#shamelessly self-indulgent fluff. what can I say

[the-red-thread-that-strangles]

Akai is going to be the death of him.

This has been a long-time conviction of Rei's, and yet of all the ways that could go, this really is not how he pictured it.

Leading contender for cause of death: irregular blood flow, leaving him without the oxygen necessary for higher brain functions.

Where has it gone? Mostly to his cheeks. And the tips of his ears. They're burning.

(And some of it may have gone further south, pooling warmly in his stomach).

Akai's wearing the sweater Rei made and it's so oversized he's got cute little sweater paws covering his hands. Rei would like to faint now, please. Please. Please?

He closes his eyes in hopes this is all just a hallucination caused by lack of sleep (ignoring the fact Akai just woke him up, actually feeling well-rested for once). But when he opens them again, Akai's still there, eyebrow raised. Lit in the warm colours of a new dawn, and covered in a sweater Rei knows is incredibly soft, because he picked the wool himself. Holding a steaming cup of something.

Hm. It smells like sencha.

Temptation itself, in the morning cool.

Rei curses, resigns himself to the new reality he gets to enjoy now. Okiya Subaru is one thing, the identity deliberately crafted to be harmless and cozy, but Akai Shuichi should not be looking this adorable. Maybe Rei did suffer that concussion, after all.

.

There's some overlap in their watch cycle, so Rei busies himself trying to get the excess energy out and make breakfast. He's definitely not ignoring Akai. Which would be difficult anyways in the one room apartment they're using to lay low.

It's going to be bland, even with his best efforts. There's barely any spices in stock, just lots and lots of dried and pickled foods, stuff that keeps. Not that Rei's expected anything more from Akai - okay, maybe a little, considering he's trying (and failing) to learn how to cook. Then again, he probably didn't figure he'd actually have to use the safehouse, and they've had worse. That weekend in Rikubetsu comes to mind. It still sends shivers down his spine.

Besides, the food isn't actually the problem - though they'll need to be conservative with it. No, the real issue is the shitty insulation. And terrible heating. Rei shivers in his sweater and huddles closer to the stove. It's not like they can call a HVAC repairman without drawing attention to themselves. Who thought it was a good idea to do this sting in the winter?

Whatever. They'll only need to stay here for a couple of days, until their allies have finished the witch-hunt, and then they can leave this safehouse behind them.

.

An uneventful breakfast and several hours later it's Akai's turn to sleep. He's mostly been sitting quiet and unobtrusive in the corner chair, keeping an eye on the street below. Rei knows the look, has seen it many times. Mostly on Rye, back in Osaka. Perching on the place with the best view, making as little noise and movement as possible. Coiled up and ready to bolt. The apartment isn't safe, and the mission isn't over. Akai won't rest, not really, until the all-clear. Idiot. As if he's not injured, doesn't need to recover.

"Akai. Your turn." He tries, and is roundly ignored. Akai must've heard him - there's nothing to listen to, in here. If he's somewhere else, mentally, well. Rei's never been good at quitting. Or alright with being denied attention.

"Akai." When the sniper still doesn't react, Rei walks up to him. Grabs a hold of his chin, tipping it up, forcing the other to look up at him. There's no resistance; either Akai is too tired to object, or he actively allows the touch. Rei's not sure which is worse. He feels Akai flinch as he straightens - must be the strain on his injured ribs. The sniper stares up at him, jade eyes dull and lifeless. The shadows under his eyes are deep enough to blot out the sun. Where's his stupid mirth, the barely concealed amusement? This won't do.

"Go lie down. Even if you can't sleep, your body still needs the rest. You're useless like this." How long has it been since he last slept?

"I can still-" Akai starts to object, eyes flicking to the window, to the street below.

"No. I've got this." Akai's so close, and so painfully tense, and Rei really doesn't know how to get his message through Akai's thick skull. So he tries for the closest approximation. He leans down that last little bit, until their noses touch, their foreheads rest together. Akai's skin burns against his own. "Rest." A single word, too gentle to be a command, but Akai still obeys. Long, soft lashes flutter against Rei's cheek, feather-light, as green eyes slip shut. The ghost of a sigh brushes against his lips. The pressure against him increases as Shuichi loosens into his touch.

Rei allows himself to indulge in the warmth of their shared space for a few shared breaths. It shouldn't be this hard to pull away. "Not here, idiot. The bed."

