails off, thumping his cigarette pack against the wheel just so that he has something else to focus on for a second or two. After a long pause, he looks over at you again. You’re staring at him, waiting on him to finish saying what he’d been about to say. ❝ It’s dangerous for both of us, alright?❞

This answer isn’t satisfying enough for you. ❝ Wait.. w-what do you mean dangerous, Billy?❞ your voice wavers. He can smell the fear the exact second it creeps into your scent. He sighs and shakes his head. Mumbles something about you, asking for it with all your fucking questions and then he looks at you and leans in closer. That predatory and hungry gleam is in his eyes again and they’re glowing an even brighter blue that’s almost as hypnotic as the waves in an ocean on a calm day.

❝ I wanna fuck you til I’m empty, you're so full of me it drips outta you and you can’t remember anybody else’s name but mine. I wanna bite that pretty little neck, leave my mark behind so shit like what Jason Carver tried t’ pull earlier doesn’t happen t’ you again. But see, here’s the thing..❞ he rubs his forehead. He’s regretting the keg stands right now. And the entire bottle of Wild Turkey he managed to consume just hoping he’d numb himself enough that he wouldn’t hear you anymore in his head. He wouldn’t smell you, ready and waiting. Ripe for the picking.

❝ If I do any of this, doll.. It’s only gonna destroy both our lives.. I'm a bastard, you'll realize it sooner or later.❞ he exhales a plume of smoke into the air after lighting another cigarette. There’s angst in his voice, it’s almost as if he wishes what he’s just said wasn’t true at all.

And you’re wondering where he gets that idea from to start with. Because the more you stop and think about it, the only thing that’s kept you fighting your own pull to him has been every bullshit belief your mother drilled into your own head.

To be fair.. Grandma said Mom wanted no part of any of it when she was my age. Said she even turned her back on the whole thing and purposely got knocked up with me then left town. She was hoping she’d breed out the family bloodline. That worked so well, thanks Ma. - the thought has you sitting there, slowly coming to terms with it all.

And maybe that’s what prompts you to speak up, placing a hand on his thigh as you stare at him intently. ❝ Why? Are you not even a little curious, Billy?❞ you’re leaning in closer and you’re not sure why you do it, but you push your hair away from the right side of your neck. Billy rubs his chin and coughs, shifting around in his seat all over again. Offering up your neck to him like this is definitely not a smart move on your part and yet.. Here you are, doing it.

❝ You’re in heat, you’re not thinkin, doll.❞

❝ Oh trust me, Billy.. This is the first thing I’ve actually thought out completely in a really long time. Don’t I get a say in what I want?❞ you frown just a little, ask in a quieter tone, ❝ Somebody’s gotta take care of you, Billy. And maybe all the fighting this off I’ve been doing is just tiresome.. Unless you’re trying to say you don’t want this to happen and you’re the one who wants to reject it.❞ you pause, searching baby blue eyes for any sign that might be the case.

Billy chuckles to himself and decides that he’s about to call your bluff. He leans into you and just barely drags his teeth over the soft skin at the base of your neck. His nose buries there next and he inhales deep. ❝ It’s kinda fucked up, y’know.. You pickin me. Don’t you know how scary I am, doll?❞ he mutters, breath hot against your skin. Your own breath hangs in your throat and you whine out as your hands find purchase in the fabric of his red shirt.

❝ All I know is that I trust you. And I want you and damn it, I’m sick and tired of fighting it, Billy..❞ you mutter as another intense wave of heat -pain along with it this time, sends you into him, seeking comfort.

Billy’s breath catches and he awkwardly wraps his arms around you, letting you melt into him completely. When he can feel you calming down a little, he pulls away to stare down at you.

And he knows he’s irrevocably fucked because there’s no way he was ever going to keep fighting it off. He was doomed to lose the fight all along. He doesn’t like losing but in this case, considering the prize he might have even if it’s just a little while before he somehow fucks it all up, he’s not really sure it’s a bad thing this time around.

❝ Careful what you’re askin for, princess. This is kind of permanent. Because I’m not gonna let you go so easy once I take you for myself, doll.❞

There’s supposed to be menace in his words, it’s supposed to be a threat and you’re well aware of it. But there’s also comfort in them. He’s protected you on more than one occasion. You feel safer with him than you’ve ever felt with anyone. There’s calm. You’re not chasing your next thrill when you’re all preoccupied with thoughts or dreams of him.

❝ I-I don’t care. It’s what I want, Billy. Are you seriously going to deny me? I thought you were a red-hot stud, Hargrove, what’s with the fight you’re putting up, hm?❞

He bites back a groan as your palm settles against the way he’s strained at his jeans all over again. When you ghost it over the bulge, he bucks himself up into you and a helpless, needy sound wrenches it’s way free from the depths of his chest. You’re whining quietly, you’ve given up the battle with restraint. You’re ignoring that pesky little inner voice that keeps insisting that he’s scary, that you’ve seen his mean streak at work before and you shouldn’t be doing this. You’re ignoring them in favor of the other side to it, the one that insists this is right. This is exactly what has to happen.

As your free hand clasps against the back of his neck and your fingers tangle in the curls of his mullet, his hand slips up the front of your shirt and you moan as he squeezes your tits and growls against your partially open mouth. ❝ You don’t have a clue what you’re getting yourself into, darling.❞ he mutters as his tongue parts your lips and drags over your own tongue. Thick digits dig into your hips and tangle in your hair, pulling at it as he deepens the kiss and maintains total control. His heart is about to beat right out of his chest and you feel it as you melt against him…

[winged-mammal]

20 questions for fic writers

as demanded requested by @reginasbread

How many works do you have on ao3?

52

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

597,588

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Chronologically: Star Trek Voyager, Warehouse 13, Person of Interest, The Expanse. There's also a stray Star Trek TNG from almost 13 years ago, and let's not speak of the Strangers with Candy fic.

(Also I wrote some House fic back in the day, but I never put it on AO3. Why did I put the SWC but not the House fic on AO3, you ask? No idea. It made sense at the time. The SWC is there because of my adherence to the 'archive' part of AO3's name, but locked to logged-in users because it's not my brand anymore, hah.)

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

'Metadata' (TNG) and 'Overheard' (POI) are the runaway leads, with about twice the kudos of number three. Then there's 'Catalysis' (WH13), 'Freud can take his cigar and go fuck himself' (POI), and 'An Offer That Possibly Should Be Refused, But Really Who Could?' (ST:VOY)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Always! That's how you get your grubby little hands on people who are as unhinged about the thing as you are.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

There's really only three angsty-ish fics in my history. 'Existentialism is a Bitch' for POI, where Root took over the Machine when she died, which I'd say is more bittersweet than angsty. There's also the Warehouse 13 one where HG stayed dead after S3 and Myka's grief created an artifact, which I'd say takes the angsty cake for sure.

(The third is one of the aforementioned Strangers With Candy fics we won't talk about.)

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Other than the above, none of them are exactly *sad*. So I guess if we're going with, like, the romance novel sort of idea of a happy ending, I'd say 'One Foot in Sea, One on Shore' because of the happily-ever-after suggestion of the last scene.

8. Do you get hate on fic?

Don't think I ever have, nope.

9. Do you write smut?

lololololololol that's almost all I write. That's how they all have happy endings asdlkasjdfjasfdk

10. Do you write crossovers?

Not unless the POI Fifth Element AU counts.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I have a vague memory of finding one on Wattpad, but that might've been a friend's that I found when I went looking.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I've had several of my POI fics translated into Mandarin! I'm also gonna count the handful of podfics people have done, which is always very exciting. The WH13 one for 'Aural Sex' was 🔥

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I did some outsourcing work on a porn scene of @asleepinawell's shoot vampire au. Very spicy, and it accidentally tied neatly into the overall theme of the fic. Same brain!

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

Can anybody really answer this??? We're all affected by recency bias. I mean, I had major shoot brainrot for six years, but my two years of bobbiechrisjen brainrot has already resulted in more written words than I wrote for shoot, so what is the truth???

...That said, I do think it's one of those two. Bering and Wells gives me SO many feelings, but they're less personally relatable to me than shoot's brand of affection or the milf appreciation of bobbiechrisjen lololol

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but probably won’t?

It's an extreme stretch to call it a WIP, but a few years ago I had a concept for a shoot fic that was kind of a weird mash up of Horizon Zero Dawn, Mad Max Fury Road, Futurama, a text-based video game I played once about nuclear hazard architecture, and weirdly, it was inspired by the Linkin Park album 'A Thousand Suns.' It's one of those things that you can see the shape of really clearly, but ends up being impossible to translate. Unfortunate.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue and porn. I think it's clear looking through my history that I play to my strengths lololol

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Describing things like faces and clothes and rooms people are in, and using adjectives in general. It's because I'm one of those people who absolutely do not see pictures in their mind, so it never occurs to me to write that sort of thing.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

The only time I think I've ever done it is the Divine Language in the Fifth Element AU, which obviously is a fake language. I refused to italicize it because it's annoying and unnecessary and I find it infantilizing when I read it.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

The argument could be made that it was "The Stinky Cheese Man and Other Fairly Stupid Tales" back when I was seven or eight. If I had to have known that it was fanfiction that I was writing at the time, then it'd have been one manga or another when I was 14 or 15. Gravitation or Petshop of Horrors, or something of the sort.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

Maybe 'The Signal's Just a Roar,' the shoot trucker/radio host au. I love that setting and the excuse to get super nerdy and enjoyed then combining it with canon in the end. 'One Foot in Sea, One on Shore' is a good contender too, if only for the fact I actually managed to write a 169k fic, which is still mind-boggling to me.

For oneshots, it's definitely 'when she wakes me, she takes me back home,' the shoot domesticity fic. I just really love how it turned out.

[lloydfrontera]

so after reading through ur blog and getting spoilers for the webtoon i have come up w an angsty idea: og lloyd keeps his memories when he goes into reincarnation, after resigning himself to kim suho keeping his body and life, and is surprised to find himself as a baby, in kim suho's life. he grows up and decides to do better because if ksh can be a better lloyd, maybe he can be a better ksh and spite the guy that way. he tries his best to keep a distance from ksh's parents bc well. he'd feel as bad as suho about the whole 'replacing parents w strangers', but they're generous and patient w the new(?) suho as he learns to stop being a brat and be more giving.

and the now-ksh thinks, maybe he can be what that other guy was for the frontera estate, for korea. he studies civil engineering bc some part of him thinks he can't let that other lloyd get one over him, and it can't be that hard, right? (it is. so hard. thank god javier and everyone else from his past life isn't here to make fun of notorious drunkard and trashy lloyd for struggling so hard to learn something he clearly wasn't meant to.) but on the side, suho probably also has some job that he can let out his inner pushiness, like a business where ppl are hired to out-pushy car salesmen and prevent you from getting scammed by dealers into paying way-too-high prices for cars because they think they can get you to rent instead of buy. or maybe he regularly goes to internet cafes to game and yell at ppl over the internet, idk.

and as the signs of falling into debt appear around his new parents, well. suho's not worried. he's seen how lloyd handled it. surely he just has to do the same thing and things will be fine. he'll prove once and for all that he's just as good as him! but the scammers don't leave as obvious signs as those lackeys back in larosia (i think i read somewhere you referring to the continent in KOBAI as that?). his dad catches on to what he's trying to do and locks him out of information and events because he wants his son to grow up peacefully without having to think about 'adult matters'. his mom, fearing a return to his troubled childhood, counsels him to be kind and believe in their ability to pay back the debt someday.

and despite everything, he can't stop it. all of those memories, all of those wishes and wants and determination, and his parents die just like the last life. he has to give up everything. suho turns to drink, bc in the end he's just the same old trash lloyd he always was. he can't be that amazing suho who always pulled miracles out of thin air.

and then, suho wakes up as lloyd frontera. on the day of arcos and marbella's 'suicide'.

(anyway i just love characters having imposter syndrome and an inferiority complex towards more successful versions of themselves.)

this is such a cool concept!!! very angsty indeed <33!!

inferiority complex my beloved <33 especially because we sorta get a little bit of it in canon already! the whole reason og!lloyd went to hell was because he couldn't handle seeing lloyd being a much better son, brother and heir than he ever was or tried to be. like it was such a rude awakening to him, seeing how much his family loved him and how willing they were to support him if he hadn't been such an abusive asshole that just kept throwing his life away every day and it's what ultimately pushes him to decide as he goes through the gate to try to be better in his next life.

so it'd be really cool to see him take that resolution and work on it while dealing with the whole 'being born with full memories of a past life in the body of the guy who replaced me' thing! and then the fallout when suho's parents die and he can't stop it! only to return to the moment when his own parents are about to die too! like!! the absolute trauma of it all sounds delicious <333

if you ever write something like this please let me know nonnie it really does sounds like an awesome concept :3

[mayhemproduces]

Hours before we reach Night of Infamy, our camera finds Bryan Danielson, hand locked in the chainlink, as our skilled stage hands get to work building the ominous structure for tonight’s main event. While Danielson is no stranger to the concept, The War Chamber is a different beast altogether. There’s nothing that comes close to the level of dread, the level of danger, that fills the air once it descends from the rafters. But still, there’s a smirk on Danielson’s face. Confident as ever, with a cold, sharp edge to his smirk.

“They say only the toughest survive the War Chamber. It’s where the best of the best prove their worth. The funny thing is, I’ve already proven mine. Time and time again, I’ve shown that I’m not just the best in the world - I’m better than the world. And now we have five idiots thinking they have a chance in hell of beating me. It’s laughable, really,” Bryan chuckles, shaking his head, “I mean, who the hell do any of you think you are? None of you belong in the same ring as me, let alone the War Chamber. But this, this won’t be a war. This is me doing what I do best - embarrassing so-called tough guys and pretenders." Bryan turns towards the camera, his tone dripping with disdain.

"Blade. Your pedigree should make you a threat. Former All-American, former Olympian, former UFC Champion, former Fatales Champion - but do you see the pattern there? Every notable thing you have ever done is in the past because today, you would rather be known as Wes Barkley’s girlfriend and the forgotten member of a faction that nobody cares about anymore, thinking you can get by on merit and popping the crowd. So you can break my fingers, break my bones, you can suplex me all you want, but Blade, I can do everything you can do, but better. I don’t just hand out pain - I dissect. I break people down piece by piece until they realize they were never in my league. And you, Blade? You’re nothing more than a punching bag that I’ll toss aside when I’m done." He shakes his head in mock pity before turning his attention to his next opponent.

"And Malakai Black… the brooding dark artist. You walk around like you're some kind of force of nature, right? The aura, the mystique… it’s cute. But I see through it. You surround yourself with shadows because deep down, you know you can’t stand in the light. You can’t stand next to someone like me, someone who is the best, without being exposed. You’ve built yourself up as this master of violence, but in the War Chamber? I’ll show you what real violence looks like.” Danielson pauses, his smirk widening. "Oh, Eric Taylor. You're a lost boy in a world full of men. You should be thanking the wrestling gods that you even get to step into the same ring as me. But let’s face it, you’ll just be another body that I step over on my way to victory. Watch closely, kid, because you might learn something before I end your little run."

"Then there’s Tom Lawlor. ‘Filthy’ Tom. Yeah, you’ve got the credentials. MMA. Wrestling. All the tough guy acts. But I don’t care about any of that. You’re stepping into a cage with me, and inside there, I’m the predator. You might know how to fight, but I know how to win. You’ll come in thinking you’re the biggest dog in the yard, but once you’re locked in there with me, you’ll realize you’ve got no way out. You’re not going to fight your way through this, Tom. I’ll make sure of that." His demeanor shifts as he mentions the final name.

"But then that brings me to someone I was surprised even made it this far. Julia, what are you even doing in this match? You think that darkness you're clinging to makes you special? Makes you dangerous? Please. I’ve seen and beaten people who were far more twisted and skilled than you could ever dream of being. This isn’t your world, Julia. It’s mine. So stay out of my way, or I’ll make sure you’re more broken than that little gimmick you’re hiding behind." Bryan steps even closer to the camera,  "You see, this War Chamber isn’t about survival for me. It’s about dominance. I’m not here to survive the chamber… I’m here to own it. Each and every one of you will step inside thinking you’ve got something to prove. You’ll think you can fight your way to some kind of glory. But when that door shuts, when the bell rings, you’ll quickly realize that the War Chamber belongs to me."

"And I’m not just going to beat you. I’m going to humiliate you. I’m going to make each of you regret ever thinking you could stand across from me. You’re all stepping into a warzone. But the war is already won. The moment you signed up, you became nothing more than casualties. And the only thing left to decide is just how badly I’m going to break you." Danielson grins one last time, cruel and unforgiving.

"And once I’m done disposing of all of you, exposing you for the frauds and zealots you really are, then, Sardonyx… I’m coming for you."

He turns and walks away, leaving the ominous echo of his words hanging in the air

[fangirl-everythang]

Smoke Break C. T. H.

Summary: At Calums' party he leaves for a smoke, y/n joining him later on. Some rando pukes on y/n leaving the two to get away. He maybe receives a gift.

Warnings: Swearing, Sex, Oral sex, smoking, mentions of alcohol.

Word Count: 3475

Calum's POV

Who the hell are these people? It's a party for me and I know no one here. Fucking great, Oh yeah mate, trust me it's gonna be HUGE. You'll love it. This is the last time I listen to Ashton. Do I look like I'm fucking having a great time?

We need to get him a girlfriend. They all tell me I need to settle but I'm known as the lone wolf it never works with the lifestyle we have. Well somehow Luke and Michael make it work but to me it's exhausting.

"Aye mate, having fun?" I turn to see dyed hair and I know it's Michael.

"It's fine." I huff as someone shouts happy birthday once more. I see Roy across the way with some chick and he shrugs at me. I would've just preferred to go see Mali but she's always busy now. I just look at Michael while taking a sip of the beer in my cup I've been on this one since this shit of a party started.

"It could be worse you know? You could-" He's interrupted by Crystal who leans up and whispers in his ear he nods and begins to grab her hand. "We're gonna head out she's not feeling well." He gives me a sympathetic smile. "Happy birthday." is all he says when they begin to leave the room. Welp, there goes another friend.

I haven't seen Ashton since the party started and Luke definitely is getting it in with Sierra right now. Literally, all over each other, it's truly disgusting if you asked me. Deciding to move away from this wall I head to the kitchen to throw this drink away, taste watered down because of the ice. Pushing through the moving bodies and the lights everywhere, I dump that shit in the sink. Ashton comes my way trailing a girl behind him, "There you are! Y/n showed up?" I see the hair of a girl just talking to someone who's just come behind her.

Y/n has been around us for a while. I don't know when but our friendship started after we met at a party. She was waiting for Arzylea to join her when we started talking. Next thing you know she was a part of our inner circle. Not gonna lie, She's my favorite person in the group. Everyone thought that when Arz and Luke broke up, she would leave too but she's still here. And she keeps that group chat very entertaining shall I say. We've hung out a few times, with her it's different though. I don't feel the need to be THE Calum Hood bass player for 5SOS, she knew of me but cared more for the person I was. She asked questions even though she knew the answers. I just felt relaxed with her. As more people entered the kitchen, I go to the back porch where I don't see anyone. There are too many people and I don't even want to think about how to clean this up. Pulling a cigarette from the pack I just let the smoke fill my lungs and slowly exhale while leaning against the siding of the house.

"You know that's an awfully bad habit you have Hood." The familiar voice speaks, forcing me to open my eyes.

I chuckle, "Why aren't you enjoying the party?" I ask her.

"Come on you know that's not my scene." I nod silently agreeing. She looks stunning, the way her dress hugs her body, she's so effortlessly flawless. Most girls have to go through a tribal ritual to look as amazing as her. "Stop that." she laughs.

