#people have now spontaneously been like ‘i could clean your bathroom’

[roaringup]

I had another nice date with this new person (J) and among many other things they mentioned they know people hosting leathercraft nights where leather scraps and I think tools are supplied—and masks required?! (@toopunkrockforshul!) (leathercraft nights by and for gay perverts, to be clear)

and it was so good to hang with L Thursday night and know yesterday would be a day off! We made alphabet soup.

I’m home now and the migraine is a lot better, phew

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 76 (A Happy Harvestfest With One Greedy Little Genius)

Despite their busy schedules with work, Heather and Conrad hosted most of her family in Brindleton Bay for Harvestfest dinner. Ash would start school soon, and Heather could scarcely believe how fast time had gone. It seemed only yesterday she brought him home from the hospital in Henford where he was born.

Heavily pregnant herself, Heather's sister Holly spent most of the night napping in the upstairs guestroom, while her husband Kris and daughter Tetra hid out in the bathroom when the number of strange people made the infant uncomfortable. But otherwise the house was full of love and celebration, just as Harvestfest was meant to be.

Everyone ate so much there were no turkey leftovers! And though Heather was an incredible chef who had mastered gourmet cooking in their quest for ambrosia, Conrad stepped up to make this year's grand meal. Not only would it help him with his own cooking skill in their quest, it let very-pregnant Heather rest and enjoy the day with her family.

By the time everyone left, they were exhausted but content that nothing had spontaneously caught fire this time, unlike their last Spooky Day party.

A few weeks after his birthday, Ash lost his first tooth. A little genius with perhaps a hint of Landgraab greed, he was so excited for the Tooth Fairy's visit, Heather worried he'd try to pull the rest of his teeth before they were ready to fall out!

"Are you going to put that tooth under your pillow tonight?" asked Conrad.

Ash shook his head. "No, I'm gonna save it and take it to Daddy's! He told me when he was a kid, his Tooth Fairy gave him ten whole simoleons - per tooth!" Heather and Conrad exchanged wry looks. "With inflation, who knows how rich she is now!"

Conrad laughed as Heather balked. "How do you know about inflation? You're five."

"Gramma Nancy taught me about inflation," he said with a shrug. "She said when I run the company one day, I'll have to know a lot."

Heather forced a smile, but later that night she texted Malcolm.

So this is weird. I heard your Tooth Fairy got caught in the last recession and the going rate for our son's teeth is still ten simoleons.

Malcolm: ...Did he bring up inflation?

Ten! (Which is still outrageous) No more! And don't let your mother make him feel like he has to run Landgraab Corp. one day!

Malcolm: Alright, I'll tell him. I swear.

And your mother...?

He didn't respond. Even if Malcolm couldn't or wouldn't pick this battle with his mother, Heather wanted her son to work harder for whatever he wanted in life than his father ever had. She wanted him to understand responsibility despite the privileges he'd been born into.

He took out the trash, cleaned the litter boxes, fed the animals - even the beetles in the insect farm, and always did his homework. He even loved to help Conrad rake the leaves as long as he could jump and play in them when they were done!

Just as outgoing as he was as a toddler, he spent as much time as he could with his friends. He loved playing on the pirate ship by the wharf with Scotti Holiday, whose parents, Summer and Travis, had befriended Heather over numerous trips to the vet with the Holidays' dog, Kona.

"Be glad there's only going to be one at home," Scotti said. "Mateo is annoying and all Courtney does is make messes." She was about a year older than Ash. Even though he was a genius, he thought six-year-old Scotti knew more about life than he ever could.

"I'll have another one soon too, but that brother or sister will live in San Myshuno with my dad."

"Do you see your dad a lot?"

Ash shrugged. "Not as much as you see yours. I see Conrad all the time, though."

"But Detective Gordon's not even your stepdad. He can't even discipline you when you do something bad."

"I don't really do bad things..."

Scotti laughed. "You're so funny, Ash Landgraab."

Even as Heather and Conrad marveled at how fast Ash had grown, the days passed at a snail's pace as they waited for his little brother or sister to be born. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

NOTE: The pose before the cut is from the Us 3 pose pack by @katverse. I used the all-in-one version (there are 5 poses) and caught them between pose flips, but I also caught Gord breaking into the shot! So this is now one of my favourite family portraits on the walls of their home. 🥰

NOTE 2: I'm itching to post Saturday's post early. Should I do it or is Saturday fine? It's a really good episode. 👀

[everythingiaskfor]

do you think we'll be boring?

fluff fluff little angst

warnings: cursing, mention of marriage, mention of children.

words:1k

the first time he ever asked, you were still friends, sitting on the grass in a park watching your friends play volleyball as you rested.

“do you think we’ll be boring?” kuroo asked, still looking over at your friends.

“what do you mean?” you ask back, looking at him, trying to decipher his thoughts.

“you know, when we graduate college, we’ll probably get office jobs, walk around looking serious, dressed tiddly, and the only thing we’ll talk about is our jobs and how we hate them.” he answers, gazing your way, waiting for a reaction.

“i don’t think so. we’ll be lucky to get into jobs we actually like because we’re working our asses off right now for it, we might dress tidily but it’s a cool look, and i don’t think we could ever be serious. we’re talking about the group of people who took a toaster to class cause it was too early and we never had time to get breakfast before it started.” you said the last part with a slight chuckle remembering the story. he laughed a little, shaking his head.

“maybe there is hope for us…” he said looking back at the horizon. 

two of your friends come your way telling you it’s your turn to play again.

“do you think we’ll be boring?” kuroo asks, looking up to the ceiling of your bedroom as you lay, your head in his chest, his hands in your hair.

the second time he asks, you two have just started dating, merely a month after the long awaited confession that was dragged out for a couple years before one of you decided to make a move.

“hmm?” you mumble, with the deja vu sensation, hoping he would elaborate.

“i mean, do you think we’ll be one of those cheesy couples who are glued to each other, never hangs out with their friends, and do those annoying things everybody thinks is disgusting but in their heads is cute?” he explains.

“well, the fact that you think that’s annoying already makes it  10% less likely to happen, also, if we think of leaving our friends behind they would beat the shit out of us.” you say, now looking at him with a smile. he smiles back.

“that’s true. i like that.” he says. “should we watch something?” he changes the subject.

the next time it happens you have just graduated, he’s got his dream job at JVA, you got into the master’s scholarship you wanted. you were having a celebration dinner, just the two of you. in the middle of the conversation kuroo asks.

“do you think we’ll be boring?” this time you already know the drill, and just look back at him, waiting for the reason. “i’ll be working all the time, going out of town sometimes, you’ll be studying and working on your project. maybe i won’t be academic enough for you, and you’ll be bored of my stories, and the little time we’ll have will be filled with shallow conversations, and we might not really lik..” 

“no. i don’t think so.” you cut him off, seeing his thoughts spiral right in front of you. “firstly, you’ve always been smarter than me so i’ll never get bored of you. also, i’ll never get bored watching you talk about things you love, or explain something you’re working on. and we never talked only about school, we’ll have so much to talk about with different experiences. i love you, and i could never ever in a million years get bored of you.” you reach out for his hand.  he holds it and looks directly in your eyes.

“you’re right. i love you too.”  

two days before your marriage, tetsuro is lying on your shared bed, and you’re cleaning up in the bathroom before going to bed.

“do you think we’ll be boring?” he asks. you put your head out of the door to show him you’re listening. “sometimes people get married and just stop having fun, they don’t go out, don’t do anything spontaneous, just settle into a routine, until it gets boring. i’ve seen this happen. and it’s a bit scary thinking that could happen to us.” he stares into infinity saying this. you know this is a sensitive topic. you actually were surprised when he mentioned getting married for the first time, knowing he was scarred from his parents divorce.

you turn off the bathroom lights, and sit beside him, looking at the same place he was. you hold his hands.

“we’ve never been like most people, why would we now? i promise you i’ll never stop dragging you to bars with ours friends, or travels to cool places every once in a while, or doing stupid shit to keep us away from a boring routine. and most importantly, i promise we are not like your parents, or my parents, or any other couple out there. we’re us, we make our own way. and i love us. i love you. i’ll never let you get bored of me.” you say, not expecting an answer. he leans his head on your shoulder. leaving a deep breath out. he doesn’t say anything for a while, taking in all you said. 

“i love you.” he says and then kisses your forehead.

bonus:

some years later, you’re sitting on your living room floor, a bunch of toys around you, and tetsuro throws his body on the couch. 

“did they sleep?” you ask.

“yes, finally.” he answers. you can tell how tired both of you are from your voices.

“you know, it's been a while since you asked me the thing.” you say, after some minutes of silence. he takes a while to make a noise, you look at him to check if he has slept there.

“honestly, i don’t think we can be boring at this point, not with kids like ours.” he says, pointing with his eyes to all the things spread around. you let out a giggle. “and if it hasn't happened yet it’s because we’re too cool for it.” he smirks, tired eyes almost closing. 

“you’re right.” you answer.

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: V

“I must admit, I thought I’d like to make you mine

As I went about my business through the warning signs

End up meeting in the hallway every single time

And there’s nothing we can do about it.”

— Only Angel, Harry Styles

A/N: this chapter...it was probably my fav to write, so far!!! i just adore these two clueless morons so much like i just can’t shut up about them. quite a bit happens in this part and it’s all to build that slow burn, friends to lovers shit we all know and love baYBEEEEE!!! and also The Crew make an appearance because hello we love to see it, we truly do 😌😌😌 especially the man, the myth, the legend, Mitch Rowland and honestly?? this is HIS chapter fuck vampirerry!!! but yeah i hope y’all like what’s in store for the Dynamic Duo this time around and remember that feedback is truly, madly, deeply™ appreciated! and if you enjoy it, please reblog it! spreading content keep creators motivated! without further delay, let’s dive in  😼  

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

word count: 34k 

content/warnings: witty banter, some nice fluff, jacuzzi sex, more fluff, a very testing phone call, some face f*cking, a soft shower, rough degradation, the return of The Handcuffs, an unexpected visit from The Three Stooges, more cheeky banter because that’s their brand, and the reveal of jealous asshole Harry 

///   

Y/N giddly accepts Harry’s offer to stay the weekend and the vampire can confidently say it’s one of the best he’s had in the last decade. 

He’d startled even himself when the suggestion had risen abruptly from his mouth, leaving him blinking blankly as a result. He rarely allows anyone to spend more than a day in his condo— his friends being the only exception— because he’s grown to like the quiet solitude that comes with living on his own. He very solemnly has people over whom he hasn’t known for at least a few years, and that rule is reinforced on stricter grounds when it comes to humans. Especially when the only true connection they could possibly carry to him is through the area between their legs. 

But Harry has become strangely fond of Y/N in the last four weeks— fond enough to freely refer to her as a friend and endeared enough to bypass the fact that she’s mortal. She just looks so unbelievably cute padding around his apartment barefoot, wearing nothing but a pair of crumpled, sunflower-doodled panties and his Nike olive green jumper, her hair a mangled mess with traces of his cologne smeared across the bruised skin of her neck. Admittedly, it’s a sight he wants to see more often, which is a stab at his ego because he’s never been one to dwell on sentimentality— not for a while. It’s a bit cliche and gross, in his opinion, but when it comes to this one particular girl...well, maybe it’s not too bad. Indulging some soft pastimes can't do much damage, especially when it aids his plan to keep her interested until he himself grows bored. 

It can only do good, which is probably what had spurred him into asking her to extend her stay. For once, he found himself not craving his usual silent seclusion. Not when that self-imposed isolation could be filled with her loud laughter, warm lips, and sweet moans instead. 

And much to his satisfaction, Harry gets just that. 

For the next two days, the creature gets all of his needs and wants attended to, both recreational and intimate. Y/N seems to enjoy it thoroughly, as well, walking— or rather waddling, really, thanks to some of their raunchier activities— around his flat happily, constantly clad in a pair of his boxers and one of his graphic tees. He gets off on it— it’s hard not to, especially with the way she fits his clothes so effortlessly, almost as if she was made to fill them. Or the way the scent of his shampoo is combed through every strand of her hair, his smell slathered all over her as if she’s unconsciously trying to mark herself as his. Or the way new love bites cover the ones his blood had nearly faded, which she dotes shamelessly by pushing all her hair behind her shoulders so Harry can get a perfect view of every welt he’s left behind on her throat. Or the way she unapologetically giggles at all his jokes and crude humor, and how she paddles his witty banter right back at him with that clever gleam in her irises. 

He gets off on the way Y/N cuddles into him on the couch while they’re watching some mindless Food Network series, her body heat expelling the stiff coldness from his limbs. The way she kisses tenderly along the underside of his jaw, forefinger tracing over his Adam’s Apple teasingly, a smile spreading against his skin when she feels it bob heavily. The way she’ll sneak her hand between his thighs and palm him over his briefs, taking the shell of his ear between her teeth and hissing lowly when his cock twitches against her fingers, her voice soft as silk but heavy with dirty intentions. “Want to make you feel good again, H. Can I?” 

The human girl is a blessing, while simultaneously being a walking, talking sin, and the monster’s never been more willing to damn himself to Hell. And he would gladly do it, if he wasn’t already living it in the form of blood-driven eternity.

It’s an eventful weekend, that’s for sure, and despite the fact that they share an abundance of memorable moments, there are a few that Harry deems especially unforgettable. 

The jacuzzi sex sits at the top of that list. 

Y/N had practically squealed when she’d laid eyes on the glorified tub in his bathroom, pacing over to it excitedly and leaning down to run her fingers over the control panel along the rim. Her voice had come out whispered, full of child-like wonder. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Harry had walked over to stand beside her, his icy digits pressing on top of her warm own, finagling the buttons into his preferred settings. Hot water begins to shoot out of all the polished jets one by one, slowly filling the pool and covering the dark marble wrap-around ledge used as seating. The vampire quickly fetches the bag of lavender Epsom salts he keeps close by, scooping a couple handfuls into the frothing hot tub, along with pouring in a decent amount of jasmine bubble bath. 

His lips jolt when he catches Y/N eyeing the jacuzzi in awe, her hands clasped to her chest in delight as she teeters back and forth ever so slightly on her heels. The water shuts off once it reaches the appropriate level, leaving behind a thick, luxurious sheet of suds that smells of sugary florals and clean linen. The second the jets retract, Harry doesn’t even have time to make a comment before Y/N begins stripping down hurriedly, obviously restless to take on this new experience. 

Harry spontaneously jerks to the side out of habit, averting his sight to allow her some privacy. His tone is soft and amused. “Clean towels are in the hamper along the other side of the tub.” He signals blindly towards where he knows the basket is situated. “Call me back in when you need help with the shower knobs. And don’t—”

The immortal spots something streak across his peripheral vision, cocking his head a bit just in time to see her flower-print panties toss onto the tiled floor. He rolls his eyes playfully, scoffing to himself at the innocence of the article. It matches her persona perfectly. 

He hears a splash crack through the air behind him, meaning that Y/N has submerged herself in the water and that it is now safe for him to turn around without threatening her decency. However, he doesn’t think she’d mind if he did and he finds himself wondering why he’d looked away in the first place. The answer comes to him simply: it was a residual mannerism from the era he was raised in. His default Victorian etiquette can be so fucking annoying sometimes. 

He spins around on his socked heels, lean arms folding casually across his broad chest, naked tattoos glinting under the fluorescent lighting of the bathroom. He slinks his head to the side, entertained at the view he finds. Y/N is sitting amidst the blanket of pink bubbles, covered up to her shoulders as she cups soap into her palms, blowing at it and watching the suds float across the air before popping. The adorable smile that breaks across her face makes Harry’s stomach flutter. 

The vampire steps forward to catch her attention, leaning a hip against the edge of the tub and pursing his lips to hide an adoring grin. The corners of his mouth betray him as soon as Y/N looks up at him, hair slicked back with water and bubbles, matted to the sides of her neck and across her jaw as she beams up at him. 

“Your place is literally an adult playground.” The human states wistfully, her arms floating across the surface of the bath as she drifts closer to him, creating more suds. “You’re gonna have to get me kicked out tomorrow ‘cause I’m not leaving on my own.” 

Harry snorts, ducking down and wiping some soap off the tips of her eyelashes. “I don’t think security detail was part of the lease, so I might have to do it myself.”

“I can easily take you.” Y/N remarks jokingly, waving a hand dismissively. “Better make some space, I’m moving in next week.” 

“I’d say I would start clearing out my storage room for you,” Harry leans forward, ghosting his lips over hers and thumbing over the curve of her chin, batting his lashes sultrily, “but I think we both know you’d end up in my bed either way. Best leave it as is.” 

“Yeah,” Y/N momentarily glimpses down at his mouth, eyes glitzing with the slightest bit of hunger, “I think it's best if we just split the bed.” 

“Oh, we’ll definitely split the bed— split it right down the middle.” Harry grips her jaw firmly and locks her into a wet, sloppy kiss for a few elongated heartbeats, tugging at her bottom lip and biting it jestingly before pulling back. 

Y/N chases after him, craving more of his taste, but the boy draws back fully and pats at her cheek with smug finality. Her begrudging pout makes him release a boyish giggle. “Anyways, as I was saying before, my last rule: Don’t pee in the tub. Cleaning it is a bitch and that’s the last thing I want to deal with.” 

The mortal laughs airily, nodding her head in confirmation that she understands. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

“Thank you.” Her friend huffs, shoulders slumping dramatically in relief. Harry takes on a theatrical ominous edge, quirking his brows warningly. “Didn’t end well for the last person who did.” 

“Is that so?” Y/N inquires daringly, lowering herself deeper into the water until it covers her chin. “What happened? Did you have to take on the role of executioner again?”

Harry thinks back to that instance, shaking his head in amusement at the memory. It had been Niall— anything that has to do with testing his patience almost always leads to Niall— and to make a long story short, the Irish bloke had ended up having to regrow an ear. But he can’t necessarily confess that supernatural event to Y/N, no matter how funny it is, so he just shrugs offhandedly and gives her a dark look full of faux mystery, voice adopting the same affect. “I’ve already said too much.” 

The young woman casts her eyes up to the ceiling humorously. “Moron.” 

“Watch it, love.” Harry tuts, narrowing his eyes at her pointedly in an attempt to suppress the smirk that is about to stem from his next comment. “I’m not the one with the degradation kink here.” 

Y/N scrunches her face at him mockingly, trying to hide the way his quip had made her heart hiccup. She mimics his accent, sticking up her middle finger from beneath a mountain of rosy bubbles. “Piss off.” 

“Gladly.” Harry bites back cheekily in an American accent. He leans down, retrieving his Nike sweater and her underwear from the rumpled pile on the ground, his intentions set on taking them across the hall to the laundry room with the rest of her clothes. That way, her stuff will be nice and clean for when she needs it again Sunday night. “Just call if you need me, yeah?” 

Harry gets about three feet towards the door before Y/N’s soft voice halts him, piping up as gentle and timid as usual. “Wait…”

The vampire glances over his shoulder, eyebrows poised in question as he absentmindedly flips his jumper inside-out in anticipation for the wash. 

Y/N swims across the extent of the jacuzzi until she’s right in front of where he’d stopped, resting her forearms along the rim and plopping her chin atop her folded hands. She gazes up at Harry through her lashes and he can see the manner in which she shifts her footing beneath the small waves, almost as preparing to stand up from the water. “Don’t go.” 

Harry’s eyes go half-lidded in a flat expression as he hangs his sweatshirt over the inside of his elbow. “Didn’t you literally just tell me to piss off five seconds ago?”

“I changed my mind.” 

“Well, that’s just too bad. You already hurt my feelings. No take-backs.” 

“Idiot.”

“Try again.” 

“What’s that one insult British people say? Oh, yeah! Knobhead.” 

“You’re really not helping your case here.” 

Y/N sighs in exasperation, using her palms to boost herself up until she’s standing fully inside the hot tub. Water cascades down her shoulders and out of her sopping hair, following the curves of her bare torso and trickling across her jaw. She teeters forward until her face is only a few inches away from Harry’s, lulling her head to the side expectantly with a certain slyness swirling around her pupils. She chews on her lower lip as she gives him a suggestive once-over. “How about now? Does this help my case?”

Harry keeps his eyes pinned to her own, refusing to submit to temptation. He knows exactly what she’s trying to do, and he doesn’t want to give her the satisfaction of allowing it to work. Not yet, at least. He wants her to beg for it. 

The creature twists towards her entirely, irises bright with the excitement of a new challenge. Even with the slight elevation the jacuzzi provides, Harry still towers over Y/N at least a good four inches. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough that she has to tilt her chin up to maintain direct eye contact. The tip of his cold nose brushes over hers, eyebrows shrugging tauntingly. “You’re gonna have to try harder than that, darling.”

Y/N reaches forward without breaking their stares, taking the clothes from Harry’s grasp and haphazardly chucking them onto the towel hamper. Now with his arms free, the immortal props his hands onto his hips, his biceps and shoulders flexing with the motions. He’s peacocking to try and intimate her, and in any other circumstance, it would probably work, but Y/N knows she has the upper-hand at the moment; she’s naked and wet and docile, and with the way Harry’s handsome features are hardening in determination, she can tell she’s whittling him down. All it would take is one well-coordinated touch here, a lingering stroke there, and maybe a gentle caress of her lips down the valley of his pectorals…

Y/N goes for something better. She reaches upwards to intertwine her fingers around the nape of Harry’s neck, tugging him closer until their chests meld together, the heat from the water radiating off her waxy skin and sinking into his freezing own. His breathing catches as soon as he feels her pert nipples press into his chest and even though he’s keeping his sight trained on her face, he can just barely see the curves of her breasts less than a foot below. Their close proximity is making them swell upwards, urging him to give in and have his way with her however he wants. And fuck, does he want to. But he’s not going to let her bait him that easily— who would he be if he allowed this human girl to toy with him in such a fashion? Harry never lets anyone puppet him— not anymore, not ever again— and especially not when it comes to sex, which is one of his most skilled domains. He certainly isn’t going to let her win. 

Harry grabs Y/N’s wrists from where they are perched around his neck, giving her a hard look that lets her know who’s in charge of the situation. He brings her hands up before her face, flipping them over so she gets a proper view of the faint bruising that lines her flesh, leftover from the previous evening’s restraints. When he speaks, it’s low and throaty with a condescending undercurrent. “Remember what happened last time you acted like a brat?”

Images flash by the forefront of Y/N’s mind like a film on fast-forward, recalling the night to which Harry is referring. The young man had tied her to her headboard and fingered her until she was left a teary mess, refusing to let her orgasm each time she got close. Then, he had tossed the girl onto her tummy and rammed into her from behind until her aged bedframe had nearly splintered. If she focuses intently enough, she can still feel the satisfying ache he had left behind, which had haunted her for days afterwards. 

The mortal swallows heavily, nodding her head a tad. 

Harry raises an eyebrow with an awaiting air. “Remember what I said about using your words?”

Y/N bobs her head again quickly. After a moment, she realizes her repeated mistake, clearing her throat softly in order to fix it. “Yes.”

“Good.” The vampire drops her hands, coasting his palms up her neck to cup either sides of her jaw, thumbs brushing over her cheekbones almost tenderly. “Now let me ask you again. Do you remember what happened last time you acted like a little brat?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Do you want a repeat of that?”

“No, I—” Y/N pauses in hindsight, retracting her previous statement. “Well, actually…”

Harry’s ruby lips string into a coy smirk at her response, well acquainted with where her thoughts are leading. He presses their foreheads together, the damp stickiness of her warm flesh sending a shiver toppling down his spine. “Let me guess. You want a repeat of the part where I shoved your face into a pillow and fucked you until you squirted all over me?” 

He can feel blood surge into her cheeks beneath his fingertips as a result of his vulgar words. “Yes, please.”

Harry gnaws along the inside of his cheek as he recalls that event. He can practically feel her gushing around his cock all over again, her walls tightening around him as her whole body trembled in his grasp, her shattered whimpers stinging his ears as he continued to slam into her until she’d completely drenched both of their thighs. His eyelids fall shut in dreamy recollection and an image skims by of his initial rings marked across her ass; it nearly sends his knees out from under him. “Fuck, that was so hot, wasn’t it?”

“So fucking hot.” Y/N sighs shakily, lashes fluttering as his warm breath washes across her tingling mouth. “Harry, I just...I just want to ride you so fucking bad right now.”

“Yeah? Is that what you want?” Harry touches over her quivering bottom lip, somehow managing to feel her pulse. It’s battering so hard, he could probably sense it through any spot on her body, at this point. “You want me to sit in there with you just so you can bounce on my cock, baby?” 

“Please…” Y/N sounds as if she’s on the verge of crying, all of her desperate need translating into her wrecked voice. Her next phrase is something she doesn’t think she’s ever spoken before, but the intensity of the moment just feels so right to test it out, and Harry feels like the right person to test it with. After another heavy gulp and a lick at her dry lips, she chimes up once again, bashful and pliant. “Please, Daddy?”

The sound of a sharp inhale echoes off the marble and porcelain walls of the bathroom, stemming from Harry’s garbled throat. It feels like the temperature in the atmosphere has gone up twenty degrees, invisible flames lapping across the muscles of his taut back and across the tendons of his tight shoulders. His entire body seems to go into shock, lungs stuttering and stomach hollowing out. His lashes snap shut without a heartbeat to spare, webs of black veins materializing over the whites of his eyes as a reaction to Y/N’s brazen comment. 

He has been indulging fantasies of her calling him that specific name for weeks now, but had never asked out of respect for her boundaries. He figured that if she had an affinity for it, it would eventually make its way out of her mouth during one of their sessions, and he had been willing to be patient enough to wait. It had paid off, it seems. 

Harry releases his grip on the girl’s face, reaching down to messily shove his black briefs down his clammy thighs, eyes flickering open now that he has forced some control into his demeanor. He sets his intent on her expression, the jade of his irises bleeding lust as he catches her gawking at him. Y/N gazes down at where he’s occupied, her lips parting slightly with starved awe as his underwear falls away to pool at his feet, revealing the part of him she has grown so addicted to in the last month. It looks so pretty, with a neatly trimmed pubic area, thick girth, and pleasurable length. She never knew cocks could be appealing, considering she always found their appearance so odd and irrelevant. That is, until Harry. It appears she thought a lot of sexual things irrelevant until Harry. 

He kicks away his clothes, nudging at her boiling cheeks with his nose to garner attention, his tone low and inexplicably strained. “Say it again.”

Y/N’s fingers curl into loose fists against his heaving chest as she gathers her bearings, shuddering with a difficult exhale. She says it a bit louder this time, but still inherently weak, almost as if she’s scared their shadows might overhear. “Please, Daddy?”

Harry’s brows furrow with puncurting desire, a broken groan stirring deep in his lungs. “God, that sounds so good coming from your mouth. Been wanting to hear you say it for ages now.” 

“Really?”

He nods fervently, nose bumping hers with every movement and he takes this chance to peek down at her naked figure, swallowing thickly at how incredible her breasts look flushed to his pecs. “Think about it constantly. Always wondered what it would take to get it out of you.” 

“I wish you’d just told me.” The human mumbles, tracing his cupid’s bow with the crest of her own. “I’ve been wanting to say it for a while now.” 

Harry chuckles lightly, humming in amusement as he snakes a strong arm around the dip of her spine, drawing her closer as much as possible. He just wants to feel every inch of her wet, velvety skin. “Well, now you can say it all you want. Over and over and over, while I make your knees shake and your back arch.” 

Y/N sputters out a bundle of feathery giggles, looping her arms around his neck and carding her fingers into his shiny curls, pulling his lips down to meet hers in a restless kiss full of quiet whines and snippets of laughter. She talks into his mouth, starting to pant as the pace becomes more passionate, full of eager tongues and nipping teeth. “Now will you please get in and let me fuck you?” 

Harry mounts one knee onto the edge of the hot tub, his free hand jutting down against the marble for reinforcement as the other keeps her trapped against his body. “Yeah...Yeah, I think I will.” 

He crawls into the heated water, submerging up to his waist due to his height. Once he’s balanced himself within the pool, the palm pressed to the brim slips away, replacing the cold stone with the simmering skin of Y/N’s jaw once again. He tangles his fingers into her hair as he nurses her face to the side, deepening their prolonged kiss, and the whimper she pours into his mouth makes every cell in his body throb with longing. Y/N’s hands ride down his lean stomach and over his pelvic bones, fingers twitching the closer she gets to his cock. She stops right before she reaches his base, wracked with the slightest bit of shy hesitation. 

“Go ahead, doll.” Harry murmurs softly, hips bucking forward once against the pads of her digits. “I want you to touch me.”

Y/N’s palm disappears below the mounds of bubbles, cupping over his cock and giving it a rough grope. Harry gasps brokenly against her lips at the sensation, the corners of his mouth ticking upwards into a blissful simper when her breathing throttles just a smidge. Y/N gradually begins to work him below the gentle waves of the water, eyes rolling back when she feels him harden in her hold. She’ll never get used to how erotic it is having Harry shatter under her influence.

“I think it's funny,” she begins, voice delicate and humorous, contradicting the insistent actions she’s partaking below, “how you were threatening me with orgasm denial two minutes ago and now you’re being all nice.” 

The vampire thrusts slightly against her strokes, tiny noises escaping his taut throat as a familiar boiling begins to simmer in his veins. His tone is detached and pinched with the effort of maintaining composure. “S’hardly a fair point, considering you caught me off guard with that pet name.”

“Is that so?” The girl inquires playfully, giving the tip of his cock a hard squeeze and scoffing against his mouth when he releases a tight grunt. 

“Mm. You always…” Harry draws back from her intoxicating mouth, looking down at her over the crests of his tinted cheekbones to admire the faint imprint of his teeth along her swollen lips. His mind feels like it’s been pumped with syrup, thoughts swishing around lazily, his emotions still somewhat exposed from the mishap that had occurred during their breakfast serenade. It had been over two hours ago, but the wound was still fresh in his subconscious, causing small pinpricks of anxiety to stain his otherwise carefree personality. He feels as if his chest had been cut open with a scalpel, his insides had been rearranged out of order, and the gash had been resewn brutishly; he feels disarrayed and defiled. And because of some simple human girl who’s as fragile and insipidly transparent as glass. 

The immortal’s voice comes out as a whisper, carrying the weight of his confused, raw state. “You always catch me off guard.” 

Y/N blinks up at him innocently, gnawing on her bottom lip at his sweet compliment, her heart somersaulting within her ribcage. “You catch me off guard, too. Always keep me on my toes, which is something I was never really used to.” 

“Do you...” Harry forces down the lump in his throat, allowing himself to be vulnerable for the sake of seeking an answer. Though their problems are vastly different— she’s referring to her small-town, conservative mentality, whereas he’s shouldering two hundred years worth of emotional trauma— he’s more than happy to absorb any advice she could possibly offer. He needs to know how to shut this off; he hates feeling so unsure of himself. It’s like he’s wading through a forest blindfolded, disoriented and uncalibrated with no sense of direction or purpose. He hasn’t felt this helpless since… “Do you hate it?”

The mortal’s eyes fall shut, lashes dusting the apples of her cheeks in a way that Harry deems almost ethereal. She shakes her head lightly in his grasp, a hazy smile adorning her face. “Do I hate that you take me out of my comfort zone? I don’t think I do, actually. I like it. I like that every moment we spend together is something new. I was so used to following the status quo and retracing other’s steps, I never noticed how boring it all was. But you’re never boring. You make everything fun and adventurous, and it’s just so...” 

Y/N laughs a tad, trying to come up with a word she can’t quite place, too distracted in how her friend’s thumbs are caressing her jaw. The hand she has below the water has stopped its motions all together, her focus placed solely on the young man’s beautiful features. The copper specks in his eyes glitter in the white light of the bathroom, looking like polished amber gems. “Uhm...It’s...It’s so—”

“Scary...but exhilarating.” Harry finishes her sentence, a quivering sigh coaxing out of his tight chest. He feels like he’s going to vomit. 

Y/N bobs her head in agreement, hands drifting to wrap around his dainty wrists, giving them a soft squeeze as if to reassure herself that he’s real. “Yeah, that’s it. It’s...exciting, kind of.” 

The creature swallows heavily and releases her face, peeling his eyes away from Y/N’s for fear of letting her see him so defenseless, brows creasing in burning unsettlement. Instead, he lends his attention to outlining the speckling of white strewn into the dark marble of the bathroom wall, using that distraction to calm the raging in his belly. Out of the edge of his vision, he can see Y/N’s face fall, the grip she has on his wrists loosening. A spike of pain shoots through his unbeating heart— similar to what he had endured earlier— at the sadness behind her gesture, but he stifles it with stubborn spite. This isn’t him. It hasn’t been for decades now, and he’d grown to like it as so. In his experience, attachment leads to suffering, and suffering leads to misery. And with all of the centuries he has ahead of him, misery is the last companion he needs. 

Harry clears his throat emptily, slashing through the tension that had suspended in the air between them. He glimpses down at her, undoing the knot between his eyebrows and putting as much playful ease into his irises as he can muster, urging the corners of his lips into his signature smirk. “I guess we just excite each other, then. Though that’s become pretty obvious by now, I think.” 

Y/N purses her mouth to hide the immature grin his innuendo is attempting to weed out, all awkwardness dissipating from her aura. “I guess we do.” 

The monster ducks down to flirt his lips over the human’s, arms tying around her lower back and hiking her upwards. Y/N yelps in surprise, instinctively clamping her legs around his waist and giggling as he lugs her from side to side jokingly, pretending he’s about to drop her into the pool. “Why don’t we go back to exciting one another, hm?” 

Y/N’s nose rubs across the bridge of Harry’s and she gasps lightly when she feels the head of his cock prod at her entrance, dipping in a bit to tease her, spreading her open just enough to wheedle a soft hiss. She shivers in his arms despite the heat wafting up from the warm water, a very different type of warmth pouring into the area between her legs. The girl clings to the sides of the English boy’s neck, spinning a damp curl around her forefinger— he’d gotten his hair wet when he’d splashed into the jacuzzi, and the manner in which his ringlets are gluing across his flexing neck and sharp jaw is doing her in. 

She gives a small nod, eyes flickering down to his tempting lips and back up at his devious gaze. “Yeah, alright.” 

In Harry’s expert opinion, it’s safe to say they definitely excite each other. It’s pretty evident in the way their bodies mold perfectly, satisfying their own desires while simultaneously fulfilling the other’s. The vampire ends up sitting on top of the ledge that circles the inside wall of the pool, his head hanging over the edge with his mouth parted in an open grin, filthy moans and needy whines pouring from his tongue freely as Y/N rocks onto his slick cock. The girl balances herself on her knees, backside crashing down against his thighs in harsh slams full of reckless urgency— she needs this more than she’d ever care to admit. Her nails dig into Harry’s strong shoulders for stability, head thrown back in sheer bliss as her chest bounces with every thrust, the trench of her tummy rippling with contented heat. He just makes her feel so fucking full.

“God, y-you’re so big.” Y/N mewls, swinging her hips in small circles that draw an array of fractured sounds of pleasure from Harry’s taut throat. “You stretch me out so fucking good, Har.” 

Harry’s hands tighten into fists against the glossy plastic of the jacuzzi, arms slung casually over the sides of the tub in a relaxed posture. He doesn’t want to bother with taking control at this particular moment; he’s too busy reveling in the ecstasy Y/N is pounding into his system. He jolts with every rough dip of her hips, the corners of his raw lips winking his dimples awake as he looks up at her through barely-cracked eyes, the weight of his mounting orgasm heavy on his lashes. “Love that cock, don’t you? Can tell by the way you always kiss it right before you take it down your throat.” 

Y/N grapples onto her friend's neck blindly, one palm grasping the center of his jugular as the other cradles his defined jaw, her thumb smearing across his lips as a result of her choppy movements. Harry cranes his head forward a bit to get a better view, pressing a gentle kiss to the pad of her finger as an appreciative thrum rumbles against the hand she has covering his Adam’s Apple. “You look so beautiful when you fuck me all desperate like that.”

Y/N whimpers as she swivels against his lap eagerly, driving herself towards a climax that she knows will leave her utterly ruined. Harry glances down to where their centers meet below the water, worrying his lower lip between his teeth as he peers through the violently sloshing waves and frothy suds, watching Y/N glide over him easily now that she’d gotten used to his size. He leans forward, slowly planting a trail of suckling kisses up the center of his friend’s tummy and over the valley of her chest, looking upwards through his long lashes and smiling lewdly into her flesh every time her walls squeeze at the action. She’s so snug around him, he’s convinced no one could ever fit him this well. 

His words come out as a raspy growl. “You’re such a tight little thing. Never get tired of that perfect cunt. S’like you were made to take me this deep.” 

Y/N collapses forward, her grip shooting up to trade his face with his drenched curls. She sponges her mouth messily over his, gasping onto his tongue as the motions of the water batter against her sensitive clit. Her brows cinch with hunger, tone pleading. “Touch me. Please? Want— Want your hands on me while I ride you.” 

Harry shakes his head tauntingly, licking across her top lip and teething at the crescent above it. “I don’t think so, angel. I like seeing you do all the work, for once. You look so good using me to get yourself off.” 

The girl fists at his hair almost cruelly, her sanity gradually slipping. “But I...I like it when you use me, too.” 

“Trust me, I’m well aware.” The vampire muses arrogantly, spreading his meaty thighs wider so that her strokes have a more profound impact. His position works as intended, seen in how Y/N slows for a second when she sinks down to the hilt, a breathy, “Fuck, that’s so deep.” scraping past the cracks of her gritted teeth. 

Harry bucks upward symbolically, signaling for her to regain her rhythm; one look at his dominantly smug expression has her abiding instantly. He lays his head against his bare shoulder, studying every clench of her belly and every heave of her breasts, etching this picture into his extensive list of memories. His voice flows out as thick and silky as molasses. “I just can’t get enough of watching you make yourself cum around my cock.” 

“I j-just want you to fuck me.” Y/N is nearly sobbing, her fingertips carving into his scalp as she kisses over his colored cheeks and tinged nose, trying to swindle him into giving her what she wants. “I’ll do anything you want. Promise.” 

“Always so willing, aren’t you?” Harry chuckles darkly, groaning lightly when she suddenly tenses around his length. He can feel his nails breaking the skin of his palms as his fists contract. “You want me to make you scream, is that it? Want Daddy to pound you until you can’t stand anymore?”  

Hearing him refer to himself that way sends electricity coursing down her spine. “Want it so bad.” 

The creature reaches up with his index finger and brushes a sopping strand of hair out of Y/N’s face, tucking it behind her ear and tracing down her cheekbone admiringly. After a few seconds of thought, he appraises her with a decision, licking across his top teeth and pressing his tongue along the inside of his cheek teasingly. “Let’s make a deal, then. How about you get yourself right on the edge for me, and then I’ll flip you around and finish you off. Sound fair?” 

Y/N doesn’t need to be told twice. She regains her previous stride with more fervor and speed, hellbent on pushing herself to the seam of climax so she can let Harry take the reins. The young man watches her with sinful intent tainting the emerald of his irises, the golden smudges around his pupils glinting blood red for a single heartbeat. He decides he’ll lend his expertise just once, extending his arm and fiddling with the settings on the control panel of the hot tub, preparing a surprise he knows his guest will thoroughly enjoy. 

When the jets suddenly rumble to life, Y/N’s jumps in shock, the loud sound startling her clouded brain. But then two concentrated streams of water hit her right between her legs and she nearly faints as newfound bliss erupts through every fiber of her being. The insistent spray toys with her clit in a fashion that is indescribable, revving her closer to release as the overwhelming sensation pairs with the rapture Harry’s cock is hammering into her. She won’t last long, and he knows it. 

The monster eyes her reaction attentively, his forefinger lulling upwards across the water-proof screen of the controls, raising the intensity of the jets. The fragmented moan that betrays the human goes right to his core. He then slides his finger back down, reducing the powerful force to softer bursts. Y/N whines in protest against his mouth, begging him to set it higher like before. And Harry does, giving her exactly what she craves with one easy swoop. Y/N’s forehead falls against his jaw, her shallow breaths puffing down his collarbones and heating his icy skin. 

“Shit, that’s so—so— fuck!” 

Harry continues to play with the settings, teasing her with waves of strong geysers and gentle trickles. Soon enough, he’s perched behind her, her back sticky against his wet chest as she holds herself up on her knees against the marble seat, hands clamped around the metal railing that runs the circumference of the pool. The pole helps her brace his unforgiving pace, her entire body jerking forward with every ram of his hips as small hiccups of pleasure float across the fogged air of the bathroom. Harry takes the shell of her ear between his teeth, biting down with no remorse as Y/N pushes back to meet his adamant thrusts, his coral-lacquered digits sifting between her own around the polished metal. She gets a bleary glimpse of the cross tattoo inked onto his hand as she can’t help but snort softly at the irony. 

“Is something funny, love?” Harry’s deep baritone causes chills to wring down her arms. 

“Your cross tattoo,” Y/N chokes out, a soft grunt interrupting her sentence as the head of the boy’s prick nudges the pit of her abdomen, “it’s just so ironic.” 

It is ironic. Harry had gotten it for that sole purpose— to mock the fact that he was deceased. He didn’t get to have a tombstone, so this is the next best thing: a symbolic one, of sorts, sketched into his skin for the rest of his undead life. A bit morbid, but he quite fancies dark humor, given what he is. 

However, he knows Y/N finds it ironic for much different, much unholier reasons. 

“You wanna know what’s really ironic?” Harry quips, bottoming out harshly and cooing into the back of her neck when the mortal’s shoulders give a spasm in response. His tone is a mocking whisper. “That such an innocent-looking thing like you loves the idea of being my shameless little whore.” 

Y/N’s cheeks boil at his explicit comment, a delicate whimper striking her vocal chords. One of Harry’s hands leaves its post on top of hers, tangling into her wet locks and giving her hair a ruthless yank. He guides her head into the nook between his shoulder and neck, spitting his next words out against the thundering pulse in her temple.

“You’re nothing but Daddy’s little filthy fucking slut. Isn’t that right, baby?” 

Y/N nods frantically in his authoritative grasp, struggling to swallow due to the combination of his unyielding tempo and erotic statements.  

Harry twists her hair around his knuckles, drawing a broken mewl from her raw lips as his teeth skim along the top of her cheekbone. “Words. Now.”

“Yes, Daddy.” 

“Say it.”

“I’m...I’m your filthy little slut.” 

Harry scoffs in entertained disbelief at how willing she is to submit to him, pecking a kiss to the corner of her eye and tasting a salty tear across his tongue. He redirects her head forward, grinning into the side of her scalp. “You should see the way you smile when you say it.” 

Y/N can’t help it. It just feels so right with him— she feels oddly safe, knowing that what they share is something neither of them will ever give to anyone else. Their arrangement is one of a kind; they fit each other so flawlessly, nobody could ever possibly come close. And she doesn’t want anyone to try— doesn’t want anyone attempting to replace him. Harry just fills the gap perfectly, and she wouldn’t dream of letting another man do what he does to her. Not when she has Harry near, willing to mumble as many graphic promises into her ear as she wants, all while he fucks a sweltering throb into the area between her thighs.