It's unclear whether Akai actually needs the help, or if he just likes to force Rei to do extra work, but he finds himself supporting the sniper to the bed. Helps lower Akai to the mattress as he settles in, careful not to aggravate his wounds. Cocoons him in the blanket. And if he's being a little too considerate, well, Akai looks about ready to pass out, so it's likely he won't notice or remember.

.

Rei finds himself checking in every once in a while, making sure Akai's still breathing. The man can be eerily quiet when he wants, and in slumber he almost seems dead. The first couple of times Rei saw him asleep, he found it disconcerting. By now, he knows how to spot Akai's signs of life, the faint rise and fall of his chest.

Of all the things that happened in the last 48 hours, Rei's mind returns to the most harmless offense - Akai in a too-large sweater.

How could that happen? He knows Akai's features by heart, by touch and measurement, and he's pretty sure he's counted out the rows and numbers correctly. Okay, fine, he might have picked out the design and worked on it in a hazy fugue state, but that is only slightly worse than his usual operating conditions. The result shouldn't be such a disaster. Maybe elder Tsuruyama will know where he went wrong.

(Because he did go wrong. No amount of stupid, heady pride at seeing Akai wear what Rei made for him with his own two hands can dissuade him from that. Rei tries to shove down the satisfaction spreading warmth throughout his body, right down to his toes. But the feeling has been building for weeks now, and is getting harder to ignore each day. Rei pretends he doesn't see the signs, doesn't know what they mean. They can't afford the distraction.)

Thankfully, his musings are interrupted by a sharp intake of breath, followed by a series of shallow gasps. He scans the room, wondering if Akai's noticed something he missed, when, with a quiet thud, the thick blanket slides to the floor. Akai's twisting and turning on the bed. Oh, great, the genius wants to agitate his wounds and freeze in one go.

Rei abandons his watch uneasily. But it's the middle of the day, and anyone coming after them right now would have to be stupidly brazen. Besides, he'd probably not notice attackers anyways. Akai's panting and thrashing is way too distracting.

Night (well, day in this case) terrors are not unusual for people in their profession, and if they are a regular issue for Akai, that might explain his general reluctance to get to bed, as well as the permanent bags under his eyes. But at this rate, Rei will need to intervene, or Akai will further injure himself.

"Don't go inside-" Akai's words, low and sharp, stop Rei dead in his tracks. Oh. They should've done a debrief before heading to bed. He's willing to bet he can guess pretty accurately what holds Akai in its grasp. It takes him a deep breath and a conscious effort of will to shake off the image of the abandoned factory, the smell of dust and mildew. The echo of a gunshot.

"Akai?" Rei continues his slow approach, gentle, non-threatening. Though Akai's eyes are wide open, staring at the ceiling, Rei doubts he can see him.

"At least wait for backup-", Akai pleads, unsteady. He's reaching out, grabbing at empty air. Grinding his teeth in agitation.

Alright. What did Hiro say? Considering Akai's taller, and loathe as Rei is to admit it, a better fighter, trying to wake him is most certainly a bad idea. Even if he weren't stronger, there's a gun on the bedside table, and Rei's not keen to learn what Akai's instincts look like if he wakes up disoriented and with too much adrenaline in his system.

So. Soothing might or might not be possible, but he has to try. "Akai. Shhh, it's all right. You got to me in time. We made it out. I'm here. I'm safe."

'Because you took a bullet for me', he doesn't say. Bulletproof vest or not, Akai's carrying the reminder of his actions on his chest, in cracked ribs, tender skin, and colourful bruises. It's grating to be in his debt, yet again. The first time might have been accidental, more about Scotch than Bourbon, but there's no doubt that this time, it was all about Rei. Who has the sickening suspicion Akai would've acted no differently, had he not been wearing body armour.

It makes no sense why he would go this far. There's people waiting for him - his siblings, his coworkers, the Kudos. Besides, he's the Silver Bullet, meant to take down the organisation. And here he is, throwing it all away for nothing. Who really cares whether Rei survives? He's long resigned himself to the fact he might not.

Hiro comes to mind, and Rei immediately rejects the notion. Maybe it's uncharitable. Things surely were difficult for Hiro, but the longer Rei has to think about it, the less he can forgive him. If he truly had cared about Rei, he would've found a way to let him know he made it. It's been three years, after all, easily enough time to settle into his cover. It shouldn't have fallen to Akai, perceived threat and even enemy at the time, to bring this revelation.

