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wkemeup · 4 years ago

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Sunrise (3)

summary: After an explosion takes his arm and his only sense of belonging, Bucky is content to live out the rest of his days in the hollow comfort of the dark. This is, until Sam drags him down to the local VA and he meets you. (Modern AU) pairings: bucky x reader chapter word count: 5.2k warnings: none 🧡 series masterlist / series playlist

Bucky stared down at the fresh coffee stained on the sidewalk; a caramel puddle nestling into the cracks and stretching along the lines until it spilled out into the street. He could smell the bitterness and the sweetness in the cream, the steam of it still warm as it filtered up into the cold, autumn air. He cursed at himself under his breath.

You’d looked so beautiful, even with your eyes wide in shock and lips parted in a gasp as coffee spilled to your shoes. Dressed under an army green overcoat, a sliver of a burnt orange sweater peaked out from underneath. He’d seen that particular shade before, cast over a forest of evergreens and reflecting into the clouds, just above the sun as it set over the tree line.

But he’d made a fool of himself in front of you and he could still feel the burning in his ears. He felt hot under his jacket and he found himself glancing down the street, wondering if he could make a run for it. Only, you were waiting for him inside and Bucky couldn’t stand the idea of disappointing you.

Gathering what remained of his courage, Bucky parted the double doors and stepped inside. It took a minute to let his eyes adjust, but when the dim lighting came into view, he noticed you were standing by the entrance waiting for him like you’d known he’d decide to follow. You beamed as he caught sight of you and his stomach twisted straight to knots. You were still clutching the donut box to your chest, almost as if you were afraid he’d knock that out of your hands, too.

“Come on, you can help me set up.” You gestured down the hall to the room he met you in a few days prior. The library with no books on the shelves and cobwebs in the corners. “We’ve got to get you a book before the others show up.”

Bucky nodded, though he didn’t say anything as he followed you. It was pretty quiet without so many people lingering around, but everyone seemed to smile as you approached; perking up from under their clouds and called out your name until you waved back at them. It was like you carried sunshine in your pockets and comfort in your presence, breaking away stormy skies as you passed by.

Before you could reach the library door, Bucky rushed out ahead of you and grabbed a hold of the knob. You paused, eyes catching his for a moment and a pink filtered into his cheeks. He cleared his throat.

“Figured I could do one decent thing today after I ruined your shoes,” he explained, pulling open the door for you.

“You showed up, didn’t you?” you added with a wink. “I count two decent things today, James Barnes.”

He chuckled at that, nodding. “Y-Yeah, okay.”

You set the donuts on the coffee table and began to push the furniture around into a circle. You shouldered most of your weight into the couch to get it to budge and Bucky couldn’t help the smile that formed on his lips just watching you. Concentrated frown on your face, determination in your eyes, staring down the couch as if it were your sworn enemy.

“You need help with that?” Bucky asked, gesturing to the couch that barely moved a few inches while you were out of breath.

You glanced up at him over the spine of the couch, nodding gratefully. “This one always gives me trouble.”

“I’m sure if you waited for the others to show up, they’d help you move these around,” Bucky said as he placed his right hand on the back of the armrest, his knee digging into the center of the back. You stood next to him, hands on the frame to help push despite the fact that Bucky was strong enough, even without his left arm, to move the couch on his own. But he liked the idea of you beside him, so he didn’t say anything.

“Oh, I’m sure they would,” you exhaled as they couch slid perfectly into place within the circle. “They all work so hard though, you know? It’s nice to have them just walk in and sit down for a change. Don’t need them thinking I’m expecting work out of them, too.”

“Ah, so that's why I’m here, then...”

He was surprised by the teasing in his own voice. When was the last time he made a joke? He couldn’t even remember. But you started to smile, that brightness shining right up into your eyes, and it didn’t matter anymore. He’d make a thousand jokes if you would keep looking at him like that.

“Careful now,” you warned, a glimmer in your eye. “I might need you to help move this couch every week...”

“Wouldn’t be such a bad thing, would it?”

He didn’t know where this was coming from or how it slipped off his tongue so easily, but he liked the way it seemed to catch your off guard. You stilled for a second, a nervous laugh under your breath as you quickly tucked away a few strands of fallen hair. You were flustered. Shit. He was done for.

“Haven't even seen one meeting and you’re offering to move couches for me on a weekly basis? Consider me eternally grateful, James Barnes.” You plopped down on the couch, reaching for the strap of your bag, though it was a few inches out of reach.

Bucky leaned down and picked up the bag, surprised to find it as heavy as it was, and gently set it in your lap. He took a seat on the couch on your left, though he left considerable room between you. You started digging through the bag, pulling out book after book and setting them on the table.

“We’ve got to pick your book of choice,” you explained, smiling at him and clearly eager to see what he would select. “Anything you want. I can get something else from the library for next week if you’re not interested in these. I’ve got some guys reading Harry Potter for the first time. Lang’s on the second Twilight book. Romanoff is halfway through The Odyssey. Barton’s about a few pages to the end of a murder mystery he guessed the plot twist of within the first ten pages, which is just downright infuriating...”

Your nose was all scrunched up and it was the damn near cutest thing Bucky had ever seen. He must have been staring for too long though, because you raised a brow at him.

Bucky cleared this throat, quickly looking away. He scratched nervously at the back of his neck and tried to steer the conversation strictly away from how adorable he found you.

“Isn’t the point of a book club to read the same book?”

“I suppose,” you shrugged, “but not my book club. The whole point is just to help these guys feel comfortable, give them a moment of peace, even if it’s for an hour once a week. Sometimes we’ll sit around the circle and talk about what we’re reading. Lang’s working really hard to sell the Twilight books to the rest of the group despite being about a decade late to the game. Most times though, we just read, listen to some music. It’s quite nice, actually.”

So that was what Sam meant by unconventional.

“I don’t know the last time I read anything,” Bucky admitted slowly. He could barely get himself to concentrate on a single newspaper article these days, let alone an entire book. He often caught himself staring at the TV and realizing an episode later that he didn’t have a clue what had happened.

“A lot of the guys take breaks,” you offered, seemingly reading his mind. “That’s what the donuts are for. Oh, and the coffee, of course.”

You jumped up, making your way over to the pots sitting on the table lining the wall. The pots were already filled and he wondered who took the time to do that for you before you even arrived. You were so well liked around here, Bucky found himself wondering if he wasn’t the only one who felt like you could tell him to do just about anything and he’d oblige without question.

“You want some?” you asked, holding up an empty cup, but Bucky shook his head. He was already starting to get warm and adding coffee to the mix wouldn’t help things.

You didn’t seem to mind as you shrugged off your jacket and draped it by the door. The orange sweater he’d caught a glimpse of under your jacket turned out to be a cardigan. It flowed long down by your thighs, draped over a simple, white tank top and black jeans. Gold jewelry sat over your collarbone and you had a sudden glow about you, like that hour just before sunset.

Golden hour, he realized. That’s what you reminded him of.

“It’s warm in here, isn’t it?” you asked, fanning yourself as you set the coffee on the table. “It’s not just me?”

It’s definitely you, Bucky thought. He’d never met anyone who carried such a presence as to melt the icy cold shards planted defensively around his chest. You were the epitome of warmth and kindness and the sweetest damn thing he’d ever seen... but a trail of sweat lined his hairline and he could feel the heat trapped under his jacket.

“Not you,” Bucky confirmed, brushing at his brow. “It’s hot.”

“Here,” you stood up, holding out a hand to him, “I can take your jacket for you.”

Bucky froze, jaw clenched. He became painfully aware of the empty sleeve on his left side. He wasn’t a complete fool. He knew you must have noticed by now, but taking the jacket off made it obvious that a piece of him was missing, the stub at his shoulder the only thing left in place of an arm he could still feel most days.

“I’m, uh, I’m okay,” he stuttered out, his eyes falling to the ground, hoping you didn’t notice the flush in his cheeks. He could feel your eyes on him and he was almost certain that if he dared to look up at you, you’d be fixated on his empty sleeve.

Shame started to burn hot in his chest when suddenly he felt a cool breeze on the back of his neck. When he looked in search of you, he found you setting up a fan at the edge of the room, angling it just enough so that it was sure to reach him on every rotation.

He swallowed as he watched you. You didn’t ask questions or push him to take the jacket off despite being clearly too warm to keep it on. Instead, you offered him a short smile as you sat back on the couch beside him, a little closer this time.

“Any better?”

He nodded. “Yeah, that’s, uh, that's really nice. Thanks.”

You smiled for him and he wondered if he could stay inside that moment forever.

***

Bucky selected The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Gilman from the stack of books on the table. It surprised you as his hand ghosted over the cover before flipping it over in his palm, a curious look on his features. It was one of your favorites, one not many would choose to pick up in fear of the publishing date in the late 1800s, but it was a short story, one he could finish within the span of the meeting today.

As he stared down at the unusual yellow pattern on the cover, a frown pushed at his lips as he started to see the strange images hidden under the surface. You found yourself struggling to tear your gaze away from him. With such a reaction to the cover, you couldn’t wait for the end of the meeting just to hear what he thought of the story.

Soon, the usuals started filtering into the room and you noticed that Bucky had barely said a word as the low hum of small talk and chatter filled the empty space. He kept to himself, perched on the very edge of the couch cushion like he might run at any second as you talked with one of the oldest VA members by the door.

Upon sensing his discomfort, you quickly made your way back to the couch and you were surprised when you felt the cushion dip a little as he leaned in your direction as if he was using you as anchor; something familiar amongst an unknown. You tried to suppress a smile when he looked at you, but you really liked the idea of being something familiar to him.

“I’m glad you decided to stay,” you told him quietly, nudging his side playfully with your shoulder. It drew a soft laugh from under his breath and he nodded, gripping tight to the book.

“Yeah, me too.” He sank back into the couch and relaxed the tension in his body.

Six on the dot. You turned to the group.

Tony Stark sat in his usual throne, legs draped over the arm rest, sitting sprawled out over the single chair. Heir to Stark Industries, he’d enlisted himself in rebellion against his own father. He’d ended up in the Air Force for three tours and prided himself on the tattoo on his chest he’d gotten drunkenly off base in his early twenties.

Natasha Romanoff found her place sitting cross legged on the floor, leaning up against the seat of Tony’s chair. She was a sort of a mystery to you, never spoke a word about her position within the military and how long she served, but she was exceptionally perceptive. Part of you wondered if she was some sort of super spy. Despite becoming a close friend, there was still so little you knew about her history. She rested a pillow in her lap.

Then, there was Scott Lang. He’d found himself in some trouble after his discharge, but he was turning his life around. He had a little girl to stick around for and he was trying desperately to find a job. You suspected his fascination with the Twilight books stemmed more from an unbreakable bond with his daughter than anything else. He took his place on the bean bag chair.

Clint Barton sat on the table outside the circle. He was a sharp shooter in his time and found more comfort in the distance. He kept to himself and had an exceptionally entertaining habit of making quick remarks under his breath few were fortunate to hear. You were determined to hand him a book with a plot twist not even he could see coming. You resided to put Defending Jacob by William Landay on hold.

A few others filled out the circle; familiar faces of men and women most would look past on the streets. Dark circles under their eyes, a hardened look about them. Some with tattoos and long beards, other’s draped in leather. Some, you could see the ghost of their former selves in their eyes, but they all seemed to lighten as they sat around the circle.

A moment of peace. It’s all you could offer and they took it gladly.

“Hey everyone. We’ve got a newbie in today.” You gestured to Bucky and he slowly lifted his hand in an awkward wave. “This is Bucky. Bucky, this is the group. Play nice.”

“What’s your rank, soldier?” Tony quipped from his chair; legs kicked out over the side. He never had much of a filter, or a sense of restraint. You shot him a glare he didn’t seem to notice, or rather he didn’t care.

“Sergeant,” Bucky clarified, though you could hear the strain in his voice. He said it as though it burned him, like the very act of the title was painful just to speak.

“Where’d you serve?”

“Tony, we’re not grilling the new kid today,” you warned, but Bucky cleared his throat.

“Afghanistan mostly.” He curled his hand into a fist, pinching at the pages of The Yellow Wallpaper in his grip. A hardness had swept over most of his features, almost in a protective layer, and you wanted to whack Tony upside the head for stealing the soft undertones in his expression.

“And the rest?”

Bucky paused, releasing his fist. “Classified.”

Tony pursed his lips, staring Bucky down over the top lens of his thick rimmed glasses. A testament of wills. A challenge. Then, he nodded, satisfied.

“Great,” you groaned, rolling your eyes playfully. “Now that Tony here has finished interrogating our newest member, we can get started.”

“Hey, consider it my welcome to the group!” Tony hands thrown defensively in the air. Scott nodded from his couch, remembering his own initiation the day Tony demanded to know the extent of his robbery charges following his discharge.

You shook your head, smiling spreading back to your lips and you were thankful to find that Bucky had sat back into the couch, relaxing as the attention moved back to you.

“I think we’ll just spend today reading,” you said. “I’ll put on the playlist Tony recommended – and don’t worry, I did browse through to make sure he didn’t slip any rock anthems in again. We don’t need to give Dr. Selvig down the hall another heart attack when Back in Black starts blaring directly after Yiruma.”

The room laughed and you were purposeful in glancing over at Bucky to see if a smile caught on his lips. It was small, a little uncomfortable as his eyes flickered around the room at the other group members, but he seemed to soften as he landed on you again. You nodded at him.

“Alright kids, hush up now.” You pressed play and the gentle strokes of a piano began to fill the room. “I’ll wake you in an hour.”