I shake my head slightly to remember what I just did. "Sorry I-I didn't mean to um yeah fuck." I stumble for words she just nods. "It's okay.'' she looks down and fumbles with her hands. It's cute how she does that, almost like she doesn't know she's the most beautiful person in the room. A harsh gust of wind pushes past and she shivers. I look at her and open my arms with my jacket she rolls her eyes but gets closer. Holding the cigarette with my mouth to free my hands I just pull her closer until I feel the warmth of our bodies touch.

"Thanks" She mumbles against my chest. She looks up at me before pulling the cigarette between my lips, just as I'm about to protest she takes a puff. Watching her smoke is by far the hottest thing I've seen, and I've seen Luke naked.

"Oh look who's punkrock now?" I smirk at her as she brings the burning toxin to my lips. Her laugh. Sounds like fucking angels I can feel her chest moving through my shirt. "Can I be in the band now?" She raises an eyebrow.

Dropping the small bud I just laugh along with her. "hEYYY I'm serious" she wines.

"Sure you are." I smile at her.

"No offense Cal but your party blows." She looks at the lights jumping on the hardwood of the deck.

"It's more of Ashton's," I admit. One hell of a birthday. She wraps her arms around my waist and places her head on my chest. "Happy birthday Cal," she whispers.

"Thank you y/n." I can feel my pulse in my throat. Being with her makes me so comfortable but yet I feel like I'm on fire. She gets me like no one else could imagine. I place my chin on the top of her head and just hold her. I don't want this to end. "Did Ashton invite you?" curious to how she showed up. In the group chat she said she had plans this weekend. I was really disappointed because if it wasn't clear enough I like her a lot.

"Something like that." She reaches for her phone and scrolls through her text. "From Ashton at 6:58 am," she begins to read slightly pulling away to look at the screen between us. "Hey Y/n! know you're busy this weekend but that doesn't matter because Calum likes you and won't admit it but it would be cool as lemons if you could show up." I'm going to fucking kill him. I hope he likes his ashes being burnt with that fucking lemon tree. She smiles at me and I feel like I could evaporate right the fuck here. Oh Ashton. I will kill you. The door next to us opens and some random guy comes out drunk as hell. "Oh h-hey you three," His burp interrupts him, "It's a great party in thheere"

As he stumbles Y/n goes to keep him upright, but his body has other plans. The foul smell that comes from the vomit projecting on Y/n is awful. He apologizes but quickly goes back inside wiping his mouth on his shirt. "Are you okay?" I ask her equally as shocked. Her cheeks flushed in embarrassment, I grab her hand without waiting for a response and drag her inside. After her many protest and looks from random people that can smell the bile on her, we make it to the stairs. There are too many fucking people here. Constantly pushing past bodies I know none of these bathrooms are cleared. I walk her down the hallway to my bedroom door when someone interrupts me. "Dude, I've been trying to get in there all night. It's locked. Complete dipshit of an owner right." He smirks reaching for a high five. I roll my eyes at his gesture and grab the key to open my door. His smirk fades into one of realization. He tries to apologize but I shut the door in his face after Y/n follows me inside.

I take off my shoes and she looks at me questioningly. "I have a bathroom in here you can use Y/n." as I relock my door. The last thing I need is for some stranger to come messing with my personal stuff.

"You shouldn't have-"

"Shut up. Some stranger just threw up on you. I would prefer to be in here with you than out there where I don't know anyone. Now go shower." She starts to argue but I just help shove her in the bathroom while closing the door. She knocks from the inside of the door, "Yes Y/n?" I smile at her playful banter.

"I need help. I can't reach the zipper" she says through the wooden door. I release the handle and nod. right she can't see me. Opening the door I walk in, "So your plan was to lock me in here?" She smiles looking through the mirror at me while moving her hair to one side of her shoulder.

"Not exactly, I was gonna kidnap you later." I grab the small zipper and begin to undo it. No wonder who the hell can hold this tiny thing. Once I get it down she thanks me. "Just throw it away okay?"

"But-" I stare at her and she agrees. Closing the door to let her shower. Clothes, she needs clothes. I walk into my closet and grab a t-shirt and her emergency bag. She came up with the idea since no one knows how to bring clothes anywhere we all have one outfit at everyone's place. Thanks to Michael she had to wear the outfit here, but her undergarments are still there.

I knock on the door and she's still in the shower so I leave the shirt and the bag on the counter in the steamy room. Walking out I take off the skinny jeans I'm wearing and change into sweats and a t-shirt.

So many options. Who ever came up with Netflix is a fucking genius. My phone buzzes next to me and I see Ashtons Name. A text, great!

From: Daddy 1:17 am

Bryana's here. Gonna go Catch up.

I just send him an 'Ok' because we all know they're still stuck on each other and there's no way in hell I'm going down there. About 20 minutes into big mouth Y/n walks out of the bathroom wearing the clothes I left for her. No one's ever looked that good in my shirt, shit I don't even look good in my shirt. "Thank you Calum" she quietly commented. "No problem." I pat the spot next to me and she climbs in the bed. I hit play on the tv remote as the show continues to play. I can't even focus on the hormone monster on the screen, this feels so fucking right. I feel her playing with my hand as she watches the screen intently. Her brow furrowing when she doesn't get the concept of Jay being a magician or the way her eyes crinkle when she laughs. I could literally just watch her all day. I mean I know she doesn't like me but I can't help but imagine what a relationship with her would be like. I don't want to jeopardize our friendship but this, this feels more important. It's just not fair I mean there's tour and I wouldn't want to be away from her that long if she were mine. I don't understand how she's single I mean look at her. And you don't find many girls with a personality like hers, she's so kind-hearted and the most humble person I know. When we were in Bali, everyone went to this pool resort and we thought she went missing for the day. But she returned home after visiting orphanages and helping at the village day clinic. I don't want to be selfish but I'll be damned if I let her go. I'm so thankful for that girlfriend of Luke's to bring her completely unbothered, outgoing, and amazing friend with her to that club in New York.

"Did you hear me?" The soft voice brings me from my thoughts. I look down at her "No what?" She starts laughing. I see a black screen on the wall and look at her quizzically. She raises her hands in defense "It's been off for the past 15 minutes." she shrugs. "You looked deep in thought." I just stay silent and look up at the ceiling. ''You can talk to me you know?" she whispers.

"Have you ever wanted something you can't have?" I ask. She chews on her bottom lip before responding.

"I suppose, I mean in regards to what?" but I cut her off, "Why'd you come tonight?"

"It's your birthday." she states clearly confused. "Ashton's text doesn't bother you?"

"I didn't think it would have to bother me?-"

"You had plans."

"You mean much more Cal." I let her words sink in. Did she like me the way I like her?or maybe she doesn't and I'm really hoping for something? No. This could never work. I don't do relationships.

"Do you wanna keep watching? " I ask her hoping she'll say yes.

"That was the last episode" she says as she turns to me a glimpse if hope in her eyes. "We can just talk Cal."

"I'm actually pretty tired." She nods, a small frown on her face as she goes and turns the light off. "Night Cal"

"Goodnight Y/n." I whisper before pulling her closer to me. I feel her muscles relax and soft snores escape her lips.

* * *

The sun in the room feels warm against my skin. Opening one eye I see the contract of the bright light against the walls. As I go to move the curtains I feel a warm presence next to me turn. Well, fuck me. Her shirt came up just the slightest to exposed her black lace panties to me and damn is it a sight. Look away. Look away. Look away.

Physically getting up from the bed she pouts and rubs her eyes. "Cal? " her slightly rasped voice speaks. "Yeah just closing the blinds. "

"Can you leave it just a tad. " she ask pulling the covers over her. "The soft light is nice. " I mean I can't say no. "Come here. " she demands and I get back in bed with her. "I should probably start cleaning soon. " I say as a line ass excited to leave the room. All I can picture is how good she looked in these panties and I need to take care of this soon.

"No you won't, since when have you cleaned? Plus I told you I'd help. " my dick is straining against these fucking briefs.

She softly traces random patterns into my skin as we just lay there admiring the room. "Cal" she mumbles.

"You've got an uh-problem. " the blood rushes to my cheeks as she notices my boner. "Sorry i-" I begin to excuse myself from the room hoping a black hole could appear. That would be great.

Surprisingly enough she pushes me to keep me in place. "It just occurred to me that I never got you a gift."

She runs her fingers over my manhood, "Can I make it up to you?"

"Y/n I don't think-" Oh fuck. My dick twitched at the sight of her removing my shirt leaving me speechless. The black lace that clung to her, which landed us in this situation, looked even better than before. "Um you -uh" I start mumbling trying not to look at her body for too long. I mean I could but I'd cum no question.

"It's either a yes or no?" as I was about to answer she started running her hand along the thin black lines. My eyes never leaving her hand as she teasingly rubbed her clit through the fabric. "You see Cal, I want you as much as you want me."

Fuck friendship. I replace her hand with my own to feel her. Fuck how long I've waited to do this. She pushes my hand away from her core while leaving open mouth kisses down my jaw. Licking my earlobe, she whispers, "You're the birthday boy."

She scoots further down the bed until her face is near my groin. This is a sight I could get used to. She slips her fingers in the band and starts pulling my briefs down. Her eyes light up once she sees my throbbing shaft. "You have such a pretty dick." Her thumb runs over my tip causing me to shudder and if possible made me harder. "Y/n you don't have to." My voice cracking a bit, why the fuck was I so nervous.

She rolls her eyes as she kisses my tip her tongue licking along the vein. She slowly begins taking me in her mouth, "Oh fuck y/n" I moan as she swallows around me, her hand pumping what she can't fit all the way. Her mouth is so warm and she's so fucking perfect. My head hits the headboard as my other hand laces itself in her curls as she bobbed her head along my length, letting every sound fall from my lips. Accidentally I pulled her hair which I was going to apologize for until she moaned. The vibrations that sexy ass sound I thrusted up. Fuck no I want to be in her.

"Y/n stop." She let her teeth graze my dick as she moved her mouth off of me. My stiffened member glowing with her saliva.

"I'm sorry this was a bad-" She started mumbling getting off the bed and fixing her hair.

"No!" I yelled surprised at my own tone. "I mean um you're great I just- I want to be in you." The redness on my cheeks very visible. She hesitates before sliding her panties off, "We don't have to I'm sorry I just thought that's where this was going and I-" She kisses me softly and I shut the hell up.

"Calm down, I was just thinking." She says straddling my lap removing her bra. "And before you ask what about well," she lines me with her entrance "It was whether I wanted a condom or not." Our moans are in unison as she slowly slides onto me. Feeling her tight walls stretch around me, her dripping arousal glistening in the soft lights of the sun. The whimper that came from her mouth as she takes all of me. "I'm on the pill and it's your birthday meaning you get the full experience." She says after a moment of her adjusting, sending a playful wink my way. She begins to move and I swear no one has ever felt this good. My hands find their way to her hips slowly rocking her back and forth.

"Fuck Cal" She whimpers as she begins to ride me. I move one of my guiding hands to find her sensitive nub, tracing small circles with the pad of my finger. She jerks back from the touch causing me to smirk, someone's sensitive. I place my thumb over her sensitive nub yet again rubbing back and forth eliciting a moan from her. “Cal I can’t-“ Grabbing her hair pulling her face closer to me, “ You can and you will, got it?” She whimpers nodding in agreement, “I’m not cumming till that pretty pussy of yours is pulsing.” Slowly grinding my hips up, grazing her g-spot with my tip. “Cal-fuck, this was supposed to be your gift.” Grabbing the back of her thigh slowly bringing her body closer to mine, I turn us so she’s underneath me.

“Go out with me and we’ll call it even yeah?” I ask her before continuing to thrust into her. Our moans fall in unison as I pick up the pace. Thrusting into her faster than the time before, the only sounds heard throughout are those of our moans and skin clapping together. My mouth finds its way to her neck, assaulting the soft skin in the area- leaving a reminder for this evening. I can feel her tightening around me, edging me close to my own release. “Cal I’m close.” She manages to mutter as I find my way back to her clit, rubbing fast purposeful circles. Watching the way her pants and moans fall through her lips to the glistening of her chest as it rises and falls with each breath. The sight being enough to drive me to the brink of insanity, “Cum for me y/n.” Almost instantly her eyes roll back as she arches her back, her pussy tightening without mercy forcing my own orgasm to appear. My hips jut forward as I release into her , slowly edging us both along. Our panting is the only thing to be heard as a gently collapse on top of her. “Did you mean it?” She ask, moving the hair from my forehead.

“If you mean me asking you out, yes.” She smiles and pulls my face closer to hers. “took you long enough.” She whispers before attaching her lips to mine.

A/N: (Also posted to Wattpad) I hope you enjoyed it. I'm actually really happy, I've been doing quite a bit of writing so yay! We have another calum smut blurb on the way.I also need help deciding who's the endgame for my Loki/Bucky love triangle but all with time. Anyways I hope you're all having a wonderful weekend!

XOXO Janelle

[thebigbadbatswife]

One Single Thread Of Gold Tied Me To You

Summary - Everyone is tied to their soulmate with a red thread tied to their wrist. All except Y/N’s, who’s thread is gold. Tired of waiting for her soulmate to come and find her, she decides to go and find them. It doesn’t go quite how she expected it to.

Warnings - A little angst

[A/N] - This is a soulmate au where you and your soulmate are attached by an unbreakable red thread (or, in this case, gold), tied to your wrist. This was inspired by the song 'Invisible String' by Taylor Swift.

Word Count - 4k

As the early morning sun slowly filtered into your room, through your blinds, you carefully examined the thread attached to your wrist. Everyone had one; it was your link to your soulmate. Yours was different to everyone else though. While everyone had red, yours was gold. As you turned your wrist, it caught the sunlight and glistened a little.

Everyone you knew had always been fascinated by it. As was nearly every stranger you met. Why was it gold? What exactly made you and your soulmate so different to everyone else’s? Questions you had often asked yourself as well. Why were you two so different?

Your family had a theory that whoever it was, they were rich. Very rich. That was surely the reason it was gold. Nothing else made sense to them. Meanwhile your friends were completely convinced that your soulmate was some kind of God.

“Come on, Y/N! It’s the only thing that makes sense!” Tracey said before taking another sip of her third glass of wine. Her usually bright emerald eyes were glazed over from all of the alcohol. “Why else would it be gold?”

“You gotta admit, Tracey might be drunk right now, but she has a good point!” Skylar joined in. She took her brown eyes off the blonde and looked over at you before continuing. “Oh! What if your soulmate is like Wonder Woman or Superman or something! How cool would that be?”

You rolled your eyes and took a sip of your own glass of wine. “Stop it. You’re both being ridiculous,” you had told them because they really were being ridiculous. There was no way your soulmate was a member of the Justice League, let alone an Amazonian Princess or the Man of Steel.

You were, of course, curious of your soulmate yourself. Who wouldn’t be curious of the person they’re destined to end up with? But you didn’t think up the crazy theories your friends and family liked to come up with. Instead you wondered things like, what kind of hobbies do they have? What’s their favourite colour? What type of music do they listen to? Were they a cat person or a dog person? And other things like that.

Another thing about the thread that tied you to your soulmate was that, while everyone could see the thread around your wrist, only you and soulmate could see where it led. While you had always wanted to follow it, you had decided that it would be better to focus on having a decent job and place to live first.

During that time a small part of you had hoped that maybe your soulmate would come looking for you, but since they clearly weren’t, maybe you should? After all, you had a well paying job and a great apartment, so why not? Every job was legally required to allow people time off to go search, so that wouldn’t be an issue. It was paid time off as well so you didn’t have to worry about money. You also had a car so you wouldn’t have to spend a shit ton of money on travel. At least, you hoped you wouldn’t. In truth, for all you knew, your soulmate could be in a completely different country. Now that would certainly complicate things.

Shaking that thought away (because there was no way fate could be that cruel), you got out of bed and set about putting the wheels in motion that would allow you to start following your thread

‘ Welcome to Gotham City! ’ the sign read as you drove past it. When you had told those close to you, your plan, they had been super supportive. Now, if they knew where your thread had lead you, you doubted they’d be as supportive. Hell, even you were rethinking things now. Out of all the cities for your soulmate to be in, it just had to be this one.

How did you know it was this city that they resided in and it wasn’t just another stop along the way? It was hard to explain, but you had a feeling deep within your gut, almost like a sixth sense that just yelled “Yep! This is the place!”.

You felt extremely uneasy as you drove through the city. It was night-time as well which did absolutely nothing to help. Honestly, of all the times to arrive in Gotham, night-time was definitely the worst. Well, there was nothing you could do about that now, you just had to keep on going, so you did.

The golden thread snaked through the gothic city and went from the “posh” part of the city all the way to the worst part of the city. The buildings were run down and most of the windows were boarded up. Each turn you took there were shiftier and shiftier characters on every corner. You started to get the feeling that you really shouldn’t be here. Plus you were starting to wonder if you really wanted to know who your soulmate was if they were hanging out in neighbourhoods like this.

You brought your car to a stop in front of a particularly dark and sinister looking alleyway. A particularly dark and sinister looking alleyway that your golden thread lead straight into. Coming to this part of this city was already a bad idea. Continuing to follow that thread to what had to be your certain doom was even worse. Yet, at this point in your mission, you were pretty much committed.

You couldn’t help out a quiet and very nervous laugh as you climbed out of your car. ‘ This is fucking insane ,’ you thought as you stepped out of your car. Before shutting and locking it (though you doubt that would do much to protect it in this area), you grabbed your pepper spray. ‘ I really hope your worth all this .’

As you followed the thread down the alleyway, you heard a sudden loud bang. A gunshot. You stopped in your tracks and you could feel your heart pick up its pace. Your thread lead in the direction the shot had come from. ‘ I really hope you weren’t involved with that .’ Taking a deep breath, you continued down the alleyway.

The alleyway lead out onto another street. There was a small crunching sound as you stepped out onto the street. Taking a step back, you looked to the ground to see what you had just stepped on. The ground was littered with small shards of glass. Looking up, you figured the shards of glass were from the bulbs from the streetlamps. Something had broken them. It didn’t take you long to figure out what, or rather who ,was responsible.

Further down the street, taking on group of ten men, was none other than Gotham’s Caped Crusader. The Batman.

You quickly ducked back into the alley you had just left. You then carefully peered around the wall, so you could watch the fight. You were well aware of the fact that your thread was leading straight toward the fight. Which meant that your soulmate was involved.

You watched the fight intensely, both intrigued and terrified to figured which one of the men was on the end of your thread. There was a voice in the back of your head praying hardcore that it was the hero in the centre of the fight.

Batman was a blur of black and dark grey as he rapidly made his way through the group of men. With a variety of different punches, kicks and gadgets, he made short work of them. During his combat flow, you followed your thread with your eyes and a small gasp left you as you realised who the other end was attached to.

Holy fuck. You’re friends had, kind of, been right. While your soulmate wasn’t Wonder Woman or Superman, like they had suggested, he was apart of the Justice League’s ‘Big Three’. Your soulmate was Batman . At least now you knew why he hadn’t come looking for you. He’d been busy saving the world.

Now you had to figure out how to approach him before he ended up disappearing into the night.

Exiting your cover, you took your thread between your finger and thumb and gently tugged on it a couple of times.

Batman looked at his end of the thread curiously as your tugs had gotten his attention. Then his head drifted upwards, following where it lead till his eyes settled on you.

If he was shocked, he didn’t show it. He just stood there, his eyes never leaving you. Part of you wanted to cower away from the intense stare, but you willed yourself not to. He was your soulmate, and you weren’t a criminal,  you had no reason to be afraid.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, finally ending the silence between you. His voice was deep and almost robotic sounding. Probably some sort of voice modulator to help hide his identity, you figured.

“In Gotham? Yeah, this place really sucks,” you replied, thinking about all the things you had heard about this city, “but I came here to find my soulmate; to find you.”

“You shouldn’t have.” His voice was sharp and serious as he spoke. He also sounded irritated at your sudden appearance, which caused you to frown. That couldn’t be right… could it?