The human girl finds herself wishing this could last an eternity. Little does she know that if it wasn’t for her mortal ignorance and Harry’s better judgement, it very well could. 

///

Later in the day, Harry vaguely recalls how the week prior he had made a passing joke to Y/N about how her sexual drive matches that of a rabbit. What happens in the evening makes him stand by that comment. 

They order in Chinese for dinner, and Y/N insists on eating out on the balcony, wanting to get a perfect view of the sun setting over the city skyline. She has never experienced the phenomenon from such a pristine view. 

Harry allows it, but only after parenting her into putting on a jacket to avoid catching a cold, sending her back into the condo in search of one as he sets out their meal atop the multicolored glass table outside. Humans are so sensitive, and the last thing he needs is his booty call nearly dying from a case of the sniffles.

She comes back out clad in his patchwork cardigan, wrapping it around her body snugly as she sits with her legs crossed on the patio chair, fitting her box of takeout into the hole created by her thighs. The fluffy knitwork had been the first coat she had found hanging in his humongous closet, and she’d thrown it on without a second thought, too caught up in the excitement of getting to see such a picturesque sight in real life. It’s warm and smells of Harry’s vanilla tobacco cologne, along with hints of other scents, like his chamomile and mandarin shampoo and spiced deodorant. She’d been more than happy to inhabit it.

Harry isn’t sure why, but seeing her sitting across from him on his balcony in a pair of his maroon plaid Calvin Klein boxers, his Keith Harrington Safe Sex t-shirt, and blanketed within his oversized rainbow cardigan, all while her hair falls across her face and tickles her jaw… It makes a fond smile buckle his cheeks, though he manages to tame it quickly. 

They chat casually as they eat, sharing silly stories and experiences as they pick at their stir-fry, taking periodic sips of the cranberry juice Harry keeps stocked in his fridge. He doesn’t know the science behind it— though he highly doubts there’s any valid scientific explanation behind the magic that runs through his supernatural veins— but he’s come to find that cranberries help curb his cravings. It’s why he always has a liter on hand. 

Y/N informs Harry on how her work week had gone, and about how one of her friends back home had gotten engaged recently. She says it all seems so surreal and that she doubts the girl will actually go through with it, which makes the monster burst into laughter, much to her confusion. Harry thinks that this is probably the first time he’s ever seen Y/N be so blatantly pessimistic; it’s strangely comical. Just hearing her opinion on the situation is enough to send anyone into a cackle fit, especially when she says it with such a straight face. “Yeah, I just don’t think she’ll do it. She says she loves him, but she always used to complain about his foot fetish, and I’m pretty sure she’d go insane if she had to put up with that for the rest of her life.” 

Harry wards off another bundle of giggles, pursing his twitching lips and bobbing his head once in understanding, using his chopsticks to pop a piece of fried duck into his mouth. “That’s a valid reason to abandon anyone at the altar, if I’ve ever seen one.” 

“I know, right? She told me he likes sucking whipped cream off her toes and, like, not to kinkshame, because I obviously have my own weird shit going on—”

“Yeah, I can attest to that.” Harry shrugs his eyebrows suggestively, picking a small chunk of broccoli off his utensil and smirking as he chews slowly. “Decently weird, actually.”

Y/N gifts him a deadpan expression, shoving a piece of veggie dumpling into her mouth and choosing to ignore his dig. “Anyways, I feel like that one is just on a whole other level. Like...what the fuck?”

Harry shares an anecdote about his own friends, as well, feeling that if he doesn’t open up at least a smidge, she'll start becoming suspicious. He recounts the time when he and Mitch had snuck into a Fleetwood Mac concert and met Stevie Nicks, though he’s careful enough not to tell her the date the event had occurred. He just lets her deduce it was one of their more recent tours, when in reality, it had been back in the eighties. The other detail Harry leaves off is the fact that he had tried to seduce Stevie, emphasis being on “tried.” It hadn’t stuck, unfortunately, and what had made the experience even more mortifying is that his idol had taken an interest in Mitch instead. Harry’s ego has yet to recover from that blow; first, because Mitch had the sheer gall to reject the celebrity on the grounds that he wasn’t looking to get involved in any public scandals, and secondly because his best friend refuses to ever let him live it down. “Hey, remember when we met Stevie Nicks and she wanted to fuck me instead of you? Good times, man.”

When the sun finally begins to dip over the horizon, their conversation dies off, replaced by the serene sounds of distant traffic and a light wind picking up as the temperature begins to drop for the night. Y/N stares at the sky in childish wonder as the bright blue starts to darken, streaking with mellow oranges, pastel purples, and buttery yellows, the colors painting across the clouds and giving the bustling city a timeless quality that can only be truly appreciated firsthand. A small, dreamy smile spreads across Y/N’s lips as the gorgeous canvas reflects off the glossy surface of her irises, her legs drawn up to her chest with her arms hugging her knees. She gazes wistfully over the place she has now grown to call home, taking in all it has to offer for the first time in two months, feeling oddly at ease despite the fact that she usually feels lonely wandering its streets. 

The mixture of drunken hues casts a hazy glow across her skin and hair, dim stars beginning to twinkle in space as the moon makes its debut. Y/N delights herself with watching the scene unfold, surveying the endless stretch of sky and soaking in its natural beauty. And as Y/N stares across Los Angeles during one of its most breath-taking moments, Harry finds himself staring at her instead. 

Once darkness has soaked across the skyscrapers and roads of California for the night, Y/N and Harry turn in, as well. They end up splayed across Harry’s leather couch, entertaining a new episode of Sugar Rush on the ninety-inch flat screen mounted on his glass wall; it’s simply in order to take up the last couple of hours left before bed. By some inexplicable miracle, the vampire had managed to actually fall asleep last night after he and his visitor had finished their regularly scheduled activities. He doubts he’ll be that lucky tonight, but he has no choice but to play the part for the sake of keeping up appearances. 

Maybe if the universe is feeling exceptionally generous, the human will fall asleep while they’re watching TV and Harry can just carry her up to his room without having to put on an act. It’s a favorable alternative to having to fake sleep until she gives into fatigue; lying awake with his eyes closed for an hour would make him feel as stupid as Niall’s golfing addiction. 

However, it appears that for the time being, Y/N has other plans to bring forward some tried and true exhaustion.

There’s nothing particularly sexual about the fashion in which their bodies are pressed together at the moment, given that it’s a pretty innocent snuggling position. Harry is slumped against the backrest of the sofa with his feet propped on his coffee table, comfy in a pair of black jogging shorts and a vintage Rolling Stones tee. Y/N is nestled into his torso beside him, her head burrowed into his chest with his arm slung nonchalantly across her shoulders and down her back, legs intertwined with his. She had done it out of instinct and Harry doesn’t really have an issue with the gesture; she’s warm and soft and the soothing action of her socked foot running up and down his calf helps him unwind from the day’s events. He likes this, he decides. She smells like him— with her usual scent of honey and lavender permeating through— and she’s decked out in his clothes, aimlessly doodling figures onto his tummy as they enjoy the baking show in comfortable silence. It’s strangely mellow. 

Y/N is the one who instigates, as usual. Humans are so horny, it’s ridiculous. But he benefits from this specific mortal’s libido, so he’s not complaining. 

It starts with her drifting upwards from where she’d been tracing over his butterfly tattoo, her warm fingers stroking over the prominent structure of his clavicle, her eyes flickering up to gauge his reaction. Harry doesn’t move an inch, face maintaining a curtain of calm indifference. He figures she’s just extra touchy, as she normally is. Then the pads of her digits skim across the side of his throat and an impulsive flare of panic pricks the back of his skull, but it quickly dissolves, as it tends to do now around her. She’s the only person in the last two centuries who has managed to touch him there without inciting a rampage. 

Y/N coasts across the nape of his neck, twirling a baby curl around her forefinger distractedly, giving it a small tug in the manner she knows he likes. Harry’s body tightens for a split second and she bites into her lower lip to muffle a mischievous grin. She stretches up, dusting a lingering peck to the curve right behind his ear, running her nose across the shell tenderly. The vampire shifts slightly in his seat, the feathery sensation beginning to weigh at the pit of his stomach. She’s teasing him, and it’s working. 

The mortal flushes her puckered mouth fully to the side of his jugular, rubbing the ridges of her skin over one of the veins chiseling into existence, right over the area where a heartbeat used to lie. Harry’s hand balls into a fist against the dip of her spine, itching to grip onto something to keep his cool. Preferably, her throat. 

When Y/N finally speaks, the hot breath of her words makes his cock twitch against his thigh. “Wanna kiss a bit?” 

Harry cranes his head to look at her, eyebrows jumping up in amusement. “You wanna make-out? What are we, fourteen?”

The girl gives him an impassive pout and glances indicatively towards the armrest of the couch, where they had sat the evening prior while admiring his art wall. “You didn’t have a problem with it last night.” 

Harry presses his lips together into a playful simper. She makes a valid point. “Well, I was horny last night. Wasn’t in my right mind.” 

Y/N rolls her eyes at his juvenile answer.

“And you’re not now?” She prods softly, her gaze slinking down to his spread thighs, almost as if to check if he’s hard. Harry snorts as her action and she bats her lashes up at him with fake innocence, muscling down the sly smirk threatening to emerge across her face. 

“Not really, but maybe I could be…” The creature glimpses at her colored mouth for a heartbeat, reaching a hand up and pushing his air-dried ringlets back from his forehead, lips twitching coyly. “Persuaded.”

Y/N leans forward, buttoning their mouths for a fleeting moment. She pulls back a tad, ghosting the crescent of her top lip over his to try and compel him. “Please?” 

“Mm,” Harry licks at the corner of his mouth, eyes half-lidded tauntingly, “I don’t think that was enough. Show some team spirit, will you?”

The girl gifts him another kiss, this one longer and more intense, a palm making its way to cup his jaw. “Please, H?” 

He’s begun to pant lightly, hand flattening across the small of her back as if to guide her somewhere. He blinks down at her smugly, gnawing into his cheek. “You’re not quite there. Maybe a little more.” 

It turns out one more kiss is enough to convince his metaphorical meter. Y/N ends up perched in his lap, both of his large hands groping at her ass as she clutches the back of his neck, their lips sewn together in a filthy kiss full of gentle whines and impatient tongues. It’s going pretty great, and Harry thinks that Y/N is probably one of the most fun people he’s ever had the pleasure of kissing. Her mouth is as sweet as the sugary scent she always dotes, she ebbs and flows to his movements seamlessly, and the enthusiasm she carries makes every nerve in his body fizzle. The noises she makes are incredibly satisfying, as well. All her needy mewls and delicate whimpers string right down to his groin. 

After a few minutes of dry humping and jesting bites placed on overzealous lips, Harry boosts himself up from his relaxed position, feet knocking off the coffee table as an arm snakes around her hips. He sits forward, extending his free hand and waving it around blindly, too occupied to willingly break their embrace. He refuses to pull away, especially when she’s gluing such dirty moans to the roof of his mouth. His palm swings across the air stubbornly until it finally slaps down against the marble surface he’d been searching for, his grip tightening around its rim for confirmation. He proceeds to scoot the counter forward, intent on laying Y/N out on top so he can get on his knees against his furry carpet, get his boxers down her velvety legs, and get his head bobbing between her quivering thighs. 

Harry’s plan is about to pan out ideally until a high-pitched shriek cuts through the tense ambiance of the room. 

Y/N cracks their kiss, gasping and heaving as her head whizzes from side to side, looking for the origin of the annoying trill that had interrupted their playtime. “What—What is that?”

The vampire glances over his back towards where the ruckus is stemming, the insistent chime grating his heightened ears. He spots the culprit immediately, releasing an irritated groan as a result: his phone. 

From his spot on the edge of the couch, Mitch’s contact picture blazes across the screen. Harry loves that photo of his best friend— the way his emotionless expression and skinny middle finger are directed towards the camera makes it a wonderful shot— but he really wishes he didn’t have to see it right now. He has other more pressing matters. Literal pressing matters, if the tent in his mesh shorts is any indication. 

“Just ignore it.” Harry murmurs, turning back to slam their lips together once again. Y/N obliges without a second thought, happily re-engaging her previous activity of smudging her cupid’s bow across her friend’s as he stretches her out across the table 

Ignoring it works the first time. And the second. But by the third call, Harry has no choice but to break away with an exasperated grunt, his brittle patience forcing him to handle the blaring ringtone. 

He slides his thumb across the screen roughly, bringing it to his ear as he slumps back into the couch cushions, holding up a finger towards Y/N apologetically and mouthing a quick, “It’ll be just a second.”

His guest nods in understanding, letting her head fall back against the cold marble and distracting herself by counting all of the lightbulbs situated at the peaks of the chandeliers above. 

Harry turns his focus to the person on the other end of the phone line, voice snipped with aggravated anger. “What?!”

“Whoa, okay… That’s no way to talk to the elderly. Take it down a notch, Grumpy. Didn’t Snow White teach you any manners?”

The monster takes a deep breath to keep his rage in check, gritting out his words through bared teeth. “I’m fucking busy right now. What do you want?”

“Oh, well, I’m so sorry to be a bother, My Lord. I just wanted to check up on you and make sure you have all your stuff packed for tomorrow. Y’know, like the good friend I am.”

Harry blinks blankly, all indignation flooding out of his system, replaced by utter confusion. “You wanted to check if I’m...? For what? Why would I need to pack?”

There’s a pause on Mitch’s end, as if the man is waiting for Harry to come to the conclusion himself, static filling the speaker. When it’s obvious the younger vampire is clueless, his best friend elaborates slowly. “For the trip. The Vegas trip. The one we take every year around the same time. The one that we all agreed we’d roadtrip in your car tomorrow.”

Harry’s eyes widen in realization, his entire face paling. Fuck.

“The trip.” He mumbles, the fingers of his free hand coming up to rub at his temples worriedly as his mistake dawns on him. “God, I completely forgot about it.” 

“You can’t be serious.” Mitch deadpans, a long sigh following his comment. “Harry, you’re the one that booked the hotel this time. How could you possibly forget?”

“I…” Harry glances over at Y/N as guilt weighs into his demeanor. The girl meets his gaze, smiling sweetly and waving, completely unaware of the horrific ordeal he’s gotten himself into by inviting her over. “I got caught up with something.” 

A humorless snort crackles through the stereo of his phone, Mitch’s voice tinged with irked disbelief. “Yeah, that’s what you’ve been saying for the last four weeks now every time you bail on us. I just figured you’d get your head out of your ass for this one, but I suppose I spoke too soon.”

Harry drags his palm down his face, gripping his chin in thought. “I’m sorry. Genuinely. I didn’t mean to let it slip, I’ve just been so occupied during the last couple of weekends that—”

“That you forgot about our yearly trip. How nice. Just perfect.”

“Mitch, I know I fucked up, alright? But what if—”

The immortal’s solution gets cut short when out of his peripheral vision, he sees Y/N climb off the coffee table and onto the carpet below. Harry’s words lodge in his throat as he watches the girl crawl on all fours across the ground towards him, a cheeky smile ticking the corners of her lips as her irises glimmer schemingly. Shit.

“‘What if’ what?”

“What if...Uhm…” Harry finds himself struggling to keep his end of the conversation going, the reason being that Y/N has now reached the edge of the sofa where he resides. She sits back onto her heels, walking her fingers teasingly across his knees and grasping them with her palms, parting them open widely. “I…”

“For fuck’s sake, H, what are you trying to say?” Mitch snaps; even through the distance, he can feel its bite. 

Y/N nuzzles herself between Harry’s opened legs, a hand riding up one of his thick thigh as she sponges wet kisses to his kneecap, grinning into his skin when her fingers duck under the material of his shorts. His cadence comes out strained with the effort of keeping up an unfazed front. “What if I— what if we switch the reservations?” 

“How do you mean?”

The human’s fingers travel up the length of his inner thigh, sneaking below his cotton briefs and giving the tip of his semi-hard cock a gentle caress. Harry writhes in his seat, watching with bated breath as Y/N draws her forearm back out from beneath his clothes, her middle finger covered in a bead of precum— a result of all the grinding they’d done while kissing. She locks eyes with him and pushes the digit past her swollen lips, sucking off the small droplet while her lashes flutter in pleasure. She moans softly, his familiar saltiness always so welcomed. Her next whisper is sultry and needy. “You taste so fucking good.” 

Harry swallows down a groan and his voice suffers the consequences, coming out shaky and high. “Like...Like what if we switch out the n-names. I could call the hotel and put the rooms under your info instead.”

Mitch is quiet for a second, mulling over his friend’s offer. The instance is long enough for Harry to reach forward and snatch Y/N’s wrist, giving it a dominant squeeze as a scolding grimace dips the ends of his lips and furrows his brows. He mouths his words slowly with an ominous hue, making sure she interprets the message. “That’s enough.”

Y/N twists herself free of his hold, eyes gleaming in challenge. She talks softly as to not be heard through the phone, but she might as well be screaming thanks to Harry’s supernatural hearing abilities. “I don’t think so.” 

“Are you really not going, then?”

The gentle tone of Mitch’s question snaps Harry back into reality. He feels bad for flaking on his crew, but he doesn’t really have a choice at this point. Y/N is already here per his request, and kicking her out would be extremely dickish, even by his standards. “I’m booked the rest of the weekend, mate. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

Y/N proceeds to grab onto the elastic band of Harry’s shorts, pulling the front down to expose the clothed bulge that lies beneath. A soiled patch has formed over the material of his underwear, and he can see her irises twinkle in satisfaction, which causes the faint burning in his veins to intensify. The girl palms him through the fabric, preening at the low, tight grunt that escapes Harry’s flexing throat. A shiver pin-balls down his spine and he tries to grab at her forearm to wrench it away from between his legs, but Y/N is determined to work him into a mess, simply groping him more intently and giggling lightly when his hips thrash in response. 

“Alright, I guess that settles it. I’ll just tell the group we’re taking Niall’s car instead, and that Adam and I will take turns driving. Just get the lodging handled, will you?”

“‘Course, I got it, don’t worry.” Harry chokes out, reaching a hand towards Y/N’s hair in a desperate attempt to get a hold of her, but she ducks to evade him. She tugs down his final layer of protection, her mouth immediately finding its way to his large cock and giving it one long lap from base to tip, staring up at him mockingly from beneath heavy lashes. She grasps it in both of her palms, gifting it a few quick pumps and spitting over the head sloppily, rubbing the slit across her bottom lip as she quirks her brows at him in a dare. 

The vampire fails to ward off the fracture in his composure this time. “Christ, you’re such a fucking sl—” 

He stops himself before he finishes the graphic statement, remembering that everything he says is being directly broadcast to someone else on the other end of his phone. Someone who’s oblivious to the filth currently taking place on Harry’s side of the call. “I’m on it, yeah? I’ll talk to you later.” 

“Wait.”

Harry is at the verge of tearing his hair out, his tone teetering at the cusp of sanity. “Yeah?”

“Would you mind telling me why you’re not going? I feel like everyone at least deserves an explanation, especially since you’re dipping on the plans literally the day before.”

The young man quickly clears his throat, forcing himself to keep control as he watches the mortal stick her entire tongue out to run his cock up and down its expanse. “I’ll—I’ll explain when you come back.” 

The textured surface sends zaps of lightning surging through every crevice of Harry’s body, but he somehow enables restraint, as weak as it may be. He silently warns Y/N once again about her actions, carding his fingers into her hair and digging the pads into her scalp. “Stop.”

“Also, why are you breathing so hard? What are you even up to right now?”

The human ignores his command, blowing over the leaking hole of his prick and giving it a playful kiss.

“I’m— fuck— I’m...I’m on the treadmill.”

Mitch goes quiet for a heartbeat. “You don’t have a treadmill.” 

Y/N tosses her hair over her shoulder, leaning down to rest her cheek along Harry’s inner thigh, giving him the perfect angle to view what she’s about to do. She presses her head forward, slipping his entire cock down her throat and gagging when it hits a sensitive spot in the back, her nails raking down his twitching tummy. She keeps him there for an elongated moment, allowing her walls to tighten around his length just how he likes it, toying with his swollen balls and moaning quietly around his prick. He can feel the vibrations burrow into the marrow of his bones.

“I told you to stop.” He doesn’t even bother mouthing his words this time, mood dark and cautious. He can hear Mitch exclaim in confusion through his speaker, but it’s the last thing on his mind right now. 

Y/N’s watery eyes dance with a devious gleam as she grins around his girth, removing him just enough so she can breath properly, rubbing his bubbling tip along the inside of her silky cheek. Her phrase is muffled, but it’s clear enough to completely shatter him. “Make me, Daddy.”

Harry’s features harden. He’s done playing games. 

He directs his attention to the microphone, voice calm and collected to the point where it’s frightening, all the tension and instability crumbling to ash. His brows crease dangerously, accent thicker than she’s ever heard it. “I have to go.”

“Harry—”

“I’ll text you after I fix the booking.” 

The device beeps and the call ends, the phone falling face-down onto the couch.

The vampire roughly jerks Y/N back by her hair, sitting forward until their noses brush, his cold touch sending a prickling across her cheeks and ears. He addresses her with the same type of undisturbed patience he’d shown his friend, aura teeming with quiet power.

“Get up. Now.” 

Y/N ends up with her back pressed into the couch cushions, Harry suspended above her with his knees on either sides of her hips, his cock ramming down her throat harshly as he guides her head with his knuckles twisted into her roots. He’s thrusting forward to meet her mouth, the emerald around his pupils electric with a type of carnal dominance that makes heat pour into her belly. She’s gazing up at him with water streaming freely out of her eyes and spit dripping down her chin, her hands fisting at the leather of the sofa as he fucks her face unrelentingly. 

“You think that little stunt was cute? You think teasing me like that was fun?” He growls as he peers down at her, ramming past her raw lips with no remorse, swimming in the damp choking sounds that bounce back from the furniture in the room. “Open wider. Wider.”

She obeys. 

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To have me down your throat while you gag around it until you can barely breath? To choke on it while you take that heavy load and swallow every drop?”

Y/N bobs her head feverishly, unable to form any coherent sentences due to his violent pace. 

The grip Harry has on the crown of her head tightens, his other hand cupping the back of her skull to push her deeper down his shaft, her nose smearing over his happy trail as his heavy balls bump against her slobbery chin. “Take that fucking cock, then. Take every inch like the filthy fucking brat you are.”

Y/N’s blurry eyes lull shut, the edges of her stinging mouth curving upwards as he hits every single one of her desires with a skill only he possesses. She doesn’t know why— or if it’s even healthy, at this point— but she’s never felt more pleasure than when she’s at Harry’s disposal. She just loves seeing him come undone for her. 

“God, you like that, don’t you? Like being my little plaything?” The grin dimpling Harry’s cheeks is so utterly erotic and sinful, Y/N feels like she’s damning her soul just by glimpsing at it. He delicately thumbs tears off her cheekbones, contradicting his other much less tame motions. “Baby just wants to feel Daddy cum down her throat, doesn’t she?”

Stars begin spotting the girl’s vision, her mind vignetting as a fulfilling ache settles into her jugular. She nods her head drunkenly, coughing dryly as her lungs rattle with shallow inhales. 

Harry gives an exceptionally hard stroke, holding her in place and feeling her constrict around him, her nails digging into the aged leather of his sofa. He takes a pause, broad chest heaving as his head falls back to hang between his shoulder blades, the golden light of his chandeliers reflecting off the red shade inking his irises. His climax begins to tip into his blood. “Say it. Be a good girl and say, ‘please cum for me, Daddy.’”

Y/N’s voice floats out raspy and trembling as she ogles up at the monster wishfully, her ability to speak absolutely frayed from the exertion she’s been put through. Her sentence is barely comprehensible given her full mouth, but watching her try is what gets Harry off. “P-Please cum for me, Daddy.”

Thick ribbons of warmth suddenly erupt down her throat, coaxing a series of garbled moans to pour from Harry’s chest. His whole body tightens as an orgasm floods his system, the muscles of his back drawing taut, his defined biceps jolting, and his lean abdomen clenching in ecstasy. His fern tattoos ripple over his tanned skin as he gives a few more deep strokes for good measure, milking himself to completion and drinking up the tiny noises of sensitivity Y/N makes. He finishes dishing the punishment she’d earned, delivering burst after burst of cum just as he’d promised, feeling her flex around his slick cock as she eagerly swallows every spurt. 

“Every last bit, baby. All of it. Christ, that’s my fucking girl. ”

The boy cranes his neck forward again, taking in her disheveled appearance and humming in needy appreciation. Her hair is a disaster from all of his tugging, her eyes are puffy and red, and her lips are flushed and plump. There’s trails of dried tears tracing her cheeks and across her jaw, the collar of her borrowed shirt is soggy with spit, and he can just barely make out the damp patch she’s stained into his boxers along the insides of her thighs. She’s fiddling with her fingers across her lap, continuously shifting around in her seat and clamping her legs together, and Harry comes to the realization that she’s trying to ride the seam of his briefs in order to get a spoonful of relief. 

In his sexually demented opinion, she’s looks like a proper angel.

Harry gradually withdraws himself from her mouth, watching with empty content as she sputters into a coughing fit and gulps down air as if she hasn’t had it for weeks. She wipes at the lower half of her face messily with the back of her hand, staring up at him all moony and soft, feeling her cheeks boil at his conceited simper. The vampire carefully tucks his drenched prick back into his clothes, crouching down to her level and lilting his head to the side, tucking a strand of tangled hair behind her heated ear. The pads of his digits streak down the front of her neck and perch at the hollow between her collarbones, her pulse thundering beneath her sweaty flesh. He taps at the center of her throat for significance, tone fond and almost caring. “Is it sore?”

Y/N struggles to get saliva down, rattling her head in agreement since her vocal chords are refusing to work. 

Harry folds the hem of his tee over his fingers, reaching forward to help clean up anything leftover across her chin and jaw. Y/N eyes him with a form of detached admiration, enamored with the way he tends to her so gently now that the session has come to a close. 

“You like it, though, right?” 

The young woman doesn’t even try to mask the fact that she indeed does, nodding her head once again. 

“That’s good to hear, pet.” Harry drops his shirt back over his belly, giving her a chaste peck to the nose. Despite the ever-present coldness of his touch, the action sparks a warm glow that surges from the tips of her ears to the heels of her feet. “Want to make sure I wasn’t being too rough.” 

He stands up onto his knees, dismounting the sofa and combing a few rouge curls out of his eyes, nudging at her socked foot jestingly with his. Y/N kicks him in return as she busies herself with combing out the knots from her mussed locks, attempting to distract herself from the gnawing running along the inside of her stomach. She needs to get it sedated, but she’s too timid to ask the vampire outright, which she knows is ironic given what they’d just done. 

Harry sits down along the marble counter of the coffee table with his forearms propped along his knees, toying with his lionhead daylight ring (it’s the only one he wears at home, out of necessity) as he watches her tend to the mess he’d created. He smiles to himself in satisfied amusement— she always looks so pretty freshly face-fucked. 

The monster then notices how the human is still rubbing her thighs together, reminding him that she had been left unattended. He decides that he should do what any gentleman would and provide assistance to the issue; it’s only fair, according to the unspoken laws of their little mutual arrangement. He hooks his fingers along the rim of the table beneath him, dragging it forward until his knees meet the edge of the couch, knocking hers open slightly. He leans back onto his palms as she gives him a curious glance, the olive tone around his pupils glittering with hunger while his fingers tap knowingly along the surface below. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Harry’s eyebrows kink upward. “Can’t a man look in his own home?”

“Of course he can, but just not at me. Staring’s rude. Especially when I’m covered in spit and bodily fluids.”

The boy gives an exaggerated pout, pairing it with a set of puppy dog eyes and a honeyed drawl. “But you look so cute covered in my bodily fluids.”

Y/N stares at him flatly. “Wow. I’m so flattered. I’ll file that compliment right under the one where you said I look adorable with jizz all over my eyelashes.” 

“Well, you do! And that was a great compliment, if you think about it. It’s unique and creative— very avant-garde of me.”

“You need brain cells in order to be avant-garde.”

“Just shut up and get on your hands and knees.” 

///

Harry drinks from Y/N that night. 

He knows Mitch would scold him for it, considering the quota for draft beverages from mortal taps is strictly once a week, per his orders. But the creature just can’t help himself. She smells so sweet, and her neck looks so tempting when her head is turned to the side in sleep; even in the dark, he can see her veins pumping beneath the taut skin. He justifies it by telling himself that any vampire would give into weakness if they were in his place, and it’s not like he’s some uncultured, unhinged newborn who lacks basic control. He’s spent decades refining his impulses and taming his animalistic instincts to the point where he can walk through a butcher shop and not even bat an eye. He’s more than capable of double-dipping without threatening her life. 

However, Harry will admit that he does make some embarrassing sounds while he’s fang-deep in her carotid artery. He can’t be expected to withhold them, especially not with how good she tastes. Y/N’s blood reminds him of so many things that he can’t ever quite place its flavor. Sometimes it reminds him of green grapes and champagne, and others it dawns on him in the form of peaches and cream. There’s instances where she doesn’t even fall into the usual spectrum of taste, but rather reminds him of sensations instead of tangible objects. Sometimes she tastes the way the first breath of spring feels— light and soothing, with hints of fresh florals and dewy mornings. Other times, she tastes like strawberries on a summer evening— warm, tangy, and nostalgic. At the risk of sounding like a brain-dead junky, drinking from Y/N is a magical experience that he wishes could last forever; Harry has never found it more difficult to pull back from someone’s throat than when he has to recede from hers. 

After the immortal has had his fill, he pricks his finger along one of his fangs and smears a drop of his blood onto Y/N’s tongue, watching the two gaping holes on her neck heal instantaneously and leave behind a faint bruise that will likely be gone by morning. He spends the rest of the night twirling stands of her hair around his fingers and counting her heartbeats, vaguely wondering what it feels like to have one. It’s been so long since he’s carried a pulse, he’s forgotten what it’s like to have it thumping in his chest. All he has left is a phantom organ and not a day goes by where he doesn’t miss its steady rhythm. 

The second the first beam of sunlight filters in through the crack in Harry’s window shades, he’s up on his feet pacing around the kitchen, going through his daily morning routine of preparing breakfast with a lively soundtrack to keep him company. That is, until his actual companion awakens; then he happily replaces his playlist with her groggy voice and tired eyes. 

Harry has chosen to prepare parfaits as their first meal of the day, scooping vanilla yogurt into two marbled bowls and setting out an abundant array of toppings, smiling to himself at the way Y/N’s eyes light up the room. She fills her platter to the brim with blueberries, chunks of banana, diced peaches, and crushed walnuts, while Harry loads his with tons of raspberries, slices of mango, scoops of granola, and plenty of honey. He runs into some trouble halfway through squeezing out the last ingredient, proceeding to shake it vigorously to try and get rid of the clump blocking the spout. The bottle refuses to cooperate and Harry turns it towards his face to get a better look at the problem, winking one eye shut to focus better on the cap. He gives it another testing squeeze and much to his luck, the jammed portion squirts loose and he ends up with syrup dripping down his face. 

Y/N doesn’t even attempt to stifle her amusement, nearly choking on a spoonful of yogurt as laughter takes over her entire body. The vampire stands rigidly beside her, glaring at the teddy bear-shaped container with so much hatred, she thinks it might melt. When the human finally manages to tame her giggles, she reaches up and uses her index finger to collect honey right off Harry’s cheek, sticking the digit into her mouth and sucking it off with a loud pop. 

Her friend gives her a deadpan scowl, to which she simply shrugs her brows playfully while gifting him a bright grin. “Now you know what it feels to have a sticky liquid shot into your eye. Doesn’t feel too good, does it?”

“Fuck off.” 

“You look pretty, though. Does that make it better?”

“I will literally pour my yogurt onto your hair.”

“Karma’s a bitch, Winnie the Pooh.”

Harry ends up having to shower in order to successfully get rid of the gooey substance, though it’s hardly a hassle given that Y/N gladly joins him. It doesn’t turn too sexual, surprisingly enough. 

The duo stand under the shower panel covered in suds, steam floating around their naked bodies as water pelts down on top of them, matting hair to their necks and jaws. Harry doesn’t know why, but he likes the fact that they’re now comfortable enough to be nude around each other outside of their usual dynamic. It’s fulfilling, for some odd reason. 

The girl helps the creature scrub off the honey with some facial cleanser, rubbing at his flushed cheeks with her thumbs and fighting off an endeared giggle when he scrunches his nose in annoyance. His voice comes out as a childish whine. “That hurts.”

“Stop being such a baby.” She huffs, going in along his cheekbones and rolling her eyes when he grumbles. “Lean down.” 

Harry abides, ducking down so she can get a better angle, casually coasting his hands onto her hips to keep her from losing her footing to the slippery floor. Y/N leans forward onto the tips of her toes, squinting at him through the foggy air as she continues to wash off the syrup, wanting to make sure she isn’t missing a single spot. Harry watches her quietly with his sopping curls sticking to his forehead and along the nape of his neck, lips twitching fondly at how hellbent she is on getting the mess off. Her brows are creased in concentration and her tongue is peeking out of her mouth; he has to restrain the impulse to surge forward and kiss her. 

Once Y/N is satisfied with her work, she falls back onto her heels, washing any remnants away under the stream and pushing her drenched strands out of her face. “All done. Try not to do it again.” 

“I make no promises.” Harry tuts as he joins her beneath the water, bare chest a mere inch from hers as he quirks his brows coyly. “It got you naked, so I’ll probably do it again.”

“I won’t help next time.” 

“Then I’ll just rub my face against yours and get it all over you. Won’t have much of a choice, then.” 

“You’re a literal child.”

Y/N grabs the bottle of chamomile shampoo from the shelf carved into the polished stone wall of the shower, uncapping it and pouring a glob into the palm of her hand. She sets the container back down and beckons Harry forward with the forefinger of her free hand. The vampire drifts towards her once again and wraps his arms across the dip of her back, lightly swaying her from side to side as she begins working the shampoo into his roots, the pads of her fingers massaging his scalp in slow circles. The groan that betrays him is pitiful. 

Y/N pretends not to hear it, continuing to work a lather into his curls as the boy trails his fingers up and down the center of her spine, the feathery sensation causing her to shiver despite the hot temperature of the water. Harry leans down to nestle his face into the crook of his friend’s neck, laying his head along her shoulder and cradling her to his body as she combs her fingers through his locks. He can’t remember the last time he took a shower with someone just for the sake of it, with no ulterior motive other than to bask in each other’s presence. It’s nice. 

Harry begins sponging his lips across the curve of Y/N’s throat, feeling her tense momentarily before relaxing back into his grasp, the pads of her digits scratching at his scalp. 

“God, that feels so good.” Harry mumbles, tone so garbled in bliss, it’s barely understandable. 

The mortal slowly coaxes him back under the direct line of the shower, thoroughly rinsing the bubbles out of his hair and making sure to carefully wash any leftover shampoo out of his lashes. She then ties her arms around his broad shoulders, gently running her nails up and down the expanse of his muscular back, feeling the tendons unknot under her guidance. Y/N cranes her head to the side and flushes her lips to Harry’s temple, the pattering of the water camouflaging the fact that the area lacks a pulse. She sighs softly in innocent pleasure, the warm air sending a delightful bristling down the young man’s neck and drawing another drunken whimper from his lungs. This all feels therapeutic, almost. Neither had realized how much they missed domesticity until now. 

The human suddenly snorts humorously, talking against Harry’s waxy skin. “I’m surprised you haven’t tried to make a move yet.” 

Harry rattles his head sleepily, the ridges of his mouth tickling her jugular as he does so. His voice is distant and tender, but his words send a pang of electricity to her core. “I’ll fuck you afterwards. Just wanna enjoy this right now.” 

Y/N lets her eyes lull shut, allowing the sheets of hot water to numb her mind the same way it had his, a certain type of mellowness soaking into her bones. Her tone comes out as soothed and detached as her lover’s, all her attention funneled into how incredible his hard body feels pressed to hers in such an intimate fashion, his strong arms clinging to her like a lifeline. “I’m not complaining.”

Even in his distracted state, Harry still somehow manages to wriggle in a smug quip. “Of course you’re not. I give you nothing to complain about.”

“Dickhead.”

Y/N gives his ringlets a spiteful tug, which he responds to with an airy chuckle and a cheeky smack across her ass. The girl jumps slightly with a small gasp and a handful of select curses, which only causes him to cackle even further. “You love that shit, don’t you?”

“Go back to keeping your mouth shut.” 

“Mm. S’what I thought.” 

Harry keeps his sensual promise, as he always does. 

As soon as they exit the shower, he immediately wanders into the bedroom, the only towel in his possession being the one he’s using to shake out his damp curls. Y/N dries off her body patiently as she stands in front of the clouded mirror, rubbing the linen over her softened skin. She handles her hair second, patting and scrunching the water out as she thinks on what Harry could possibly be doing that is taking him so long. She doubts he’s getting dressed, if his earlier intentions are any indication, and he seemed like he had a plan in motion when he’d walked out, so there must be a method to his prolonged absence. 

When the monster pads back into the bathroom, he is just as bare as when he’d left, the towel he’d used on his locks crumpled in his large hands. He chucks it into the linen hamper beside the jacuzzi, sauntering up behind Y/N and she has to force herself not to use the mirror to ogle below his waist. She folds her towel neatly onto the counter, reaching forward and wiping the last bit of condensation off the glass so she can get a proper view of Harry’s face. Maybe it’ll help her deduce what he’s plotting. 

The boy presses up against her backside, pushing her forward until her hips are wedged between his torso and the edge of the bathroom counter, moving all her stringy hair onto one shoulder with the back of his hand. Harry locks eyes with her through the mirror, speckling a few sloppy kisses along the back of her neck and grinning into her flesh when a shiver coils down her spine. He looks so fucking good with his damp ringlets glued along his sharp jaw, his jade eyes glossy with lascivious intentions, and his cheeks and chest still colored from the hot water, tattoos looking as alluring as ever. He nuzzles the tip of his nose across the shell of her ear, taking the lobe between his teeth and tugging teasingly, the warm air of his low, dominant tone causing her flinch in anticipation. 

“Arms behind your back.” 

Y/N obeys without a hitch, bringing her hands together atop the alcove at the bottom of her spine. She feels the unmistakable sensation of cold metal looping around her wrists, tightening with soft clicks and pinching at her skin. The cuffs sift into the designated setting and Harry gives them a quick yank to check for security, tying the excess chain link around his knuckles and pulling down harshly. Y/N’s body contorts to his influence, her arms straightening out as her back arches, chest swelling forward while her hips remain perched to the tabletop, held in place by his own. She can feel the head of his cock dab against the back of her thighs, his irises darkening as he surveys her bust with a type of barely-contained desire that sends heat flooding into her abdomen. 

Harry ducks his head further down to glue more kisses along the slope of her shoulder, nipping periodically and leaving behind a neat row of love bites that he’ll admire in detail later. The words he murmurs against her skin deliver a sweltering simmer in their wake. “Do you want it rough?” 

Y/N swallows thickly, nodding her head several times and whispering a bashful, “Yes.” 

“‘Yes’ what?”

The human licks at her lips tentatively, squeaking a tad when gives the metal hoops an expectant tug, urging a reply. “Yes, sir.” 

Harry’s lashes flutter shut for a second, the corners of his lips twitching in arrogant satisfaction. “You’ve got the filthiest tongue, but you know how to make it say the sweetest things, don’t you, baby?”

“Only for you.”  

“No one else?”

“No one else.”

The vampire’s eyes open slowly, head tilting to the side to assess her with sly amusement. “You wanna know how I can tell that’s the truth?” 

Y/N’s joints are starting to ache due to the position he’s fixed her in, but she doesn’t mind the burn. It feeds into the appeal. “H-How?”

Harry leans forward, brushing his wet lips up her jaw, the tip of his cock spreading her open just a smidge. “Because every time I fuck you, you’re always so bloody tight. Means I’m the only one stretching out that snug little cunt.”

A broken whine escapes Y/N’s sore throat— courtesy of what had occurred the night prior— and she squirms in the brunette’s grip, trying to shimmy her way further down his length. She’s anxious to feel him fill her. “Deeper.” 

“Pardon?”

“Go deeper. Want it all.” 

Harry raises an eyebrow in impressed curiosity. “You want it all in one go? Don’t want me to prep you first?” 

She shakes her head stubbornly, pushing back against him and succeeding in sinking an inch or so. Harry’s entire face hardens as she clenches around the head of his prick, attempting to ride down further to sedate her desperate need. He twists his fist tighter around the chain, his other hand coming up to grip her throat, forearm pressed between her breasts as he gets a decent hold to prepare for what’s to come.  

“If it gets to be too much,” Harry dabs a gentle kiss onto her cheek; it’s to communicate the importance of the message amidst the tense atmosphere, “you know to tell me, right?” 

“Mmhm.”

“Alright. Ready?”

“Always.”

Y/N nearly passes out. Even though she’s grown accustomed to Harry’s size and girth, it somehow never fails to shock her into a state of unexpected rapture. He just fits so well inside her— hits every nook and crevice like he was meant to touch every single one. That, combined with his unrelinquishing thrusts and sinful dirty talk...It’s enough to render anyone helpless. It’s certainly enough to have her shaking and screaming against his chest, and it’s definitely more than enough to drive her towards an orgasm that she knows will blow out her legs for at least the rest of the day. 

Harry fucks into her just how she’d requested— rough and vehement. He presses her bare back to his chest by using the hold he has around her throat, her head falling backwards onto his shoulder as he pounds into her belly from behind. His other hand is braided into the chain between the cuffs, controlling how her body seizes up and gives way. She’s standing on the tips of her toes, legs spread open as much as her weak knees will support, scraggly breaths stuttering from her nose and mouth as shattered noises of ecstasy decorate the space the fading steam has left behind. Her hips are ramming forward against the rim of the counter, the marble knocking against her pubic bone to the point where she knows bruises will develop later on. She doesn’t mind it; she loves seeing the memories Harry brands onto her, whether that be in the form of hickies across her thighs, fingerprints over her waist, or his rings fanned out across the swell of her ass. She’ll take anything he’s willing to give. 

The vampire is dismantling just as quickly as she is, obvious in the fractured growls and soft grunts he’s puffing against the side of her face. His pink-polished nails dig into her jugular, fingers twitching as her heartbeat hammers against his palm, sending vibration down his whole nervous system. His cock is slicking into her easily and it’s obvious the anticipation of what he had said during their bath had gotten to her; he can feel how wet she is with every stroke. It’s dripping down her quivering thighs and smearing all over his tiger head tattoo, damp slaps resonating from where her backside hits against his tinted pelvis. 