Rei's glad Hiro is safe, make no mistake. But there's years of grief and guilt between them, the loneliness growing roots so deep it's isolated him from the one person that mattered the most. The betrayal of the trust he thought they shared stings every time he thinks about his best friend. If he can even be called that, these days.

Akai thrashes, and Rei barely manages to grab a hold of his arm before he's decked in the face. Stupid. Here he is, getting lost in his own issues, while the other agent needs his support. He owes him that much, if not more.

Making sure he keeps Akai's arms in view, Rei puts the gun into the bedside table's drawer to avoid any accidents. He sits himself down at the corner of the bed, next to the agent's head. The stupid knit cap has slid off, revealing sweat-slick curls of dark hair. Rye's hair used to be so fine, smoothed out by its length, obviously well taken care of. The texture now, as Rei cards his fingers through steadily, is wet and oily - Akai should wash it tomorrow. With all that sweat, he'll need to shower anyways, though the motion might be straining his injuries. It might be good to offer to help - with the hair, that is.

"Not you too, not so soon-" Akai still seems agitated, but the repetitive stroking of his hair grounds them both, little by little. At least he's not kicking out anymore. "Akai, listen. You're not getting rid of me that easily, all right? And they're not getting you, either. You're here, with me, safe and sound. We're both here." And freezing, he notices. Akai's shivering beneath him, seeking his touch, his warmth. Rei feels like an idiot. He really should've grabbed the blanket first. Then again, Akai probably would've just shaken it off again. He'll fetch it when Akai's calmed down a bit more.

He scooches closer. Rubs circles into Akai's shoulder and upper arm, trying to create warmth through friction. Running his hand along, he's glad to feel the mohair he picked is as soft as he had hoped.

"No, please, Rei-" A stupid slip-up, inappropriate not just because it happened in front of the enemy. And yet the PSB agent can't bring himself to be too mad about it. It's not like Aperol lived to tell the tale. Rei had taken the shot in the window of opportunity Akai had bought him, and, well. He might have cared more about dispatching Aperol quickly so he could focus on a downed Akai. He's already mourned Akai once before; he'd rather not do so again, in the foreseeable future.

"Shhh. I'm with you." He squeezes Akai's shoulders, trying to make sure the other knows. He shouldn't indulge like this. Can't encourage Akai's behaviour. But duty demanded he go into that warehouse, and he's really not sure he would've walked back out without Akai.

Either Bourbon's cover is blown, or Rum has decided it's time to clean house and deal with loose ends. Whatever the case may be, killing Aperol will have burnt any goodwill he might have had, if it existed at all. He can't go back.

Except, it hits him: it doesn't matter. If the Kudos' plan worked, there's no place to go back to. He's survived Gin's distrust and Vermouth's games. Rum's relentless chase. He's still standing. Because of skill and luck and the allies Edogawa Conan has collected. Five long years undercover. They're finally over. He doesn't believe in miracles, but this comes pretty damn close.

Of course the job is not over, not by a long shot. There's stragglers to round up, witnesses to interrogate, statements to give. Evidence to submit and analyse. Going up against the Karasuma corporation means their case needs to be airtight, or they'll wiggle out of it with good attorneys. In all likelihood, everyone involved in this operation will need to sleep with one eye open for the rest of their lives.

But the fact remains that it looks like there will be a future, after all.

And it doesn't look terribly bleak.

Three years ago, he'd thought his world had ended. But he'd kept going, hanging on for duty - and the need to corner Akai for answers.

It just might have been worth it.

For late-night talks, shared cigarettes and stolen sweaters. For this beautiful, brave, reckless idiot, lost in fitful sleep beside him. For the hope of a better future, forgotten and rekindled.

He can't bring himself to say it, not even when Akai's asleep in his arms, unpleasant memories barely kept. But he knows it all the same.

'Thank you for keeping me alive to see this day.'

.

Sweater weather AU masterpost

[bbydeathclaw]

Petulance

pairing: silco x fem!reader (nsfw)

AO3

summary: Silco sends you away to try to get some work done and you decide to be a horrendous little shit about it.

tags: fluff, smut, established relationship, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), good ol' mating press, teasing, bratty reader, simp silco

word count: 5.4k

adorably aesthetic mdni banner by @cafekitsune

a/n: hello! this is my first time writing in a looong while almost 10 years to be exact please don't look at me. but I had to get back into it with this shamelessly self indulgent fic of my favorite brooding king pin. I hope you enjoy!