You waited until everyone settled in and opened their books. One of the older gentlemen in the back with a long and burly white beard and a leather vest draped over his shoulders set the open novel on his chest and promptly closed his eyes for his weekly nap. You smiled to yourself as you watched the heavy rise and fall of his chest – the man deserved one decent hour of rest a week, anyway.

By the time you made your way back to the couch, you noticed Bucky had tensed up again. He was staring down at the book, harsh breaths pressing through his nose as he tried to keep the book propped open with on hand, losing his place as he tried to turn the page. His jaw was clenched so tight you wondered if he’d bite it clean off.

He didn’t dare ask for help or so much as look in your direction, but it was a determination you’d come to expect from the people you met in these halls. It didn’t mean you couldn’t offer it anyway.

You quietly opened a drawer at the edge of the room, pushing aside knick knacks and old ketchup packets until you came across a small wooden clip. One of the older members had used it when he was going through extensive PT for his hand and couldn’t pinch his fingers enough to grip the thin slip of the page. You pulled it from the drawer and quickly skirted your way back to the couch beside Bucky.

“Here,” you offered, extending the clip to him as the book fell closed on his lap for the fourth time. He looked up at you, confused. You wondered if he realized how cute he looked when his brows pinched together like that; made him look about ten years younger and wiped the evidence of the war clean off his face.

You smiled at him. “It holds the pages down for you. Look.”

Gently pulling the book from his lip, you opened to the first page and set the clip at the bottom of the binding. When you released it, the pages stayed open, giving him free range of motion to turn the page without losing his place.

He blinked a few times as he stared down at the book. It was clear he’d never considered a tool like this and you wondered how many times he had sat down with the intention of reading only to find he couldn’t even turn past the first page. He might have been able to figure out the skill in it if he’d had the patience, but you imagined his own frustration got in the way of that. He seemed to have little patience for himself, as soldiers returning home often did.

There was a brief moment when the tips of his fingers brushed over yours as you pulled away. His hands were warm, almost feverish in comparison to the chill in your own. A blush warmed his cheeks and his eyes quickly darted down to the pages. Your stomach was in pleasant knots.

“Thanks,” he replied quietly, a soft semblance of a smile rising sweetly at the edges of his lips.

You nodded, settling in on the couch beside him and pulling your own book up into your lap. You listened to the gentle strokes of the piano carrying softly through the room until a page turned on your left and then, you let yourself sink into the bindings of the book perched upon your lap.

***

“So! What did you think?!”

It was the first thing you said as the final group member exited the room. Barely even a footstep out the door and you were already anxiously awaiting his reaction. Bucky was busy pushing the couch back into its original position and he glanced back at you to see you biting nervously on your lip, hands wringing out in front of you. You were swaying onto your tip toes like a kid hyped up on sugar. It was the cutest damn thing he’d ever seen.

“It was... a little creepy at the end?” Bucky chuckled, glancing down at The Yellow Wallpaper as it sat on the coffee table. “The woman went completely mad.”

You nodded vigorously, the smile on your face beaming and he had to watch himself to keep from mirroring your excitement.

"It’s a critique on how women’s mental health was perceived in the nineteenth century!” you explained with that giddy look on your face, reaching down for the book and flipping the pages through your fingers, the soft brush of wrinkled paper touching over each thumbprint. “Women were believed to be weak minded and frail, unable to handle more than two hours of mental stimulation. The woman in the story was prescribed ‘rest’ by her physician to treat her depression, essentially restricting her to little more than staring at the walls.”

You rolled your eyes, groaning dramatically, and drawing a smile to Bucky’s face that ached into his cheeks. “Slowly, it drove her to seek stimulation in impossible places, like the image of a woman she saw in the wallpaper! By the end of the story, that’s who she became. Wild, right?”

You shook your head, seemingly lost in astonishment. There was a slight crinkle in your nose when you smiled that wide, Bucky realized, like even the features on your face couldn’t hope to contain the joy bursting from your smile. Radiated like the fucking sun. Bucky was helpless in his stance, frozen, as he listened to you.

“You know the author once said, ‘it’s not intended to drive people crazy, but to save people from being driven crazy,’” you continued, setting the book down with such a gentle touch, almost as if it were a living, breathing thing. You handled it with such care and Bucky began to wonder if you’d ever touch him like that – if he was worth such tenderness.

The thought startled him and he quickly swallowed it back. Jaw clenched, right hand pressed to a fist in the pocket of his jacket. Stone cold expression. And yet – you were still talking about that book, all starry eyed and adorable, and a smile managed to crack through his lips. It was his new favorite book, he decided. Whatever could make you smile like that was his favorite. He’d sit there and read the fucking phone book if you asked him to.

“She wrote it in retaliation of her own experience of a physician disregarding her depression. It's actually quite remarkable when you think about it. It's one of the earliest American Feminist works of it’s– ” You froze suddenly, hand clamping over your mouth. You winced at him, slowly pealing your palm away. “Oh God, I’m rambling. I tend to get a little excited about these things... You must be so bored right now.”

Bucky couldn’t help the smile as it rose in his cheeks. He liked seeing you so flustered, caught up in a passion he so rarely saw these days. He didn’t know the last time he cared about anything as much as you cared for books. He could have easily listened to you talk like that for hours without interruption.

“No, no, not bored at all,” he reassured you and you visibly relaxed, relief sweeping through your shoulders. You started to fold up the chairs when Bucky cleared his throat, drawing your attention back. “I, uh, I did like the story, though. Has a lot of relevance today. I see why you like it.”

If he thought you were going to burst before, he should have waited to see how you were looking at him now. Chewing on the inside of your cheek in hopes of suppressing it, though it clearly did little use. You planted your hands on your hips.

“Watch what you say, Barnes. I’ll talk your ear off.”

Bucky shrugged. “I’m already down an arm, what’s an ear, too?”

The second the words left his lips, it felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over his head; drenching his clothes, goosebumps on his ice, sinking into his veins and freezing him to stone. He woken up from a pleasant dream by the harsh ringing of an alarm. He'd been pushed off a cliff, stomach churning in the freefall.

You knew. Obviously, you knew.

You weren’t blind and he was certain you could tell there was a startling absence where his left arm should be, even with the poorly camouflaged sleeve hanging off his side. It wasn’t fooling strangers on the street and it certainly didn’t fool you either, even if it gave him an ounce of peace, like maybe he could pretend he was whole again.

But you’d brought him that book clip for a reason.

You knew.

At yet, this was the first time he mentioned it aloud. Actually said the words. Drew attention to the fact that he was a broken mess of who he used to be and now he was waiting for you to flinch, for the familiar shades of pity and embarrassment to cloud over your starry eyes, but he waited and waited and – it never came.

Instead, you started to laugh.

It filled the room and washed away whatever panic was surging inside of him within a matter of seconds. The most beautiful sound he’d ever heard and he wished you didn’t shield your hand over your lips in an effort to contain it because – God – he could have spent his whole life sitting in that moment. Tears in your eyes, a smile on your face, looking at him like he was the man he was before the war, like he was something worth looking at.

“You’re funny, James Barnes,” you said after you caught your breath again, a whisper of a laugh still lingering in your voice. You brushed the tears from your eyes.

Bucky’s chest felt instantly lighter. His right hand was swinging down at his side and he brought it up to his hair to brush it from his face.

“I could use a new book for next week,” he started, a little surprised at himself, and judging by the look in your eyes, it surprised you too. But you were smiling at him and it gave him the courage to continue. “Thought maybe you could help me find something?”

“Really?” you asked, practically glowing. “You’ll come back next week?”

He’d do anything if you kept looking at him like that.

“Yeah,” was all he said, but you looked as though he told you he’d just told you he won the lottery. Maybe he had.

“Well then, I’d be happy to! Just, um, hold on a second,” you scrambled around the room, looking for a pen and paper. You clicked a pen a few times before doodling in the corner to get the ink moving. When you were finished, you handed it to him. “These are my hours at the library. Come by anytime, okay? If I’m not up front, ask Mrs. Jefferson to page me. She’ll know who you are.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, staring down at the scribbled numbers. Did you talk about him at work? Butterflies swarmed in his stomach at the thought. He wondered what kinds of things you would say about him.

“Walk me out?” you asked, grabbing your coat from the rack and gesturing to the door. Bucky looked up, not even realizing the room was already set back in its original formation, the empty box of donuts discarded.

He nodded, following you to the door.

“You know, I’m really happy you decided to come today,” you said as you passed into the hallway. Bucky kept an even pace at your side and tried not to let the butterflies in his stomach escape to where you could see.

“Almost didn’t,” he admitted with a tired chuckle.

“Figured by the staring contest you were having with the building before the coffee incident.”

Bucky winced, but you were smiling as he looked over at you and he felt the tension slip from his muscles instantly. “I am sorry about that...”

“Maybe you can just owe me a coffee,” you suggested casually, as if the prospect of spending time together, just the two of you didn’t make the butterflies crawl a little further up into his chest. “A real one. Not the shitty stuff we serve at the VA.”

Bucky swallowed, pushing the creatures back into his stomach. His throat was dry. “I can do that.”

He pictured sitting across from you at a café, watching your hands curl around the outside of a mug, the steam of it brushing on your nose. Glistening in the reflection of the sunlight peaking through the windows, draped in the glow of the sunset. He’d buy you a thousand coffees.

“Okay, well, I’ll see you soon then?”

Bucky looked around and realized suddenly that he was standing outside. The cold breeze had turned into a frigid autumn chill with the sun nearly set behind the skyline. Peaks of orange remained at the horizon, mimicking the colors in your sweater. When he looked down, he could still see the stain of coffee on the sidewalk.

“Yeah,” he confirmed, determined to push past whatever doubt etched into his way. It faded in an instant as he saw your lips curve up high into your cheeks. “I’ll see you soon.”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you

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strange-destinations · 3 years ago

Note

You mentioned transcripts of your Doctor Who RPG games. Any chance you might be willing to share them? (only if you want)

Of course! Here's The Big Masterpost of all our transcripts and audio files, updated as often as we play. Feel free to read and/or listen to as many as you want - I like to think I keep it pretty organized. Some things to note:

We pass around the GM crown from person to person, so we can all have a swing at running the game and also all get to play. So that's why our characters sometimes keep getting knocked out at the start of the arc and dragged offscreen, and why the GMing isn't consistent.

The sound editing can be a little hit-and-miss since I'm often speedrunning the editing/transcribing thing, so I apologize in advance if it ever gets funky or unlistenable. That's what the transcripts are for, I guess.

As of posting this, we've just wrapped up our fourth 'serial' and are probably going to kick off a new one next week! So now's a pretty good time to catch up with the story if you're curious.

Other links and content under the cut:

@trailmixtime's Thieves and TARDISes tag has most of our memery, art, and writing-related bonus content saved. (I have a tag for it too, but sometimes I'm a bit hit-and-miss when it comes to saving it all, so!)

I compose music for the campaign and edit it into the audio (along with sound effects and such) when the fancy strikes me. A playlist of all that original music can be found here!

The song used for the 'previously on' recap (and also the Doctor's theme) is this one. It's a banger, lads.

If you ever hear us reference a companion or some events that you are 100% sure are not canonical or even semi-canonical in the DWEU (for example, Millie or Roman) - that may be because we accidentally sort of ended up setting our game post-the Game of Rassilon, that one RPG podcast that I never stop talking about. It's very good, but you really don't need to listen to it to understand what's going on. We're just massive nerds who couldn't help ourselves.

Also, I'm extremely aware that we don't introduce our characters in very much detail in that first adventure, so I have prepared a handy little guide to the party down below (with bonus pictures!):

The Doctor (played by me!) - well, it's the Doctor. She's at a amorphous point in the future, far past anywhere we've seen in the TV series, and is very newly regenerated. In my head played by a Puerto Rican actress (a lot of planets have a Puerto Rico!). Fond of cats cradle, colors, plants. Not fond of eating.

Leela (played by @trailmixtime) - yes, that Leela. Plucked from the start of Gallifrey season one, Leela still has no idea what's happened to her husband. Working for President Romanadvoratrelundar (of course), rarely without a knife or janis thorn or two. K9's with her, also. (Good boy, K9!) Big ol' sweet tooth.

Unit-17, otherwise known as Dissent (played by @liria10) - a hospitality robot from the future gone rogue, Dissent is on a quest to reach the top of the most-wanted list. That's right, it's crime time. Eternally cheerful, just here for fun and chaos and thievery.

Caryophyllene, although we just call them Caryo for short (played by @bird-of-paradox), is a member of a a race of arachnoid psychic warrior spiders who use a scent-based language (the TARDIS is working overtime to translate, but we're managing). They're a semi-professional thief and very good at being sneaky and disruptive. We all love Caryo.

Verity Brown (played by @raindropsonwhiskers) hails from 1840s New York, where the Doctor and the rest of Team TARDIS picked her up. She was a weaver at the Ballston Mill Company until she got swept up in a bit of an adventure, and now she is having a very weird day. Down to fight, especially if said fighting involves asshole Time Lords.

Also, she might be a bit traumatized at this point. But that's all right! We're all traumatized here on the TARDIS! Ha ha haaa. We need therapy.

#Thieves and Tardises #DWRPG #my art #doctor who roleplaying game

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rosesvioletshardy · 4 years ago

Text

mr. perfectly fine - mat barzal

okay first ever fic for Mat and I really hope you all like it. sorry it took so long i've been busy with school and work and the only time i got to work on it was in the middle of the night and it's finally done. sorry that it’s really long i sort of got carried away with it and if it's really bad

i got the idea for the fic after Taylor released the song and i lowkey got some mat vibes on some of the lyrics

(please note this is fiction and just like my nolan “all too well” fic, i don’t think that mat is like this as a person and would not be like this)

masterlist

mat masterlist

warnings: angst, fluff, mainly angst

# of words: 3,550

Being with Mat was something you never thought would happen. From the moment the two of you met the first time to where you currently were it felt like it was all just a dream. He would tell you stupid jokes that would always make you laugh, try to make you breakfast or dinner, if you were upset he’ll start singing off-key while holding you to make you give him a small smile. It wasn’t like that anymore. No more stupid jokes, attempted dinners or breakfast, and off-key singing.

