#number one on the list of shit that drives me nuts

[thewayuarent]

Sorry to bother you but I’m so confused about the idea that SandRay should separate because “Sand deserves better”. I don’t know what to think about it, cause I kind of felt the same way a lot and I know that Ray is complicated and struggling and I want Sand be there for him but I’m not so sure what Sand gets from this relationship. I don’t want to sound like people who say that Ray doesn’t deserve love, because he does. But at the same time, Sand deserves it too and I don’t know, it just bothers me a lot

Or, never be sorry to bother me! I’m not bothered at all, I love to talk about this show, and thank you for bringing this topic, cause god I do have some things to say.

First of all, it’s totally fine and valid to have a complex mix of feelings towards Sand and Ray situation - or any situation in this show. They are complicated people with complicated relationships that started as deeply toxic and sometimes you can feel contradictory emotions at the same time - this happens. It’s also fine that SandRay dynamic is not for everyone and there is nothing wrong with that. Every perspective is valid.

But. The whole “Sand deserves better” narrative drives me nuts. I made a post about it already but I have things to add.

The idea that person deserves better than their current relationship is valid in a lot of different situations: when it’s about abuse, or when it’s about people who stay in toxic relationships because they believe it’s the only thing that serves them right. It’s about people who need support and help to find their own validation. It’s about people who were tricked into believing their person is good for them only to find out they are in a toxic relationship when it’s too late for them to easily move on, etc.

Nothing from that is about Sand. Since the very beginning - the bar fight, bringing drunk unconscious Ray to his home, being accused on assault and robbery, being paid for his company and engaging in sex without obligations mess - Sand always knew who Ray is. And Sand is self aware (I would argue the most self aware of all of them speaking about feelings part) and self confident person, who, despite of what a lot of people believe, has enough level of self respect. Again, he’s very much aware

Sand is not a victim of Ray. He just loves him, easy as that. And he doesn’t need to be saved. Sand is a grown man who understands clearly what he got himself into. This is his choice. It’s not for everyone, I get it, but it’s not about Sand being stupid or delusional. It’s about him choosing this complicated deeply damaged man to love. He’s fine.

What Sand gets from this relationship? A lot of things, I think. He gets an attractive partner and - I would assume - great sex, he gets interesting conversations, he gets someone who needs him - and I believe Sand has a deep need to be needed. He gets someone who pays attention to him, who wants him, who is totally a bit crazy about him. Sand gets someone who he can care about - and for caretakers like Sand this means a lot. He gets someone who takes his care and thankful for that.

Important topic that frequently is overlooked: he gets the person who is not driven away by his sarcasm and emotional unavailability. Sand has a lot of great qualities, but he has a clear problem with showing or telling his true feelings and emotions. And for a lot of people that may be an obstacle. Not for Ray.

Sand gets a lot of toxic shit from this relationship, but he gets a lot of positive things that for him personally are worth it - because no one said that Sand is perfectly normal, you know?

But what’s also important to remember, that love is not transactional. You don’t love someone just because they do everything for you to love them. Love is a complicated thing and for every person it’s very unique experience and very unique reasoning. Sand doesn’t need a numbered list of reasons to love Ray. And this works for both of them, by the way. Yo is very right saying “Good can’t buy love”. If it was that easy the world would be a different place. If it was that easy, Ray wouldn’t be able to move on from Mew just because Sand is good for him (tho it definitely helped).

And another thing I want to add. You know who will be the first person to tell that Sand deserves better? This guy

Ray is simultaneously very selfish and very self hatred person. He wants Sand and he makes everything to keep Sand, but at the same time he has no fucking idea of why Sand is still here. There is the reason (beside the fact that he was raised in money buys all mentality he’s totally adapted) why he believed so easily that it was all about money - because for him it is the only logical explanation. He believes he’s not worth love just because, and he genuinely doesn’t understand what he can give to Sand. His body? His questionable personality? His small awkward attempts to show care he started to make in episode 10? And now - his attempt to get better? Which is huge, huge thing, by the way. For some people that’s not enough. But for Sand it is.

Like it or not, but Sand doesn’t “deserve better”. He deserves exactly what he wants. And what he wants is Ray. Simple as that.

[doyouevenshipbr0]

i just finished live action avatar the last airbender. buckle up. obv spoilers incoming.

~

honestly just gonna list the good and the bad and give a number rating at the end. this will be long. also THIS IS JUST MY OPINION!!!! nothing i say is right or wrong. dont hurt me.

the good

sokka (ik this is controversial bc of his actor okokokok im js purely from a performance standpoint he ate)

zuko (absolutely devoured)

fight scenes!!!! obv not as good as the animated (we knew this) but i still enjoyed

zhao!!!!!! do not sleep on him he killed this!!

KIYOSHI!!! ARE U KIDDINGGG

overall loved the focus on avatars other than roku

suki/suki and sokka

attack on the air nomads… ik it was unnecessary and a little hard to watch but still was v interesting

azulaaaaa and the fact that we see her this season. LOVE this addition. also the way they added her was veryyyyy well done. didnt feel forced.

bumi/how they handled the bumi arc in general. some parts i actually like better than the og. like how aang knew he was bumi right away. makes way more sense to me.

sokka and katara has some very sweet and genuine moments

aang and gyatso reunion awwww

omg. the “twist” with the 41st division that zuko accidentally saved becoming his crew. the bestttttt change that they made. i loved this. something so small but felt SO impactful.

yue/sokka and yue. this is a BIG one bc i think the original show really lacks with how they wrote yue and especially her relationship with sokka. i think it was a lot better here.

when zhao admits at the end he was working w azula and that ozai was just using zuko to motivate azula. omg. that was such a cool thing they added

and now. the bad.

aang. JDHSKSJDJ SORRYYYY dont care! he got better as the show went on. overall acting wasnt great and the writing for him definitely did not help

katara OOPSIES HEHEHE sorry but again same thing. kind of a dull performance. where is her PASSION?!?! wanted to like her so bad bc katara is my girl and this girl was giving katara on paper but the performance was just kinda bleh. didnt hate but DEFINITELY did not love.

costumes. dying on this hill i do not care. it was giving spirit of halloween. and some of these wigs…. yue’s wig? azula’s fuck ass pieces hanging out? HOW MAI AND TY LEE LOOKED IN GENERAL?! ouch

^in general mai and ty lee did not need to be here at ALLLLL. def shouldve waited till s2 for their appearances.

where is the silliness? where is the humor? hardly tried to embody the fun spirit of the original and when it did it failed miserably.

gran gran saying the thing. that’s katara’s thing.

too much exposition dumping.

first ep was by far the worst imo. how sokka and katara came across/met aang? WOW what a let down holy shit.

they should’ve kept it as aang running away from the southern air temple. not that he went for a late night drive with appa. dont care that this is a small thing. it is a HUGE part of aang’s character.

idk how to word this one and i think ppl would disagree anyways. but they are making iroh too obviously “good”. ykw i mean? when we first meet him, we know he’s not like the rest of the fire nation but we still don’t truly know where his morals lie. this show made it too obvious too soon.

why did katara never train w pakku?? that makes 0 sense. i understand she was mostly self taught throughout s1. but the whole thing was that: yes, katara was good before pakku, but when she finally did get a master, she became EXPONENTIALLY better and really came into her own. i am not buying that she becomes the master katara we know and love without learning from pakku. so unrealistic. when zuko says “u found a master” and she said “yes ur looking at her”. oh girlboss feminism u are going to HELL!

would like to take a moment to say^^^ i am a feminist ok. do nottttt get it twisted. but girlboss feminism is brainrot.

aang. did not bend. a single drop of water. are u fucking KIDDING ME? that was nuts.

really felt like if u did not watch the original series, this show would feel SO all over the place and u would have so many “wtf is happening” moments. the whole omashu shit was kind offfffff a mess. i see where they were going and why they were doing that but in hindsight after the fact i was like… if i knew nothing ab this show that would have been the most confusing clusterfuck.

and i think my biggest/most general complaint that i already talked about that i will briefly touch on: trying to do too much. why are we putting in characters and plot points that do not come till seasons 2-3 and are completely unnecessary now (secret tunnel, wan shi tong, swamp-kinda episode, etc.)

final thoughts?

it was enjoyable. i cannot deny that. landscapes were gorgeous. fights were well choreographed and looked GOOD. some changes were genuinely made for the better, and even changes that i do not necessarily think were better, i could respect the creativity of some changes and understood why they were there. but overall, as most live action remakes go, this was a flat portrayal of one of the greatest pieces of fiction of all time that suffered from some overly ambitious ideas and dull writing with little to no sense of whimsy. while some performances exceeded expectations, others that were crucial to the integrity of this show really disappointed me.

overall: 6.6/10. this number is completely subject to change.

[sazorak]

Every Game I Played in 2023, Ranked

I debated moving this list to Cohost (after all these years, the Tumblr text post interface still makes me want to punch a wall) but whatever, here we are! Keeping it relatively short this year.

A lot of the games I played aren't going to be on this list because I don't have much new to say about them (MTG, Dwarf Fortress, Strive, etc), but for those that I do, here's the games I played this year.

2015 | 2016 | 2017 | 2018 | 2019 | 2020 | 2021 | 2022

SD Gundam Battle Alliance - 2022 - Steam - ★★★

I really wanted to like this- you know I like me some Gundam- but the experience is simultaneously too thin, too grindy, and bereft of stakes. There's nothing like "oh no we have to preserve the Gundam metaverse from hackers ruining the archived story!" to make me go to sleep.

There's something about the progression system of every "hey, gotta catch 'em all!"-ish Gundam games that is designed exclusively for people who either played these games in the early 00s, or people with addictive personalities. There's been little in the way of evolution. Yeah, the gameplay here is different as a sort of Action RPG, but this is far more Dynasty Warriors than it is say Armored Core.

Just not for me!

... Where's my new Super Robot Wars at damn it?

9. Pokemon Scarlet/Violet DLC - 2023 - Switch - ★★★★

I talked last year about how I mostly liked this game in spite of its many, many issues. The DLC mostly plays to SV's strengths: fun plot and characters, improved open world catching system from Sword/Shield. They also run considerably better, due to a year of opportunity to make things more stable and address bugs.

That said: It doesn't address any of the other issues that have always been there. Open world exploration becomes kind of pointless when you have the ability to invalidate any level geometry. There is such a thing as too much mobility, believe it or not, when you can just jump over everything. At the same time, the ways cutscenes work is soooo slowwwww, to the point that getting through them to the "action" can be quite tedious.

This DLC also continues the unfortunate thing that drives me nuts about all these DLC, that the level scaling is just awful. It basically assumes you have done literally nothing since finishing Scarlet Violet, and not engaged at all with the post game. Which hey, works out for Lil Timmy who is experiencing this DLC in-line with the base game or only after beating it (since it does dynamically scale for earlier progression), but it makes the whole thing kind of a rote exercise for those who actually played the game more than that?

I realize this is multiple decades now of me barking that hey, it'd be nice if Pokemon didn't exclusively try to appeal to 5 year olds, which is definitely a lost cause at this point. We don't even get stuff like Battle Towers or Frontiers anymore really. Ah well!

8. Street Fighter 6 - 2023 - Steam - ★★★★

Ok, here's the thing: Street Fighter 6 is overall a very good game, lots of care and polish, but I got a few bones to pick with it.

1. I kind of hate its input buffer. Just drives me nuts, particularly with how it handles supers and specials with overlapping inputs.

2. World Tour while is neat, the progression of it is so goddamn grindy and miserable. So much HP for enemies as you go on, and you don't have access to a fighter's full skill set even at the very end due to how special "slots" work.

3. The cast feels too safe. I like the new additions a lot, and in general the old chars have been rendered quite well, but there's just not a lot of innovation going on. The system mechanics are quite good, but it's the thing where no one on the cast really calls out to me. Personal taste thing.

Marvel's Spider-Man - 2022 - Steam - ★★★★

I don't think I have anything particularly unique to say about The Spider-Man Experience beyond hey: that's a pretty good Spider-Man. I think the DLC was obnoxious as shit, and a number of the decisions tied to box-checking-completionist stuff were mean for someone like me who has the stupid brain that thinks it's important to do Everything no matter how tedious it is, but overall: a good Spider-Man. Some of the villain stuff felt pretty weak though.

7. Resident Evil 4 Remake - 2023 - Steam - ★★★★★

A great remake! They trimmed down some areas a fair but, but none of them particularly egregious (some of them, particularly a last act boss being removed, was quite appreciated), and the mechanical additions are fun.

Does it invalidate the old version? I dunno, maybe?