Silco had thought it a bit odd at first, the ease with which you’d taken your leave from his office tonight. Ordinarily when he’d attempt to send you away in favor of getting his paperwork done in a more timely manner, you’d put up some form of sulky little protest.

An overemphasized pout coupled with a look of feigned sadness, eyebrows furrowed together when you’d offer to assist him with said work. Your reason being that it would ‘probably get done faster’ between the two of you. 

A lie, and a blatant one at that. You were, on all counts, absolutely shit at keeping your focus on any tasks he’d try to give you. You knew it. He most certainly knew it. Truly he’d wonder why you’d even bother offering at all if you just spent most of the time trying to distract him anyway. 

Still, he can’t say he isn’t amused by your actions. He finds these juvenile acts of yours terribly endearing for the most part, and even starts to look forward to them, knowing full well that he'll give in to just about anything if you’d simply ask it of him. 

Which is why he can’t help but feel somewhat disappointed when you don’t do any of this at all, and Silco starts to regret his idiotic suggestion entirely until you throw a cheeky smirk his way instead. 

“Alright, I think I’ll go bug Sevika for a bit.”

A single eyebrow quirk, followed by a low hum of approval. 

“I’m sure she’ll be positively thrilled by that,” he replies, suppressing a smirk of his own at the thought of his second in command being pestered by someone almost half her size. 

He’s still disheartened by your willingness to leave, but ultimately makes peace with it knowing that you’d more than likely return at some point. You give him a small wave with your fingers followed by a wink over your shoulder, and Silco doesn't hesitate to drag his gaze over your body shamelessly as it saunters out of his office.

About an hour passes, and the music coming from downstairs is just starting to pick up for the evening. You enter the room with a fluid sidestep, leaning back against the door once it closes behind you. His good brow raises slightly. “Back so soon?”

You don’t answer at first, instead making your way over to one of the tables in his office, like a cat quietly stalking about until something catches its interest. He watches you methodically as you settle for one of Jinx’s old trinkets that had been long discarded, carefully turning it over in your hand. “Sevika called me a menace.”

This time he makes no attempt to hide the subtle upturn from the corner of his lips. “I’m afraid I’m inclined to agree with her, my dear.”

“She seems pretty cranky tonight.” 

“Hm, surely through absolutely no fault of your own.”

You bite the inside of your cheek in what he can only assume is an attempt to stifle a giggle before turning to face him with an adorably giddy expression that makes his chest tighten. 

“Whatcha doin’?” 

So innocent, as if you were completely unaware of the effect you had on him. Silco doesn’t answer you verbally, merely bringing his forehead to rest against his hand and lifting the piece of paper he’s holding in the air with the other. The sullen face you make doesn’t go unnoticed by him as you turn to put the gadget back down with an airy sigh.

“Well,” you drag the word out. “I guess I’d better let you get back to it.”  

“Yes, that would be nice,” he says in turn, though it comes off more teasing rather than the displeasure he’s trying to convey. 

You study his face for another beat or two before you finally respond. “Okay, if that’s really what you want.” It’s not. Not even in the slightest. “I’ll go see if Thieram needs any help at the bar.”

“My love, Theiram is more than capable of handling his responsibilities as a bartender alone. It’s why I hired him, in fact.” He pauses. “Have you perhaps considered staying up here and behaving yourself, rather than looking for more ways to wreak havoc amongst my employees?” 

For a moment Silco thinks that he may be tipping his hand too soon, fearing that you’ve caught on to the fact that he’s basically been doing fuck all except sitting here and waiting for you to come back to his office. His suspicion only rises with the way you’re tilting your head and downright beaming at him with ill-disguised glee, like you’d been reading his every thought. 

“If I stayed up here it certainly wouldn’t be to behave myself.”

The paper he’s holding makes an audible crunch sound, his hand crumpling the edge of it faintly in response to your suggestive remark. 

Before he has the chance to reply with some snarky comment, you’re already heading towards the door, making a show of swaying your hips and giving him another view of the delicious swell of your backside before you take your leave again. His chair makes an audible groan as he leans back against it and lets out a lengthy sigh, running a hand through his hair and glancing down into his lap at the result of your seemingly endless torment.