Mr. "Perfect face"

Mr. "Here to stay"

Mr. "Looked me in the eye and told me you would never go away"

Everything was right

Mr. "I've been waitin' for you all my life"

Mr. "Every single day until the end, I will be by your side"

It was the morning. The morning after 1 year of being together. You had everything planned for a nice dinner, a walk back to the apartment before a night of activities. The sunlight was creeping into yours and Mat’s bedroom through the closed curtains as your eyes began to flicker open. Mat was still asleep, his hand lightly touching yours, mouth parted open a bit and his hair now messy as a piece of his face in his face. Everything about him just felt perfect and the moment felt perfect.

“I can feel you staring at me and it’s rude.” he mumbled in his sleep, feeling your eyes on him causing you to giggle as he pulled you in

“Well I’m sorry Mr. Perfect. You just have such a beautiful face, nice features I can’t help but stare.” you told him before giving him a kiss. Pulling away, the two of you stared at each other for a small moment. Nothing but silence between you two before you spoke up again

“What’s going through that head of yours? I can see the gears in your head tuning and overworking.” you said to him while rubbing his hand, trying to calm him down

“Nothing, just thinking about how much I love you. I know we’ve only been dating for a year, but I wanted you to know that I don’t think I could imagine myself anywhere else or with anyone else.” he said before continuing

“I promise you I will never go away. I’m going to be with you every single day, by your side, and how we’ll work out every single one of our problems when we run into them until we’re old and gray. I didn’t think I’d meet someone like you and I’ve waited for it to meet someone like you. I want to be with you until the end when we’re old and gray.” he said

When he said that you could help but kiss him. He wasn’t shocked to say the least but he returned the favor and kissed you back. Pulling away, your foreheads touching as he gave you one last peck. Everything in that moment felt right as he held you in silence

You knew that’s where you should’ve been cautious. Making promises that you can’t keep like the ones he made. The only promises he was capable of making that he fulfilled were protecting you when it came to feeling unsafe at times and coming back home from long roadies. You never suspected anything because you always thought everything would be alright, especially if he was out with Beau or any of his other friends but sometimes they never suspected anything either. You didn’t blame them seeing that you weren’t dating them or anything but it would’ve been nice for them to tell you what happened sometimes. Now you were thinking about everything all over again even though you promised yourself you wouldn’t give into any thoughts of him no matter what and tried to block it all off.

But that was when I got to know Mr. "Change of heart"

Mr. "Leaves me all alone, " I fall apart

It takes everything in me just to get up each day

But it's wonderful to see that you're okay

Your relationship with Mat was odd to say. You both understood that there were days that you needed to be alone even if you wanted to help each other. It was worse with Mat because he would hold everything back most of the time and not tell you what’s going on with him. The worst was when he would get up and leave. It felt like someone had just stabbed you and all you could do was just go lay down and think about every small thought that could make you cry.

Your friends have helped you get over him when you two broke it off, after allowing yourself to wallow and take time for yourself. The hardest was having to wake up in a bed alone without him holding you, his hand on your leg, or your head on his chest.

It’s been 2 weeks since he called it off. 2 weeks since you’ve seen his face that wasn’t on the tv. You knew you had to get over him sometime but every time you saw him or someone had mentioned him, your heart broke all over again. Anthony has tried calling you multiple times to see what happened and why Mat was in a mood during practices and games. You didn’t have the heart to tell him what happened seeing that it should be Mat who does so. You didn’t know whether or not it was worth watching the games and hockey entirely anymore. It annoyed Mat whenever the team and wags asked about you and why you weren’t going to any home games, or why you were never answering any messages they’ve sent. He would simply just ignore them or pretend that he didn’t hear.

“Hey so is Y/N coming to celebrate? We haven’t seen her in a while.”

“Yeah, we miss her.”

“Well she’s busy so you won’t be seeing her anytime soon” Mat finally snapped

Everyone stayed quiet after that and didn’t ask anymore questions as they left to go celebrate. You knew that they would be celebrating due to the fact that they’re one step closer to going to the playoffs. You haven’t done anything other than manage to hide the fact that you got your heart broken and have to force yourself to get out of your bed since those 2 weeks. Your friends have come and checked up on you but they knew that you needed space and will come out on your own.

Hello, Mr. "Perfectly fine"

How's your heart after breakin' mine?

Mr. "Always at the right place at the right time," baby

Hello, Mr. "Casually cruel"

Mr. "Everything revolves around you"

I've been Miss Misery since your goodbye

And you're Mr. "Perfectly fine"

You’d never thought you’d run into him again, especially seeing and remembering his schedule all the time and the routes he takes. It wasn’t your fault you ran into him and it wasn’t his either. Mat had spotted you hiding in between the fruits and vegetables. You had no choice but to face him seeing that you didn’t want to cause a scene by running away and leaving everything. He still looked the same but his hair was a little longer and some stubble of his beard was growing in. Mat couldn’t help but smile at the way you looked. He always thought that you could be wearing a garbage bag and still look beautiful. There wasn’t any between the two of you other than the faint music playing from the speakers

“Hey.” he said with a smile

“Hi.” you answered, voice barely above a whisper and trying to avoid looking at him

“How have you been? It’s been awhile since what happened and I wanted to see how you were” mat asked knowing it was probably a stupid question seeing that he broke your heart

“I’ve been okay. You know always busy with school and work” lie

It wasn’t entirely a full lie seeing you’ve been doing your schoolwork and going but you haven’t been to work since those few weeks

“That’s good”

“How have you been? I heard about your recent win” you asked him wanting to change the subject and quickly finish the conversation

“I’m doing great, and yeah no one suspected that I’d make the goal but you know, guess I was lucky. Just really glad that Nelson was there with the assist to help me out before shooting” he chuckled a bit. He’s been shooting goals and living his dream while you drown in your own misery by listening to your depression playlists on repeat and going back into old habits. Mat could see that you were lying but he didn’t want to say anything. The most he could do was nod and smile knowing how much he hurt you

“That’s good. Always knew that you could make any shot no matter the situation. Always at the right place and the right time.” you smiled trying not to tear up knowing that he’s living his best life at the moment. He smiled back and was about to say something before you both got interrupted by the sound of your phone ringing

“It was nice seeing you again Mat. Hope you win the cup this year.” you tell him while giving a small smile before leaving

Mr. "Never told me why"

Mr. "Never had to see me cry"

Mr. "Insincere apology so he doesn't look like the bad guy"

He goes about his day

Forgets he ever even heard my name

Well, I thought you might be different than the rest, I guess you're all the same

Trying to wrap around everything that happened the day he broke up with you hurt but you had to figure out why he did it. The thing about Mat was that he sometimes would never tell you how he was feeling and you’d have to read off the signals he was giving from his body language and at times he was good at hiding those too. One moment you were getting ready to go out then next you’re at Julie’s crying into her shirt as she rubbed your back.

Taking days off where you just needed to focus on yourself were always needed. The entire day you wouldn’t use your phone, unless it was an emergency, and you would try to treat yourself to a good day. You’ve managed to go to the gym and workout not caring if people were staring at you, you went out for a nice lunch and decided to try something you’ve never had before. It was going well until during your lunch you saw him again. He was by himself and at his stuff with him which meant he must’ve come out of practice. He hasn’t changed much since the grocery store but this time you knew he had a girlfriend. Mat must’ve known you were staring at him because he looked up as soon as you got up to leave and waved you over to join him. It’s not like you hated him with a passion, it’s just you still didn’t feel comfortable or confident enough to ask him why he wanted to break things off.

“Hey Y/N, it’s good to see you again” Mat said with a smile as you sat down

“It’s good to see you too.” you said back to him trying to hide the fake smile

“So how’s everything” you asked him trying to make it less awkward

“Um, before we talk, I just wanted to apologize. I know I wasn’t the best boyfriend when we were together but I’m trying to change. Before you interrupt and say something, save it. I was wrong to hurt you like that”

You didn’t know what to say and sat there shocked. It was hard to tell whether or not he truly meant it due to his body language but you brushed it off and told him it was fine

“Mat, don’t worry you know. It happens. So what is going on? How’s hockey? I see pre-seasons about to start” “Yes it is and I know this season we’re going to make the playoffs and win the cup” He started as you began to zone off. You couldn’t help but realize that he was just like the rest of them; every other guy you’ve dated or even went on one date with.

Cause I hear he's got his arm 'round a brand-new girl

I've been pickin' up my heart, he's been pickin' up her

And I never got past what you put me through

But it's wonderful to see that it never fazed you

Social media was sometimes cruel to you but it wasn’t their fault entirely that people decided to post about their personal lives on there. You haven’t really checked anything in a month thinking it was best to limit social media for your own mental health. Occasionally you would check for any news but otherwise it was for the best to delete them all. It was a good breather. No one has tried contacting you about any celebrity gossip that was happening. You knew your friends would post pictures of you (with your permission of course) but other than that, they completely respected your choice of not posting or liking anything.

You were currently out with some friends for lunch after a long week of being busy and needing a day to each other. They were telling you all about everything that’s going on in their life and were about to show you pictures from their siblings' wedding. When one of them handed you their phone, your finger hit the home button again and took you to the top of the timeline. As soon as it hit the top, you felt your heart stop and drop all the way down to your stomach. It was Mat with his arm around a girl as they both laughed and looked each other in the eyes. You knew he’d move on quickly but you didn’t know exactly when they got together. Julie was the first one to notice your face and took the phone from your hands to see what made you react the way you did. Everyone gathered around before looking back at you and giving you their sympathy. It wasn’t their fault that they still followed him on social media and you had no problem with it, it was what you heard ended up being true.

“Babe, i’m so-”

“No, it's fine. I mean he’s allowed to move on. People don't always move on at the same time and if that’s how quickly he moves on, then that’s okay. You know? I need to focus on myself. That means taking my time to heal whether it ends up being weeks, a month, or a year. I’m taking my own time to find myself. I’ve overheard him talking to someone from when I ran into him and Anthony but it’s nothing now.” you let out all in one breath as your friends sat there in silence as you handed them their phone back.

The rest of the lunch no one bothered to open their phone unless it was their work, family, etc. they kept glancing at you throughout the entire lunch to see if they were able to read your face and how you were really feeling but they couldn’t get anything. It did hurt to see him with someone new but as you said you need to pick up your heart. The thing was you couldn’t. You remembered everything from that night and at times it’ll haunt you in your dreams, everything feeling real and having to constantly relive your heartbreaking over and over again.

So dignified in your well-pressed suit

So strategized, all the eyes on you

Sashay your way to your seat

It's the best seat, in the best room

Oh, he's so smug, Mr. "Always wins"

So far above me in every sense

So far above feeling anything

As you came out of the hotel bathroom ready for the night, you saw Mat standing in the mirror fixing his tie. It was the night of the NHL awards where he was nominated for the Calder Rookie of the Year award. You stood there for a while admiring him as he caught your eyes in the mirror.

“You know, instead of standing there and admiring your hot boyfriend, you can help me fix this.”

“Who says I can’t do both?” you asked walking over to him and making sure that his tie was straightened and not crooked

“I’m proud of you. You deserve this award so much.”

“By the way, Tito is also coming but since he didn’t know if you agreed or not, he’s also my date.” he said holding your waist and pulling you in to kiss you to distract you

“Mmm okay. At this point I’m not shocked. Now c’mon, your family and your “date” are waiting for you in the lobby.” you told him while taking his hands off your waist and grabbing one of them to drag him to the awards before he made you both late

The awards were going by smoothly and Mat wasn’t joking when he said that Anthony was going to be there as they pretended to take pictures the way you and Mat would. You didn’t mind it though because you knew what their friendship meant to each other and knew Mat would do the same if Anthony were ever to be nominated for something this big. During his speech, he was trying not to sound smug and let his ego show, especially only being a rookie and having his whole life ahead of him within the NHL. You couldn’t help but admire the way he talked and how he stood up there from a seat that you didn’t realize how good they were until he was up there. When he came back, the smile didn’t leave his face for the rest of the night. It was another win in his book but he didn’t want to be smug about it even if you knew.

And it's really such a shame

It's such a shame

'Cause I was Miss "Here to stay"

Now I'm Miss "Gonna be alright someday"

And someday maybe you'll miss me

But by then, you'll be Mr. "Too late"

The first person who was there for you after the break up was Julie. Your best friend who you told everything to. She knew something was wrong as soon as you were at her doorstep in the middle of the night. Julie knew something was wrong with Mat a few months before the breakup but she didn’t want to say anything to make you upset but you knew she was right and you ignored all the signs. She supported you with every decision you made afterwards and thought you were right to take time to focus on yourself before getting into another relationship. The moment you told her you were seeing some she was happy that you were moving on and told her that you were going to be okay. You were happy that you’ve got to notice what you really needed and that your life didn’t always need to revolve around a man. Mat has tried to get into contact with Julie and apologize but he was late to it. You’ve moved on from him and he needed to know.

Goodbye, Mr. "Perfectly fine"

How's your heart after breakin' mine?