6. We Love Katamari Re:Roll - 2023 - Steam / Switch - ★★★★★

Hey, you know what's also a very good game? We Love Katamari. Not much new to say beyond hey: the name is accurate, and you should buy and play it. I liked it enough to buy it twice on two platforms, which is silly but it gave me the excuse to play more Katamari so quite understandable.

A thing that does annoy me about the game is them reusing certain models from the other Katamari Remake, even when they were deliberately replaced in We Love Katamari and are even called out as different in the item descriptions despite not being so. Arrgh. It doesn't really matter, but I got the dumb brain for that kind of thing.

5. Granblue Fantasy Versus: Rising - 2023 - Steam - ★★★★★

A fighting game that I enjoyed years past now has actually good netcode! The mechanical additions have been very nice, and I've been enjoying myself grinding away for my meager gains. It's also funny having skipped all the base game's DLC and coming in now, since it's like this release just added 20 more chars I'd otherwise not engaged with before.

A ton of polish has made this a fantastic package across the board, so many smart decisions and little details. I'm sure for GranBlue gacha fans it's probably incredible as something that pays tribute as well.

… but see, my main annoyance with the game mostly ties to being unable to stand the source material it pulls from. It's not enough to diminish my positive feelings for the game, but none the less: man, everything about the lore and characters themselves just does NOTHING for me. This is nothing particularly unique to GranBlue itself even, it's pretty in line with how I feel about every gacha title that exists to roll out chars and appeal to as many niches as possible without real forward movement or actual story, but hey here we are.

Looking forward to that 2B.

4. Baldur's Gate 3 - 2023 - Steam - ★★★★★

A game I admittedly haven't completed yet (I got up to a certain kidnapping in the last act and had to set it aside due to stuff repeatedly coming up for the past couple months) but still: this is a very good tactical RPG. I enjoy the writing, characters, and gameplay quite a lot. A ton of polish went into this.

I don't think I have much to say about it that hasn't been said by others, especially with all the Discourse that has circled it for months-to-years now across Early Access into release.

If there's one thing that does kind of annoy me about the game design, it's the way the player characters are handled. You have the option during character creator to create a character with a number of character-build-y backgrounds, or use their pre-built characters that have existing stories. This choice is lose-lose.

A fully custom character is blank, unimportant. There's nothing special about them beyond their affinity with a certain orb and being Protagonist Man. Their background doesn't really matter, even as you express your personality. You have nothing behind you that meaningfully comes up or affects the story (no Gorion, etc) beyond your role in the conflict. In other words, there's not a lot of reason for you to exist except as a cypher for the named characters.

Playing one of the named characters also sucks, because you lose those the writing for those characters. If I'm stuck aping Karlach, I have no Karlach in my party. You barely even get voice acting once you choose to play those characters either. You effectively end up with less writing and characterization, which kind of sucks! Yes, you do get your backgrounds being looped in and mattering more, which is indeed something, but not enough.

There is secretly a third option that, the more I think about it, is the correct one, they just don't tell you it. You can choose your character background to be tied to the Dark Urge, which results in a lot unique interactions, gives your character an actual background and comes up, etc. They don't outright make this the main option presumably because it comes with a lot of baggage (which, yeah, it does), but it seems completely worth it by comparison to just flitting through the story as either a ghost or the phantom of a real character.

3. Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective Remastered - 2023 - Steam - ★★★★★

Play Ghost Trick.

2. Armored Core VI - 2023 - Steam - ★★★★★

From Software continues to not miss. Fantastic game, some of the most satisfying mecha combat I've played. Story is great; it's still your usual "oops we're not explaining much other than in medias res or by circumstantial details" that From Soft has continued to double down on, but I really enjoy that stuff so hey. I 100%'d this game, got all the endings etc. Great stuff.

Really want some proper DLC so I can do even more, though.

1. The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom - 2023 - Steam - ★★★★★

Let's face it: this wasn't going to end any other way. Breath of the Wild is probably my favorite game of all time, and this is basically just more of that, remixed and remastered into a Second Quest that builds on the first one.

Something I kept thinking about while playing is that while there is volumetrically more to do, more things happening, more mechanics, etc etc, the different approach it takes in terms of focus and approach doesn't make it necessarily a "strictly better" version of Breath of the Wild.

Breath of the Wild was deliberately spare, quiet, and minimalist. Like the name says, its about the quiet wilderness, a poignant world that you explore. Tears of the Kingdom drops much of that, in many ways turning into a kooky madcap version of BOTW. You don't spent nearly as much time smelling the roses and taking in the scenery, as you're often too busy blasting by using any number of the new movement abilities or combat tools or literal flying machines you can now Nuts and Bolts together.

It's a deliberate escalation, one that in my opinion requires the preceding part to work. They add together into one complete singular experience, rather than pulling against each other. That's awesome, exactly what I wanted. Now I get to have two favorite games of all time that are secretly just one-and-the-same.

Some minor thoughts:

1. Lots of great writing and characterization, built up well on BOTW there.

2. It's kind of funny how much it goes out of the way to avoid talking much about BOTW in case someone plays this game first.

3. The last of a Master mode this time around is kind of a bummer but oh well!

4. The vehicle crafting system and everything about it, including the way it plays into the existing physics system is fucking insane. Absolutely incredible game design. Bonkers.

I'm really curious how the hell they're going to follow these games up. Going back to square-0 from this formula- one that is so built up and diverse, seems like it'd be impossible to me. What the hell could you do? Looking forward to finding out.

[sleekervae]

Yoü & I [2.2]

A/N: Heyy, I'm trying a new format link for my master list. Here's to hoping it works 🤞

Warnings: Swearing, slice of life mostly

--

"Why does Luke call you 'Shorty'?" Michael asked Charlotte. They were all packed onto the bus, some ways away from Berlin. Within the next week they would close the European leg of the Sounds Live Feels Live tour and take another break before heading back for a cross-country tour of the States.

The young songstress turned to him, his hair faded back to a bleach blonde to take a break from the dye, "He never told you?" she replied. 

Michael shook his head, having paused his Nintendo game "I always assumed it was 'cause you're a dwarf," he glanced at his mates who were enthralled in a tense game of Uno.

Charlotte rolled her eyes "A: fuck you. B: no. When we first started hanging out together we went to this cafe for coffee and they had these really amazing shortbread cookies -- the kind with the little cherry in the middle. I bought like six or seven of them -- and I really love shortbread -- so he just started calling me 'Shorty' because of it," 

Michael smirked, "So, if I put a shortbread cookie in front of you, you'd lose your shit?" he chuckled.

"No," Charlotte replied, "I have a sweet tooth is all. And yes, he also makes fun of me because he's a giant and I am not," 

"That's actually kinda' cute," he grinned, "I'm hungry, now," 

"We'll be in Berlin soon enough, and you can have all the Schnitzel you want," 

When they reached the hotel, the girls were all set for a couple hours of sight-seeing before they'd have to head off for soundcheck. Unfortunately, they were instead treated to a barrage of calls from Terryn.

"Oh, brother," Maria sighed when her phone started to ring, "It's the Terror!"

"What does she want now?" Kimberly asked.

"Maybe she was driving Harry nuts so he blocked her number and she's bothering us now?" Chloe grinned.

"Isn't it sad how we all shit on the one person who got us to where we are?" Charlotte thought aloud. 

Kimberly shrugged, "Hey, I'm not knocking her, but the woman's a little control freak. I get heartburn whenever she's within six feet of me!"

"You think we don't know the pain?" Chloe replied as Maria picked up the call, "I get a migraine when the old bag starts screeching,"

The three girls turned to Maria when they heard Terryn's familiar screeching, just as Chloe had described. She placed her cold hand over her forehead, feeling a pain coming on, "Oh! Here it comes!"

Maria's face was drawn in confusion and horror, trying to understand what their manager was crying about in her hysteria, "T-Terryn! Terryn! Slow down! I can't understand a word you're saying!"

Charlotte glanced at Kimberly, "I wonder what's wrong?"

"Probably isn't happy with record sales or something," Kimberly shrugged. 

"We didn't do anything! What are you talking about?" Maria hollered into the receiver. The more Terryn talked, the paler Maria's face became as she relayed the terrible news, "What? How?"

The girls were curious now, sensing that this wasn't some over-dramatizing feat from Terryn, "We didn't do anything, I swear!" Maria said. 

"What is it?" Chloe whispered.

"Yeah? What didn't we do this time?" Kimberly added.

"Hold the line, Terryn. Take a Xanax for crying out loud!" Maria pulled the phone away, "You guys aren't gonna' believe this but our song's been leaked!"

"Which song?" Charlotte asked cluelessly.

"Doctor Doctor!" Maria replied, "The one you wrote about dickwad!"

After that, any sound became white noise to Charlotte. She whipped out her phone and logged onto Twitter, and sure enough, their band was trending with news of a leaked audio for 'Doctor Doctor. Charlotte couldn't believe it, feeling like her diary had just been raided and someone aired out all her dirty laundry for the public to feast upon. That song wasn't meant to be released for months, and whoever had grabbed the audio clip had just flushed eight months of work and prep down the proverbial drain. 

She played the clip and sure enough, she could recognize her voice and Maria's guitar tinkling quietly as she sang. The clip already had thousands of listens, the edge of surprise for the new album had been blown, "Fuck my life,"

"How is that possible?" Kimberly cried as she listened to the clip, "How -- I mean... what the actual... I mean -- what the fuck!?" her fists clenched tightly.

"We got ripped off!" Charlotte exclaimed.

"There goes single number one," Chloe huffed.

Maria was still on the phone with Terryn, "I don't know how it happened, Terryn! We haven't shown this song to anybody! I swear! I swear on my abuela no one has heard the song! You think we'd jeopardize our careers like that? Look -- I... I'll call you back!"

As if it wasn't any more possible, Charlotte began to feel sicker, "Girls, we played it in the studio weeks ago -- with the guys," she admitted.

"And anybody could've passed by and heard us," Kimberly gasped, "The doors aren't exactly sound proof and we don't know who works the switchboards," 

"The migraine just got worse!" Chloe exclaimed, clutching her head, "Oh, my God! What do we do?"

"Nothing," Charlotte shrugged, "What can we do? The song is out!"

Kimberly scrolled through Twitter on her own phone, "At least the feedback is positive," she mumbled. 

"Oh, goodie!" Chloe chided, "Everybody loves a stolen song! The public is sick!"

The girls' outburst had drawn some considerable attention in the lobby, especially from the boys. They came wandering over, sensing the thick throes of panic.

"Hey," Ashton greeted them, "What's happening?"

"Somebody leaked our fucking song!" Chloe exclaimed, loud enough for passing hotel guests to stop and stare at them. Maria grabbed her.

"Lower your damn voice!"

"My head hurts!"

The boys were visually and understandably just as gobsmacked at the girls, "Somebody leaked your song? Which one?" Calum asked.

"The one we played for you guys. 'Doctor Doctor'," Charlotte replied soullessly.

"Who the fuck would do that?" Luke asked. 

"If we knew that, would we be in the middle of a crisis?" Kimberly snapped.

Harry then came over to calm the crisis, "Alright, girls I understand you're upset, but let's move this upstairs. People are staring at us,"

"Being photobombed is the least of our worries right now," Maria chided back. 

Nonetheless, they hauled their things up to their rooms and reconvened together, trying to piece together how the audio was stolen and what their next game plan would be. Releasing 'Doctor Doctor' as the lead single was now out of the question, the anticipation was ruined. Charlotte's tongue tingled with dread as ideas were passed back and forth, anxiety overtook her when they all came to a solid conclusion.

"What if we replaced 'Doctor Docter' with 'You & I'?" Maria finally suggested, staring nervously at Charlotte. The younger brunette was at a crossroads, having sworn the last thing she wanted was to release something that -- if interpreted correctly by a handful of people -- would become more destructive than she would like. 

Chloe crouched down in front of her, placing her hands on Charlotte's shaking knees, "Char, nobody is ever going to know who you wrote it for. Hell, we were kinda' thick the first time around, too," she tried to smile.

"And until we get the rest of our songs recorded and produced..." Kimberly shook her head, "It's a beautiful song, Charlotte. I think it'll be received well," 

Charlotte placed her head in her hands, her chest felt as though it would burst at any moment, "I -- it'll take weeks to get done. We're on the road, we have to edit, record, track everything --"

"We're back in LA next week, babydoll," Maria said softly, "If we put the pedal to the metal... we could have it out by December,"

"A little later than Terryn would like, but screw her. These are extenuating circumstances," Chloe said.

"I don't know what to do," Charlotte said, her voice cracking. 

Maria nodded slowly, she felt for Charlotte but at the same time they were under a wire for time. Charlotte didn't have an eternity to figure out whether she was ready to tell the world how she felt about Luke in a song that people may not even interpret it as being for him. She had to grow up.