“What?” You hated how meek and pathetic your voice sounded, but you couldn’t help it. Wasn’t this supposed to be a happy moment? One of the happiest in your life in fact. Instead you felt like you were being scolded rather than meeting the person who was supposed to be your other half.

“I didn’t want to meet you. Now I suggest you go home. It’s not safe here.”

What? You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. There was pressure behind your eyes and your throat tightened. You took a shaky breath as you took a step backwards away from him. It quickly sunk in that the man you’d been destined to be with, the man you had thought about since you were old enough to understand the concept of a soulmate, wanted nothing to do with you.

“I-I’m sorry I disturbed you.” Your voice broke as you fought back the tears that threatened to fall. You weren’t going to give him that satisfaction. You then turned around and ran back toward where you had left your car.

As fast as you could, you started your car up and made your way to a safer part of the city. It didn’t take you long to find a somewhat empty parking lot to park in. Once the engine was off, you screamed and aggressively slammed against the wheel as you let the tears freely fall.

You felt like a complete and utter fucking idiot. Of course he didn’t want you. You’d probably just get in the way of him saving the world or something like that. Besides, what was that article you had seen a few months ago? Something about Catwoman and a relationship between the two? While it happened very rarely, some people in the world had been known to reject their soulmate because they had found someone they deemed better. Is that what had happened? Whatever the reason, you could feel your heart breaking.

You had used to think that, out of all the members of the Justice League, Batman had been one of the cooler members. Now all you could think was that he was a massive jerk.

Maybe it was your own fault for romanticising the whole thing and thinking that your meeting would be something out of a fairytale. Apparently fate was far crueller than you could have ever thought it to be.

Bruce watched as she ran away from him, back down the alleyway she had come from. A small voice in the back of his head told him to go after her. To grab her, hold her close and apologise, tell her that he hadn’t meant it. He ignored it and headed off in the opposite direction, back to where he had left the batmobile.

Over his comms, he heard a barely audible sigh and he could easily picture his butler and lifelong friend shaking his head in disappointment. No doubt he was going to get an earful once he got back to the batcave. Well it certainly wasn’t the first time.

As the batmobile pulled up in the batcave, he could see Alfred waiting for him. ‘ Here we go ,’ he thought as he got out of his car and removed his cowl.

“I don’t want to hear it,” he stated as he walked past him and toward the batcomputer. He set his cowl down on the desk. Even as the words left his mouth he knew he had wasted his breath. If there was one thing that Alfred had done consistently since Bruce had started down this path, it was letting him know when he disagreed with something he did.

“Was that really necessary Master Bruce? She’s come all of this way…” Alfred started, but ended up trailing off. There was a small moment of silence before he continued. “You know, I remember a small boy who couldn’t wait to go out there and find…” Before he could finish what he was saying, Bruce promptly cut him off.  

“What would you have me do, Alfred?!” His voice echoed off of the cave’s walls and disturbed some of the bats still hanging on the ceiling. Bruce gestured toward his equipment and the display cases that held some rather badly damaged batsuits. All of them testaments to injuries that had come far too close to killing him. “Would you really have me force this life on to her? The dangers, the no guarantee I’ll come home…” He took a deep breath and rested both his hands on the surface of his desk. “She deserves so much better.” His voice was quiet, but still easily heard in the, almost, silent cave.

“With all due respect, sir, I believe she should be allowed to make that decision, not you,” Alfred replied before leaving the batcave, not giving Bruce a chance to respond.

He looked in the direction of the stairs that lead up into the manor. The direction that Alfred had headed in. Was he right? Should he be leaving it up to her to decide what she wanted? But with all the dangers he faced nightly… No, it was better for him to stay far away from her.

Over the following week Bruce found himself distracted. It didn’t matter where he was, what he was doing, he couldn’t focus. And considering what he did once night fell over Gotham, to say being unfocused really wasn’t good was a complete understatement of the situation. He had been having far too many close calls recently.

He couldn’t get it out of his head. The way she had looked at him as he told her he didn’t want to meet her, that she should leave. Alfred’s words echoed in his mind and he found himself questioning the decisions he had made that night. Something that Bruce rarely, if ever, did. Everything he did was meticulously planned and there was never any doubt when he made a decision. Was this what happened once you met your soulmate and rejected them?

Bruce was sure that the rest of the Justice League had taken notice. With how off beat and slow to react to certain things, it would be hard not to. Of course, if they had, none of them had mentioned it to him. Apparently they knew better. For the time being, at least. He was sure it wouldn’t be long before they did try to pry into his personal life.

Which lead him here. On the roof of the building opposite of Y/N’s apartment building. He hadn’t needed to do any extensive research to find her, or learn her name, because he had been in this exact spot a couple of years ago.

Two years ago Bruce’s own curiosity had gotten the better of him. He blamed Clark and his soulmate, a reporter by the name of Lois Lane, for it. He had seen them one too many times in the Watchtower together and had found himself wondering who exactly his soulmate was and what they was like. As a result, he had gone looking for them. Not because he wished to finally meet them, but so he could make sure his soulmate was safe and happy. And she was, so he had left. Only ever checking up on her every now and then to make sure she had stayed that way.

He looked down at the golden thread that came out of his gauntlet and lead down toward the apartment he’d been watching. Both as Bruce Wayne and Batman he had made sure to keep it well hidden. With its unique colouring he couldn’t allow anyone to see it. It would be all too easy for his enemies to find her if they did see it.

He knew that by being here he was easily undoing everything he had done to keep her safe, but, then again, had she not done exactly that when she had tracked him down in Gotham? Besides, and while he would never say it out loud, Alfred had been right. It should be up to Y/N to decide whenever or not she wanted all the baggage that came with him being in her life. Baggage that had driven more than one person from his life…

He shook that thought from his head and got up from his crouched position on the roof. Bruce then leapt from the roof and allowed himself to fall for a couple of seconds before opening up his cape and let it catch the wind that was rushing past him. He silently glided over to her apartment’s balcony.

Y/N was in her apartment alone. She was sat on her sofa, the light from the tv was the only thing illuminating the room.

Bruce was unsure of how exactly to go about this. Back in Gotham he had originally thought of approaching her as Bruce Wayne, but quickly discarded it. Bruce Wayne showing up at an out of the way apartment building was sure to garner attention. As would Batman using the front door, so the balcony had seemed to be the best option. But now that he was here, he wasn’t entirely sure it was.

Should he just knock? That seemed like the best way to go about this. It was going to scare the everloving daylights out of her, but he could deal with that.

He gently rapped the glass of the balcony door with his knuckles. As he had expected, Y/N leapt up from her seat. A bowl and the contents of the bowl followed her and scattered across her carpeted floor. She spun around and when she saw him, the look of shock on her face quickly turned to anger. Her eyes narrowed and he swore that glare would be enough to make even the toughest of Gotham’s thugs would cower at its intensity. Maybe she would deal with his life better than he thought.

After a minute of glaring at him, she turned around and walked toward the lightswitch. At the same time, she gestured for him to enter.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” she demanded as soon as he had entered the apartment and shut the door behind him. The rage in her voice was evident and Bruce was sure he could cut the tension in the room with a batarang.

“I came to apologise,” he said, his voice gentle despite how distorted his modulator made it sound. Y/N scoffed immediately. He didn’t blame her. If he was in her shoes, he wouldn’t believe him either. After all ‘Batman’ wasn’t exactly known for making apologies.

“Yeah right.” She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest.

“I’m being truthful. I… I shouldn’t have said what I said. It wasn’t right.”

“Then why did you say it?” A fair question and one he had an answer to. Before he even said it, Bruce was aware how cliché it sounded.

“I wanted to keep you safe. This life isn’t for everyone.”

“So without even meeting me, you decided that it wasn’t for me.” She shook her head. “That’s not your decision to make!” she yelled at him.

“I know. It’s been pointed out to me before.” In fact that night in the cave wasn’t the first time Alfred had told him that. “But that’s why I’m here now. To give you all the information you need to make that decision.”

You listened intently as Batman explained the dangers of the life he was leading. The dangers that effected the people in his life in one way or another. He also made it a point to reiterate the fact that when he left at night or was summoned by the Justice League there was no guarantee he would return. You asked the occasional question, but for the most part you just listened to him to talk and let his words sink in.

You got it. You understood the very clear concerns that Batman had about this whole thing, they concerned you as well, but you weren’t about to let it deter you. You wanted to know your soulmate. Even if it ended horribly, like he was saying it would, you felt it in your core that you would regret not knowing him, especially if the worst truly did happen. And you told him so.

“Even if you’re not wearing a mask, this life is dangerous. Anything can happen.”

“Anything could happen to me when I leave my apartment each day.”

The superhero life wasn’t special in that regard. As you spoke, your voice was a lot calmer than it had been earlier. In fact, as he had spoke and explained you had found your anger slowly fading. You still wanted to slap the jerk superhero before you, but that was a considerable downgrade from your overwhelming need to deck him when you first saw him standing on your balcony.

“It won’t be easy.”

“I’ve never backed down from a challenge before.”  

You admired his commitment to deter you, but it wasn’t going to work. You were too stubborn to let it. Something you were positive he was learning very quickly.

“There’s nothing I can say to convince you that this is a bad idea, is there?”  

“Nope.” You made sure to pop the ‘p’.

Batman sighed deeply. You watched as he looked away from you and toward the golden thread that linked the two of you together. You could almost hear the gears in his brain turning as he thought. Then he was looking back up at you.

“In that case then.”

You watched as Batman brought his hands up to his cowl. Your eyes widened and you couldn’t help the small gasp that left you as he removed the cowl and revealed his identity to you. Bruce Wayne. While you didn’t live in Gotham City, you were well aware of Gotham’s favoured son. You would’ve had to have lived underneath a rock to not know who he was.

And apparently your family had been right on the money, literally. Not that you cared about the money, you weren’t superficial like that. Personality was far more important than the material items someone may or may not have. In your eyes, at least.

You both stood in silence, his blue eyes studying you, probably trying to gauge how you were going to react. To be truthful, you weren’t entirely sure how to react. Except maybe…

“Well, it’s… it’s nice to meet you Bruce Wayne. I guess this is the part where we forget about what happened and start over?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is.”

Yeah, sure, this was probably going to end horribly, but you were looking forward to the adventure that lie ahead.

[monsterhugger]

cw csa/

am i overanalyzing this? am i applying weird symbolism that doesnt exist in a shonen battle manga? have other people already written better meta analyses of this? almost definitely.

but like... the relationship between tomura and all for one (and also between AFO and his brother) seems to be at the very least allegorical to grooming. whether it's a metaphor or it's meant to be read as him having actually groomed/abused tomura there's just. so much to them that feels like it has that subtext... examples under cut for brevity's sake

-numerous instances of AFO being shown stroking tomura's hair, as well as this cover which seems to depict him being grabbed/petted (the two hands at the top in particular). the hands given to him by AFO could also be an effort to get him used to being touched.

tomura states at one point that wearing all of the hands makes him feel sick. some of his discomfort with the hands obviously comes from them being his dead family members, but some of them are from complete strangers, and tomura has shown that he doesn't feel guilty or remorseful over killing strangers (or his father for that matter). if the hands are serving another purpose in getting tomura used to unwanted/inappropriate touch, it doesn't seem out of place.

-the concept of forced quirk activation/forcibly giving someone a quirk feels kind of uncomfortable. tomura's situation is a bit different from yoichi (AFO's brother) with the whole tube thing but when we see AFO give yoichi one for all, he seems to be in pain/distress, whereas when izuku receives the same quirk from all might it's not shown as being painful.

being given a quirk by AFO is clearly a traumatic experience, and at least in the case of tomura and yoichi if it's representative of another form of violence it fits with a pattern.

-speaking of yoichi, i find this pretty telling:

this is the viz translation, so of course take it with a grain of salt, but i find the specific use of the word "groomed" to at least be somewhat significant. especially since this is coming from yoichi, who obviously having been a victim of AFO's abuse is familiar with how he works. yes, "groomed" doesn't always have a sexual connotation and in this case yoichi is referring to tomura's response to being severely wounded during the meta liberation battle. though it is important to note that this also implies tomura has been conditioned to not respond normally to pain or violence against his body.

on a final note regarding yoichi, there's also this:

i feel like it's pretty clear yoichi was the first subject of AFO's obsession/grooming. interesting how AFO says he could never make yoichi his despite literally having him locked in a cell 24/7: he doesn't just want access to his victim's body, he wants to be looked up to and loved by him, and he's had much more success with tomura than he did with his brother.

-the possession thing

so the possession, and specifically this page, seems to be the moment at which tomura realized he was being groomed/abused by AFO. this panel in particular seems to imply some kind of sexual abuse, at least as much as that can be implied in a work with mha's age rating: note AFO stroking tomura's hair and neck in an attempt to calm/comfort him, while the lower half of his body seems to be inside tomura. if we're assuming the grooming narrative is allegorical as opposed to something that's literally happening, this could be the moment AFO feels he's earned tomura's trust enough to get away with abusing him in this manner.

obviously, tomura understands what AFO is doing to him after this event and expresses a desire to escape AFO's abuse:

the specific repetition of "this is my body" really just... hits me. obviously he's still being possessed at this point (though see the previous panel for the metaphorical implications of that) but seeing tomura express concern over his own body after being shot multiple times, having half his hand torn off, walking around for several chapters while gaping wounds opened on several parts of his body, and also engaging in self injury from a very young age is a stark contrast. he's been groomed to not notice or care that something is hurting him, but AFO went too far and he's upset and scared and he wants out.

i'm really curious where tomura's arc is going, regardless of whether my crackpot analysis is accurate.

[many-gay-magpies]

im having Thoughts about a sandman/bbc merlin crossover entirely because of this post and you are all going to hear them .

pretty much just continuing off of my tags on that reblog, i LOVE the concept of merlin just. EXISTING in that world. and how that would all work. after i read that post i was like what would he even BE? would he be a lost endless himself? and then it came to me, because DUH-- the triple goddess. the three-in-one (god help me i still think of shampoo everytime i refer to them as that). im just gonna put my tags here because it's easier than restating everything i already said:

i'm not sure of exactly WHAT merlin's role would be in this world-- maybe he's the embodiment of magic on earth, the "anthropomorphic embodiment of human magic" just as dream is the anthropomorphic embodiment of dreams. all the stuff that was true in bbc merlin could still apply: once earth had its OWN magic, just as the dreaming and all the other endless's realms did, in the form of plentiful human magic users and magical creatures, but king uther's purge wiped nearly all of it away. the three-in-one, who perhaps watched over this world just as they did all the others, had to rectify this unbalance by creating one single being, in which was held all that lost power: merlin. emrys. he is not an endless, not in name or ancestry, but he is a protector of the world in his own right; lord of magic, magical creatures, magic-users. the waking world IS his domain. i don't know how arthur would factor into this, except maybe the "golden age" he and merlin are prophecised to bring about is a world in which magic roams freely in the waking world again? i don't really have that worked out.

ANYWAY. now im having thoughts about, like OP of the og post said, merlin and hob (each going by whatever monicker they've chosen this particular century) teaching history at the same school and taking notice of each other, because both of them know the signs of an immortal undercover and see them in one another-- and perhaps hob even recognizes something OTHER in merlin, that speck of otherworldliness he's only ever seen in his strange friend. something a bit too knowing, too ethereal about the eyes; something eternal and ageless about that smile which, so unlike his strange friend's, is almost ever-present. they confront each other and maybe, in hopes of learning more about the odd stranger he meets once every century, hob asks about him; described him to merlin and inquires about him. in response, merlin smiles and replies something along the lines of "it appears you've caught the eye of one of the Endless. more than one, most likely, if you've managed to stay alive this long."

and now i'm having OTHER bbc merlin/the sandman crossover thoughts, as well-- because in this hypothetical world, merlin watches over all magic users, he is RESPONSIBLE for them. seeing any new person make use of the magic in the world fills him with great joy, because it means that magic is reawakening at last. merlin takes it upon himself to investigate new magic-users, and perhaps in one such investigation, he stumbles upon a disgrace to magic-kind: roderick burgess, who calls himself "the magus" and twists magic to serve him in the darkest, most corrupt ways. merlin is disgusted, and seeks to stop him-- and maybe, in doing so, finds that that "devil locked in his basement" is not quite the myth everyone thinks.

i said in the tags of that post that i'd most likely not be the one to write that fic if it got written, but now im considering going back on my words HDJFBFJFB-- i will admit that im far more familiar with bbc merlin than i am with the sandman, as i've only ever watched the show and never read the comics, so any fic i DID write would probably be from merlin's perspective (or hob's, since the show doesn't tell you too terribly much about him and id feel free to play around with his character a but). my problem when it comes to writing fanfiction is that i'm never too sure of how to write someone "in character" and i get intimidated trying to, so id probably be far too intimidated to write anything from dream's perspective-- but, well, we'll see what happens :P

[your-highnessmarvel]

From Bleak to Bright - Part Eight

All other parts on on my masterlist, link provided below.

AN: this chapter is long but the end is worth it puppies;)

Warnings: angst, language

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MASTERLIST - SERIES MASTERLIST

PART EIGHT

Loki never came back home that night. Nor the next morning. It was odd without him in the loft. You ventured to other rooms, which as you’d guessed, were other rooms. You didn’t want to sleep in Loki’s gold bed with silk sheets. You didn’t want to give him the wrong idea if he came back home from some sort of battle or whatever he did when he was out. 

You didn’t want him finding his soulmate in his bed and think something was going to go down.

Not yet anyway. 

You cringed at that thought, sitting on the side of the bed you’d borrowed last night. Your feet hung from the edge; the bed was so gigantic you’d practically thrown yourself into it to be able to board the goddamn thing. 

You peaked from the open door, listening for any sound, but the loft was dark and quiet, just as you’d left it the night before. There were no windows in this place, so you went through the hallway and kitchen, flicking on lights in your cotton pajamas you’d taken from Loki’s wardrobe. 

He’d stocked the kitchen with all assortment of human candies. Twizzlers. Starbursts. Lucky Charms. 

Sour Puss? Why did Loki buy eighteen-year-old liquor? 

You made yourself a bowl of Lucky Charms, playing with your cereal, wondering what the hell you were supposed to do for the day. As far as you’d seen, there were no books. No internet. No computer to play games. What the hell did Loki even do in this loft anyway?

A fleeting thought answered you. All of this is temporary. This is not his home and it never will be.

The bare walls, the rooms full of nothingness, no paraphernalia of any kind anywhere. There weren’t any of his clothes in the wardrobe either. Loki just slept here. Barely. 

The bathroom was sparkling, as if no one had ever used it. The loft smelled like a new car, the leather couches gleaming and new.

You weren’t going to stay here long, either. 

Loki was on Earth temporarily, surviving on Lucky Charms and illusions. 

You didn’t know what to make of yourself, and you certainly weren’t about to lie on your bed staring at the ceiling, waiting for the God of Mischief to grace you with his presence. No. 

After breakfast, you dressed in black trousers and t-shirt, and a pair of boots that would sustain a lot of walking. You tied your hair in a low braid.

You took one large breath before grabbing the front door and yanking. If Loki had locked you in, you’d kill him.

But the door swung open, breaking open the cap on the noise. Chatter, clanking, beeping, smoke came crashing to your senses as you opened up the door to the lab sitting just on the other side. The unbearable heat washed over you as you stepped out, your eyes taking in the ragged, sprung up lab life vibrating before you. 

Curiously, you ventured deeper, keeping close to the wall, making sure no one really paid attention to you. Everyone there seemed really, really into their job, anyway. As if they were in a trance. 

Mind control, you thought shyly. Loki had used his staff, you were sure. Upon closer inspection, heart beating in your chest, inching closer to a woman overly invested in a piece of glass, you saw it. The blurred gaze. Irises as blue and nebulous as the tip of Loki’s staff. Broken, chapped lips. Skin ashy and sickened, as if she hadn’t eaten or drank anything in days. Or slept. The sunken, black skin beneath her eyes told you this lab worked 24/7. 