Mr. "Always at the right place at the right time," baby

Goodbye, Mr. "Casually cruel"

Mr. "Everything revolves around you"

I've been Miss Misery for the last time

And you're Mr. "Perfectly fine"

“How do you feel?” Julie asked as you looked in the mirror for the last time

“Honestly? I still feel upset but it’s time to move on and go ahead with my life. He’s no longer dating me and I’ve accepted it but I’ve met someone new and he’s all that’s on my mind” you told her with smile on your face while turning to face her

“I’m proud of you. You’ve been Miss Misery for the last time and now you’ve grown up.” Julie faked cried but still feeling proud

“I feel like it too. He’s moved on and his heart doesn’t seem to be broken and mine is on the mend and forgetting about him. I just know that he’s perfectly fine the way he is and I don’t need it anymore. I felt like being with him, I was always in the shadows and I know he’s a professional hockey player, but I felt like there was just never time for “just us” like it always felt like it only revolved around him and I didn’t need that anymore.” you smiled while letting out a deep breath.

You're perfectly fine

Mr. "Look me in the eye and told me you would never go away"

You said you'd never go away

He promised and he always told himself he’ll keep the promise of never going away and fulfill it someday. Sometimes when you meet someone that’s what you think, but sometimes it never does and they break your heart in the end

#mat barzal #mathew barzal #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal imagines #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal fic #mat barzal blurb #mathew barzal imagine #mathew barzal x reader #mat barzal angst #mat barzal fanfic #mat barzal fanfiction #new york islanders #new york isles #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #nhl x reader #nhl

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thebiggestfan1 · 3 years ago

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Are you in town? - Matthew Tkachuk (part 3)

part one here

part two here

This is the last part of this mini-series and I hope you enjoyed it! Requests are open btw, so don’t be afraid to ask for an imagine with any NHL player :))

Word count: 1464 words

TW: mentions of sex, language

...

The thing that woke you up was the bright light shining through the windows.

Shit. What time was it? You probably should have been already working - for hours.

As you looked around yourself, you started realizing this wasn’t your apartment. Everything here looked so blank and expensive and then you remembered that-

That you kisssed Matthew while he was drunk. That you fucked Matthew while he was drunk.

You groaned silently, still too sleepy to actually cry. What had you done?

You thought you were okay with staying just friends. But here I am, you thought to yourself as you climbed out of the bed.

Your body felt sore and relaxed at the same time. It was a long time since you slept with someone and actually enjoyed it like this. And even though you should be ashamed of yourself, you let yourself enjoy that feeling.

Just then you realized that the other side of Matt’s huge bed was already empty and cold. There was no sign of him in the living room or in the kitchen - he probably left a long time ago, maybe already preparing for his upcoming game.

But the smell of him lingered on the sheets like a distant memory, bringing back the thoughts of yesterday's events. His hot skin touching yours, his warm breath caressing your breasts...

Shit.

Just... shit.

And so you put on your yesterday’s clothes, write a quick note for Matt and leave his apartment without looking back.

...

It’s been two weeks since you woke up at Matthew’s apartment. Since then, you ignored his calls and texts, pretended you weren’t home when he knocked on your door and worked overtime when he waited for you at the reception.

Yes - it’s not ideal but it worked for 14 whole days. And it gave you some time to think.

As you were leaving your office, thinking only about going to bed, you realized you didn’t check if Matt was waiting for you - but too late. A hand gripped lightly your elbow, making you halt in your tracks.

“Y/N, why the fuck are you avoiding me?”

He sounded a bit angry but mostly tired and hurt. He looked tired, too - those were dark circles under his beautiful eyes.

And you just stood there, trying to come up with a good enough excuse.

Because we fucked, Matthew, you wanted to say. Because I love you and I’m afraid you’re gonna break my heart. Because I don’t want to lose you or our friendship. But wouldn’t avoiding him for a few more weeks destroy your friendship as well?

“You can’t- you can’t just leave, Y/N. What happened happened and if you want to, we can ignore it but you can’t just keep walking around it. You can’t just leave like I did all those years ago. And I’m so so sorry I did so and it’s totally my fault if you feel like I might do that again but you have to trust me that I have no reason to do so.”

Matthew looked... scared. Was it because he was afraid you’d leave him behind? Afraid of tasting his own medicine?

You still didn’t know what to say. You wanted to believe all he was saying but the memory of you crying when he abandoned you was still playing in your head. He did so just because of some stupid promise he told nobody about. What’s stopping him from doing so again?

“I panicked when I came back home that morning - I went shopping because I had no food at the apartment and I wanted to make you a perfect breakfast. And when I came back, you were gone and all you left behind was a note with only one word on it - goodbye. So yeah, I panicked. Of course I panicked. And I know I’m the reason you did it but I have no idea how to make things right. I don’t know how to make you trust me like you once did...” Matthew tugged at his curls, his hair all messy. He let out a sigh, trying to avoid your searching gaze.

"Matt-" you stopped your arm from touching his hair even though you wanted to comfort him so badly. It'd be so easy to let yourself trust him. Too easy; and that scared you more than anything. "I need time. Just- just take me out for dinner or something. We'll take things slowly and then we'll see how that turns out."

He looked at you as you spoke, watching the shape of your lips while nodding slowly. A small smile formed on Matt's lips and he tucked a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. Your cheeks went red a bit as you realized he'd do whatever you needed and won't ever ask for more than you're prepared to give him. The night two weeks ago wasn't your fault; it was yours. Matthew was drunk and never forced you to do what you did. It was you who ruined things.

"Do you have time right now?"

"Yeah, I guess." you answered, smiling up at him.

"Then I'll take you out for dinner."

Hand in hand, you realized it'd be so easy to get used to the feeling of butterflies in your stomach.

...

A month later, Matt took you to a lunch with his family. It was a long time since you've seen any of his siblings so you were super excited - but also super nervous.

You two took things really slow. Matt took you out every day if he had the time and hasn't even kissed you once. Sometimes, you wanted him to do so. Sometimes, it was the only thing you could think of.

The nostalgia hit you as soon as you saw Chesterfield again. You closed your eyes, already knowing where would the car turn on the road. You kind of missed this city - it reminded you of your childhood and of Matthew.

He was sitting next to you, driving the car, one hand on the steering wheel and the second on your thigh, drawing cirles on your jeans.

"Do they remember me?" you asked, your eyes still closed.

"Of course they remember you," Matt murmured and sang a few lines of the song playing on the radio - your song, one from the playlist on the USB that was hidden for years in the time capsule.

After Matt got drafted, you stopped talking to his family. You were mad at all of them even though it was a stupid thing to do. But now as an adult, things would be different. Yeah, you probably could be mad at Matt's dad for all the things Matt wrote you in that letter but... He only wanted his son to be happy - you'd probably do the same.

So, when the car stopped, you got out and greeted his family as nicely as you could. It took you some time to recognise Taryn as she hugged you, because last time you saw her, she was just a kid. And now... She and Brady were both adults.

"Nice to meet you again, Y/N," said their mom, Chantal as you shoot hands. Her husband smiled at you from the table where all of them were already seated and Matthew wrapped one arm around your waist as he pushed back the chair for you.

Everyone talked, laughed and enjoyed the autumn day with bright smiles on their faces. None of them seemed to mind your presence and you felt like a part of this happy family.

Halfway through the lunch, Matt pushed his chair closer to you as he whispered into your ear:

"What are you thinking about?"

You looked at him, at his bright eyes and eased smile. At the way he touched your hand and tucked your hair behind your ear. And you realized how much he cared for you and that there was nothing that could keep you two apart this time.

No more tiptoeing. No more 'taking things slow'.

"I'm thinking about how I trust you more than I trusted anyone in my life. I'm thinking about how I love you more than I loved anyone in my life."

His smile was the most beautiful thing you have ever seen. It was full of love and care and you didn't realized you were crying until Matt wiped the tears off your cheeks.

"You want to know what I'm thinking about?"

You simply nodded.

"I'm thinking about our future and about how happy you make me, Y/N. I'm thinking about how lucky I am that I can call you mine. I love you so much, Y/N." he whispered, taking one of your hand in his and intertwining your fingers.

"I love you too, Matt. And I promise I will never say goodbye to you."

#Matthew Tkachuk #hockey imagines #matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk oneshot #matt tkachuk #matty tkachuk #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl one shot #calgary flames #calgary flames imagine #brady tkachuk #Hockey Fanfiction #hockey fic #Hockey Players #hockey

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chosonore · 4 years ago

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part three | epiphany

epiphany [noun. a moment when you suddenly feel that you understand, or suddenly become conscious of, something that is very important to you ]

pairing: kamo noritoshi/f!reader

summary: your relationship with noritoshi was like a game of cat and mouse; no matter how hard you tried to escape from him, he would always find his way back to you.

wordcount: 9.1k

content/warnings: friends to enemies to lovers, language, angst, smut!!!!, dom!noritoshi, noritoshi is mean, oral sex, fingering, begging, edging, biting? (he gives u a bite like once), dry humping, riding, lowercase intended [UNEDITED]

a/n: i... will not comment on this. lmfao i can’t believe i wrote all of this filth. please have mercy on me, this is the first time i’ve every written smut and i’m not really good at it fhuewhiu (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄) i think this is the angstiest chapter by far but i promise, no more from the next chapter on! i hope you enjoy (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ will also add the series playlist to the masterpost so check it out if you wanna!

previous - masterlist - next

noritoshi watched as you angrily stormed out of the room, slamming the door forcefully. he leaned back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. now you've gone and done it. the words came out harsh and hurtful, force of habit deeply engraved into his brain. never was it his intention to hurt you so deeply, to push you away. but it was the only way to protect you from his family. noritoshi was well aware that he was a mere pawn in the stupid game that the clans were playing. he was the golden child, only accepted into the family because of his cursed technique. the cruelty he experienced was something he would never forget. he seeked revenge, for his mother and himself. but this was his own problem to handle, not wanting to drag his mother or you into this mess.

for years, noritoshi had suffered quietly, his only motivation being the protection of his mother and you. rarely did he ever show any emotion, nor did he know many to begin with - but he knew he loved you. his suppressed adoration brought out ugly facettes of his personality: jealousy, frustration, anger. if his family ever caught wind of how much he loved and cherished you, it'd be the end for the both of you. he didn't doubt that they'd already arranged a partner for him to marry. noritoshi hated how they held onto traditions that had no place in this time any more. how they still engaged in these petty clan fights when now it was most crucial to stick together. he swore to himself, as soon as he would become clan head, everything was going to change. but until then, he had to get through this.

how much longer he could deal with this, he wasn't sure. it did bother him that you got so much attention from everyone else; it irked him even more to see that you flirted back sometimes, completely unaware of the effect you had on them. his heart yearned to be yours. as much as he didn't want to be selfish, he couldn't help but indulge. noritoshi still felt your lips on his, your smooth skin, how pliable you were in his arms and how you gave in, into him. was it unfair of him? he supposed so. if he ever got the chance to explain the entire issue to you, he would have to beg for your forgiveness, undoubtedly.

summer rolled around faster than you’d anticipated - it meant that you could finally get some room to breathe and just do nothing for a while. the third years had graduated a week prior, making you feel a little sad and wistful. you’d miss todo a lot now that he left the school but made him promise that he would drop by whenever possible. noritoshi however- you hadn’t spoken a word to him ever since that incident. it was frosty between the two of you, even the teachers had noticed and tried to not let you close to each other. while you hadn’t thought about him in a while, sometimes the thoughts were creeping up on you. some type of closure would have left you feel more at ease but having talked to your mum about the issue, it helped you move on. regardless of how he had made you feel, you would live your life for yourself now.

summer break was long and you didn’t have anything in particular planned - the two main events were your summer vacation with miwa as well as your training camp at tokyo tech. the spring tournament also had its good sides, you guessed, you were able to ask shoko and gojo to teach you over the summer. having witnessed shoko’s healing abilities first hand, you were hellbent to become as good as her. never again would you feel anxious and useless about your skills, you would become an excellent on field healer. you were looking forward to spending time with everyone there as well, especially since yuta was coming home for the summer break. you couldn’t shake the little crush you had on him, it creeped up on you whenever you talked on the phone or texted each other. subconsciously, you hoped that something would bloom out of it but hope was a fickle thing that could quickly turn into misery.

before you left for tokyo, you decided to visit your parents at the kamo estate, hoping that you wouldn’t run into noritoshi on your way there. as far as you knew, he was busy on missions, rarely ever coming home. you greeted the guard at the front entrance, making your way to your family’s little house near the outskirts of the estate. despite the uncomfortable atmosphere that was surrounding the entire estate, you still couldn’t help but fall in love with the gardens and sculptures over and over again. you couldn’t lie, growing up here was wonderful. deciding to make a little detour to the koi pond, you skipped towards the arch bridge. below you, the fish were happily swimming around, glimmering in all kinds of colours. you peered at them, leaning against the railing. as a child, you always liked to dip your feet into the water on hot summer days, promptly earning a disapproving glare from your mum. you always ignored her though, claiming that she couldn’t stop you from getting some kind of refreshment.

as you watched the koi and took in your surroundings, footsteps made you halt in your musings. one of the kamo elders must have gone on a stroll around the gardens; you whirled around to greet the person. your throat grew dry and constricted when you saw noritoshi walking towards you, looking so casual and carefree in his loosely tied yukata. should you greet him? after all, this place was his in some way. but your friendship (could you even call it friendship?) ended on a bad note, did you really owe it to him? neither of you made a sound until he stood next to you, leaning against the railing. you tried your best not to look at him and focused on the pond below you, staring so intensely that you thought you might have lasered some holes in the surface beneath you.

how much longer would you stand here? could you just leave? but then, wouldn’t it be even more awkward? not that you cared anyways. you hadn’t talked to each other in months. as you pushed away from the railing, noritoshi cleared his voice and turned his body towards you.