"Charlotte, it's a song," she said sternly, "It's a silly little love song that you could've written about anybody at any time. Nobody is ever going to know it's about Luke and if someone tries to steer down that path we'll find a way around it, but 'You & I' and 'Doctor Doctor' are the only concrete songs we have prepared. So, I'm sorry, but you need to get over yourself," 

It hurt and angered Charlotte to hear those words, but she knew Maria was right. Nobody would ever know; she even played part of it for Luke and even he didn't get the hint. But it wasn't so much Luke's reaction she was worried about.

"What about Melody?" she asked, "What if she figures it out?"

"Let her figure it out!" Kimberly exclaimed, "That bitch has been nothing but cruel to us from the moment she came charging in like a bull at Indianapolis. Who cares what she thinks? This is your song, your story,"

"And if she has a problem, she'll get her hands on you over my dead body," Chloe assured, "And ya'll know I'm crazy enough to whack a bitch before I let anybody get their hands on you," 

Charlotte tried to smile a little. Maria folded her arms over her chest, "So? What do you say, Charlotte? We got your back no matter what," 

Charlotte was quiet for a long time, trying to will her voice box to make some sort of affirmation noise. This was personal risk she'd take, but it was for the good of the band. The band, her livelihood, her friends were always going come first. She knew what she had to do.

"Alright," she finally agreed, "I'll do some last edits and we can start tracking next week," 

The other three let out a collective sigh of relief, knowing that this wasn't easy for Charlotte to do but they appreciated her taking the leap. And they'd back her up no matter what. 

"I love you!" Chloe praised, throwing her arms around the singer, "I love you! I love you so damn much! I'm gonna' buy you so many gifts for your birthday this year!"

Charlotte chuckled but hugged her back, "You don't have to do that but thank you. I love you too, Crazy Person," 

Maria stood up and grabbed her phone, "I'll call the Terror, let her know what's going on," 

"I'll order us some room service," Kimberly decided, "I'm starving," 

"I think the guys want to have lunch with us," Charlotte said.

"Well, they can go on their own. We have shit to carpé," Maria said, dialling Terryn's number.

The entire afternoon the girls worked on rehearsing and perfecting the song, editing and rewriting so it became a collective Caper song. It was beautiful and desperate and Charlotte couldn't help but emotionally triggered as though it was the first time she penned it down. They would only have about two and a half weeks to get the first demo completed. 

Charlotte couldn't help the tingles that coated her tongue, all throughout the day and into the evening when they were minutes away from playing their Berlin show. And she still for the life of her couldn't figure out who would steal their song and leak it on the internet. Who could be so cruel and detrimental?

And then on stage, as Catch the Caper broke into their song 'E.V.O.L', the conclusion slammed into Charlotte like a brick wall. It hurt so much to think about, but it angered her too. And it made a lot of sense. 

There were five people in that studio that heard their first acoustic demo: four of them were young men who would never dare break the unspoken oath of artistic secrecy. But there was one person who would be brazen enough to do so. 

Charlotte couldn't even admit it to herself aloud but she kept the conclusion in the back of her mind. And as they stage was packed up for the night her eyes fell on Luke, on the phone probably with his little devil's angel right now. She couldn't point the finger, namely because there was no proof and Melody would just deny it. Not to mention it would probably drive a wedge between she and Luke -- as though her feelings for him weren't complicated enough. 

♛♛♛

Luke sat across from Charlotte, both of them silent on the long-winding bus drive from Cologne to Barcelona. She had her earplugs in as she listened to the hasty recording of 'You and I' she made on her computer, something to guide her and the band when they'd go into the studio. The girls worked in any spare moments they had to compose the right bass beats, guitar chords and drum spreads that turned simple words on a page into a rough concept for a beautiful work of art. 

Luke could hear small echoes of the song leaking from Charlotte's headphones. She didn't talk about the song much, even when he asked. He figured she was still upset about 'Doctor Doctor' having been exposed to the world with no warning. At least the girls were moving on to the next, perhaps she didn't want to talk about the song simply because she wouldn't dare let the opportunity for a leak arise anywhere.

So, Luke busied himself with his own guitar, trying to twang out the same melody he had playing in his head all day. He envied Charlotte in that it took her a simple chord and she could write out a full verse in a matter of minutes -- with the right inspiration, of course. What he would give to be as artistically gifted as she was. 

Charlotte felt the opposite when she heard Luke's music. His work was much more optimistic than hers, taking a more positive outlook on life rather than her cynical and bittersweet approaches. The sound of her own voice permeated through her ears and she couldn't help but cringe at some parts, but if Luke heard it he'd tell her that her voice was perfect, no slip of error. 

Her eyes flickered to him for a moment, and she blushed when she saw he was staring right back at her. She mouthed 'what' at him, to which he shrugged and raised his eyebrows up and down, the creepy way which always sent a shiver up her spine.

"I hate when you do that," she said, pausing her song and pulling out her earphones. 

He only chuckled, "How's it coming?" he asked.

"It's okay," she said, confident in her answer. It seemed the more she listened to the actual melody, as opposed to focusing on the words' context, she found she enjoyed it more. It made it easier to work, "What're you working on?"

"No bloody clue," he sighed, sinking back into the chair, "I wish we weren't driving,"

"You don't like staring out the French countryside?" she asked.

"I do," he nodded, "But if we took a plane, we could've been there by now. Maybe get some sleep," 

"I don't mind so much," she said softly, looking out over the lush produce orchards and fields filled with colourful wildflowers, "I do have to admit, it is a little strange how the booking agencies have us zig-zagging all across Europe. We've been to Germany three separate times in the last month," 

"I don't know why they do it like that, maybe it keeps us on our toes?" Luke replied. 

"It keeps me annoyed, if anything," she chuckled, "Maybe after all this touring shit is over I'll fuck off to Bali for a couple weeks, do some exploring. You're welcome to join me if you want,"

Luke smiled, "A trip to Bali with my best mate? I'd be honoured," he said.

"Somebody has to drive me nuts with his lame jokes," she cocked her head to the side, "Besides, I feel like it would be fun; traveling with no schedules or shows. Haven't done that in a while,"

"It's a date. Next summer: you and me, two weeks in Bali," Luke declared. 

"Done," she smiled, "God, what are we even gonna' be doing next year?"

Luke shrugged, "Hopefully, still out on the road, doing what we love. Still have you with me, causing mayhem,"

"If anyone causes the mayhem in these bands, it's Chloe and Michael. Pinky and The Brain," she said.

"They keep it entertaining. Chloe with her fucking phrase books," he snickered. 

"She means no harm," Charlotte assured, leaning over to see his guitar, "You writing a song?"

"I have no clue," Luke shook his head, "I think I'm just bored,"

"Well, in boredom there's always something to entertain us," she said.

Luke licked his lips, contemplating quietly to himself, "I was thinking about that song we wrote a few months back. What do you want to do with it?" 

Charlotte raised her eyebrows, "How do you mean?" 

"Well -- I mean, do you want it? You did most of the brainstorming so I'll give to you if you want it," he said.

Charlotte stifled a laugh, "Luke, we wrote it together. It's our song. We can both have it. It's the ultimate culmination of what two crackheads come up with when they're sleep deprived and filled up on shitty pizza," she grinned, "You think we should sing it?"

"Together, yeah," he nodded, "Have we ever sung together?"

"Not in public," Charlotte felt a lump grow in her throat. It was one thing for her and Luke to sing and goof off on the privacy of her apartment, but it was another for this side of their friendship to blossom over a stage in front of fans, "I mean -- if you want to, I'm down. Maybe when we get back to the states we can work on it," 

"Sure," he nodded, "We can help with your next album too, if you'd like. I know, the whole leaking thing was a bit of a thorn but --"

"It's okay," Charlotte forced a smile, "Things happen. I'm not going to focus on past fuckeries from inept assholes," she wouldn't dare give away her accusations.

Luke smiled at her, oblivious to her conclusions, "That's the spirit, Shorty,"

[hammettleekirk]

[fuckingrecipes]

“if you’re driving a vehicle you should be responsible enough to know your tire size, oil type, how to change a tire, etc etc etc

Fuck that noise. 

You DONT need to have all that shit memorized. It’s a lot. Cars are made of metal magic and Go juice. You can learn as you go. Google that shit.

When you own a car, you SHOULD know how to look up parts and basic fixes to save yourself spending $80+ at an auto repair place for what’s actually a $18 part, 10 minutes following along with a video, and no tools aside from your own fingers. There’s a handy list below the cut. 

Mechanics ALSO don’t have every fix for every car memorized. They know generally how cars work, and I’ve SEEN them watching how-to youtube videos for cars they’ve never worked on before. You can, too!

How to learn how to fix your car:

#1: Know your car’s Make (the company who made it like Honda, Ford, Toyota or Hyundai) 

Model (The name of the car’s type, like ‘Civic’ ‘Camry’ ‘Accent’ or ‘Explorer’ - sometimes these are longer, like ‘Explorer Max XL’, which are different from the base standard ‘Explorer’

And Year (The year that model was released. A Toyota Camry 2003 and a Toyota Camry 2021 may have a few similar parts, but many different ones, since car makers tend to make changes to the car’s design every year)

If you don’t have your make/model/year memorized, the car’s VIN - Vehicle Identification Number popped into google will tell you that information. Find the VIN in one of the locations below. It varies for each kind of car. 

Once you know the Make/Model/Year, google it followed by ‘How to X’

For instance: “Toyota Camry 2013 How to change headlight”

There’s instantly a step-by-step video and several text-and-picture how-to guides on how to access the headlight port, how to change it, and how to screw it back in.  Changing a lightbulb on most cars DOES NOT require any tools - just your fingers and knowledge of what to unscrew, in what order.

To find what parts I need, I’d google “Toyota Camry 2013 replacement headlight bulb” - and bam! I’ve got a bunch of websites telling me the serial number of the bulb I’d need! Easy enough to walk into an auto parts place, find that serial number (or ask the front desk to find it for you) buy it, then follow along to the guide to install it.

I could also go to Autozone’s website. At the top you can enter what car you’re working on, and the site will tell you what part goes with that particular car.

Car Fixes that are VERY easy to DIY, are hard to fuck up, and don’t require any tools for most cars:

Changing a headlight, taillight, or blinker < - accessing the bulb depends on the car, but it’s usually behind a panel that pops or twists into place. Rarely, a car will ask you to loosen a nut, which may require a $4-$6 spanner. After that it’s just a fat light bulb. A single bulb usually costs between $10 and $30, depending on which one you’re replacing.  (A mechanic would add an extra $50-$70 to that cost, in labor)

Replacing windshield wipers/ Wiper blades <-- They wiggle on and off. Just buy the replacement blades and pop ‘em on with your hands. No tools needed. Windshield wipers are usually between $10-$40   (A mechanic would add an extra $10-$15 to that cost, in labor)

Replacing Air Filters <-- If you know you won’t be using your car overnight, you can usually re-use air filters by hosing the gunk off until the water runs clear and then THOROUGHLY drying it in front of a fan overnight. Plus there’s no special tool to access them, usually. They’re behind a panel that pops off, or has a small lever that you pull. There’s engine air filters, for air going into your engine, and cabin air filters, for your AC/heat system. Replacing either of them yourself should cost between $20-$40  (A mechanic would add an extra $20-$35 to that cost, in labor)

Refilling Windshield wiper fluid <-- make sure you’re putting the correct fluid in the correct spout! Putting windshield wiper fluid into your oil pan or radiator can fuck up your car pretty good. Double check this one. A gallon jug of it should cost like, $5-$10. You should top up your wiper fluid every 5k miles or so, since letting the reservoir get ENTIRELY empty can damage the motor. Getting the motor replaced is way more expensive. One $3 gallon lasts you a couple fluid fill ups. A mechanic may charge up to $40 for a single fill-up.

Refilling tire air - You’ll need a couple quarters to pay the air pump at a gas station or car wash, but after that it’s all in your hands. Mayyyybe $3 in quarters if you’re topping up all four tires. Some air pumps have a minimum $1.50 before it’ll start. Some gas stations offer free air!

Checking your car’s motor oil (aka engine oil) <-- Free! CHANGING your car’s oil does need several tools and a way to jack up the car, but checking the engine oil’s status is really easy - The oil should be between the 2 dots on the dipstick. If it’s near the bottom dot, or below it, you should add more Motor Oil  (Not gasoline. Motor oil is something different) If the oil is dark brown, black, sludge-like, or frothy, you should get it changed.