Harry stares down hazily at where he’s spreading her open, taking his bottom lip between his teeth as tiny mewls itch along the back of his raw throat, her own sounds playing across his ears with each buck of his thighs. They float through the heavy air like a lullaby and he can confidently say he’d listen to her moans forever, if time allowed. 

“I think it’s funny,” Harry starts with a comedic edge to his strained voice, mimicking the introduction Y/N had used the day before when they’d been in the jacuzzi, “that you’re always so willing to let me use you however I want. That you literally beg me to take you this hard. It’s almost pitiful, really, that you never had anyone fuck you right before I came along.”

The girl squirms in his arms, her hands flat against his abdomen, nails carving into his flesh. Her sentences come out cracked and almost pained. “I-I wish I’d met you sooner.” 

“Yeah, I bet you do.” Harry grits against the shell of her ear, smirking when she worries her lower lip beneath her top teeth, trying to keep a tab on what he knows is probably an embarrassingly loud keen. “I bet you wish you’d had me back home, huh? Spent all your time fucking around with those vanilla small-town boys, never had a real man treat you the way you wanted. Bet you didn’t even like those pricks, did you, darling?”

Y/N shakes her head vigorously in response. “They were so boring. You’re so much better.” 

She’s working his praise kink like a charm.

“Poor thing.” Harry scoffs sympathetically, running his grasp upwards until his thumb and forefinger rope around her jaw. He maneuvers her head into place, forcing her to look at herself in the mirror, hissing his words lowly. “Eyes up. See how pretty you look taking every last bit of that cock? And the way your tummy’s bulging? That’s how you know the sex is good— that’s how it’s supposed to look.”

Y/N gazes upon the image her friend is referring, her exhales hiccuping in her chest at the way an obvious bump rises in her belly every time he thrusts inside. Not only that, but Harry just looks incredible, as well, with his heavily inked arm flushed between her breasts, the art flexing to life as he yanks her down against his lap by her neck. She can see the sweat beading his hairline, his freshly-washed ringlets jumping to his movements as he groans into her scalp. 

Y/N’s lips part in a silent moan and the immortal takes this chance to shove his first two fingers into her mouth, weighing them against her tongue and instructing her with a clear, deep accent. “Suck.”

She does so obediently, her cheeks hollowing as she gasps around the digits, swiveling to match his tempo. Between her glistening body, the needy expression painted across her appearance as she conforms to his every demand, and the way her walls are clinging to him like a vice as she eagerly licks and suckles at him…

Harry loses it. 

“Fucking hell.” The monster unclamps the hand he has around her jugular and Y/N drops back down onto her heels, ankles quaking now that she has to carry her own weight. His palm finds refuge along the back of her skull instead, proceeding to shove her head down towards the counter, pulling at the cuffs to finagle her into a folded position. “Bend over.”

Y/N does as told, a small, “mm!” plucking at her vocal chords as Harry pushes her cheek down against the cold marble situated between his two sinks. He pins her head to the surface and she casts her attention upwards to try and get a peek of him through the glass. His eyes look unnaturally dark, though she can’t quite place the shade given her limited view. 

The vampire makes sure the chain link is secured around his knuckles, proceeding to use the toy to bounce Y/N against his cock. He yanks her towards his torso until she thunks wetly against his base, using his hips to push her forward harshly and pulling out until his tip is barely grazing her entrance. He repeats this action over and over, weak whimpers spilling shamelessly from his plump ruby lips as he keeps her face fastened down, maintaining some form of consistent stability. Every fiber of his being sparks with bliss as he watches her jerk against the counter, back caving forward and causing her naked chest to bulge against the stone panel. One of these days, she’s going to drive him mental. He swears it. 

“There’s a good girl, minx.” Harry’s head tips backwards, bobbing back and forth as his sticky chest heaves with the exertion of keeping him tethered to reality. “Take it just like that, yeah? God, you should see the way you’re so snug around me. Love that cock, don’t you? Say it. Tell me you love it.”

Y/N’s fingers curl into loose fists against the dip of her spine, nails digging into her palms. “I love your cock, Harry. I love it so much. Don’t stop, please don’t fucking— oh!” He prods over her g-spot and she shudders below him. “Shit, keep going! Right there, right there, right there— oh my God!”

“Right here? Is that what’s gonna make my dirty little whore cum?” Harry grinds his teeth, ignoring the rouge curls falling into his furrowed brows, jabbing the spongy area with continuous plunges. “More? Look at how you’re shaking, baby. And you’re just so fucking wet. Absolutely soaked and... and fuck, that’s my sweet girl.” 

The boy keeps delivering every plea she chokes out, his climax beginning to froth at the trench of his stomach and along the underside of his balls. A familiar glow starts to pour into his dormant veins. “I’m almost there, dove. Gonna fill you up until it runs down your thighs.”

“Y-You’re so good, I can’t fucking— I’m gonna—”

“Beg for it. Beg for Daddy, princess.” 

Y/N does so with no remorse, confessing to him how much she wants his load, telling him that she needs to feel him spill inside her all warm and thick and heavy. A dark, open-mouthed smirk adorns Harry’s features as he fucks a throbbing ache between her thighs, feeling his mind completely slip. He may be damned with eternal life, but in this instant, the immortal feels like he touches heaven. 

Then, that moment of pure euphoria is stripped away by the sound of his front door clicking open. 

Harry’s eyes snap awake, all his motions coming to an abrupt halt. He shushes a protesting Y/N quietly, tuning his heightened hearing to make sure he hadn’t imagined the sound. 

But no, it’s very much real. It’s followed by the noise of the lock clanking back into its hole, and then three pairs of footsteps begin echoing down the hallway that leads to his living room. He recognizes every single one and unhinged rage suddenly flares around his pupils, potent and bright red. If Y/N wasn’t in such a compromisable position, he wouldn’t have gotten away with that slip-up. 

“Christ, you’ve got to be fucking shitting me.”

Harry carefully withdraws himself from between the mortal’s legs, wincing a bit at the loss of suction and feeling a spoonful of guilt stem from the disappointed whine Y/N sobs. His swollen, leaking cock sways lightly as he takes a cautious step back, testing to see if he’s capable of moving without face-planting the ground. His mind is misty and he’s obviously drenched in the pungent scent of sex, but other than that, he reckons he can manage just fine. Especially with the newfound anger coursing through his nerves— a direct result of the unexpected trio of intruders chatting nonchalantly on the floor below. 

Harry stumbles towards the exit of the bathroom, knees wobbly and head spinning, an unsatisfied gnawing toiling in his groin. He needs to get that taken care of as soon as possible, but he can’t until he gets rid of the three morons milling around his foyer. He snatches his cherry blossom silk robe from the hook on the wall, wrapping it around himself tightly and making sure to cover all his assets to prevent any mishaps. 

He glances up at a pouting Y/N as he ties off the ribbon around his waist, walking back and helping her onto her unstable feet, cooing apologetically. “Just give me a minute, sweetheart. I heard some visitors come in downstairs ‘cause, apparently, they don’t understand the concept of privacy. This is the last time I’m trusting anyone with an extra key.”  

The girl leans back against one of the sinks, blinking up at him emptily as he thumbs over her chin in comfort. Her voice is hardly audible, raw with exhaustion. “How...How did you know they were here? I didn’t hear them come in...” 

Harry pauses for a moment, clearing his throat awkwardly and pecking her on the nose to insert a distraction. He throws some humor into the mix as well, wanting to steer the conversation to safe grounds, opting for using a bit of compulsion to get the job done. His pupils dilate as his sentences swim around her head in a soothing voice, heavy with persuasion. “I heard the door slam shut. I guess you were a little too busy screaming my name to notice.” 

Y/N’s pupils expand to match his, her face going slack as the supernatural magic sews into her thoughts and molds her perspective to his story. Her lashes flutter in mild confusion, brows cinching as her brain recalibrates itself. The creases in her forehead dissolve as all of her doubt melts away, the corners of her plump lips quirking at his snarky remark. “I guess so.” 

“Can’t blame you, though.” Harry taps at her bottom lip cheekily, shrugging his brows. “I was giving it to you pretty good.” 

“Stop being such an arrogant little shit.” Y/N rolls her foggy eyes, but she can’t hide the way her heartbeat spikes— not from him. Then, her face suddenly wracks with embarrassment, eyes shattering with humiliated realization. “Oh my God, that means they probably heard everything…”

Oh, they definitely heard everything, Harry thinks. They’ve got nothing better to do other than pry. 

He nurses her downcast face with his cold palm, one shoulder rising and falling casually to show it’s no big deal. “Don’t worry about it, hm? I’m gonna go kick them out, anyways, so you won’t have to deal with it.”

The pet name and his kind gesture eases her woes a bit, but not much. “Still. I’m never showing my face in public ever again.”

Now it’s the vampire’s turn to roll his eyes at her theatrics. “Just stay here, yeah? It’ll only take a second, and then…” Her friend gives her naked body a suggestive once-over, licking at the corner of his mouth. “Then we can finish what we started.” 

Y/N kicks at his ankle, jokingly chastising him for his wandering gaze as she fiddles with her fingers within the handcuffs. “Just go.”  

The moment Harry’s bare feet step off the last rung of his staircase, he begins spewing venom at the three imbeciles standing around at the mouth of his entrance corridor. 

“Are you fucking dense?” He stomps up towards the group of young men with balled fists and bristling irises, all his spite trained on Mitch. “I told you I was busy! That suggests that you should’ve stayed away for the weekend! It meant, ‘leave me alone,’ not ‘come to my flat unannounced.’”

“Yeah, we know you’re busy.” Niall boasts with a loud scoff, shaking his head as an afterthought. “I think the whole building knows, at this point.”

The Irish bloke grabs Xander, who catches onto what the man is doing and happily takes a part in the action. He bends over while Niall grasps onto his shoulders and begins to mimic thrusting, arching his back forward and shaking his ass. He sucks one of his fingers into his mouth, moaning profusely to add authenticity to their vulgar reenactment. “Oh, Harry! Right there, don’t stop!”

Niall drops his voice a few octaves for symbolism, putting on a shitty British accent as he bucks against Xander’s backside. “Yeah, baby, you like that? Like it right there? Tell me how much you love that cock.” 

Harry’s jaw clenches as he tries to ignore them, refusing to give rise to their taunting. The two boys break into a puddle of giggles at his expense, nudging each other triumphantly and eventually dying down. Harry isn’t normally the type of person to daydream about violence— why would anyone partake in something so barbaric when dismantling an enemy psychologically is so much better?— but he finds himself fantasizing about tearing Niall and Xander’s hands off and using them as ping-pong paddles. 

Mitch shifts his body towards his best friend, arms crossed loosely with an expression of sheer amusement painted across his bearded face, seeming undisturbed by Harry’s rampage and deadly grimace. “It’s nice to see you, too, H.” 

The younger vampire takes a measured inhale, swallowing down the urge to rip the older man’s mustache clean off. He directs his next sentence at all of them, glaring intently as his voice comes out flat and harsh. “Get out.”

Niall raises his palms in peaceful surrender, proceeding to use an index finger to signal hastily between his impromptu porno co-star and himself. “Don’t look at us, this was Mitch's idea. We just came along.” 

“None of you should have come at all.” Harry spits, tightening his lean arms over his chest, biceps rippling under the thin silk of his elegant robe. “What do you want?” 

A soft giggle suddenly bursts from Xander and he momentarily slaps his hand over his mouth to muddle it, but his eyes continue to dance with mirth. “Sorry, I just can’t take you seriously in that.” He juts his chin towards Harry’s pajamas. “I think my grandmother had one just like it.” 

“Yeah, I stole this from her place right after I pissed on her grave.” The brunette snaps with an exaggerated smile, feeling a flare of evil satisfaction at the way Xander’s grin immediately plops. Niall snorts loudly and tries to cover it up, but it fails and he is left having to brace the brunt of the other boy’s contempt. 

Harry turns back to face Mitch while the other two immortals bicker, now aware that he is the mastermind behind this entire coup. “What are you even doing here? Shouldn’t you have left for Vegas already?”

“Yeah, we should have.” He answers pointedly with a soft, dejected sigh. Harry has to keep himself from casting his gaze away in guilt. 

The annual trip had been a tradition he and Mitch had started in the nineties, just them two. As their group had expanded, so had the attendant list, and now it was something special their whole clique did together to put some extra excitement— something stable to look forward to— into the endless years they had ahead. No one had missed out on the trip in the last thirty years, especially not willingly, and no one ever thought Harry— the co-founder of the event— would be the one to break that streak. He can tell Mitch is upset. 

“I’m sorry.” Harry mumbles, squeezing at the inside of his elbows and putting as much genuine emotion into his demeanor as possible. “It just slipped my mind and I made another commitment that I can’t bail on. But it won’t happen again, I promise. Betsy swear.” 

Mitch’s downturned lips jolt slightly at the mention of his old bayonet. He had kept the weapon after the American Revolution had ended, as a tribute to the old life he was leaving behind after he transitioned, naming it fondly after his mother. With all of that history taken into appeal, it’s no wonder the item means a lot to him. That is exactly why the two best friends had developed a dynamic around it. 

They would tie an oath to the object in order to ensure it would be kept, and if the promise was broken, the other would get to stab the traitor with it. The game had been something Mitch and Harry had conjured up decades ago while under the influence of some very strong psychedelics, but it had stuck, for some reason. It’s simply a playful inside joke, and though it’s a tad gruesome, it’s hardly an issue considering they both self-heal quickly. Any damage inflicted is equivalent to that of a rubber band snapping against their skin, so in the end, no harm, no foul. At its core, it’s just a vampire’s version of a pinky swear, hence the term, “Betsy swear.” Harry had thought about getting it patented, at one point. 

The jade-eyed boy feels a weight lift off his shoulders as Mitch indulges one of his signature quiet chuckles. “Alright, fine. Betsy swear, then. The reason we’re here is ‘cause I wanted to check up on you before we left, and ‘cause I wanted to make sure you switched the reservation. You never got back to me about it.” 

“Oh, my bad. I got it done, though. Everything should check out.” Harry reassures, waving away his visitor’s doubt. He’d tended to the job last night after Y/N fell asleep and he meant to send a confirmation text, but forgot when the mortal had begun to stir randomly. He’d had to put away his phone and pretend to be unconscious for a few minutes until her agitation melted away, resulting in the deed going undone, courtesy of the mild panic that had dulled his memory. “Why didn’t you just text me about it?” 

Mitch gives him a deadpan look, pursing his lips to fight off an entertained grin. “Oh, I did. Multiple times, actually. But I reckon you were too busy with the treadmill to notice.” 

The older creature’s reference works as intended, an irritating flush crawling up Harry’s neck and pouring into his ears, garnering a fit of cackles on his companion’s behalf.

“Fuck off.” Harry grumbles as he shoves Mitch’s shoulder, but the insult is hard to take seriously when he’s wrestling a smirk of his own. 

“Is it the girl from the club?” The lanky man inquires curiously, tilting his head to the side with an impressed air. “It’s been, what, four weeks now? That’s a record, I think. You’ve never kept one around that long.” 

“What can I say, the sex is good.” Harry shrugs easily, tucking a couple of rebellious curls away from his eyes, which gleam crimson red as a supporting factor to his next comment. “And the blood is even better.”

Mitch rolls his irises playfully. “Alright, Casanova, pipe down.” He glances over his friend’s rumpled appearance, taking in the slightly damp skin, wild hair, and the plethora of faded hickies peeking through the boy’s robe, littering his chest and collarbones. “She’s got you on a tight leash, I see.” 

“It’s only fair, considering she spends most of that time in my handcuffs. Quid pro quo and all that.” Harry quips back, bursting into laughter when Mitch gags dramatically. 

“You know you could’ve just brought her along, right?” Mitch suggests, tucking his hands into his pockets. “We each have our own rooms, remember? No one would get in the way of your little late night jogs. Though I can’t say the same for the other hotel guests. She’s not necessarily subtle.” 

Harry presses his tongue along the inside of his cheek coyly. “It’s not my fault I’m good in bed. It’s a curse, really. Could never get away with dressing room sex.”

He contemplates Mitch's offer for a second. He thinks it could be a fun time, but then he recalls that the trip to Vegas is a week-long party, which Y/N can’t indulge because she works a regular nine-to-five. Plus, a human in a car full of vampires sounds like the introduction to an ominous joke. Something is bound to slip, especially because no one in the crew is used to having humans around outside of meal hours. He doesn’t want the responsibility of constantly having to wipe her brain. 

Aside from that, most of the vampires that mill around Vegas aren’t as cultured as Harry’s friends. They lack restraint, a conscience, and fear of consequences, given that the city’s crazy reputation provides the perfect cover for all those dangerous behaviors. That makes them deadly predators to someone as trusting and unsuspecting as Y/N, and having to continuously protect her would be too much of a hassle. It’s supposed to be a vacation; the last thing he needs is for it to turn into an episode of Shark Week. It’s best to stay put.

Harry shakes his head after a minute, clearing his throat. “But I think I’m good. Bringing along a human isn’t worth all the trouble she might cause. Thank you, though.” 

Mitch bobs his head in understanding, well aware of the problems Harry is alluding to. “You have a point.” He pauses for a second in thought, shaking his head at the idea of having to deal with the insanity that surrounds their Vegas siblings. “I guess I’ll just see you next week, then, yeah? Better get going.”

The younger vampire mirrors his nod, opening his arms for a hug, which Mitch gladly takes. He’s not one for affection, that much is clear, but he makes certain exceptions here and there, and of course his friends file under that category. And every now and then, Y/N does too. 

“See you next week.” He pulls away from the embrace with a hard pat to Mitch’s shoulder, smiling softly. “Send tons of pictures, okay? And videos of Niall getting shitfaced. I need new blackmail content.” 

“Will do.” Mitch squeezes his best friend’s shoulders tightly, beaming at him in return. He then cranes towards his two fellow guests, whistling to gain their attention from the passionate conversation they seem to be having about Harry’s robe. “Time to head out, Bonnie and Clyde.”

“Who’s who?” Niall questions childishly, raising an eyebrow. “Because I think I should be Clyde. Xander has Bonnie vibes.” 

“No I don’t!” 

“Yes, you do.” The Irish boy reasons, cocking his head knowingly. “You seem like the type who would cheat on a murderer with another criminal from the same jail. You’ve got a knack for drama, like most women.” 

Xander crosses his arms stubbornly. “No, I don’t.”

“You do, actually.” Harry butts in, eyes twinkling slyly as the group starts to wander towards the exit. He decides to get revenge for the teasing from earlier. “You moan just like one, too.”

Xander blushes bright red, diving into the shadow of the corridor to avoid any more ridicule. “I’m leaving.” 

“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out!” 

The other vampires laugh as they follow behind Harry’s ex-fling, waving their final goodbyes. As soon as the front door echoes shut, the immortal turns on his heel and heads back towards the glass stairs, beginning to undo the silk ribbon knotted around his hips. 

He’s got his own partner in crime to attend to. 

///

That night, Y/N and Harry end up bidding each other farewell in the corridor of his condo. 

That seems to be a common theme in their relationship, he’s come to find. It’s usually the entrance to her own apartment instead of his, but the motif is there, nonetheless: They always end up meeting in a hallway, every single time. 

“Thanks for having me over.” Y/N murmurs in her signature gentle dialect, smiling delicately as she skids the toe of her sneaker against the ground of the carpet outside his door, trying to keep the butterflies in her tummy tame. It was an incredible two days— maybe the best weekend she’s ever had, if she’s being honest. “I had a lot of fun.” 

Harry leans his bare shoulder against his threshold, clad in nothing but a pair of royal blue boxers and black ankle socks, freely showing off the collection of love bites and scratches Y/N had so kindly finished gifting him a few hours ago. She’d gone wild the second he’d unlocked the metal cuffs and he’s more than happy with the results.

The stains speckle his broad chest and the expanse of his taut neck, dark and obvious beneath the complex’s buttery lighting. Bruises trace down his stomach and across his ribs, a neat row of four hickies centered vertically between his two fern inkings. They disappear suggestively under the elastic band of his underwear and she can feel flashes of heat layer across her cheeks, her mind recalling all the filthy sounds he’d made when she had created them.

The human peels away from the artwork that is Harry’s marked torso, glancing around nervously at the fact that some stranger might see the fruit of their actions. The vampire’s lips twitch at her concern; it baffles him how she can be such a devil in between the sheets, but such a shy, reserved angel in every other aspect. It’s cute. 

Harry reaches forward and takes her warm fingers into his larger hand, thumbing over her knuckles appreciatively as his irises glitter smugly amidst his lashes, a smirk stringing his pillowy mouth. “We always have a lot of fun.” 

Y/N squeezes his palm playfully, gnawing into her cheek and humming in agreement. “That, we do.”

A moment of comfortable silence suspends the air between them, the only sound being the faint footsteps of people on the levels above and below, alongside the light skidding of the elevator as it delivers patrons to their destinations. Harry is the first to speak up again. 

“What was your favorite part?” 

Y/N blinks up at him blankly, slightly startled at the random question, but moreso at being put on the spot. 

“Oh, uh…” She laughs shakily, struggling to recall everything that had happened in the last forty-eight hours. There had been so much bare skin and desperate tongues involved, she can hardly pick through her memories without her ears prickling. “I think...I think the shower was my favorite. It was nice and relaxing. Helped me unwind.” 

Harry nods in recognition, turning through the pages in his mind and skimming through the instance she’s referring. “It was pretty nice, yeah. You look good in a soap beard.” 

Y/N scoffs at his joking compliment. “Thanks. I’ll grow it out more often. Just for you.” 

The young man reaches up and grips over his chest in fake passion, face contorted into a wistful expression. “That’s all I ask.” 

The pair break into childish giggles and the sensation of Harry rubbing across the top of her hand is starting to make her head fuzzy. “What about yours? What was your favorite?”

Harry mulls over his own topic for a few seconds, lips puckering in thought as his eyes narrow pensively. The comically adorable picture makes Y/N’s heart skip. 

“I think…” Harry lists his gaze downwards back onto his patiently-awaiting friend, lips spreading into his patented dazzling smile. “I think it was probably the Hamilton reenactment.” 

Y/N brows jump, mood slightly unconvinced. “Really?” 

The vampire nods confidently, his own eyebrows inching upwards, voice amused. “Why is that so hard to believe?”   

Y/N shrugs offhandedly, glimpsing down at where the ridges of his thumb are delivering soothing shots of bliss into her veins. “You’re just so...y’know...you… so I guess I just expected you’d have a preference for the more…” She chooses her next words carefully, not wanting to be so brazen with the risk of someone overhearing, “...intimate parts of the weekend.”

“Wow, okay. Just call me a whore to my face, then. That’s fine.” 

Y/N throws her free hand upwards in a fist, slugging Harry on the shoulder with appalled shock overtaking her features. His boyish chuckles echo off the walls of the building as she whips her head around to make sure no one had witnessed his dirty bluntness. “You know what I mean!” 

“Yeah.” He purposefully raises his voice, nearly shouting the following sentence just to get on her nerves. “You’re slut-shaming me!” 

Y/N surges forward, trying to clamp her hand over his mouth and save herself the embarrassment. “Harry, shut up!”

He easily fights her off, his supernatural strength beating hers tenfold. She ends up wrapped in his embrace, flushed against his hard chest as he sticks his tongue out at her mockingly. He drops his tone back down to normal, his two front teeth digging into his lower lip to keep more laughter from bubbling over. “That’s not nice. You should stop conforming to society’s outdated ‘sex is taboo’ narrative.”

“I wasn’t—” Y/N starts insistently, but then she realizes she’s become almost as loud as him so she forces her voice to taper into an alarmed hiss instead. “I wasn’t slut-shaming you! I was simply expressing—”

“You just see me as a toy, don’t you?” The creature cuts her off, lips dipping downwards into a glorified frown. He proceeds to bat his lashes and sniffle, packing as many theatrics as possible into his mopey act. “I have feelings, y’know? My big dick and cunnilingus skills aren’t my only redeeming qualities! You should be ashamed of yourself for objectifying me like that.”

Y/N presses her lips together to ward off an immature grin, rattling her head to get herself under control. She gives him a stern look, warning him to cut it out. “Stop being a child.” 

“Stop using me for sex and making derogatory assumptions about my promiscuity.”  

“Oh, hop of it! You use me right back. It’s mutual.”

“Which is why the slut-shaming is such a paradox.” 

“For fuck’s sake, I wasn’t fucking— You know what? You can’t even pin me on the objectification part because you do it to me all the time!” 

“Oh, is that so?” Harry prods with a humorous tilt of his head, squeezing at her love handles and swimming in the way she wriggles around. “Elaborate.” 

“When you slapped my ass in the shower. Or when you put your hand under my shirt to play with my chest while we watch TV.” Y/N debates, poking at the thorax of his butterfly tattoo. “Very objectifying, if you ask me.”

“Mm, not quite, darling.” The vampire shakes his head and draws her closer, ducking down to flirt the tip of his nose along the slope of hers. “There’s a difference.”

“Oh, yeah?” She digs her nails into his pectorals, discreetly savoring the strong muscles. “What is it?”

Harry glimpses down at where she’s carving indents into his flesh, enjoying the minute pain more than he should. He drifts his mouth closer towards her ear, inhaling the scent of his shampoo wafting from her silky strands of hair. “The difference is that you’re usually begging me to do all those things.”

Y/N’s teeth grind in begrudging defeat, her spine giving a surrendered shiver at his crude point. “Whatever.” 

Harry releases her body, haughty victory written all over his posture. “I rest my case.” 

Y/N’s pride blazes, a threat falling from her tongue sharply, but it holds no true intentions. “Maybe I should just stop asking you to, then.”

“You won’t.” The boy sighs airily, tapping his bare foot against the ground without a care in the world. “You like me too much.” 

“Even if I like you, I’d have enough dignity to stop seeing you if I wanted.” Y/N huffs, making a face at him to emphasize her stance. “It’s this little thing called ‘willpower.’”

“Yeah, well, we both know you and your willpower are gonna end up texting my number Friday night, asking me to come over for some more interior design advice.” Harry snarkily dismisses, presenting a scenario where he’s holding an invisible phone in his hands, pretending to tap out a message. His voice comes out high-pitched, mimicking her own. “Hey, one of the rungs on my headboard came loose. Can you come help me fix it?”

Y/N stares at him with eyes half-lidded in pettiness. “I don’t sound like that.”

“You’re right. You’re a tad more nasally.” 

“Asshole.” 

“I’m just calling it like I see it, love.”

Y/N socks him on the shoulder again as retribution, though it barely has an impact. 

After a couple heartbeats full of vengeful silence, Y/N chimes up with a jesting tone, though the manner in which she’s picking at her nails tells Harry she’s slightly anxious. “Hypothetically speaking, if I were to send out a text inviting you to come over Friday...would you?”

A lopsided simper pops the immortal’s dimples awake. He shifts on his feet, crossing his ankles nonchalantly. “Hypothetically speaking, I think I could very well make it.” 

Y/N chews on her lower lip as the apples of her cheeks jolt. “Ok, well...Let’s say— once again, hypothetically— that I should be home by eight that day. Would that work for you?” 

Harry cocks his head from side to side as if churning the offer around his mind. “I think that, hypothetically, that fits right into my schedule.”

The human’s belly flops in giddy excitement. “Great. It’s booked, then. Hypothetically speaking, of course.” 

“Of course.” Harry agrees, the reply accompanied by a teasing furrow of his sculpted brows and a curt nod. 

Y/N clasps her hands in front of her thighs with finality, giving him a bright smile. “Alright, then. I’ll see you next week.”

“Next week.” Harry confirms with a cheeky wink, running his tongue along his top teeth to keep from bursting into giggles. “Hypothetically.” 

“Hypothetically.” Y/N states with a slight bow of her head, tucking one hand into the back pocket of her dark jeans as she takes a step back from the front door with a small wave. She turns on her heel to face the elevator at the other end of the hall, her foot lifting to take the first step towards the exit. 

“Wait.” 

The mortal looks back towards her friend, eyebrows poised in question. 

Harry scratches at the nape of his neck, smiling softly. “I could really go for a goodbye kiss. Not-so-hypothetically.” 

Y/N blinks at him in wonder. He’s never asked for one before. 

The awkward aura that quickly fills the space between them becomes suffocating. He considers the option of telling her he was just joking to spare himself the humiliation, but he doesn’t get the chance. Y/N lurches forward, teetering onto the tips of her toes and buttoning her lips to his. The spontaneous action makes him swallow his words. 

He fumbles to cup her jaw, kissing her back with just as much fervor and feeling the coldness of his skin fizzle away under her inherent warmth. The gesture isn’t sexual or desperate, but simply sweet and fulfilling. He enjoys it, though it’s not surprising given that he enjoys her lips touching him in any and every way imaginable. He’s not exactly sure why he’d made this particular request— it’s very out of character for him, in every sense of the phrase— but he deduces it’s likely because he wants one more thing to cling onto until he gets to feel her mouth again. It’s not uncommon to want a little something extra to get through the tougher nights, so it’s truly not that big of an occurrence. It’s only reasonable.  

Y/N breaks their exchange, eyes glassy and so beautifully clear as she pecks his chin one last time in a polite farewell. “Text me if you need me...And especially if you need me.”

Harry gulps thickly at the suggestive statement, nodding numbly as her body heat slips away. “Will do. Thanks. And thanks for the kiss. Needed it to tide me over until Friday.” 

“My pleasure. See you later, Holmes.” 

Harry waits patiently until Y/N’s figure disappears behind the gilded doors of the fancy elevator, watching the closed slates of metal glint coldly under the blurry lighting of the condominium’s corridor. He walks back into his apartment, shutting the door gently and slouching into the plush cushions of his leather sofa with a detached sigh. He gazes up at his extravagant chandeliers, once again left in the empty solitude he’d grown so fond of in his extensive lifetime. There’s not a single sound or motion invading his seclusion, not a hair out of place or a wrinkle in his rug, and everything is so still and quiet, it’s almost deafening. But despite every aspect being as it should, he can’t shake the sensation that something is off. Something is wrong. Something’s missing.

And for the first time in years, he finds himself feeling more lonely than alone. 

///

It only takes Harry about an hour of uneventful isolation to realize he’s made a grave mistake. 

He should have gone on the trip. 

Despite the fact that the vampire lives alone, he very rarely spends any time without seeing his friends. Since they all reside in the same building, it’s fairly easy for him to find some entertainment whenever boredom strikes. He’ll either go up a floor to Mitch’s place to watch a movie or mess around with his collection of vintage guitars, or he’ll go a level below to visit Adam and talk about any new art exhibits opening up around the area. He could visit Niall three floors above to play some FIFA on his gaming console and share porn recommendations, or even take the elevator to the twelfth floor to bother Xander and talk some shit while they do each other’s nails. And if Harry’s feeling extra needy for attention, he could always just invite them all over to his place so the group could go out for some Thai food at the restaurant down the street, or go see a movie at the cinema, or take a ride to their favorite local bar. 

No matter the circumstances, his friends are always readily available for him when he needs them, so he very solemnly spends his days alone. That is, until now. 

The entire crew had left for the Vegas trip and— as a result of his own irresponsibility and immature hormones— had left him all by himself for the next seven days. He would never admit it aloud to spare himself the ridicule of being overly sappy, but he misses the group. He misses Mitch’s soft voice and quiet wittiness, and he misses Adam’s cheeky banter and random fun facts, and he misses Niall’s inappropriate jokes and boisterous laughter, and he even misses Xander’s annoying digs and childish pettiness. He didn’t know how much he took it all for granted until it was gone.

For the rest of the week, Harry is practically miserable. The guys don’t text him much, which can be expected since the whole point of the holiday is to enjoy every second of it; there would be no point in traveling four hours just to sit in their hotel and message him. He talks to Y/N a bit, but she is also occupied most of the time with work, given that she had to take on a few extra shifts on behalf of her co-workers. The earliest she goes in is six A.M., the latest she comes out is nine P.M., and by then, Harry reckons she’s probably falling asleep in the entrance corridor of her home. He understands her exhaustion and therefore doesn’t expect her to humor him; it wouldn’t be fair. 

With everyone in his life busy and with his flat feeling colder and emptier than ever, it’s a miracle he doesn’t go mad within its walls. He goes out a handful of times to do some grocery shopping, for a run around a nearby park, and to take a walk along his favorite mall, but that’s it, really. He doesn’t go out to eat simply because he thinks it would be embarrassing having to sit alone at a restaurant; it’s pitiful and sad and he’s not going to subject himself to that. The most stimulating social interaction he has that week is a tie between a bit of flirting with a Target cashier, some suggestive gazing exchanged with a Starbucks barista, and a couple of cheeky caresses from a Gucci store employee taken while measuring his waist for a custom order. None of it satisfies him the way it normally does, though, and he can’t place why. 

By the time Friday evening rolls around, Harry is a hair short from letting his regular case of stir-crazy slip into a full-on psychotic break. That’s why he ends up at Y/N’s complex earlier than the agreed-upon hour, stepping out of his Cadillac with twenty minutes left to spare and with a certain desperation eating away at the back of his skull.

The creature casually jogs up the worn steps to her floor, the only sound being the heels of his maroon velvet boots clicking against the cement ground. He whistles softly to the vague tune of a new pop song that had been playing on the radio— Wet Ass something?— as he tucks his phone into his pocket and brushes a few traces of lint off his freshly-ironed button-up. 

His outfit for tonight is nothing too spectacular, but it isn’t too lazy, either. It’s a long-sleeve black silk shirt with glass buttons and a pair of large swallows embroidered along either sides of his chest, the threads dyed royal and pastel blue, cherry red, and creamy yellow. The top is cuffed up his elbows and unbuttoned down to his butterfly tattoo, showing off his naturally tanned skin and matching swallow inkings, the cross on his delicate chain centered between his pecs and twinkling under the flickering lights. He’d coupled the loose blouse with some black skinny jeans, a dark leather belt, a small golden hoop earring, and his trusty collection of rings and necklaces. In his opinion, it’s a proper look for a planned-out booty call. Formal, but easy to rip off. Especially in a blind hurry. 

Harry figures that he’ll check to see if Y/N is home, just to cover the bases. If she isn’t, he’ll tred back down the stairs and wait for her in his car. If she is, then that’s all the better; there’s no damage in starting a bit earlier than scheduled. It makes for a better recoup period between rounds. 

The immortal turns the corner into the familiar hallway where Y/N’s flat is located, one of his hands already forming into a loose fist with the intention of knocking on her door. He makes it about five paces before he’s slapped with an image that causes him to stop cold in his tracks, his whistling coming to an abrupt halt. 

Harry blinks repeatedly and lowers the frame of his pink Gucci sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, wanting to make sure the scene before him isn’t a figment of his imagination. Much to his displeasure, it isn’t. 

About three meters ahead, situated right in front of her door with her back facing towards him, is Y/N. That isn’t the odd aspect of the picture, though. What’s odd is that her usual grimy work attire is missing, which he had expected to see given that he knows she always goes to the cafe on Fridays. Instead, she is clad in the pastel blue floral sundress she had worn for him all those weeks back, when they had slept together for the second time. And instead of wearing her scuffed up Vans, she is wearing a pair of pretty tan sandals. And instead of having her hair up in a frizzy ponytail, it’s down and fanned around her shoulders in a glossy sheen of tousled curls. And she’s wearing perfume— the same one she had worn the night they met. He can smell it from here and it makes his brows furrow in confusion. She never wears perfume to work; she says it’s forbidden since it can make customers nauseous. 

But aside from all of those unorthodox details, there is one specific factor above all that throws Harry for the biggest loop he’s encountered in the last five weeks of knowing her. 

Y/N isn’t alone. She’s accompanied by another man. 

Harry gives the stranger a calculating once-over, taking in every aspect of the boy’s appearance. He has to keep himself from sputtering into laughter. This has to be some type of fucking joke. 

The bloke is fit, he’ll give him that, at least. He’s handsome and somewhat muscular, but in a manner that is painfully cliche and utterly boring. He has sandy blonde hair that falls across his forehead in a shaggy sideways bang, eyes the color of a Malibu beach, and generally soft features with the exception of decent cheekbones. He’s wearing a dull orange polo, khaki pants, Levi sneakers, and an annoyingly giant watch on his wrist that gives the impression he’s trying to show off. Harry nearly vomits in his mouth. 

Who the fuck would wear a polo willingly? And how brain dead does he have to be to think khakis are still in style? His fashion sense is obviously stunted. It appears his brain is stuck in his middle school phase, when the Justin Bieber haircut and douchey brands were all the rave amongst snotty pre-teens. Also, his watch is an embarrassment. Harry doesn’t know what the guy is attempting— and failing— to show off, considering the accessory is chunky and ugly and not even Versace or Rolex. It’s a disgrace. 

As if the forced posh demeanor isn’t enough, the imbecile actually has the guts to have a fake tan. The vampire isn’t surprised, unfortunately, given that eighty percent of all Los Angeles residents think it’s acceptable to dip-dye themselves into a carrot. He faintly wonders if the man’s balls are colored, as well, or if his ass and sack are as pale as his personality probably is. That would be quite the comedic sight either way. Creamsicles for the win, he supposes. 

Harry may not be alarmed by the blonde boy’s get-up, but he is disgusted. Thoroughly disgusted. Horrifically disgusted. What is Y/N doing with this moron? 

According to what he’s gathered from her personality and the pillow talks they often share, she hates the California stereotype almost as much as he does, if not more. She hates the fake tans and bleached hair and lack of conscience. She hates the outdated teenage brands, cringey jewelry, and fraternity member aesthetic. She especially hates the fact that some of these people don’t understand the basic principles of boundaries. And the thing is, this dude-bro of a man definitely ticks all of those boxes— especially with how close he’s standing next to her, looming above her frame with one arm extended against the surface of her door, trying to look nonchalant and cool as he drawls on about whatever topic they’re discussing. 

He’s practically the poster child for everything the girl despises, from the straightened hair to the alter boy church pants to the stupid forest tattoo on his forearm. So what in the flying fuck is she doing entertaining him? What is she doing standing outside her apartment with this trashy, bacon strip-looking, youth leader knock-off, 2012 Bieber impersonator of a human? 

It has to be a joke. It just has to. There’s no other valid explanation, except maybe a plea of insanity. 

Harry doesn’t realize he’s scowling until the stranger makes eye contact with him. The boy’s face breaks into an expression of unsettled discomfort at the way the vampire is peering at him over his sunglasses, allowing his end of the conversation to falter to dust. Y/N’s brows cinch at the occurrence, her attention peeling away to follow where her date’s had wandered. 

The second her gaze locks with Harry’s intense own, she feels her heart drop to her stomach. Fuck.

Let it be known Y/N didn’t want this. She didn’t want to go on a date with Jacob. In fact, she didn’t know who Jacob was until halfway through this week and she honestly wishes it had stayed that way. She wishes she hadn’t picked up Melissa’s shift with Isabel, she wishes she hadn’t offered to wait that extra table in the back out of the kindness in her heart, and she wishes she hadn’t caught the attention of the customer inhabiting it. 

As it turns out, the young man was Isabel’s cousin. He had come to pick her up since the girl’s car had been stuck at the shop for the last few days, and he had arrived a bit earlier than intended, deciding to sit at the back table to wait out the final ten minutes of his relative’s shift. Y/N had simply assumed that he was a regular customer, so she had gone to give him the usual trained introduction in order to follow the golden rule of customer service: Don’t keep a guest waiting. 

Jacob had explained the situation to Y/N, to which she responded with a light laugh and an instinctive apology. She had told him she’d go fetch Isabel for him and bid the boy goodbye. In her rational opinion, she had thought that would be it— a simple crossing of two paths that would likely never cross again— but evidently, the visitor had a very different idea. 

The human’s shift had continued as planned and everything had been going great until Isabel ducked into the kitchen right before leaving, dancing her way across the room and poking her coworker playfully in the tummy.  Apparently, from what Isabel had giddily told her, Jacob had taken an interest in Y/N. It was a bit ridiculous, if you asked her, considering they’d only talked for a total of about thirty seconds before parting routes. But Y/N hadn’t voiced that opinion; she didn’t want to come off as rude. 

Jacob had asked his cousin to set them up on a date and that is why Isabel had gone into the back before leaving. Y/N’s immediate impulse had been to decline. She wasn’t interested in seeing anyone at the moment. Other than Harry, of course. He handled all her needs just fine and they got on so well, she’d be crazy to replace him with some random guy she barely knew. She had gone to express this to Isabel in a gentler manner with an apologetic tone, but the words had ended up lodging in her throat. The girl had stared at Y/N with so much excitement, she’d immediately felt a wave of guilt erupt into her chest. 

She found it difficult to refuse, given that turning down the offer might come off as bitchy and insensitive. Here Isabel was, trying to innocently play match-maker on behalf of someone she cared about, buzzing with glee and smiling at her so big, her cheeks probably hurt. The last thing Y/N wanted was to upset her by basically telling her that Jacob wasn’t up to par with her standards. Rejecting him could be something her acquaintance took personally and Y/N didn’t want to have to deal with drama in the workplace, especially not with someone whose shifts often mirror her own. 

Y/N had reluctantly agreed to the invitation, her only request being that she had to be home by seven thirty. That would give her enough time to prepare for Harry’s visit. 

Her compliance had landed her where she is now, standing in front of her apartment door with a boy she has no interest in. 

It had been a terrible date, though Jacob took no notice of that. He spent the entire dinner talking about himself, going on and on about his college years, and about how he works at a popular surf shop and could probably get her discounted lessons, and about how he doesn’t think he could survive without his Jeep. How he plays guitar and wants to be a famous actor, how he doesn’t understand why people dislike fake tanning, and how his dad owns a country club in South Carolina. How he loves sports, how he thinks museums are dumb, and how he likes girls who are willing to cook for him after they hookup. How he loves going clubbing and that he misses his ex. 

Y/N had nearly groaned out loud at the last two.

It was cruel and unusual torture, in all honestly, and Y/N is just glad it’s over. She’d fulfilled her role— she’d even been nice enough to dress up, to at least finge interest— and could now go free, never having to hear another word about surfboard wax or college football ever again. If only he’d fucking leave.

Jacob had insisted on walking her to the door, which would be sweet if she hadn’t developed a burning hatred for him in the last hour. It came off as annoying and pushy instead, but she allowed it on the grounds of maintaining a polite front. 

She shouldn’t have allowed it. As soon as they’d gotten to her door, he’d started talking all over again and Y/N had no choice but to stand there and listen. She couldn’t go anywhere, given that this is her place and she’s expecting someone. She figured she’d give him until seven fifty and then make up an excuse about having to go to the bathroom in order to get him to piss off. That plan had crumbled when Harry had shown up twenty minutes early. 

The look of inflamed shock that poses Harry’s handsome features makes her stomach curdle. 