“y/n.”

you froze in your steps, looking at him like a deer in headlights. behind you, the wind was rustling up the leaves, adding to the tense and awkward atmosphere. you tried not to scream at him in frustration - it would only end up in yet another fight. yet, noritoshi looked strangely vulnerable in this state, seemingly not knowing what to say to you either. it appeared he simply spoke to you without considering how to further the conversation. he looked like he wanted to reach out to you but simply didn’t know how. you couldn’t fall for this - it had happened before.

“how have you been? i heard you’re going to tokyo tech for training,” he started after a moment of hesitation and gave you a wry smile. huh? you were confused. why was he asking you about this now? it was because of megumi and yuta, wasn’t it.

“it’s… it’s none of your business,” you said with a strained voice. even though you felt uncomfortable with his presence around you, you couldn’t take a step away from him. perhaps you were hoping for an explanation from his side. perhaps you were just relieved to see he was okay, after all the missions he’d already been sent on. “i don’t see how i owe you an answer after… everything that happened between us.”

noritoshi stayed silent, balling up his fists. “you’re right. i’m sorry,” he mumbled, hiding his hands in the sleeves of his yukata embarrassed. “i… i want to explain myself. at least as much as i can tell you and if you’re okay with it. can we move it somewhere more private? i don’t want any of the elders seeing us.”

you hesitated. on one hand, noritoshi sounded sincere but your history spoke for itself. and yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to deny him. like a moth to flames, you were always drawn to him. like the center of your universe, everything revolved around him. curiosity got the better of you, nodding before you could stop yourself. noritoshi let out a sigh in relief, stepping towards a more secluded area on the estate, one that you were very familiar with. as children, you used to spend time there a lot, hidden from your parents eyes and without any care in the world. the little corner was surrounded by tall cherry trees, adorned with smaller bushes and a little bench underneath the tree crowns. as noritoshi made his way there, he glanced behind him, making sure that you wouldn’t just leave him and vanish. true to your word, however, you trudged behind him and kept your distance. not once did you look him in the eyes, avoiding his gaze altogether. you were afraid it would make you weak in your resolve, walls crumbling and falling apart like paper mâché.

arriving at the bench, the two of you sat far apart, mirroring the distance between your hearts. you reminisced the old times, the memories making you queasy. whenever you spent time here as children, you would sit close to each other and read books together or just told each other stories. all that’s left was bitterness, heavy and suffocating on your tongue. “what is it that you wanted to tell me?” you questioned him, folding your hands on your lap. you were clenching your hands hard to keep them from trembling, not wanting to show him any weakness.

noritoshi was questioning his own resolve - he shouldn’t tell you anything, should’ve stayed away from you. the yearning was too strong; it was one of the few times he would ever get to see you again before being sent to yet another mission. noritoshi wanted to be selfish, to savour your presence until he was satisfied. maybe you would understand, at least a little bit. he didn’t expect you to forgive him, nor did he think you would let him crawl back into your space. but being close to you was enough.

“i know no amount of apologizing is going to make this better or even take the pain you’ve felt from my treatment but i want you to know that i’m really sorry. you didn’t deserve that whatsoever. i can’t tell you the exact reason why but- but i don’t want to leave you in the unknown any longer,” noritoshi recited his reasons so fast that you almost weren’t able to follow. with each word, your confusion visibly grew. but instead of feeling anger, as you should have, your heart grew heavier with disappointment. his confession was somewhat of closure but not quite. why couldn’t he tell you the reason? was it really so important? important enough to hurt you? you couldn’t understand and you didn’t want to.

“i don’t understand. why can’t you tell me? in case you didn’t realize yourself, this entire thing makes no sense. i don’t understand why you suddenly started hating me. we were close friends, we grew up together. are you telling me you never felt that way? that you weren’t and still aren’t able to trust me with this… reason? and why would you dump this onto me now? i would’ve been content not knowing anything at all,” you vented frustrated, sending him a glare. noritoshi was taken back by your outburst, gnawing at his bottom lip as he looked at you guiltily.

“i… fuck, i don’t know how to explain this without giving away too much, okay? i know it’s stupid but it’s complicated and i don’t want to drag you into this. i trust you, more than i trust anyone but this wasn’t… it wasn’t because i didn’t trust you,” noritoshi took a deep breath. “my entire goal was to protect you by keeping you away from me. and yeah, that was the only way.”

“but why-”

“now that i’ve left school, i’ll most likely be traveling a lot… i won’t be able to see you, let alone keep my eyes on you to make sure you’re okay. i just wanted to be fucking selfish for once, just needed to see you again. you don’t want to see me, i get it. i’ve been nothing but cruel to you and i don't expect you to ever forgive me. but i promise i'll make it up to you."

"noritoshi," you clenched your jaw, brows furrowed as you leaned over, jabbing your finger at his chest. "i don't want to play this game of cat and mouse with you. let's just stay away from each other, okay? nothing good comes out of it anyways. either you want me by your side or you don't, easy as that. you don't get to decide when to get back into my life just because you feel like it."

you just couldn't show him how hurt you were. whatever opening you would reveal, noritoshi would use it against you. he had always been and will always remain your weak point. you made peace with the fact that he was your first love but would probably not be your last. a dam broke inside you as you felt the warmth of his chest, memories flooding your senses. that day was long forgotten, exiled out of your memories until now. there was never a moment that allowed you to reflect on it. you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to it and his confession had confirmed the suspicions. noritoshi wasn't the type to engage with people he strongly disliked, much less be intimate with them. there was more to it that he simply refused to disclose to you. you had to put an end to this endless circle - a clean cut until the two of you were ready to face each other again.

taking a deep breath, you withdrew your hand and clutched it to your chest. "this isn't going to work out the way it is. you keep pulling and pushing, without giving me an explanation and- and i'm tired of it. i'm tired of getting hurt. i used to like you a lot, i had a crush on you-"

"you what?" noritoshi visibly paled, unnoticeably inching closer to you. he never realized.

"-and i kept hoping that one day you would return the feelings. i'm a fool, for thinking we could ever get anywhere," you smiled bitterly, slowly getting up from the bench. "let's go back to being enemies, okay? pretend this never happened. it's obvious we need to grow as people, independently from each other. maybe it's good that we'll go separate ways… if fate wants it, we'll find back to each other. and hopefully by then, you'll have a good explanation."

conflicted, you didn’t take another step, staring down at him. he looked small and meek as he sat there with his usually broad frame hunched over and kept his eyes on the grass below him, fiddling with his fingers. as if sensing your gaze on him, noritoshi tilted his head to look at you. his mind was elsewhere, far far away. he didn't realize he was staring at you with blank eyes until you came closer and leaned down concerned. you were so close to him, he could almost feel your breath fanning across his skin. you liked him. noritoshi fucked up, majorly, and he felt like everything was slipping from his fingers. his carefully constructed walls, the mask he kept on at all times and the unwavering resolve to push through until he'd become the head of the clan, they all came crumbling down when you announced that you would leave for an indefinite amount of time.

"don't leave," the words came out like a whisper, barely audible in the chimes of the wind. your eyes widened ever so slightly at his words, heart clenching at the sight of such a vulerable noritoshi - a reflection of your 'toshi. he reached out to you, hesitantly glasping your hand in a weak grip. as if he was afraid, prepared even, that you would go anyways. "please," he pleaded a second later, intertwining your fingers with his. like the wings of a hummingbird, your heart was fastly beating at this display of intimacy. it made you feel warm and cold at the same time, filling you with dread and the looming fear of consequences.

but what would he do if his last source of hope would leave him? ever since his mum left, he sparsely had contact with her until the contact eventually ceased to be. never did she reach out to him or react to his attempts to rekindle the relationship. throughout his adolescent years he had lonely, the guilt gnawing at his conscience. if only he could be stronger, more resilient. stand up to the elders and stand tall and proud, being nobody else but him. you gave him hope, that he could someday return to you, even if it remained a simple friendship. a beacon of light would always be one as there was always light at the end of the tunnel. panic filled his head as he realized that you would abandon him and this time it would be final.

"i'm sorry, i'm sorry," noritoshi mumbled in a begging tone and slowly drew you closer, until you stood between his legs. his face was basked in the evening light, accentuating all the features you liked about him. his kind, steel blue eyes that harboured depths of emotion and mystery like a restless ocean. his long hair that flowed with the wind, not being wrapped up in the bindings for once. the wisps of hair that framed his slim face. it was an unusual sight, making your heart clench in melancholy. he looked so innocent like this, the gentleness in his facial expressions more visible now. as if feeling your resolve slipping away, he took the opportunity to wrap his arms around your waist and pressed his face in your chest, exhaling shakily and slowly. you let him, gently petting his hair.

underneath his breath, noritoshi murmured something. his voice was muffled in the fabric, making it difficult to understand what he was saying. you made a confused sound, leaning down slightly to better listen to him. not expecting him to move as well, you suddenly found yourself face to face with him and much closer than before. "i love you," he breathed out, pressing his lips against yours in a fluid motion. they felt scalding against yours, as if reminding you to stay away and yet soft, inviting you back in. finally gasping for air, you pulled away, fingers coming up to touch your tingling lips. noritoshi gave you a hopeful look, fingers dancing across the expanse of your back.

slowly, you backed away from him, avoiding his glance. you were in shock, not being able to process his confession. the entire confrontation had quickly escalated and you weren't able to follow. though the words made your heart clench, you couldn't help but feel like they were empty words. empty, simply thrown into the mix to elicit some kind of reaction from you. "i'm sorry, noritoshi. i- i can't return this, nor do i… i don't feel like i can believe you," you told him with a heavy heart. he opened his mouth, about to retort something when you cut him off. "please just let us move on from this, okay? i- i'll leave now." you sprinted away from him, tears stinging in your eyes. how could words that you've always wanted to hear hurt this much? how dare he play with your emotions like this, using your weakness to his advantage. he wasn't serious, and you were sure of it. there was no way in hell, after all those years that he'd spent being a menacing asshole.

love was a fickle thing but what was it between noritoshi and you? treading the line between love and hate, tilting more towards the other but not quite. never far apart and connected to each other like an invisible thread of fate was intertwined between you. it wasn't love and it wasn't hate but everything in between.

you stared at the piece of paper in your hands, mildly offended. how dare gojo? why would he do this to you? yeah right, because he liked to see you suffer. and he wasn't even here to get an earful from you. clenching your teeth, you tossed the note on your table and moved towards your closet to pack. it was no use complaining about it, in the end the mission had to be accomplished either way. years you'd gotten away with rarely ever meeting noritoshi. the sorcerer community wasn't big to begin with but with skill and determination, you were able to dodge every encounter. the handful of times you met, he always kept his distance though you always felt his watching eyes on you. megumi had told you that noritoshi was to become clan head soon - the elders had finally given in and the handover would be taking place soon.

apparently noritoshi had proven himself to them, both in strength and leadership skills. even you had taken notice of this. you'd only caught a brief glimpse at him at the last gathering but could tell that he had matured, exuding an authoritative and strong aura. but you had grown as well, no longer the meek girl you had been. you were more confident in your skills now thanks to your diligent training with shoko and yuta. moments of insecurity rarely entered your mind anymore. the relationship, or rather lack thereof, between you was rather frosty now, merely limited to an awkward greeting or a simple nod. the tension was palpable, no one wanted to come in the line of fire. for the most part, people had left you alone and not dared asking about the issue, not even your own mum. but of course, gojo then had to enter and send you on this stupid mission that apparently had to be done in pairs. you would’ve been fine with anyone but noritoshi.

it was a rather unpleasant curse that you had to deal with, gojo told you that it required two people to keep it in check. though you didn’t understand his reasoning, seeing as noritoshi was a grade one sorcerer now. gojo had simply left you a note on your door after he left for his own business (pure cowardice, in your opinion). the note let you know that you would be staying overnight, gojo had already booked a hotel room for you and gave you instructions for the report that you had to fill out later. you were to meet up with noritoshi at the hotel before then heading out to investigate, work out a strategy before attacking. you sighed, tossing the bag near the door before crawling in your bed. how would you face him again, for an extended period of time, after all those years of silence? it was best to just get it over and done with, efficiently and quickly. depending on how fast you were, you might even be able to catch the last train home. you couldn’t sleep, feeling restless and anxious about the entire situation. still, you closed your eyes, trying to get your mind to rest. but all that floated around in your brain was the sound of rustling leaves, accompanied with soft lips on yours.

coincidentally, noritoshi was already in the city the curse was situated at, deciding to then check into the hotel first before you’d meet up. he would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous - he didn’t know how to navigate the entire mission with minimal communication. he knew you didn’t want to talk to him, choosing to give him curt and snappy responses instead. cooperating was out of question, you disliked his presence and he could feel it. seeing that gojo had coordinated this (instead of doing the mission himself, like he was supposed to), noritoshi didn't expect anything to go well. weeks prior, gojo had pestered him about the title that was bestowed upon him. "so what's your first deed as the kamo clan head?" he had questioned noritoshi, grinning from ear to ear. noritoshi had shrugged and simply told him that he would go about his day. there were no plans, not yet at least. "so you're not gonna go and woo your lady?" this all knowing idiot. just thinking about it made his blood boil again.

noritoshi’s patience was already wearing thin upon seeing that gojo had booked one room for the two of you. with one bed only. he swore that gojo's secret skill was to give everyone headaches. complaining was useless, the hotel couldn't give him another room as everything was booked out due to it being the summer holidays. they'd deal with it somehow, even if he would have to sleep on the floor. noritoshi was placing his bag and outerwear in the closet when the door clicked, signaling that you'd arrived. for a brief moment, your eyes met but as soon as they did, your eyes had flitted somewhere else. you placed your bag on a nearby chair, rummaging in it until you found your sword and other supplies that you would be taking with you.

noritoshi remained silent, not wanting to upset you. he waited until you were ready to go, soundlessly following you. it was awkward but expected. at first, he was somewhat able to tell what you were looking for and gave you pointers in the right direction. it seemed to irritate you and you started venturing off on your own, simply leaving him behind. it frustrated him, after all you had a job to be done and needed to be as careful as possible. as a result of your uncooperativeness, it took longer than usual to map out a strategy. even longer because you refused to follow his suggestions and rather made up your own, knowing full well that they weren't as efficient.

the aftermath was… rather unpleasant. while there were no casualties, the two of you looked absolutely filthy and were in need of a good shower. noritoshi was angry, he didn't want to blame you but the entire situation got incredibly messy because of your stubborn head. hadn't you attacked him on your own, he would've been able to get rid of the curse swiftly. you'd snapped at him, asking him what his problem was. after all, the mission was finished and over with. involuntarily, noritoshi had to snort. you came back to the hotel late, far past midnight and still, you had the nerve to nag on him the entire way there. he'd let you use the shower first before hopping in himself. without a word you left the hotel room to grab yourself some snacks, stomach growling in protest.

noritoshi was seldom petty; as he put his robe on and entered the room, discovering that you hadn't come back yet, he promptly decided to give you a taste of your own medicine and stubbornly take the bed. what would you do about it now? he was peacefully reading a book in the dim lighting of the room when you came back. you almost dropped the snacks that you grabbed, narrowing your eyes at him. noritoshi ignored you, turning another page in the book unbothered. huffing in annoyance, you stomped over to the other side of the bed. noritoshi continued to ignore you.