 It’s generally cheaper to get your motor oil changed at a shop than to do it yourself, as long as you don’t get ANY other fixes while you’re there, because they upcharge on everything aside from oil changes. For perspective, if I already owned all the tools needed and just needed to buy the oil filter and motor oil, it’d cost me about $40. My local valvoline will give me an oil change for $25, because they can buy oil in bulk and assume I’ll be getting one of the other overcharged services. The cheap oil change is their loss-leader, or something they accept they’ll make no profit on because it attracts customers.

Change Car battery <-- requires 1 adjustable wrench (aka a spanner) - small adjustable spanners can cost as little as $4.  A car battery usually costs between $75 and $125.  It’s literally a battery brick bolted into place. be careful with the order that you remove cables, but if you can replace the batteries in a child’s toy, you can do this. Please drop the used/dead car battery at a recycle center or other proper disposal place (google “car battery disposal near me”)  Mechanics often charge an extra $80-$100+ in labor to switch out a battery.

Check what your check engine light means: FREE! Sometimes a car’s alert light means something is terribly wrong. Sometimes it means a sensor has wiggled loose. You can check what those dash alerts mean FOR FREE by going to Autozone and asking to use their Diagnostic Reader. - It plugs into a port and tells you what code the car’s computer is yelling about. You can then google that code to find out what’s going on in the engine and decide if you need a fix RIGHT NOW, or if it can wait. (How to locate the port to plug it in)

About Jacking Up/ Raising a Car:  Jacking up a car just means you’re making the underside of it safely accessible. You can do this by driving your car half up onto a curb and engaging your parking break so that sucker can’t roll off onto your head.  Don’t use cinderblocks, since they can crumble under a car’s weight, and make sure the ground is HARD, not soft - you don’t want the car sinking into mud or soft earth while you’re under it or when the tire is off.

A proper Car Jack (if you don’t want to use the ‘find a curb’ method) costs $50-$100

Being able to jack up a car gives you access to more complex stuff, if you decide to pursue more work-and-tool intensive DIYs, like flushing your radiator fluid, changing your brake pads, changing tires, replacing oil, etc.

Once you have your car jacked up safely on your wood, curb, or proper jack, all you need to change a tire is

1) the replacement tire, (Google “Car’s Make Model year Replacement Tire” to find which one you need) A regular replacement tire costs about $50-$150. Some cars require low-profile tires, which are ‘sportier’ and more expensive - can be closer to the $200 range.

2) a lug wrench to remove the funky bolts that hold the tire in place. A universal Lug Wrench costs about $15-$20

Have fun!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Portrait of a Dangerous Man🎨2

Warnings: (series) non-consent sex and rape; slow creep; cucking; (this chapter) nothing as yet.

This is dark!mob!Clark Kent x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: Your dream of having your work hung in an art show comes true but your first buyer is not all he seems to be.

Note: Thank you for your positive response to this one! I hope you enjoy what I have in store.

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Your Spotify list of redundant tracks flowed through the apartment as you sat typing at your small desk in the corner of the front room. The boxy space was as oppressive as any office space, another reason for your voluntary work at the gallery. Vanessa let you in the studio to paint. Without the privilege, you wouldn’t have the space for your easel.

You stretched your fingers and rubbed your eyes. You felt dizzy from staring at the screen, even with night mode on. The work was monotonous and made you restless. You wanted a pencil or brush in hand, a canvas before you, not this blaring laptop. You yawned and took a sip of your lukewarm water.

Your phone vibrated from across the room and you checked the time. Your lunch started soon but no one was really keeping track. As long as you got your assignments done, it didn’t matter when you chewed on toast and disassociated.

You got up and grabbed your phone from the corner table and leaned against the arm of the couch. You remembered how Marcus woke up there and grumbled as he lifted his head in pain. You couldn’t really feel bad for him going into work hungover. He embarrassed you and it didn’t quite sink in until after Clark left you to stare down at your drunk boyfriend.

An unknown number showed on your screen and you answered tentatively, ready to hang up at the first sales pitch. Your name came from the speaker and you recognized the deep voice in an instant. It took you back to the night before and the canvas hung on the wall.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Clark said, “I only just had the paintings hung and I thought… well, I thought you might like to come see them in their new home.”

“Um…” you chewed your thumb, uncertain how to respond.

“Sorry, I know I can be a bit… to the point,” he laughed at himself, “how are you?”

“I’m good, just… taking a break.”

“You working?”

“Yeah, but I work from home,” you said as you touched the side of your neck, ���I could… I could come see them but it might be a while before--”

“When are you finished work?” he asked bluntly.

“Four but I… maybe another day.”

“I don’t mean to be pushy but I did have something else to speak with you about,” he said, “a commission, like I mentioned.”

“Oh?”

“I kinda wanna get it started sooner than later, it will probably be pretty time-consuming,” he explained and you heard a clink and a soft sip, “I don’t wanna get into details on the phone but I promise, you will be compensated nicely.”

“You can’t wait until tomorrow?” you wondered.

“I suppose I can but it’d have to be during the day,” he responded, “why don’t you take some time to figure it out and get back to me by two? You can text me through this number.”

“Erm, sure,” you said uneasily, “I’m sorry, it’s just… very sudden, I don’t--”

“You can bring the boyfriend,” he said casually, “if you like.”

“He won’t be… home,” you said carefully, “I’ll let you know. Thank you.”

“I look forward to hearing from you,” he replied, “have a good day.”

“You, too,” you said and the line died.

You put your phone down and took a moment. Good things rarely happened to you. You struggled so long it was hard to think that might change. The skeptic in you told you there was something behind it all. That it couldn’t possibly be your art.

You went back to your computer and sighed as you waved away the screensaver with your mouse. The blinking cursor made you want to believe it was your big break.

🎨

You texted Clark at one and at four, you were in an Uber. Marcus drove his car to work and you stuck to buses and the underground when you could. The address was at least an hour out, the house among those estates on the edge of the city reserved for the upper echelon. You’d only ever seen the sprawling yards on your way to the next town.

When the car finally turned up the drive and you passed beyond a low brick wall, you felt entirely out of your depth. You tipped the Uber but didn’t feel too bad with the check from Vanessa sitting soundly in your account. You clutched the strap of your bag and walked along the curve of the brick work towards the stairs.

“Hey,” you stopped as Clark called to you, your ankle still tender from the night before.

You glanced over as he came out of the large garage and peeled off a pair of leather gloves. He smiled as he tucked them into his jacket pocket. You watched him and played with the clasp on your bag.

“Just got back from a drive,” he said, “I almost got carried away. I’m glad you made it.”

“Yeah, no problem,” you replied.

“Well, come on, let me show you around,” he waved behind you towards the front doors, “we’ll go on a tour and then we can talk details.”

“Wow,” you uttered mindlessly as you climbed the stairs to the door but kept the weight on your uninjured ankle, “this place is huge.”

“My contractor went a little crazy,” he scoffed, “but I can’t complain.”

He led you through the doors and directed you to the left. In the front room, your work was hung along the opposite wall, arranged in a way that drew the eye to them. You stepped closer and peered up at your work with a hint of awe. They looked even better in a place like that.

“I had my interior designer make the final call on where to hang them,” he explained, “I hope you don’t mind, I gave her your details. She said she had clients who might be interested in your work.”

“Really?” you breathed, “that’s… too nice.”

“Oh yeah? One day, you’ll be sick of rich pricks like me,” he grinned, “I’ll show you the pool, that’s usually the main attraction.”

“Sounds good,” you said as you followed but he paused and watched your stunted gait.

“I forgot, we can go slow,” he offered, “how’s the ankle?”

“I’ll make do,” you affirmed as you neared him, “just need to get my steps in.”

🎨

As you finished the tour of the second floor, you slowed along the long hall and admired the work of artists you only ever saw in museums. You couldn’t help but be enamoured by the historic blots of paint. You almost forgot where you were as you leaned in to read the initials beneath the pastel flowers.

“So,” Clark’s voice brought you back, you almost blanked him out entirely in your mind, “I think you might have noticed the empty space above the fireplace in the front room. I was hoping you could fill it.”

“Oh?” you looked at him and smiled nervously, “did you have something in mind? A landscape or--”

“Well, your portraits are great. I like the old world style. I was hoping you might do one of… me,” he suggested, “I know, it’s vain but why not?”

“I mean, yeah, I could do that,” you said.

“I’ll pay hourly plus materials,” he continued, “three hundred an hour.”

You almost choked at the number. You blinked and swallowed through your surprise.

“Even a small portrait would take at least twelve hours,” you warned, “are you sure?”

“I know it’s a lot of time for you, so… I was thinking, if you have to miss work, I’ll factor it into your rate. I would really like to get the project started as soon as we can,” he put his hand on his hip as he looked down at you, “the only thing I need from you is a list of materials. I’ll have them waiting for you here.”

“Here?”

“Well, yeah, I figure it makes most sense,” he turned his palm out.

“Hmm, sure, I prefer my own brushes but… you know I can just buy the stuff myself--”

“Ah, no, I want it to be perfect. You send me a list and I’ll have my assistant go out and get it all ready,” he assured, “How does Sunday sound?”

“Sunday?” you blanched. That was two days away.

“Like I said, Marcus is more than welcome to come with you,” he offered, “I’d hate to keep you from him too long.”

“I guess Sunday works,” you squeaked, “I’ll talk to Marcus.”

“Great,” he said coolly, “well, that’s business. How about a drink to seal the deal?”

“I don’t know, I should probably get back,” you fiddled with your bag against your hip.

“One drink won’t hurt,” he said, “go on, call the boyfriend and let him know you won’t be much longer.”

“I… thanks,” you murmured.

“You’re humble for an artist,” he joked as he sidled by you, “once you grow an ego, you’ll be unstoppable.” He neared the stairs as you turned to watch him, “I’ll be at the bar, waiting. You like gin?”

“Sure,” you answered as you pulled out your phone, “I’ll see you down there.”

🎨

When you told Marcus about your new side gig, he was even more excited than you. You were anxious and slightly hesitant. You hated to jump in feet first and risk losing more than a few tubes of paint. What if the work wasn’t good enough?

Marcus was more than willing to come with you when you told him about the size of the place. He knew by the area that it was extravagant. You sat in the passenger seat with the most expensive bottle of wine you’d ever bought cradled between your legs. You hated to show up empty handed after all of Clark’s generosity.

Marcus got lost and went down the wrong driveway before you righted your course. As you drove up, you were once more overcome from the rich rosebuds and sparkling fountain at the centre of the mosaic. You gripped the neck of the bottle and got out as Marcus whistled in awe.

“You weren’t kidding. This place is fucking nuts,” he swore, “I should’ve worn the tux from my brother’s wedding.”

“Please, Marcus,” you rolled your eyes, “let’s both try not to break anything.”

“You’re the clumsy one,” he chirped, “shit, you’re so lucky. You get to hang out here and paint all day? God, I wish I had an ounce of artistic talent. I’d trade it for code in a minute.”

You climbed the steps and clanged the large knocker on the right door. You waited a moment before an answer came and Clark appeared on the other side and beckoned you inside. He smiled as he shook Marcus’ hand.

“Thanks for joining us,” he said, “I would’ve felt awful stealing your girlfriend on the weekend like this.”

“Are you kidding me? She said you had a pool and I snuck the swim shorts into the backseat,” Marcus chuckled and you nudged him with your elbow.

“See?” Clark arched a brow, “the pool is always the seller.”

“Here,” you said as you held out the bottle of red, “for everything you’ve done and welcoming us into your home.”

“Ohhh,” he took the bottle and looked over the label, “I got a spot for this right behind the bar. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, I brought my brushes,” you patted the canvas bag on your shoulder.

“Mmm, yeah, well, I’ll just put this away and we’ll give Marcus the grand tour. Then I’ll get you situated,” he assured and rushed off.

He returned and pointed Marcus through to the front room, “you’ll see, just over here,” he directed him to your paintings.

“Oh, wow, babe,” Marcus marveled at the hung portraits, “you really did it.”

You smiled bashfully and Clark peeked over at you and winked. You squirmed as your cheeks burned and you turned away as he beckoned Marcus past the mantle.

“It’s a big place,” Clark said, “I’d like to get you started before noon.”

Clark led you along the same path as days before and slowed as you came back to the top of the stairs. He turned back and clapped his hands together.

“Marcus, if you wanna hop in the pool, we’re gonna start just in there,” he pointed to the one door you hadn’t looked through, “that’s the studio.”

“What about you?” Marcus asked.

“Well, I’ll be a part of the process so I’m afraid I will be just as busy but if you need anything, Nina, she has a crooked nose and mean mouth but don’t let her fool you, she’ll get you whatever you need,” he said, “just don’t track in water from the pool or she’ll string you up.”

“Oh, well, that doesn’t sound too bad. Some alone time in the sun and a pool,” Marcus grinned, “I really couldn’t ask for anything else… except you, babe.”