Gulping, you whirled, trying to find the exit. People milled by you, paying you no mind. As if you were just another one of them. 

This was making you sick, the moral of it all reaching a valuable place inside you. The fact that Loki has stuffed these peoples’ heads with - what? - and turned them into living, breathing robots made you want to yell. At him, mostly.

Just then you spotted a sign over a door. Exit. Well, at least Loki cared about fire safety. You walked to it, determined, and all but burst through the doors, the sound of them slamming shut behind you echoing into the hallway, which you walked through with the same harsh pace. 

It was only when you’d burst into the warehouse, the sound disrupting the small bubble of peace, did you finally take a deep, soothing breath. The outside world shimmered before you, just beyond the yawning mouth of the warehouse. You saw a shimmering horizon, hot, blazing cement.

This wasn’t a warehouse, you realized. It was a hangar. A huge, awning hangar with a stolen, SHIELD-issued jet in the far left corner. 

You remembered how you even got here - the tightening of your skin, the feeling of it ripping and rippling as time and space shivered around you. No wonder you didn’t remember the extent of the “warehouse” when you’d landed here, the state of your mind and stomach making you woozy.

“Hey!”

Someone came running to you. It was one of those tall, all-black clad figures. His reflective mask glimmered in the lights of the hangar as he jogged to you, left hand on his hip, where a baton dangled.

“You’re not supposed to leave,” he said, his voice monotone, emotionless. Robotic. Controlled.

Frowning, taking a careful step back, you said, “I’m not allowed to leave?”

“Correct.” Then, more harshly. “Loki’s demands.”

There was a brief, hot red moment where you wanted to batter your fists against this man’s entire being, but then you remembered he didn’t even know he was here. He was being mind controlled. He was just a body, just like the entirety of the lab buzzing behind you. 

“I want to leave,” you said, squaring your shoulders.

“Impossible.”

You set your jaw, looking at this guard from under your brows. “Loki,” you said, unsure if this would work. “Loki, tell this idiot to step out of my way or so help me God I will destroy your precious little lab behind me.” Just to emphasize your words, you put your hand back on the doorknob.

There was a second where you thought the guard would just burst out laughing and bend over, mocking you. But he just stood there, reflective mask showing you your distorted reflection. 

And then his head cocked, his hands flexed. 

You knew Loki was listening, through whatever kind of bond he’d set on these people. 

“Let me go, Loki,” you grit through your teeth. 

The guard shrugged. “I am inclined to watch what you’ll do with this little freedom,” the guard said, Loki’s words in his mouth distorted. “But I am afraid the Avengers are hot on your trail.”

Your fists clenched. “There’s nothing but Lucky Charms in the loft,” you groaned. “What in the hell am I supposed to do?”

The guard chuckled. “Wait for me to come home in a little skirt with dinner?” he suggested sarcastically.

You wanted to hit him, but you knew you’d only be hurting this mind-controlled man and not Loki. 

“Wow, I never took you for a backwards and traditional man,” you gritted.

Another chuckle, but this one felt condescending. “I am only expressing my deepest fantasy, darling.”

“Ew.” Then you inhaled, closing your eyes, mustering the energy to talk to him. “Loki, please, I - “

The guard put his hand up. “I am coming back soon, my darling,” he said, again, his voice distorted by Loki’s words. “I have stocked the living room with books you may enjoy in the meantime.”

And then the guard shuddered, his head dropping momentarily, Loki’s persona stripping itself from the stranger. The guard inhaled sharply, took one long look at you, and then turned on his heel and headed back to his post. 

You were tempted to make a run for it, but where? You had no idea where you were. The shimmering, hot horizon indicated not New York. And it’s not like you knew how to pilot a jet. 

With a bruised ego and a slump to your shoulders, you walked back to the loft, passing through the heated, messed-up lab without a wayward look. And as Loki had promised - through the guard - the living room table was stacked with leather bound books.

You picked one up. Legends and Myths of the Gods; Odin’s Pantheon. You rolled your eyes. Of course, Loki had stocked your book requiem with stories about him. How had you not seen this coming?

You huffed, throwing yourself on the brand new leather couch, opening the book, the spine cracking from time unused. 

The first chapter was all about Odin’s conception, down right to Loki’s adoption from the Frost Giants on Jotunnheim. A brisk, fleeting thought went to young Loki, learning that his father was not really his father, and that his mother, who loved him so, was not the one to bring him into this world. 

You skimmed through the chapters on Thor, because, let’s be honest, all you truly wanted to get to was Loki’s life. 

You read about his trickery, his skill and love for magic, something he’d picked up from the Queen. How Loki loved horses and literature. He loved delicacy, the richness of royalty, women, and - 

You read it over. Yes, Loki loved women. A lump formed in your throat as you skipped along, trying to find mention of any women in Loki’s life. All you found of concrete evidence was the women in his realm had started calling him Silver Tongue.

A blush crept up your cheeks, heating the flesh so bad that you had to slam the book shut.

And Loki stood right behind it, leaning against the wall leisurely. You all but jumped in your seat, knees to your chest, book clattering to the ground. 

He laughed. “Curious about good ol’ Loki’s past?” he asked, sauntering over, throwing himself down next to you. He lounged his left arm over the back of the couch, his dark blue sweater stretching over the expanse of his chest. 

Oh, if only he knew just what past exactly you were looking at. 

He spread his knees, black trousers clean, completely at ease. 

You gulped, pressing your knees further into your chest. He quirked his brow, his question still unanswered. 

“Oh,” you said, stuttering with the next words trying to come out. “I was just, um, reading through your family history.” Silver Tongue, you wanted to say. 

He huffed. “Nothing interesting there,” he hummed. You felt like there was something more to it, but you didn’t want to dig deeper because maybe you’d unveil something you didn’t want to see.

“Where were you?” you asked, deciding that maybe this conversation was going in a direction you rather not go. Yet.

He smiled. “Didn’t want to wait for me with dinner?”

You rolled your eyes. “I couldn’t find a skirt,” you mumbled sarcastically.

His brows rose so high on his forehead, you thought they’d fall off his face. “I could provide one, if you wish.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the heat on your cheeks. You unbent your knees, picking the book off the floor and replacing it on the pile. “I don’t like skirts,” you said, not really sure why you were saying this. 

“Why?” he asked, frowning. His left hand, the one draped over the couch, was dangerously close to the back of your head. “You’d look good in them.”

Again, heat rose to your cheeks, a group of butterflies taking flight in your belly. “No, I’m, uh, self-conscious.”

He leaned closer, frowning, the smell of him invading your senses in a rush. His knee bumped yours and your eyes fell there, where there was only the fabric of both your pants separating your skin. 

“Why?” he said, his voice low. 

You gulped. “I’ve never liked... my legs,” you admitted with a nonchalant shrug, still looking at his stupid left knee. 

There was a silence, a long silence, and you still stared at his knee as if his knee would start telling that your legs were nice.

Instead, his left hand landed on your thigh, not gripping, not groping, just lightly touching. When you looked up at him, his eyes bore into yours with a sincerity you’d never seen before. 

A small smile tugged at his mouth. “I’m sure you’re just as beautiful from the waist down.”

It was a weak attempt at making you feel better, but at least he tried. And even if it almost made you laugh, the idea that Loki thought you were beautiful made something tug deep in your belly. 

His hand shifted, fingers grazing exposed skin at your neck, tracing lines on your flesh. Raising goosebumps. Humming to himself. 

“You have such wonderful skin,” he murmured. You looked down at his lips molding the words. His fingers inched to your jaw, tracing up to the corner of your eye, bringing fire up with him. “Such beautiful eyes.” His words were like a melody to you, your body buzzing, reacting as much to his words as his touch.

His finger slid down to your lips, tracing the bottom one with his thumb, and you involuntarily turned to him. His eyes dropped down to your mouth quickly, returning to your gaze with a new, flickering flame. “Such a charming mouth,” he said, his voice roach, low, almost a whisper. 

You swallowed hard and Loki watched your throat bob. 

He inclined his head, his forehead grazing yours. You wanted to reach up, grasp the strands of his hair, but your fists were glue at your sides. 

He smirked, huffing. “I’ve wanted a soulmate for so long,” he admitted in a low voice. He licked his lips. Inching closer to you on the couch. “I want to do so many things to you,” he whispered.

You felt the heat creep up your face and you looked down, Loki’s thumb pushing against your lips, and he chuckled softly. 

“If you want to kiss something, I’m right here,” he said mockingly, and you smiled, pushing his hand away. He laughed softly, replacing his hand on the back of the couch.

He gave you a second to regain the normal temperature of your skin before chuckling to himself. “If you were in Asgard,” he said, his voice faraway. “People would bow to you. They’d call you Princess. You’d have a title and land. A crown. They’d call you My Lady when you are being stubborn.” 

You tried not to imagine it, really, you did. You tried not to imagine what a life could be like with Loki, on splendid and gold Asgard, living out your mortal days with a God. You really tried not to imagine it all because then it meant leaving Bruce behind, and leaving him in New York had not been easy, but leaving your brother forever? The thought was unimaginable. 

A lump rose in your throat when you said, “Tell me more.” You leaned into the couch, bringing your knees to your chest, chin on your kneecaps. 

Loki smiled brightly, his fingers lightly playing with your hair, and told what your life would be like if you were immortal, if you were Asgardian, if you were not truly and wholly you.

tags:  @subtlemalice @yallgotkik @buckyandlokirunmylife @kaz11283 @legolas-bromance @shylittlemountain @tofeartheunknown @feelmyfckngsoul @kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay @caffiend-queen @tomhollandsslilslut @lady-loki-ren @nathan-no @rosaline-black @abundanceofcarolines @my-own-oracle @it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream @marvelouslovely @drbaureid @bored-as-hell-666 @youhavemyfantasticbeasts @theinfinitenerd @toe-vind-ek-jou @ink-and-starlight @blank-bakabane @sunshineonloki @holaamishamigos @palegoopbearlight @heyarely16 @pleaseexecuteme @athalahild @help-i-need-a-social-life @tapismyforte @coloursforyourportrait @celestialstarshadow @fukyouthink @lust-for-pan @thic-thor 

[sunflowervolvimp3]

you’re someone i just want around: II

“You can call me when you feel like

I’m your good time, I’ll be your temporary fix

You can own me, and we’ll call this what you like

Let me be your goodnight”

-Temporary Fix, One Direction

A/N: honestly can y’all believe @adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy​ and i finished part 2 within a week like what kind of productive hyper fixated legends are we??? if you haven’t heard, this started as a random concept between andrea and i to discuss at 3am and then we accidentally fell in love with vampirerry and his stupid asshole ways and now we’re here!!! we really hope you like this part, and the next parts coming (which are in the works and begin to dive into harry’s tragic backstory because who doesn’t love a lil pain :)))) just a reminder that if you like this, then reblog it!! not just our work but the work of all content creators!!! and feedback is also greatly appreciated 💌 

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

word count: 15.8k

content/warnings: vampire!harry laughing at a mortal not being able to open a door until he realizes his immportal ass can’t come inside, bloody good sex (literally), face f*cking, female-received oral, harry condemning stephanie meyer’s portrayal of vampires, psychological demolition of a quaint bedroom, and a cocky vampire with shitty taste in coffee

///

If Y/N can’t find her goddamn keys, she’s going to lose her mind.

Of course, she may just lose her mind anyways, given the way the handsome, tall, tattooed, and British (because of course he’s British, of fucking course) stranger whose name she can’t quite remember is smearing his lips against hers in the dim light of the hallway outside her apartment.  All Y/N wants to do is pull him--Henry?  Harrison? --into her apartment, into her bed, and tell him to fuck her until she can’t walk, but the stubborn lock of her door and the strangely bottomless clutch bag in her hand have other plans.

It does occur to Y/N, in a flicker of a drunken thought, that if she took a step back from the man--Hayden? --she may stand a better chance of finding the silver key ring she could swear she tossed in her bag before she left that night, but then the man’s tequila tinted mouth ghosts over hers once more, and the thought burns out completely.

“Y’alright, dove?” The man asks, his pillowy pink lips still hovering over hers as he speaks, low and soft and tantalizing. “Are you going to open the door, or do you want me to take you out here?”

A soft squeak stutters from Y/N at the lewd comment, and the brunette separates from her just enough that she can see the very corner of his mouth tugging into a smirk.

“Sorry.” He says, despite his voice sounding not very sorry at all. “Was that too much?”

“I--no, I just--” Y/N sucks in a deep breath to steady herself, but it backfires when traces of alcohol and his tobacco and vanilla scented cologne catch in the back of her throat. “I can’t find my keys.”

A small chuckle of mirth rolls from the stranger. “You can’t find your keys?  Shall I take a look for you?”

The thought of him-- his name starts with an H, she knows it does-- poking around in her bag which, by her normal standards, is quite organized, but by regular standards, is a fucking mess, brings a heated flush to her already warm cheeks. “No, I can get them, just--” Taking another reluctant step back from him, Y/N digs her hand down into her clutch, blindly pressing her fingers into the corners until she feels the touch of cool metal. “Got them!”

“Wonderful.” The man’s irises glint in the flickering hallway light, emerald glee flashing back at Y/N’s own drunken stare.  His eyes really are hypnotizing, Y/N thinks, with the way the forest shades seem to swirl around in each other, the way they seem to shine and darken over and over, how--

“Are you going to actually unlock the door, darling?” His lilting accent interrupts Y/N’s mesmerized thoughts as his hands smooth over the small of her back. “Or are we back to the idea of me taking you in the hallway?”

As more embarrassment flushes through Y/N’s body, heating every inch of her skin, she manages to shake her head quickly, the motion making her vision spin. “No, sorry, I--sorry.” She clears her throat once, the alcohol making her tongue feel heavy in her mouth. “Here--”

There’s another peal of laughter from behind her as Y/N spends a moment forcing her key into the lock of her door, having to give it an extra shove with all of her body weight before the stubborn mechanism twists and allows her to swing the door open.  With a relieved sigh, Y/N steps over the threshold, noticing that the stranger’s touch has fallen away once she’s inside.

With a confused and heavy glance, Y/N regards the curly-haired boy over her shoulder, turning slowly around to see him standing just outside the step of her apartment.  The hands that had just been groping every inch of her that they could get ahold of are now braced against the doorway, his tanned and inked muscles exposed beneath the sleeves of his blue t-shirt that fits him so perfectly, Y/N thinks she may faint.  Although his smirk is still tugging at his lips, his eyes have shifted to definitive darkness, and his expression has become more guarded.

“Is everything okay?” Y/N asks slowly, her own brows furrowing to match his own. “Aren’t you going to come in?”

The man’s eyes flash once more, and--Harry!  His name is Harry, Y/N remembers, and an alleviant feeling flushes through her veins while she struggles to keep the realization off her face as Harry straightens up to appraise her properly.

As his eyes scan over Y/N’s liquor-loose body, her eyes wide, trusting, and curious, her hair tangled from Harry’s fingers mussing it, a hickey just starting to colour at the base of her neck. The spot sends a flood of venom through Harry’s mouth and he knows that it’s time.  The moment that Harry dreads with each drunken club hookup has finally arrived.  The moment he has to figure out a way to get whatever poor soul he’s chosen as his midnight snack to explicitly invite him into their home.

There are a lot of abilities that come with being a vampire that Harry is thankful for.  The compulsion, he’d learned from his very first day in his afterlife, is one of the most useful and commonly used traits Harry possesses; after all, it’s a lot easier to take a little bite from an unsuspecting college student when you can make them forget it after.  The inhuman strength, of course, and the accompanying speed was handy, but mostly used for fun more than anything else.  When you barely sleep, you end up with a lot of free time, and impossible strength and speed makes for never ending wrestling matches, races, and various sporting competitions with Niall (they’d tried chess once, but Niall only lasted fifteen minutes before his attention drifted to the scent of a nighttime jogger outside the condo).

However, with all the sweetness that comes with being undead, there’s also the sour.  Iron has a tendency to burn the diamond-like skin of a vampire as if they were mere humans being prodded with a white hot brand, which Harry had learned the hard way back in his early days.  Stepping out into the sunlight has the same effect.  While these two issues could be easily remedied by dipping an iron object into gold, or wearing a sunlight ring respectively, there’s still one downside to life after death that irks Harry every time he’s presented with it.

Like every old folklore about vampires he had ever heard growing up, Harry has to be invited inside before he can cross the threshold of someone’s home.

And, as he’d learned over the years, it has to be an explicit invitation.  A beckoning of a hand or head won’t do, nor will a quiet whisper of “Follow me.” No, a resident of the home has to clearly state that they want Harry inside their space, or else he’ll be blocked from crossing under the door frame like there’s an invisible wall that only appears for him.

Given that Harry was raised in a time where proper manners were of the utmost importance, and an invitation had to be extended by a girl’s family before Harry was permitted to step onto the premises of their estate, getting this permission from someone isn’t too difficult for him.  However, if his meal is a little too soaked in alcohol, pulling an invitation from their slurring mouths can sometimes prove to be a challenge.

So when Y/N asks if he’s going to come in with confusion clearly tinging her voice, Harry knows he has to play his next moments very carefully.  He drops his eyelids halfway, giving her a sultry look that indicates every one of his intentions with her (at least, the ones he wants her to know about).  When he answers, his voice is low and drawling, dripping with thirst disguised as need despite the careful cadence of his words. “Do you want me to come in?”

While Y/N’s blood alcohol content is a little higher than usual, she still has enough awareness in her to show her surprise at the question Harry poses.

“Do I--?” She cuts herself off to rephrase her words in an incredulous tone.  Was he serious? “You literally had your tongue down my throat a minute ago, and now you’re asking if I want you to come in?”

Harry-- Y/N keeps repeating his name in her head to commit it to memory-- lifts one shoulder in a quick shrugging motion as he worries his bottom lip with his teeth. “I just want to make sure you’re okay with this,” He says, motioning between the two of them from outside the door. “Before we go any further.  Spoken consent is important, too.”

If Y/N hadn’t already been ready to drop to her knees and do whatever Harry wanted, that one sentence would’ve been enough to pull the reaction from her.  It takes every ounce of effort in her slightly intoxicated body to not tug his pants off right there in her doorway, and instead she takes a deep breath, swallowing down the lump in her throat. “Yes.” She tries to keep her voice as steady as she possibly can. “Yes, I want you to come in, Harry.”

The vampire’s nearly blindingly white teeth flash at her as a smile overtakes his face, and he confidently yet slowly strides into her apartment, his eyes flickering over the interior space, but keeping most of their attention trained on her.

As he steps towards her, Y/N steps backwards, leading him down the hallway, past her bathroom and small bedroom, and to the main kitchen and living area.  For once, Y/N is thankful that she took the time to do a quick sweep of her apartment the day before, as she would’ve been mortified if Harry had seen her half folded laundry spread out on her couch like it normally is.

“Do you, um--” She clears her throat once as she motions to the bar cart in the corner of the room. “Do you want a drink?”

Harry can’t help the small laugh that peels from his lips.  If only Y/N knew, he thinks, as he takes another step closer to her so he can grip her chin between his thumb and forefinger.  From the fluttering of her eyes, stuttering of her breath, and the audible increase of blood rushing through her body, concentrating in the areas that interest him the most, Harry can tell that she likes when he displays a dominant air over her.  Keeping his voice sultry to hide the growing smugness-- not completely, but enough that he doesn’t sound too cocky, Harry asks what’s meant to be a simple question. “You’re nervous.  What’s got you all worked up, hm?”

Tongue unfeeling in her mouth, Y/N struggles to answer as she stumbles over her words, distracted by the feeling of Harry’s ringed thumb caressing her chin, just barely grazing her lips.