She hadn’t meant for him to see this. She’d only gone on the date to spare herself some petty trouble with a coworker. Nothing was bound to come of it, other than a free meal and a guilt-free conscience. It didn’t mean anything and she had no intention of letting it get in between what she and Harry have going. But from an outside perspective, she knows it looks much different. 

The agreement they have isn’t exclusive by any means, but over the last five weeks, the pair have grown pretty comfortable with one another and had given connotations that they weren’t kindling other possible relationships. There’s a type of silent agreement between them that if they were to seek out other people, they would share that information with each other on the grounds of courtesy, friendship, and respect. But Y/N hadn’t said a word to spare him the baseless stress and now he’d run into her smack in the middle of what appears to be a very compromising situation; things aren’t looking good at all. It looks like she’s losing interest in Harry and couldn’t be bothered to tell him. It looks like she’s out for a replacement. It looks like she doesn’t care about their connection at all. 

This is bad. This is really bad.

Y/N’s voice comes out as a shrill shriek of surprise, her body turning abruptly to fully face his rigid own. “Harry! Uh— hi!” 

Harry blinks at her emptily for a moment and she can practically see the gears turning in his head. She can’t read his mind or his expression, but she reckons he’s probably trying to decide if he should follow through on their rendezvous or if he should just leave and never talk to her again. The idea of him choosing the latter makes her mouth go sour. 

The vampire’s emerald irises flit back and forth between his friend and the unknown man behind her, trying to interpret the tone and texture of the circumstance. She’s obviously on a date, if her appearance is any indication, and it’s obviously coming to a close right now, exactly when he’s scheduled to arrive. 

That’s the determining factor that helps him decide his next move. 

Y/N had invited Harry over last Sunday, meaning that she had made their commitment first. This date had to have come into play later in the week, and she had purposefully planned it around their agreed hour in order to give him her undivided attention when the time came. If she had gone out with this guy and then rushed back home to get to him, that must mean she doesn’t plan on indulging another meeting with the stranger. She hadn’t cancelled his visit, either, so that also suggests she isn’t truly interested in this bloke. That makes sense...right?

But that still begs the question: Why had she gone out with him in the first place?

He knows he isn’t owed an explanation, but he also knows that Y/N isn’t the type of person who would just blindside him like this. She isn’t soulless— she’s sweet and caring and generous, so she would never drop him without any warning or consideration for his feelings. She’d never abandon him without telling him why. She’d never do anything that might run a chance of hurting him. 

The immortal is more than aware he doesn’t have the right to be upset about it, either. Their arrangement is loose and open on both ends and he likes it that way. He likes that their relationship isn’t weighed down by commitment and monogamy; it gives him a sense of freedom and independence he’s known to thrive off of. It lets him be himself without playing her emotions, and without causing a ruckus in the plans she has for her new life. And he gets the same in return— he gets to have his needs attended without sacrificing his core beliefs. Their friends with benefits trope rides along the wings of an official bond, only giving them what they want and nothing they don’t, which is how it was meant to be. How it should be.

So why does seeing her with someone else make him feel sick to his stomach?

Harry shakes off the ball of contempt writhing in his chest, clearing the tightness from his throat and molding his expression into a facade of calm indifference. Jealousy is for idiots. 

The vampire fully wraps his perched fingers around the rim of his sunglasses, removing them from the arch of his nose and tucking the shades along the collar of his shirt. He forces his feet to do their job, his lanky legs lurching forward and falling into a casual stride as he walks towards the two humans awaiting a response. 

Harry comes to a stop beside the mortals, clasping his bejeweled hands behind his back and plastering a dazzling grin across his cheeks. He regards his friend with a slight bow of his head, voice airy and carefree as ever. “Hey, Y/N.”

She almost faints in relief. Thank God he’s not mad. 

Y/N returns his smile, shoulders visibly relaxing. “It’s nice to see you.”

“S’nice to see you, too. Always such a…” He pauses, licking at the corner of his lips suggestively, giving her a knowing once-over that only she can interpret, “pleasure.”

The girl ignores the heat that immediately floods her cheeks. Of course he’s doing this in front of Jacob. Of course he’s peacocking. “Likewise.” 

Harry trains his attention onto the young man before him, pursing his lips into a polite smile. As polite as he can muster, anyways. “And who’s this?” 

Y/N blinks herself back into the present, quickly glancing away from Harry’s sharp jaw, though it doesn’t go unnoticed. He feels his ego swell a smidge.  

“This is Jacob.” The human comments easily, signaling to him with an upturned palm. “He’s Isabel’s cousin. You remember Isabel, right? You met her at the club.” 

“I don’t think I do, actually.” Harry murmurs, glimpsing up towards the ceiling to suggest he’s wracking his thoughts. He has a very vague recollection of the two girls he’d momentarily encountered the day he’d first met Y/N, but it’s hazy and unimportant. 

He looks back down at her with sparkling irises, rosy lips twitching with amusement at his next words, knowing they’re going to have a favorable impact. “I guess I was just too distracted by you to pay much attention to anyone else.”  

He can hear more blood rush into her face and the ecstasy it brings him is immeasurable. He cranes his sight back onto Jacob, who has the slightest crease in his brows at Harry’s compliment. Good. That’s exactly what he wanted. 

The monster unclamps his hands and juts one out stiffly towards the mortal. “M’Harry. Good to meet you, mate.” 

Jacob returns the gesture, grasping Harry’s hand firmly in a way the vampire knows is to try and establish dominance. It tickles him when humans try to be tough, especially because Harry could tear his arm right out of its socket as easily as he could lift a sheet of paper. The creature tightens his grip to match the man’s, purposefully putting a tad more strength in to make a silent point. He has to withhold the urge to crunch the boy’s fingers to dust. 

They both release from the exchange and a wave of dark satisfaction trickles into Harry’s bones when he sees Jacob curl and stretch his digits in mild pain. 

Y/N watches the whole scene with a breath trapped in her lungs. This feels surreal.

The blonde clears his throat softly, mouth jilting into an empty smile and it’s obvious he’s only doing it just to keep things civil. “Good to meet you, too. I take it you’re British?” 

“Pure-bred.” Harry remarks proudly, shrugging his shoulders offhandedly as if it’s no big deal. His gaze slinks towards Y/N for a second, tongue pushing along the inside of his cheek smugly. “It works wonders with the ladies.”

A flicker of spite stains the blue in Jacob’s eyes and the vampire feels like his soul is ascending. This is fun. 

“I can only imagine.” His opponent responds, voice somewhat strained as he directs his next question to the two friends. “So how do you know each other?” 

Harry opens his mouth to make an arrogant comment along the lines of, “A club. A few drinks. Some amazing sex. Y’know, the usual.” but Y/N knows him well enough that she anticipates it, speaking over him loudly before he can even get a syllable out.

“We met at a club and hit it off really well. Been friends ever since.” 

The immortal has to keep himself from adding something snarky to the end of her summary. He only does it because he can see a sharp warning flash across Y/N’s eyes. It’s wordless, but stern nonetheless: Don’t.

Harry swallows down his dig and feels it burn a hole in his stomach. Why is she protecting his feelings?

In all honesty, Y/N is only doing it out of kindness and nothing else. As annoying as Jacob may be, he doesn’t deserve to be embarrassed simply because Harry wants to feed his pride. It may be funny, but it’s pretty immature.

“Right.” Harry sighs happily, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. “Friends. Good friends. Close friends. Intimate friends.” 

Y/N presses her lips into a straight line to keep herself in check. He’s trying to work her over and, unfortunately, he’s succeeding.  

“That’s nice.” Jacob nods casually, the innuendo luckily going right over his head. 

“Yeah, it is.” Harry states, eyes glinting mischievously as he quickly studies the man once again. He can’t help himself, he truly can’t. Not when this terribly-styled buffoon makes it so fucking easy. “I like your tan, by the way.” 

The human looks down at his arms for significance, eyes brightening. “Thank you! I got it done at that new place in—”

“Yeah, it’s pretty neat. Looks almost real.” 

Jacob blinks blankly at the backhanded compliment. “Oh—?” 

“I mean, it’s got a few streaks here and there and your left arm looks a little more orange, but I think—”

“Anyways!” Y/N swiftly cuts in, interrupting her friend’s judgmental spiel and directing her attention towards her date. “Harry and I were actually planning on going to see a movie, which is why I had to be home by seven-thirty— we do it every Friday. And the movie starts at eight and traffic’s a bitch, so that’s why I was in such a hurry to get home.” 

Jacob nods slowly, giving her a sweet, understanding smile that makes Harry’s supernatural blood boil. “I see. Well, I—”

The vampire interrupts him once again, condescension flaring in his chest and dancing across the specks of amber surrounding his pupils. “Yeah, Y/N and I go to the theater every Friday. Recently, we’ve been going to the movies every single day of the weekend. And most times, we see several movies a night.” 

Y/N’s jaw clenches at Harry’s barely-veiled insinuation. She tries to talk over him, but he beats her to the punch. 

“Y’know what I’m talking about, right, Y/N?” He nudges her side playfully with his elbow, ignoring the way her eyes tell him to cut it out. “Remember that time we saw three movies in one night? Or the one that had the jacuzzi in it?”

The girl glimpses over at Jacob, who looks utterly confused and uncomfortable. “Harry—”

“Or what about that crime film, yeah? The one with the handcuffs.” He pinches at her love handle teasingly, reveling in how her entire torso tenses under his touch. “The one where they grabbed the criminal and slammed them up against the mirror? You have to remember that one. It’s hard to forget.” 

“Okay, I think that’s enough talk about—” 

“Oh, c’mon, dove.” Harry slings an arm around her shoulders nonchalantly, squeezing her into his body and feeling Jacob’s glare pierce the side of his face. He stares intently into Y/N’s irises, dimples winking awake at the needy desperation gradually inking its way into their reflection. His tone comes out soft but heavy with authoritative suggestion— the kind he always uses in bed. “Tell me you remember.” 

Y/N gulps quietly, mumbling her words begrudgingly. “Yeah, I...I remember.” 

A coy hum runs along the back of the vampire’s throat as he licks across his top teeth slyly. “I think that was your favorite one, wasn’t it? You seemed to have really enjoyed it. Like, properly enjoyed it. Loved every single second, if I recall correctly.” 

The human forces herself to cast her intent elsewhere, ears simmering and breathing stuttering ever so slightly. Her sight lands back onto a very frazzled Jacob, who is looking at the pair as if they’d sprouted horns, shifting unsurely across his feet. The expression of innocent befuddlement on his face makes guilt twist into her heart.   

The mortal roughly shrugs off Harry’s arm, stepping forward and placing a palm on Jacob’s wrist, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Thank you so much for the date. It was...nice.” 

Harry’s fists clench at his sides, though the action goes unnoticed. 

The human boy nods giddily at Y/N, glancing down to where she’s touching him so tenderly. “‘Course! I had a great time, too.” 

“Make sure to tell Isabel that. Maybe it’ll get her to do some sweeping on my behalf.” The girl jokes, giggling softly right along with the stranger. 

Harry can feel his nails threatening to break into his skin. 

“We really have to get going, though, so I guess I’ll see you around?” Y/N prods, gifting her date one last beautiful smile to ease the awkwardness that had settled into the atmosphere, courtesy of Harry’s antics. 

“Sure!” Jacob bobs his head in agreement, pulling out his phone and swaying it symbolically. “You have my number, just text me whenever.” 

“Sounds good.”

Once the young man’s footsteps have faded down the complex’s staircase, Y/N swivels around on her heel to face Harry, arms falling across her chest in an irritated fashion. Her face pinches with annoyance as he leans casually against her door, his own arms folding over his strong chest with his fingers tapping along the inside of his elbows, attitude depicting not a single care in the world. 

He crosses his ankles easily, brows quirking at the way she’s blatantly glaring at him. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that people whose names start with a letter ‘J’ are bound to ruin your life?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Harry!” Y/N snaps, rolling her eyes towards the ceiling as her glossed lips dip into an aggravated grimace. “Are you serious right now?”

He tilts his head curiously, stifling a simper. “What’s wrong, love?”

“What’s wrong?” She retorts with a humorless laugh, astonished at his ability to act so purposefully dense. “You’re a fucking dick, that’s what’s wrong.”

The vampire sputters into a round of boyish cackling, his entire body shaking against the surface below him as his eyes crinkle shut in mirth. Y/N would be further infuriated if it wasn’t so damn cute. 

Harry’s laughter slowly dies down and once he has himself composed, his shoulders rise and fall once dismissively. “I was just fucking around. I didn’t think much of it.” 

“You didn’t think—?” Y/N chokes out in indignation, stomping over to him and poking him straight in the chest, right over his butterfly tattoo. Her perfume makes his mind swim in the best way imaginable. “You didn’t think for a second, in that big head of yours, that talking about our sex life in front of my date was overstepping?” 

Hearing Y/N officially refer to Jacob as her date makes Harry’s mood drop somberly. He tries to push it down and keep up a comical edge, but it’s harder than he’d care to admit. His accent comes out small and almost fragile, much to her surprise. “Well, I didn’t know you were on a date. Maybe if you had told me, I wouldn’t have come.” 

His words sting for some unknown reason. 

The mortal draws closer to him until he’s hovering above her, arms dropping down to her sides to fiddle with the hem of her dress as she tilts her chin upwards to get a better look at his stoney face. All anger melts right out of her voice, replaced by her usual delicate cadence. “Well, I...I didn’t think you’d care, really.” 

“I don’t.” He replies a little too quickly, a small pang of regret pricking his chest when her face immediately falls. “I mean...I mean it as in, like...I’m not keeping tabs on you or anything. I don’t want you to think I’m trying to limit you.” 

Y/N looks back up at him from under her lashes, tone unreadable. “I didn’t think you were. Limiting me, that is. You don’t...limit me.”

Harry nods his head sharply in relieved confirmation, coughing a bit. His throat feels drier than usual and he knows it’s not for a blood-driven reason. “Okay, good. I just wanted to make sure you knew.”

“I do.”

“Alright.” 

A charged silence befalls the ambiance between them and the vampire comes to the conclusion that getting his neck snapped was less painful than having this conversation. At least that was quick, whereas this is grueling and horribly uncomfortable, ridden with anxiety and too many elongated pauses. They are walking on extremely thin eggshells around one another, which is something they’ve never had to do before. They have always been on the same wavelength about their relationship and not once has such a nerve-inducing instance come to pass. Now a wrench has been thrown into their metaphorical mechanism and the nuts and bolts are dismantling by the handfuls, leaving them barren and closed-off more than ever. He can feel this situation straining their friendship and he hates it more than he hates those stupid tapestries she fancies.

“If you knew you were gonna be busy,” Harry starts carefully, gluing his attention to a random stain on the cement ground as he scuffs the heel of his boot against her dirty welcome mat, “why didn’t you just text me and cancel?” 

Y/N takes a shaky inhale, focusing on tracing the faded cursive letters on her rug. “I...I still wanted you to come.”

Harry’s foot halts its motions, gaze jumping to her for a thoughtful second, brows knotting with mild confusion at her confession. If she still wants him in her bed, why was she indulging someone else? “You wanted me to come?...Why?”

“Because Fridays are our days.” 

The corners of his mouth twitch. Our days. Their days. Theirs.

The brunette clears his throat to try and saw away at the tension, shifting against the door as the subject delves into heavier territory. He’s never been one to stutter— he’s much too confident in himself to ever have that issue— but it seems to have become a new development whenever Y/N is around. “If...If you want— uhm...If you want to see other people, you obviously don’t need my permission or anything. But I’d like a little heads-up, just so I know where we stand.” 

Y/N releases a curt sigh of exasperation and somehow, Harry can tell it’s not aimed towards him. It’s aimed towards herself. 

She fidgets with the tips of her fingers, talking to the floor but directing her message towards her friend. “It’s not what you think, H.” 

Harry pins his intent back onto her face, intrigue fully peaked. “What do you mean?” 

Y/N takes another trembling breath, releasing it through her nose as a tired exhale. She can feel him looming over her, waiting for an appropriate response with his lips set into a detached line, his ever-present aroma of vanilla and tobacco muddling her thoughts. “I...I mean the date. It wasn’t truly a real date, per se.”

The vampire’s eyes bore into her relentlessly as he clings onto every syllable she speaks. He’s clutching to a form of hope that he deems absolutely humiliating. “How so?”

Y/N picks at the chipping lavender polish on her nails and he finds it adorable how the color of the lacquer matches one of the main notes in her scent. 

She speaks up softly and honestly, and he thinks he detects a shred of guilt to her explanation. “Isabel was the one who set it up. Her cousin came into the cafe and when he saw me, he asked her to get me to go on a date with him. I have no actual interest in Jacob, but I said yes just to be nice. I didn’t wanna upset Isabel by making her think her cousin wasn’t good enough for me or something. That’s the only reason I went.” 

Harry slowly twists his lionhead daylight ring around his middle finger, simultaneously thumbing over the opal on his pinky. The stone is cold to the touch, but not nearly as cold as his skin. 

He reiterates her story slowly, wanting to make sure he interpreted correctly. “So...you only went on the date because you felt bad? You don't actually like him?”

Y/N’s hands plop down against her thighs as she tilts her head back up to look at him, her tone and eyes completely deadpan. “Well, when you say it like that, it makes me sound kind of mean.” 

Harry snorts softly, mouth buckling into his signature crooked smirk. “It’s pretty cruel, to be honest— giving that poor bloke hope like that. Very malicious of you.” 

Y/N kicks at his ankle jokingly, her lips toying with a grin. “Shut up.” 

“You should be careful. Something tells me his ego bruises easily.” 

“Oh, is that so? What makes you say that?” 

The vampire sucks at his teeth, tapping his chin in faux thought as he shrugs his brows tauntingly. “Oh, I don’t know. Probably the overly-tight shirt and fraternity ring. Seems to me like he’s trying to make up for something he lacks. Probably in the intimacy department.”

Y/N chews along her cheek to keep from bursting into giggles. “You are cruel.” 

“I prefer the term ‘brutally honest.’ Sounds classier.” 

“Right. Because you’re all about class.” 

“Heyyyy!” Harry whines in exaggerated insult, face contorting with dramatic offense. “I’m a classy guy! I have the English accent and fancy chandeliers to prove it!” 

“Right. Super classy.” 

“I’m a proper gentleman.” The monster huffs with begrudging finality, irises glitzing deviously. “That is, until you beg me to behave otherwise.” 

“Fuck off.” 

He looks down at her over the crests of his sharp cheekbones as she gazes up at him with a humorously flat expression, feeling all the pent-up stress from the previous events dissolve away into nothing. Harry reaches forward, taking a single curled strand of her hair and moving it behind her shoulder to get a better look at her face. The gesture makes Y/N’s heartbeat hiccup. Especially when that same forefinger ends up poised below her chin, his thumb distractedly caressing across her jaw. 

The creature’s next sentence comes out low and almost vulnerable. “So it meant nothing, then? Are you sure? Because I don’t want to get in the way of your dating life if you—”

“It meant nothing.” Y/N confirms, bobbing her head once insistently. She cradles her cheek into his icy palm, keeping their eyes locked as she gives it a gentle kiss, her insides fluttering when Harry’s breathing hitches. “I’m not gonna be seeing him again anytime soon. Or ever, probably. And that’s why I didn’t mention it to you— because I knew it wouldn’t change anything between us. You’re the only person I’m interested in right now.”

“Truly?”

“Truly.”

The young man swallows thickly, leaning down to smudge his nose across the girl’s and the action erupts a certain flood of warmth so powerful, it could very well kickstart the dead organ below his ribs. His voice is tumbling down his numb tongue before he can think to stop it. “I’ve been thinking about you all week.” 

Y/N’s fingers stretch upwards to wrap around his wrist securely, almost as if to tether him and eliminate the chance of his touch slipping away. Her whisper is trembly and raw. “You have?” 

Harry knows he’s allowing this to wade into dangerously grey waters, but he can’t find it in himself to care, at the moment. “Yeah. Couldn’t get you out of my head. Couldn’t stop thinking about how good you felt last time.” 

The mortal teeters onto the tips of her toes, flirting her mouth over her friend’s, a prickling sensation stemming from where their cupid’s bows brush. She glimpses at him amidst her lashes, glassy eyes reflecting his need right back at him. “Tell me more. Please?”

The breath of Harry’s words is hot against her mouth, his eyes lulling closed as he recalls all of the memories from the last few days. “I just couldn’t shake it. You were just so tight and warm and the way you were pushing back against my thrusts...the way you were shaking and whimpering...the way you flipped around and slammed your mouth to mine because you wanted me to moan onto your tongue….It was so fucking filthy, I just— I couldn’t—”

His control begins to shatter and the immortal can feel desperation leak through the cracks webbing across his composure. Y/N isn’t helping any, considering she’s started suckling lightly at his bottom lip, her free hand coming up to toy with the curls at the nape of his neck. 

“Keep going.” 

Harry gulps heavily before continuing. “I touched myself while fantasying about you. Lost count of how many times, honestly. But I came so hard every single one. It was pretty easy to lose myself like that, just sitting there thinking about everything we do. Thinking about how pretty you look with my cock in your mouth, taking it down your throat like such a good fucking girl. How nice your arse feels in my hands, especially when you ask me to spank it. How snug you are when you sink over me, stretching around it like it’s made just for you. How the little noises you make sound so fucking perfect— like a song, really. And...and how good you taste between your thighs. S’like honey. Just so fucking sweet.” 

There’s a pause as Harry’s words sink into the air, his dirty confessions pulling passion taut into existence between the two lovers. They’re all over each other in less than a heartbeat. 

Y/N begins to fumble with the small purse she has strung across her body, frantically fishing for her keys as Harry delights himself with sponging his lips across the slope of her jaw, grinning into her skin at the little curses escaping her throat. He absolutely adores how whipped she gets for him. 

The human manages to retrieve her key, jamming it into the lock blindly as her eyes blur with tears of sheer need, stemming from the tiny shots of bliss Harry is instilling through the sloppy pecks he’s trailing down her jugular. She hastily turns the knob, bumping her full weight into the door and nearly fainting in relief when it swings open. She turns sharply to face him, roping her arms around his strong shoulders and pulling him into her, shuddering at how incredible it feels to have his strong torso flushed to hers so intimately. Harry allows himself to be yanked forward into her apartment, giggling softly when she crashes their mouths together messily, harshly tugging him past the threshold. 

The vampire’s lean arms wrap around her waist as the young woman maneuvers their connected bodies into the narrow hallway of her flat, one of her hands waving around wildly until it succeeds in shoving the door shut. Y/N slams Harry up against the closest wall, feverishly fidgeting with the buttons on his shirt and nearly ripping them out of their designated holes. Her hands quiver as she races down the seams, her eyes tinging darker when Harry leans his head back against the panel and smirks down at her smugly. 

He gnaws on his bottom lip, his half-lidded gaze mocking her hysteria as his voice comes out deep and melodic as always, slathered with self-assured arrogance. “You’re so cute when you’re this eager to fuck me.” 

Y/N pants against his twitching lips, tearing his top down his broad figure and shamelessly groping at his swollen biceps. “Just shut up and kiss me.”  

Harry abides, lulling his tongue along her upper lip and thrumming deeply when her digits trickle down his abdomen. He coos into her mouth as she begins fiddling with his belt buckle. “What, no interior design emergency this time? You’re losing your touch, darling.” 

The girl pulls the leather strap off his pants in a frenzy, scoffing at his stupid quip and breaking their kiss to speckle her mouth down his bare chest, feeling it stutter below her influence. “I got some new chairs for my dining table. Wanna take a look?” 

The boy’s fingers card into her roots as she descends down his stomach with wet pecks, his eyes rolling closed with a strained grunt. She bites along his fern inkings and his hips buck forward in response, his grip on her hair tightening when she palms over the outline of his clothed cock. “You know I’m always a sucker for some good dining chairs.”

As it turns out, Y/N had actually gotten some new chairs, much to Harry’s surprise. 

They’re nice, in his opinion. They seem sturdy enough, with metal backrests and legs that are covered in tarnished gold paint that gives a pleasing rustic look. But in the end, Harry doesn’t really much care for the details of the furniture. All he cares about is if they’ll manage to withstand Y/N’s weight as he shoves her onto her knees atop the chair and bends her over the back. Or if they’ll stay put as he pounds into her from behind with a fist in her hair and his letter rings marking across her backside. That’s all that truly matters. 

Despite having done this countless of times before, this particular instance feels different. Both of them can tell, but Y/N feels it more prevalently. Specifically, in the bottom of her stomach and in the pain sweltering across her ass.

Harry’s just…rougher. He’s still himself, so he makes sure she’s okay with everything he does before doing it, but when he gets the green light, he doesn’t let it go to waste. His grip on her roots is harsh, with his nails digging into her scalp as he jerks her head back to bring her in for a kiss, her spine arching into a semi-circle. The position is difficult given the amount of flexibility required, but Y/N powers through. She quite likes it, actually— it gives him a deeper range of depth, somehow. She can feel him touching the trench of her tummy and she refuses to do anything that might make that stop.

The kiss is upside down, but the vampire doesn’t let that deter him. It’s still dirty and heedless, with lots of biting and overzealous tongues, broken whines and fractured pleas. Y/N freely moans into his mouth, gasping and mewling to his every thrust with a certain type of helplessness that flogs the flames blistering Harry’s dormant veins. He loves that he makes her feel helpless, especially because she makes him feel the exact same way. 

His stride is fast and deep and unapologetic— vengeful, almost, and they both know why. Even though Y/N had told the creature that the date had been nothing but a selfless chore, he can’t seem to let it go as easily as she had. He finds himself wanting to prove to her that he’s better than that insipid stranger. That he can give her everything she wants without a single issue. That he can deliver everything she needs with expert skill and relentless force, just as she prefers. That he can make her entire body tremble in overstimulation and make every fiber of her being tingle with sheer pleasure, just by gifting her a few adamant snaps of his hips and by muttering a couple filthy promises onto her unfeeling tongue. 

“Bet he wouldn’t be able to make you feel like this, huh, pet?” Harry growls against her swollen lips, plunging his thick length into her and nudging at that sweet spot that makes her toes curl. “Bet he wouldn’t know how to handle you— how to handle that tight cunt and that sharp tongue. Could never take care of you the way I do, isn’t that right, baby?” 

Y/N rattles her head in her friend’s grasp, releasing fragmented noises of bliss as he hikes her dress further up her ass and gives it another brutal spank. She can feel his rings imprinting across her sweaty skin and she strives off it more than she should. 

Her voice comes out garbled and weak. “N-No one can make me feel as good as you.” 

“Damn straight.” Harry grits out, breaking their prolonged kiss to rest his chin against her damp forehead, looking down at her from over his sharp, tinted cheekbones. “Nobody can fuck you into a begging mess like I can. Whose pretty cunt is this, angel? Who’s the only one who gets to call you their little slut?” 

The electricity crackling around his pupils is borderlining on unhinged, but she adores it. The fact that she can drive him to the brink like that feeds the affinity she has to win his praise. “It’s yours, Harry. Just yours— it’s always just you. You’re the only one. Nobody e-else— fuck, oh my God!”

“You got all dolled up for him, though. Why’s that’s, hm?” Harry’s hold releases from her hair and fumbles down to her throat, the pads of his fingers leaving bruises across her jugular as he grunts lowly with every hellbent ram. “If you didn’t care, why’d you get all pretty, then? Why’d you wear perfume? And why’d you wear that dress— my dress?”

Y/N’s lashes flutter as he refers to her outfit, which is the same one she’d had on the day they had officially established their loose arrangement. Hearing him call it his— hearing him claim it as his own with so much dominant confidence— makes the pit of her belly froth. It is his. Sure, she’d worn it for the sake of looking presentable, but it was only to satisfy the basic rules of what a date entails. In truth, under the excuse of inherent kindness, she’d worn it because she knew Harry would see it afterwards. Because she knew he liked it. Because she wanted to please him. 

The girl communicates that to him now in the form of a feathery mumble, staring up at his angered eyes with a moony, innocent aura. “I wore it f-for you.”  

The intense jealousy present in Harry’s clenched jaw and furrowed brows dissipates, replaced by soft awe at her wispy affirmation. He pants as he absorbs the real meaning behind her entire appearance, feeling sparks ignite in his heaving chest. “You...You did it for me?” 

Y/N struggles to swallow in his rough grip, nodding a bit as her fingers tighten around the edge of the chair. “I know you like it and, well…I like making you happy.” 

Harry’s lips part in astonished wonder, though he’s not so sure why her admission had caught him off guard. She’s told him plenty of times that she likes giving him what he wants, but this just feels slightly more personal than anything else she’s ever uttered during an orgasmic stupor. It’s tipping along one of the lines they had sworn not to cross. 

The vampire hadn’t even realized his strokes had tapered to a halt, and apparently neither had she. They’re both too busy looking into each other’s eyes with expressions that neither can decipher. The tense pause only lasts maybe three seconds at most, but it feels like they manage to fit an eternity of uncertain silence within that short time frame. 

Harry cuts through the moment by clearing his throat, intent on changing the subject into something much lighter that will allow them to return to their previous activity. However, the words that rasp out of his raw lips are ones he hadn’t consciously consented to. They come from a sincere nature he’d suppressed for so long, he didn’t think it was possible for it to ever resurface again. “I like making you happy, too.”

Y/N blinks up at him with her usual doe-like air, the corners of her lips twitching fondly at his requited compliment. “I guess we just like making each other happy, then, don’t we?” 

The monster has never been more thankful for her witty personality. It gives him the opportunity to stuff his emotions back into the box they belong, allowing him to regain his typical composure and return her banter without a hitch. He bursts into a round of wheezy giggles, tapping at the hollow of her throat playfully. “I guess so. We’ll add that to the list of things we do to each other, right under ‘excite.’”

The rest of the session goes as usual, thankfully. Some more degrading names are exchanged, positions are switched, hickies are stained on fleshy thighs and damp shoulders, and Harry’s array of rings paint an art piece across Y/N’s backside that he thinks is worthy of the Louvre. His initials are signed on it and everything. 

The pair end up splayed across her trusty old couch, catching their breaths from the heavy exertion they’d just put each other through. Y/N is still in her dress, though it’s rumpled, damp, and the thin straps are hanging off her shoulders limply. Harry is bare, as he always is after sex, per his raunchy preference. However, Y/N had made him cover himself with a blanket in order to keep at least a shred of decency between them. Plus, she’d said she didn’t want his “limp dick brushing against my dress while we cuddle.” 

And that’s what they’re doing now— snuggling on her couch with the human pressed up against the vampire’s side, his arm slung around her shoulders casually as she doodles random shapes across the colored skin of his tummy. She has one leg hooked across his covered hips, which he’s more than happy to allow because he thoroughly enjoys rubbing his palm up and down the back of her thigh; it’s soothing and warm. Y/N entertains herself with nuzzling her head against the crook of his neck, sighing contentedly as he props his chin atop her temple and pets at her frizzy hair with gentle strokes. It’s a nice moment, full of slowly steadying breaths and the hum of the air vent at the other end of the room. 

Harry is the first to break the tranquil atmosphere. 

“I give the chairs a ten out of ten. IKEA really outsold.” 

Y/N slaps her hand down against his naked chest, sputtering into a wave of loud laughter that is unbelievably contagious. “I’m happy you like them ‘cause, uh...they were on clearance. Can’t return them.” 

“You lucked out then, didn’t you? Kudos to your ability to pick out decent furniture.” Harry twirls a strand of her tangled locks around his index finger, giving it a playful tug as a grin dimples his flushed cheeks. “Except for when it comes to wall decor.”

“It’s not my fault you're a stuck-up asshole.” 

“And it’s not my fault you have a knack for cringey drapery depicting ClipArt images.” 

“I’m going to strangle you with one of my tapestries, I really am.”

“Be my guest. At least I won’t have to look at them ever again.” The immortal squeezes her thigh jestingly, his smile widening when she squirms and giggles. “I can’t tell you how many times we’ve been fucking and I accidentally glanced at it and almost went soft.” 

“But you didn’t.” She reasons, flicking at one of his nipples in revenge and feeling proud when he hisses softly. 

“But I could have.”

“But you didn’t.” 

“But I could have.” Harry insists stubbornly, reaching up to push a few wet curls out of his tired eyes. “Have you ever had someone go soft inside you? It’s pretty gross. Highly discourage it.”

“Just close your eyes, then.” Y/N states with finality, pinching at his belly button and cackling in satisfaction when he writhes. “You’re real shitty at solving problems, y’know that? You could never be Sherlock.” 

Harry goes quiet for a second and his friend almost looks up to check if he’s alright; he’s too petty to ever back out of anything. But sure enough, his voice comes out a second later, flat and unyielding. “Take down the glorified curtains or I’m never eating you out again.”

“I’ll take down my glorified curtains the day you take down that Stevie Nicks poster on your wall.” 

“I refuse to take down Stevie!”

“And I refuse to take down Amanda!”

“You named it?!”

The lovers chat and bicker childishly for a while longer, talking about anything and everything that will keep them entertained. Harry explains to Y/N how his friends had gone on a trip this week (though he makes sure to omit the fact that he had willingly bailed in order to spend time with her) and he’d been alone most of the time. She responds to his story with an incredulous yelp, telling him that he should’ve come over if he wanted some company. She says she would have been more than happy to hang out with him, but he knows she’d been so busy the entire week with work, she probably would have fallen asleep within ten minutes of him arriving. It’s the thought that counts, though, so he thanks her for the belated support, either way. 

Y/N talks about a weird customer that had come in and ordered a sandwich with nothing but cucumbers and cheddar cheese on French bread, which she had later recreated to taste-test herself out of curiosity. She can confirm it was abhorrent and the way her nose crinkles with disgust makes Harry snort in endearment. She also tells him about how horribly the date with Jacob had gone, simply because she can tell he’s itching to ask. She recounts everything the young man boasted about, from the annoying college stories to his stupid opinion about clubs. She informs him that she’d never had a more terrible experience in her life and that she wishes she could get that hour of her life back. 

Harry can’t help the way his face lights up at how utterly repulsed she sounds. He knew it. He fucking knew she would never insert herself into a romantic situation with such a comedic punchline of a human being. Hearing her confirm his suspicions is almost as pleasurable as what she can do with her mouth. Almost. 

The vampire finds himself lost in his thoughts, thinking about how much better the whole event would have gone if it had been him instead. How he would have picked her up from her flat by actually getting out of the car and knocking on her door, rather than just sending her a text to come down. How he would have helped her into his car like a proper gentleman, and how he would’ve aided her back out when the time came. How he would enter the restaurant with his palm resting at the dip of her back, guiding the girl towards their seats and pulling out a chair for her. How they’d make conversation as easily as they always do, and how he’d have her laughing between mouthfuls of food, and how he’d expertly flirt her into a fidgety puddle. How he’d reach over the table to get a bit of sauce off the corner of her mouth with a cloth napkin, and how she’d thank him with that shy smile he’d grown to admire. How he’d wave off her suggestion to split the bill, paying it all himself and smirking as she scolds him for it because she likes being hard-headed and independent. How much fun she would actually have, and how she would probably be willing to go out on a second date.  

Harry’s comment topples out of his mouth before he can rethink it. 

“I bet I could take you out on a better date.” 

Y/N’s head snaps upwards to meet his gaze, eyebrows jumping in utter shock. She hadn’t been expecting that from him at all. Ever. 

She talks between airy spurts of glee. “That was random.” 

Harry doesn’t return the gesture. In fact, his lips don’t even jolt in the slightest. He simply just stares down at her with seriousness decorating his features, long lashes blinking blankly. He doesn’t know what overcame him to make such a bizarre, uncalled for claim, but he can’t take it back now. And he’s not so sure he wants to, honestly. He knows there’s truth to his belief— he could definitely do a better job of wooing her than that Jesse McCartney wannabe. It’s not like it’s hard.

Aside from that, seeing Y/N out with another man had reminded Harry that their little alliance isn’t anything solid— it’s not bulletproof, and he really shouldn’t be taking it for granted. He’d been so cocky and self-assured about himself and what he has to offer, he’d forgotten that there is always the possibility that Y/N might grow tired of him. It may be a microscopic possibility, but it exists, nonetheless. If he wants to keep her interested, he has to up his game a bit, or she might decide that he isn’t worth keeping around. If he wishes to maintain this favorable arrangement where he gets his intimate tendencies tailored and his supernatural necessities sufficed, he needs to give her a more fulfilling reason to stay. 

Good sex is a very convincing factor, sure, but there might come a time in her life when she wants more than just a no-strings-attached affair. There may come a time when she’ll mature out of this stage and seek something sturdier and safe and anchored. There may come a time when she wants a real relationship, and if he doesn’t keep her occupied, that could be sooner rather than later. And it could be with someone else. He doesn’t want this convenience taken away from him— doesn’t want to lose the thing they have going, which keeps him out of annoying clubs, out of random people’s beds, and gives him the best blood he’s tasted in the last twenty decades. It’s too comfortable and satisfying to let go. He has to keep her hooked somehow, and if taking her on a date can assure that this flawless dream remains intact, then he’ll gladly do it. 

Harry licks his lips slowly, measuring out his next words with immense precision. “I’m being serious. I can definitely do better.” 

A million emotions funnel into Y/N’s eyes at once and he can only pick out a select few: confusion, astonishment, fear, denial, and slight unease. There is the chance that the monster may be interpreting all of the human’s feelings incorrectly because, truth be told, he isn’t the best at gauging or handling sentiments. However, there is one he knows he’s not misjudging— it’s the most evident one of all: Excitement. 

“Think about it for a second, yeah?” Harry starts, shifting in his seat to get a better look at her, raising his eyebrows decisively. “I’ve already gotten in your pants. That means I have no ulterior motive, right?”

Y/N’s own brows kink a smidge. “I...I guess.”

Her friend continues his speech. “Because of that, it means I won’t rush the date, I won’t expect anything from you, and we already get on pretty well, as it is. It’d be a proper good time— a genuine good time.”

The girl’s eyes flicker around different points of his face, trying to make sure he’s not pulling some type of cruel prank. Her tone comes out hesitant and slow. “That makes sense, I suppose.”

Harry squeezes the back of her thigh reassuringly. “It’s all in mathematics, love; everything adds up. It’s truly an ideal situation, if you ask me. Practically utopian.” 

Y/N takes a deep breath, letting it out shakily. This is all so sudden and unexpected, she feels like Harry might burst into laughter any minute and reveal it’s all just a big joke. It’s just not them. It’s out of bound— it scribbles outside the box drawn around their whole dynamic. They were never meant to date, they were just meant to sleep together; they were meant to provide each other with the satisfaction that comes from a real relationship, without all the trials and tribulations. Harry asking her on a date blurs those sacred boundaries in a way she’s not sure she’s ready to face. It could mess everything up. It could not only ruin the fun little arrangement they have going, but it could potentially destroy their entire friendship. Harry is the only person she’s truly connected with since she moved to Los Angeles and risking that bond on an impulsive decision...That’s something she doesn’t think she can afford to do. She can’t survive her new life on her own. This is just too dangerous. Way too dangerous. 

But then again...it’s not like she hasn’t thought about it before. She will admit, there have been instances where she’s pictured her and Harry becoming more than just warm bodies to each other. The two days she spent over at his house the weekend prior had solidified those fantasies and made them more frequent. They just click so well, she knows for a fact they’d make a great team. It’d be like dating a best friend, in a way. They fit one another in a manner she didn’t think was possible, and despite the fact they’ve only been acquainted for just over a month and a half, it feels like they’ve been friends for years. She feels like these types of connections are rare to create and she finds herself wishing it could develop into more. 

But could it really be worth the potential grievance?

Y/N tunes back into reality, gazing up at Harry with reluctant eyes. She’s surprised to find his are full of confident clarity, as if he’s already sold on the idea and had begun planning their outing. He’s simply awaiting her response at this point, thumbing over her knee gently while tucking her hair behind her ear, lips poised into that lopsided simper that makes her heart skip and her nerves glitch. How could she possibly find it in herself to say no to him? 

The mortal clears her throat lightly, gnawing into her cheek as she speaks her next words with airy humor. “So is that your official way of asking me out? ‘Cause if so, that’s not enough. You’re gonna have to do better, love.”

Harry hesitates for a split second, but it’s so fast, his friend doesn’t even take notice. He prays he doesn’t grow to regret this decision. 

The boy nods, pursing his mouth into a small smile. 

“I’m sorry, I don't think I heard you? Must be the AC.” 

Harry rolls his eyes grandly at the stolen joke, which is identical to one he had made two weeks ago when he’d come over for their usual adult pastime and had brought a special toy in tow. 

His mood comes out theatrical, accent heavily exaggerated. “Dear fair maiden, would you be so kind as to do me the impeccable honor of allowing me to bask in your presence by attending a luncheon with me, preferably sometime in the near future? Thank you so much for your consideration. Sincerely signed...” The creature takes a pause, proceeding to sing his next words to the tune of a song they are both familiar with, given their interest in the Hamilton play. “Your Obedient Servant, H dot Styles.” 

Y/N explodes into a series of giggles, shaking her head as she reaches up to peck at his grinning lips. 

“It would be my pleasure.” 

[sanghyukstattoos]

Care

Summary: Almost any day now.

Genre: crime au; fluff-fluff; smut-smut-smut (spanking and submissive behaviour, amongst others)

Characters: B.I I Kim Hanbin x reader x Bobby I Kim Jiwon

A/N: None of the images in the collage are mine, please refer to here for more; For SF9 writings, read here and for iKON, read here~~

The place is a motel, straight out of an American movie. You would not see a place like this anywhere else in the world, or even visit one for that matter. But he had insisted. He brought you here, on a whim, spontaneously. The bed is fine, less than clean but not dirty either. Upon first glance, the place is retro. ''Out of an American movie'', you had said out loud. He chuckled, ''I guess it is.''

Now he is balls deep in you. Caressing your side, in a soothing manner, soothing your cries and whimpers because of the stretch he causes. But it's more than that. The cries of his name that fall from your lips is because of how he pleasures you. Surges of arousal rocks you to and from. With every touch he fills you.

Hot and cavernous are his kisses. You only lean away for breath. Ironic that it has to be something so intimate to occur in such a setting. With every kiss, your hot cries are muffled, like he wants you all to himself. So that no one else can hear you. It is the small space between the two of you, within which all the sounds of resulting pleasure come from, that cultivates such precious memories.

Maybe it was the thrill of running away. From the police you were running, gasping for breath. You wonder if you are going to go to jail. That can not happen. There was conflict of the mind. You were scared, when you were running through the barbed-wired gates but for a brief moment, you looked at the two of them and laughed. Such a weird moment it was; you can't stop thinking about it.

''Let's play some music'' he had said. As he kissed your collarbone and fluttered down your breasts, taking a perk bud into his mouth, hot and heavily, music played through the speaker. In between fast- paced and slow-paced, regular maybe, it played in the background. It was like nature, enough to leave an impression but also enough to pass by.