“Sure,” you scoffed, “go, have fun.”

Marcus kissed you quickly and thanked Clark again before he excitedly barreled down the steps. You scratched your neck as you looked back to your host, and you guessed, your new boss.

“I’m sorry about him. He can be such a kid sometimes,” you said.

“Nah, it’s fine,” he waved it off, “so, you ready to see your workspace? I kinda wanted it to be a surprise. Also, a bit last minute so it’s not perfect… yet.”

“Uh, yeah,” you answered, “can’t wait.”

He motioned you over to the tall dusty rose doors and hooked his fingers in the slotted handles. He slid them open and revealed an airy room with a tall ceiling and long windows. An easel stood facing the sun streaked glass, an immense canvas bigger than yourself, bigger than him, propped up on it. There was a ladder nearby and the table was set with a rainbow of paints and a large pallet.

Your lips parted as you neared the easel and stared up at the canvas, “you were right, it’s gonna be a lot of work.”

“I hope it’s not too much,” he said, “but you name your price. We’ll make it work.”

“No, no, I think for what you’re paying, I’ll do just fine,” you put your bag down daintily on the table, “so, uh, a portrait, I guess that means…”

Your voice trailed off as he went to the upholstered chair across the room, at an angle so you could see him from your vantage. Behind it, hung a velvet curtain to add to the scene and a bust on a pedestal. It felt surreal, like a dream.

You turned and pulled out the brushes, “I think you’ll get more tired than me, just sitting there.”

“I’ll make it through,” he assured as he sat, “is there anyway you’d like me to sit? Chin up, or…”

“Hmmm,” you turned to look at him, “I think… if you just put your shoulders back and… did you want a profile or--”

“I was thinking front-facing,” he stared at you steadily, unflinching as his eyes stuck to you, “just like this.”

“Perfect,” you said nervously and looked back to the table. 

There was water to rinse your brushes, rags, pencils, blending sticks; everything you needed and more. You took a pencil from the bunch and pulled over the ladder. You climbed up and looked over at Clark as he sat stoic and still. He looked picturesque in real life, you expected paint would only lend to his figure.

His eyes met yours and you turned to start tracing the basic shapes onto the canvas. You had to stop and steady your hand as you did. His gaze made it hard not to tremble.

[afro-elf]

fine, i’ll elaborate on my thoughts about tylor sift but they will be disorganized

disclaimer: i know a few people will read this and be like “op is a hozier fan can she really talk about the cultural obsession with mediocre white art?” and the answer is yes because a) i’m black and i have an english degree so can do whatever i fucking want, b) hozier is a better artist than taylor objectively, like his mediocre tracks would be considered her great ones, and c) the comparison of taylor to hozier is part of the problem Genuinely because i don’t even think white people like half the music they listen to, they just don’t wanna be left behind, we’ll get into this later. i’m sorry to everyone who is tired of hearing about him but hozier will be returning later in this post jsfglsjlgldsjlfd

second note: read this

i don’t just dislike taylor because she’s white. i don’t dislike taylor because she’s a woman. i don’t dislike her because she writes mean and petty lyrics about past relationships and people who wronged her. i don’t dislike taylor because her public circle of friends is almost exclusively blonde white celebrities with their own laundry lists of issues that includes ryan reynolds and blake lively who are poster children for white privilege and pseudo-excellence if i’ve ever seen them. i dislike taylor because the amalgamation of all of those things is so exemplary of a huge problem i have with the music industry in general but also like american society

fuck it, numbered list!

1. taylor swift consistently releases the same mediocre album but in different colors. every album is the same lyrically and tonally. her body of work rarely goes very far above “good for taylor swift”. folklore as both title and musical aesthetic is irrelevant to the actual content of the album, which is just every taylor swift album except set to folk pop and with a bit more cussing, congrats for baby’s first swear. i’ve seen folklore compared to much better bodies of work and even propped up by stans as album of the year, a distinction that rina sawayama and chloe x halle will be battling it out for if there is any justice in the world at all. the fact that she is allowed to do this and still be considered great when this is something that even white male artists are butchered critically for... astounds me. like we all know how well received all of coldplay’s similar sounding albums are.... Come on. 

2. i don’t think taylor or her work is particularly feminist and yet for some reason every time she frowns an army of white women brings her kleenex. i’m not saying taylor’s anger has always been unjustified, but her feminism to me has always felt like “i can do whatever a man can do” feminism, which is utterly fucking useless to me as a black woman. it’s only useful to her because as a wealthy, white, straight, cis white woman her ONLY obstacle in life is her gender. and if she just didn’t have that tricky little bitch then maybe people would take her seriously. like, just think about her music video for the man... what was the thesis of that? what was the point of that? with all of her privileges she’d just be gaining a single extra privilege. she’s a blonde blue eyed thin white girl, the world kisses her feet. i have no interest in proving myself any better or any worse than white men, they are not the standard for how a person should be treated, they’re cautionary tales, and white women are too. i think taylor capitalizes off of white woman victimhood, and it’s all over her writing style. even when she’s trying to be empowered, like in mad woman for example, there is this tone to it of victimization, poking the bear, unleashing the beast if you will. she invokes the imagery of salem witches and even more boldly chooses a noose to write about in the song which is..... surely going to be a white tumblr staple for many gifsets to come but holy shit is it hollow. she also tends to come back to teenage memories in her music and she’s thirty. i don’t think about being seventeen unless i’m being held at gunpoint but she seems to think about it All The Time. and part of this is to keep herself young, at least in her music, which only further ingrains this image of fragile teeny bopper taylor into the mind of the listener, fueling her victim image. this imagery and language means nothing because the world always rallies around taylor. even when she was the butt of jokes for not being beyonce (which she is not and never can be) and writing about her exes (which she does), she was largely supported by the industry and by critics. look at how many fucking awards she has!

3. folk and indie and alternative music is in a moment of transition, where musicians of color are getting the chance to really speak about how they’ve been treated in these overwhelmingly white circles and create their own standards and their own voices. and for taylor swift to swoop in with aaron dessner and jack antonoff fantano and almost reassert that mid-2010s indie sound as The Sound of folk pop in the popular consciousness.... it makes me violent! it! makes! me! violent! 

4. back to hozier! finally, i wanna talk about white standom, fandom, bandom, and womandom. i often see these very superficial comparisons between hozier and taylor (and hozier and florence and hozier and stevie nicks and hozier and whatever other white woman in fashion) and they frustrate me for more than one reason. i know that hozier has met taylor and said she’s cool, which is nice of him and he’s a nice man, but i’m not a nice man so i’m going to just say it: none of the people who have made those posts have listened to more than four hozier songs and it shows. the reason why this matters is because these posts catch on and create an image and preconception of hozier’s music that is divorced from reality and divorced from his influences and most importantly divorced from the deliberate and reverent blackness of his musical style. hozier has his white male privilege in the industry for sure but he’s not as towering of a giant as taylor and taylor’s music is an unsalted chicken, plain oatmeal, white paint drying on a white wall, a stick of unflavored gum. her music is so white it told me that its dad is a cop. i am, as a black hozier fan, exhausted with having to share space with white women who don’t know why hozier’s music kicks me in my lungs sometimes and think that taylor mentioning a tree ONCE in her 3 minute acoustic guitar slog about whatever suburb is the same when it simply is not. i swear some of you are pretending to love taylor because your friends love her and you don’t wanna be left out of the hot new musical discourse but she’s only the hot new musical discourse CONSTANTLY because she’s a white woman, she’s almost the Perfect white woman. like if someone asked me to describe a white woman, it would be taylor swift. her position at the top of the musical pyramid among people who eclipse her musically, vocally, and lyrically is only allowed because she’s The Perfect White Woman. she’s an ideal. white girls relate to her immediately because of it and now we have this unshakable mob of unbearable white women who think that the world has wronged someone who literally wrote fanfiction about the rich oil heiress white woman who owned her rhode island mansion before her aklghlghdhlgs it drives me fucking NUTS 

anyway that’s all. if you made it this far, listen to adia victoria, kaia kater, samantha crain, valerie june, kelsey lu, corinne bailey rae, brittany howard, kimya dawson, japanese breakfast, cold specks, left at london, rhiannon giddens, aisha badru, shea diamond, nadine shah, xenia rubinos, karen o, mirel wagner.... Anyone

[jxthics]

As somebody with zero knowledge of firearms who has never even held one: feel free to rant about the most common mistakes you see in movies and shows? I love that sort of thing!

OH I HAVE SO MANY HANG ON

(if anyone wants to keep this as reference you're welcome to!)

this list is nonexhaustive i could complain all day but here's some top ones

- BULLET PHYSICS. i don't really have an issue with bullet physics in terms of how they hit people because the research required for learning that usually requires like, looking at actual injuries? and i am pretty harshly against traumatizing some poor intern working in the entertainment industry with exposure to real violence just for the sake of "realism" when stylized violence would have been more interesting to look at from an audience standpoint and without cruelty from an industry standpoint. but everything else about bullet physics makes me so mad!! this is usually an issue with comics, but bullets do not fire with their shells on! BULLETS ARE NOT FIRED IN A CURVED LINE! if a bullet hits something, it will generally go through it unless it is very very thick! keep in mind what is behind your target!

- the amount of ammo a gun has. the number of times i've seen someone fire like, 15+ rounds out of a 6 shot revolver..... as a general rule of thumb, revolvers usually fire 6, a standard pistol USUALLY fires 10-15, though extended mags exist. in this specific instance realism would make your action scenes SO much better too so i dont understand why its skimped on! make your characters force themselves to contend with and manage resources!!!

- TRIGGER DISCIPLINE. this is an extremely hard rule when handling guns, you need to keep your finger off of the trigger until exactly when you are ready to fire. if you need to rest your trigger finger while holding a gun, that is what the trigger guard is for. it's fine if like, your guy has literally never held a gun before in their lives? but if they have even a slight understanding of handling guns, they're going to follow trigger discipline because that shit is insanely dangerous. so watching "trained assassins" or whatever wave around guns with their finger on the trigger drives me nuts.

- sound from guns! when someone fires a gun in a small room and then immmediately starts talking after? or like, someone fires a gun in a small room and then is 100% Profoundly Deaf For The Rest Of Their Lives? both of those are incorrect. make more of your badasses wear hearing protection pleeease they make electrical earpro that only blocks out sounds from guns and does not block out everything else so they can still talk. you don't have to make them wear full on cans you can just wear some earplugs. it's ok. i promise

- this one's kind of broad, but incorrect terminology almost always takes me out of it.... especially when the character is supposed to know their shit like lol you just sound like a douche. unless your character is using ammo that is designed to physically clip onto their vests they probably do not carry clips for their guns, they carry magazines/mags, for example. big badass people in action movies looove to talk about technical aspects of guns and just completely get it wrong, which is such a simple fix. and like... for the most part tech talk about guns isn't very advanced, it's not like scientific terms, they're usually slang terms meant to be understood by a lot of people, so if your character fucks up those it tells me that they do not actually know what they're talking about. in the very instance that is supposed to show me that they do.

and like... the thing that drives me up the wall with stuff that has to do with the user itself is that IT WOULD ALWAYS ADD TO THE CHARACTER especially in like long term tv shows. everyone has their own preferences on what they use and everyone does things in their own ways, especially if they are trained to work with firearms. it's not just "oh this guy's using a weapon" in most instances and it would tell so much about how they act!!!! are they militant about cleaning their guns, do they enjoy that part of the process? do they have favorites? do they prefer revolvers or automatics and if they have a preference, why? do they have a type of gun they dislike? why? if you're handling guns day in and day out for a long time you will inevitably develop these!! and it would humanize them so much..... i wanna see some guys in an action show on their downtime cleaning their guns, or some guys getting along by debating about AK vs AR. just like.... cmon. make your professionals look professional.

i could go on for waaaay longer but i will cut myself off here tysm for asking i go nuts on this stuff �� UM AND IF ANY WRITERS ARE READING THIS the best way to avoid inaccuracies is by contacting someone who knows shit about guns to beta read, i promise you will not be bothering them. myself included cmere let me proofread your fics so i can tell you about your heroes firearms pspspspspsp

[breitzbachbea]

God I love enemies and I love hatred Blease Blease tell me about the hatred I’m beghing on me knees

Oh, where to START. Charlie and Robert have their own playlist, which I should remake on youtube so that I can share it. Big fan of "Hated You from Hello" by Downplay and "You're Going Down" by Sick Puppies being both sided, "Know It All" by Fivefold is so, so good for when Robert gets his revenge for Sicily in a later story and in turn "Thank You for Hating Me" by Citizen Soldier is a great Charlie song once he has had enough. Those aren't all songs on the playlist, just a little overview.