Intolerable minx.

By the third time you make your way back up, only about half an hour has passed, and Silco’s all but given up on the prospects of getting any semblance of work done tonight. His thoughts being entirely permeated by you and the state you’d left him in. 

The Last Drop is in full swing now, and the liveliness of everything going on downstairs comes through the open door as you re-enter his office. However this time, he makes no effort to acknowledge your arrival, his chair now facing away from his desk, turned instead towards the large stained glass window that bathes him in a sickly, pale green light. All the noise from the club gets muffled when the door shuts once again, followed by the sound of purposeful footsteps making their way over to him.

“Welcome back,” he states flatly, trying to sound as disinterested as he can manage in his current predicament while he looks over his clipboard in a vain attempt at trying to salvage what was supposed to be a productive evening.

“Hello there, almighty Eye of Zaun,” you chime back with a playful lilt in your voice. “Did you miss me?”

Silco’s eyes tick upwards and stare blankly at the window straight ahead, actively suppressing the urge to let out another heavy sigh. You were going to be the death of him at this rate, there was absolutely no doubt in his mind. How you managed to be both so insufferable and still so unbelievably charming he’ll never quite understand. Before he has the chance to turn his chair with an already fixed scowl, he hears a faint thud behind him, the distinct sound of glass meeting wood only slightly muted by a soft shuffling of papers. 

A few seconds pass before Silco finally spins around to face you, seeing that a tumbler has been set down right on top of the paperwork he had been ruminating over all night. He’s also greeted by the sight of you already sitting in a chair directly in front of his desk, grinning from ear to ear. His heart swells at the sight and his scowl gradually melts away, only to be replaced by something more along the lines of skepticism when he takes in your expression fully. 

Your smile is accompanied by what appears to be a look of pure satisfaction, though he has no clue as to why. His non-discolored eye narrows at you, like a parent trying to figure out what misdeed their child has committed behind their back. 

Silco regards you warily for another moment, taking in every minute detail of your face in hopes of detecting something that might give you away while he reaches for the glass set in front of him. Ice clinks against the sides as he swirls it around before bringing it to his lips, taking a long sip followed by a hum of appreciation. His eyes shoot back up to meet yours, and finds you now biting your lip while trying, and failing, to suppress a huge grin. 

You’re definitely up to something, that much he’s certain of now, and the fact that he still can’t figure out what it is causes his previously feigned discontent to turn into more of a bubbling frustration, having just about enough of whatever game you’re playing. A fleeting thought crosses his mind as he glances down at the drink now dangling from his fingertips, then back up to you. 

Silco knows you’ve taken in the brief look of suspicion on his face when you let out a laugh that, despite the visible displeasure he's exuding towards you, is still one of the sweetest sounds he's ever heard.

“I didn’t poison you, if that’s what you’re wondering,” you quip, clearly amused at the implication.

“At this point I would be grateful if you did.”

You laugh again, but it comes out more like a short exhale through your nose along with a relaxed grin, taking a sip of your own beverage, and Silco’s good eye narrows at you once again. 

“Are you drunk?”

“What? No.”

Silence.

“Then what did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything.”

He practically glares at you for what feels like a considerable amount of time before it finally dawns on him that you haven’t left yet. 

“Did you need something darling? Or have you just come to find more ways to elicit whatever reaction you’ve been hoping for this evening?” Silco brings the tumbler to his mouth once more, letting it hover there momentarily in order to get the rest of his words out. “Because if the intended reaction was to see how far you can test my patience I can assure you-” 

Words die on his lips immediately when you make a move to stand, mismatched eyes shooting down to your waist to see what appears to be quite possibly the shortest skirt he’s ever seen you in, leaving so very little to the imagination.

He’s still holding the glass right up to his face while he watches you make your way around the only obstacle that separates the two of you before hopping onto one of the corners, your butt and thighs jiggling faintly when they make contact with the solid piece of furniture. “I just figured you could use a drink after such a long night of hard work. Is that so wrong?”

Silco tracks your movements with an almost predatory fixation, watching you lean back slightly to rest against your arms, crossing one leg over the other and he has to actively resist the urge to scoff. This thing is hardly covering anything, you’re essentially sitting there with your bare ass on his desk. The realization of that along with the sight of everything you’re showing has his cock hardening at an alarming rate.