Hanbin sucked on the skin above your breasts, skirting the area with the warm touch of his lips, his mouth doing it's dirty work. He loves tasting you, the smell of your skin would embrace him too, in this act. Without Jiwon. The atmosphere is different, more serious. With Jiwon it would be light, some jokes would be thrown around. Where is Jiwon?

Out taking a risk. He could be caught. You and Hanbin are here, without a care in the world. Finish what you start. A couple of thoughts are involved in this. He absolutely needs to be naked with you, to let go of all his worries. Motivated by his concerns about the three of you getting caught by the police? High off adrenaline? Whatever it is, you push him on his back, straddling him with a bright smile.

Moans and groans ensue from the man underneath you, whose chest you have your hands roam on, freely. Exploring. Your mouth falls open, jaw slacks when you sink onto his hard cock, circling your hips. The two of you are way past any concerns at this point. He caresses your backside, kneading the flesh in his hand.

You fall forward, on his chest. He slapped your backside, rather harshly, eliciting a moan from you. Anything he does would be pleasurable to you right now. Not less than twenty minutes later, Jiwon comes back. Flash of fear radiates throughout your chest. Your first instinct is to freeze but Hanbin's isn't. He covers you with his body, shielding you from view.

You look like you are caught. You can not see much but you relax. It's Jiwon's chuckle, ''You guys are doing this? Go on, it's not like I haven't seen her naked before.''. You mumble something for Jiwon to shut up, which he laughs at, ruffling your hair before dropping off the groceries on the table.

''Shit you scared me man.'' Hanbin murmurs, ''Plus, we were done, just cuddling.'', he motions, wincing as he slips out of you and into his jeans. You lay on the bed for some time, contemplating, looking outside with your limbs splayed all over the sheets. In a moment, you find them in the bathroom.

Jiwon is freshening up, all his clothes removed, hastily placed on the counter. He only wears his boxers. You grab your shirt from the side, putting it on. Jiwon momentarily loses his train of thought when he glances at you. ''What was I saying? Ah'' was what he said, welcoming you with a hug.

The conversation stops short. He hugs you, in relief, I'm back, so to say. He nuzzles himself in your hair, breathing in the scent of home, what it smells like. Committing it to memory just in case he does not come back anymore. Hanbin looks up from his phone, smiling at the two of you. It can not be the same without either of you or something like that, he thinks.

''What happened?'' you ask in the embrace with Jiwon. It sparks a need from him, he's open to the idea since there's a bed big enough to fit the three of you out there. He needs you, but not now. He has something to tell you first.

''Let's get out of here first.'' he motions to the bed that makes up for most of the room.

Hanbin doesn't say anything, he follows you out into the room. ''We have time, we can stay here for sometime. Unless the two of you want to get out of here, which is perfectly fine by me. Actually, I think we should move.'', Jiwon looks out the room, confirming his idea.

Hanbin seats you in between his legs, his chest touching your back and opposite Jiwon who is close enough to touch your knees. He rubs your sides, blowing out air in nervousness. He tries to keep calm. He can't lose his calm now, especially not in front of the two of you. Shit like that is contagious.

''Where should we move?'' Hanbin asks. This has to be thought out carefully. Choices have to be rationalised right now. The more choices the better, but then it would feel as if it was wrong, like this can't be right.

After that conversation, Jiwon takes the two of you to the pool he found earlier. To relax. You feel that he's doing this because you won't be able to rest, maybe for a really long time. Jiwon thinks hard to himself that he wants the three of you to be together. More peacefully as compared to the situation that you currently are in. Maybe in a foreign country, relaxing on the beachside, something like that.

He'll make sure that it happens, just the three of you. He knows that you aren't one for settling down but it's better than going to jail. That's how it is at this point. Alone would endanger you with no help and three is a support but easy to pick off when together. Stuck. Perception?.

He's on the other side of the pool, waddling his legs and leaning against the granite wall. The pool is blue, brightly so. Sun shines throughout the whole area. Hanbin is at the opposite end; you are swimming towards Jiwon. You took off your t-shirt earlier. You are naked right now. What can Jiwon do?. He knows that this was perfect.

Jiwon reaches out for you as do you for him. He switches so that it's you against the wall. You already know how this will play out. But every time is a new experience. Of experience but new? Fresh is the optimal word. You kiss him lightly, giggling some and laughing some.

He reached for your sex, easing a finger or two in without warning. His groin stirs at the scenario. You were already wet from having sex with Hanbin, he had eased you up. But like this? You must have been ready for a second round. You would have done so if Jiwon hadn't come back then.

If he was more than a second late, he would have seen Hanbin ramming your pretty ass into the creaking bed, without a care that the bed should be intact because it's the only one you have. For three people. He could have joined in. But now he had you all to himself. He turns you around, telling you to place your hands on the wall.

You do so excitedly, he can see the flush on your cheeks at his suggestion. ''From the back?'', you ask even though you know. He hums, placing a kiss on your neck, pumping himself a few times before he sinks into your warmth. God, it is glorious. He is lost for words. The feeling of relief after a long day spent running and what not. He always had the energy to do this with you.

He rocks you against the edge of the pool, shifting the water in waves. Hanbin doesn't watch for the first half, but he can hear. And his cock grows hard when he hears. Especially what you say about Jiwon's dick and how it is like an intrusion between your legs. Fuck, he thinks. You cry out in pleasure, like you had moments ago, cutting off your speech short.

It is how hard you were holding onto the edge, grasping the granite, moaning out like the mess you were. Jiwon noticed the red print, like a shake darker than it should have been. The mark on your backside, made by Hanbin. He grits his teeth at that instant. He pulls you back by the neck, asking, ''What were you and Hanbin up to when I was gone huh?''.

His tone is punishing and you know where this is going. You are about to love this. He takes your silence as disobedience. He lets go of your neck, letting you fall back to the edges. Jiwon forces you straight when he fists your hair, printing your backside red. Tears rim your eyes. You will find it hard to sit afterwards.

Jiwon is angry. Unsuccessfully, he had pushed it away earlier. By going out, he was risking his life, your relationship. He could have been caught. But he walked in to see the two of you having the time of your life, of course, it angered him. And this is how it was coming out. Frustration.

He hits till you cry out for him to stop. He goes much more slowly then. He caresses your tummy, avoiding your sore spot altogether, asking, ''You okay? Do you want me to stop?''. You sniff, finding him peering at you with those inquisitive eyes, always inquisitive.

You disagree and he continues on, till he rips your release out of you. Before you can slump, Hanbin catches you, sliding in front of you. You lean on his chest. Jiwon kisses you, leaving the pool. You pull him back, ''Where are you going?''. He kisses your hand, meeting your smile, ''I'll be back.''.

You are a little tired, not by much. Hanbin holds you till Jiwon comes back, with a bottle of lube and a condom. ''Huh?'' you murmur, realising that you are not done, at least not yet. Jiwon slips back into the pool, the warm body of water enveloping his figure.

Two different people, two different scenarios. Perhaps not all the resources are available but you have time. Enough to let both of them fill you up before you leave for the open road.

[writersrealmbts]

Diamond Tears and Little Wings: Part 5

Description: You’re a fairy, taken in by BTS. You need lots of love and care, otherwise your light will fade and you turn to stone. Between the seven of them, you should never feel unloved. Right?

Warnings: N/A

Posted: 02/11/2021

Tags: bts x reader, ot7

Angst/Fluff/Angst: 3,846 words

A/N: Okay, I told you guys that I would be alternating between DTLW and Clearwater Springs, so here’s the proof. Anyway, two more parts after this!

Your fourth home in five years is what they told you this was. But you couldn’t remember any but this one.

So your heart was aching, and you always wanted to cry, but you never dared to do so. Something, someone’s, words, telling you that crying in front of strangers was dangerous kept echoing in your head. So you blinked away any tears that came, hugged your stuffed animal, and studied the area you would lived in.

It was a little cold, so you hugged your coat tighter to you. You’d been told by the other fairies that your coat was special, because it appeared to be designed exactly for your wings, which was rare. But none of them seemed to have any idea why you would have such a special coat, excepting the fact that maybe in the country you came from it was more normalized to have custom wing-slits.

It was completely normal to come away from a home with a stuffed animal, and clothing and jewelry that could shrink down. People liked dressing up fairies.

You played with your bracelet as you examined the cement floor, and the plain white walls, and the windows that weren’t quiet fully insulated but were full east and full west, respectively, and provided quite a bit of natural lighting. You had your own bathroom and kitchen area, and the laundry room was in the basement. The bed was a bit creaky, but the mattress seemed decent. You had a cute lamp on the side table, and they had a few books for you on a bookshelf that had the bottom shelf broken beside the side table.

There was shoebox bedroom on one of the shelves as well, very simple, with just a bed in it, but it was decorated carefully—though perhaps by their daughter. There was felt covering the floor and back wall, which would provide a little insulation for you. The outside was colored on, but you didn’t have a problem with that.

There was an old rug rolled off to one side that they said you could use, and a bar with some hangers already hanging on it and plastic drawers they said you could used for your clothing.

You looked at your suitcase, which was resting on the bed, then set your dog on top of it while you got the rug, unrolling it and placing it near your bed.

Your job there was to do their laundry and take care of the cat that their daughter wouldn’t let them get rid of, and to entertain their daughter now and then, and when you weren’t delivering the clean laundry or entertaining their daughter you were to stay in the basement bedroom. Simple enough.

The cat was a sweetheart and the laundry was quite simple with only three people to wash for. Laundry was tossed down the shoot daily and every Monday and Thursday you were to deliver their clean laundry before they awoke.

They weren’t cruel, or strict, just very structured and busy.

She was very kind and brought you groceries, even getting you exactly what you requested. You just had to leave a list with her laundry on Mondays, because Mondays were grocery days. She even spontaneously bought you a cake, and when you told her that the basement was a little cold for you, she found a nice heater for you that greatly improved things, and found some more blankets around the house for you. They were generally gone over the weekends, visiting a different set of grandparents each weekend, which left you and Cupcake, the cat, alone in the house to do as you pleased.

Those were the days you ventured down to the fairy market, which was a safe space for fairies and since you did get an allowance for doing the laundry, you could sometimes buy some special treats or things that you needed.

You weren’t a fan of the husband, which was fine, because he only seemed to come downstairs if he needed to check the water-heater (they were having issues with it and he was too stubborn to call whoever it was that professionally dealt with those things), or to ask you to do an emergency clean on a shirt or tie or slacks. It wasn’t that he was mean, or sleazy, or that he gave you bad vibes, he was just very grumpy and brisk. Cold.

And he hated the cat.

Plus you had the distinct feeling that if he found out about your diamond tears it would be a very bad thing. He was a greedy man, raising a greedy daughter.

But you had a CD player now, and you could find CD’s now and then at the fairy market, and the wife said you could use any CD’s you found in the basement.

Which was how you found your current favorite CD. You weren’t certain who the artists were because the disc hadn’t been in it’s proper case, but their songs were so nice. And you loved the one song.

So some days, when you had nothing to do but give the cat all the love it wanted, you just listened to that CD on repeat, singing words as though you’d known them before.

You did different crafts, and solved some of the abandoned puzzles from the storage room.

You improved your shoe-box, replacing the bed (it was a sponge, hard and weird to lay on) with a carefully arranged nest of fabrics and stuffing. Sometimes you stuck your stuffed dog into the shoebox and snuggled into that. The smells on it so familiar and foreign that it made you cry.

Which meant you had to find a place to hide your tears. Normally you just saved them and exchanged them at the fairy market—where the currency exchange fairy, Heidrun, just discretely nodded and added their value to your shopping card balance.

But one day she stopped you before you could leave, holding your hands. “You don’t look well, dear.”

“Fourth home,” You told her simply, shrugging. “It’s more of a job than a home. But I’m not…I’m not suffering. She always makes sure I have what I need and allows me a lot of freedom. I have the whole basement to myself, and I’m allowed in the side-yard at all times. She even encourages me to come here. And I have music to listen to. Actually, I found a CD I really like, but I don’t know what band they are because it doesn’t say on the disc.”

“Try Magnus, he knows everything going on in the music scene,” She told you, squeezing your hands. “And trying to hold onto whatever love you’ve got and are getting. It’s not healthy for our kind to go unloved.”

You nodded. “I’ll do that.”

Magnus did help you, granted, you had to sing a couple of the songs for him to find the right group, but once he did, he sent to you over to Frida with a request for BTS albums.

Frida nodded, pulling out several book-like things. “They’re super popular, but they’re also in a ton a magazines right now. They lost their fairy because of some scandal, and now they’re in a slump, but they’re also going on a world tour, so it can’t be that much of a slump. They’re actually coming to our stadium for a concert, which is cool. They’ve started putting up the posters already.”

You looked at the books, confused. “I thought you said they were albums?”

“They are. The CD’s are accompanied by a booklet of photos and the lyrics, photocards, and usually a poster.”

You blinked then picked up the biggest one, concerned and confused. “It’s…huge…and a box?”

She just snorted. “You want that one? It’s one of their more recent ones. Don’t have their newest yet, but I can see if I can get one for you.”

You nodded. “That’d be nice, but sure, I’ll…take this one for now.”

She nodded and swiped your card. “All yours, sweet-cheeks. Now, tell me how you get your hair that shiny.”

You grabbed your hair and shrugged. “I don’t know. I just wash it.”

“Not even fair,” She muttered, then turned to a new customer.

You went home after hitting a few more stalls, getting more craft things and some stuff for the kitty, hugging the album and wondering what awaited you inside.

Cupcake was waiting for you on your bed, sitting up and meowing loudly, stretching out a paw for you to take (which you did because why else teach him that trick) and then purring and arching into your hand.

“I know, I was gone for forever,” You scooped him up after successfully setting everything else down. “I bought some new music for us. You need a better name. A masculine name. You don’t respond to Cupcake anyway—not that I blame you. It’s a rather poor choice of a name for a cat, much less a tom.”

He just purred, climbing up onto your shoulders and riding there while you put away the few food items you had purchased and hopping onto the fridge while you started cooking your dinner.

You hummed as you tried to think of a different name for him, but after a moment you paused, wondering what song it was you were humming and why it was so familiar and yet so distant. So easy, but you couldn’t remember. You couldn’t remember the moment you stopped singing what the words were or how the song went, despite having reached the chorus. You could only remember the last words you sang.

You shook your head and went over, quickly opening the box to where the disc was in the album without seeing any sign of the pictures (Maybe a poster?) and then popping it into the player.

But it was worse than the first one, because you swore you knew each song. You had vague images in your head of people performing the songs. It hurt. It hurt to hear these songs because they were too familiar. Too familiar and yet so completely foreign that it was unfair.

The first one wasn’t too bad, but the second started really getting to you.

By the third song you were in tears.

By the chorus of the fourth song you were full-on sobbing on the bed.

The fifth song clashed so much with the sentiments of the previous two that it just broke you down further, and you had to turn it off before you started screaming at the empty space where the music should have come from.

You grabbed the photos from the album box after you had calmed down enough. Not bothering to try and remove the sticker, you slide the photos out and started flipping through the pages, horrified at the fact that they looked so achingly familiar and yet you had no idea who they were.

You tossed them back in the box and slammed it shut, eyes filled with tears.

But you must not have woken when someone came into the basement, because three days later the man was demanding to know where you got so many diamonds.

And fairies can’t lie.

Five days later you were staring out the window, a place you couldn’t go until you filled the box on your small counter space with diamonds. It wasn’t too large, but it was large enough that you were worried about whether you would ever fill it.

So you turned on the disc again, and cried. Cried until you were sick, and then collapsed into your bed. Exhaustedly petting the cat until you fell asleep, only to repeat it the next day. And the next.

When you finally filled it, you went straight to the market just to get some time away from the basement.

The shopkeepers from your regular stops came rushing up when they saw you, even Heidrun, all asking where you’d been and if you were okay and before you knew it you were sitting at one of the picnic tables with some soup and some tea and a bunch of worried fairies fussing over you.

Frida sat silently across from you, looking concerned but ultimately staring at the table.

Or so you thought, because she suddenly reached across the table and grabbed your bracelet. “Where did you get this?”

You blinked and tried to recoil, but couldn’t. “I don’t remember. I just figured it was from one of my previous homes.

Magnus frowned, looking at it. “It looks a lot like the one that…”

She nodded. “There’s something etched onto them. Fairy craftsmanship. Come over to my shop. Come on.”

You followed her, curious, and not wanting to let something you had a very strong attachment to out of your sight.

First she tried a jeweler’s eye loupe, then she wrinkled her nose and grabbed a flashlight, shining it through the gems and onto the table.

You stared down at it, confused.

“Something tells me your family didn’t give you up willingly,” Magnus said, voice a little tense.

Frida looked at you, as though she couldn’t believe it. “You’re the fairy that was taken away from BTS?”

You just looked back at her. “Um…is that what all of that means?”

“How did you like that album you bought?” She asked, eyes narrowed to slits.

You shifted uncomfortably, not wanting to think about how much you had used it to make yourself cry, because if you did then you knew she was right. And if she was right, then it would be even sadder.

“Weren’t the one that said that they couldn’t have been too sad about losing their fairy to be going on a world tour? Why would I want to be her?”

“No, they talked about it…it’s because they’re trying to find her. Find you. They didn’t say it explicitly because they could get in trouble for that, but they’ve hinted at it and there are tons of reports and pictures of them visiting every fairy sanctuary they could without compromising their performances. It just took a while for it to hit the news for us. Y/n, they’re looking for you. And if this is any proof, I think they love you and you need love. You look like a skeleton with skin.”

Heidrun gently pulled you into her arms. “What changed? You were doing alright and then you were gone and you come back looking like a ghost.”

“They found my tears,” You whispered.

She inhaled sharply, not quite a gasp, and held you tighter. “You can’t stay there.”

“I can’t leave there either. Where would I go? I would just get arrested and brought back to them.”

Frida folded her arms. “Leave it to me. You go back, lay low. Maybe try to appeal to the lady of the house. I’ll have you out of there as soon as I can. In the meantime….”

“I’ve still got a backlog of your diamonds, come get them just in case he asks again.” Your arm was gently pulled toward the currency exchange station.

You took the bag, and the treats most of them packed up for you. If the love of other fairies was enough to sustain you, you never would have been in this mess. But fairies, while kind and caring, didn’t have enough love for other fairies to keep them alive, especially once exposed to the love of a family. Fairies were good, and kind, and helpful, but also emotionally unstable which made it hard to focus enough love into one another without a consistent source of outside love.

It was a miracle your species had survived as long as it had.

Cupcake greeted you, meowing pathetically and hopping into your arms.

You sat down on your bed with him. “Let’s think of a new name for you.”

Eventually you settled on Keyowo, which was close to his current name but meant friend and was just…it was better.

You then set to deep cleaning over the next week, shrinking your things and tucking them into your suitcase to keep them out of sight.

On Tuesday he beat you to tears because you weren’t producing tears fast enough.

The album caught your eye again on the next Friday.

You picked up, tracing the seven on the cover, and then opening it. You pulled out the poster and unfolded it.

They were in white, with feathers floating down and a hole in the floor. They all looked so good.

You touched the one on the far left, wearing the sweater. Slightly cat-like facial features. You felt like you knew what his hands looked like, even though you couldn’t see much of them in the picture. Slightly calloused, bony, but gentle and careful. Caring for everyone.

“Yoongi,” You whispered, choking up. Tearing up.

Your fingers traced over each of them, names a whisper in your mind. A whisper that turned into shouts, memories flooding your mind of each and every one of them. Your mind screaming for them because your throat was too tight to even whisper.

They were your boys.

They had to let you go.

You weren’t supposed to remember them.

They weren’t supposed to try and find you.

The next day you shoved everything into your bag, tucked the cat into your coat, left a note for the missus and headed straight back to the fairy market.

Frida looked surprised when she saw you. “Whoa, what happened? Is this the kitty your were telling me about?”

“They’re gone for the weekend, that means even if I stay nearby they’ll think I’ve had two days to run out on them. I need you to help me get me back to my family.” You teared up. “I need to find them.”

Frida nodded, glancing around and closing her shop. “Come on. You can stay with me.”

Frida’s family consisted of a pair of siblings.

The sister, Alena, was a fairy rights activist in her spare time, which is why Frida had so much freedom, and a huge music fan. She had a whole wall of CD’s and albums and posters. Stacks of magazines featuring musicians.

The brother, Agnar, was quiet, “just an accountant”, and very kind. And very affectionate toward Frida.

Frida was equally affectionate toward him, bringing a fake gag from Alena.

They helped you find an outfit that hid your fairy-ness, and he got you tickets to the concert, all of you hoping that it would get you close enough for them to see you and recognize that you were there. Also, it would help you health-wise to see them in person and the rush from the concert would be overwhelming, but also might revitalize you.

Then Alena forced you to sit in the bathroom with her while she applied a cloth to your face with epsom salts to try and reduce the bruising and swelling on your face. She told you about the fairy abuse responders, and how she would call them in the morning and tell them about your family.

Agnar totally stole your cat.

Frida let you sleep in her fairy-home (because it definitely wasn’t a dollhouse and it was awesome, of course).

Four days later, you were at the concert venue with Alena, taking a seat and soaking in the atmosphere. People were talking all around and some people were chanting the boys’ names. Another group was starting to sing the songs.

You listened nervously, wondering whether it was true or not that they were looking for you. What if they were just making a fuss to get back at the company a bit? What if the media was making things up? It wouldn’t be the first time a story was fabricated for magazines.

Then the concert started and you and Alena were cheering for your boys, but you wondered why you ever thought they’d be able to see you in this mess.

It wasn’t until the second half of the concert that you had hope.

The boys were in more casual outfits, having more fun.

And they were all wearing the jewelry that Namjoon had made from your diamonds.

Jimin was the one who saw you first, though he looked right over you and then seemed to try and pinpoint you again, but was unable to in the crowd. He stood there with a smile plastered on his face, acting as though he was studying each Army’s face when you knew he was searching for you.

So you stood still in the writhing mass that of the crowd, and studied him.

He had lost weight, and if it hadn’t been for the makeup, you bet he’d look fairly wrung-out.

All of them looked like they’d been sick enough to lose weight.

Taehyung came over and practically dragged him away (making it look playful).

But Jimin said something to Jin and Jungkook.

Jungkook was over there as casually as he could, totally looking at the camera and doing ‘fanservice’. But he obviously didn’t spot you.

Jin didn’t either.

But Yoongi did during the very last song and he stopped, staring, then he was crouched, hand over his mouth, just staring in your direction.

You waved, wondering if he actually was staring at you.

He smiled, but it also looked like he wanted to cry. He waved as well, then cautiously moved off, still keeping an eye on you.

You bit your lip, smiling.

Alena squealed and grabbed onto you, and the two of you did your best to fit in with the rest of the crowd.

Both of you lingered as long as you could afterward, her extremely hyped from the whole concert and talking a mile a minute, while you were feeling…exhausted? All of the emotions around you and finally seeing your boys again….

But you had no idea how you were going to get to them, or how they were going to get to you.

Until you saw Sejin, scanning the crowd.

The likelihood of him being on the side of the boys was pretty good.

You tugged on Alena’s arm, pulling her to a stop.

Sejin locked onto you and started moving, coming your way, waiting until the straggling fans that had been around you were gone before telling security to let you through.

You dipped your head to the security guards, then bowed slightly to Sejin. “Hello.”

Sejin smiled. “Hello, y/n.”

You bit your lip. “I remembered.”

He nodded. “I figured. We all figured. They’re waiting. They’re all waiting.”

You were practically vibrating.

“Come on, let’s get you back to them. Your friend can come but she needs to wait in the hallway for…security purposes.”

You nodded and relayed the information to Alena, then both of you were following back to the waiting room.

Sejin stopped by the waiting room. “Go on in.”

You nodded, putting your hand on the doorknob and then turning it and going in.

–

Previous  Next

Masterlist  -  ot7 Masterpost

Tagging: @alex–awesome–22, @bryvada, @missmoxxiesworld​  @subzerobts​     @forvever-ddaeng​  @vividwoosan   @mischiefmakerliesmith5  @beach-bitch-bitch-beach  @minmeowmeowcuddles  @kpopfictrash @castlewolfsbane  @scatkpoptrash​  @knjhe​  @i-dont-even-know-fck @soulphoenix1618 @kerikaaria @sea-nevermind-enthusiast @reinaxans ​

If you would like to be tagged: DTLW Taglist (please make sure you can be tagged, I’m no longer hunting people down)

[kyloswarstars]

ROOMMATES • Part 1

Divergent • College AU • Eric x Reader

ROOMMATES masterlist 💫 Divergent masterlist

You escaped your current living situation by moving in with your friend Christina – and five other college students. Little did you know that one of them was the guy who was your ultimate pain in the neck since your first semester. Now, you had to find a way to not strangle him in his sleep out of pure frustration. Also, you had to find a way to get rid of those weird butterfly feelings for him that slowly grew in your stomach.

Words • 2.4 k

The enemies to lovers story no one needed.

/////

It absolutely didn’t take you by surprise when your moving day turned out to be the hottest day of the year in Chicago. Not one single shadow spending cloud was to be seen, the temperatures felt like standing next to an actual volcano and your so called ‚friends‘ called off from helping one after one. It all got your blood boiling and made you want to throw your phone to the ground and stomp on it.

Instead you pushed it into the pocket of your pants, brushed some sweaty hair out of your face and continued unloading the first box out of the moving van you had rented.

Before you entered the building you would live in from today on, you took a good look at it. It was a rather spontaneous decision to move in. When you told your college friend, Christina, that your current living situation was very complicated, she offered you a free room in her apartment.

She was living with a lot of people. It would be eight people in total by tonight when you had moved in. For your liking, that was maybe a little bit too many roommates, but you rather took that, than live with your ex-boyfriend any longer.

You climbed up three flights of stairs and with each one the box in your hands got heavier. Knowing, that there were so many more boxes in the van that had to be brought up, made you want to sit down and have a beer already.

There was only one door on the third floor, which also appeared to be the last story of this building. That must be it. You rang the door bell and instantly heard some voices discuss about who would open the door.

A guy with some friendly eyes opened. „You must be Y/N!“ He stepped aside for you to enter the apartment. „I’m Uriah.“

„Are you on your own?“ You didn’t really get a proper chance to introduce yourself because Christina came rushing to Uriah’s side and gave you a brief hug, ignoring your sweaty body. She seemed truly offended by you being alone. Though, she was rather offended by your friends who weren’t there to help you even though they said they would.

You just shrugged and tried to take in the surroundings of your new home. Christina already told you that the apartment covered the whole story, therefore it had a lot of rooms that sheltered a lot of people.

It was a pretty opened concept. The big kitchen space flowed over into a living area and the other way around. Around the center piece, a huge dining table, were sitting three people, chatting the afternoon away. Christina and the guy, who had introduced himself as Uriah, joined the group again. She introduced you to Will, her boyfriend who you already knew from a lot of conversations, and the second couple in this apartment: Tris and Four.

„One roommate is missing, he’s… I don’t know where,“ said Christina and gestured for the remaining people to get up from their chairs. „Are we okay to help you with your stuff?“

She asked as if you had truly something to disagree with her offer. „You would be my life savers,“ you confessed. The help of your new roommates was genuine. The first bonding with them happened through carrying up your heavy boxes three flights of stairs, ranting over the heat and laughing about it because somehow you got along with them very well. Maybe after all the crap that had happened, this could be a good restart.

Christina offered to drive along with her car to the rental station and take you back to the apartment after dropping of the van. You didn’t have a car yourself and her offer was music in your ears. After that hot day and the physical exhaustion, you really didn’t want to ride your bicycle all the way from the rental place to your new home.

On your way back to the apartment, you asked Christina to stop at a pizza shop. You wanted to grab some dinner for your new roommates, and yourself, after they saved your ass with carrying your stuff all the way up to your new apartment.

When you placed the pizzas on the dining table, where everyone was still sitting at, every hesitation, if they had some at all about you moving in, was gone. Someone who brought pizza was very welcomed to move in.

Even though you were exhausted to your bones, the pizza gave you a small power boost, to continue with some more work after dinner. Before crashing on your mattress tonight, you wanted to unpack some of the stuff still. To your luck, Christina and Tris helped a little with your clothes and setting up a makeshift desk. At some point they left to go to bed. Way past midnight you felt your body giving out rapidly. You needed a shower. And sleep.

Right across from your room was the bathroom. There was still light in the hallway and you heard noises from the living area. The bathroom door was slightly open and you sleepily opened it completely to enter and shut it behind you.

The tiredness in your brain was suddenly gone when you faced a naked man getting out of the shower. You looked at him in shock and all you were able to say was: „What are you doing here?“

„What does it look like?“ He didn’t really hurry up to grab a towel and cover himself. There was too much time passing until a towel finally covered his lower half. Too much time for you to see, well, everything.

When the first shock subsided, you pulled yourself together, and looked at his face. This guy hadn’t been there all day. Still, you knew him.

„What are you doing here,“ you repeated your question in disbelief, this time with a small addition, though, „Eric?“

„I live here. What are you doing here?“

Fuck. No. Please not. „I guess we are roommates then,“ you stated in frustration.

„You are Christina’s friend moving in?“ He grabbed a second towel to dry his hair and looked at your from a weird angle. „Life’s just not fair to me.“

„Tell me about it.“

There you were. Standing in the small bathroom of your new apartment with Eric Coulter. Who lived here as well. You contemplated going back to the rental station immediately, get a van and remove your stuff before you unpacked completely. This was a nightmare. Since starting your first semester, Eric was the pain in your neck you were constantly clashing with. Whenever you started a constructive discussion about a topic, he was the one to drive you verbally crazy. There was no debate he missed and sometimes, you thought, he had taken it a personal mission to piss you off. Because even when he had the same opinion on something, he still had to prove you otherwise.

It had been dislike at first sight.

„Are you done in here then?“

„Why should I be?“ Eric’s discipline to make life more complicated for you was nothing you could deal with right now. Not after the day you had.

„Fine. Whatever,“ you mumbled. Instantly, you regretted opening the bathroom door – a shower had been so necessary – but dealing with Eric right now wasn’t worth it. The few steps across the hallway later, you stumbled over some of the boxes in your room, tripped and fell right on to your mattress. Grumbling, you turned around and saw Eric in the bathroom door inaudibly laughing at you. With your last energy, you slammed the door shut and collapsed back on the mattress. His stupid, grinning face was the last you had in mind before falling into a deep sleep.

/////

The next morning, after sleeping like a baby, you made sure to first take a glance into the bathroom before entering. No Eric. You locked the door, undressed and breathed out in relief when the water hit your skin. The warm water washed away all of yesterdays sweat, soaked your hair and made you feel like a human again.

The water temperature suddenly changed from hot to freezing. Hearing the toilet flush go off indicated why. You peaked out from behind the shower curtain and saw Eric readjust his boxer shorts.

„I locked the door!“ You whisper-screamed at him.

Eric went to wash his hands. At least you’re washing your hands, you thought. „I had to pee.“ He winked at you, left the bathroom and turned the lock into position again when he was back in the hallway. Great, not even a lock can keep him out.

With fresh clothes and still wet hair, you made your way for the kitchen. Your roommates were gathered at the huge dining table, Eric included, and had an awesome looking breakfast. It was ten on a Sunday morning, you didn’t expect all of them to be up yet.

Some ‚good mornings‘ welcomed you and assigned you the seat right across from Eric. Of course.

„How did you sleep?“ Christina poured you a coffee and tried to add milk and sugar but you were able to fetch it from here while it was still black.

„Good,“ you answered with a ‚thank you‘.

„This is Eric, by the way. The roommate you didn’t meet yesterday.“

Your glance went from her bright eyes to Eric, who stared at you like he had only now registered you sitting across from him. „We had the pleasure already,“ you stated and took a long sip, not breaking eye contact with him.

He was the first one to look away, which made you sink back in your chair with a winning grin on your lips.

During breakfast your roommates instructed you on how this living together worked. Who cleaned when and what, what team is when doing the weekly grocery haul and why you don’t flush the toilet when someone is taking a shower. When Uriah mentioned that, you turned your head to Eric and caught his glance. He didn’t seem to be impressed by your death stare.

Christina offered to help again with unpacking after breakfast. Still within the second she closed the door to your room, she popped the question. „Do you and Eric know each other?“

You groaned. „Kinda,“ you said as you turned to look at her. „Do you remember me constantly complaining about a guy in one of my classes who’s always driving me crazy?“

„That’s Eric?“ Christina’s face went blank and her jaw dropped. She flung the door open and entered, without knocking, the room next to yours – Eric’s room. You could hear his voice telling her to get out and knock the next time. Christina replied something but you couldn’t understand it. Was she telling him to stop his bullshit debates with you, now that you were living here? You couldn’t tell, even though you pressed an ear to the wall. They were both talking, but too quietly for you to understand a word.

You still wondered about that incident a week later. Christina just didn’t come back after bursting into Eric’s room. And he wasn’t to be seen ever since. Like he had just vanished. Which he didn’t because you could hear him come into his room late at night and leave it early in the mornings. Summer break meant he didn’t leave for classes and it bugged you that you even thought about this so much. You shouldn’t care. At all.

You did care.

„Chris?“ You knocked on hers and Will’s door. Will answered to ‚come in‘. You opened their door and only saw him laying on the floor in front of a fan. The heat was still very prominent. Instead of asking where Christina was, you asked him if he was fine.

„Totally fine. Just very hot.“

„Same,“ you replied, regretting it a little to not having asked Christina if there was air conditioning in the apartment before you moved in.

„Christina is out with Uriah. Doing the weekly grocery haul. Uriah jumped in for me,“ Will rolled around to lay on his stomach and looked at you with a dramatic expression on his face, „I just couldn’t. Too. Hot.“

With an amused smile you closed the door again and went to the kitchen to get some more water. Even though it was summer break, you still did a lot for college. There was a study you had engaged in and wanted to work on further. Sitting back down at your desk, you lost yourself in analysing the newest data that had come in.

You didn’t know for how long he stood there in silence until you noticed him. Eric leaned in your opened doorframe and observed what you were doing. You turned to him in your chair.

„Can I help you with something, Mr. Invisible?“ You really really wanted to know if you had done something wrong for him to disappear so completely from the apartment. Within the next second, all the exhausting memories of debates with him came back and you were feeling a little less guilty. Still, you wanted to know.

„Just wanted to let you know that, whatever Christina might have told you, is not true.“

„What’s that supposed to mean?“

„That it’s not true.“

„What is not true?“

„My reasons for always debating with you.“ Eric’s look was puzzled and he tried to understand the confusion on your face. Or his own confusion. Then his eyes widened a little. „Wait, she didn’t talk to you?“

„Talk to me about why you’re such a pain in my neck? No!“ You wished she would’ve. For the last week you had tried to question her about that incident but she always managed to change the topic. Wait… „What are those reasons?“

„There are no reasons. And if there are any,“ he grew uncomfortable, „they are just not true.“

„You confuse me,“ you stated.

„Great,“ Eric replied. „At least once I managed to do that after never being able to do so in our debates.“ He left. Just left and let you sit in your room with a thousand question marks in your head.

Christina wouldn’t get a single minute of peace when she got home. Not until she told you what had happened a week ago. Even if you had to kidnap her on your bike to a donut shop and sugar-shock her to get information. You would get information. That was for sure.

/////

to be continued

[occasionalsnippets]

Escapism AU (Y/n) & Passione

This is mostly about mc’s interactions with the gang including a bit of La Squadra and Unita Speciale. I’ll probably add more as I think.

Bucciarati’s Gang 

Mc crashes at their house from time to time even though she has her own apartment

This either because she wants to sleep over for fun

Or because she’s finished a mission and their house is closer

Sometimes she shows up at 2 AM and just passes out on their couch

It happens more often than it should

Bruno eventually gives her a copy of the key

She steals food from the fridge too but makes up for it by buying groceries

They leave a toothbrush and cup for her in one of the bathrooms since she comes over so much

Before everyone was recuited, there were extra bedrooms in the house that weren’t being used

They left a guest room for mc but she doesn’t use it all the time, opting to pass out on the couch first

Either Bruno or Abbacchio usually brings her to her room though Abbacchio would never admit to it

Mista draws on her face with marker sometimes but leaves her on the couch most of the time. He can’t ruin her cute face all the time

Narancia cuddles with her on the couch or join Mista in doodling

Fugo leaves her on the couch but gets a blanket and readjusts her position if it’s uncomfortable

However, after Mista got recruited, mc gave up her room so Mista didn’t have to room with anyone

Now, she just sleeps on the couch or whoever’s okay with her borrowing their bed

She has tried several times to get them to wear normal clothes outside (they dressed perfectly normally before joining the mafia!) and only about half those times did it actually work

Mc is strong enough carry everyone in the group bridal style

The only ones who gets particularly mouthy when she does is Abbacchio and Mista but only because Mista wants to carry her too

She joins Fugo, Narancia and Mista in doing stupid things but it’s fun

She knows the torture dance

Mc isn’t technically a part of their team but they consider her to be because of how often she stays over and tags along for missions

She doesn’t expect anyone to really like her the way they do despite how obvious their feelings are

Part of it is because she isn’t supposed to be in this universe in the first place, that she’s an outsider of sorts. She’s here to make sure they don’t die

The other part of it is the guilt of leaving them to die in the first timeline. She feels like she doesn’t deserve how highly they think of her because of how readily she was to let fate run it’s course the first time around, even if they don’t remember it

She’s sooner die then let any of them do the same

Giorno

Mc meets Giorno before he’s recruited into the gang since she does go to the same school as him even though she doesn’t really show up to classes that often

She’s about 2 years older than Giorno

They became friends prior to his hair turning blond and she almost didn’t recognize him but his eyes are rather distinctive

When it did turn blond, mc got a vaguely panicked call in the morning from him saying his hair turned blond for some reason

She’s the first person to braid his hair with the needlessly extra loop at the end after it turned blond

She wasn’t sure how the donuts worked but the next time she saw him he had the signature donut hair so she guessed he figured out how to do it

It becomes routine for her to braid Giorno’s hair when she notices it’s undone

She gave him a crash course on stands when he found out she had one

They spend a lot of time in libraries

Mc insists on paying for food when they get lunch together though Giorno always refuses

I feel like Giorno lowkey craves intimacy?

Mc calls him “GioGio” sometimes

Trish

Hmmmmm, gay

I really like Trish hence why she’s included in the harem

Out of everyone in the gang guarding her, she’s the closest with mc since they’re both girls which is also why Bruno assigns mc to her the most often

Convenient for Trish since it means more time to flirt

Unfortunately, mc does fall under the “are we just being nice to each other or are we flirting” when Trish is just about ready to ask for her hand in marriage

She’s flirting, no doubt

Trish lets mc rest her head on her thighs which mc can confirm is very comfortable

Trish is one of the two people she trusts to do her make up, the other one being Abbacchio

You know that picture where there’s one girl sitting on the other girl doing her makeup

That’s basically Trish and mc

Post-Vento Aureo, they stay in contact and remain good friends as Trish pursues a career as a singer

Narancia

Mc joined Fugo on that walk where they found Narancia in the alleyway so she’s partially responsible for him joining the mafia

They bring him to Libecco where Bruno is and he gets food before going to the hospital to get his eye treated like in canon

She goes shopping with him after he’s out of the hospital

They get normal clothes but the next she sees him, he’s wearing his canon outfit and she wonders why she even bothered with his fashion sense in the first place

She’s the one who buys him his bandana that he wears in his canon outfit

They’re pretty cute together actually

She calls him “Nara” 

While she isn’t available all the time to help Fugo tutor him, when she is around, she tries her best to help

They listen to music together and mc ends up reccomending a lot though some songs haven’t come out yet so she’s only able to play them on her phone

“If I run and jump at (Y/n), she’ll definately catch me!” “Wait, I’m holding a mug-” *Drops the mug and catches Narancia*

Hugs with Narancia often end with his face buried in the crook of her neck

Fugo

Probably the one mc goes with on missions the most

Part of it is because they’re the closest in age prior to everyone else joining, another part is due to mc’s nullifying ability effectively making her immune to Purple Haze’s virus

Mc be like “if I got infected with purple haze’s virus, I would simply become immune. rip to everyone else but I’m different.”

Still, Fugo is still very cautious when it comes to pulling out Purple Haze

Fugo buys her lavender hand lotion once and she decided she liked it so she continued to use it

He sorta associates lavender with mc

Mc buys him strawberry earrings. Sometimes she spontaneously buys stuff that reminds her of him

Fugo isn’t particularily fond of contact (backstory trauma) so mc tries to keep it to a minimum unless he gives an okay

Probably a few missions together where mc saves him, they’re walking down a street together and he just slips his hand into hers

Asadlskjh, I want them to hold hands

When she’s doing school assignments over at the Bucci house, Fugo helps her look over and proofread them despite the fact she has access to the internet through her phone and can search stuff literally from the future (not that he knows). She appreciates the input

I think that after Fugo leaves the group during Vento Aureo, I would like to bring him back somehow before the end of Vento Aureo

Abbacchio

He didn’t like mc at first, no surprises here, but after they went on a few missions together where she saved his life, he begrudgingly opened up

She reminds him of his dead partner due to how reckless she is in saving people

She an idiot but she’s his idiot

He’s likely one of the most worried when she gets hurt since he doesn’t want to lose another person who died protecting him

Abbacchio does come off as very tsundere seeing how prickly he is to everyone except Bruno but everyone except for mc notices that he isn’t that prickly to her either

Mc doesn’t expect him to like her to any degree so whenever anyone points out that he’s nicer to her, she’s like “what?”

They have late night talks a lot

Abbacchio stays up late drinking and mc doesn’t sleep consistently enough

Sometimes they go up to the roof of the house to talk

She has fallen alseep on him multiple times. His tiddies make great pillows. 

Generally, she’s got her head resting on his tiddies, one arm hanging over his body, the other spawled out somewhere. He keeps one arm around her head and the other around her waist

Bruno

Mc with Bruno is oddly domestic?

she helps around the house, buying groceries, helping out in the kitchen and cleaning from time to time

Bruno appreciates it a lot

If Abbacchio and mc have late night talks, Bruno and her have early morning talks when everyone else is asleep and the sun is just barely rising

Bruno keeps telling her it isn’t healthy to sleep only 3 hours so he convinces her to fall asleep for a few more hours

He spoils her a lot and brings her to cafes

Bruno is one of the last people she would expect to like her more than a friend due to the “bruno’s a mom” memes and he’s nice to everyone (almost everyone, excluding ememies), there’s no way he would like her more

Sure, he kisses the crown of her head and the back of her hand from time to time and they cook together

But they’re just good friends, right?

He frequently lectures her on being more careful and not being so reckless

Mista

They discuss weird stuff a lot

The combination of mc’s general knowledge of random things due to the internet and Mista’s bad timing when bringing up topics leads to interesting conversations

Like, your tongue never sits comfortably in your mouth, your skeleton is wet, are you inside your skeleton or is your skeleton inside you?