“You’re just--I--” She sucks in a quick breath, trying to push down her embarrassment as her voice emerges more breathless than before. “You’re just really hot.”

Ah, the praise.  If the pleasure of swallowing down mouthful after mouthful of warm, sweet blood wasn’t Harry’s literal reason for existence, his most favourite thing in the world would be the way humans fawn over him. The beauty of a vampire is part of what lures a human in, and while Harry has foggy memories of being bashful in his human life, he’s fully transformed that part of himself in death.

“Am I?” He asks, and the snarky remark goes straight to the heat between Y/N’s thighs as he drops his face, his cool forehead pressing against her own flushed skin.

Y/N nods slowly, her nose bumping against Harry’s with every motion. “Yeah, you are.  I couldn’t believe that…” Her cheeks heat again as she trails off, and it’s only the insistent tap of Harry’s fingers against her hip that make her continue. “Couldn’t believe that you were interested in me.  Out of all the girls there…”

Harry uses his grip on her side to tug Y/N closer to him, despite already being only inches apart.  Although her scent had hit him like a train back at the club, here, in her own apartment, the fragrance is ten times as intense.  Y/N’s personal perfume of honey and lavender lingers in every breath he takes in, drifts off the couch, the throw pillows, the books on the coffee table...everything is drenched in her, and Harry almost feels drunk from it.

“Didn’t care about the others.  You--” He catches himself just in time, before the words “you smelled the best” tumble from his open mouth. “You just caught my attention. You looked so shy.” That’s true enough, Harry thinks, as his hand moves from her chin to grip the opposite side of her torso tightly in his large hands. “Wanted to see if I could break through that.”

Y/N yelps softly as Harry picks her up as if she weighs no more than a dandelion picked from a field, and drops her onto the couch behind her.  Although the worn fabric of the sofa is familiar, Y/N almost thinks that she should ask Harry to take her to her bedroom.  And then she gets a good look at Harry standing over her with lust clouding his jade irises and his lips so red she could name a lipstick after them, and every thought of anything besides him leaves her mind.

Harry straightens his spine after he drops her on the couch, his ringed hands easily finding the buckle of his belt to yank it free from his trousers in one swift motion, letting it fall to the IKEA rug below him.  His gaze flickers to lock eyes with Y/N as he fiddles with his zipper, catching and basking in the way her eyes keep falling to the movement.

He can see the neediness that’s practically dripping from her irises just as easily as tears would, and the way she catches her lip between her teeth in impatience forces Harry to bite back a groan.  It’s been so long since he had someone so...so fucking delectable, not just in smell, but in their actions.

“Would you like to do it?” Harry asks the question quietly, dancing his fingers over his zipper one last time before letting go.

Y/N’s answering nod is timid, and her actions are almost trancelike as she slowly reaches towards him, but Harry catches her wrist and grips it tightly before she can reach her goal.

Giving her a stern look, he raises his voice a few decibels louder than it was. “Use your words, then, darling.  Tell me.”

Harry can smell the flood between her legs as a lustful whimper falls from Y/N’s lips, the desperation that’s coursing through her veins amplifying with every passing moment.

“I want to--” She nearly stutters over the words, and takes a moment to collect herself before continuing in a more self-assured voice. “I want to undress you.”

Harry’s responding smile is so big that, if she weren’t slightly intoxicated, and if there was more than just the light of one lamp illuminating the pair, Y/N might have noticed the sinister glint of his teeth.

“Good girl.” His voice is as smooth as molasses when he praises her. “Go ahead.”

Although her hands are clumsy, Y/N manages to work around the button and zipper of his pants until she can ease the fabric down his legs, her desperation only growing as his boxers-- and the clear outline of his hardening cock-- become visible.  The erotic sight pulls a quiet but defined gasp from Y/N as she drags her index finger over the bulge, too entranced in her own actions to catch the way Harry’s eyes roll back into his head at the sensation.

“Oh.” With her heart thumping in her chest, Y/N finally raises her eyes to his. “You’re-- you’re so big, Harry…”

“Is that a problem?” Despite knowing that it isn’t-- and has never been before-- Harry still asks the question, wanting to extract as much praise from the mortal girl as he can before the night is over.  He’s always had a bit of a praise kink, adoring the way humans adored him, but there’s something about the voice of the girl in front of him that makes the compliments sound sugar-coated in the best way.

Y/N’s response is so quick and sharp that it almost pulls a laugh from Harry’s chest.

“No.” She insists immediately, giving a rough shake of her head. “No, absolutely not.”

The sides of Harry’s kiss-swollen lips twitch arrogantly, but the next words he speaks are genuine.  Although he’s a lot of things, certainly, a careless lover is not one of them.

“If it gets to be too much…” He brings a ringed hand to caress Y/N’s hair, his eyes softening for just a moment. “Don’t hesitate to tell me.  I don’t want to do anything if it doesn’t make you feel just as good as it makes me feel.”

And with those words, that same desperation that Y/N had felt when he asked if he could come inside earlier reignites in her belly.  It had never gone out, true, but it had dulled to a dim spark for just a moment, yet with the fanning of Harry’s latest words, exploded into a renewed bonfire deep inside her.  

“God, I can’t believe you’re real.” Y/N half mutters the words to herself as she scoots towards the edge of the sofa, knees bumping against the front of Harry’s bare calves as he takes a step forward.

With his ring-clad fingers still carding through her hair, Harry guides the girl’s head closer to the tent in his briefs, biting back a chuckle at her comment.  God has nothing to do with it.

“I’m real.” He murmurs in a sweet tone. “And now that you know that...what are you going to do?”

Y/N looks up at him through heavy lashes, pressing her trembling lips to the crest of his exposed belly button as a response, dragging damp kisses down his happy trail as she tugs his underwear down his deliciously thick thighs.

“Fuck, that’s it…” The words are strained when they leave Harry’s mouth with a feathery moan, his head throwing back in bliss as he enjoys the teasing actions.

This is always one of his favourite moments, he thinks.  The moment his flings-- his girls, as he sometimes affectionately thinks of them, or his boys-- get their lips around him for the first time.  Just as mortals fawn over his appearance, they worship his naked body, and his pulsing cock is no exception to that rule.  All of his lovers show an eagerness to please him, and Y/N is no different.

When Harry looks back on this moment six months down the road, he’ll curse himself for thinking something so naive, and for believing that Y/N really was no different than anyone else, especially when her smell alone was already enough to send him into a frenzy.  But right now, in this moment, she’s just doing exactly what he wants her to.  And that’s what he needs.

Y/N slowly wraps her hand around his girth, unable to meet her fingers in the middle as she slowly begins to stroke him.

“You’re so…” She searches her (less, but still a bit) inebriated mind for the right word.  Despite hardly having been touched by Harry, her voice is already wrecked. “So pretty.”

The innocuous adjective catches Harry by surprise, but only for a moment before he tugs her hair lightly, stocking the new compliment in the back of his mind for later reflection.

“Give it a little kiss, baby.” He murmurs, the cadence of his voice equal parts soft and dominant. “Show me how pretty you think it is, yeah?”

The request sends a shiver down Y/N’s spine as she complies, watching Harry through thick lashes as she leans forward with lips puckered, gently pressing them to the red and leaking tip of his cock.  Another strained moan rolls from his lips as her tongue darts out to carefully collect the precum gathering at his slit.

“That’s a good girl…” The praise that leaves Harry’s mouth is breathless, half whispered as he wraps her hair around his wrist and pulls her forward. “Y’can take a bit more now, dove.  C’mon.”

Y/N gingerly takes the head of his cock into her mouth, the underside of his length catching on her bottom lip and earning an elongated hiss from Harry.  His own eyes are fluttering as he watches her rub the textured surface of her tongue over him, mewling softly as the taste of his warm precum invades her senses.

The vibrations from the sound of pleasure makes the whites of Harry’s half lidded eyes momentarily tinge blood red as the sensation pinballs up his spine, causing his grip on her roots to tighten.  Harry sucks in a deep breath, waiting until he knows his eyes have returned to a more human-like state before drawing her attention back to him as he speaks.

“You look so cute like that.” He coos admiringly, the pads of his fingers careful in massaging her scalp without tangling strands of her hair in his rings. “Y’look like a proper angel with those soft lips wrapped around my cock.”

The filthy comment stokes the fire churning in the pit of Y/N’s stomach as she blinks tears from her eyes.  With a stuttering inhale, she tries to carve out a mental foothold in her mind, something to stop her from completely falling into the tension of the atmosphere.

“You taste really good.” She finally whimpers after a moment, the sentence spoken around his prick before she draws him from her mouth.  Y/N can see the way Harry’s eyes are glued to the string of saliva connecting his length to her lips, and the uninhibited lustful look almost sends her spiraling completely.  Pressing tender kisses up and down his extent, she begins to rub her silky lips along the prominent vein that stretches from his base to the tip.

If she’s going to succumb to the tension, she wants Harry right there beside her.

And from what she can tell, he is.  Garbled moans are tearing from his mouth over and over, his large cock twitching within her grasp.  When he speaks again, his voice is further from honey than it’s ever been.

“Christ, you’re such a dirty little thing.” Harry growls, raking his hands through her hair once more. “So excited to please, aren’t you?”

“I am.” Y/N whispers the words as she continues to smear kisses along his length, just enough to tease him, but not enough to push him over the edge.  There’s a feeling of intense desire rising inside her, not just for her own pleasure, but for his pleasure as well.  It’s a new feeling, quite unfamiliar inside her, but then again, why wouldn’t it be?  She’s never met anyone like Harry before.  She’s never lifted her head to look someone in the eye with their cock at her lips and been so mesmerized by the image of their swollen lips tugged between their teeth, dark eyes hooded with want as they stare back down at her.  It’s completely new, and completely everything she’d ever needed.

“Take more, baby.  Know you can.” Harry’s words are still growled as he grasps the base of his cock in his large hand, directing it towards her mouth, but pausing just outside of her lips.  For a moment, Y/N wonders why he won’t continue, but the quick quirk of his eyebrow raising makes her realize that he’s doing exactly what he did earlier in her doorway.

He’s waiting for an invitation.

A whimpering noise falls out when Y/N opens her mouth wide for him, flattening her tongue and extending it just past her lips so that the textured surface will slide along his expanse as he pushes into her mouth.

A crease appears between Harry’s eyebrows as his face contorts in bliss. “That’s it, darling.  Show me how well you suck cock.”

Y/N hums around his length, lifting her hand to replace Harry’s grip, but he grasps her wrist before she can accomplish the task, pushing her hand back down to her thigh and flattening it against the fabric of her pants.

“No hands.” Harry rasps, eyes glinting with dominance. “Just that pretty mouth.”

Despite her vulnerable position, Y/N manages to give half a nod, closing her watering eyes as Harry continues to dive deeper down her throat.  She feels the cool touch of his ringed hand against her bulging cheek, his thumb rubbing over the apple of her bone structure in a tender motion that contrasts their actions.

“Look at me.” Harry beckons her gently, but keeps a command in the tone of his voice.  When Y/N’s eyes flicker open again, he directs her gaze up to his own as his jade eyes flash darker, pupils dilating ever so slightly.  

Despite his very existence being unethical by nature of what he is, Harry doesn’t use compulsion on his partners inside the bedroom (or living room, or car, or wherever else he takes someone for a quick fuck and a bite to eat); he may be a monster, but he’s not a monster.  And his mother raised him better than that, even if she didn’t remember doing so.  No, if Harry is going to be engaging in a sexual act with anyone, it’ll be something that both parties have consented to while in their right minds.  

That being said, he does use his power slightly just to encourage those he spends his nights with to be as honest and free as they’ve ever wanted to be.  Meals taste best, he’s found, when his main courses have fully relaxed and unwinded, and Harry is a man-- well, not quite a man, but a being-- of fair play; if he’s going to be taking something from his partners, then he wants them to take something from him, as well.  And sometimes humans need a little push to do so.

“You’re going to let go of your inhibitions tonight, do you understand?” Harry speaks in a soothing tone, his voice like a lullaby as he strokes his thumb against Y/N’s skin. “You’re going to do anything you’ve ever wanted to, but been too scared to speak out loud.”

Y/N blinks up at him as her heavy eyelids lift, her own pupils expanding slightly to match his own as Harry’s gentle influence washes over her.  Her head jerks in a small nod of agreement, showing the understanding that she can’t quite speak in this position.

Harry rubs over the obvious bulge in her cheek, an imprint of his cock inside her warm mouth.  The longer he rests inside her, the more his chest heaves as waves of pleasure begin to lap at the trench of his stomach.  The sensation is distracting, and he refocuses himself more intently as a familiar prickling washes across the backs of his eyes.  If he doesn’t keep himself in check, his words will be more powerful than he means them to be, and that’s the last thing he wants.

“Don’t be nervous or scared.  I’m not going to hurt you, Y/N.” He continues the speech that he has memorized from how often he’s used it during one night stands, keeping his voice light and level. “You can trust me.  Do whatever it is you want, and nothing you don’t.  You’re safe with me.”

Y/N nods again, the action softer and fainter than it had been before. Harry can practically see the tension releasing from her shoulders. He drags a ringed knuckle across her cheekbone, admiring the sheen of tears gathering on her waterline as a result of his sheer girth.

“What is it you want then, darling?” He asks cooly, pulling back just a tad to give her enough relief to talk around his prick.

Harry watches as Y/N wrings her hands against her thighs, thinking her words through carefully and deliberately as her lashes flutter at the relaxing sensation of him caressing her heated skin.  When she speaks, all previous timidness and hesitation is gone from her voice, replaced with unwavering desire that sends a shockwave down Harry’s spine.

“I want you to fuck my mouth.”

Y/N sounds so sure of herself, so desperate at the request, that Harry almost grips her head and snaps his hips forward the moment the words leave her mouth.  However, years of control and restraint squash that instinct before he can even consider giving into it.  Instead, he merely pauses his motions as he contemplates the mortal in front of him, reevaluating the girl he had thought would be bashful and reserved for what seems to be the thousandth time that night.

At the pause in his actions, Y/N’s brows pinch and she stares up at Harry with a confused and almost wounded look, eyelids fluttering as if she’s worried that her blunt request had done something to upset him.  Harry, remembering the promise he had just made a moment ago, resumes his reassuring motions against her cheek, not speaking again until he feels the human unwind once more.

Once Y/N is leaning into him again, Harry asks the question that’s been spinning in his mind since she first spoke.

“Have you ever had anyone fuck your mouth before?” He asks curiously, despite being certain he already knows the answer.

Y/N rubs her palms flat over her thighs slowly as she gives the predicted answer in a quiet voice. “No.  Never.”

“But you want me to do it.” Although his words indicate a question, Harry phrases it like a statement.  He wants her to say it again, he realizes, closing his eyes as he revels in the feeling of her tongue massaging the head of his cock.  He needs to hear her say it again.

Y/N complies to his unspoken want. “Yes.” She mumbles around him, and the concentration needed to keep her hands pressed to her lap is apparent all over her face. “I want to make you feel good.”

The pounding of Y/N’s heart is so loud that its thump echoes in Harry’s ears.  He can see the pulse of her carotid artery in her strained neck, a warm and real reminder that this girl is alive and burning with need for him.  Harry lets out a low moan as his mouth begins to fill with venom once again, watering as if he were a human presented with his favourite meal.  Without thinking, he lets his fingers drift from her cheek to her neck, feeling the heated hammering rhythm beneath the icy pads.

All Harry wants to do is take a bite, and his fangs ache at the very thought of sinking his teeth into the young woman’s soft flesh, but he knows he has to restrain himself.  She’ll taste so much sweeter post-orgasm, after oxytocin is flowing through her veins, deepening her flavour.

“Alright.” Harry gathers himself as he draws his hand from Y/N’s neck, returning his touch to her chin so she’ll look at him again as his voice takes on a persuasive tone (without adding compulsion-- Harry needs her to be completely aware of her actions). “Keep your hands pressed flat to your thighs.  And keep your mouth and throat as open as you can, is that understood?”

Y/N gives a small nod, her jaw starting to ache around Harry’s cock in the most fulfilling fashion. Nerves are beginning to set in again, and she can’t help the shiver that tumbles down her spine and settles in her hands as she tightens them to her legs.

Harry frowns ever so slightly at the change in her demeanor. “You’re alright, pet.  You know that, don’t you?” He asks, letting his voice shift to a more tender tone for just a moment. “Let yourself let go.  I’ll take good care of you.”

With the calming aspect of Harry’s promise ringing in her ears, quieting the pounding of her own heart that echoes in her head like a drum, Y/N follows his suggestions. The young woman takes a deep breath through her nose to focus herself, and she’s so caught up in the moment— in the way he tastes and feels in her mouth, salty and velvety smooth— that she vaguely wonders how she’ll manage to move at all.

Nevertheless, with the help of Harry’s thumb gliding over her chin in reassurance, Y/N begins to bend to his will, her slightly aching jaw relaxing and shoulders unknotting. Gazing up at him with pliant and moony eyes, she waits for her next set of instructions. She has little experience with this ground— save a few porno videos she’d perused out of curiosity— and for some odd reason, she feels that she can put faith in him to guide her through it.  

As if he can sense what she’s waiting for, Harry speaks with a voice that floats through the air softly, thick like syrup and just as appetizing. “Lean back against the couch.”

Y/N does so immediately, slumping into the cushions while making sure to keep her back somewhat straight. Her head rests against the surface, more comfortable than she expected to be (perhaps she’d have to leave that as a review on IKEA’s website; “If you’re interested in getting your face fucked by a stranger you met in a club, this couch is perfect!”) as Harry climbs over her, balancing his knees on either sides of her hips. He’s careful not to rest any weight on Y/N, just as he’s careful to grip the hair along the crown of her head securely, but not roughly. Despite his most basic instincts, he refuses to be rough unless she explicitly asks for it.

Going against his default behavior, Harry finds out with every passing second, is easier said than done. It takes every fiber of his being to internally talk himself into being patient as he watches the mortal lap at his cock with a form of drunken need, the tiny whines escaping the back of her throat only increasing his fervor. With a care that’s only developed over centuries, Harry gradually works his hips forward, sinking deeper into her mouth inch by inch, his half-lidded eyes watching every twitch and flicker of her expression to make sure he’s not crossing any boundaries.

“S’that alright?” His tone holds the weight of the intense control he’s roping around himself, which tightens with every moan-induced vibration he feels around his length.

Y/N responds with an eager bob of her head, a broken mewl, muffled by his cock, encouraging him to go further.

Harry abides, holding her in place by her locks of hair and slowly sliding his hips forward until the base of his cock taps against her wet chin. His free hand rests beside her ear, twisting the navy blue couch cushion into his fist. It’s the only way to keep himself sane, he thinks, especially with how Y/N is ogling up at him with those big innocent eyes, swirling with alcohol yet still so clear, the skin of her cheeks boiling with heated blood as breaths falter past her nostrils.

The sight of the human girl so open and ready for him would have stopped Harry’s heart if it had a beat.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.” Harry gets a sudden urge and can’t stop himself from leaning down to press a lingering kiss to the center of her sweaty forehead, right between her brows.  Given the nature of his other urges, a tender kiss is one he can let slide. “I’m going to leave your throat so fucking sore.”

The gentle action contrasted with his sinful promise pulls another whine from Y/N’s mouth, quiet and soft and so inaudible that if Harry were human, he might not hear it.  And what a shame that would be, he sighs internally, as he tightens his vice-like grasp on her couch cushions, reminding himself not to rip the fragile fabric as he clenches his fist.

Harry holds himself there for a moment, enjoying the sensation of her wet and warm throat contracting around him.  Y/N’s eyes, which were watering even before she opened herself up like this, release a small salty tear that traces down her cheekbone. Harry releases a hand’s grip on the couch to wipe the teardrop away with a ringed knuckle.  Curiosity is what makes him bring the digit to his mouth, letting his tongue lick off the saline droplet.