You don’t seem to notice, or if you do you don’t say anything, eyebrows knitting together in a poorly disguised attempt at looking genuinely worried. “What’s wrong? You don’t look very happy to see me.” 

Silco sets the glass down onto his desk with a bit more force than intended, turning his chair to face all the way forward and bringing his mouth to rest against interlocked fingers. Any moment now he’s expecting you to hop right off that corner and make your way back downstairs, back to a place filled with depraved and perverted onlookers. 

Realistically he knows no harm would ever befall you while you were down in the Last Drop. All of his subordinates had been given clear instruction to keep a watchful eye on you at all times, and after a while a lot of them had started to do it less out of obligation and more so out of genuine care, especially Jinx and Sevika. 

Plus, he knows you can hold your own in a fight. Growing up in the undercity had hardened you just enough to make you a scrappy but formidable opponent. So logically speaking, Silco knows there's no safer place for you to be, but the thought of anyone other than himself seeing you in that, especially the less than respectable patrons that frequent his establishment nearly every night, makes his blood boil.

“Of course I'm happy to see you, my dear,” he retorts, turning his head to look over at you once more, eyes darting downwards to that indecent piece of fabric wrapped around your waist then back up to meet your gaze. “It's just that I'm seeing quite a lot of you at the moment, and if you go back downstairs, so will everyone else.” His last words come out strained as he shifts in his chair in a poor attempt to alleviate his growing erection.

“Oh, you mean my skirt? Is there…something wrong with it?” You lift your hips to take the tiniest of scoots towards him, and Silco’s eyes immediately hone in on the action. 

“Don’t be cheeky.”

Another scoot. “I’m afraid that can’t be helped, especially in this.”

At this point he wouldn’t be surprised if you really are trying to kill him, taking controlled and steady breaths while he attempts to suppress his growing ire in response to such a ridiculous question. Of course there’s something wrong with it. Silco’s sure he’d nearly be able to see the soft outline of your mound if you were to spread your legs, even in the slightest.

He lets out another deep breath before picking up his pen and casually scribbling his signature on one of the invoices strewn about in front of him. “You will not be going back down there like that.”

He’s not looking at you, but Silco can see the movements of you moving closer out of the corner of his unmarred eye.

“Are you..asking me to stay?” 

He doesn’t respond, instead electing to take another piece of paper to scrawl his name at the bottom offhandedly. He knows what you’re playing at, the fact that it took him so long to realize it irks him to no end. He wouldn’t mind answering honestly and just telling you that yes, he does want you to stay, but the thought of giving into your bratty little antics this evening doesn’t sit quite right with him. 

Which is why he makes the conscious decision to ignore you as you move close enough to where your upper leg is now narrowly brushing his elbow, the shift causing him to mess up the tail end of another signature. Silco chances a glance towards the movement and regrets it almost immediately when he takes in the soft curve of your thigh, his cock twitching painfully at the sight.

He makes his second mistake when he follows the tantalizing trail of your body upwards and is met with the most unabashed, shit eating grin plastered across your face. He has to force himself to look away, the hand not holding his pen coming up to drag his long fingers back and forth across his mouth as he contemplates the idea of sending you away all together, leaving you pouty and disappointed. And for a moment he comes close to doing just that, until he makes the grave error of risking a glance up at your face again.

You’re not smiling anymore, expression replaced by something far more lustful and serious. Silco simply stares as your tongue slides out to pull your bottom lip in between your teeth before gently nudging his elbow with your knee. He doesn’t hesitate in dropping his arm to offer you the space in front of him, and you slide over gracefully. He stays perfectly still while you plant a foot atop each of the armrests of his ornate chair, knees pressed tightly together.

He finally responds to your earlier question with one of his own. 

“What would possibly give you that idea?” His voice is light and teasing, all traces of anger gone. “You’ve been nothing short of a nightmare all evening, love. And now this?” Fingertips come up to stroke the side of your calf, humming appreciatively.  “What am I going to do with you?”

This earns Silco a wide, toothy grin as you scoot forward. “Whatever do you mean? I’m just sitting here.”

“Don't be coy with me, sweetheart.” He leans forward, breath fanning over your knees as he speaks. “Be a good girl and tell me what you want.”