Mc is always in a constant state of worry when he’s on a mission because his bullets always end up in his own body something

The only reason he isn’t dead yet is because his dumb*ss aura surrounds him

Mc qualifies as a cute girl 11/10

He flirts with her casually and the pistols tell her his thought even when he doesn’t want them to but she never seems to notice

“You’ve been flirting with me?” “Have been for the last year, thanks for noticing.”

Mc gets Mista a gun holster after the events of Vento Aureo because he really shouldn’t be tucking his gun in his pants like that

If someone was really angry, they could lean over and shoot his d*ck off

La Squadra

I sorta debated whether la squadra should be a part of the harem or not but I think mostly no

That’s because I don’t really have an age range for them but Risotto’s like 28 and big age gaps are creepy. So, I guess for some of the la squadra members, it’s up to interpretation whether it’s romantic or platonic. I’m inclined towards platonic though

I’m not sure if I want to save Sorbet and Gelato yet

Mc, of course, goes along for missions as she’s ordered to

La squadra is so broke. Why doesn’t Diavolo pay them more? They literally kill people for their job

Mc doesn’t crash at their house very often but she stops by to hang out and drop off food

She buys them groceries when she notices their fridge is super empty. She doesn’t need them to pay her back (her paycheck is suprisingly big), but they should stop eating takeout all the time

She usually calls Risotto to ask if there’s anything specific they want

She’s rather fond of Pesci. They go fishing together when they have time

Illuso and mc are gossip buddies

Melone gets kink shamed during missions

Ghiaccio and mc have gone ice skating together before

I don’t really have anything else for the others... I’ll think about it

When Vento Aureo begins, mc is trying to save them though she isn’t directly working with them

La Unita Speciale

These are pretty random

Tizano and Squalo are gay, mc was there when they proposed to each other

Mc gets ordered to buy food when they have meetings though it’s pretty rare

When she does show up to drop off food, it’s a constant feeling of “let me leave quicker please” because Cioccolata is freaky

She thinks she runs into Doppio way too often when she’s doing missions

The only good thing about it is that Doppio is pretty nice when Diavolo isn’t kicking about. On one hand, Doppio=nice, on the other Doppio=Diavolo

Mc feeds Secco sugar cubes when Cioccolata isn’t looking

She would not trust Cioccolata to patch up any of her wounds, he’s likely to dissect her

Mc gets missions through calls and emails but sometimes Doppio’s around to tell her what they are 

[thedeathdoctor]

Kinktober Day 5: Blood Play

Blood Play - Halloween: Michael Meyers x Reader

Guardian Demon

Tw for Breaking and Entering, Being held at gunpoint

It was ten past two in the morning when you pulled your 2003 Altima into the driveway. Fucking Steve. Ever since he had started as manager, your store had been pathetically understaffed. He never stuck around past four and never saw how long closing duties took. It was just you and Allison now, because “we don’t really need three people in here when we don’t get that many customers, anyway”. 

You shoved your work apron into your purse laying on the passenger seat before dragging yourself out of the car. Everything felt heavy, and your keys dangled limply in your hand. A thought resurfaced in your weary head: the pothole you had hit on your way to work because the assholes wouldn’t let you merge over to avoid it. It sounded expensive, but you had managed to get home, so you just gave a quick glance at it. You weren’t much of a car person, and it was dark; you’d look at it again in the morning. 

Leaning against the peeling paint of your side door, you fit the key in the lock, and found it unlocked. What? Maybe you had forgotten to lock up when you rushed to work this afternoon. Henry had called out for the third day in a row, and they had called you to come in earlier to cover for him. You didn’t want to, but you had to. The shitty washer that came with the unit had broken, and your landlord had refused to take care of it because clearly you had misused it in order for that to happen. A contractor had come out to fix it yesterday; the work was expensive,  he unsettled you in a way you couldn’t place, and in the middle of it all Steve called to ask where you were. He seemed to forget how you told him, to his face, three times, “I won’t be in on Wednesday, do not schedule me,” and still his chicken nugget sized brain forgot and expected you to come in. 

You shook your head, trying to clear your mind of the work fuckery from your head like an Etch-a-Sketch. It took up enough real estate in your head as is. 

Snacks. 

You dropped your purse on the mess of mail that covered your kitchen table. It would be sorted later. For now, you took your phone with you and rummaged through the cabinets, finding the box of Goldfish you had bought Monday. You padded into the living room, settling down into the couch. Though you lived alone, you had slept here for the past few nights on account of clutter spread over your bed. Well, it was mostly organized. Monday you had found the least sketchiest laundromat in your fifteen mile radius for the three weeks of laundry built up while you fought with your landlord. After all, there was a finite amount of times you could handle rewearing your work clothes before the thought of having to pay for laundry became begrudgingly tolerable. 

The waist of your pants cut into your waist, and you stripped them off and threw them towards the stairs with a growl. Your bra was next, and soon you were comfortable in your tank top and underwear. It had also been an embarrassing amount of time since you had vacuumed the floor, so your socks stayed on to keep your feet clean. 

“Honey, if you ever need help, I can always come over and clean with you. It’s really no problem for me.” 

Your mom’s voice reappeared in your head, kind and soothing. Truth was, you needed help, but couldn’t bring yourself to accept her offer. It was out of mercy. You didn’t want her to come over and see for herself how you, her precious daughter was really doing. She worried for you enough as is, and anyway, you were doing just fine, no need for her to see the bottles that frequently piled up in the yellow bin next to the door or the refrigerator that didn’t hold much excluding the condiments on the door, or the condition of your bathroom sink. You spared her the worry she would feel if she knew. Anyway, you could handle it, all you needed was another day off to take care of everything, two at max. 

Turning on the tv, you chose a random episode of Criminal Minds to watch to distract your brain. It had been your comfort show since you started watching it in 2011, and it filled the otherwise quiet space of the house. You apathetically ate a handful of Goldfish before folding the box back up and letting it drop on the ground. That wasn’t it. Occasionally, lights drifted across the interior of your house, headlights drifting in from the living room window as the occasional car passed by. 

A loud crash shocked you awake from the doldrums of half-sleep. Your eyes shot open as your heart revved from 0 -100, realizing that the sound came from upstairs. Fuck. There were footsteps now. Scrambling to find your phone to call 911, your heart sunk as the screen flickered to life for just enough time to blink its “low battery” icon at you before giving up. You did have a .357, but one too many nights with the bottle led you to disassemble it as much as you could and shove the pieces into a shoebox at the back of your closet, if only for your mom’s sake. 

You listened with bated breath as the footsteps reached the top of the stairs and began to descend. Every single muscle in your body did not reply, even as your mind screamed for you to run. You were frozen to the couch. 

A man, partially dressed in a dirty work coverall tied around the waist at the bottom of a grimy undershirt strode aggressively over to you. A black ski mask hid his face, but you could see his eye twitch as he raised the Glock in his hand to your face. His voice was strained and rough as he questioned you.

“WHERE ARE THEY??” 

“Where is what?” 

You didn’t have much of value at all, the most expensive thing that you had to your name was the Altima sitting outside and that was only $6,000 when you bought it a few years ago. 

“PILLS, SMARTASS. DON’T LIE TO ME. I SAW THE EMPTY BOTTLES. WHERE DO YOU KEEP THEM?” 

Oh. Truth be told, you didn’t have any left. All you had ever really taken was your Adderall XR and Zoloft. The empty Adderall bottle sat pathetically on your dresser, reminding you of the last time you had been able to afford the copay the pharmacy demanded. As for the Zoloft, well, your psychiatrist would keep refilling it as long as you kept showing up to her regular appointments, and the spontaneity of work had made it damn near impossible to keep an appointment with her. So it had been at least a few days since you had tried to taper off of them yourself. But you were unmedicated and well beyond tired, so you responded rather dumbly. 

“I don’t have any more. They’re gone. Sorry.” 

He didn’t react well to that, gritting his teeth and kicking over a folding chair that left a rather large hole in the drywall. Your fucking landlord would have a field day haranguing you for those damages. 

The side door that you had taken care to lock swung open violently, knocking over the bottles perched on the top of the pile in the recycling bin. Heavy footsteps strode through the kitchen and another man appeared behind the first intruder.

“HEY WHAT THE FUC-”

He was cut off as he was violently disarmed, gun clattering to the floor as a blade slashed through every tendon in his arm. Then, his body flew across the room and crashed head first into the Walmart bookshelf and the few books you had left with a horrific crunch. He was crumpled in a way that no human should ever be, and still the other man kneeled and plunged his knife between his ribs, ventilating his body as you would a frozen microwavable meal. And then slowly, stood up and turned to face you. 

He was impossibly tall, looming over the man who had tried to rob you; like him, he was also dressed in a coverall, bluish grey and relatively cleaner aside from the blood splashed across the front. His head was covered too, by one of those rubbery Halloween costume masks that people wear and pretend to be a serial killer or something. Matthew, or maybe Michael? You glanced over at the mutilated corpse at his feet, and the real, actual knife in his hand, still dripping with blood. You didn’t think he was pretending.

You cowered in the corner of the couch, your knees pulled up as close to your chin as possible, shaking uncontrollably. He walked closer to you, stretching out his free hand, and for some reason beyond your understanding, you took it. Your legs trembled like those of a newborn fawn, but you stayed up, mostly due to his hidden strength. Together, you both made your way over to the dead body, letting you collapse to your knees next to it. He dipped the tip of the knife into the man’s blood and brought it to your face. A scream died in your throat as he grabbed your jaw and steadied you as the blade traced over your forehead and cheekbones, painting you with the blood of his kill. On your stomach, he marked you with a simple “MM”. Michael Meyers. You were his. 

When he was done, he pressed you to the floor on your back and stripped you of your tank top and panties with a few quick flicks of his knife. His hands worked the jumpsuit zipper down as he shed his clothing and towered over you. He stroked his cock lazily, enjoying the look on your face as you realized that he wanted to put it deep in you. You were his and he was going to consummate your partnership, right here, right now.

He spread your legs and kneeled between them. It had been a while since you last had any kind of sexual encounter, but the patch of curls was of no consequence to him. Blood slicked his fingers, and you were surprised how expertly the pad of his thumb found your clit, kneading you to orgasm in spite of the horror you had just witnessed. Perfect.

He teased you, running his fingertips up and down your vulva until your hands urged him to get on with it. That was a mistake. He snapped your hands together and held you firmly by your wrists with his free hand. Punishment for being too impatient. Two fingers found your entrance before suddenly plunging into you as deep as they could. Your gasp satisfied him and he returned his thumb to your clit as his fingers pistoned into you at a punishing pace. 

The second orgasm crashed through your body, your arms weakly trembling against his fierce grip as you screamed out in pleasure. When your eyes returned to him, the submission he saw drove him mad with desire. He gripped your hips so hard, you were sure that you would see bruises in the morning, and slid you onto his cock, hissing softly as he entered you. God, he spread you apart like no one ever had before. 

You weren’t the most petite person in the world, but to him and his strength, you may as well have been. He slammed you against him, your thighs stinging as they met his hips, fucking you as if you were a filthy toy, a cocksleeve for him to use as he wanted, whenever he wanted. He paused for a moment, sliding his hands up under your back and supporting you with his arms as he stood up, still inside you. Your thighs wrapped around his waist, feeling the muscles in his torso and ass flex against you. His hips thrust up into you as he held you up in the air, gravity working alongside his powerful body as he ravaged you. Moans dribbled from your mouth as most of your upper body went limp. The back of your head crashed against the wall, but you didn’t care, your body was flooded in ecstasy as you came over and over, writhing in his arms and twitching helplessly around his cock. His fingernails dragged long, deep scratches along your back that smeared and stained the wall with blood as he pressed you against it, his breaths deep, panting, heavy with lust. 

Time lost all meaning to you as he broke you down to a sopping, quivering mess in his arms. It seemed he was intent on folding you in half and pressing you against the wall before his breaths hitched and pulled you as close as he physically could to him. His hips bucked involuntarily as he came deep into you, filling you with copious spurts of his cum. It took on a pinkish tone as it mixed with the blood from earlier, dripping from where your hips met. You were spent, falling asleep before he had let the both of you fall ever so gently to the floor, letting you rest on top of his chest. 

[creativeashproductions]

Mountains and Lessons // Luke Patterson

Summary: A bucket list item Reggie had had was to experience a white Christmas. He ended up dying before hand and his opportunity brings up. All Luke wants is music and warmth, not stuck on a stupid mountain in cold Colorado. Alex is excited to get out of Californai for once.

Warning: Swearing, death, angst, Christmas themed but not Christmas and fluff

Words: 4.9k

A/N: Breaks my heart that Reggie potentially never got to experience making snow angels, snow people and join a snowball fight. But my theme appears to be angst so there’s that as well.

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX PLEASE!

Masterlist

Julie had a structured routine and schedule she liked to follow in her life, not strict but definitely a guideline. Monday to Friday, like ever minor, spent the majority of the time in a classroom. After school, she would return home straight to the kitchen for a quick snack before spreading her homework on the kitchen island. The homework was typically one hour before Julie would head out to the studio for band rehearsal.

Flynn, as the band manager, had declared Friday’s to be band free just so that Julie and Flynn could hang out. Saturday’s consisted of morning band practice, the early afternoon had a songwriting session with Luke. In the late evening after an early supper, the band would head to the gig they had gotten. Sunday’s however were strictly days off from the band no matter what, the boys would go their own ways for the day as well.

Today, for the young teenager was a Friday but Flynn had strep throat confining herself to her house. No visitors and her electronics taken away to get rest. It was incredibly dull, and no one wanted to go against Flynn’s words because she could be scary.

Julie had done her homework, did her chores, revised a new song, started a new book and added more doodles to her shoes. Now she was laying on her bed staring at the ceiling with her headphones in.

“Julie?” Ray spoke from her open bedroom door. The man received no reaction with his daughter’s head in the clouds, “Julie? I need to talk to you.”

Ray walked over to his daughter to tug the bud out of her left ear bringing the girl back down to land. The teenager sat up to look at her father.

“What’s up?”

“Can you meet me in the living room?” Ray’s blue eyes crinkled at the corners from the many laughs he had shared in his lifetime. While she was confused, Julie proceeded to follow her father down to the lively decorated room.

Carlos had already been corralled to the living room couch listlessly staring in the distance with no iPad on his person. The lack of electronic was a red flag to the musician, the girl settled on the couch while Ray shifted things on the coffee table.

Once settled on the wood coffee table, he focused on his children, “We’ve always discussed big decisions in our family. We had an open discussion of retracting our initial decision to move.”

“Is this about my bed? I can clean it! I will-“

“Carlos! This isn’t about under your bed, we do need to have a conversation about that young man.” Carlos pointed one finger in Carlos’ direction before addressing the situation, “This year is the first year we’ll celebrate Christmas without…”

“Mom.” Both Carlos and Julie murmured slumping down at the stifling reminder of the loss the Molina’s had suffered.

Julie clenched her jaw, forcing the grief down as her hand crept over to hold Carlos’ hand in comfort. The glittering of his eyes and the gnawing on his lower lip dead giveaways he was losing the battle with sadness. Ever since Julie was a kid, she had always been there for Carlos, not saying they didn’t fight. Evidence as Carlos’ requesting a normal sister.

“It’s going to be different. I got offered an excellent contract by a ski resort, we could potentially renovate the bathroom.” Ray’s eyebrows came together as the touchy topic came about.

After Rose died, it had dented the Molina’s financials with the loss of income, the money didn’t matter compared to the person. When the sun shone through the dark clouds, it had affected the way the Molina’s had to live. Of course, the Molina’s had it better than most with a house over their head and food on the table.

Ray just wanted the best for his kids.

“We could build snowmen?” Carlos gleefully exclaimed beaming at the sheer image of seeing snow in person.

“That’s the thing. The ski resort hosts a handful of parties by companies and clients. The contract is photographing the events for their website. All expenses paid and it could open doors to more clients.”

The idea tore Julie in half. Not decorating the tree with her family, Tia Victoria’s tamales that changed every year and carolling with her friends. A lot of traditions wouldn’t happen that had been constant for the Molina family. New Year Eve’s movie night with Flynn wouldn’t happen; the two girls exchanged wrapped Christmas pyjamas to wear.

On the other hand, the new scenery would distract Julie from the broken Christmas holiday without Mom. Julie always wanted to experience a white Christmas for the snow angels, the snowmen, spontaneous snowball fights, sledding and hot cocoa to warm up after the cold.

In the end, it was the glee on Carlos’ face and the excitement on her father’s that had her caving.

“Let’s do it.” Julie faked her enthusiasm before excusing herself from the conversation of Carlos’ disgusting bedroom.

The young teenager shuffled her way to the studio yearning for the piano to cheer herself up. Typically discovering the guys playing music alone infuriated the girl but at the moment she just wanted to mourn the change of Christmas.

“Hey!” Reggie spoke with a bright grin at the moping teenager. At the lack of reaction, his grin faltered, “Julie?”

Luke’s guitar solo came to an abrupt halt seeing the forlorn girl slumping on the piano bench staring listlessly at the ivory keys. The melancholy aura gave the boys a sick feeling in their bellies, Luke wondered if her grades weren’t at Ray’s standard. Alex wondered if she had a fight with Flynn and Reggie just wanted to hug her.

Reggie did so. His arms wrapped around her shoulders in comfort, and he thanked whatever deity there was at finally being able to hug her. After Caleb and the weird situation, the OG Sunset Curve turned into glow sticks touch had become prevalent. Reggie had a secret handshake with Julie. When Alex got overwhelmed over his anxiety escalated, he would braid Julie’s hair and play with her fingers; when this happened, she never physically touched him unless he asked. Luke was a different story.

Luke’s love language is obviously physical affection, he would hug the living girl, gives high fives, grasp her hand to squeeze it. He’d also sit as close as possible for their legs to touch. It was a way for Luke to feel real.

“What’s wrong, Jay?” Alex asked, approaching the piano to heave himself on top of it. His concerned blue eyes on the teenager.

“This is the first Christmas without my Mom.” She revealed, the desolation drawing Luke to be closer to his friends.

If the boys’ had beating hearts, they would have stuttered and shattered, seeing the sorrow overflow in Julie’s eyes. In a short time, they had spent with her since the first night they had come to care about each other immensely.

 “I’m so sorry,” Alex spoke scootching closer to lay his hand on the limp hand resting on the piano top. The smile of thanks warming the drummer inside.

“Dad got this perfect job at a ski resort. It’s good money, and Carlos is excited. I don’t want to spend Christmas somewhere else. I want to be here; I want to go carolling with you guys. I want New Year’s Eve movie night with Flynn, I want to fight Carlos on who gets to put the star on the tree. I want to bake cookie.” Julie broke, “Sure a white Christmas would be cool, but this is home.”

 “It’s not about where you celebrate. It’s about who you celebrate with Jules.” Luke quietly spoke up physically with them but mentally elsewhere.

His mind returned to the night in December that irrevocably altered his relationship with his parents’. He had tainted Christmas for himself and his family when he stormed out never to return. He would give anything to spend a Christmas, a birthday, or even a Mother’s Day with his parents just one more time. A consolation to the guitarist was easing his parents’ pain with Unsaid Emily.

“You’ll get to build snowmen?” Reggie questioned pouting at his lifer friend who giggled at his look of betrayal, “I was going to spend Christmas at my uncle’s place in Washington before we died.”

Reggie’s words didn’t change the sombre atmosphere, but it did flip a switch in Julie’s mind. Julie could create new traditions with her new family as well.

“We’ll get to build snowmen.”

“How? We’ll be here. You’ll be wherever the resort it.” Reggie interjected with a twisted smile at Julie’s words. The young girl rolled her eyes at him, “We can’t crash your family vacation. It’s Christmas.”

“Reg, you wouldn’t be ‘crashing’ the family vacation. You three are part of my family.” Julie’s words had to be the most touching thing the boys had heard in years, both the twenty-five dead and from 1990-1995.

“I’m so excited!” Reggie beamed, “I have to go, thank Ray!”

With that, the ghostly teenager disappeared in a bright ball of light to the house where Ray was most likely accepting the job. While Luke and Reggie didn’t know boundaries, they sure could make things better for their friends.

The giggle came from the girl bundled up in layers tossed a packed ball of snow at the enemy behind the other snow fort. The sharp laugh of her opponents warming you up more than hot cocoa, well the layers were unnecessary. But, what’s winter without the bundled up outer clothing.

“Surrender!” You called out throwing the new ball high with the hope it would land on the other person. It hit the top of the wall instead.

Lucy was just about to return fire with one of her pre-made snow weapons when the resort’s main building front door opened. Backlit by the lights giving a heavenly glow was a woman of average height. Greying hair scooped up in an elegant style, and thick clothing stood Lucy’s mom.

Your heart clenched at the visible sadness on the woman’s face as her eyes found the mountain in the distance. It had been a constant in the last seven years of the year-round residents and the plaque on the property. Lucy’s family had never properly healed from the tragic event, but they also could bear to leave the place either.

Fox & Hare Ski Resort had been in the ownership of the same family for over a hundred years, a place of happiness. A place where Lucy had loved as a massive fan of skiing and wintertime, Lucy was excited for this year the most. It was Lucy’s third year of lessons with a very well respected and highly sought out trainer.

“Bye!” Lucy spoke to the now standing young adult. Her little feet dashing to the main building for supper with her parents.

Your eyes found the parking lot as a car pulled up to one the spaces reserved for staff; his looks matched the temporary photographer. With him was a young boy and a teenage girl about your own age. All bundled up for the cold climate, but you were most surprised at the sudden appearance of three males.

They had to ghosts. If the teleporting wasn’t obvious enough, it was the lack of warm clothes. For God’s sake, one of them didn’t even have sleeves.

“Hm interesting.” You hummed scrutinizing the trio following the other three aimlessly to the building. You pegged them as about your age with a very vintage style in both fashion and hairstyles.

The luggage clicked on each transition to another board on the porch ramp for accessibility a welcome sound. Just another daily occurrence that brought peace to the individual. Unable to hold yourself back, you quickly scooped up three snowballs.

The first hit the taller boy in the back of the head. When his head swivelled, he couldn’t see the person that did it. Shaking it off, he turned back to view the mountain. Sprinting to the vast sea of trees you stopped halfway to chuck the second snowball. It hit the guy in the leather jacket.

You ducked behind the tree when he loudly protested the sudden attack. With a wicked grin, you went to send the third one before you yelped.

“Nu-uh.” The sudden voice spoke clicking his tongue. Slowly turning you saw the last boy staring you down, “You should have left Reggie for last. He’s very loud, he’s a personal alarm.”

Your mouth opened as the other two appeared, “I’ve never had a snowball fight before!”

You took a guess that was Reggie.

“I’m Y/N.” You spoke holding out for hand for the three to shake. They each introduced themselves; your first hit was Alex, the second was Reggie, and the failed hit was Luke.

“What brings you to Colorado?” You asked shoving your hands in your snow pants bouncing on the heels of your feet. The crunch of snow under them unfamiliar to the trio.

“Our band member is staying here for two weeks. Her dad got a photography gig.” Alex spoke, scanning the area, “So, are you a ghost?”

“I’m a tour guide and area expert.” You beamed revealing a big smile to the three guys standing in the powdered snow.

The cheery light in your eyes, easing the ghosts in the unfamiliar landscape, each a juxtaposition to the climate. Nodding towards the rental shop, you guided them into the average-sized building for the necessary winter wear. Seasoned with your background working in the shop, you quickly grabbed items that wouldn’t be noticed for them.

“We don’t nee-“

“Gotta live the experience. I used to work in here, so I’ve taken the liberty to group your gear. Alex, you have light blue and pink. Reggie red and black leaving the dark blue for Luke.”

You wore a seafoam green ski jacket and matching snow pants paired with the trusty black boots. While the boys dressed in the clothing you chose, you collected your things as well. As soon as they finished, they turned to see you had a snowboard lilac to the dark purple-black gradient. On the top of the board in the middle had a moon with the white foam of the ocean. On the lilac background, the deep purple cut the moon in half, the deep purple background had the lilac moon half. The black had a rough outline of a circle similar to the moon on the front with BURTON in the ring.

“I had a different board.” Your smile faltered, remembering the beautiful board your parents had gotten you for your birthday.

“What happened to it?” Luke questioned scanning the room for the board.

“It snapped in half.” You stated practically skipping out the door, “C’mon! I wanna teach you how to kill it on the mountain! Have you ever done this? Skiing or snowboarding?”

“Neither,” Alex spoke glancing around the area as you led them to the Gondola lifts that brought people to the top of the mountain. This one specifically for the beginner levels perfect for the three new friends, “We’re born and bred in California, never got the opportunity to travel outside the state.

“Well, I’ll try my very best to give you a good experience on the mountain..”

Once released from the Gondola, you jogged to the side giggling at the sight of them struggling to walk in the heavy boots. Near the Gondola, the area was the shift ski patrol building with the heated bathroom. The building along with the bench had been a new addition a few years ago. It never failed to halt you to stare at it for a handful of seconds.

“Okay, so we’ll start with the basics.” You announced clapping your hands together in the thick mittens.

Alex picked up the activity naturally with confidence and calmness he couldn’t even remember last feeling. He had to focus on his movements and directions, giving him a welcomed break from his overthinking. Luke had started his angry pout with his accurate portrayal of newborn Bambi.

“I’m just going to take a break,” Luke muttered wheezing from his sudden position staring at the sky. Taking pity on the Californian boy, you pressed the release function on his boots.

“I think Reggie’s at the ski patrol building.” You called to the boy with the fringe sulking in the direction of Reggie. It left you with Alex learning new hacks to the board.

“This is fun!” Alex shouted, raising his mouth to the sky, “Ooh Willie would love yelling up here.”

“Ghost?” You asked, receiving a nod in response, taking the time to sit down with your knees raised—the board on the edge still connected to your boots.

Alex flailed as he copied you taking in the sunset, backlight the buildings slowly turning their nights one at a time. The large main building would have a fire for everyone with supplied hot cocoa. Tomorrow the mountain would be less populated with the first of many Christmas parties. The crisp air welcomed high above the buildings you felt peace.

“Is it safe to get off the mountain at night?” Alex asked, hugging his knees to his chest, tilting his head to look at your profile.

The smile was small but warm on the girls face as Alex took in her features that had a particular contentness that is hard to attain. Alex could see in Luke when he finished a song he would deem his best work before the next song. Or Reggie at a beach bonfire with the ocean crashing faintly behind Luke’s acoustic guitar.

“Yeah.” You replied smoothly removing your board from your boots to carry it to where Luke and Reggie were. You backtracked to ensure Alex released his boots; his fast learning evident when he stood with a proud smile.

Alex and you both surveyed the area for any lost items or gear you may have forgotten about, coming up clear you continued walking. Reggie and Luke were laughing with their skiis neatly put aside. Hands locked in a fierce game of rock, paper, scissors they looked childlike and untouched by life’s hard teachings.

“I’ll put my board in the Gondola. Be right back!” You called over your shoulder. Alex looked over his shoulder to reply, but the space was empty.

“She moves fast,” Alex muttered shaking it off to jog closer to the boys. He was close to sitting down on the bench when it caught his attention.

“Whoa. That’s nasty.” Alex spoke, gaining his bandmates attention to the bench they had overlooked.

The bench was made out of two snowboards in stone and wood combinations with a gorgeous design. Pieces of the snowboard made to look like a nearly finished puzzle—a plaque on a thick post behind it.

“For the girl who changed the sport for women. Fast like a fox, as graceful as a swan, may you guide lost souls to safety.” Reggie read off the plaque. Luke’s fingers went to brush the ice and snow clouding the picture above the words.

“You guys coming?” You yelled from a distance startling all three intrigued teenage ghosts. Their eyes glanced at the edge of the board in the picture that matched the bench.

“Thanks for that by the way,” Luke spoke gesturing to the area as the Gondola moved down the mountain. His eyes greener in the dimly lit enclosure that shadowed your flustered features at the sole attention.

“I’m on the mountain every day. It was fun talking with people my age.” You informed them pleased to sit in the silence. The three took in the sunset from the height with no buildings blocking the view, “If you can’t find me, I’ll be on the mountain.”

Once back on the bottom of the mountain, the four teenagers snuck the equipment in your personal shack to dry and keep hidden for future lessons. The three guys bid farewell to find Julie in the large cabin, each with beaming smiles and stories to tell the girl.

“Where’ve you guys been?” Julie asked the ghosts in the tucked-away corner near the massive fire ceasing her scribbling to look at them, “Usually I can’t shake you. I had to sit through a safety talk by the director for the mountain.”

“This wicked girl taught us how to snowboard! She’s so cool, Julie. There’s this passion in her when we got on the mountain. The passion that we all have for music!” Luke gushed, breaking his cool guy personality, “She’s so patient.”

“What’s her name?” Julie laughed, getting a first-hand look at Luke all crushed out on someone. His cheeks a rosy pink and soft eyes it amused Julie just imagining the number of love songs he would pen.

“Y/N.” Luke sighed slouching against the wall, “She’s so pretty.”

“-once more, I ask that you check every morning and afternoon for weather conditions, the local Avalanche Information Center website and be aware of our maps for potential avalanche areas. We have a live app that gives updates as well. Just a reminder that I’m Susan and you can also have the ski patrol contact me for further information. Enjoy your stay!” Susan called out gracefully cutting through the crowd to Lucy falling asleep in her chair.

”I heard some lady talking to her friends that the safety regulations and rules increased after an avalanche killed someone. I didn’t catch the name, but it took weeks before they found the bodies, they found the board in a few days.” Julie supplied with a half-smile at another reminder of death.

The three boys had a moment of clarity. They put the pieces together that the bench made of the boards was in memory of the person who died. It was a bitter moment of potentially standing where a person tragically killed with no warning.

“Anyway, I have to meet Dad and Carlos in the room. Have to video call Tía as her stressed wishes for not being home.” Julie sighed, pushing her feet into the slippers, she left the dino ones at home, she had grabbed from the room.

A few days into the Molina’s white Christmas it had been a charming morning thus far. The guys had done a songwriting session for most of the morning. Luke’s eyes continued to scan the room for you as he had since the first day. He had yet to see you inside, if the ghostly trio wasn’t on the mountain with you, then you were playing with Lucy.

 Julie and the Phantoms had retreated to the suite the Molina’s had been assigned when the weather looked questionable. Most of the tourists had either stayed in their rooms, cabins or in the main building. It led to Julie taking the session to the privacy of the suite to avoid looking like a crazy person.

“I need to stretch. Walk?” Reggie asked, gaining different sounds of agreement from the band.

The four individuals walked to the main lounging area where a crowd formed around the makeshift stage. On it was Susan shaking in her husband’s arms.

“Please, has anyone seen Lucy?” Susan sobbed, “She’s ten years old. She’s got blue eyes, ginger hair and she’s small for her age.”

Julie joined her father near the crowd, where he swiftly brought his eldest child into his arms with Carlos. Ray’s heart clenched at the thought of his kids going missing like the owner of Fox & Hare owners.

“Dad’s what’s going on?” Julie questioned viewing the blownup picture of a little girl, the perfect split of her parents.

“Susan Fox’s daughter Lucy didn’t show up for breakfast. They thought she was playing just outside the building. No one has seen her. There have been warnings of avalanches, and the mountain was closed twenty minutes ago. ” Ray told his daughter squeezing her once more cementing his gaze on the couple, “It’s devastating to them.”

“Why?” Julie questioned for the concerned ghostly trio at her side.

“A few years ago, Susan and her husband closed the resort for a few months. They completely gutted their regulations and worked closely with avalanche experts. They upgraded the area for increased safety and reworked the rules and regulations.”

 “What does it have to do with Lucy?” The Puerto Rican girl questioned furrowing her brow in the same way her mother had. Julie had scrapped back her hair into a half-up ponytail this morning.

“They did all that because they lost their daughter in a slab avalanche when Lucy was three. Slab avalanches are the most dangerous type, they make up 90% of avalanche deaths.” Ray sighed, staring up at the snow-capped looming mountain, “It took weeks to recover her body, there’s a bench on the mountain where she loved to snowboard. She was training for the Olympics actually.”

Luke’s attention faded from the conversation recalling that you would be on the mountain at dawn to watch the sunrise. In the sudden motion, Luke stumbled over his own feet heading straight for the shack. His mind is numb as he applied the gear to his body, the movements keeping him from panicking. Luke sensed rather than saw Reggie and Alex behind him.

“What are we doing?” Alex questioned, getting dressed as well.

“Going to the mountain.” Luke was very determined. Catching Reggie’s confused gaze Luke roughly gestured to the far corner, “What’s missing?”

“Y/N’s gear.” Alex and Reggie breathed physically shaking at the desolate area where a gorgeous board usually was. That lit a fire under their asses for sure, grateful for poofing they appeared on the mountain.

Scouring the white background, Alex pinpointed a speck of seafoam green running for a speck of bring pink and yellow. In the fear they had taken to sprinting in the bulky boots as if they felt something about to happen.

Your attention solely on Lucy, “Lucy, we need to leave now.”

For Lucy, the mountain was her life, it had been one of the things that her older sister lived and breathed for. All Lucy wanted to do was to be like her big sister. Lucy had the potential, her moves and posture striking to the late sister.

“This is the best trail!” Lucy stomped her black boot in the snow while her other one secured in her snowboard.

“It’s also one marked off for an avalanche.” You hissed to the little girl staring up with tear-filled eyes, “Please, go back.”

The unmistakable ‘whoomph’ sound shattered the otherwise quiet area freezing Lucy in her steps. The once stubborn ten years old turned petrified at the sheet of snow coming straight for the two girls.

“Slab avalanche.” The words covered by the snapping of trees. Your arms yanked Lucy up as you raced perpendicular to the moving snow.

Your ears couldn’t distinguish between Lucy’s screams, your screams or even the loud sound of the destructive avalanche. The alarm and terror drowning your insides, leaving no room for thoughts, only actions. Lucy’s small stature and the years you had on the location helped to dive into a safe zone.

Even in the safe zone, you raced further to collapse with Lucy’s inconsolable body quaking in absolute distress. The tears of relief fell down your face as you leaned against the bench of the memorial. Your head thumped the bench causing a puff of snow to fall on your hat.

“Holy shit.” The sob of words from Luke came before his arms wrapped around you. With being able to touch Julie, the guys didn’t get alarmed at the sight.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” Alex frantically scanned the little girl before moving towards you in the same amount of fear. Reggie rendered speechless at the events.

“What the hell were you thinking!” Luke shouted, lunging away to stare you down. Tears streaking his own cheeks, “You’re also preaching the safety rules of the resort. You definitely read the reports and decided to come on the mountain?”

“Luke,” Reggie mumbled remaining the only one standing. His words went ignored, “Luke! LUKE!”

“What!?” Luke snapped resulting in the bassist flinching at the stark memory of his home life, “Sorry, Reggie. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t think Y/N was ever in danger,” Reggie stated, bringing both confused boys to where he stood.

There above the bench uncovered by the snow that melted on Y/N’s thick toque was a picture. Above the quote was a picture of a girl holding the snowboard the bench was made of. Wearing a unique matching snow set was the exact replica of the girl Luke had fallen for.

“Holy shit.” Luke and Alex murmured gaping at the picture and the name of the girl who had died.

Luke recalled things you said,

“I used to work in here.”

“It snapped in half.”

“It was fun talking with people my age.”

Luke’s mind went a step further recalling the first lesson you gave the guys where you went from the bench to the Gondola in a short time. How people didn’t react to you, the ski patrol that ignored you every time on the mountain with them.

“You’re the daughter that died in the avalanche.” Luke gasped, dropping his jaw nearly to the snow-packed ground.

“Exactly seven years ago today.” You replied, keeping your eyes glued to your little sister yearning to comfort here, “Reggie, can you go in the building and press the red button? It’s a signal sender for people sheltering from the conditions.”

Nothing could meet the feeling of your parents weeping along with Lucy after the medic deemed her okay. While you wish you could join the hug, you also knew that things happened for a reason. The feeling that same with kissing Luke could never meet the level of happiness at Lucy’s safety.

I came close to killing ten year old Lucy in this but decided not to be cruel.

Tag List (PLEASE SEND AN INBOX TO BE ADDED! I CANNOT GUARANTEE YOU WILL BE ON THE LIST VIA POST COMMENTS!)

@safehavenmuse @siennanoelle01 @whiterose291 @mell-bell @blackhood5sos @ficrecsideblog @ifilwtmfc @deadpoolgirl23 @crappy-unicorn @sunsetcurve-h @elioelioeli0 @lovesanimals @popcrone818 @lolychu @deepsleepnat @tenaciousperfectionunknown @aunicornmademedoit @just-a-writer-here @simp4reggie @parkeret @faithiebrock01 @overlyhypedup @differentsoulrascalsalad @aesthetic-lyss @versaceapa @carleywhittaker @lostgirl219 @itsalexx21 @elllaoo4 @merxxleighann @mediocremunge @fantomlovesjuke4ever @dpaccione @oswin05 @kaylinfayezink @aberette13 @faithie-brock-gillespie01 @eharvey0218 @overlyhypedup @benstormy @auriandthepussicats @sarcasticsagittarius1998 @whothefuckstolemykeds @kcd15​ @siriuswvrld​ @princessvader15​ @xoxbloodreinaxox @heimdoodle​ @joshy-obx​ @lovesanimals​ @oopsiedoopsie23​ @am3l1a-24 @flying-solo-without-you​ @jaskiers-sweetkiss​ @lostrandomfangirl​n @must-be-a-weasley-92​ @jatp-holland​ @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch @dxlanhxlland​ @dasexydevitt13​ @ifilwtmfc @arianagrandes-things @kinda-really-lost​ @marinettepotterandplagg​​ @ssprayberrythings​​ @morgandamrose @thedarkqueenofavalon​ @zukoshonourr​ @crybabyddl @spooky-season-bitch​ @kcd15​ @morganayennefertyrell @magnet-girl​ @all-in-fangirl​ @kinda-really-lost @tenaciousperfectionunknown​ @badwolf00593​ @blowakissbabe​ @talksoprettyjjx @thesweetestsinner​ @kaitieskidmore1​ @writerinlearning​

[lettheladylead]

Title: A Night Out Ship: Baloo/Rebecca Summary:  Rebecca decides to have a night out and goes with Baloo to hang at Louie's Place. ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30942905

It wasn’t often that she humored Baloo by coming along with him to Louie’s (or that he humored her by not complaining too much when she asked). But Kit had been begging to babysit more to earn money for some new toy he wanted and Rebecca had to admit...she could use a night off. Molly was an angel, but she’d been very needy the past few days.

And it wasn’t like she had any other friends to spend time with.

So off to Louie’s they went, though Baloo was side eyeing her the entire flight there, clearly suspicious of her motivations. They’d been out before and it wasn’t a problem! She’d been to Louie’s before, no issues about it. He had no reason to think that she was being sneaky.

“So, Becks…”

“What?”

Baloo tapped his fingers against the wheel. “...you’re not gonna try to get Louie in trouble again, are ya? He’s real sorry ‘bout what happened last time!”

Rebecca scrunched her brow at her partner’s words before the memory of her last visit to Louie’s hit her: one of his regulars had groped her and Louie didn’t kick him out until she threatened to call the police. She’d completely forgotten about it thanks to how busy she’d been with work and Molly starting school soon.

“It’s fine, Baloo,” she finally replied, rolling her eyes at his loud sigh of relief. “Just so long as it doesn’t happen again.”

“Oh, no worries there!” Baloo smiled at her as the Sea Duck started down towards the water. “I personally told Ralphie to never darken Louie’s door again!”

Rebecca huffed and turned to look at the pilot next to her, thinking he was making fun of her. She stared at his face to see a surprisingly serious expression - and not his standard Gotta Land This Plane Safely look. She took another moment of staring at his profile before turning away with a slight blush on her cheeks. She’d had a long week, maybe a night of drinking too much would be exactly the break she needed.

-

And they were making fun of her.

They were always making fun of her, but this time she tried to play along and then it just made it worse and now she was stuck with these two boys who bounced off one another like a comedy routine while she nursed a drink that she didn’t really know what it was but it tasted good and it was her third one and she was feeling quite a lot more relaxed than she normally would have when being mocked by two absolute morons.

“Ahhh, Becky, Becky, Becky,” Louie cooed at her. “You really should drink some water. Baloo tells me you’re quite the lightweight!”

“No, no, you got it all wrong!” Baloo said with a smirk, taking a big gulp from his beer. “I didn’t say she’s a lightweight, I said she fights me about my weight!”

They laughed together - a lot harder than Rebecca thought was necessary for such a bad joke - and she responded by taking a bigger swig of her drink than she probably should’ve. She hadn’t stood up since arriving and she knew once she did, all the alcohol would hit her at once. It was nice to know she could trust Baloo to get her home safe, at least. If nothing else, he was a good guy.

“Don’t you two have any material that isn’t at my expense?” she said, leaning on one arm. “Like if there was a different girl here, how would you entertain her?”

Louie and Baloo locked eyes for a quick moment before turning back to her. “If there was a different girl here, then we’d be having a very different -”

Baloo cut off his friend with a hand over his mouth and glared. Louie shrugged and laughed as the bear pulled his hand away. “What he’s trying to say, Becks, is that you’re a classy lady. Louie’s Place doesn’t get a lot of classy ladies, so most of our jokes aren’t exactly your style.”

“Oh? Since when do you care about my style?” Rebecca laughed, snorting once and immediately trying to hide it by taking another sip of her drink. “Considering the kinds of things you say to me on a daily basis, I can’t imagine you’re holding back.”

“Izzat true, Baloo?” Louie elbowed him and faked a shocked look on his face. “Are you not treating your lady here with respect?”

Baloo glared. “Not my lady,” he started as a quiet mumble. “...and yes, Becky, I do hold back a lot out of respect for you!”

She took another sip, raising a suspicious eyebrow at him. “Is that why you told me my new pants make my ass look fat?”

Louie’s burst out into laughter as Baloo blushed, glaring at his friend and then glaring down at Rebecca. “N-no, I mean...you asked for my honest opinion! I’m a spontaneous guy! I say things without thinking sometimes!”

“Sometimes, sure, alright.” Rebecca smirked, feeling proud that she’d produced the biggest laugh of the night so far. “I don’t think spontaneity is an excuse for pissing me off every other day.”

Baloo frowned at that, looking over to Louie for some help, but the monkey just shrugged and grabbed his own drink to focus on that for a minute. Baloo huffed before taking another long gulp of his beer and decided to go on the offensive. “That’s just ‘cause you don’t know anything about being spontaneous! Sometimes you piss people off, that's just how it goes!”

She sent him both a pout and a glare before opening her mouth again. “Says you! I’m not just some stuffy, boring office woman! I can surprise people!”

Baloo let out a harsh laugh, though this time Louie didn’t join in, opting to stare awkwardly between the two bears instead. “Come on, Becks, no point in pretending to be something you’re not!”