So yeah, these two and just how deep and visceral the hatred of each other runs is very important to me. Started with the homophobia, but even when Robert gets better, Charlie just ... still thinks he is the most annoying person on the planet. And Charlie in turn is never going to let Robert forget what he did to him, because if he has to live with the trauma, so has Robert.

However, the English are very good at making enemies and Robert in particular manages to be unpopular. Literally nothing funnier in the world than a good old Tarielle/Railey love triangle where Tahir is incidental. This isn't about him, this is about Robert and Arielle not wanting to share air to breathe. Read my latest drabble and see it in action. Or this Lego thing I wrote - Hugo isn't very in character, but the Robert and Arielle bitching is just. on point.

OH MY GOD, SPEAKING OF HUGO. LEMME JUST. I think those drawings by @c0ffinated speak for themselves. Very sad I cannot share the nsfw ones that make the point in the best way.

(First one is Hugo eating Alois' protein snacks in the middle of the night after a one-night stand. One night stand number 238493. And the fourth one is the Live German Reaction to the third one, because that's Katta and Selim. Katta says "This is such a shitfest here, I love it" and Selim "Got something of Asi-Tv" (<- slang for German reality TV. Think TLC kind of stuff). )

Alois is being an asshole about Hugo's weight, Hugo is being an asshole about Alois' lost legs, it's a good look on neither of them, somehow they still end up fucking all the time. I don't get it. Neither does Massoud, the poor soul in the second picture trying to help with Alois' leg. Leo thinks this shit is hilarious, like the Germans, Nathan (aph switzerland) doesn't have much of an opinion, Hugo tries to behave in front of Lilli, but oh my god, these two are driving Roderich nuts. He can handle Hugo on his own, but as soon as Alois is also in the picture .... it goes against all of his sensibilites. PLEASE read this Hugois One Shot, I am so proud of this one, it encapsulates all that is wrong with them so well. Also, if God wants it, I will actually get to write another one shot where Hugo is REALLY nasty. Has a breakfast brawl at the end. It's gonna be so good once it's done.

Okay, but to circle back to Robert, another petty feud he has with @swabianmapley's OC Siggy, who is one of the Icelanders. It's not really as intense, because it's for ... incredibly dumb and petty reasons and the Icelanders aren't high on the English priority list, but it deserves a mention. As do another two of Jani's OCs, the former right hand of Emil's dad, Rúnar, who did a runner when the old man wandered off into the ice, never to be seen again. But before that even he dated one of the Icelandic subordinates, Þóra, and they had an incredibly poor breakup. Hates his guts even before he left them all hanging and god knows, Leifur's other right hand Alex now has more than a few good reasons to throw him into a volcano if he ever showed up again, but Þóra would strangle the motherfucker on the spot if he showed his face in Iceland again. Also, while we are at the Icelanders - Leifur, Emil's dad, and Ansgar, Lukas' dad, never really got along. Business partners, yes, but also business enemies, never really being cool with one another. And then the sister of Leifur's wife moved to Oslo and his wife asked Leifur if he couldn't help her find work. So he asked Ansgar for a favour and whoops, they got married and now they are brothers in law. Whoops.

Okay, last Robert one, but since the Spaniards and the English also have bad blood (and Arthur is SO smug about it while Antonio is so passionate about kicking his face in), Robert and Diego don't get along. Robert usually is more eager about the fights because he's an adhd hothead like that, but only because Diego is a soldier doesn't mean he want to punch out his teeth any less. "Friends" by Sixlights is a great song - the chorus for them in general and the verses for the fucked up AU version where they dated and had a bad breakup.

On the bigger playing field, where there also little animosities nestled into the bigger ones like matryoshka dolls - The Empires of course don't get along. The English have beef with the Russians and Spaniards, the Spaniards are pissed with the Turks and vice versa, while the Turks also can't stand the Russians. Also - the Austrians and the Turks. Not sure where I stand on the Austrians and the Russians yet. But yeah, love the idea that Charlie and Harry have a conversation on a big event whether or not "their Kurdish friend" (Dilan) just doesn't like blondes, because she's bitching with Salomé (who, much like Francesco however, thinks personal grudges are uninteresting and also is the horniest lesbian on the planet who wishes Dilan wasn't straight), Alois, Robert and Viktoriya. Their convo also includes "Okay, but she gets along with the Dutch lass." "She's no natural blonde though." "Neither is Salomé." "... point taken."

Oh yeah, while we are at the Dutch: It's not an ACTIVE beef, they aren't really out here hating each other on a deep personal level, but both Nathan and Gavin resent the other AND that rotten Dutchman for all the money they are sitting on. Nathan and Gavin do a lot of banking and related illegal stuff, so they are direct competition. Tim doesn't care about either of their bs, he'd do business with them if the price was right. But, quote from an RP I had with Jani, by Tim about Gavin: "Some people like holding grudges more than they like making money."

Who else is there ... I mean, I absolutely love a good ScotFruk tug of war. Gavin and Arthur inheriting the nemesis relationships from their fathers, each of them want power and influence on the isles and then Arthur happens to on-off date Gavin's ex-boyfriend. And the Scot just can't help, even if he is not actively in love with someone anymore, he will always love all his sweethearts. Besides, the French are friends! François is a friend! And he deserves better than this cruel and petty Englishman! Meanwhile, Arthur is a jealous little bitch who can't properly express his love for Fran, but also can't stand the thought that the Scot puts his finger not only on his sphere on influence but the one man he loves. Bitchfest supreme.

Speaking of that, I have a note in my notebook for the next chapter of IP I will edit that says "Can anyone ask more about Lovi so that Michele can call him bitch boy unlimited". The fact that Michele hates Francesco, too, out of a mix of jealousy over not being the biggest siren in the room if Franci is there and because he doesn't buy his friendly shtick, plus he's afraid that Francesco could see behind his mask. But we are here for Lovi and Michele, which is a very ironic hate. In the hetaverse at least they are united in their mutual dislike for Feli and all the other Northerners. but in LFLS, Feli falls a bit to the wayside (though Michele has not much respect or love for him either) and it's all about these two. I think, aside from the fact that they also inherited a generational enmity, Lovino feels entitled to the land Michele is sitting on and Michele is fiercely protective of his independence ... aside from all that, they are too close for comfort. They see in each other who they could be, maybe all they should be but aren't, maybe all the sides of themselves they like the least.

... Yeah! I think that's a good start! :)

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

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.”

[cocobutnochanel]

Brother | 18+

Genre: smut, slight fluff, discharged!Kyungsoo

Characters: Do Kyungsoo x Reader (oc: female)

Summary: Heartbreak makes you do crazy things like getting drunk with your friends and letting yourself loose. But with Do Kyungsoo back in town, letting yourself loose was a wrong move.

Warnings: alcohol intake, smoking, profanity, mature themes, sex scenes, one night stand

Kink List: drunk sex, unprotected sex, oral (male & female receiving), boob fetish, clothes destruction fetish, creampie, one night stand

Word Count: 2.5k+ words

Authors Note: Soo is finally discharged and this AU was inspired by it! 

"Fuck." You mutter a curse under your breath when you feel your lungs constrict and your vision blur. "Where the hell is Chanyeol?!" You hiss when another pang hits your head.

You were slightly drunk and you were at a stranger's house. Break-ups were never nice to you which was why you needed breaks like these. Chanyeol brought you to a classmate’s house who was having a large house party for the football team's victory. You were here with your cheer team too but this would've been more fun if you came along with Jongdae and Minseok.

As if on cue with your thoughts, you hear Dae's voice. "Y/N! Yeol said you'd be here!" You see him walk inside the crowded kitchen you were in.

"Daedae! Mini!" You slurred, making him and Minseok laugh. "You were having all the fun alone, huh?" Minseok teases you which you respond with a grimace. "He's here.." You were sick to the stomach at the thought of your ex again.

Junmyeon was a nice guy. He was the best boyfriend to you even. You had bo idea what went wrong that he suddenly broke up with you. But that was the thing with good boys, they will mess you up good because you never saw what you were getting in the first place. You'd think it's all rainbows and cuddles. It's not, Junmyeon proved you that.

Minseok gives you a red cup with booze inside as his way of comforting you. "Thanks." You wink at him and at his attempt of cheering you up.

"If I didn't know better, I'd be mad at Chanyeol for leaving you alone but I know he's probably making out with the house owner." Jongdae sighed, looking at you with pitiful eyes. "I'm okay, Dae. Y'all can hook up all you want but please drive me home after." You laugh at him.

"Who's the house owner?" You ask him, remembering what he just said. "You don't know? He was your lab partner in bio." Ah! Now, you remembered. It was Baekhyun, the golden boy. He was a guy like your ex, Junmyeon: straight As, student-athlete and school councilor. They were the kids your parents compared you to and you paled in comparison.

You couldn't imagine your friend, Chanyeol, being with a guy like that. He was perfect, Chanyeol fucked whoever he liked.  "Calm down. They're hooking up, not getting married." Minseok said before your drunken thoughts ran further in your head.

"God, why did I drink so much?" You ask them with a wince. Jongdae only sighed and looked at you with eyes full of pity once again.

"Stop with the pity, we came here to party." Minseok rolls his eyes at Jongdae and drags you two out of the kitchen and into the dancefloor.

The stench of beer and sweat clouded the air. The music was loud, making your head pang but your hips swing. Jongdae puts his arms around you and Minseok as you swam through the crowd with heads bobbing to the beat. It was a feeling you knew but longed for. The drunken euphoric feeling. It made you forget your ex was even here. 

"Wooh!" Minseok hoots while dancing to the music that was deafening yet comforting at the same time. You match his energy and let yourself loose. It has been a while since you've been this free.

You feel the alcohol get to you. You had the sudden urge to get out and breathe.

You eye Jongdae who was having a good time with Minseok. "I'll just get some air.." You point outside and they just nod.

You make your way through the dancing crowd and find the main door. You walk out and finally, you have the oxygen to inhale. "Ugh.." You groaned, cracking your neck.

Walking to the front porch, you see a number of partygoers here too. Just like you, they needed air too. You spot an unfamiliar man with a bottle of beer in his hand. You wouldn't have the courage to approach him if you were sober but you weren't. The booze Minseok brought have officialy kicked in and it's giving you confidence.

It was dark but it was obvious that he was handsome and buff. "Hey, I don't know you." You stupidly greeted him, making him laugh heartily. Doe eyes, heart-shaped lips, defined jaw, thick eyebrows. He wasn't just handsome, he was a lot of it!

"I feel the same." He jokingly answered you when you neared him. You mentally curse yourself at how dorkish you approached the good-looking guy. "What I meant was you're probably not from our school?" You tried to explain and he nodded.

"I'm long out of school, kid." You snicker at his nickname for you. It's not like you're a literal child! You were a senior and nineteen now. He talked like he was 70 too, when in fact, he looked barely 20.

He notices your sneer and he laughs again. He offers you his free hand and your eyes widen at that. "Kyungsoo." He says his name with a glint in his eyes. A naughty one, at that.

"Y/N." You shyly answered, taking his hand too. "Smoke?" He shows you a box of cigarettes and you shake your head at that. "I'm still buzzed." You smile at him and he nods, taking a stick to his lips.

He lights it singlehandedly and starts sucking some of it in between his lips. "What's a grown man doing at a high-school party?" You jokingly jeered at him, trying to get back at him with the 'kid' nickname.

"Picking up my brother." He chuckles in between puffs. "Isn't your brother a senior like me? Can't he go home himself?" You pry further. "Strict parents." He shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly.

You nod at what he said, running out of things to say. You really haven't seen him around despite your neighborhood being small. But you guessed it was because he was older and people around here left after high-school.

"Why are you out here?" He asked out of nowhere, cigarette still in his fingers. "Needed air." You breathe out and look at the empty sky above you.

"Wanna get out of here?" He says, tapping on his cigarette stick. You were surprised by his offer. It wasn't that you were unattractive but you didn't sleep around. You weren't the type to be asked to things like these.

He chuckles lightly at your shocked face. "What? You're gonna stare at my face the whole night?" He jokes, sucking his cigarette in for the fourth time. You didn't know what was taking over you but you knew you couldn't stop it. You were drunk and you were feeling a little hot. This handsome man wasn't helping either.

You inch towards him, the moment he breathes out smoke. You get on your tiptoes and kiss his perfectly plump lips, tasting nicotine and alcohol on them. Like him, it was addicting. The kiss was addicting.

You suckled on his bottom lip causing him to hold onto your neck. You hear him moan against your kiss and you smile at that. To tease him, you get back to your original height and stop kissing him.