It’s a strange flavour, Harry decides as he retracts his finger from his mouth.  Salty, yes, but there’s a hint of the same underlying flavours that run through blood, depending on someone’s emotional state.  It’s rather refreshing.

Not letting himself waste anymore time on thinking about anything except the girl in front of him, Harry shakes himself from his internal thoughts.

“Hold yourself right there for me, darling.” He says lowly before slowly retracting his hips, watching as his spit-slick cock slips from Y/N’s red lips, her lipstick smudged and faded.  He keeps pulling back until just the tip rests on her tongue, and he lets himself enjoy the sight for a moment before he begins to thrust forward again.  Repeating the same motion a few times, Harry takes careful and measured breaths through his nose before increasing his speed.

Y/N keeps her damp eyes on Harry with every move of his torso, staying as open for him as he requested.  The obedience, trust, and desire written all over her face drives Harry mad.

“That’s— fuck, that’s perfect.” His voice drops lower, the tone smooth as liquid silk while he snaps his hips forward again. “Stay just like that for me, yeah?  Like a proper good girl.”

There’s something about the simple praise that incites a craving deep in Y/N’s stomach.  As Harry bulges in her throat over and over, her eyes roll back into her head at the foreign yet entirely pleasurable experience, and her insides burn with the sensation of him using her.  There’s just something so satisfying about feeling him ram into her mouth, the crescent above her upper lip catching on the bristly hairs that sprinkle in a line down the center of his abdomen. Her nose nudges against the trough of his belly button repeatedly, the picture of his jolting fern tattoos— which she hadn’t even noticed until he was down her throat— becoming blurrier with every slam forward.

Harry doesn’t cap his noises of bliss either, and allows vulgar curses and grunts to slip down his tongue freely. Through a clenched jaw and bared teeth, he pants about how well she’s doing and how good she’s taking it, feeding the boiling satisfaction in her veins.  She wants to please him.  She needs to please him.

“God, look at you.” He begins tugging and pushing her head to match his thrusts, his fangs poking along the inside of his bottom lip as he feels how strong her heart is beating. He can feel the thundering pulse through her mouth, stringing right up his prick and deepening the thirst burning along the back of his tongue. “Taking that cock and loving every single bit of it. You like this? Like it when I use that pretty little mouth to make myself feel good?”

Y/N chokes out a shattered whimper of agreement, sniffling a gasp when his pace speeds up a smidge.

“Fucking hell, you’re filthy. S’always the quiet ones, isn’t it?” Harry rasps, the words flowing from his flushed mouth as he sucks in breaths between phrases.

Although his rings dig into her scalp, Y/N doesn’t alert him of it. If anything, she enjoys the minimal flare of pain the action brings, almost as much as she enjoys the way he gazes down at her with an open-mouthed simper, electricity coursing through the specks of gold around his pupils, head bobbing back and forth along to his steady stride.

“Shy girls like you are just nervous to say what they really want until the right person comes along. Isn’t that right, baby?” Harry can’t help the filthy exclamations spitting from his mouth, and he doesn’t want to.  From his first remark, Y/N was hooked on every dirty claim, and if she wants to hear more, who is he to rob her of that? “You were just sitting there all prim and proper, waiting to find someone who could give you what you wanted. Someone who isn’t afraid to fuck you how you like it.”

Y/N’s hands tighten into loose fists in her lap, itching to grab onto the plushness of his hips and drag her fingers up his lean stomach, to feel it contract beneath her fingertips as Harry chases his high.  And Harry can see her intention, any pleading she’d normally vocalize funneling into her watery eyes. The way she’s silently begging him to allow her to touch him is bound to dismantle him quickly.  Too quickly, if he doesn’t keep himself on track.

Of course, there’s a voice in the back of Harry’s head, his most repressed instinct, telling him to do just that.  The voice tells him to quicken his thrusts, push himself down Y/N’s throat as deep as he can, and release in her mouth before lifting her like a rag doll and biting into her neck to satiate the thirst that’s been burning in the back of his throat since he first caught her scent at the bar.  But Harry suppresses that instinct far back down inside himself once again before slowly removing his cock from Y/N’s mouth.  If he’s going to cum, he wants it to be inside her.  It has to be inside of her.  And he doesn’t want to be done just yet.

The moment Harry’s prick slips out of her mouth, Y/N gasps, drool slipping from the corner of her lips like the tears from her eyes.  Despite her wrecked appearance and the soreness beginning to ache in the back of her throat, there’s a whine of displeasure mixed with her gasps as her glossy eyes track Harry’s movements. “Where—where are you going?”

The human girl’s eagerness for him brings a small yet pleased smile to Harry’s face, and he lets one chilly hand rest on her heated cheek as he climbs down from his position on the couch.

“There’s so much more for us to do tonight, angel.” An amused chuckle sounds from his throat as he straightens himself up. “Did you really think a quick blowie was all I wanted from you?”

Y/N wipes the edge of her mouth, smearing whatever lipstick had been left on her skin after Harry finished. “I would hope not.” She murmurs truthfully, managing to raise her brows in judgement.  While she’d normally never sass somebody that easily, especially someone she barely knows, she feels that it’s acceptable given that this stranger had been shoved down her throat moments ago, spewing explicit comments about her without a single issue.

Y/N’s cheeks burn as Harry’s crude words from before run through her mind like an audio recording.  She definitely has the right to sass him.

The way Harry grips her tired jaw firmly, however, tilting her chin upwards while leaning down to ghost his cherry lips over her own swollen pair, has her rethinking that within seconds.  

Y/N knows that she should be embarrassed that all it takes is a touch to her chin and one kiss to send her back into a submissive state, but she can’t bring herself to care in the moment, especially as a few rogue curls fall across Harry’s forehead and frame the edges of his face.  The stray strands give the dominant man a less intimidating appearance.  Just less intense, Y/N thinks.  Maybe even soft. She’d gotten so caught up in the whirlwind of dirty promises and brazen actions that she had failed to notice that the young man before her is exactly that— a young man. A young man with wild eyes, a strong grip, and a stern hold on her within just a few hours of meeting.  But even with the reminder that Harry is around her age, Y/N can see that he carries himself with the confidence and persona of someone much older, hinting that he has much more experience than any normal adult in their twenties would have.

The possibility of where his extensive expertise and skills could apply to makes her stomach flutter.

Y/N thinks she might get lost in the feeling, until a tiny shot of pain snaps her out of her head. Her bottom lip throbs between Harry’s teeth after he’s captured it, his nose smudging along the bridge of her own, a messy action that he somehow makes thoughtful and concise.  His eyes are the color of a forest at midnight, and when he speaks, his tone comes out even, yet commanding and assured in the most attractive sense.

“Take off your clothes.”

The order sends a rush of heat to Y/N’s core as her half-lidded eyes flutter, and she feels a pull in her to comply as Harry releases her lip from his teeth.  Her hands reach for the hem of her blouse that’s already half-untucked from Harry’s wandering touch, but she pauses, fingers still gripping the sheer fabric.

“Will you—?” Y/N cuts herself off abruptly, tongue licking over the sting in her lip as she rephrases her speech. “I want you to help me.”

The simple request knocks the breath from Harry’s lungs so fast that he’s lucky he doesn’t actually need it to function.  It takes him a moment to center himself enough so that he can suck in sharp breath to regain his dominance.

“Do you?” Harry does his best to keep his voice steady as he kinks a brow and leans back from Y/N, strong hands replacing her own at the hem of her shirt.  He clicks his tongue against his teeth as he pulls her hold away, his fingers resting just over her racing pulse point. “Let go, then. Arms up.”

Once Y/N’s arms are in the air, Harry has no trouble removing her shirt, tossing the delicate fabric to the side before working his fingers around to the band of her pink lace bra. The scent of Y/N’s heated skin is too much for him to resist, all lavender and liquor, and he begins to pepper kisses along her collarbones and neck, making sure his teeth are hidden behind his pillowy lips.  The task is easier said than done, especially when Harry can feel the human’s heartbeat throb beneath his touch, but he manages to restrain himself from taking a bite.  It’ll come in due time, he knows it.  His thirst will be handled, Y/N just needs to be taken care of first.

With another flick of his hand, Y/N’s bra joins her shirt in a puddle on the floor.  Now that there are no barriers between Harry and her soft, supple skin, his hands travel to her bare chest, cupping and tweaking and massaging, pulling every sound imaginable out of Y/N as he touches her.

“Harry, I—“ Y/N can barely form a sentence as Harry synchronizes a wet kiss on her neck and a quick tug on her nipple, his lips smirked against her skin. “Oh...”

“What’s the matter, love?” The breathless, incoherent moans leaving Y/N’s mouth make Harry’s smirk widen. “Cat got your tongue?”

Despite the warmth rising to Y/N’s cheeks, she manages to sound indignant as she shoots Harry as much of a glare as she can muster with his hands on her breasts. “Shut up.”

Harry hums in response, sending vibrations down the length of Y/N’s throat. “Mm.  I suppose I could use my mouth for something else…”

It’s almost comical how quickly Y/N’s heart rate increases at that comment.  It would be comical, Harry thinks, if the pulsing of her neck didn’t excite Harry’s cock the way it does.  As much as he pretends otherwise, he needs this as much as she does.  Even more, if the dull ache running down the back of his jugular is any indication.

The vampire detaches his mouth from the girl’s neck, promising himself he’ll return there later once he’s properly prepared his dinner.  While Y/N’s sweet-smelling blood is his main course of the night, he still has an appetizer sitting in front of him that he has yet to taste.

Harry’s shirt quickly joins the growing stack of clothing on the floor before his trousers do.  He allows himself one ghost of a stroke on his cock, still slick with Y/N’s spit, but only to tease himself.

“Lay back down.” He demands, tucking himself back in his boxers before getting to his knees.  Y/N watches the movement with hungry eyes, lip trapped beneath her own teeth just as Harry had done a few minutes ago.

“C’mon, love, don’t stop behaving now.” Harry chides her, smoothing his ringed hands over the fabric of her flowy pants before finding the button. “Lay down.”

At the repeat of the command, Y/N obeys him, wordlessly lifting her hips so Harry can tug down her now unbuttoned bottoms.  He only gets the material halfway down her thighs before her scent hits him like a fucking truck, and then any semblance of rational thought leaves Harry’s mind completely.

If Y/N’s blood is a finely aged wine with notes of lavender and honey scattered throughout its bouquet, something that deserves to be sipped out of a fine crystal goblet and worshipped, then what lies between Y/N’s thighs is the most delectable tequila Harry has ever had the pleasure of tasting in his two hundred years, her signature honey scent still detectable beneath it all.  

Harry’s hands are almost a blur as he reaches back up and hooks his fingers into the waistband of her underwear, tugging them down to meet the waist of her bottoms before pulling both articles off completely and throwing them to the side.  He parts her legs just as quickly, and before Y/N can even say anything, his mouth is against her core, sedating his need the only way he can at this moment.

“Oh--!” A squeak of surprise falls from Y/N’s lips as one hand finds Harry’s curls, twisting into them tightly as her other finds her own hair.  With her eyes falling closed, she misses the crimson hue that flashes through Harry’s emerald irises with every moan.

Harry’s control is beginning to slip, and he knows that.  It would be frustrating, honestly, if it didn’t feel so fucking good.  It’s been so long since he’s felt so feral for someone, so desperate— truly desperate— to press himself as close as possible to them, to lap up anything they’ll give him, and that’s all he wants to do right now.  Harry’s nose nudges against Y/N’s clit, pulling another searing mewl from her throat as his tongue darts into her entrance.  Every one of his heightened senses is filled with Y/N, consumed with every inch of her; her fragrance fogs his mind, her taste coats his tongue, and her soft thighs dimple beneath his grip that keeps her spread. The sensation of her hands tugging at his hair is the only thing keeping him grounded.  

Flicking his tongue over her clit once more, Harry revels in the broken sounds spilling from above, audible proof that he’s making her fall apart with his mouth just as much as she did to him.  It brings a sense of pride to Harry’s chest-- he doesn’t just take from his partners.  He gives in return.

“H-Harry--” Y/N pants his name in a shattered voice, her face screwed up in pleasure as she drags her hand from her hair to her chest, gripping her own breasts in her palm as her chest heaves.

It’s not as though Y/N hasn’t had her fair share of sex, and she’s most certainly had someone go down on her before.  The problem, she just manages to think as Harry suctions his lips over her clit, is that it’s never felt like this before.

In this moment, with Harry’s mouth working over her as if she was his last meal, Y/N would give up everything to memorize the sight and sensation of this man on his knees for her.  Everything, from the filthy noises that slip from his mouth between movements, to the way his irises darken with every passing moment, indicates that Harry is just as into that scenario as she is.  And that’s what it is, really.  What sets Harry apart from anyone else she’s ever had.  Any other man that’s gone down on her has treated it like a chore, while Harry—

“You’re fucking delectable, y’know that?” He rasps, the vibrations of his words rolling over her core with every phrase. “Like dessert.  The sweetest fucking thing I’ve ever tasted.”

Y/N drags her hand back up to her mouth, wedging her index finger between her teeth to stifle the borderline embarrassing moans threatening to overflow. “I’m—I’m so close, Harry...you’re gonna make me cum…”

“Mhmm.” Harry hums against her clit in agreement, stroking his tongue along her dripping opening once more before pulling away. “But not right now.  You’re going to cum around my cock.”

Although Harry makes it sound like he’s teasing her, taunting her by holding her orgasm off until the very last second, he knows the truth: if Y/N were to cum right now, if her body were to shudder and give into every request Harry’s tongue is pulling from her, then Harry wouldn’t be able to take it.  If Y/N were to cum with his head still buried between her thighs, it would only be a fraction of a second before Harry’s teeth would be buried in them instead.

Restraint, he tells himself as he slowly rises from his knees, reaching for Y/N’s face and gripping her cheeks in one hand as he steals a rough kiss from her supple lips.  Restraint.  Everything will come in due time.

“Wait—” Y/N makes a sound of protest as she falls back from the kiss.  Although it’s a struggle for her to form a functioning and coherent thought, she needs to do it. “I— are you clean?”

Harry cocks his head to the side, the blunt and laughable response of “I’m dead, darling.” hanging on the tip of his tongue.  He should add that to his list of vampire perks, he thinks.  He already caught the worst thing anyone can catch— death— which means STDs and pregnancy scares are the furthest thing from his mind during sex.

Instead of that complicated answer, however, Harry opts for something simpler.

“Yes.  Scout’s honour.” He assures her with a quick nod of his head.  For the sake of appearances, he poses a question back to her. “What about you?  Are you on birth control?”

A flash of relief lights up Y/N’s eyes. “Mhmm.  And I’m on the pill, so…” Her cheeks burn beneath Harry’s touch. “We’re, um, we’re good to go.”

A choked laugh sounds from Harry’s throat as he shakes his head, smudging another kiss at the corner of Y/N’s mouth. “We’re good to go, are we?  I’m glad to hear it.”

All of his teasing is for one purpose and one purpose only: to hear Y/N’s heartbeat spike in intensity and speed.  When his comment easily receives the desired reaction, Harry brushes his fingers along the girl’s pulse point as he drifts his lips to her ear, grazing the cartilage with his teeth.

“Bend over.” He murmurs, accent thick as it rings in her ear. “I want you on your hand and knees for me.”

Y/N grips his tattooed shoulder tightly in her hands, kissing him one more time before obeying the directions offered.  It takes her a moment to turn over on the couch and situate herself comfortably on her knees, bracing her hands on the back of the cushion as Harry’s strong grip finds her hips.

“You have the prettiest arse.” He smooths his hands over her backside as he speaks, admiring the softness of her skin beneath his calloused palms. “You’d look so pretty covered in marks, wouldn’t you?”

“I-I think so.” Y/N agrees breathlessly, glancing over her shoulder at the wild look in Harry’s eyes.  He winks at her when he catches her gaze, tapping his fingers against her lower backside before spreading her legs apart more.

“Don’t worry, love.  Won’t be doing that to you tonight.  Don’t have the patience, honestly.” Harry keeps his tone casual, which is a miracle, Y/N thinks, considering he’s completely stripped himself and is stroking his hard cock as he speaks.  The cadence of his voice in contrast with his actions makes her shiver, and the anticipation only crescendos when Harry rubs the tip of his prick against her soaked slit.

“‘M going to start, alright?” Harry’s voice is tight, and he’s barely able to wait for a sound of acknowledgement from Y/N before he begins to part her folds with his cock.

The relief is simultaneously instantaneous and completely out of reach.  Yes, the wet and burning heat of her walls squeezing him satisfies the deep pulsing in the pit of his stomach, but it does nothing for the dry heat in the back of his throat.  If anything, being so close to her is only a reminder of what he really, truly needs.

Harry forces himself to thrust slowly, to exercise the control he’s usually so good at displaying. Patience, he repeats to himself.  Don’t get ahead of yourself.  Focus on what’s happening in the moment.  

And then he bottoms out, his pelvis pressing flat against Y/N’s soft flesh as her spongy walls squeeze him. Y/N lets out a moan so filthy that Harry’s knees buckle and every ounce of restraint disappears from his body.  

“Fucking hell--” His voice doesn’t even sound his own as he digs the pads of his fingers into Y/N’s hips, surely leaving bruises that will blossom before the sun rises.  He begins to quicken his thrusts as the sound of skin meeting skin fills the room, accompanied by the whimpers echoing from Y/N’s lips and the grunts falling from his own.  With every stroke, Y/N’s fragrance fills the air more and more, pulling him further into a cloud of lust and hunger with every ragged breath he sucks through gritted teeth.  When he sees the throbbing of Y/N’s veins in her neck, flashing at him like a signal, teasing him to the point of no return, Harry’s instincts grow louder, overshadowing any ounce of control he has left.

He grips the girl’s shoulder roughly, tugging her body up from its bent position to press flat against his sweaty inked chest.  Once she’s in the desired position, Harry’s hand travels to her neck, squeezing just enough to win a choked moan from Y/N’s lips.

“Fuck, Harry--” She whines breathlessly, arching her back as she reaches to tangle her own fingers in his knotted curls.  Her harsh tug pulls another groan from Harry’s swollen lips as they hover just over her neck, brushing against her hot skin with every ram.  Her smell is so intoxicating, he could just--

And then he feels Y/N’s own lips on his neck and his senses overwhelm.

Even before Harry was turned, he had been a creature centered around touch.  Of course, in the 1800s, touch was something that was fairly forbidden between anyone who was less than married, save for a rare dance at a ball with a beautiful girl.  The first time Harry had been touched in this way, it had been by a young woman he has since tried so hard to block out of his memory. It had set his skin on fire, a feeling that never quite went away, even after her fingers had left his wrist that very first day.  It was like she’d left an imprint on him, a candle burning in the window of his heart so that she’d be able to find her way back whenever she wanted to.  And then her last touch had burned him more than he ever thought possible.  If he closed his eyes, he could still feel the whitehot pain as she cradled his head between her palms, still hear her soft, accented voice in his ear, reassuring him that everything would be alright, the sick sound of his own neck snapping--

He just doesn’t let people touch him there. Ever.

Harry’s hand tightens around Y/N’s throat, just for a moment, before guiding her kisses from the sensitive area to his collarbones.  The memory still seems just as fresh and poignant in his mind as the day it happened, with time healing nothing, and Harry has to remind himself that he’s not that person anymore.  He’s different now.  He’s the one in control.

“I’m close, Harry--” Y/N’s sweet voice is a welcome reminder of where he is, cutting through his thoughts like a bird song cuts through a quiet morning. “Shit, I’m so close.”

“I know.” Harry growls the words into her ear as he leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses along her jugular.  He can smell it on her, how her blood is sweetening with every passing moment, like a fruit ripening for picking. “Cum for me, pet.  C’mon.  Y’can let go.”