"i'm not sharing a bed with you," you stated, crossing your arms in defiance. you didn't have any other solution but you were not going down without a fight.

noritoshi just narrowed his eyes at you and replied equally annoyed: "childish much, huh? just put some pillows between us if it bothers you that much. we're adults, for fuck's sake. and we've shared beds before, so i don't know what your problem is."

at this point you were fuming, you'd rather sleep on the floor than go anywhere near him. you wanted to wipe that stupid look off his face because you knew he was right and he knew it too. you were being childish and you couldn't deny it. there was no real reason to the quarrel, you wanted to be as insufferable as possible.

"it's different now!" you hissed indignantly. noritoshi looks at you incredulously, not getting your point. "you're a man now and- and it makes me uncomfortable!"

truthfully, it was more the fact that you were painfully aware of his presence now. noritoshi hadn't noticed but your feelings came crashing back in, filling the entirety of your being with yearning. each and every time he came too close, you dashed and didn't give him the opportunity to look at your face. the pained expression on your face was obvious, you weren't able to hide it. despite the hostility, you couldn't help but care. no matter how much you denied it, you would always habour feelings for him and were very much attracted to him.

"that's why i told you to put pillows between us??"

okay, that's it. "i can't stand being anywhere near you! you're a prick and i hate you," you snarled at him. to seal the deal, you hurled one of the pillows at him and watched triumphantly as it hit his chest. the angry look in noritoshi's eyes, however, told you that you fucked up. gritting his teeth, he tossed his book aside and lunged to grab you. you squeaked in surprise and wiggled out of his grasp, wrestling out of his arms until you stumbled and awkwardly landed on the bed, beside him. noritoshi keeps a tight grip on you, glaring down at you. now you've really crossed the line.

all confidence left your body when he hissed: "what. is. your. problem." you fucked up, royally. once noritoshi was mad, you were in for a ride. it was best to keep him in good spirits, appease him a little so he would ease up. you scrambled panicky and tried to apologize, pathetically wiggling in his arms.

"i'm sorry, i'm sorry! i didn't mean it, please let me go!"

noritoshi kept a steel grip on you, moving between your legs and pinning your hands to the mattress. his face inched closer, you could feel his breath fanning across your neck. you stayed still, breath hitched as you waited for his next move. noritoshi's voice was raspy, lilting with an emotion that you couldn't decipher. "you're being a brat, y/n. look at yourself, you've hurt me… tsk, how are you going to make it up to me?"

you couldn't tell whether he was joking or genuinely hurt - your intuition told you that he was simply playing with you as payback. no matter how far away you strayed, you always seemed to find yourself back in this position. he was hypnotizing, alluring even. not giving him a reply, you stared at the ceiling, frozen in thought. while you'd been intimate on more than one occasion, noritoshi had never acted this way. so… possessive and strict, the tone in his voice told you that he wasn't up for any more quarreling. you were at a loss for words.

noritoshi, not being happy with not receiving an answer, decided to take matters in his own hands. he nipped at your neck playfully, making you yelp in surprise before pressing kisses against your neck. your skin was tingling, shots of electricity moving up your spine. when there was no objection on your end, noritoshi took it was an okay to continue. hands squeezing yours, he resumes his work, giving you soft and almost unnoticeable kisses. other times, he was pressing harder, sucking your skin gently. you wondered whether he left some marks - delirious on pleasure, your mind focused back on him.desire overtook you, no longer was your rationality at the forefront. in the depths of your heart, an emotion that rarely made an appearance emerged. it was flooding your senses, your conscious and mind, begging you to give in.

by the time noritoshi reached your lips, you were writhing. you expected him to kiss you but then he stopped, making you involuntarily whimper. you wanted more, wanted to savour it. a small smile found its way onto his lips as he brushed your hair back and cupped your chin, making you look at him.

and you swore that he knew, he just had to know what a mess he's already made of you in such a short amount of time as he asked, "what's wrong hm? what do you need, baby?" you fell for it, hook line and sinker. you thought to yourself, fuck it, the opportunity was right there. he may be an insufferable dick and you might fight more than you get along but the opportunity was there and god, did you want to be selfish. for just one night, you wanted to be his. you leaned up to kiss him but noritoshi pulled back, clicking his tongue, repeating again and this time more firmly, "what do you need?"

you couldn't help but stare at him, how his slightly damp hair framed his face, his chest that was exposed by the loosely tied bathrobe and how it revealed parts of his thigh. you wanted to see more of him, touch him. there was a burning feeling inside your chest, it was clawing at your skin, trying to break free. you grew more restless as he stayed still and gave you a stern look until you grasped the hem of his sleeves and whimpered quietly, "please kiss me."

it felt like an eternity until he pressed his lips against yours, everything that was so unmistakably him flooded your senses. his scent wrapped around you until your brain couldn't make out any more coherent thoughts other than him. 'toshi, 'toshi, 'toshi, your 'toshi. he moved so languidly; his lips were warm and soft but bruising at the same time, kissing you with fervour. you began to ease into the kiss, letting go of all your inhibitions. you could worry about it later, you'd decided, this is a future you problem. you wiggled in his hold, hands coming up to push at his bathrobe. noritoshi didn't budge and continued to kiss you, sucking your bottom lip - your hands became more restless, desperate to touch him. he made an unenthused noise, biting your bottom lip as if warning you to not push him. still, he somehow obliged and sat back on his heels, taking his bathrobe off and throwing it haphazardly to the side.

he looked ethereal, somewhere in the distance you thought you can hear angels singing. you reached out to touch him again, earning you yet another warning glance from him. “where do you get the confidence to do whatever you want after that little stunt you pulled earlier?” he questioned you in a low voice. whatever snarky remark you had on your tongue was thrown out of the window when noritoshi leaned down to touch you, slowly pushing your oversized shirt up to reveal your shorts, then your bra.

your breath hitched in your throat, you couldn't tell what he was thinking because even in this state he kept his perfect poker face on. and when he undressed you, you almost felt embarrassed of how eager you were to rid yourself of your clothes. yet you felt exposed - noritoshi didn't make a sound as he just studied you as if you were a luxurious meal presented on a silver plate, the sound of his breathing alone making you squirmish. he didn't give you the satisfaction of a compliment nor did he let you know what he thought, instead leaning down to kiss you again.

before you could deepen the kiss, he’s already moved down to your neck. you mewled in disappointment, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your hands in his hair. this time, he let you touch him, too absorbed in his mission to paint the skin of your neck in hues of red and purple. noritoshi moved lower when he was finally satisfied with his work of art, you’re a great canvas, he thought to himself. the burning feeling in your chest was flaring up again, you felt uncomfortably hot and the only relief you got was him touching you. he must know, he was doing this on purpose. you were convinced. a surprised gasp left your lips when his tongue swiped across your nipple before wrapping his lips around it. his fingers flicked the other one and- oh god did it feel so electrifying, so delicious, so good. you moaned his name, gently tugging on his hair as he continued his ministrations. “noritoshi,” you whimpered, trying to grind against his thigh. “please- please touch me.” he moved faster than you could react, snapping the waistband of your panties against your skin.

“i am touching you,” noritoshi responded matter-of-factly, cupping your breasts. “is this not enough?” you shook your head, making him chuckle. he took his sweet time, lathering your chest with the utmost attention. at this point you were sure you’d soaked through your panties and onto the sheets and you were desperate. finally, his lips left your nipple, his breath grazing them, making you shiver. he seemed to enjoy it, enjoy the effect he has on you, how you were writhing for him and him only. with swift movements, he removed your panties and your legs were thrown over his shoulders - how are his shoulders so broad - and he pressed kisses to your inner thighs. “look at you,” he cooed, glancing up at you. “you’re so wet for me and i haven’t even touched you here yet. are you craving me?”

“yes,” you mewled truthfully, wiggling your hips slightly. you missed how his face lights up in delight, loving how you’re slowly but surely coming undone for him. he was placing kisses everywhere but where you wanted him, where you needed him. you were at his mercy, he alone decided the pace. the desperate little tugs at his hair left him unbothered, you couldn't even move properly because he was keeping a tight grip on your hips, holding them down onto the mattress. “do you want me?” you nodded quickly. “then beg.”

"i'm not- i'm not gonna fucking b-" you didn't get to finish your sentence as noritoshi gave your inner thigh a bite.

"language," he hissed in irritation. "we can do this all night, baby. i don't have any qualms about keeping you here, making you squirm until you know not to treat me like that." to emphasize his threat, his hands languidly stroked your inner thighs, inching closer to your heat. goosebumps raised across your skin. noritoshi paid no mind to your laboured breathing or how you stared at him in disbelief. you would not beg him more than this, this stupid asshole, who did he think he is to expect you to do as he says? as if sensing that your attention wasn't on him anymore, one of his hands reached up to pinch your nipple.

you felt his fingers grazing your pussy, flicking over your clit but not quite touching it. yet the pleasure, coupled with the sharp pain of his pinching, was enough to make you delirious. you moaned his name, hips rutting up slightly to meet his hand. noritoshi pulled away abruptly and made you whine in frustration. "noritoshi!" you whimpered again, closing your eyes in embarrassment. "please just- just touch m-"

you felt another, harder pinch, tingles shooting straight to your core. "look at me," noritoshi growled and you opened your eyes quickly, not wanting to disappoint him again.

"please touch me, please just… i need you, need your lips or fingers," you struggled to find the right words, huffing in frustration at your weak attempt to persuade him. "please make me cum, please. i'll be good for you, i promise, i promise. wanna be good for you."

a sardonic smile graced noritoshi's lips, your begging music to his ears. he almost wished you could see yourself like this - the yearning evident in your eyes, your glossy eyes. what would you say? how quickly your resolve had crumbled, even though you'd vowed to yourself to keep him at an arm's length away from you. what was more heavenly to his ears are your moans and he intended to draw every last bit out of you tonight.

when his tongue finally made contact with your cunt, a loud moan leaves your lips, you almost sob in relief. your thighs trembled slightly, threatening to close but noritoshi was quick to pry them open and delved deeper into your heat. he alternated between lapping at your folds, then dragging his tongue across your clit before giving it a suck. your hips rocked against his face, meeting his movements as if it was already second nature to them. you thought you were seeing stars when you inched closer to your climax. tugging at his hair you whimpered out his name, letting him know that you're close, so close. that's when he pulled away, smirking at you as your high slowly ebbed away. you made a noise in protest, brows pinching in frustration but noritoshi just cooed at you condescendingly.

"you seem to forget who's in control here," he tsked at you, dragging his thumb across your clit. your hips jerked. "but, baby, you look so pitiful, i might just feel sorry for you."

hope sparked in your eyes when he pressed a brief kiss to your lips before slipping his fingers past your folds, his thumb drawing circles on your clit. "ride my fingers," he commanded and you reacted immediately, eagerly rutting against his fingers. you missed the dark glint in his eyes, the look that tells you you were not easily let off the hook whatsoever. pleasure was clouding your judgement, heightening your sensitivity to his touch. a loud moan fell from your lips when noritoshi curled his fingers, hitting a spot that otherwise was difficult for you to reach. your hand came up to cover your mouth, too embarrassed about other guests possibly hearing you.

noritoshi withdrew his fingers, thumb pressing against your clit. you gasped desperately, pawing at his chest to plead him to continue. "i want to hear you. don't you dare hide your moans," he told you, only sliding his fingers back into you when you complied. noritoshi was still kneeling, watching as you moved your hips against his fingers with fascination. while you'd kept a steady rhythm at the beginning, it was getting more and more sporadic. you were close again, noritoshi could tell. and yet it wasn't enough, he had to get you closer to the edge to then break you after.

"o- oh fuck," you cursed, gripping the sheets tightly as noritoshi moved his fingers, repeatedly hitting the spot that made your toes curl. you were to close, you could cum, soon-

"noritoshi!" a frustrated sob resounded from you as he pulled away, looking down at you with a satisfied smirk. your hands came up to wipe the tears that were welling in your eyes. you bit your bottom lip to keep yourself from crying as you watched him pop his fingers in his mouth, licking your essence from them. the sight alone made you feel hot and bothered. in the dim light of the room, noritoshi looked downright sinful. the way his broad frame was casting a shadow over your form, his glistening eyes, the sheen of sweat on his body and how his hair was hanging in his face.