"It's bad to tease a deprived man." He eyes you and the skimpy hot pink silky dress you were wearing. "Deprived?" You laugh at him. "I just got discharged." He smirks which surprised you. He was from the military? That explains why he's buff.

Unable to stop yourself, you get on your tiptoes to meet his lips once again. This time, he responds with much more fervor.

He throws away his cigarette stick and grabs your face in place with both hands. You groan against his touch as his fingers roam around the sides of your body. His touch drove you crazier and braver.

Without breaking the kiss, he guides you to his car and lets you inside. After a minute or two, he distances himself and starts walking to the driver side.

Your lips instantly felt the absence of his touch and it drove you nuts. You wanted him, all of him, now. The car roars to life as he started pulling out of Baekhyun's driveway.

"Weren't you supposed to pick your brother up?" You ask despite the growing hunger inside you. "He's a senior, he can go home himself." He smirks, mocking your question earlier.

You smile amusingly at how he's so charming. Well, he charmed his way into your pants in less than ten minutes. What did you expect?

The hunger inside you pushed you to be braver. You never did anything like this inside a car but you guessed there was always a first for everything. You bent down which surprised him.

You unzipped his pants and his 8-inch member sprung to life when you let it peek from his boxers. He was hard after one kiss? Well, he was right. He was indeed deprived. The reddish tip looked swollen as it twitched in your hands, begging you take it in.

Lust took over you and you let your tongue roll off its head. You hear Kyungsoo groan and it drives you crazier than you already were. You gather your hair and hold it yourself since he was driving. Your head bobbed up and down as your lips enveloped his cock.

"Holy shit." He speeds down the street as you let your tongue swirl around the erection. You smile as your tongue ran around it, making it harder for him to control.

His hips bucked as you taste his precum oozing. Salty, bitter but satisfying, you thought. He finally pulls up into a garage and the car stops humming.

He puts his pants back in place and drags you out of the car, his lips meeting yours as soon as you step out. "Jump." He growled. You obey him and interlace your thighs against his torso. He carries you inside the house and up to his room without breaking the kiss.

His hand rested on your bottom, alighting an unknown flame inside you. He throws you onto his bed and hovers above you after. You squirmed under his lustful eyes. You knew you wanted more. You wanted him.

You were on some unknown high the moment he tore your silk dress apart effortlessly. His eyes skimmed over your body like a beast eyeing his prey carefully and you, the prey desperate to be devoured.

You arch your back when his fingertips met your bra. His eyes were glued on your face and every reaction you made, his erection throbbed even more.

He ripped your underwear aggressively. You wanted to worry about what you will wear after this since your dress and undies were now ruined but lust clouded your judgment.

His hands roamed around your body and you whimpered like a cat in heat. "Fuck." He curses under his breath when his warm palms massaged your breasts. "Kyungs-soo." You stuttered while still squirming under his touch.

"What do you want, baby?" He growls, looking at you with dark eyes. "I-I want you.." You begged but he smirked. "Later.. I have to spoil this baby first." His teasing eyes left yours as he went down on you.

You feel his tongue flick your clit as if he was testing waters. You quivered at that contact while his hands still on your boobs.

His teeth grazed your wet pussy as you felt him smile against it. His hold on your chest even became tighter, making you moan and arch your back even more. "Sweet." He commented, licking his lips and making it touch your clit at the same time.

He ate you out while you squirmed under him, your fingers in his locks. You close your eyes when he starts pinching your nipples. "K-Kyungsoo!" You couldn't help but scream in pleasure as a wave of release washed over you. Your thighs trembled and your eyes roll back when you finally feel something come out of you.

"Kyungsoo, I want you. God." You breathe out as he starts teasing the tip of his dick against your throbbing pussy. He bows down to suck your nipples and you whimper for the nth time tonight.

He senses your need and desperation. Finally, he enters you which surprises you. Your eyes widened at the impact when he filled you up to the brim, making him grin mischievously. He starts thrusting slowly, feeling every inch of you inside.

He picks up his pace as he holds your thighs in place and his mouth still on your nipples. You moan repeatedly while he pounds you harder and harder. "Soo!" You scream when he started biting your hard peaks.

It doesn't take both of you long to come at the same time. He groans one last time as you feel his hot liquid fill you up.

He pulls out, juices dripping out of you making him smirk in satisfaction. He heads to his bathroom and take a shower as you unknowingly doze off in his bed, soreness and his scent enveloping your bare body.

-

Blinding sunlight woke you up. You flutter your eyes open and see an arm draped over your stomach. Kyungsoo, you remembered.

"Fuck.." You whisper when you spot your torn dress and underwear on the floor. You wondered what the hell you would wear now that Kyungsoo just destroyed everything.

Your soft voice woke him up. His face looked so much better under the sun that it did last night. If you didn't know better, you'd even think he was innocent and soft. Yet you knew how he rocked your world last night said otherwise.

He gets up, still in his boxers. "Good morning." His groggy voice was hot and you couldn't deny it made you feel something you felt last night.

"Good morning but first, what will I wear now?" You bite your lip nervously. He chuckles at your worried face. "Here." He gives you a black hoodie and grey sweatshorts from his closet.

"These are mine now?" You ask him while slipping them on. It was weird wearing clothes without anything underneath but you had no choice.

You open his door and get out of his room. "No, silly. It's an excuse to meet again." He growls in your ear which makes you giggle. He was flirting with you the next morning. This was more than just a one night stand, you thought.

"Have breakfast with me?" He brings your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles. You smile at how he can be so sweet. "You aren't a deprived man anymore. Why let me have breakfast here?" You teased, earning a smile from him.

He goes up to you and kisses your neck as he leads you to his kitchen. His lips started darting upwards to your jaw and you couldn’t help but let out tiny moans. You were about to meet his lips with your own but someone interrupted.

"Y/N?" A familiar voice thundered from his kitchen. You whip your head around yet Kyungsoo stays unbothered, his lips still suckling your sensitive jaw.

"What the hell are you doing with my brother?" Junmyeon glowers, a smirking Kyungsoo teasing him. "Jun?" You ask with so much disbelief in your voice. You knew he had a brother but you had no idea who it was or where he was.

"Didn't your dumbass break up with her already?" Kyungsoo smiles as he snakes an arm around your waist visibly, eyeing his brother mockingly. "Yeah but-" Your ex wasn't able to respond when he was cut off by his own brother.

"Your loss, bro." Kyungsoo chuckles.

[buckyswinterbaby]

Rule Number Four — Oneshot **

Pairing: softdom!Bucky Barnes x reader

Synopsis: Bucky returns home early from a mission to find the reader in a compromising position. Rules are broken and new ones are made.

Warnings: language, smut (18+), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, folks), fluffy ending, softdom!Bucky, daddy kink (not ddlg), reader is submissive, nipple play, orgasm denial, metal arm kink, fingering (f receiving), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, degradation and a size kink (if you squint), aftercare, established relationship, masturbation.

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Divider is made by me. Please as permission to use it. Click

Word Count: 2,291

Note: Here’s my first attempt at actually posting an “x reader” or smut fic so please be gentle with her. This was based on a post I saw a bit ago about submissives masturbating while wearing their dom’s hoodie, so I thought I’d give it a go. I hope you guys enjoy!

You had become his wife nearly three months ago and this was the longest stretch you had been apart since.

Even before marriage, the two of you were practically inseparable. You were often found curled on his inviting lap with two arms circled around you, one flesh and one metal, holding you tightly to his chest. To say you had missed the comfort of his warm embrace would be the understatement of the year. It was more like you had been lost without it.

His arms were far from the only thing you missed about your soldier. Before his departure, Bucky had listed off a few rules to follow in his absence. Possibly enjoying your long standing dominant and submissive dynamic a bit more than he was willing let on in that moment.

Rule one: No touching yourself without permission. Cruel but simple enough.

Rule two: No orgasms. Bucky knew you too well to believe you wouldn’t find a loophole that didn’t involve dipping those delicate fingers between your folds.

Rule three, possibly the worst of the set, which was likely his intention: Nipple play, at least once a day. He wanted your delicious buds oversensitive and aching by the time he found his way home to you. While your cunt was left thoroughly neglected and needing his touch.

It was that one rule, one single command that had you breaking all the rest. You had held out for nearly his entire time away, only crumbling when you went to fulfill the rule one last time, the anticipation of his return clouding your senses.

You had intended to do as he said. You laid yourself out on the large bed that had felt overwhelmingly cold and lonely without him, clothed in nothing but his oversized sweatshirt that adorned the S.H.I.E.L.D logo on the front. Perhaps that was your first mistake, opting to forgo the panties you had been wearing the entire day. Leaving your dripping core exposed to the night air with your husband still, as you believed, across the world and unable to claim it.

Your delicate fingers traced the familiar path up the length of your torso, trailing along the valley between your soft breasts that Bucky so often spent his time worshiping. The hem of the sweatshirt rode up more and more as your hand made its way up. A flame flickered in the pit of your belly as you found your hardening nipples, the cool metal of your wedding ring ghosting over. For just a moment, you allowed yourself to imagine it was Bucky’s hand in place of your’s. The cold and unyielding vibranium working your body into fits of pleasure.

It was that thought that had your other hand trailing down instead of up, finding its way to the apex of your thighs. One finger wouldn’t hurt, you surmised. Though that one quickly led to two with a thumb working furiously on your throbbing clit.

Bucky heard your soft moans before he even approached the door, a wide grin spreading across his face. He was home hours earlier than anticipated, a fact he was suddenly so very grateful for. After another moment of listening, he heard the gentle string of gasps you would always release in pleasure, an undeniable sign that your orgasm was quickly approaching.

His interest was thoroughly peaked as he quietly slipped his way into the barely lit bedroom, drinking in the sight of you spread out before him like a man dying of dehydration.

“Y/n,” he called out, alerting you to his presence. Bucky licked his lips as he zeroed in on your now stilled hand, fingers slick and deep within you.

You knew better than to remove them, he’d tell you if that was what he wanted. Your breasts heaved as you breathed out, waiting for him to say something or act, you’d take anything over the silence that now hung in the air between you.

In two steps, Bucky crossed the distance and now stood at the foot of the bed. “I gave you three rules, doll, just three. Thought I’d be nice and make em’ simple for you. Seems you can’t even do that right, can you?”

“I’m sorry, daddy,” you called out, your voice sounding more like a pathetic whimper than actual words. You tried to go on and explain how you had tried to be good but Bucky quickly cut you off. You honestly couldn’t remember even making the decision to ignore the rule.

“Don’t bother trying to apologize now.” His metal hand trailed up your thigh as he took a seat on the edge of the bed. Slowly making his way up until he swatted your hand away, not failing to notice how visibly damp the sleeve of the hoodie now was. “You’ve made your bed, baby girl. I think it’s about time you had to lay in it.”

Your walls clenched down, now feeling empty without anything inside. That feeling didn’t last long as Bucky dipped a metal finger between your lips, gathering the arousal you had so eagerly coaxed out only minutes before. He didn’t waste another moment before pushing in two thick fingers, quickly setting a punishing pace as they curled around to rub your g-spot with each pump.

Your back arched off the bed as he drove you to the brink of release in what seemed like a matter of seconds, skilled hands doing what took you at least a few minutes. It was easy to get lost in these moments with the man you loved and trusted without question. Never hesitating to give over control to your husband as you let yourself fall further into the pleasure he was providing. And boy were you truly lost, at least until the pleasure stopped as his fingers stilled inside you, continuing to ever so gently rub that special spot he could find all too easily.

You looked over at him in surprise as your building orgasm quickly dissipated. “Bucky?”

“Patience. You’ve got a few questions to answer first.” He couldn’t help but chuckle at your huff of annoyance. “Was this the first time you broke rule number one while I was gone? You better be honest with me.”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to form an understandable sentence as his thumb rubbed slow, lazy circles against your clit. Your hips bucked involuntarily against his ministrations, he didn't seem angry, though.

“Did you break number two?” he questioned, his free hand roaming up to tease your sensitive nipples, purposefully giving the right one more attention than the other just to drive you nuts.

It took a few more seconds for you to compose yourself enough to speak. “I didn’t,” you moaned out, throwing your head back after a particularly hard pinch to the right nipple.

“Not for a lack of trying, it seems.”

A dark blush crept onto your already flushed cheeks. “I wanted to, daddy. I needed to. I followed rule three the entire time and I just couldn’t take it anymore.” You knew Bucky’s dominant side loved a lusty confession. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t trying to butter him up into finally allowing your release. If you only knew how much you’d end up regretting that wish.