Y/N takes his words to heart, throwing her head back onto Harry’s muscled shoulder as her orgasm builds to its peak.  Harry can feel it-- how she contracts around him, how her juices drip down his cock and onto his thighs, how her pulse quickens beneath his lips.

And then Y/N cries out as she falls over the edge, Harry’s self control crumbling the moment he feels it, and the vampire sinks his teeth into the supple flesh of the mortal’s neck.

Y/N’s cry of surprise quickly turns into a moan as Harry’s venom begins to race through her bloodstream, the chemical hormones calming and sedating her in order to allow him to drink as much as he’d like.  Normally, Harry waits until his partners are fast asleep, tired from their activities, but Y/N’s scent is so overpowering and consuming that, honestly, it’s a wonder he’s managed to keep himself together this long.  And the moment Y/N’s blood washes over his tongue, he’s not sure if he’ll ever be so controlled again.

There are flavours that he predicted: honey, lavender, vanilla, a hint of the alcohol she poured back earlier, all sugared by the orgasm currently coursing through her body.  But there’s something else underneath, too.  A depth of flavour that he can’t quite place.  Something he’s never experienced before.  From the first taste, Harry knows he’s hooked.  Every drink he’s had before this moment has paled in comparison, and he knows he’ll spend the rest of his life combing the Earth before he finds another that could match .

“H-Harry…” A gentle whimper falls from Y/N’s mouth as the waves of her climax finally recede. “Feels so good.”

Harry hums against her skin as he quickens his thrusts.  As satisfying as drinking from the young woman is, now that his thirst is somewhat quenched, the need for his own orgasm increases.

“You’re gonna make me cum, y’know that?” Harry breathes against her skin, sucking one last gulp down before running his tongue over the bite.  He’ll properly heal her once she’s asleep, but for now, the venom will form a temporary seal over the bite.  And, honestly, Y/N appears to be too caught up in her own pleasure to notice the new mark on her neck. “Squeezing me so fucking tight...taking my cock like the good girl you are…”

Y/N’s head lulls back onto Harry’s shoulder, her hot breath panting in his ear as she begins to reach the point of overstimulation. “Please, Harry...want you to cum…”

“Yeah?” Harry pants roughly, licking his red-stained lips as his pelvis snaps against her. “You want me to cum for you?  Want me to--fucking--give you--Christ--”

Harry usually pulls out before cumming, but his orgasm crashes over him so suddenly that he doesn’t have the chance.  Instead, he buries himself to the hilt, throwing his head back in ecstasy, mouth wide open as a deep groan vibrates in his chest while thick ropes spill inside Y/N.

Even with his supernatural stamina, Harry is exhausted after he comes down from his high.  It takes him a moment to collect himself enough to pull out, exhales hot and heavy in Y/N’s ear as he gathers his thoughts for his next move.

“Where--” He pants between his words as he watches the girl’s eyes flutter. “D’you have a cloth, or…?”

“There’s some--some paper towels in the kitchen.” Y/N nods her head to the right, her own chest still heaving with exertion.

Harry nods quickly, sponging his stained lips to her shoulder before climbing down from the couch.  He hurriedly paces into the kitchen and locates the napkins, ripping off a few squares and wetting it under the sink before he returns.  

“Bend over.” He says again, but the tone of the phrase is entirely different than it was earlier.  He’s not desperate with thirst or lust anymore, but instead has settled into his role of providing aftercare.

Y/N, however, still has the same obedient reaction, and folds herself over the backrest of the couch, forehead braces against the cushions as Harry quickly but carefully cleans up the cum dripping from between her thighs.

“You’re so polite, y’know that?” She can’t help but giggle to herself, glimpsing back at him from between her parted legs. “Cleaning up the mess you made.”

Harry’s chuckle matches her own as he gives her one final wipe and a jesting smack to the ass, returning to toss the paper towel away. His voice carries from the other section of the flat. “S’only fair.  I was raised right.”

Y/N hums in her throat in response as she climbs down from the couch, soreness already beginning to settle into her limbs in the most delightful way.  She crosses her arms over her chest, still self-conscious despite Harry literally spreading her open only moments ago.

“Are you, um--” Her voice cracks, bringing a new wave of heat to her face as she clears her throat. “You can stay the night.  If you’d like.”

Harry, who has ducked back into the living room area and is reaching for his discarded top on her floor, raises an eyebrow as he picks up the pastel blue t-shirt and turns it right side out. The puppy drawing smiles up at him ironically. “Yeah?  You sure?”

“Yeah.” Y/N nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. He can see his teeth marked all across the silky skin. “It’s late.  And I normally like to have a bit of a cuddle with someone after they cum inside me.”

A surprised snort sounds from Harry’s chest. “I suppose I can’t refuse that.” He says in understanding entertainment, holding out his tee to her as an offering. “Here.  If you’d like to cover yourself…”

Y/N accepts the article gratefully, pulling it over her exposed body.  The shirt falls just past her bum, covering her enough that she can let her arms drop to her sides. She likes the way his clothes fit her. “Thank you.  Do you want something to sleep in...?”

“I prefer going bare, actually.” Harry says in a cheeky tone, running a jeweled hand through his sex-mussed curls as he smirks. “Much more comfortable.”

Y/N laughs quietly, shaking her head in half disbelief, half amusement. “Of course you do.” She says with a roll of her eyes, holding out a hand for Harry to take. “C’mon, let’s go to bed.  I’m fucking exhausted.”

Harry sews his fingers between her own, replying with a cheeky squeeze and a smug tone. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.” Y/N laughs again, but she doesn’t mind the cockiness behind Harry’s quip.  If anything, the banter reassures her.  She’d take a smug reply over awkward post-hookup silence any day.

And maybe if the lingering buzz from the alcohol wasn’t fogging her eyes, and maybe if the intense aftermath of endorphins wasn’t clouding her mind, and maybe if she wasn’t distracted by how strangely comfortable it feels to joke around with Harry, Y/N would have noticed. She would have noticed it the instant she took his hand within her own. She would have noticed it when she had stepped into the hallway and gently tugged him after her playfully, the dim lightning from the single lamp in the living room coffee table casting a shadow across his figure and over the handsome features on his face. Maybe, if it wasn’t for all of that, she would have noticed that the jade of his irises was long gone, replaced by an ominous red hue with the same dangerous glint that had been present at the bar. She would have noticed that this time around, it carried very different intentions.  She would have noticed how, after she climbed into her own bed after Harry, after he pulled her into his strong arms, and after she had laid her tired head onto his chest, that there was no heartbeat to greet her ears.  

But she doesn’t notice it.  And it only takes a moment for her eyes to drift shut in blissful ignorance, lulled by the sound of Harry’s breathing.  Only Harry’s breathing.

///

It takes fifteen minutes for Harry to realize that he didn’t really think this through.

At the moment, when Y/N asked him to stay over, and he was still high on his last orgasm and on the lingering taste of her blood along the arch of his tongue, it seemed like a good idea.  He could stay the night, he thought.  He, just like she had mentioned about herself, was fond of cuddling after sex, and it wasn’t often that he got to have that.  Perhaps it would be a nice way to cap off the night, he’d rationalized, and so he’d allowed the mortal girl to lead him to her bed for entirely innocent reasons (innocent only because they’d finished everything sinful in her living room).

And then Y/N fell asleep on Harry, and he remembered why he doesn’t ever spend the night at a one night stand’s place.

Harry is bored.

It’s not that Harry doesn’t sleep, because he does.  Stephanie Meyer got that wrong in those insipid books that have haunted Harry since 2008, but that wasn’t surprising, considering that Harry doesn’t sparkle in the sun, either.  Granted, if he steps into daylight without his lionhead ring, his skin will blister and burn until it falls off his body, but he won’t sparkle, and frankly, he’s offended that everyone thinks that he will.  He also can’t read minds, although he wouldn’t mind it if he could.  And he does need sleep.  Just not as often as a regular mortal.

With increased stamina means increased everything, including how long Harry can go without sleeping.  Although he slept more often when he was first turned out of habit, Harry finds that he can go two or three weeks, or even a month, without having to rest his body and mind.  And even when he does finally manage to fall into a peaceful state, it’s only for a few hours before he wakes up involuntarily.  It’s just as well.  He doesn’t like to be unaware for that long.  It’s in his nature to be alert, and he likes it that way.  And because he doesn’t need to spend eight hours unconscious every night, Harry finds that he gets a lot more done in his life.

Except now, when he’s stuck under the body of a fragile and depleted human.

When Harry falls into bed with a partner, he’s normally itching for them to fall asleep so he can sink his fangs into their necks and take what he wanted all along.  And then, after his thirst and libido are both satiated, Harry will climb out of bed, dress himself in whatever outfit he’d dragged himself to the club in, and make his way back to his condo before the sun begins to rise on the horizon. Simple as that.

But even he has to admit, he thinks as he ghosts his fingers down the barely healed mark on Y/N’s neck, that he’d gotten a little out of control tonight.  He’d been so carried away by her touch, her sensations, her scent, that he’d lost his usual patience and bit her mid thrust.  Thankfully, Y/N had been too caught up in her own orgasm to notice, and while Harry couldn’t deny that the heightened pleasure of her blood rolling down his throat as he slid his cock in and out of her hot cunt is something he thinks he’ll remember for eons, Harry knows that he was lucky to have gotten away with such a risky move.

Now that the young woman’s breath has completely evened out, Harry can evaluate the damage he’d done during his lapse in composure.  In all honesty, he’s relieved to find that it isn’t as messy as he had feared.  While he’s usually careful enough to make nearly surgical incisions into his partner’s flesh, he’d bitten Y/N with reckless abandon, too caught up in his pleasure to think about being neat.  However, when he finds that the messiest thing about the bite is the few smears of blood still staining her skin, the anxiety— which Harry hadn’t even known was curled around his stomach like a vice— slips away.  His venom had slowly begun to heal the bite mark already, but Harry knows that the only way it’ll be completely gone in the morning will be for Y/N to ingest his blood.

Allowing a human to ingest vampire blood was always a risk; after all, if they died with it in their systems, they would begin their second life a few mere hours after the first one ended.  Despite that contingency, Harry had always rationalized the decision by telling himself it was better than the alternative, which was draining the human until they were dead.  After all, a corpse doesn’t care about a few bite marks on their body.  The police, on the other hand, do care about that, which was reason enough for Harry to take the time to heal anyone he drinks from.  And, in all honesty, healing those he hurts is almost therapeutic for him.  It’s a reminder that, despite his leftover humanity being barely present, he still has some nonetheless.

It’s those thoughts that are flowing through Harry’s mind when he carefully shifts under Y/N, drawing his arm free enough that he can carefully brush the human’s hair away from her supple skin.  He leans down slowly, brushing his nose along the pulsing of Y/N’s neck before dragging his tongue along her warm skin.  The taste of the few lingering streaks of blood incite a new burn in the back of Harry’s throat, a reminder of the sweet elixir that runs through the mortal girl’s veins.  It takes all of Harry’s newly returned self-control to stop himself from creating a fresh bite next to the older one.  Bringing a jewelled hand to his mouth, Harry lightly pricks his index finger on one of his pronounced fangs, hardly feeling the breaking of his icy skin in his mouth.  He squeezes his finger tip with his thumb after pulling the digit from his teeth, watching with darkening eyes as a drop of midnight crimson blood beads on the end of his finger.  

Y/N’s mouth is partially open already, hot breath falling from her unconscious lips with every movement of her chest, but Harry still grips her chin between his thumb and forefinger gently, nudging down her jaw until he can see her tongue.  He pauses then, realizing how similar the sight is to how he had seen her an hour earlier.  The memory of Y/N on her knees as she begged Harry to fuck her mouth sends a rush of electricity down his spine, but he shakes his head free of the thoughts before he can get carried away.  He’d had his fun with the poor girl, he reminds himself, half wistful and half chastising.  He can’t allow himself to take anything more from her.  It’s his turn to give her something for all that she had gifted him.

With her mouth now fully open, Harry slowly slides his index finger along Y/N’s pink tongue, watching as his blood stains it red.  He releases her chin from his grip as he does so, dragging his fingers from her jaw to her hair.  Worrying that the mortal will begin to stir at the iron taste on her tongue, Harry figures that a soothing touch will be the best way to ensure that she’ll stay asleep.  Once his grip strays from her chin, however, Y/N’s mouth slowly drifts closed, enveloping his ringed index finger in her cushiony lips. He then feels a gentle yet constant suction that tells him that Y/N is sucking his finger, just as she sucked something else earlier, and Harry nearly loses what little sanity he has left.

There’s a voice in the back of his head telling him that he should shift away from Y/N.  If he had any more humanity, he’d peel away from her now, quickly dress himself in his abandoned clothes, and slip out her front door before she even notices.  If Harry had an ounce of selflessness, he’d do it.  But in this moment, all he can think about is how warm the young woman’s mouth is, how her smell is so sweet that Harry thinks he could get cavities just from inhaling her fragrance, and how fucking wonderful it feels to have her silky lips wrapped around his finger; it’s like even unconscious, her mind wants him as much as he wants her.

And so Harry stays in bed, listening to Y/N’s breathing, watching as the bite he gave her fades to a small bruise, feeling the steady rise and fall of her chest tell him she’s deep in sleep in a way that Harry will never be again.  The thought nearly saddens the vampire when he finally manages to pull his finger from Y/N’s mouth, smudging an impulsive kiss at the corner before he can stop himself.  Harry remembers how lovely sleeping next to someone after sex felt when he was human.  Of course, he’d always found himself in the same position Y/N would come to find herself in the next morning, with mysterious bruises scattered along her skin. But that caveat side, Harry had rather enjoyed sleep when he was human.  And if he could sleep, then he would have something to distract himself from both the boredom of the quiet night and the gentle throbbing of his cock as Y/N shifts against him.

Harry’s eyes flit around Y/N’s room for the first time since she’d pulled him inside.  The area is small, but decorated in a way that makes it seem cozy rather than claustrophobic. Her bed is nudged into the corner against the wall, covered in a mis-matched set of plain olive green sheets and a paisley-printed comforter that suggests their appropriate accompaniments are between washes. The bed is stout and close to the ground, hunkered down in a red oak wooden frame that is sanded and scratched in some places, making Harry come to the conclusion that it was probably thrifted. He likes that; he’s a fan of thrifting himself, which might seem contradictory considering the borrowed t-shirt Y/N is currently inhabiting is a sixty dollar Marc Jacobs piece. But at certain times, it’s the truth. Second hand shops hold a lot of neat stuff that humans tend to take for granted; they call it trash, whereas Harry deems it vintage treasure.

The walls are built of large bricks, covered in glossy creme paint on two panels and a cool grey on the opposite sides. The entrance to the room is a frosted glass sliding door with wallpaper strips lining its edges, the print of the detailing being messy doodles of different colored eyeballs. It’s cute in an indie sort of way. It screams California newborn.

The roof is a popcorn ceiling and Harry nearly gags in utter disgust, but manages to stifle it. It’s not like she can control that— not everyone can compel themselves a bachelor pad the way he had— and she’s lucky to have even found an affordable apartment this decent, especially in such a popular city. And she decorated the space pretty well, he’ll give her that much. Lots of antique knick-knacks, a few picture frames of family and friends littered around random surfaces, and a tapestry of what appears to be a hilled valley during a sunrise extended across the largest wall. The colors of the sky in the image are a mixture of dark purples, drunken blues, mellow oranges, and buttery yellows, and Harry has conflicting feelings about the article. Bluntly put, tapestries are stupid in his eyes. They’re trashy and hipster, which he’s grown to despise. But the photo Y/N’s drapery depicts is calming and pretty, so he’ll let it slide. At least it’s not one of those godforsaken dream-catchers.

He cranes his attention further along the other side of the room, noticing there’s an entire wall of bookshelves, stacked to the brim with a wide variety of genres.  Harry’s eyes land on a few familiar titles, surprised by the contrast of topics lining the mantles, eyebrows raising in pleasant shock. He thinks that maybe the choices in novels can gain back the bit of respect he’d lost for her as a result of the tapestry and popcorn ceiling. He’ll think on it.

Y/N suddenly shifts against him again, and he’s reminded that he can’t get up to pick out a book.  His gaze flickers to the plant-lined window sill and then the small nightstand, searching for anything within his reach that could occupy him for the next few hours.  A halfway read novel discarded somewhere close, perhaps?  A magazine?  Some sort of video game system that he could play quietly until the sun rises?

It doesn’t take long for Harry’s search to come up empty.  Apparently, Y/N’s bedroom has a place for everything, and everything is in its place.  It’s no matter, Harry sighs to himself, wrapping his arms tighter around the girl sound asleep on his chest.  He’ll just have to count Y/N’s breaths and heartbeats until dawn.

///

When Y/N wakes up the next morning, she’s unsurprised to find two things: a stiffness in her limbs, and an empty bed.  

The former, she knows, is a sore reminder of the previous night’s activities, and how she’d allowed a complete stranger to use her however he wanted.  Blood rushes to her cheeks as the night comes back to her in flickers: how Harry had kissed her, how she’d begged him to fuck her mouth, how he’d worked her over until she couldn’t take it anymore.  If the aching in her thighs is proof enough, Y/N knows that it was some of the best sex she’s ever had, which may be why the latter observation of Harry already being gone sparks a new ache in her chest.

Still, Y/N didn’t expect anything different; although she’d asked the man to stay the night, he hadn’t promised her anything about the morning, and she can’t exactly blame him.  After all, a one night stand is just that: one night.  A morning is never promised.

After Y/N manages to climb out of bed with wobbly legs, she evaluates herself in the mirror hanging on the back of her closet door.  Her hair, of course, is a rat’s nest, and although she attempts to tame it with her fingers and a scrunchie from her bag on the floor, Y/N knows that it’ll take a long, steaming shower and lots of conditioner to detangle the mess.  A hot shower will probably be the only way to quell the throbbing of her muscles, she thinks, stepping closer to the mirror to examine her body.  At the sight of bruises littered along her skin when she pulls up Harry’s blue t-shirt, Y/N’s mouth falls open, and her eyes widen as she examines the purple marks.

There’s a few scattered along her hips and thighs, small little indigo dots that could easily double as fingerprints.  Y/N is certain that if Harry were here, his fingers would match the marks perfectly.  And now that her hair is up, Y/N spots a mark along her neck.  This bruise is much more pronounced than the others, and Y/N can almost make out the shape of individual teeth dotting the edge of the purple welt.  Through her alcohol-muddled memories, Y/N can remember a moment where Harry bit down on her neck as their orgasms washed over each other.  Remembering almost brings back that pleasure again, and the phantom feeling distracts her so much that she nearly misses the unmistakable sound of her kitchen cupboards opening.

By the time she pulls on a pair of cotton shorts to cover her bruised thighs and opens the sliding door of her bedroom, Harry’s already managed to figure out her coffee maker.  Standing in front of the counter with his bare back to her (Y/N does her best not to focus on it-- he’s all creamy skin and defined muscles, and if she thinks about it too much, she’ll go insane), Harry whistles quietly under the sound of the percolating beverage, his tattooed arms reaching for a mug from the cupboard.  Y/N watches as he picks out a blue mug she’d bought last year at Barnes & Noble, a small part of her secretly pleased that he chose her favourite out of all options.

“Good morning.” She says with a small smile, walking slowly (and a bit awkwardly) into the kitchen.

Harry’s whistling stops as he cranes his neck just enough to glance at her over his shoulder, his cheeks dimpling in greeting. “Morning, love.  How’d you sleep?”

“Really good, actually, but that’s to be expected, given how exhausted I was.” Y/N opens the fridge to retrieve her milk carton, setting it down on the counter next to the two mugs Harry has picked out. “What about you?”

The corner of Harry’s lips twitch once, and if Y/N hadn't already been gazing at his lips in want, she wouldn’t have caught the movement. “Like a baby.”

The beeping of the coffee pot interrupts the small conversation, and Harry reaches for it automatically, filling the two mugs with the freshly steaming liquid. “Do you take cream and sugar?”