“I want you,” knees parting just barely, “to answer my question.”

Silco pushes his tongue against his cheek in minor annoyance before sliding both hands up your legs and over your knees, then back down until he reaches your hips. He grips firmly at the supple flesh and yanks you closer towards him, eliciting a sharp squeak followed by a string of giggles.

“I think you might be the most aggravating creature I’ve ever had the displeasure of courting.”

Your face adorns a look of mock appreciation. “Awe, thank you!”

Slender hands travel back up to your knees. “Truly just a tantalizing little menace.” He waits for you to part them further, granting him the access he’s so desperately craving. “One that I’m both drawn to and irritated by all at once.”

Your smile is nothing short of haughty, as if you’re truly taking everything he’s telling you as a compliment. “Well now you’ve really got me hot and bothered,” you shoot back, knees moving further away from each other until you’re spread all the way open for him.

Although spoken in a sarcastic tone, Silco sees that your words are in fact true, his eyes taking in the sight of your already dripping cunt.

“Indulge me, sweetheart,” he says, one hand coming up to trace the backs of your thighs with his knuckles, causing goosebumps to decorate your soft skin. “Why the need to be so difficult tonight?” 

You shiver at the touch, bottom lip still tucked between your teeth as he brings a thumb up to stroke lazily over your pussy. 

“J-just for fun,” you retort, but your voice doesn’t hold the same conviction. “Wanted to see..how long it would take.”

“How long what would take?”

The laugh you let out is shaky at best, but there’s still a bit of confidence left when you answer. “For you to ask me to stay.”

It only takes about half a second before Silco’s thumb pushes into your core and his tongue cards a long, hot stripe along your folds. The noise you make spurring him on further as his mouth envelopes your clit, giving it a harsh suck before pulling away with a satisfying wet plop sound.

“I don’t recall asking anything of the sort,” he chides, sliding his thumb back out. “If memory serves me correctly, you came into my office several times practically demanding my attention.”

Silco punctuates his last few words by pushing two fingers into you, pulling another sharp inhale from your lips as he turns his palm to face upward and curls them inside of you.

“Has it ever occurred to you,” he starts, bringing his thumb to circle against your now swollen clit, drawing a long whine out of you as you work your hips against him. “..that perhaps I attempt to send you away in order to finish with my tasks quickly, just so I can get back to doting on you with said attention? Selfish little creature.”

Your eyebrows pinch together, speaking between shallow breaths. “You.. could have just.. said that.. you know.”

Silco smirks, watching you look back at him with a pair of pleading eyes. “And deny myself the pleasure of seeing your lovely pouts and open displays of petulance?” He adds a third finger. “I think not.” 

“Silco,” you whine, “please.”

His cock twitches in response, and he doesn’t waste any time bringing his mouth back down to your bud and swirling his tongue around it lavishly while his fingers twist and turn inside of you. He watches you throw your head back, one of your hands snaking upwards to grip the edge of the desk above your head, the other coming to latch onto the top of his head hard as you roll your hips against him. 

“There, that’s it,” he coos, “show me how eager you are. Use me.” 

This draws another string of small gasps and moans from you, coupled with lewd, wet, slurping sounds as Silco continues to lap and suck at your clit, bringing his free hand to grip your thigh and anchor you to him. The strain in his pants grows increasingly more painful when you sigh his name affectionately, followed by a noise of protest when he removes his fingers from you all together in an effort to tug at intricate buttons of his trousers, freeing his aching cock and palming himself to the sight of your ruined state. 

Your arousal coating his fingers serves as a welcome lubricant for him to stroke himself languidly, relishing in the feeling of you bucking up into him, using him to chase your own end. His licks are hot and thorough, leaving no part of your heat untouched.

“Yes,” Silco groans into you, “just like that.”  

Your other hand comes down to unbutton your top, cupping and squeezing at one of your breasts, and he knows you’re close by the way you’re begging and pleading above him. The sound of your voice feeds into his determination, letting go of his cock in order to wrap both arms around your thighs, securing you in place and devouring you like a starved man.

The way you cry out his name while your walls flutter around his tongue has him reeling, mismatched eyes boring into you, watching your orgasm in complete reverence as your fluids run down his chin.

“Good girl,” Silco sighs, his movements slowing down to let you ride out your climax. “You always make such sweet sounds for me.” 