“I left you alone too long, didn’t I? Your greedy little pussy isn’t used to not getting what she wants. And I think I know just the punishment to remind you that when you cum, how much you cum isn’t your decision.” You nearly came around his fingers then and there, which likely wouldn’t do much to fix your predicament besides providing momentary relief. “So you’ll get your orgasm, baby. Then you’ll take every other one I can give you and you’ll say thank you for being so generous. Scream it, even. Loud enough that Steve feels like he needs to go to confession.”

Your breath got caught in your throat at his words, goosebumps rising up behind the path of his flesh hand as it found its way to rest on your lower stomach. “How many?” You recognized that you should likely be afraid of his answer, but honestly nothing could prepare you for the reality.

Bucky seemed to debate the question for a moment before meeting your gaze, giving you the playful smirk you had fallen in love with some five odd years ago. “I dunno,” he admitted. “I haven’t decided yet. You’ll know when I’m done with you.”

His thrusts had been relentless for what seemed like hours, maybe it actually had been that long, you honestly couldn’t keep track. Orgasms blurred together as he used his super soldier endurance and sex drive to deliver the punishment he promised and then some.

Your arms were wrapped tightly around his neck, holding him closer to your sweat covered body as he continued to rut up against your abused sex, riding you through your most recent release.

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes from how sensitive you had become, the multiple orgams and brutal pace allowing you no mercy. His thumb swept away a fallen tear before it could run down your cheek, his swollen lips capturing your’s in a far more passionate and intimate kiss than the others you had received throughout the night. Everything seemed to soften after that, besides his cock, of course. His thrusts slowed to a steady but more gentle rhythm as he recognized you were nearing your limit, but also not quite there yet.

Bucky spared a glance at where you bodies were connected, momentarily becoming captivated by the sight. His eyes returned to your’s, pupils still dark and blown, yet they seemed to be more passionate than ravenous now.

“One more, baby, can you do that for me? Give me one more and you can rest.”

You nodded while letting out a string of deep moans, desperately bucking your hips up to meet his thrusts in chase of your final orgasm. It didn’t take long for you to feel the familiar pressure building in your belly, raising you higher and higher in bliss. Words were far beyond you now, only a breathy string of his name escaping your parted lips as you buried your head in the space where his neck connected to his shoulder.

His thrusts grew sloppy as he attempted to hold out until you came crashing around him. His left arm was resting beside your head, holding his large frame up above your’s as not to crush your smaller body beneath him. Metal fingers found their way into the locks of your hair spread out on the pillows. Gentle tugs forced your head up, your eyes meeting his piercing blue ones.

“I want to watch you when you cum.”

Your eyes never left his as he brought you to the rising crescendo that would bring the night to its end. The unyielding intensity and intimacy of the moment had you feeling small but so very safe underneath him. Bucky was home and he was in control, you didn’t have to worry about a thing. You came undone around his cock once again, your tight walls pulling him across the finish line with you. A few more lazy thrusts followed as he painted your pulsing heat, gently pulling out once he was spent.

Bucky moved to lay down beside you, taking a moment to catch his breath before moving to check on you.

His nose brushed against the rim of your ear as he leaned over to place a kiss on your flushed cheek. He whispered soothing words against your skin as you came down, knowing you needed the reassurances and affection after a rough session. “You did so good, took everything just like I told you to. You’re too good to me.” Calloused hands that had spent so many years committing unspeakable acts now gently smoothed down your wild hair. “How about we get you cleaned up, okay?”

He waited for you to nod before moving you into his arms, carrying your spent body to the bathroom so you could take care of your needs while he ran a bath.

Once he knew the water was just how you like it, he moved into the tub, helping you position yourself between his legs with your back against his toned chest. Your head rested back against his shoulder as he moved the soapy loofah across your arms. It took a few more minutes, but slowly Bucky noticed that you were coming out of the headspace you always seemed to slip into when you truly relinquished control to him.

“Was I too rough?” His question broke the comfortable silence you both had fallen into since entering the attached bathroom.

A soft smile graced your lips in response, your heart swelling at his concern just as much as it had on your very first night together. You raised a hand up to rest on his cheek, pulling him down into a gentle and loving kiss. “You were perfect. If that’s what happens every time I misbehave while you’re away, I might just make a habit out of it.”

A chuckle rumbled from deep in Bucky’s chest as he shook his head in amusement. “Doll, you say that like you aren’t already the biggest pain in my ass since the day I met Steve.”

You didn’t hesitate to send a playful jab between his ribs in protest. “I’ll have you know, Mr. Barnes, I am a delight. The light of your damn life, even.”

An adoring smile made its way onto his features as he captured your lips in a brief kiss again. “Now that...that’s something we can agree on. Rule number four is that you never forget it.”

[babyboy-cody]

unrequited (PART THREE)

PAIRING: Michael/Fem!Reader, Roman/Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: When Michael leaves for a business meeting, Y/N finds comfort in Roman’s presence.

WARNINGS: michael being an absolutel dick, roman being an absolute sweetheart, subtle flirting, bad thoughts, brief anxiety attack

WORD COUNT: 1.7k

“What do you mean you’re leaving? It’s our anniversary this week, Michael. You expect me to celebrate alone?” You weakly protested as he hurriedly packed his bags without sparing you a glance. “I made plans for us..”

“I don’t know what you want me to do, Y/N. This is a very important business trip and I need to leave in ten minutes. I’m not going to coddle you and have you change my mind, sweetheart. It’s not that big a deal,” he huffs and rolls his eyes. “Where the hell did you put my ties?”

You sighed softly and went into the walk-in closet that had Michael’s clothes on one side and yours on the other. You reached into a box and opened the lid to show him the neatly folded ties. “They’re where they’ve always been, Michael,” you quietly told him. You crossed your arms over your stomach as a defense mechanism when he stalked closer to look inside the box. He never once laid a hand on you or Aurora, but just his presence makes you uneasy. You had never felt this way before until now when he stood a few inches away from you.

“You know I hate when you touch my shit, Y/N,” he snapped and grabbed more of his things and went back out to the bedroom to continue packing. “From now on, leave my things alone. Got it?” He stared you down, nearly burning a hole into your soul when you meekly nodded.

Almost on cue, Aurora started whimpering in the little monitor you kept on the dresser. You breathed out a sigh of relief and hurried out into the hall, walking down a few doors away and into the little angel’s room. She’s holding onto the bars of her crib, bouncing happily when she sees you. You cooed gently and picked her up, cradling her in your arms as you breathe in that baby scent.

“Hello, my love,” you gently told her and kissed her cheeks, relishing her quiet giggles as she grips onto your necklace. “Did you have a good rest, hm? Mama’s got some new fruits waiting for you.”

“I’m leaving,” you hear Michael’s voice from behind you, causing you to gasp and hold onto Aurora tightly as you turn to look at the emotionless man. “I’ll.. walk you out then.”

You both walked down the long spiral staircase while Aurora babbled incoherently, mumbling “mama” every now and then. You hushed her softly and kissed her head, loving the smell of the faint shampoo you used on her this morning. Michael opened the front door and sat his suitcases on the top step.

“I should be home on the 23rd. I expect everything to be the way I left it. Do not go into my office. I will find out, okay?” He stared at you with such intimidation that it made you feel uneasy. You hesitatingly nodded and leaned up to give his lips a kiss, but he subtly turned his head so your lips would kiss his cheek. You felt a pang in your heart and sucked in a shaky breath. Michael’s motion almost felt like a punch in your gut.

“Let me know when you land,” you softly told him and took back into your home, not looking at him as you hold onto the knob. “I love you, Michael.”

“Don’t do anything stupid, Y/N,” he tells you before picking up his suitcases and walking down the steps to the car waiting for him outside the gate.

You swallowed down a whimper as your eyes instantly filled with tears. Aurora whined quietly and looked up at you with a distressed look at the sight of seeing her mother so distraught and sad. You sniffled and shut the door gently, making sure it was locked before you pressed your back against it and finally letting the dam break. You’re not sure why it hurt so much after being so used to Michael’s actions. But not heating those words you so desperately needed from him was like a stab to your heart.

“Why?” You blubbered and shook your head at yourself. “W-Why?”

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It was almost midnight when you had put Aurora down for her sleep. You watched her for a few moments, not having the heart to leave her just yet. She was the only good thing out of your marriage. She keeps you busy - keeps you on your toes. With her rosy cheeks and soft eyelashes, you’re almost glad that she looks like a mini vision of yourself rather than Michael. With one last brush of your fingers on her stomach, you left the room with the baby monitor in your hand. Now, you were left in a house of silence.

You can hear your heart thumping loudly in your ears as you shallowly breathed in and out. You shakily walked down the steps while grasping tightly onto the banister. You went into the kitchen, your vision blurry from the overflowing of tears filling your eyes. You grasped onto the counter and slow sunk down to your knees, desperately pressing your back onto the cupboards behind you. There was a faint ringing in your ear and your hands trembled so viciously that it was hard for you to grasp onto your knees to keep you grounded.

“No, no, no, no,” you whispered to yourself and covered your ears as you rocked back and forth. Your fingers gripped onto your strands of hair. The burning pain of your roots being pulled was enough ot bring you back to a sense of calmness. You hiccuped and struggled to take in a steady breath. You counted to ten in your head and finally became aware of your senses. Five things you can see, four things you can physically feel, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, one thing you can taste.

Five things you can see - the smoky maroon cuboards, the freshly watered plants on the windowsill, the hanging kitchen lights, your bright red painted toenails, and the little pile of notes on the counter.

Four things you can physically feel - the cold tiled floor under your thighs, your hair tickling your shoulders, your fingers interlocked with each other, and a small tear rolling down your flushed cheek.

Three things you can hear - the kitchen clock quietly ticking, Aurora’s soft snores on the baby monitor, and the neighbor’s dog faintly barking across the street.

Two things you can smell - your rose water facial spray and the cleaning spray you used to wipe down the counters.

One thing you can taste - your strawberry lip balm.

Your frantic heartbeat steadied and you were able to breath again. Your rest your head back and breathed in through your nose and out through your mouth a few times. The tears have now dried and your hands were no longer shaky. Aurora’s snores still sounded on the monitor and you had a small smile as you imagiend her lips to be parted with a small dribble of spit on them. But then, that feeling of loneliness soon hit harder than before. You stood up with a small groan, an ache in your joints after sitting on the hard ground for a few minutes. You opened the drawer next to the fridge that held notepads, pens, tape, scissors, takeout menus, and written notes. Rifling deeper and further inside, you pulled out the familiar napkin that Roman had written his number on a few weeks ago.

You looked around the kitchen to find your phone, letting out a small noise of triumphwhen you spotted it amongst the numerous books you laid out. You nervously bit your lip and played with the locket around your neck. After dialing the numbers, you listened as it rung. You felt the nerves again in the pit of your stomach. You swallowed and was about to hang up when you heard his voice.

“Hello?” He asked on the other line.

“Um, is this Roman Godfrey?” You softly asked him.

“Who’s speaking?” He sternly asked, now more alert than before. “How did you get this number?”

Completely caught off guard, you choked up a response. “Um.. this is Y/N.. from the coffee shop? We met a few weeks ago, I’m so sorry for calling you this late.”

“Oh!” He eased up again, and you can almost hear his smile through the phone. “I apologize, Y/N. I’ve been receiving a lot of spam calls and it’s been driving me nuts.”

“It’s alright,” you laughed smile. “Again, I’m sorry for calling you so late. I just.. had nothing better do to and you popped into my head.”

“Oh yeah? You been thinking about me?” He cheekily asked you, causing you to snort and roll your eyes as you felt a blush creep up on your cheeks. “I had nothing better to do either. I’m trying to find a good show to binge watch on Netflix.”

“Oh really? I have a few suggestions if you’d like?” You told him excitedly and grabbed the baby monitor before hurrying over to your comfy couch, grabbing the remote and immediately turning the tv on. “I think you’ll my wide variety of movies and shows.”

“Oh yewh? We’ll see about that,” Roman laughs quietly, smiling wide in the other line when he hears your laugh. “I like that laugh... hehehehe.”

“Oh God, please do not imitate that Justin Bieber meme,” you covered your mouth to hide your laugh. “You’re really funny, Roman. I never thought of you to be a man of humor.”

“I am incredibly insulted,” he gasped mock offended. “What kind of man did you think I was, hm?”

You shrugged to yourself, remembering that he couldn’t see you. “I don’t know.. a man of serious business.”

“A man of serious business,” he repeats softly. “Well if by serious business, you mean making you laugh and smile, then yes, I am a man of serious business.”

“Oh hush, Godfrey,” you sucked your teeth and blushed. “But thank you. I haven’t laughed like this in.. a while. It feels good.”

“I’m glad,” he quietly told you. “They say laughter is the best medicine.”

“I heard,” you laughed quietly and looked at the red Netflix logo on the television. “Okay, now the Netflix recommendations.”

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