"please let me cum, please! i- i want you so bad, want you in me… noritoshi, please give me it," you begged quietly, crawling towards him. noritoshi felt his heart soften at your cute face - you were so easy to read, he enjoyed teasing you. small hands reached out for the bulge in his boxers, experimentally pressing and nudging at it. noritoshi hissed uncomfortably; he was painfully hard and ready to cum as well but he couldn't, not yet. wanted to play with you more, mapping out the entirety of your body until he memorized how you reacted to his touch.

swiftly flipping positions, he pulled you on top of him, placing you directly above his crotch. you sank down immediately, sighing shakily as you pressed your cunt against the bulge. the boxers had to come off, they were the last barrier. you had to feel his skin on yours, wanted to be closer. noritoshi's hands shot out to stop you, giving you a warning look. you understood, withdrawing your arms to rest on your sides. pressing his bulge against you, he guided your hips to move against it, folds dragging across the fabric of his boxers. the friction was delicious, especially when he rutted against you, pressing against your clit. it took you a few tries until you figured out a comfortable rhythm, placing your hands against his chest as you moved on your own.

noritoshi kept his eyes on you. brushing your hair out of your face so he could get a better look at you, he then rested them near your thighs. "are you close?" he inquired when your movements became quicker and you nodded in reply, giving him a pleading look. he raised his eyebrows at you, shaking his head ever so slightly. "you don't get to cum without my permission."

he could see the conflict and hesitation, dancing in your eyes, how you were contemplating to go against his commands. noritoshi's heart filled with pride when you slowed down, thighs trembling from the restraint you kept on yourself. "good girl," he rewarded you, leaning up to kiss you. you whimpered against his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer. you were a sight to behold, noritoshi mused. slick spread across the fabric of his boxers and your thighs, kiss-bruised lips and the love bites that were blooming across your chest. he was proud to be able to have this effect on you.

it didn't take long until you were close again, this time begging and pleading him to let you continue. noritoshi supposed he toyed around enough, ready to give you what you were so desperately craving. lifting you up slightly, he pushed his boxers down and reached to the side, fumbling with the drawers of the night table before being able to pull out a condom. you watched in curiosity, as he put it on then lined his member up against your pussy. he dragged the head of his cock against your clit a couple of times, making you jump in surprise before letting you sink down. a long, relieved moan left your lips as you felt him fill you up to the brim. you'd never felt this full and good. jerking your hips against his slightly, your legs trembled as he perfectly hit that spot inside you effortlessly. his name fell from your lips like a mantra, letting everyone know that he was the one pleasuring you.

noritoshi let you adjust to him before wrapping his arms around you to keep you in place, driving his hips up against yours in an almost punishing tempo. your lips parted in a silent scream, no sounds leaving them other than heavy breaths. "f- fuck, noritoshi! i'm so close, please let me have it, please-" you begged sobbing. you didn't think you could survive another edging, it would utterly crush you. knowing that you were at his mercy, you complied with his orders. never had you felt this much pleasure, with anyone. noritoshi accomplished what others could never - setting your nerves ablaze with a simple touch.

"cum for me." your orgasm washed over you like a tsunami, leaving you writhing in his arms until you rode it out. noritoshi continued to move against you in a languid tempo, lovingly pressing kisses across your face. you slumped against his body exhausted, aftershocks still wracking through your body. he stroke your back gently, giving you a short kiss. "can you take another one?" he asked, making you look at him. though your mind was hazy, you could tell that he was caring, wanting to make you feel as comfortable as possible despite his mean side. you nodded, your words slurred as you told him: "mhmm, still want you, all of you."

noritoshi was laying you on the mattress, freezing mid-way as he hovered above you. could it be? there was no way. he brushed the thought off quickly, leaning down to kiss you. you sloppily returned the kiss, blindly moving your hands around until you found his, intertwining them happily. swiftly, he entered you again - now taking his sweet time. the pace was slow but filled with force, making you see stars. you wrapped your legs around his waist, heels digging into his skin. you blinked in confusion as noritoshi whispered sweet nothings into your ear. tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at him - you wanted him, so so much that it hurt you. you imagined you weren't in this situation, that this was simply intimacy between lovers. that you were his and he was yours, with no care in the world.

driving his hips against yours faster now, you could tell that he was close. lifting your hips to meet his movement, you whimpered against his lips. you wanted to pleasure him as much as he did you. the sight of his screwed shut eyes, panting heavily as he came, it nearly knocked the wind out of your lungs. noritoshi buried his face in the crook of your neck, whimpering quietly as he thrusted a few more times before coming to a halt. for a few minutes, you remain in this position, basking in the afterglow. he removes himself from you, telling you to stay put as he left to get some wet towels from the bathroom. as you laid there, your cunt wasn't the only thing that felt empty.

your eyes were glossing over and you were once again reminded of the fact that you couldn't have him. that he’s not your ‘toshi. you sat up slowly, spotting the mirror across the room. you stared at your reflection in your mirror, horrified at all the marks noritoshi had left behind and suddenly it dawned on you that you don’t understand why. you didn't care about each other - why would he mark you like this? your heartbeat sped up at the thought of him possibly, maybe, returning your feelings. that he wasn't just toying with your feelings to get back at you.

noritoshi returned, giving you a small smile as he signaled you to lift your arms a little so he could wipe you down. the gentleness in his actions made you sniffle emotionally; he paid attention to every single detail, making sure not to miss a spot. once done, he placed the towel on the nearby chair then returning to wrap you in the blankets and cradling you against his chest like a baby. the sound of his breath nearly lulled you into sleep. you leaned against his chest, sinking into the blankets. "are you okay? was i too rough?" noritoshi asked after a moment of silence. you didn't reply. why was he acting like this? as if you were a couple, as if he really cared.

"y/n? you don't have to reply, but at least give me a hand sign, so i know you're okay," he repeated again, looking at you with furrowed eyebrows. you turned your head away from him, trying to hide your tears. it wasn't long before you started crying uncontrollably, hiding your face in your hands. noritoshi started panicking, fussing over you and tried to pry your hands away so you would look at him. repeatedly shaking your head, you pushed him away from you.

"w- why couldn't you always be this gentle to me?" the words finally left your mouth, accusatory. "i- i didn't deserve any of this treatment and i still struggle to understand why it happened. i should hate you, hate you so much and yet i don't? why can't you love me the way i love you?"

speechless, noritoshi pulled away from you, arms sinking to his sides. it made you sob even harder, thinking that he was going to leave you again, like he always did. he never stayed, only came to wreck havoc, leaving you to pick up the pieces. "y/n, i'm sorry, i-" he drew you in, pressing you against his chest. you were confused at your own outbreak of emotions, not sure how to calm down. "i'm not sure what you thought, but i meant it when i told you that i love you, all those years back," noritoshi mumbled, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

you shook your head vehemently. "i don't believe that, not for one second. you've hurt me for so long and suddenly you had a change of heart?"

"i know it's hard to believe, but i promise i'm not lying. i do love you. with all my heart," noritoshi lifted your chin slightly, wiping the tears from your eyes. gently, he kissed you. "back then, i wasn't able to tell you but… things have changed now and i'll tell you, okay? but not now, tomorrow-"

"no! you'll just leave again and act like nothing happened and i-" you panicked, clinging onto him as dread washed over you again. he was going to leave again, the mission was over after all and you'd go separate ways again.

"i'm staying." noritoshi said firmly, holding your hands so you couldn't flail around anymore. "i'm not leaving you, okay? go to sleep, i know you're exhausted… when you wake up, i'll be there. we'll discuss things in the morning."

"promise?"

"i promise."

you didn't know why but this time, you trusted him. at least a little bit more than before. nodding slightly, you pressed your small frame against his. noritoshi's calming scent wrapped around you, lulling you into sleep. he watched as you fell asleep in his arms, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he settled as well, closing his eyes.

"i love you, y/n."

p.s.: i hurt myself writing this too haha but i swear this was it with the angst

#jujutsu kaisen #noritoshi kamo #kamo noritoshi #noritoshi #noritoshi x reader #noritoshi kamo x reader #kamo noritoshi x reader #noritoshi kamo x you #noritoshi x you #kamo noritoshi x you #noritoshi kamo imagines #kamo noritoshi imagines #noritoshi imagines #jujutsu kaisen imagines #fic: sanguine #writing

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starlightblueninja · 3 years ago

Note

Ciao! can I please request headcanons for the bayverse turtles with a gender neutral S/O where they’re hanging out one day and they have music playing on shuffle, but then the reader suddenly starts crying because they used to listen to that song all the time when they were little and it just hit them right in the childhood? Comfort ensues 👉🏽👈🏽 please. and thank you.

Hey!

Thanks for the request! This took a little while because it’s my first one and I wanted it to be nice UwU and I enjoyed playing around with the bois being comforting since I’ve never really done that before. Hope you enjoy 💙♥️🧡💜💚 @sleeplessdreamer14

Leonardo

You’re laying on the couch reading while Leo’s doing katas about ten feet away. Every now and again you’ll look up at him, smiling as his practiced movements resemble a dance. Mikey left some playlist running in the background on his boombox before disappearing to make food, and normally music with lyrics makes it difficult for you to read but you were only really half paying attention to the book. You almost enjoy watching Leo practice more anyway.

The music barely distracts you, at least until you hear that… familiar intro. The rest of the world kind of fades away as the song takes you back years.

Nostalgia clogs your senses, eyes watering before you know it and a lump forming in the back of your throat as you try to hold back from crying. You close the book in your lap and let the music fill your senses. It’s been a while since you’ve heard this one. Memories resurface and you try to simply blink away the tears, but it’s inevitable, they fill your eyes until your vision is watery.

“Hey,” you look up to see Leo sitting down next to you, his eyes filled with concern but voice gentle and comforting as he asks, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s dumb, but… this song just… takes me back,” you respond quietly. “I used to listen to it a lot when I was younger.”

You wipe your eyes with your free hand just as Leo takes your other hand in his. His warm, strong, big hand in yours makes the tears easier to swallow. You squeeze his palm reassuringly and he moves a little closer to you before you continue talking.

“It reminds me of the places I used to go and the friends I used to have, feels like a lifetime ago, when things were less… complicated.”

Leo perfectly understands the wish for things to be easy, and he understands how it feels to not want to carry responsibilities. He knows what it’s like to have a weight on your shoulders. And so, instead of telling you it’s dumb or offering simple platitudes, he presses a kiss to your knuckles and nods in understanding.

“I miss it,” you say simply.

“If it’s any consolation,” he starts. “I’m glad that you’re here now.”

You look up at him with watery eyes but you’re wearing a crooked smile at his remark. The song still plays on in the background but right now you’re more focused on the way the terrapin kisses your forehead and buries his face in your hair. You feel his inhale taking in your scent and you smile against his collarbone, relaxing against him.

Yeah, you still miss your old friends and family, when things were easy and you bore less of the world on your shoulders. But for now you have him, and really, what else do you need?

Raphael

Raph’s got his workout playlist on while you sit next to him, bantering back and forth with him as he does his routine. The music is a surprisingly varied mix, you didn’t expect to hear the couple of 80s pop and early 2000’s girl band songs that you did. You teased him a little about it at first but it was all well meaning.

You don’t really notice what song is playing until about halfway through the first verse. You know this song too well. It’s been a long time since you last heard it, though, and maybe that’s why it affects you the way it does now. Raph had been saying something, but his voice kind of fades away as your focus shifts to the music and the memories it brings back.

Flashes of your childhood flit past your mind’s eye. The good, the bad, the in between, and all the other things you thought you had forgotten about. You don’t even realize there’s tears in your eyes until they’re falling, running hot trails down your cheeks and it’s too late to try and hold them back.

“Hey, hey baby, what’s wrong?” Raph must have noticed you go quiet since now he’s kneeling in front of you with so much concern on his face. “You okay? ‘S it somethin’ I said?”

“No! No no no,” you’re quick to reassure him and he relaxes, but only minutely since it’s clear you’re still upset. “I-It’s stupid, don’t worry about it.”

“‘Ey, don’t say that, whatever it is, it ain’t stupid,” his hand sets itself gently on your knee.

“I just used to listen to this song as a kid a lot, takes me back.”

He’s sat down in front of you now, cross-legged just as you are so your knees are touching his, “That ain’t stupid.”

His hand brushes away the tears from one side of your face, your own hand coming up to dry the other side before you lean into his warm touch. The way his hand cups your cheek comforts you immensely.

“Feels stupid to cry over it.”

But he knows what it’s like to miss the innocence lost with age, so he pinches your cheek lightly and playfully in disagreement, bringing a smile to your face even as you push his hand away.

“I can turn it off if ya want,” he offers gently, and you hesitate before shaking your head no.

“It’s fine, I’ll be fine,” you respond.

“Whatever ya say, shorty.”

And with that you two are right back to your usual lighthearted teasing. He leaves a chaste kiss on your forehead before he goes back to working out, the memories fading away to make room for the new ones you make with him. He makes sure to remember exactly what song it is, though, and you don’t consciously pick up on this fact but you never actually hear it from any of his playlists again after that moment.

Donatello

You two often sit in peaceful quiet. Donnie will work on his projects, you sitting there on your phone or working on your own stuff, occasionally handing him various tools when he needs them. He’s often got something going on in the background, usually podcasts or heavy music when he’s alone, but always soft music when you’re around so he doesn’t miss if you say something to him. Like now, with him under the truck fixing something and you sitting cross-legged a few feet away playing a puzzle game on your phone. You’re waiting patiently for him to be done. Bed time for you two was about an hour ago now but you know how important this fix is for him and that it should really be done tonight. So you don’t press the issue but you are ready to sleep.