Rebecca dramatically slammed down her glass and glared at him again. Then she glared down at the bar and huffed before gripping the edge of the table and standing up. She climbed up onto the bar and tossed her hands in the air. “See? You didn’t expect this, did you?”

A moment later and the rush of drunkenness flooded to her head and Rebecca quickly sat down, her legs swinging off the edge of the bar. Baloo and Louie locked eyes again and Louie moved towards the sink to grab her some water.

Baloo slid closer to her - his elbow lightly grazing the edge of her thigh. “Yeah, so, standing on a bar isn’t as crazy as you seem to think it is. If you ever do something really unexpected, I’ll let ya know.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Like what?”

“I dunno!” Baloo shrugged, looking over at Louie to see the monkey struggling to find a clean glass. “You gotta take people by surprise! Make ‘em speechless. I’ve had too many beers to come up with somethin’ now, but trust me, you'll have to try much harder to catch me off-guard.”

Rebecca let out a hmph! as she thought about his words. They wandered through her muddled mind and her eyes widened as the perfect way to prove her spontaneity came to her. Plus - it was guaranteed to make Baloo speechless.

She looked over at him and before he could even ask what she was doing, Rebecca grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him to her while she leaned forward. Her lips crashed against his and she squeezed her eyes shut in anticipation of him pushing her away and calling her crazy.

For a brief moment, her fear wasn’t wrong. Initially, his eyes grew as big as dinner plates and the red on his cheeks was not just because of the alcohol. He was certainly tempted to push her off, but mostly because she was drunk and they’d never done anything like that before. Well, either she was hiding some intense feelings for him or she really wanted to prove him wrong...or both. Whichever her reasons, he felt his heart do backflips as the realization of what was happening set it.

At least ten seconds passed with neither of them moving, and then all at once, they came together. Baloo set his beer down and moved one hand to her waist while the other crawled around her back, cradling her closer to him as he leaned in to deepen the kiss.

Rebecca kept her hands wrapped up in his shirt collar, but tightened her grip as she tilted her head and slightly opened her mouth against his in a clear attempt to bring their kiss to the next level. She wanted to be shocked by his reciprocity, but she was really just focusing on the feeling of his hands wrapped around her. She’d kissed him before, as a joke, but only light pecks and he’d never kissed back. This was something very new.

Baloo followed her lead and pulled her even closer to him - her knee bumped against his chest - as the hand that was on her back moved up to the back of her head. He tilted his head, too, and pushed a little more towards her - relishing the tiny little, satisfied-sounding noise that came from her throat. He wouldn’t dare call it a moan, but it was definitely something. Never in a million years had he imagined this actually, really happening. He’d barely imagined it in his head! But…

“Whoa!”

The two bears broke apart at the sudden sound of Louie’s voice. Never thinking of manners or social graces, he gave them a big confused smile. “Should I give you two the room?”

Baloo and Rebecca were breathing a little heavily and staring into each other’s eyes as he spoke. Baloo’s hands slowly moved down to cradle her hips while her grip on his shirt loosened to the point where he could easily pull away. Instead they stared for another few seconds before Rebecca finally spoke.

“I…” she said quietly. “I...need to use the ladies’ room!”

The pilot didn’t react as she quickly jumped away from him and hobbled towards the bathroom, occasionally losing her balance and grabbing bar stools or tables to get upright again. Baloo stayed exactly as he was before, only turning his head slightly to watch her walk away.

Louie placed the glass of water in front of him. “My man...what was that?”

Baloo didn’t bother trying to hide the dark blush on his face. “I, uh...I’m...I’m not sure.”

“Well,” Louie leaned onto the counter. “It definitely wasn’t nothing!”

“Gee, thanks, Captain Obvious,” Baloo grumbled at his friend. “She was just tryin’ to prove that she can be spontaneous. I guess.”

“Uh huh. That looked like a lot more than her tryin' to prove somethin’, buddy.”

Baloo copied Louie and leaned onto the counter, partially covering his mouth with his hand. He could still feel her lips on his and it made him feel a lot of funny feelings. “...yeah, I know.”

Louie raised an eyebrow. “Wanna tell me what’s goin’ through that thick head of yours?”

Baloo huffed and opened his mouth to speak when he was interrupted by a voice that made him blush once again.

“I’d like to go home now.”

She was already turned around and walking towards the door before Baloo and Louie could see the look on her face. But the way she was cradling her purse seemed like she wasn’t in the best mood anymore. No doubt she was embarrassed, but Baloo was stuck wondering exactly what kind of embarrassed and how awkward this would be in the morning and if there was anything he could do to fix it.

And, well. If he wanted to fix it...or if he wanted to see where it could go. He wasn’t really sure about anything at that particular moment. He also wasn’t sure he should fly the Sea Duck after the amount of beer he’d had, but it wouldn’t be his first time flying with a buzz. Probably not the last, either.

He looked back at Louie and shrugged. “Maybe next time.”

Louie responded with a short laugh. “Baloo, if anything happens between you two, you’d better give me more than a maybe!”

Baloo rolled his eyes and chuckled in embarrassment before stomping off after his partner. He didn’t know what to expect for the ride home, but he was certain it was going to be the most awkward ride of his life.

Fortunately, when he climbed up into his plane, he found Rebecca curled up in the passenger seat, snoring loudly. He wondered for a moment if she was faking, but decided it didn’t really matter. Neither of them were ready to have a conversation about what happened and that wasn’t changing anytime soon.

[littleoddwriter]

Patience | Roman Sionis x Male!Reader - Lemon

"male!reader and Roman sionis: long distance relationship + 'I need you, don't leave me please'Reader is on a call with Roman but roman has a business meeting to attend to, which makes reader very sad because he doesn't want to end the call yet and so he gets all whiny and asks roman to stay on the phone with him (you can also make it nsfw lol) and roman eventually relents and is like fine ill blow off this meeting and let someone else handle it (and this is where you could make it nsfw lol)" @iscariot-rising​ A/N: We fleshed this out together via chats, and uh, yee. It mutated into smut only, lmfao.

summary; You and Roman are having a LDR and you miss him, but he has a business meeting. Due to your impatience, you end up facetiming him in the middle of the meeting. Smut ensues. 

notes; KINKS: Daddy!Kink; Degradation + Dirty Talk (reader is being called a ‘whore’ and a ‘slut’, so if that is not your jam, don’t read it); Dildos; Dom/Sub; Masturbation; Orgasm Delay. SUBMISSIVE Male!Reader; Phone Sex via FaceTime; LDR; PWP; Lemon; Smut. 

"Baby, I really have to hang up, now. The meeting is about to start, 'kay?" Roman said, looking at the round table across the room, where more and more people found their seats.

"But Daddy, I need you. Please, don't leave me! Please, Daddy!" He heard you whine over the phone.

He rolled his eyes fondly and sighed.

"Listen, sweet boy, this shouldn't take too long. When I'm done here, we can go back to talking. How does that sound, hm?"

"Not enough. I need you, now. Please?"

Roman shook his head and looked at his watch. He had two minutes left to get to the table before the others would start conversing without him already.

"Y/N, no. And this is the last time I'm going to say it, baby. Either you accept it now and we continue talking after the meeting, or I will hang up right away and not call you until much later. 'Kay?"

He could hear the sharp intake of breath from you and then a defeated sigh.

"Fine."

You were pouting. Fuck, he wanted to fly over to you and just fucking ravish you. He hated the distance between the two of you, but you had to leave Gotham - and America for that matter - for a while, due to work. He tried to talk you out of it, told you that you didn't necessarily need to work anyway, but you refused. It almost escalated into a nasty fight, but he had caught himself before he could have ruined everything and possibly have lost you for good.

"Good boy," he purred. "Now, Daddy has to leave, 'kay? I'll talk to you later, my little prince."

He heard you chuckle sweetly. It made him smile.

"Okay, Daddy. Good luck!"

In the back of his throat he made an appreciative noise and then hung up on you, before he got lost talking to you entirely.

Then Roman put the phone into his inner breast pocket and walked over to the table, where almost everyone had arrived already. Pleasantries, fake smiles and handshakes were exchanged. It made him feel sick. All of them were so fucking fake, shallow, without true ambitions. That's why he liked you so much, just like Zsasz. You weren't fake.

Sometime into the meeting, his phone started vibrating against his chest.

Sighing quietly, he pulled it out to look who was calling, only to immediately tilt it towards himself, and press it against his chest, so that no one could see the screen.

For fuck's sake, y/n! He thought.

"Excuse me, gentlemen. I have an emergency to attend to. I'm not sure how long it'll take, so just keep on talking, 'kay?" He said, fake smile and all, and got up as he received affirmative nods and hums from around the table.

With intent, he hurried over to the bathroom in quick strides. Fortunately it was a private toilet, so he locked it behind himself and didn't have to fear someone coming in for a while.

Then he looked at his phone again, still vibrating in his hand.

You were trying to facetime him, and naturally, facetime showed the other person and what they were doing before you even accepted it. This was dangerous and if you weren't hundreds and thousands of miles away from him, he would come home to you and punish you thoroughly for such reckless behaviour.

Because as it was, you had a dildo shoved into you and weren't afraid of showing him your entire body from an enticing angle; even though you knew he was having this meeting. Fuck, he really needed to teach you some manners, when you came back.

Although he would much rather ignore you and teach you a lesson, he accepted your request.

A throaty moan that somewhat resembled the word 'Daddy' greeted him.

Quickly, he turned the volume down a little, as the moan sounded way too fucking loud and he was paranoid that perhaps someone outside could here it after all.

"Baby boy, what exactly do you think you're doing?" He asked, a dangerous edge to his voice.

"Mmmhhh, I told you I needed you, Daddy," you replied breathless, whining and humming sensually.

"Yeah, I can see that. Fuck! You couldn't wait till after the fucking meeting, could you, you little slut?" He rasped, trying to pierce you with a fierce glare over the small screen.

His words and gaze only seemed to make you moan louder.

"N-no, Daddy. I need you, now. Please, please, please!"

He leaned his head back, swallowed thickly and let out a breathy groan.

"Fuck, 'kay, fuck. Oh, baby. This is dangerous, you know? You're putting Daddy in danger here. Just because your greedy little hole misses me so much, hm? Isn't it so, my boy?" His voice was husky with arousal that started coursing through his body, his cock stirring in the confines of his suit pants.

"I know, Dad- ah, Daddy. I'm sorry-y," you moaned.

"You don't sound very sorry to me, baby," Roman rasped. "Couldn't even wait another hour to fill up that sloppy hole, huh? Couldn't wait for Daddy to instruct you and make you earn it. Couldn't - fuck - stop yourself from taking that big fat fake cock and shove it up your slutty little hole, hm?"

As he spoke, he gripped his own rapidly hardening cock through the fabric of his pants and underwear, relieving some of the pressure that started to build up.

He could see you shake your head frantically.

"No, no, no, couldn't wait. Needed to be f-filled so badly. Ah, Daddy! Please!"

Roman growled, which had you let out another loud moan, as the dildo looked to have hit your sweet spot simultaneously.

"It's not as good as the real thing, is it? Say it, you little whore. Fucking say it! It's not as good. Couldn't ever be, hm? Never had as good of a cock as mine."

"It's n-not, ah, as good as - fuck - the real th-thing, Daddy! Fuck! Please, Daddy, please. Ma-ah-y I c-come?"

By that point, he had unbuttoned and unzipped his pants and pulled out his hard cock, stroking it in a hard, fast pace, just how he liked it. The precome that was beading at the tip slicked his way a little, but not enough. He didn't mind.

"Not just yet, baby. You've been so bad, you can wait a few more minutes, can't you?"

"No, pl-please!"

He groaned. Fuck, he could never get enough of your desperate begging.

"Wait, baby. If you come without my permission, then that will be the last phone call until tomorrow at best. Y'hear me?"

He smeared more of his precome over his cock, thumbing his slit, and groaned hoarsely. Roman tried to keep quiet, but, fuck, it was difficult.

You couldn't answer him anymore, it seemed. Only moans and whines were audible to him, such as the slick, sloppy noises of the dildo thrusting in and out of your hole.

Roman was close, he could feel the telltale heat and pull of it in his abdomen and thighs.

"Fuck, shit, baby!" He rasped. "Come for me. Come for Daddy, you fuck- ah!"

He came. His come splattered onto the tiles on the floor. Some of it landed on his hand, as it slowed down to small pulses.

Faintly, he could hear you moan loudly, desperately, little uh, uh, uhs coming from you. When he looked at his phone, he saw you lying limp and twitching on your bed, the dildo still stuck between your legs and your chest rising and falling rapidly as you panted.

As the two of you had caught your breath, he looked at his come-stained hand and wrinkled his nose.

"Ew," he said, holding it away from himself.

"Thank you, Daddy," he heard you whisper hoarsely, your voice completely fucked.

"Mhm, you better," he muttered under his breath. "I have to go, now, baby boy. And even though you've been such a nasty little boy just now, I'll talk to you later, 'kay?"

You chuckled, "Okay, Daddy. I love you."

His stomach did a little flip at that, his heart clenched because of your words.

"Yeah, I know," he replied and hung up immediately.

Roman sighed and put his phone away. Then he went over to the sink, washed his hands and then tucked himself back into his underwear and pants, closing them. After that he cleaned up the remnants of the spontaneous facetime-sex off of the floor.

Looking at himself in the mirror, to see if he looked presentable, he sighed again. He really fucking missed you. 

[withyoutilltheendofthismess]

Face masks

Paring: Aaron Hotchner x female!reader

Word count: 1.3K

Warnings: Pure Fluff, Nudity

Summary: A day off from work gets interrupted but is that always a bad thing? 

a/n: This is my first ever fic and my first ever fanfiction. Constructive criticism is very appreciated.

Warm Water surrounding both of your bodies, your back pressed against his chest, warm breath grazing your neck where his face was nuzzled, hand resting on the naked skin of your stomach.

Aaron had come home late after an especially tiring case but sleeping in wasn't on the agenda of the day, Jack needed to be brought over to a Friend. The exhaustion not fleeing in the remaining day he and you decided to engage in a warm bath, relaxing together.

 It was intimate, going way beyond anything sexual, enjoying each other's company, feeling the other's body closely. His body was strong behind you, his arms momentarily flexed when he moved his arms. One was now resting on your knee which was pulled up, the other one reaching higher to cup your breast. Your head fell back against his shoulder and you pressed a soft kiss to his check, now firmly tucked under his chin. You opted to pull one arm back to scratch the hair at the base of his neck which pulled a soft sigh out of him. He turned his face towards you, aiming for even more closure but you interrupted him in the process of doing so. 

Both of you had a face mask on and he was going to ruin yours by touching it.  You had first done one on yourself and when he walked into the bathroom you couldn't resist to also put on some of the creme on his handsome face. Even a unit chief needs to take care of his skin. How cheesy of you to share a bath with matching face masks like some love sick teenager couple.

Never had you thought you could be this content, your relationship with the agent has been going on for about half a year now and things were going steady. It was definitely hard work to remember making time for a relationship with both of your busy schedules from work. Even though you weren't an unit chief managing your own graphic design business took something out of you. So this bathing moment was special.

That was until the doorbell interrupted your little moment. Aaron sighed into your neck, pulling your body even more towards him.

“ 's probably not something important.“ He nuzzled.

“Aaron, it could be, I should get this.“

A sound of disagreement was the answer to your suggestion, it was all you needed to know. If Aaron Hotchner doesn't want something to happen, then it's not going to. That's how it works. Luckily you don't work under him so this rule does not apply to you.

“I'll be right back. Don't let the water go cold.“

You laughed slightly, removing yourself from his arms, climbing out of the tub and wrapping yourself into a soft towel. You looked back to your boyfriend,who was now alone in the water pouting at you, and let out a small laugh. You made it down to the door safely and opened it while keeping your towel secure to your figure with the other hand. 

On the other side the sight of a man greeted you. He seemed to be as surprised as you were over the meeting. His eyes glided over to the sign on the doorbell, unmistakably checking if he was indeed at the right house. Coming to the conclusion he in fact was he met your eyes again.

“I'm sorry, I don't think we had been introduced before. I am David Rossi, I work with Hotch. Is he here?“

Meeting someone from your boyfriend's work definitely wasn't planned. He had wanted to wait before formally introducing you to the team because he wanted to the treasure the moments with you without everything having to be shared with everyone. You forced your feelings of panic down and answered the kind man as professional as possible.

“I am Y/N Y/L/N. He spoke about you a view times. “

“Nice to hear that because he has never mentioned you at least once.“ Rossi grumbled. Just in the moment when you were about to tell him that talking to Aaron might be difficult, the man in question had apparently felt ignored. There was no other reason for him to cry out from the second story: “Honey, Love are you coming back here?“ 

Rossi raised an eyebrow at that. You had  previously avoided the silent question what exactly your relationship towards Aaron was but now it was exposed. Rossi had rarely heard his colleague speak in such a soft matter nor hear him use not one but two nicknames. If he had thought before that you might be Jack's babysitter or cleaning the house then that illusion was surely destroyed now. He took it upon himself to answer the request and his deep voice that was such a contrast to yours rumbled through the house: “I need to speak to you about some things.“

Realizing there was no way of getting out of this you invited the man in. You were now sitting with him at the kitchen table, both of you nursing a glass of wine. 

“Soo, how long have you been keeping this a secret from everyone?“

“About 6 months.“

Rossi visibly gulped, it was clear that he was close with Aaron, beyond being colleagues at work and he took not knowing about the relationship really personal. You placed a hand on his arm, soothing him: “Don't think too much about it, you probably know how Aaron is, he isn't particular keen on sharing anything. Took me one week to even get his name out of him.“ At that Rossi laughed and soon you were sharing stories about Aaron's individual characteristics. You grew more comfortable in Rossi's presence, maybe meeting his team wouldn't be that bad, they were his family and doesn't  the girlfriend has to meet them at one point? You were going to have to talk with Aaron about that. The man in question was walking down the stairs and joined you. There were still parts of the face mask visible and you took it upon yourself to wipe them away, not aware that Rossi was watching your every move. 

“You got really lucky, Aaron. I hope you know that.“ You blushed under his words and that increased when Aaron replied : “I do.“ 

He slung an across your shoulders, pulling you close. “What was that important to come here on a work free day?“ Your boyfriend asked.

“Ah, yes. I nearly forgot that upon meeting la belleza over here. I am throwing a little party this evening, spontaneous decision, and I kindly invite you and Y/N of course, too.“

You felt Aaron hesitating next to you. The agreement was to wait before meeting the team so he wasn't sure what to do now. You took matters into your own hands: “We'll be there.“

---

After Rossi had left, Aaron came up behind you, wrapping you in a hug. He whispered into your ear: “Are you sure about that decision? They are gonna be a handful.“

You answered by turning around and kissing him, his soft lips warm against yours. He responded immediately, pressing you against him and deepening the kiss even more. You pulled away and leaned your forehead against his, both of you out of breath. 

“I have never been more sure about anything.“

“That's nice but can you wash off that stuff on your face, please. It tastes horrible.“

You laughed, having completely forgotten that you still had that mask on. But now at least you had one less thing to do to prepare for the party tonight. You weren't nervous. How could you not like the people that shared your love towards Aaron? Sometimes the hardest decisions turn out to be the easiest. 

Tag list: @winterscaptain @arganfics @agenthotchner (Send an ask to be tagged or removed)

[asgardian--angels]

Some more Good Omens Book minutiae

There have already been some good posts highlighting trivia and changes between the book and show (a couple are here and here) so I thought I’d add in some more that might be useful and haven’t been overdone yet. Ones I think are most helpful are bolded!

Crowley can see in the dark (because he’s a demon, not because he’s a snake)

Crowley does eat (and notes that sleeping is enjoyable after a heavy meal), but on at least one canonical occasion Aziraphale takes Crowley’s portion of food for himself (angel food cake, to be exact, and he does it without needing to ask) so infer what you will about how we never see Crowley with food in the show

Crowley does read, or at the very least it mentions him attempting to calm his nerves by reading a novel

Aziraphale learned magic when he took a class in the 1870s taught by famous stage magician John Maskelyne

Aziraphale takes his tea without sugar

Crowley does not like to shapeshift, because he is afraid he’ll forget how to turn back 

It’s not terribly clear but somewhat implied that Nanny Ashtoreth and Brother Francis were NOT Crowley and Aziraphale (they reference a ‘team’ working for them) but that the two did exchange and compare notes on Warlock’s progress frequently. So thank Neil and Co. for the screenplay choices. Additionally, Brother Francis never actually did any real gardening, he just miracled everything to look perfect

When Warlock was 6 years old, nanny and gardener left and were replaced by two tutors, Mr. Harrison (evil) and Mr. Cortese (good)

Aziraphale will employ any means “short of actual physical violence” to discourage customers in his bookshop, including unpleasant damp odors and glowering looks to anyone who walks in

That clunky watch Crowley wears was custom-made to have the time in 20 world capitals as well as the time in Hell, which was always “Too Late”, and whose battery burned out years ago but he never noticed so it kept working

In 1653 Aziraphale added his own annotations to the proof sheets of a Bible published by Bilton & Scaggs Publishing (the same as who published the Nice and Accurate Prophecies), adding a bit about losing his flaming sword (basically the dialogue in the scene of the series where God confronts him at the gate in episode 3), and is now known as the Bugger Alle This Bible, one of a special collection of misprinted Bibles Aziraphale is proud to own

Aziraphale does watch films. This includes one documentary about gorillas making nests. He also makes an Exorcist reference.

For 6000 years Aziraphale thought dolphins were fish

Crowley watched Mary Poppins on TV at Christmas one year

Aziraphale buys his clothes, while Crowley manifests them

Anathema refers to Crowley and Aziraphale as “two consenting cycle repairmen” :)

Anathema’s bicycle is named Phaeton

Aziraphale’s bookshop is situated directly next to another bookshop called ‘Intimate Books’ and he occasionally gets confused customers that wrongly come into his shop

Anathema is British, not American, in the book

Adam has an older sister named Sarah

Aziraphale is the first angel to own a computer

After the non-Armageddon, Adam alters reality to send Warlock on a plane to America, because Adam thinks America is a cool and magical place and that Warlock deserves something good. (We do not find out if Warlock’s life improves, only that he liked England because it was ‘a good place to be an American’)

Crowley was so impressed by how diabolically mundane the warranty conditions for computers were that he sent a stack of them down to Hell’s ‘Immortal Souls’ agreement department with a memo saying ‘Learn, guys’

When Crowley trapped Hastur on his answering machine, he considered taking the tape and playing it in his car until it became Freddie Mercury, but he decided even that was taking it too far

While NOT show canon, in the book the combination to Crowley’s safe containing the holy water is 4-0-0-4, the year he “slithered onto this stupid, marvellous planet” (Neil has stated that the combination in the show is meaningless and was the default for the safe they bought)

In the book, it does NOT expressly say that Crowley destroys the plants he deems failures, just that he leaves and returns an hour later with an empty flowerpot

Crowley’s flat contains a bedroom, office, kitchen, lounge, and bathroom, each “forever clean and perfect” because he doesn’t really “live” there, as well as a fridge stocked with gourmet food that never spoils and the fridge isn’t even plugged in

Shadwell believes that Aziraphale is a Russian spy

Crowley and Aziraphale had both visited Shadwell’s apartment exactly once (and Aziraphale was rather disgusted by the state of the place)

In the book (as opposed to the show) Aziraphale is full aware (and nonplussed) that there’s only a 50/50 chance Heaven would win against Hell in Armageddon, and that it doesn’t matter for humans so much anyways because everyone will be killed horribly as civilian casualties during the war itself (a hilarious and very bitchy speech absolutely worth reading, when he possesses Marvin the TV preacher)

The road to Hell isn’t paved with good intentions, rather with frozen door-to-door salesmen, and young demons go ice-skating down it on weekends

Madame Tracy’s real name is Marjorie Potts

Aziraphale has “neat, copperplate” handwriting

Crowley is an optimist

It turns out, Hastur’s murder of the telephone salespeople prevented a Crowley-esque domino effect of thousands of people getting angry from the calls and passing that anger on and on, thus actually spreading a wave of low-level goodness across London

In the book, the M25 wasn’t actually on fire, but rather an inexplicable glowing combination of “pain and dark light” called infra-black, and was both 700 degrees Celsius and -140 at the same time. The Bentley spontaneously combusted when crossing it.

When Crowley meets Aziraphale-as-Tracy, he does say ‘Is that you? Nice dress’ but the TV version added the ‘It suits you.’ However in the book he also says ‘Aren’t you going to introduce me to your new body?’ :)))

When Adam acknowledges Crowley at the airbase, Crowley feels true terror for the first time in his life, because while Hell could make you cease to exist, the Antichrist could make it so you never existed in the first place

When Aziraphale makes the soldier disappear, he actually was transported back to his childhood home in America where his family lives

In the book, to get them both home from Tadfield Crowley steals a Jeep from the airbase

Crowley and Aziraphale are deadass just referred to as ‘the couple with the bottle [of wine]’ one time

There is no body swap scene at the end, because there didn’t need to be; in the book, the stakes of Aziraphale and Crowley’s Arrangement were not nearly as high. A big deal was never made of it, as they were too unimportant to warrant the attention of their superiors. Retribution never came. While they could get in trouble (and Crowley was threatened many times) for defying orders concerning the Apocalypse, little mention was made of their friendship being a crime. Thus, they never had any real reason to deny being friends, and were much more comfortable with their loyalties and each other. This lack of tension marks the biggest divergence between the series and book, and creates a starkly different (and interesting!) dynamic for the characters in the show.

Just me but I get the distinct sense that book Aziraphale and Crowley are already an old bickering married couple and this explains the distinct lack of pining lmao.

Anyway, I hope these were enjoyable or helpful!

[skzsauce01]

Apologies in Advance

Description: Everyone in the company knows about the time their best chemist and best field agent worked on a mission together-- one of the worst done missions in JYP history. Needless to say, they don’t along. Despite that, you and Lee Minho are paired together again for another mission. Hopefully, history doesn’t repeat itself.

Warning: murder

Word Count: 6.4k

Pairing: reader x secret agent!Minho, enemies-to-lovers-ish

Lee Minho, the file clearly said. You closed the folder and reopened it, hoping the name would spontaneously change. To your disappointment, Lee Minho was still printed in bold, black letters.

“--meeting adjourned.”

Everyone but you got up from their chairs and left the conference room. Instead, you were staring at the paper in front of you, willing the letters to rearrange themselves into a different name.

“Y/N? You okay?”

The case officer and your closest work friend looked at you with concern, and you wanted to throttle her.

“Nayeon, you know I can’t do this,” you hissed. “Why did you assign this to me? We had an agreement!”

She shrugged. “Direct orders from the boss himself. You knew this day was going to come. You’re our best chemist, and he’s the best field agent in the business. In theory, you guys make a great duo.”

“That didn’t go so well last time, did it?” you bit out.

The first and only time you worked with Minho had gone horribly. One of the worst done missions in JYP history. The two of you were bickering about something, and it had quickly turned personal with him making a snide remark about how he couldn’t believe he, best in the business, had to work with a rookie with no almost no field experience. He was right, but you were fed up with his stuck-up attitude and promptly stormed off. Neither of you realized the target left the hotel until a call from headquarters reported that his car had been spotted by traffic cameras and why was he there? Long story short, a short pursuit and one vehicular manslaughter later, the mission was complete, and you and Minho limped out of the situation with several broken bones, still arguing.

Needless to say, you and Minho got along as well as oil and a match.  

However, direct orders are not to be ignored, so you could only huff and complain to Nayeon who was all but sympathetic to your plight. Minutes into your venting (“Did you know that his phone lockscreen is a picture of himself? What kind of egotistical person does that?”), she was called to another meeting. She left with a cheerful “Have fun!” and a promise to buy you lunch if you returned unscathed.

On your walk to your office, you skimmed the rest of the contents of the file. It seemed simple enough: be Minho’s arm candy at some fancy party tonight and kill the target in a discreet fashion. The only worrying part to you, Minho aside, was the window of opportunity. The target was a foreign businessman, and he would only be at the location for a few hours.

You had already finished reading the information about the target and started compiling a list of possible poisons to use when you arrived at your office. Upon your arrival, a black garment bag and a shoe box that weren’t there before greeted you. There was a yellow sticky note attached to the box.

“Good luck!” it read and was signed by Sana from wardrobe.

Word must have gotten out that the most dysfunctional team in company history was working together again.

You moved aside the garment bag and sunk down into your chair. Truth be told, you weren’t sure if you could face seeing Minho again. The disastrous mission was technically your fault because you had broken one of the most important rules of your job: don’t lose your cool. You had also succeeded in proving Minho right-- you were just an amateur and were not qualified for the mission. That bothered you the most. You pushed the thought of him out of your head and refocused on the task at hand-- preparing for the mission. The bottom drawer of your desk was filled with vials of different poisons, and after much deliberation, you selected tetrodotoxin and, as a backup, batrachotoxin. You unzipped the garment bag to find a black dress and a clutch. With care, you placed three vials of each neurotoxin and two syringes into the clutch. It was more than overkill, but it never hurt to be prepared. Then you reopened the file to review the mission.

As per the instructions, at seven o’clock you packed your uniform for the mission into an overnight bag, and a company driver took you to the ritzy hotel on the other side of the city. The company had made a reservation for the mission, and the driver handed you the card key for the room. The elevator ride up was quiet, and the gentleman who rode with you got off on the ninth floor. You were on the sixteenth and dreading the moment you arrived.

The elevator chimed, and you got off and walked down the hall to find room 1618. You timed your footsteps to the beat of your racing heart and found the gold number plate looking back at you in less than a minute. The card key easily slid in, but the door opened before you even reached for the handle.

“Hey, baby,” was the greeting you received. Lee Minho leaned against the doorframe and gave you an appraising look up and down.

You wanted to personally kill the person who designed this cover story. And maybe the director too for assigning it to you.

“Hey,” you replied back with the same sultry tone he used. You gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Did you miss me?”

“Of course I did,” he purred. He let you inside the room, and as soon as the door shut, he dropped his facade. “I checked out the room and hotel already. It's not bugged."

Thank goodness. At least you didn’t have to put on your persona for at least one more hour.

"I hope you got more field experience these past years. We don’t need another repeat of last time,” he said. He still loomed by the doorway and watched you carefully as you scanned the room. “I was out for months thanks to you.”

His tie was unknotted, and you resisted the urge to choke him with it. He was as condescending as you remembered. “I’m well aware.” You headed to the bathroom and called over your shoulder, “I’ll be ready before eight thirty.”

Without waiting for an answer, you went inside and locked the door. It wouldn’t take you that long to do your hair and makeup, but you intended to take your sweet time, so you could have minimal contact with him.

However, you forgot about the dreaded dress zipper problem. You were able to get it up a little bit more than halfway, but the zipper refused to budge after that. Already there were beads of sweat on your forehead, threatening to ruin your makeup.  

There was a knock on the door. “It’s almost eight thirty.”

Curses. “I’m almost done,” you lied. Why was this happening to you?

A few minutes later, you were still struggling with the same issue, and Minho knocked again. “It’s eight thirty, Y/N. We’re supposed to leave in ten minutes.”

You softly swore and reluctantly cracked open the door. Despite how much you despised him, you really needed him now. With a sigh, you called out, “Minho? I need help.” With one hand holding the front of the cursed dress, you stepped out and stood with your back facing him. “Can you zip me up?”

Minho choked on air when you stepped out, and he turned his head to the side.

“What?” you frowned.

“I was just surprised. JYP’s best chemist defeated by a mere zipper?” he teased.

“We’re in a rush here,” you said through gritted teeth. “I would appreciate it if you just simply do what I requested.”

“Prickly, are we?” he mumbled, but he did what you asked.

“Thank you.”

You disappeared back into the bathroom to clean up the mess you made and to grab your poison-filled clutch. When you emerged, Minho was holding his phone in front of him with one hand and tousling his hair with the other. So he was still full of himself. He noticed you staring, or rather glaring.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

He sighed. “Could you put your personal vendetta against me away for tonight?”

“That’s rich coming from you considering the first thing you said to me today was a dig at what happened two years ago,” you spat out. “If anything, it’s you with something against me.”

“If I remember correctly, the first thing I said was, ‘Hey, baby.”’

“First thing coming from you, not your persona.”

“Fine. I’m sorry,” he said. He looked at you directly. “About everything. Now can you not screw up this time?”

You pressed your lips together. You had plenty of poison to kill him and the target at your literal fingertips. Instead, you swallowed the retort at the back of your throat and agreed.

“The car should be here now,” you tightly said. “Let’s go.”

In a normal setting, you would have left without waiting for a reply. But this was a mission, and you had to cling to Minho’s arm for dear life like the trophy girlfriend you were supposed to be. He looked as excited as you felt. The elevator ride down felt too long, and every little thing about Minho was bothering you.

“Why is your cologne so strong?” you muttered. “I feel like I have to sneeze every five seconds.”

“Your perfume isn’t that great either,” he shot back. “Did you purposely choose the worst smelling one?”

The door chimed and opened, revealing a lobby full of well-to-do people dressed in velvet and silk. Their eyes were trained on you and Minho, trying to discern exactly who you two were.

“Anything for you, babe,” you sweetly replied through a false relaxed smile.

There were whispers and pointing fingers, and you were suddenly aware of how intent the stares were. Most of your past covers involved you being a wallflower, so this was an entirely new experience.

Sensing your nervousness, Minho pulled you closer. Just as you were about to feel grateful, he leaned down a little and hissed, “Stop being so stiff,” in your ear.

So much for reassurance.

You gripped his arm tighter than necessary and dug your nails in. You doubted he would feel anything through his suit jacket, but it felt good to inflict some damage onto him. Still, you relaxed your body and pretended to laugh at his nonexistent comment.

There was not a car outside the hotel but a limousine. A middle-aged man dressed in formal wear opened the door for you, and you thanked him with a coy smile. He winked in return.

Goodness, you hated this cover.

Minho slid onto the seat beside you, and as soon as the door was shut, the ride to the party began. He kept one hand on your knee, and it burned. A perfectly appropriate act for a young playboy businessman and his trophy girlfriend, but not for two almost-enemies who wanted nothing more than to stay twenty feet away from each other. You could feel his heat through the thin fabric of your dress. Uncomfortable was a bit of an understatement.

You rested your head on his shoulder and whispered, “Could you not do that?” while subtly jutting your chin out towards your leg.

He smirked, and you wanted to dig your nail into the corners of his mouth and rip it off. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he said out loud. “I have to. I have a meeting tomorrow.”

The pout on your face was a combination of the cover and your own reaction. “Please?” you whined, using the highest pitch you could muster. You saw him wince, and you happily continued. “Please? I know you like the pufferfish at that restaurant.” You tapped your clutch.

Take the hint already, dang it!

The threat of a potential poisoning had no effect on him. You had to admire that; most people would comply with your demands almost immediately, but Minho wasn't "most people." Unfortunately for you, that meant you and Minho would be playing a perpetual game of tug of war.

There was a scowl forming on your features, but you quickly rearranged it into another pout. Your chin was starting to hurt from sticking your lower lip out so much. You dramatically sighed and pretended to concede. The rest of the ride Minho kept his hand on your knee, and you plotted ways to poison his food.

The driver announced your arrival at the location of the party, a mansion with tall windows and balconies across the walls and water features decorating the front lawn. It was beautiful. Too bad there would be a murder happening here.

The door on Minho's side opened. He stepped out first, tipped the bellhop, and held out a hand for you. You flashed your second coy smile of the night. This one blushed and looked away.

You linked your arm with Minho's, and the two of you began to make your way to the entrance while surveying the area. His cologne tickled your nose, and you inched as far away as you possibly could be. Unfortunately, any empty space between the two of you was deemed unacceptable by Minho.

"Could you be more obvious? I think everyone’s noticed you trying to escape me at this point," he whispered. He moved his arm to your waist and pulled you closer. "Play the pestilential part."

You slithered out of his hold and stood in front of him, pretending to adjust his tie. "Will do, darling," you said aloud, enunciating every word with a tight tug. You hummed, pretending to think. "Is that too tight?"

You were sure he was going to turn blue if he didn't loosen his tie in the next few minutes. But he only smirked and replied, "It's perfect."

If he ended up dying from a lack of oxygen, it would be his own fault, you reasoned.

Some guests stopped to introduce themselves, and Minho easily answered their thinly veiled questions of "So, who are you exactly?"

"An entrepreneur from Australia," he would breezily reply. The guests would praise his Korean, remarking how fluent he sounded for a foreigner. Minho would laugh and would launch into a story about how he fell in love with Korean culture after a trip here. "I saw an excellent opportunity to expand my business here. And there are other reasons of course." Here, he would give you a sidelong glance, and you would giggle and pretend to be flattered.

After the fifth round of introductions-- how were there so many businessmen named Lee Minhyuk-- you spotted the target. He slipped out of a limousine, and a horde of opportunists greeted him with handshakes and what you were sure was flattery. At this point, you realized you and Minho had never formally come up with a plan to kill him. There was a woman half his age by his side, and you recognized her as his new wife. No instructions were given how to deal with her; the only guideline was to make sure there were no witnesses.

"Ooh! Look at her dress!" you interjected during Businessman Lee Minhyuk #3's story about his latest trip to Malaysia. You pointed a finger at the wife and called your partner’s code name. "Daniel, baby, will you buy me one like that?"

Minho, thankfully, got the signal. "Sure. Whatever you want, babe," he nonchalantly replied. He pretended to do a double take. "Is that Yoshifumi Shido?" he asked Lee Minhyuk #3. "I didn't know he was going to be here."

Lee Minhyuk #3 started talking, but you tuned him out and kept your eye on the target. His wife's dress was fortunately a bright red, making her easy to spot in a sea of dark colors. She weaved in and out of the crowd, occasionally pausing to give cheek kisses to other women who you assumed were her friends. The target shook hands and made light conversation, but it was clear that he was in a hurry to get inside the mansion.

"We must get going now," you heard Minho say. "I wanted to talk to him about business."

Lee Minhyuk #3 nodded understandingly. "Of course. Pleasure to meet you."

Minho gave him one of his charismatic smiles. "It was all mine, sir."

You tried to link arms with Minho again when the two of you started the walk to the mansion, but he wanted you as close as possible. Your right side was flushed to his left, and you could feel every move he made. The burning sensation blossomed from your chest. It crawled up to your cheeks and down your spine until it spread everywhere.

"How's the noose around your neck?" you asked to distract yourself.

The tight knot around his neck had to be cutting into his esophagus by now, yet there was still no sign of visible distress from him. How was he not dead?

"I don't think your pathetic attempt even qualifies as one. Your lack of field work is showing," he said in a sing-song voice. He smirked and looked down to see your reaction but instead found that a section of your bangs fell from its pin.

“Wait,” he told you.

You were about to snap back an angry, “What?” when he turned you towards him and tucked in the locks for you. You looked up at him, shocked by his sudden kindness. He muttered something, and although you couldn’t quite make it out, you swore he said, “Lovely.”

“What?” you said, still incredulous.

“Let’s go,” he coughed.

There were too many people around now to make snarky remarks, and the both of you silently agreed to keep quiet. The two of you entered and momentarily stood by the front entrance. You rested your head against Minho's arm and pretended to be in awe of the chandelier and high ceiling when you were really looking at the people on the second floor balcony. There was no red dress in sight.

Minho, meanwhile, was scanning the first floor. From the way his brows were furrowed, he didn't see them either. He mindlessly took glasses of champagne from the waiters while doing so, and handed them to you. You were now juggling three different glasses and desperately trying to flag down another waiter. You could see Minho hiding a grin from the corner of your eye. Finally one of them noticed your distress, and you gratefully smiled at him while you placed two on the tray.

You sipped on your one remaining drink. "Can we go up to the balcony, baby?" you asked Minho. "I want to see the view from up there."

"Good idea."

Was that sarcasm or a genuine compliment?

You had to follow Minho from behind to the balcony since there was barely any room. There were crowds on the stairs, and you wondered how they hadn’t collapsed from the weight. Men and women were packed together like sardines in a can, and you said, “Pardon” and “Sorry” more times in those minutes than you had in the past week. Minho looked back occasionally to ensure you were still with him.

Fortunately, you and Minho made it to the balcony intact where he found a spot near the railing. The space was small, so you were forced to face him instead of the scene below you. You held your drink in front of you to create some sense of personal space, but he insisted on having one hand on your waist. Luckily, with more pressing matters at hand, you could ignore the burning sensation that had returned again.

“Any sign of him?” you asked after a few minutes of looking down at the main floor. You only saw tuxedoed strangers and dark dresses. No spot of red in sight.

“Not yet.”

Without warning-- or maybe you just didn’t notice-- he leaned dangerously close to you, and you tried not to flinch. You kept an amused smile on your lips, but your eyes told a different story.

“What are you doing?” you worriedly asked.

He whispered, “Apologies in advance,” in your ear before pecking you on the temple.

As you stood there, frozen by his affection, you didn’t notice him tipping over your glass of champagne with a sly hand.

You jolted back, but it was too late; you could already feel the cold seeping through the front of your dress. You stood there, gasping in both surprise and anger. This was a new low even for Lee Minho.

“Search for the target while you’re finding a bathroom. I’ll stay and ask around here,” he continued in your ear. Then he said out loud with false concern, “You okay, babe? You know you can’t drink too much.”

So, this was his grand plan. “It was just a little champagne,” you airily replied. You pressed the empty glass into Minho’s hands. “I’m okay. I’ll clean up in the bathroom.”

You stumble-walked through the crowd and down the connecting hallway. You weren’t even close to tipsy, but people had to believe it. You tried all the doors nearby, but none of the rooms yielded the target or a bathroom. There were, however, several drawing rooms filled with kissing couples. You left those as quickly as you could. As you furthered away from where the main party was taking place, there were more locked doors. You almost considered taking out a hairpin from your hairdo and picking the lock before realizing that the target wouldn’t even have been able to get in anyway.

“Miss, can I help you?”

You stopped tugging on the doorknob and looked to your right to see a waiter with a tray of hors devours.

“Do you know where the bathroom is?” you sheepishly asked.

If you were him, you would have been suspicious. But he must have had too many dealings with ditzy, champagne-drunk, rich people, so he merely showed you to the nearest bathroom which was inside a bedroom further down. You thanked him, and he left, presumably to get back to his job of handing out food and collecting dishes.

You left your clutch on the sink counter and blotted at the wet spot with a towel from a wicker basket before realizing that it did absolutely nothing. Then you tried with water, but you only succeeded in making the stain more visible. You sighed. Screw Lee Minho.

Luckily, it was a black dress, so the spot wasn’t too offensive. Just as you resigned to your predicament and were about to leave, you heard two pairs of footsteps and a door closing. The lock clicked.