Despite Y/N opening the cupboard above her, Harry manages to snag the sugar bowl before she can. “Milk and sugar, yeah.  And you don’t have to do that.” Y/N says, watching as Harry spoons sugar into a mug for her before grabbing the milk carton.

“I know I don’t have to, but I figured I should.” Harry gives a quick shrug of his shoulders as he lightens the drink with milk, leaving his own mug completely black. “Thought you might be a bit sore after last night.”

Harry can practically hear the blood rushing to Y/N’s cheeks, and the dull ache in the back of his jugular flares up as she reaches for her coffee mug, her smell washing over him as she moves closer.  He grasps his own mug, lifting it to his lips in an attempt to quell the thirst in him with a less satisfying alternative.

“I, um,” Y/N stutters over her words for a moment, taking a sip of the hot coffee as an excuse not to talk while she collects herself. “I’m a little sore, yeah.  But nothing too bad, and certainly not sore enough that I can’t make coffee.  Or breakfast.”

Harry pauses with his mug half raised to his strawberry lips. “Breakfast?”

“I could make us breakfast, if you’d like.” Y/N swallows hard, her throat thick as she speaks carefully. “I make pretty good pancakes.  Blueberry lemon.  My grandma taught me how to make them.”

“They sound delicious.” Harry takes another gulp of coffee, the high temperature not seeming to bother him in the slightest, before setting the half full cup back down on the counter. “But I should get going.”

“Oh, uh, right.” Y/N speaks in a tight voice, her head moving in a quick nod as she sets her own coffee down. “Yeah, you’re right.  I’ll, um, go change, so you can have your shirt back--”

“Why bother to go somewhere?  It’s not like it’s something I haven’t seen before.” A cheeky grin pastes itself onto Harry’s face, and Y/N fights back her embarrassment with a roll of her eyes.

“Shut up and give me a minute.”

By the time Y/N exits her room with the garment in hand and one of her favourite sweatshirts providing her with a bit of modesty, Harry is already waiting by the front door.  She hands him the article of clothing, trying to not let her eyes follow his every move as he slips the shirt over his toned chest and down his lean stomach, pulling his pearls and cross necklace out from beneath the fabric.

“Thanks.” He says, fixing his hair after he finishes adjusting the tee into the waistband of his slacks, shrugging his cropped blue and creme plaid jacket over his broad shoulders. “Your apartment is really cute, by the way.  I like the wallpaper decal on the sliding bedroom door.  And the colours all work really nice together.

“Uh, thanks?” Y/N says slowly, and the confusion must be apparent on her face because Harry once again has a grin on his face, like he’s the only one in on a secret.

“That’s why you invited me back here last night, remember?  To look at your apartment?” He prompts, leaning against the doorframe as he crosses his tattooed arms across his chest. “Unless that was all a ploy to get in my pants.”

“Maybe it was.” Y/N worries her bottom lip between her teeth to hold back the soft smile threatening its way onto her face. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Harry slinks his head to the side as he appraises the unsuspecting mortal in front of him.  Her messy hair that he’d tangled his fingers into the night before is pulled away from her heated face, exposing the healed bite mark on her neck.  Her lips are still a little swollen from how he tugged on them with his teeth, and Harry remembers how careful he had to force himself to be to make sure he didn’t break her skin.  Y/N shifts her weight from one foot to the other, and the movement is just awkward enough that Harry can tell she’s sore from how he bent her over the couch and fucked her, and he knows that it shouldn’t send a shiver of pleasure down his spine, but it does.  

“Yeah.  It worked.” He murmurs, reaching for the doorknob as he makes his final goodbye. “It was lovely meeting you, Y/N.  Really, it was.  I had a wonderful time.”

“So did I.” Y/N smiles shyly at him, a hint of wistfulness in her voice. “It was fun.”

Harry nods, and then he can’t stop nodding, and then before he knows what he’s doing, his mouth seems to move of his own accord. “You know, since I’m not taking you up on your offer for breakfast, would you allow me to give a counter offer?”

Y/N’s eyes perk up with curiosity as she responds in a careful voice. “Uh, sure?”

“Can I see your phone real quick?” Harry asks, holding out a ring-clad hand expectantly.

Y/N doesn’t hesitate before retrieving her phone from her sweater pocket, unlocking it and placing it in Harry’s cool hand as requested.  A small spark of hope ignites in her stomach as she watches him open her contacts.

“Here.” Harry says after a moment, handing her back the phone with a smile of satisfaction. “I put a disco ball next to my name.  Thought it fit, since we met at a club and all.”

“It does fit.” Y/N agrees as she looks down at the new contact in her phone. “And what exactly am I supposed to do with this?”

“Call it.  Text it.  Use it to let me know when you want more interior decorating advice.” Harry says snidely, watching with faint amusement as a sheepish look that washes across Y/N’s face. “Only if you want to, of course.”

“Of course.” Y/N repeats back to him, her voice matching his teasing tone. “I’ll see you around, Harry.”

Harry flashes her one more grin, his teeth seemingly glinting in the morning sunlight that shines through the window. “Yeah. You will.”

And as the vampire trots down the stairs of the human’s apartment complex, regaining the lighthearted whistling he’d been indulging earlier, he finds himself truly hoping that she’ll put his number to good use.  

[neonponders]

Based on @lovebillyhargrove ‘s This Steve with This Billy. (original concept credit to @youfuckingdonut)

I’m having more success with mafia drabbles than my on-going mafia fics orz

• • • • • • •

Steve didn’t know what Billy’s job actually was.

He knew the guy wore nice shirts and nicer blazers, suit jackets, and tuxedo pieces. He knew Billy had to be either the boss or close to it, because he only wore the pieces of a full suit or tuxedo. Steve wouldn’t be surprised if he burned every tie he saw. Always had too many buttons undone.

But he looked good. And he knew he looked good. He walked right up to Steve waiting in line with Robin at a cafe before it closed. They’d gone to a nightclub at the absurd time of 8 o’clock. Hey, no door charge because they showed up so early. They were drunk off their ass and sweaty by 11pm. He called it an efficient night out.

“I’ve never been so happy to have a box of stale croissants in my life,” Robin mused as the tired barista used the tongs in the glass display case.

Steve bounced from foot to foot, still dancing to the bad radio pop overhead. He cracked open his juice from the chilled shelves, since asking for a coffee five minutes shy of closing might get a wad of spit mixed in - 

“You’re light on your feet.”

Steve didn’t think too heavily on it when he was drunk. Everyone was prettier when the brain behind the eyes was in some cups, just like all food tasted better. Maybe he should’ve devoted more brain cells to the moment. But that was a lost cause now.

He and Robin chatted and Steve apologized for his hand being wet with condensation and sweat when the guy offered a handshake. Even through the sparkly haze of alcohol, Steve could tell he gave Steve the time of day more than Robin, but they were on their way out anyway.

Steve might’ve said, “Well that was a great nightcap. He’s tasty,” a bit loud before the cafe door shut behind them. Robin coughed on her croissant and Steve guffawed and swiped it for himself before taking off down the street with her chasing after him.

But then Steve just kept running into him.

The guy from the cafe.

Walking into the park as Steve was leaving it. Strolling by the bank before Steve went inside.

With his designer clothes and his clean shoes and smooth, clean shaven jaw made ever so slightly tacky from skincare and lotion when it touched Steve’s face. Because he leaned too far forward over the table he was serving at his upscale restaurant job and

Time froze in a vacuum

Because Steve could’ve sworn he - Billy - lifted his face into the shadow of Steve’s neck. Inhaled.

It was a miracle he didn’t drop a plate or spill a glass. He dared the briefest glance but blue eyes pierced him regardless of the emotion behind them. Steve felt like a dagger tied on a string hung through his belly, lazily stirring his nerves and threatening to land dangerously in his groin.

He left the table before he made a fool of himself and all the company present. Large tables guaranteed large tips. He’d be set for the next month if he just didn’t fuck this up. He strode past the open-air kitchen and the ‘butler’s pantry’ area to hallway with the staff bathrooms -

Hands turned him around by his hips, surprisingly warm despite the thick poly-cotton of his white apron and the black slacks underneath.

The dagger fell.

The kiss was soft despite how ravenously Billy plundered his mouth. It was all Steve could do, to hold onto his nape and then wrap his arms behind Billy’s neck. He tasted like steak and amaretto and neutral sweet, like a man. Mewls and moans left Steve’s throat like he couldn’t stop them. Didn’t want to. Just wanted to drown in whatever this was.

Billy pivoted them so Steve pressed into the wallpaper. He hummed again as his hand found the clean shaven fade on the back of Billy’s head, his blunt fingertips petting and scratching there like he hadn’t known this man for more than an hour of collective encounters.

A sound left Billy’s chest. It hit Steve’s core like a pebble on a bell before he broke the kiss enough to meet Steve’s gaze. Clear blue eyes far more sober than Steve felt and probably looked. Wrecked with lust for this stranger who had money and means to always find him.

“A car’s going to pick you up later.”

Steve blinked with reticence, not wanting to leave this haze but already out of it.

“Get into the car.” The pad of Billy’s thumb touched Steve’s lip, light but insistent. He breathed, “Steve,” before leaving the hallway. Pleading. At least, Steve wanted it to be a plea.

But he was gone when Steve checked back at the table to top up waters and drinks. In singles and pairs, the group left until Steve was left to collect dishes and wonder who the hell managed their tabs. His manager answered that question for him moments later, by shoving a thick fold of cash into his apron pocket.

“Your tip from table twenty-three.”

“I didn’t see you get the bills,” he commented, intending to reach in and see what the high rollers tipped - 

She shoved his hands away from his pocket. “You don’t take money out in the open, silly. Get back to your locker for that.”

Steve knew he never saw her with a pile of receipt folders with credit cards sticking out of them. But he went back to work and didn’t take inventory of his tips until closing.

That table might’ve spent $1200 on dinner and drinks.

Steve got $1100 in tips. What kind of math that was, he didn’t know, but he couldn’t fixate on it too much, because inside the fold of money was a piece of paper with a phone number. No name. Steve could assume it to be Billy’s but he didn’t know...

Get into the car.

Steve zipped up his coat as he stepped out of the employees’ entrance. He emerged out of the service alleyway to...a regular city street. No cars more or less than normal, and none of them stood out...

Did he even want to get in?

He almost shook his head, just to jostle his thoughts around. “Don’t be stupid, don’t be stupid,” he whispered to himself as he turned and marched his ass home. He didn’t know this guy: a person with a scary amount of recon on his life to be able to find him at any ol’ time. His dinner friends weren’t exactly a college reunion, either.

But he kissed like a god and tasted like one too.

He held Steve like he wanted him, and Christ, Steve wanted to be wanted.

The privilege of being craved.

He was wrist deep in shampoo with his eyes closed when he realized someone pounded on his apartment door. The panic of rinsing suds off his body as fast as possible, the terror of someone at his door at 2am, and the fury of pissing off his neighbors at 2am spurred him out of the shower and into a t-shirt on top of the towel around his waist.

God sure as hell could’ve been at his door and Steve would’ve answered it the same way.

“It’s 3am! Shut the hell up!” he hissed.

Billy looked equal measures of pissed and concerned, but he blinked and amusement crept in. He wore a long, swanky pea coat that looked soft to the touch. Steve was more preoccupied with moving out of his way when the guy strode right into his apartment.

“Why didn’t you let the car pick you up?” Billy’s gaze moved around the Spartan yet cluttered living room.

“Uh, I didn’t see one?” Steve sassed before he admitted, “Or...it’s a street? Lots of cars.”

Billy’s attention landed on him like he didn’t quite believe it. Steve stood in a towel with dripping hair, for god sake. Billy’s eyes raked over him as if he were putting together some pieces of a puzzle that Steve didn’t understand. Or was mundane life so difficult if you could just drop $1100?

Billy took his hands from his pockets and started removing buttery leather gloves. “Do you have a roommate?”

Steve felt like another dagger was about to fall, but where, he couldn’t tell. He inhaled and sighed, “No.”

“Who is that woman to you?”

Steve’s brows reached for his hairline. “You mean my best friend?” he challenged.

Billy laughed. Derisive and amused and...impressed? Relieved?

He threw his coat, jacket, and gloves on the IKEA couch and those hands found Steve’s waist again. “Billy?” he managed before he had those lips again. Before Billy’s hand found the base of his skull and encouraged him to tilt for better access.

Then Billy let a moan seep into his sigh. Their lips parted audibly and he breathed, “No one talks to me like you do. About me. To me. You-mmh.”

He took Steve’s lips again like he craved. Steve shivered against his erection brushing against the fibers of his towel.

“Can I finish my shower?”

“No,” he purred darkly, arm locking behind Steve’s waist as the other pressed a rolling hand to Steve’s front.

He trembled through a broken shout, panting against Billy’s lips and jaw, gripping his silk shirt at the risk of scratching the threads. Billy licked over Steve’s lips, and Steve was dangerously close to cumming right there.

“Billy...” he whined. He warned.

Bright eyes gazed steadily at him through hooded, dark lashes. “Keep saying my name like that. I’ll give you everything.”

[simonsaysastory]

Thoughts About Headspace and Black Space

Specifically in regards to how Basil (and a little bit with Mari) manifests there.

OMORI spoilers ahoy!

So I was reading this post about some parallels in stuff in OMORI, unrelated to Basil, but it got me thinking about how Basil and Mari manifest in Headspace and Black Space.

It's not as if Sunny is completely incapable of separating events and pushing things down. One of the things that always bothered me about Headspace Mari is that she's just so... Perfect. She's kind and mostly gentle (if sometimes stern) and sweet and loving, and always, always helpful. My theory was that he was denying some ugly part of her deep down, and I wasn't necessarily wrong, I think.

Headspace Mari is perfect, I believe, because any and all negative emotions Sunny may have towards her are intrinsically linked with her death. The biggest (and honestly only) flaw we see in the real Mari is that she's a perfectionist that pushes Sunny too hard, and Sunny lashing out at her for that caused her death. Not to mention it's probably only natural for him to view her in the best light possible after she's gone, regardless of whether it was suicide or an accident by his hand.

So what about Basil? Why is he portrayed in the ways that he is in the game; perfectly kind and sweet and forgiving up until he finds the picture pointing toward the truth, after which Omori secretly banishes him to Black Space and views him as a shadowy Stranger?

At first I was wondering why this was happening to Basil and not Mari, since both are intrinsically linked to the truth, but then I remembered- We're told that Mari did find her way to the truth. That's why she's confined to the picnic blanket.

This cycle has happened at least four times prior, and I wouldn't be surprised if there were even more we haven't heard about. After all, the cycle we see is only a few days long. Sure, this is primarily for gameplay purposes, and most cycles probably weren't that short, but I think it'd still be safe to assume that there could definitely have been more cycles we weren't told about in that 3-4 year span of time between Sunny locking himself away and the start of the game.

What most likely happened was that Headspace Mari more often found the truth, and/or found it sooner than Basil, which is why she's been confined and he hasn't yet. In the Hikikomori Route, the current cycle was the last straw and he is subsequently stuck on the picnic blanket with Mari during the "postgame" content.

I couldn't explain to you why the picnic blanket works as a way to prevent them from finding the truth. In actuality, there's every chance that it doesn't work, and that it simply hasn't come up yet because Basil still found ways to reveal Black Space where Mari doesn't get as much of a chance. The game hints at the current cycle to repress the truth once more being futile, asking Omori how he plans to hide it Black Space this time and hinting that the reason things are so different this time is because of the news of Sunny's move.

There's every chance that, in the Hikikomori Route, Black Space is going to continue to resurface, perhaps even without Headspace Basil or Mari's influence, since ultimately, it's just a manifestation of Sunny's own associations. Basil and Mari are the ones directly connected to the repressed memories, so they were the ones to find the cracks in Headspace.

So why is Basil treated so... interestingly in Sunny's mind? Especially in Black Space 2, we see Basil repeatedly be harmed and/or killed. In the standard route, as well, we see Omori outright stab Headspace Basil to death. Why the hell is he seemingly wishing violence upon someone he cares about?

Well, let's tackle the caring thing first, since I've seen that concept be contentious among some, the idea that Sunny does genuinely care about Basil.

Sunny does care about Basil. This is not in question and I'm not sure why some people seem to think he doesn't.

If Sunny didn't care about Basil, he wouldn't be in Headspace, and their friends wouldn't question his absence, and there wouldn't be a minor mission to save him for most of that part of the game. We wouldn't save him in the Hikikomori route. So that begs the question; why the violence?

There's a couple points where we see Omori's questionable behavior towards Basil, both directly and indirectly.

The easiest to explain, for me, is when Omori stabs Headspace Basil in the standard route but saves Headspace Basil in the Hikikomori route. This is because in the standard route, it's not really about Basil at all. It's a sign of Omori's frustration about Sunny's actions, I think. Omori is Sunny's coping mechanism, the thing used to protect himself both from the truth and from the outside world. For some reason, though, Sunny has decided to go out there, to face reality in some capacity. Omori stabs Headspace Basil because the game is over, because he's frustrated both at the real Basil and at Sunny. Sunny has no interest in resetting headspace, and Omori's just waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Sunny to confront the thing they're both hiding down in Black Space. There's another aspect to it, more directly concerning Sunny's feelings about Basil, that I think is at play, but it's better addressed later.

The most interesting thing to explain is the trio forgetting Basil during the Last Resort/Deeper Well sections. I think this is Omori's last ditch attempt to keep things under wraps, that maybe, just maybe, if he can erase Basil entirely from Headspace, he can stop this. But the adventure continuing and finding the Keys makes it clear that Basil's presence doesn't matter, Black Space will continue leaking out. It's a feeble, futile attempt because even if he makes everyone else forget, he can't. Basil's just too significant for Sunny to repress.

Lastly is all the violent stuff that happens to Basil in Black Space 2. This one was the most interesting to consider, because Omori isn't directly responsible for any of these (the raft one could be read as him doing something in the dark, but it's not shown so I'm going to take it as just another Black Space event rather than Omori doing it himself).

Obviously, Omori's in control of most of White/Head/Black Space, but I don't think his control is absolute just as no one has true control over their own mind. After all, if he was in complete control, why would Black Space keep getting found?

With that said, I don't think Omori is necessarily in control of these events. I think they're a subconscious manifestation of his conflicting feelings about Basil, and it's one of the things that fascinates me most about Basil and Sunny's relationship.

Like I said before, Sunny clearly cares about Basil deeply. They were best friends. But Basil is also connected to the worst day of Sunny's life, and in quite an interesting way. After all, Mari just died. Basil, however, helped cover it up.

I don't think it's hard to say that Basil made things worse. I'm not saying he's horrible for it or anything, obviously not; he was a terrified kid who'd just witnessed something horrible and wanted to protect his friend. But that doesn't change the fact that Basil's actions that day did make the whole situation worse. He prevented everyone from knowing the truth, and ultimately prevented both himself and Sunny from getting the help they needed in dealing with Mari's death.

While I'm not sure Sunny is fully aware of all that, I think that subconsciously at least, Omori/Sunny believe that, if it weren't for Basil, they would have been properly punished for their actions. And that manifests in Black Space 2 as him indirectly hurting his internal versions of Basil in terrible ways.

The biggest example of this is Hero prompting Aubrey and Kel to beat Basil to death. This is probably the most direct representation of Sunny's fears, that their friends would hate and never forgive them for what they did.

Circling back to Omori stabbing Headspace Basil in the regular route, I think it's similar here, except more direct in action by Omori because Sunny has finally been face to face with the fallout of their actions, how their friendships have fallen apart, he's been forced to face reality. And so, Omori takes this anger out on Basil, whom he probably views as largely responsible for it (And wouldn't necessarily be wrong).

After all, it wouldn't be the first time Sunny has lashed out at someone because of the emotional pain he associates with them.