You don’t often notice the music he’s got playing unless it’s a song you really like or dislike, it’s just some shuffled Spotify playlist that he thinks fits the vibe of today. But you notice immediately when that song starts playing. It’s so familiar to you, after listening to it so much in the past, that it would be shameful not to recognize it now.

Your vision goes blurry as your focus shifts away from your current self. You’re reminded of the past, the radio in your old house, your parents, the way they always had the same station playing in the house and in the car and at cookouts. You’ve heard this song so much now that it immediately throws you back into the past. It happens so fast you might as well have whiplash, but you just get misty eyed instead.

Your bottom lip trembles, warm lines running down your cheeks soon after and Donnie notices quickly that something is up when you don’t respond to his request for the torx screwdriver. He slides out from under the truck but you don’t even notice at first. The music has all but consumed you now.

“Y/N? Darling, what’s wrong?” He’s immediately at your side, a large hand gently on your bicep pulling you back to reality.

You look up at him but realize that it’s a little hard to see him with the way the tears have pooled. He can’t help but think that, even though he hates hates hates seeing you upset, that those tears make your eyes glisten so beautifully under the lights.

His other hand not on your arm comes up to brush the tears away as he repeats the question now that he’s got your focus.

“I used to listen to this song a lot as a kid,” you supply an answer softly, gaze falling from his. “Just makes me sad… I dunno why, I guess it just kinda hit me. Sorry.”

“No, no, dove, don’t apologize,” he says. “I understand and you’re alright, I’ve got you here, now.”

His sugar sweet words and oh so gentle hands comfort you. You offer a watery smile before moving into his arms, letting him wrap his arms around you. You return the hug the best you can with his shell in the way, face tucked into the crook of his shoulder, and he can feel the way more tears fall from your eyes and onto his skin. He doesn’t mind though, he simply holds you. He enjoys just holding you even if he’s never admitted it out loud before. He likes knowing he can be there for you.

And he may not fully understand how your memories attached to this song make you upset, but he understands the pain and will do anything to make you feel better.

His hands run over your back, soothing trails on your shoulder blades over your shirt. Then he’s reaching for a remote he set nearby to turn the radio off. He doesn’t even need to ask you anything to know when you want his hands back on you.

“You’re the best,” you say when your gaze has fully refocused and the tears have calmed.

“No, actually, I think that’s you,” he responds, before pressing a kiss to your hair and deciding to bring you to bed, putting off the truck repairs for grumpy morning-Donnie in favor of treating you like a queen now.

Michelangelo

You and Mikey will play a video game together quietly with music on in the background. Sometimes you’ll lay on his chest and watch him play, but in times like this, when the week has been rough and you both need some quiet down time, you lay on opposite ends of the couch with your legs tangled together playing a multi-player game that relaxes both of you. Tonight it’s Minecraft, and though you both like the music of the game, you’d both agreed on having a playlist on too.

You’re mining out a coal deposit in the game when you hear that song come on the background. Mikey notices faster than any of his other brothers would that something is off. He can practically smell how the air around you sours.

Childhood memories flood back to you as you recognize every line of the song as it plays, pulling you back and away from the now. Good memories give you life vests in the flood, bad memories tie weights to your ankles. You’ve paused in the game, your character just staring at the block wall. People, places, events, all of it suddenly overwhelms you as the music plays.

Mikey is on you in seconds though, throwing himself into your arms as soon as he notices that there’s an issue. You’ve got a lap-full of buff turtle man pulling you back into the present.

“Babycakes, you smell grump, what’s wrong?” He says while littering chaste kisses across your face.

He doesn’t even give you the time to get truly upset, let alone start crying, as he’s so in-tune to your emotions that he’s always right there to comfort you.

“I’m okay, baby,” you responds, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “Just… thinking about childhood stuff. This song reminded me of it.”

“This song?” He says, suddenly jumping up.

You don’t know where he’s going but can see the humor practically dripping off of him. He storms up to the boombox, blatantly glaring at it. While watching him poke the speaker a few times like he’s threatening one of the many criminals he often fights, you can’t help but smile. He’s so lovely, and always knows how to make you laugh.

“You!” He snaps at the machine like it’s sentient, the same song still playing. “What’d you say to my girl, huh? Punk? Wanna act like a tough guy now? Too late, fella.”

You laugh as he jabs his finger at the skip song button and it changes to something different. You like this song, Hopeless by Khalid, Mikey likes it too. His attention is recaptured when you laugh at his antics. He smiles at you before making his way back over to the couch, crawling easily back into your arms as you continue giggling.

He kisses you before booping your nose, “Don’t be sad about the past, cherry tomato, we got the whole future ahead of us.”

“Cherry tomato?”

“Yeah,” he says, offering no further explanation as he relaxes on top of you with his controller, easily shifting back into the game.

He’s quick to go from one thing to another, but you can tell he’s truly there for you when he continues to lay his head on you, announcing that he’s coming to find you in-game. Every now and again he presses a little kiss to your stomach or chest, wherever his lips meet in that moment. Your confusing and bittersweet past is left buried under your love for your beautiful, caring, protective terrapin.

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tinyjeanmarco · 4 years ago

Text

modern marco relationship hc’s!

note: gosh, it took me forever to get around to writing these, LOL. my user literally has marco’s name in it but i haven’t written anything about him yet. these are modern so that my boy isn’t dead. (✿◡‿◡) i hope you enjoy! ♡

marco x gn!reader

warnings: none.

marco is the adorable, soft, boy next door type of guy. the “yes sir, i will have them back home by nine!” kind of boy.

you started dating him in your senior year of high school after jean introduced him to you.

marco had moved recently into the area, and was the new kid at your school. he was super charming and a lot of people had a crush on him when they first met him, regardless of how nerdy he was.

while he was charming and outgoing, he was also pretty shy which made him more appealing.

after you had seen him around the school for the first few times, jean introduced you two, saying that he and marco had gotten along immediately after meeting, and he wanted you to get to know him as well.

after a few weeks of hanging out with marco and getting closer and closer to him.

he had begun to develop a crush on you, so he decided that he would just go for it and ask you out, to which you readily agreed.

marco and you had continued dating after graduating and even went to the same uni, getting your own apartment together after your first year.

again, marco is the softest boy ever. he is absolutely adorable and will treat you like royalty.

he’s an absolute mama’s boy, too, and she taught him to treat everyone he loves with compassion, hence why he treats you so well.

he has a tendency to buy you things that remind him of you. he’ll be out shopping and see some cute stuffed animal and be like, “this reminds me of (y/n)! i have to get it for them.”

he will always greet you with a hug and a kiss when he comes home, or when you come home.

he loves showing affection to you in any way possible, and will always try to tell you how much he loves you.

he gets unbearably shy and soft when he tells you he loves you, blush covering his freckled cheeks. sometimes he tumbles over his words and gets more nervous.

he’s just SO SMITTEN, you make this tiny boy nervous!

you just return his words of endearment and press soft kisses to his face.

marco is the type of boyfie who will call you like really domestic, married couple kinds of pet names. expect a honey, darling, or sweetheart all the time.

marco would also be super into like matching couple looks. he finds it super cute and sweet to wear the same clothes and hold hands in public.

speaking of holding hands? never even try to let go of his hand when he’s holding yours. he will be so pouty and not stop dramatically sighing until you hold his hand again.

will be all smiles and sunshine when you’ve got your hands entwined though!

it’s so comforting and reassuring to him when he has you close, holding his hand.

marco will always kiss you on the top of your head or on your forehead.

as he is ever the gentleman, he will also kiss your knuckles all the time. he loves how romantic and special it feels because no one really does that.

also loves pulling out your chair for you and pushing you in when you go out to eat somewhere!

i personally hc marco as a music major of some sort. i think music therapy would be suiting for him, tbh, so i hc him as a music therapy major.

he just looks like he would be a good singer, and good with music, okay?

i think he would be pretty good at singing, and also would play a few instruments.

he would definitely play the guitar and piano. for fun, he picked up the ocarina and he has a ukulele for the hell of it.

when you’re struggling to fall asleep, he will sing to you and you’ll be asleep almost instantly.

he sometimes writes little songs for you on the guitar or piano that he’ll play for you. if he’s feeling cheeky, he’ll write something silly on the uke and play that for you instead.

the ocarina was honestly a joke at first. jean got him into the legend of zelda games and he’s like “hmm i bet i could learn to play one of those...”

so he ORDERED ONE and then wouldn’t stop playing it? so while it’s not horribly complicated, he picked it up extremely quickly and is very good at it.

fun for times where you go on little adventures or walks in wooded areas and he takes an ocarina he has on a necklace so that he can play you some impromptu tunes on it while you guys relax.

he would also love to teach you how to play any instrument if you were to ask him.

he gets so excited about it, ready to put together full on lessons in order to teach you.

just imagine him sitting down on the piano bench next to you, softly telling you where to put your hands, explaining the keys and being so GENTLE when you mess up.

“remember your hand placements, babe!” and he smiles all cute.

back to the music therapy though, he would try to use that when you’re feeling sad and down.

he would be the best boyfriend when you’re upset, albeit a little annoying, but very good to you.

he would always be helicoptering, unintentionally giving you no space if you needed it.

please don’t yell at him for it though, he’s trying his best to make you feel better and genuinely doesn’t know better. he might cry if you get angry with him. just ask him kindly for time alone.

but when you are not in need of alone time, he will try to help the sadness go away.

whips out some of his music therapy knowledge.

he will sit down with you, talking to you about music that makes you happy and sad, making you think about why that is, and then make a playlist of music that inspires happiness.*

outside off all his music therapy techniques, he will be someone you can lean on and just vent to, letting out all your feelings to him.

he tries his best to be a strong pillar of support for you to lean on.

now, when marco is stressed out, he tends to not notice and needs you to pull him aside to take care of him.

he always overworks himself and just,, doesn’t stop. please pry him away from his work so that he can eat properly and get hydrated.

also give him head scratches when he’s stressed, he will turn into putty. the gently scratching on his scalp almost forces his eyes closed with how good it feels.

nap time with marco is so fun, he likes mountains of blankets covering you two with your bodies entwined beneath them.

cuddling is also so fun because he likes when you guys just like, lay on top of each other.

when you cuddle, he likes holding your hands and pressing kisses to anywhere he can reach on you.

ahhh, kissing him is so sweet, he would never kiss you or even make out with intentions of going beyond just kissing.

his hands always stay above the belt, and he’s honestly so shy and afraid of touching you too intimately.

if you want him to have his hand on your thigh? you’re gonna have to tell him you like that and that you want him to do it more, otherwise he will refrain from doing so.

“marco, you know you can like, put your hands on my hips and thighs, right?” and BLESS this boy, his cheeks would heat up, freckles floating in a sea of pink as he averts his gaze from yours, all shy.

“but i, i just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or make you feel obligated to do anything.” the literal embodiment of 👉👈.

on the topic of shy, respectful marco, he would ALWAYS ask for a kiss, even after like dating for five years or even being married. he just wants to be sure that you want it!

he would never want you to feel as if he’s forcing himself on you.

marco also gets really awkward and flustered when flirting with you.

if you sit on his lap, it’s his favorite thing. he goes as red as a tomato, but he loves the closeness of the gesture.

same goes for if you pull him onto your lap. the baby will be so, SO flustered, but love every second of it.

he’s the type to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck while cuddling, or the back of your neck when spooning and he’s the big spoon.

overall, marco is the bestest boyfie, always making sure you’re comfortable and feeling loved. please return the gesture and make sure he feels loved! ♡

* - this is something that someone i know has personally experienced with music therapy!

#marco x reader #marco bott x reader #marco bodt x reader #marco fluff #marco bott fluff #marco bodt fluff #marco headcanons #marco bott headcanons #marco bodt headcanons #marco aot #marco snk #marco bott snk #marco bott aot #marco bodt aot #marco bodt snk

370 notes · View notes

adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 4 years ago

Text

you’re someone i just want around: III

“You can have me tonight or never

I thought you understood

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

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

—Wrong, Zayn and Kehlani

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

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

word count: 24.2k

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

///

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

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

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

Harry still hates clubs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Very satisfied, yeah. Your help was greatly appreciated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is that so?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The name’s Styles. Harry Styles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not going.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lock the door on your way out!”

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

That is, until she met Harry seven days ago.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The first thing he notices is the dress.

Fuck, the dress.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nice to see you again, Disco Ball.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Far from it, love.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I like your dress.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve been thinking about you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck off.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It felt really nice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wouldn’t mind it, either.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, y-yes.”

“Want me to keep going?”

“Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We do make quite the team, don’t we?

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

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

Alright, Watson. What time will you be home?

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

I’m off at 6:45. Should be home by 7.

I’ll see you there, then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fan came in. Wanna come check it out?

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

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

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

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

Sounds good to me, Sherlock.

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

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

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I— I can’t. I’m—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hands off.”

“W-What?”

“Hands off.”

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

“Ask for permission.”

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

“Please what?”

“Please—can I—can I cum?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

The third week is when things escalate for the better.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I need interior design advice.

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

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

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

Genuinely?

Yup!

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

Alright, shoot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Immature?

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

Another message interrupts his spiraling negative conclusions.

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N ignores the bristling across her cheeks.

Alright, go head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Did you watch your video before you sent it?

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, whoops. Sorry for the indecent exposure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Touché.

Exactly.

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

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

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

You did it on purpose, didn’t you?

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

Maybe.

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

Alright, l’ll bite. Tick for tack.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You read my mind.

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

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

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

She practically drops her phone when it vibrates.

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

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

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

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

Hours? You want me down your throat for hours?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m going to call you.

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

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

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

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

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