Someone came into the bedroom. If you had to guess based off of the footsteps and your previous encounters, it was a couple. It would be awkward, but you could just hurry out, apologize, and get back to the work.

“Check the bathroom,” you heard a man say in Japanese.

Japanese? It had to be the target.

“There’s no one here,” snapped a female voice, also in Japanese.

That was definitely his wife.

“Just do it.”

“Fine.”

You grabbed your clutch and quickly climbed into the enormous bathtub at the far end of the room. If you laid yourself flat against the bottom, no one should be able to see you if they stood at the entrance. You were pretty sure she wouldn’t even go past the door frame.

You were right. You heard her heels approach the bathroom, but she quickly said, “There’s no one,” after. Her footsteps sounded farther away now, and you took that opportunity to get out your phone.

You messaged Minho the directions to the room.

You: They're in the bedroom. East wing, second floor.

Minho: Wife too?

You: Yes.

Minho: Omw

Minho: Are you in danger?

You: No, I’m hiding in the bathtub.

Minho: Is that sarcasm?

Minho: Are you hurt? Have they spotted you?

You: No! Why are you asking? Just get here quickly.

Minho: No reason. Text me if anything changes.

You frowned at your exchanges of texts. A proud field agent such as Minho wouldn’t be wasting time idly asking questions that didn’t pertain to the end goal. You shook your head at his skills and decided to prepare for the killing.

As you loaded up the first syringe of tetrodotoxin, you listened to the argument between the target and his wife. Yes, an argument and not a makeout session. It was a loud one with lots of shouting and accusations. You learned that the target and his wife’s marriage was on the rocks. He apparently was caught cheating with his wife’s sister. You were busy loading up the second syringe when you learned that said sister was possibly pregnant.

If only they weren’t going to die. You could have made an obscene amount of money from the blackmail.

Your phone, face up on your stomach, turned on with a message from Minho: “Get ready.”

You tucked your phone into the waistband of your spandex and positioned both syringes between your fingers. Then you pushed yourself up and out of the tub. When you glanced into the bedroom, you could see that the target was still being berated by his wife. You hid behind the door and hoped no one would notice the door slightly moving. Now all you had to do was wait for Minho to arrive.

The shouting suddenly stopped, and the target called out, “Occupied,” in Korean. He repeated it when Minho presumably persisted trying to open the door.

“Yoshifumi Shido! Is that you?” you heard Minho shout. What kind of stunt was he going to pull now? “I wanted to discuss my business plans with you.”

“I’m busy right now.”

“I think you’ll really like it! Just hear me out!”

“I’m busy!” the target snapped.

From the tiny gap between the door and the wall, you saw Minho walk in. He must have finally picked the lock. He shut the door behind him, and the lock clicked shut again.

“Yoshifumi Shido!” Minho loudly exclaimed with his arms open. He began walking towards the target. “Didn’t you hear me?”

“I thought you locked the door,” the target roughly said in Japanese to his wife.

“I did!” she replied. She was confused, and her face was tinted red from screaming.

They bickered for a minute about whether she did lock the door or not. Their voices were hushed, but even you could tell they were both making accusations about each other. All the while, Minho stood in front of them with a patient smile, pretending he didn’t know what they were talking about.

Finally, the target ordered his wife, “Go fix your hair or something while I sort this out.”

Oh, how perfect.

The wife huffed in both anger and annoyance but complied. She snatched her purse from the bed and stormed away. Minho, seeing her leave, launched into his fake business plan. Through the gap, you carefully watched the wife approach the bathroom. You felt bad for her; she was innocent in all this. But there could be no witnesses to the crime.

You waited until she was just inside the bathroom. She was mumbling to herself, and she sounded like she was sniffling. You held your breath in fear of ruining your plan. Her back was turned, and she seemed focused on her thoughts.

Perfect.

Quick as lightning, you clamped your free hand over her mouth and dragged her behind the door. She tried to scream and flail, but you held her tight as you injected her with tetrodotoxin. At that moment, Minho started talking loudly to drown out the noise. He didn’t need to though. She stopped trying to scream and started gasping for air. You could see how dilated her pupils were. Seconds later, she suddenly convulsed and went limp. You placed two fingers on her neck, and sure enough, she had no pulse. You released your hold on her, and the body fell to the floor with a loud thud.

“What was that?” you heard the target say. “Kaguya?” he called.

“I’m sure it was nothing,” Minho replied. “Anyway, in the third quarter--”

The target apparently did care about his wife. He cut Minho off with a glare. His wedding ring flashed in the light, and you positioned the next syringe in your hand.

“Kaguya? Answer me!”

When there was no reply, he stalked towards the bathroom, Minho following close behind. You watched the target closely. He saw the red dress first, the skirt spilled onto the marble floor like blood. He rushed inside and shouted his dead wife’s name.

He never saw it coming.

Minho swiftly punched the back of his head. The target cried out and crumpled onto the floor. He was hurt but not dead yet. Minho pinned him down while you stepped over the body. The target, dazed but still conscious, threatened vengeance, begged for mercy, promised money, but his pleas fell on deaf ears. You injected the poison into his neck with no hesitation. He thrashed around, but it was useless. He was dead a few seconds later.

“No pulse,” Minho reported. He got up from the ground and turned to you. “We’re done here.”

“Finally,” you muttered as you gathered the rest of your belongings. You wrapped the used syringes in a hand towel and placed it in your clutch. Being discreet meant leaving no evidence behind. “Call the car.”

Minho, who already left the bathroom, called over his shoulder, “Later. We have to get out first.”

You turned off the light and shut the bathroom door. The maids-- you assumed this giant place had maids-- would be getting an unpleasant surprise tomorrow. Minho stood in front of the vanity mirror, ruffling his hair like he did in the hotel room.

“Are you done?” you asked. Not that you minded waiting for him, as long as he didn’t catch you watching the way he fluffed his hair. “Let’s go.”

“Yeah, lets go.”

You placed your hand habitually on his arm again when you realized your cover wasn’t as important anymore. You quickly shot a look at Minho. If he minded, he didn’t show it. Still, you decided it was better to walk on your own for now. You lifted up your hand, but he pressed it down again.

“Just a little longer,” he muttered. “We’re not safe yet.”

“Right,” you mumbled back.

The two of you walked out the door, and you locked it behind you. The hallway was empty, but you couldn’t help but feel that there was a person lurking around the corner. You got flashbacks to your first mission, and all you could think about was potentially being caught and failing.

“You’re being stiff again,” he whispered.

You relaxed your raised shoulders. “No, I’m not.”

“We’ll be fine,” he said, as if he could read your thoughts. “We’re JYP’s best team.”

You almost snorted. “‘Team’ is highly debatable.”

There was a giggle from around the corner, and both of you went silent. Minho’s whole demeanor shifted, and the lazy grin from earlier in the night returned. He slipped his arm to your waist, and you rearranged your own features into something more adoring. Then you heard footsteps coming down the connecting hallway.

A champagne-drunk young woman stumbled in front of the two of you. Still giggling, she sloppily pushed her hair back to get a closer look. Her eyes lit up as if she recognized you, and the anxiety of being caught came flowing back.

“Did you guys have fun?” she slurred, drawing out the ‘u’ in ‘fun.’ At your raised brow and possibly alarmed eyes, she smirked. “It’s okay. Wanna know a secret?” Without waiting for an answer, she leaned forward conspiratorially and whispered, “Everybody hooks up at these parties.”

Minho choked on air for the second time that night, and you tried to control your raging blush. “It-it’s not--”

“Don’t deny it!” she sang out. She stumble-walked forward to you and nodded to Minho. “He’s cute,” she said in a whisper everyone could hear. “Don’t mess it up.”

You opened your mouth to deny everything. “I--”

“We’re going to miss our ride,” Minho smoothly cut in. Thank goodness his head was working because you were pretty sure you were short-circuiting. “Nice meeting you,” he said before ushering you down the hall.

The woman only called out, “Byeeee!”

It was silent between you and Minho again. You placed the back of your free hand against your warm cheeks. The thought of being in a relationship with Minho was ridiculous, although you had to admit he was a little cute. That horrifying realization wasn’t the only part that made your head spin though. The sound of music grew louder, but that didn’t distract you from your swirling thoughts.

Don’t mess it up.

She was talking about the perceived relationship, but you were thinking about the cover. You almost did mess it up. You were so close to denying the woman’s claims, and you almost blew your cover. Again.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted out. Though right then likely wasn’t the best time; there were more people in the vicinity. “For almost… ruining the night.”

“It’s almost over anyway.” It was soft and assuring, so you decided to take it as an acceptance.

The stairs to the main floor were in sight. To your annoyance, there were still people congregating on the stairs, but at least they did not seem to be on the verge of collapsing. Minho pulled out his phone and dialled a number. Even with loud music playing, you could hear the keypad tones. He murmured into the device for a minute before sticking it into his pocket again.

“Changbin’s going to take us back to headquarters since he’s nearby. Chaeyoung needed a hotel room last minute for her cover, so HQ just gave her ours.”

“But we have our stuff at the hotel.”

“Chaeng already sent it back to HQ.”

You hummed a response, and the two of you walked down. There was a faint smile on Minho’s face, and you tried to keep one on yours. He made fake conversation with you, asking if you wanted to have pufferfish for dinner tomorrow night. You squealed with equally-fake excitement loud enough that turned several heads. You rattled off a list of non-existent outfits that you could wear, hoping that your rambling would be enough to fill the emptiness in the air.

You stopped talking once the both of you made it to the curb. There was no one outside; the party had only just begun. However, he made no move to remove his arm from your waist.

“You did better than I thought,” he said, looking directly at you. “You didn’t screw up.”

“This is a joint mission,” you replied, looking back at him. He meant it as a compliment, but after his previous digs, it didn’t feel like one. “It’s not dependent only on me.”

“You were the one that had to take him out. It’s mostly on you.”

“That’s not how joint missions work.”

“I’m the field agent here. Best in the business, mind you. I know how they work.”

“Then you should know that success depends on both of us.”

“The company knows I’m capable. You know I’m capable. It’s not my success that’s in question. It’s you that they’re worried about.” He brushed your cheek free of an eyelash and softly added, “It’s you that I’m worried about.”

“Oh,” was the only reply you could think of. You looked down at the pavement and noticed how the tip of your heels lined up with the cracks.

“I can’t protect you all the time. If something happens to you, I can’t save you. What would have happened if you got caught in the bedroom?” he continued. You swore he held you tighter.

You stood there, quiet. Everything he did and said tonight conflicted with everything from the first time you had worked with him. You thought he hated you, and you were sure you hated him. You felt him staring at you, and when you glanced up at him, and suddenly, you weren’t so sure.

“What?” you tried to snap, but it only came out as a whisper.

“I just thought you looked pretty in the moonlight.” He didn’t seem like he was teasing the least bit.

You were even more confused now. And you told him so. “I don’t understand you! Why are you being so… sweet now? You hate me!” You stepped out of his hold and pointed a finger at his chest. “Don’t tell me it’s for the cover either! Because we both know it’s a lie!”

“People change,” he replied. “Like how you’re better at field work and like how I have a greater appreciation for your skills now. You know why.”

“There’s no universe where you and I actually like each other,” you harshly laughed. “You hate me.”

“Maybe I do.” He reached out and cupped your face. You were too shocked to do anything but stand frozen. “I hate that you’re smart and pretty and funny and make me lose focus.” He traced your jaw with his thumb as he continued listing his reasons. “I hate that you make me deviate from my plans and make me worry about you. I hate that you make me feel weak whenever you’re around. I hate that you’re too stupid to realize it.”

“I have a PhD in Chemistry,” you breathed as he placed his forehead on yours. You could count his eyelashes and see the ring of black around his iris.

“I know.” His lips were centimeters away from yours. Just like he did on the balcony, he said, “Apologies in advance.”

You saw him twist his head a few degrees. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Changbin’s car’s headlights approaching and wished Minho would hurry. He dropped his left hand and slowly traced your jaw with his right. His lips parted and then stretched into a smirk.

“Just kidding!” he jeered.

Changbin pulled up, and Minho removed his hand from your face, his index finger drawing one final line before flicking your chin up. You inhaled sharply and recoiled at the motion.

“You’re not too mad, right?” he called as he got into the passenger seat. The smirk was still there when he said, “I’ll see you back at headquarters.”

The car sped down the street, leaving you at the curb. You could only watch the taillights grow dimmer. Your fingers twitched, and you felt yourself loading up your third syringe of the night.

You had plenty of poison to go around, and they all had his name on them.

~ ad.gray

[aureumjeon]

tiptoed his way (m) || kth

pairing; taehyung x reader. genre; roommate!au; smut; fluff; angst. warnings; breaking and entering, unintended voyeurism, female masturbation, oral (both receiving), unprotected sex via doggy style, choking, tae suffers from MSS(Monster Schlong Syndrome lol), that’s about it.  word count; 6.4K (unedited im sorry :()

summary; ➜ Taehyung found himself locked out of your shared home and there were only two options to successfully get inside. (1) Wake you up from your sleep and face the wrath that’ll follow, (2) Think like a burglar and enter through your window. (Un)fortunately for him, he picks the latter.

taglist; @bella-victoria002  @chaitaewithkookies @saddiesan  @wehadnochoice  @knjhe @thoughtsfromfaroffplaces @livorna @taetaeobsessed @erisann  @thoughtsfromfaroffplaces @wickizer

a/n: the old gif doesnt work i dunno what i did wrong :(

“I’ll be out ‘til late, y/n! Don’t wait up for me.” Taehyung hollered while lacing his worn out white high-cut converse in the entryway. Hoping his voice would reach the end of the hallway where you were currently cooped in in your room. 

 “Alright! Stay safe!” Not bothering to leave your room, you answered back. Voice echoing through and bouncing off the dry walls. After waiting a few minutes, you heard the door slam shut with a thud. You cautiously tiptoed your way to the direction of your door, slightly opening the solid block of wood and peeking through the narrow crack you made. With no Taehyung in sight, you pumped your fist in the air and cheered victoriously. You finally have the house to yourself. You beamed with delight scurrying yourself over to the kitchen to make yourself a hot steaming bowl of instant ramen. 

 Taehyung and Jungkook had been your room mates since you can remember. It was freshman year of college, and you were looking for a cheap place to stay with the money you saved up working as a part-time student during your last year of highschool. A friend had introduced you to Jungkook, saying they needed one more person to split the bill with, broke college students need to support each other. At first you were hesitant, a girl living with two boys in a shared house wasn’t you initial plan but as the days go by since you first moved it, you got to know Taehyung and Jungkook a little more. Your friendship with them had gotten greater, the three of you were inseverable and you treasured them to bits! 

 Although in the four years you’ve been boarding together, every now and then they can really get on your nerves; letting the dirty dishes stack up at the sink until molds would flourish on the left over food; leaving the empty carton of milk in the fridge just as you’re planning to enjoy it with cereal or maybe a pack of Oreos; bags of chips and boxes of pizza scattered on all parts of the living room floor whenever they’d have movie night on Fridays with Jimin and Hoseok; and last but not least, the thing that they always do that grinds your gears the most, their dirty laundry in every corner, nook, and cranny of the house. Stinky socks, sweaty shirts, crusty jeans and even used underwear, you name it!

One time you had guests over; all girls might you add, studying for a group project in chemistry. Oh poor, sweet Yeri… Her unsullied innocence mercilessly corrupted by Jungkook’s disgusting underwear that had a suspicious dried up patch of white something on the crotch area of the small fabric. Yeri almost fainted when she pulled out the article of clothing from the kitchen caddy, flinging it across the room to where the other girls were. You scolded Jungkook the same day, advising him to keep all his stuff where it needed to be kept and on top of that to apologize to the poor girl he scarred for life. Which he did, and that’s the story of how Jungkook and Yeri’s relationship began. Who knew, right?

 Taehyung was like Jungkook at first, but somehow he decided to stay under your radar as best as he could. Once you lectured him on something he’s done wrong inside the quarters of your home, he’d make it a point to engrave it on the back of his head. He has his fuck ups every now and then, but nothing too consequential. There was one time though, and you wish you could forget, that he brought a girl home which wasn’t against the house rules. Jungkook had brought Yeri numerous times and you, yourself, had your fair share of men visiting the house, specifically your room. It was s well established etiquette to keep the ruckus down since you we’re sharing this living space between the three of you. But during that critical time, which you’ve spoken to Taehyung and Jungkook beforehand never lacking to remind them on multiple occasions throughout that day. Telling them to please keep the noise to a minimum because you'll be revising for for a major exam that was equivalent to forty percent of your total grade. Somehow, Taehyung managed to forget your simple and completely doable request. With the paper thin walls between you and the absence of soundproofing, you were able to get every moan, groan and mewl that came from Taehyung’s rooms adjacent to yours. That bastard is so dead was the sole thing on your mind right now and not the words inscribed in the textbook that you’ve read over for the tenth time that night. The morning after that horrendous night of not getting anything done, you waited irksomely in the common room for taehyung and his date to emerge from his chambers. 

 “Y/n, y-you’re up early.” He gulped, taking in your appearance. Your gaze was piercing especially with the huge dark bags under your eyes. “I’ll take Minju ho--”

 “I’m sure she knows here way back.” You cut him off with a bark in your tone, “Can’t you, Minju?” Your focus was now directed at her and she was quivering under your constant scrutiny.“Y-yes,” She clutched on her designer handbag bowed nervously before fleeing the place like a prey encountering it’s predator.

 “I asked you for one thing, Taehyung, one thing.” You lowered your head and massaged your aching temples with your fingers, placating your exasperation towards the boy who was placed in the hot seat. “You knew I was studying tonight, Tae.” The timbre of your voice wasn’t sickeningly livid anymore. From spiking up to a hundred degrees in the last two minutes, it dropped down to a negative ten. “This test is worth forty percent of my grade, I told you that. This is the first time I requested you to do something for me...”  You shut your eyes close and drew out a long sigh before standing up and intending to head back to your room. “If I fail this test, I want to let you know it’s on you, Tae.”  His features were extremely devastated and disheartened, not because of the things you just said but because of how he had forgotten all about it. 

 You inconspicuously peered back at him and the look on his face says it all. A helpless puppy abandoned by its human, that’s what he resembled most at this moment. Big glassy eyes, a wet nose and pouty lips. Okay, that was kind of a mean thing to say, you thought. But you never failed to remind him, always opening up and squeezing in the topic during the mundane conversations you shared together. After one last disappointed sigh, you looked up the clock, 6:55 am. “Anyway, I still have three more hours before the test. I’ll be in my room.” You turned your back on him and proceeded to take a few steps forward before saying one last thing to him, “Please, please, please. Don’t bother me.”  You were on your way back down the hall, nothing will stop you from cramming seven chapters of lesson into your brain in less than three hours in one sitting.

 “Sorry, Y/n.”

 Sorry ain't gonna cut it, chief.

 Its as if Taehyung was able to read your mind, “ I’ll- I’ll be on bathroom duty. For two, no, four weeks. Yeah, yeah. One month of bathroom duty, Y/n. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to forget.”

 You glanced over your shoulder and caught a glimpse of Taehyung with his hands clasped together, his facial expression pleading for forgiveness. You knew he was really sorry. Why? Because nobody liked bathroom duty, not even you.

 “That seems fair to you, kook?” You spontaneously asked, making Taehyung scan the living room area. Glass started clattering in the kitchen and your doe-eyed bunny-boy of a roommate came hopping in. Taehyung was seeking compassion from his long-time comrade. Maybe shortening his time on bathroom duties or lending him a helping hand at least. Bros before hoes, right? “For the record.” Jungkook started, taking a sip from the cold banana milk bottle in his hand. “You kept me up, too. And I have football practice at eight.”  He shrugged his shoulders casually before hiding back in his man cave. “Have fun cleaning, Tae.” 

 Your chiding was for everyone’s best interest, may this incident serve as a lesson of respecting other people who also lives in this household. Although there was one thing you were still unsure about. After that episode, Taehyung has never set foot in the premises with a woman draped around his arm again. You hoped you did not terminate his hopes of getting a love life.

 In conclusion, they’re just a bunch of stupid college boys wanting to survive this hell hole, what do you expect? So, having the house to yourself was a once in a blue moon moment you’d never take for granted. 

++

It was two in the morning, and Taehyung was stupidly perched at the doorstep patting his pockets for what seemed like the tenth time in the last ten minutes searching for his keys. "Shit."  He grumbled under his breath, taking out his phone from his back pocket and calling up Jungkook's number. After the third try, he finally answered the call.

"H-hey, what's up? I love you and all that shit but why are you calling at two in the fucking morning?" The voice is the other line was dry and scratchy. 

"Ah," Taehyung felt apologetic for waking up the Jungkook but he absolutely needed help, "Sorry for bothering you, Kook. Do you happen to know where the spare key is? Left my copy in my room before I went out and now I'm locked out of the house," He laughed embarrassingly, attempting to check his pockets one more time before calling it quits, wishing his keys would magically turn up in one of them.

"Taehyung…" The line suddenly went silent, it was a good fifteen seconds before Jungkook went on speaking,"Didn't I tell you that I'm holding onto the spare key to have it duplicated since my I lost my copy?"

There it was again, complete and utter silence. If it wasn't for irregular breathing coming from the other line, Jungkook would've guessed Taehyung had dropped the call already.

"Just wake up y/n, I'm sure she wouldn't mind." Jungkook suggested, that was probably the best route to take. 

"No bro," Taehyung's tone was unnaturally dark and empty.

"Can I ask why?"

"L-Last time I locked myself out and woke up y/n," he choked on his series of words, recalling the traumatic event that occurred in the past. "She made me wait a whole hour before opening the door. While I was waiting out in the cold, y/n cooked bacon and pancakes at midnight just to spite me. The smell of the food made my stomach flip and growl. When she finally let me in, she ate it all by herself while looking me straight in the eye."

Jungkook on the other line laughed uproariously at Taehyung's untold story, "Remind me not to get on Y/n's bad side. But in all seriousness, how are you planning to get inside the house?" He queried the boy who was stuck in an unfortunate predicament."I don't get back til' Sunday. And it's only Friday."

Taehyung's eyes lit up like those light bulbs in cartoons when the characters gets a genius idea. "Is your room the one without the safety locks on the window?"

"One, no. My windows have safety locks. Y/n's window is the one without it. And two, that's a really bad Idea, Tae."

"What's a bad idea, babe?" Taehyung indistinctly overhears a hushed voice in the background. His conversation with Jungkook probably woke up Yeri too. "Oh, Taehyung's planning to enter through y/n window to get into the house." Jungkook made sure that taehyung was hearing what Yeri had to say, since she's been friends with y/n just as long as them. Her giggles were so innocent, akin to a baby but the words she said were the exact opposite. "That is a stupid idea, unless Taehyung wants to be hit on the head with a metal baseball bat and bleed to death." 

"Yeri said that that's a stupid idea unless you--"

"I heard what she said. And I won't even make a sound! I'll tiptoe my way through her window and out of her room in a flash! That way I'll be in the house and won't have to wake up y/n! I see this as an absolute win." Taehyung broadcasted triumphantly like he had discovered the map to the lost City of Atlantis. 

Yeri snatched the phone from her boyfriend's hand and lectured Taehyung y/n style. "Tae, this isn't the time to be quoting the Incredible Hulk when you're the one who's gonna be beaten to a pulp when y/n wakes up and mistakes you for a burglar. Just wake up y/n and ask her to open up the door for you. It can't be that bad, you'd live a longer life that way. Face the consequences of being a pee-brain."

"Nope," It seemed like Taehyung had made up his mind, and when Taehyung makes up his mind, there's no point in stopping him.

"Ahhh, tell your friend good luck. I'm going back to sleep." Yeri gave back the phone to her boyfriend. "You have our regards. If you don't die, call me back in the morning." A loud yawn can be heard from Jungkook's end as he hangs up.

And that's Taehyung's go signal.

++

He stealthily made his way round the perimeter of the house to the side where your room was located "Bingo." He mused as he spotted your window, slightly left ajar. He strategically maneuvered his way across the flower bed embedded on the ground, calculating his steps accurately not wanting to step on your precious roses and daffodils. He knows he can't lie to you, if asked who trampled on your bloom, he'd rat himself out in a blink of an eye. He'd like to enjoy a long flourishing life. Grow old, get married and possibly have kids and grandkids. 

Not like what he's about to commit will spare his life either way.

 Even with the lack of light and the gauzy material of the curtain, his eyes could make up your vague figure on the bed, tossing and shifting your legs about. Must be some crazy dream you're having, he thought. Though he can't get a clear view of you, he's certain you were there.

 He sucked in a deep breath and slowly pushed the unlocked window wider just enough so that he can slither his body inside, dragging the curtain along with it. He prayed to the heavens above that the hinges doesn't make a sound, not even a tiny squeak or his head will be the one hanging from the valances.

 With his hands securely clasped on the window sill, he utilized his upper body strength to propel himself up until his knees were secured on the narrow wooden surface. "Phew" he shakily exhaled, switching from his current kneeling position to a crouching one, gaining more balance for his following steps. 

 Before fully entering your room now that he had obtained a better view, he decided to take a proper look at your charming unconscious face. Wait, scratch that, that didn’t come out right. What he meant to conclude was… 

When Jungkook first introduced you to him as their new flatmate, he couldn’t help but be blown away. He was thunderstruck when he was graced by your overwhelming presence. Soft silky hair that he’d like to get bury his face in, letting the scent of your shampoo take over his senses; Round bright eyes that somehow carried the countless stars and galaxies, he’d willingly surrender himself just to get lost in them. A lovely button nose that scrunched up when you smiled and introduced yourself for the first time. “I’m Y/n, nice to finally meet you Taehyung.” he remembered clearly, god, how can he forget. Your soft-spoken voice perfectly fitted your delicate face. It was love at first sight, what else could it be? He fell for you hook, line and sinker. 

 He covertly watched over you, not in the stalker-ish way, of course. Whenever you’re lounging around in your favorite pajamas or simply tidying up the house, he’d inevitably find a small smile creep up on his lips. Even just knowing that you’re inside the house when he comes home from the university by the way your favourite music was blaring from your room made him happy. He learned along the way that you were really introverted, spending most of your weekends at home reading your favourite novels  and choosing to withdraw yourself from the generic college scene. Opting for a movie night date with your friends rather than partying at some musty frat house. Moreover, you didn’t strike up any conversation with him or Jungkook unless it was about the house or if it was that important to talk about. Unbeknownst to you, all the things you detested like unwashed dishes or misplaced dirty laundry, he did it on purpose just to get the attention he craved from you. Sometimes he felt guilty at the way he acted whenever you were around, a pout or two on your upset face.

 But he came to the point that he was tired of hiding and playing safe behind that thin line called “Friendship.”If he wasn’t gonna man-up and take action, nothing’s gonna change. So on your twentieth birthday, that’s when he decided he wanted to confess his love for you, hoping that the unrequited becomes requited. He bought a cake and decorated the whole house with a banner, balloons and streamers. He even paid Jungkook fifty dollars to keep his mouth shut about it. 

 What happened after was far from his or Jungkook's expectations. You came home from a date. A date which none of them knew about but here you were, wide eyed and jubilant to see the simple surprise party your dear roommates took the time to prepare for you. You introduced the boy standing next to you as your boyfriend. "Boyfriend" that word stung like a bitch. 

 It was then that he decided to put an end to this one-sided pinning that has been going on for quite some time now that hasn't bloomed into anything, not even a tiny sprout. If the stars were aligning and the universe was really on his side, he would have been your boyfriend by the end of the day, not some guy named Lucas. 

 Every other night he'd return with a girl to his room for nothing more than a quick fuck, never meeting with them for a second time. He thought it was something that would dull the agonizing throb in his chest, it worked for the most part. The bodily pleasure those women brought him made him forget momentarily about everything he's ever felt for you. He thought it was only a matter of time until all the feelings he'd kept would dissipate into thin air. 

 Minju, he recalled. A girl who was just as perfect as you in his eyes, well almost. With the thought of taking Minju home and having her all to himself as a priority in his mind, he got carried away and overlooked one critical thing you asked of him which was on top of that a principal house rule the three of you agreed on. "Always keep the noise to a minimum."

 He knew he fucked up the moment he spots you sitting on the couch glaring at him as he and Minju walked out of his room. He saw the look of disappointment etched on your face at how he had let you down and recognized how bad he fucked up. He thought that you’d never forgive him and end up hating him for the rest of his life, but you always kept proving him wrong. A familiar box was atop the center island with a pink sticky note attached to it. 

"I'm sorry I got mad at you, Tae. It was probably the stress talking. Btw, I passed aced the exam! Hehe. <3 y/n.”

That was when he realized he truly did not deserve you. 

++

His profound daydreaming was put to a halt when he heard a hushed moan originate from your direction. His jaw almost unhinged at how low and wide it was hanging from his face at the sight he has failed to notice prior to entering your room. A convoluted expression was apparent on your face, with your brows knitted together, and eyes shut tight, upper teeth frustratingly nibbling at your bottom lip. Your left hand hidden under the sheer fabric of your shirt, kneading at your mound lavishly while the fingers on your other hand were tirelessly circling around the glistening flesh between you spread legs. You weren’t sleeping, you were masturbating! 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Gotta get out. Gotta get out. Gotta get-- 

 His whole life flashed before his eyes as he witnessed the mason jar you used as a flower pot unexpectedly gets knocked over by his rogue foot, emanating in a clangorous noise as it hit the seat of your metal chair tucked under your desk. There were numerous circumstances that he wished he could get out of certain situations unscathed, which as luck would have it he did. This one? Not so much as your instincts urged you to direct your attention to where the abrupt sound came from. He saw your bewildered eyes staring at his squatting figure by your window.

 Taehyung quickly slammed his palms over his face concealing his eyes while blindly steering his body farther into your room, knocking over your other stuff in the process. As his feet finally met solid ground, it was now time to plead for his life. “Y/n! Shit! I-I can e-explain. I l-left my keys! A-and I didn't want to wake you up. I didn't mean seeing that!" He heard the sound of his rapid heart beat resonate in his ears, ringing so loudly that he couldn't even hear himself think.

 You found his flustered stuttering adorable and endearing. You weren't angry and knew he was telling the truth. Taehyung, no matter how brazen and badly behaved he was, has not ever lied to you. You can take his word for this one but a little teasing hasn't killed anyone. “Never perceived you as the peeping type, Tae."

 "I swear, I'm not!" His cheeks started burning red, the scorching heat of embarrassment crawling up to his ears and down his neck.

 You didn't answer him right away, and all he could make up with his vision temporarily impaired was the shuffling sound of your bedding and the indistinct footsteps walking towards him. "Well since you're here, might as well help your roommate out." You whispered suggestively in his ear, and he felt his jeans grow a little tighter by the crotch.

You pressed your body against his until the corner of your desk was painfully digging into his back. "What do you say, Tae?"

 "I-I don't think this is right." He respired weakly, his knees were starting to buckle at the figurative weight weighing down on his shoulders with palms still stuck to his eyes.

 "Wanna know what I think." You purred salaciously, the tip of your pointer finger lightly tracing over the skin of his clavicle. "I don't think this is a question of what's right and wrong," Your hand started to head south, stopping precisely at his sternum, your fingers drawing small figure eights over it. "I'm single, your single."You further proved your claim, hand once again dropping lower. Taehyung wasn't much of a gym rat like Jungkook or Jimin so he didn't have any abs. But you still appreciated his body nonetheless, especially paired with his remarkably attractive face. "I see this as a question of want and don't want. And judging from this," without warning, you cupped the hard-on he was sporting. Waves of electricity surged through his blood vessel, every cell in his body had doubled its working pace. "You want this as much as I do." Slowly, you palmed him through his jeans, fingers molding the curve of his clothed dick. His heart rate spiked and breathing got more labored with your words and actions.

He wanted to see you. He wanted to remove his hand from his face and see how the moonlight shining through your window illuminated your appearance, enhancing your elegant features tenfold but he was terrified that this will lead to something that will eventually ruin your friendship.

 "Taehyung..." You whimpered, starting to feel impatient. "Say something. Tell me what you want. Tell me to stop, please just say something." 

 "I-I," Fuck it, he thought. He detached his hands from his eyes and encased it around your petite torso, finally giving in to the treacherous temptation that is you. "I want you, y/n." He dipped his face in the curve of your neck, filling himself  up with the sweet scent of you. "I've wanted you for the longest time, y/n." His voice was guttural and strained, he'd never thought the time of him finally confessing to you would come. It required him every tendril of his being to finally come clean. An abandoned door that was once locked has instantly been pushed open, and his desire for you has never been more ardent.

"I want you too, Tae."

++

Moments later you've found yourselves entangled within each other's embrace, caught in a sweltering and heart racing make out session. Every brush of lips and prod of tongue was burning of lust and passion. The way your fingers intertwined with his and filling its spaces perfectly like the final piece of an unfinished puzzle. It felt so natural, the way the rise and fall of your breathing and the tempo of your pulses fell in sync. It felt like something that should've been done ages ago but was hindered by something unforeseen.

 As he hovered above your frame, you couldn't help but be drawn in the boundless sea of his deep hazel eyes. Wisp of his curled lashes resting prettily on his eyelids, the tip of his pointed nose dusted a shade of baby pink and lips pursed into a gentle smile. He observed you with hooded eyes as you absentmindedly stared at his face. You couldn't comprehend how a mere human can bear this much beauty and elegance in his mortal body, even the gods would seethe in jealousy at his splendor.

 "T-tae. I want to feel your dick down my throat." You professed bashfully, marvelling at his beauty can wait. Right now there was one thing you fervently wish for, him and his entirety. 

 Your bluntness was always one of his favourite traits of yours. "I'm all yours." He replied, placing an affectionate kiss on your lips. 

 "Stand at the edge of the bed." You instructed, going on all fours and crawling your way to the same spot. "C'mon!" 

 Taehyung with arched brows headed to where you wanted him, planting his feet firmly on the carpeted floor. "Okay, now what?"

 "I've always wanted to try like this." You pressed on, lying on your back with your head almost hanging off the edge of the bed, slightly propping it up with a small pillow. Taehyung was caught off guard with your new position, “Y/n, what are you doing?” He queried with an arch of his brows.

 “I’m ready to take your dick.” You seemed determined, sweeping your loosened hair away from your face and tucking it behind your ears. “Saw this in porn before and I’ve been itching to try it out.

 You just kept pulling out tricks from your sleeve, Taehyung never imagined you to be the type who watches porn. “You watch porn?” He incredulously questioned eyes going wide that hinted inquisitiveness.

 “Oh please, I am a human being. Stop looking at me like I’m some saint. I can watch adult videos whenever I want to.” 

 “Fair enough,” He acknowledged while unbuckling his belt, revealing the stiff bulge tucked in his boxer. He tugged the garterized hem of his underwear down and allowed his member to spring free.

 You were genuinely astounded with his impressive size and girth, tip red and already leaking pre-cum. “From all the years we’ve been living together, I kinda expected you were big, but not this big. Didn’t know you were suffering from MSS.” 

 “MSS?” he eyed you outlandishly, having no idea what you were talking about.

 “Monster Schlong Syndrome.” You answered as you tried suppressing the mischievous smile forcing its way onto your lips. 

 “Shut up, Y/n.” Taehyung’s cheeks grew rosier at your compliment about his dick, but he still preferred being humble about his size even when he was with other girls.

 “Make me,” You provoked him, opening your mouth fully and sticking out your tongue. Feeling rather wolfish to have him in your mouth.

 “Are you sure about this?” He queried you one last time, making sure you were a hundred percent okay with this. “I’m the one beginning to feel uncomfortable with your position.”

 “I’m fine, Tae. I want this.” 

 He couldn’t help stroking himself while taking in the image of you sprawled on the bed eyes totally blown-out. Begging and lusting over his cock. Taehyung gently tapped his length on your cheek,causing a smirk to form on your lips. “Stopped teasing,” You wailed vexingly, growing eager by the second. You tossed your head back even further while opening your mouth much wider, giving Taehyung a greater angle.

 “You ready, baby?” His already deep voice dropped an octave lower, a sultry and sickeningly honeyed tone slathered all over his words. You crossed your legs together feeling the steamy heat pool between them as you nod fervently. 

 Unhurriedly, Taehyung pushed the tip of his cock past your lips. The warmth and wetness of your mouth elicited a satisfied groan from him. He pushed even further down your throat, sheathing himself completely and noticing how tight the space has gotten as he descends. “Fuck, baby. Your mouth feels so good,” he euphorically moaned seeing how your pretty mouth is stretched by his thick cock.

You blissfully purred at his praise, and the vibrations of your throat around his member sent a chill down his spine. “I-I’ll start moving, okay.” He choked on his word, his senses brimming over with the buzz of pleasure. At a leisurely pace, he began gliding his dick in and out of your hot cavern, hearing lewd squelching sounds  with every push. “Shit,” He rasped when you hollow your cheeks around him. “Your mouth is the best, baby.” He quickened the speed of his thrusts, savouring the constricted hold you’ve got on him. Tears started to pool at the corners of your eyes as your mouth was bombarded with the repetitive jabbing motion. You’ve never felt this full before, the way he has you gorged put you in a state of pure ecstasy.

 Taehyung shifted his veiny hand to caress your face, wiping away the wetness from your corners of your eyes. With his balls slapping right into your face, you failed to capture his pupils dilate and the concupiscent glint in his dark orbs. His hand found its way at the base of your neck, favouring the tug of the skin, muscles and bones outlined beneath the surface. His slender, bony fingers spread across the expanses of your neck, petting the strained muscle domestically. His digits started to curl around the base, the blunt of his fingernails digging into your skin and you felt the restriction of air affect your lungs.

Taehyung knew you were enjoying this as much as he was even with you gagging and choking on his dick. He exerted more pressure on your jugular, and you felt your body sink further into the mattress. He thwarted his hips into you once more, deeper than before as his wanton howls reverberated inside your room. Before he could blow his load in your mouth, he stopped himself and pulled out his swollen cock coated with your spit.

 You opened your eyes and griped at the sudden sensation of barrenness, "W-why'd you stop?" You felt light headed, your body eventually recognized the lack of oxygen you underwent. Your chest hurriedly heaved up and down as you were gasping for air, trying to catch your breath.

 "This is my first time fucking you, the only place I'll be cumming in right now is your pussy." Taehyung wickedly grinned, looping his arms behind your neck and knees and carried you bridal style. He walked over the side and carefully lowered you on the bed, head snuggly resting on the pillow leaned on the headboard. He made his way back to the foot of the bed, taking a seat directly in front of your bare core. "Since I interrupted you earlier," his hands began stroking you calf, tiny goosebumps springing up from his touch. "Let me make it up to you and make you feel better than those little fingers of yours."

 You detected a hint of embarrassment as Taehyung's gaze focuses on you already seeping sex. He began crawling closer to you core, tipping in to pepper kisses on your inner thighs. As his warm breath began rousing over your skin, you couldn't help but clench around nothingness at the level of arousal you were experiencing. "What were you thinking about when you were pleasuring yourself?" He cooed the question out before licking a wet stripe along your moistened slit. His tongue was dancing in his mouth after finally acquiring a taste of your delectable nectar. "I-I was thinking about you, Tae." You answered weakly, the pad of his thumb now circling your sensitive nub. He hummed in approval at you words, his tongue was the one promptly to devote its undivided attention to you bundle of nerves. "What was I doing then?"

 You released a long exhale when you felt Taehyung slip on of his slender fingers inside your hole. "I-I thought about how you'd fuck me with your huge cock," You admitted, shutting your eyes as he twirls his finger inside you. He inserted another digit, and it got you tossing your head back in fervor. "How you'd make me cum so hard.”Your eyes reeled back at the back of your head as another finger slips into you with such ease. 

 “You’re soaking wet, y/n.” he was prideful of how you’ve become putty under his ministrations, “And all for me.” He sloped down once more and flicked your clit with his wet muscles at an excruciating pace. You started feeling yourself clench around his digits, “W-wait.” You intervened, not wanting to release just yet. “I want to cum with you.” 

 He devilishly grinned from ear to ear and flipped your body over, your knees and palm bearing the weight of your exhausted body. “Wanna hit you from the back so bad.”

 You lowered your torso and arched your back inwards, excessively sticking your ass up on full display. Taehyung smeared the accumulated pre-cum on the tip of his cock all over his length, painting it with the lubricating substance. He aligned himself with your entrance and gingerly drove his hips forward until he bottomed out. “Fuck, y/n. You’re cunt’s even tighter than your pretty mouth.” the interior walls of your vagina squeezed at his member, accommodating his length incomparably. “Your pussy was made for me, y/n. Best pussy I’ve ever had.”

 As much as you fancied him to rant about how amazing your pussy was, you wished he’d just shut up and pound you into oblivion and put an end to the tormenting ache bubbling inside you. “Move.” You sought, pushing your rear end against him hard and coaxing him to ultimately move.

 His knuckles were turning white at how tight he’s gripping onto the curve of your hips, nails engraving small crescent-shaped marks on your skin. Without warning, he launched the onslaught of the brute ramming of his dick into you. Each thrust he bore were insanely crisp and accurate, striking your sweet spot with every jab. The sound of skin slapping against skin and your heavy breathes were the only tunes filling the silent space of your room. Taehyung pulled out his length almost completely, appreciating how coated and soaked it was with your juices, awakening another entire level of his vehement lust for you. He slammed himself back into your tight slit, clenching his buttocks and rutting his pelvis at an inhuman speed.

 “I’m so close, Taehyung.” You wailed sinfully with a high-pitched strain to your voice, aware at how every muscle in your body is tensing up. 

 “Me too, baby.” He unexpectedly towed you by your hair until your back collided with his chest. His hand located your neck yet again, wrapping his digits around it and cutting your intake of air. You swear that at the end of this, your neck would be sore, purple and bruised because of how robust he retains his grip on you. At this point, his movements began getting sloppier and imprecise, suggesting he was at last getting to his most sought-after high. His idle hand shakily made its way to your almost forgotten clit, ruthlessly rubbing at it with the pad of his fore and middle finger continuously until you were convulsing around his cock and milking him down  to the last drop. Both of your body collapsed on your bed, utterly breathless.

 “Wow.” Taehyung managed to breath out. 

 “Yeah, wow.” You repeat, steadying your breathing. “What happens now?” You awkwardly asked, staring at the blank ceiling like it was the most interesting thing in your room. 

 “Wanna go on a date?” His voice was filled with reluctance, the thrumming in his chest never calming down. Now wasn't the perfect time to ask you that kind of question. So he braced himself as he waited for your answer.

 You turned your head in his direction and looked at how the light from the now open window magically outlined his enchanting profile. “You’re way out of order but I’d love too.” 

++

Taehyung's obnoxious ringtone Disturbed the silence of your sleep.

"Your phone is ringing." You grumbled, t

"Yo, Tae, glad to hear you're still alive. Got into the house yet?"

"Yeah," He paused, looking at you. "Got into y/n pants as well."