Your legs tremble and the vicelike grasp you have on his hair loosens before you slump back down onto his desk, words barely managing to come through your short and labored breaths.

“Could've been making them a lot earlier if you’d…stop trying to kick me out.”

A hint of a smile creeps up on his face as he presses small, feather light kisses up the backs of your thighs, leaving glistening spots of your slick behind in their wake. “You know, it is possible to keep your unsolicited remarks to yourself every once in a while.”

Yours breaks into a devious grin that tugs at his heart without mercy. “Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” 

“Mmm, point taken.” 

Silco stands to turn your body so that you’re taking up the full length of his desk before climbing up onto it and bracing himself with a hand on either side of your head. His length bobs thick and heavy with need, bringing it to rest against your slit.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

You roll your hips against him needily, coating his cock with your arousal. “Maybe.”

“You drive me absolutely mad,” he growls, voice dripping with carnal hunger as he pushes your legs up against your chest once again, lining himself up with your entrance. And it’s the way you're looking up at him with your lip tucked in between your teeth in anticipation, the slight inward curl of your eyebrows in an almost pleading expression that has him pushing into you in one, smooth buck forward, making you gasp as he bottoms out inside of you.

Silco sees your eyes roll back, and he has to physically stop himself from doing the same. He wants to see it all, wants to see your blissed out expression while he fucks you, wants to see all the different ways he can make you come undone beneath him.

You make a pitiful attempt at stifling a moan, one that ultimately fails when Silco starts to rock his hips against yours, pulling them back slowly and savoring the feeling of his cock dragging along your walls before driving them forward with a sharp, pointed thrust. But he’s right there with you, exhaling a throaty groan at the feeling of your walls engulfing him so deliciously, the sensation being nothing short of divine.

“Look at you, taking me so well,” he whispers, lowering his head and tilting it to place gentle kisses along your jawline before nipping at your earlobe. “Like we were made for each other.”

The breathy whine this elicits causes him to straighten himself upright again, picking up his pace steadily, and soon the room is filled with the obscene, wet smacking of skin against skin as Silco begins to pump into you with feral-like need. He readjusts your legs so that your calves are hooked over his shoulders, letting him fuck you so much deeper. 

You’re a mess of broken pleas beneath him, and he clings to every single one, a symphony meant solely for him and him alone. Silco watches you with wholly, unabashed devotion as your face twists and contorts in pleasure, pleasure that only he can bring you. And though he wants to feel like he’s still in control, he knows deep down he’s equally ruined by what you do to him, maybe even more so. His seafoam eye glazes over, and strands of hair fall loosely around his face as he ruts into you. 

You reach up and try to put your arms around his neck, but the position your legs are in only allow you to claw at his shoulders helplessly. “S-silco, please..”

“Oh? I see someone’s finally learned some manners,” he taunts.

The huff of annoyance you let out amuses him more than he’d care to admit, “For fuck’s sake, Sil. Let me hold you.”

“Demanding thing,” he scolds, but gives into your ‘request’ regardless, lowering your legs just enough so that your knees fall to the side and hook over his forearms, letting you wrap your arms around his neck with open urgency. And now you’re pulling him down and holding him there, like the waters he'd nearly drowned in.

Silco’s jaw goes slack as he turns his head and pants in your ear like some wild beast, whose sole purpose is to bring you to your end. Like it was all he was ever made for. Your head turns to meet his lips with your own, and he tries to keep some semblance of restraint while he kisses you, but he can’t, not with you. It’s hungry and sloppy, full of exceeding desperation. 

He breaks the kiss reluctantly to make his way down to your neck, lips and tongue moving against the delicate flesh and littering your throat with marks of all kinds, leaving no room for anyone to question who you belong to. “Mine,” Silco snarls possessively in between sucks and bites.

He's about to pull away when one of your hands slides up to the nape of his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair and locking him in place, begging for more, more, more, and Silco’s more than happy to oblige. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger so tightly, and this realization both excites and ruins him as he begins to ram everything he has into you with new purpose.

“Oh fuck, Silco. Right there,” you cry out, voice becoming raspy and hoarse from your continuous gasps in between moans. 

"Yes, that's it. Show me how much you want this, how much you need this," he huffs out through gritted teeth, trying to establish some form of dominance once again, but it's no use when he realizes his words are just as applicable to him as they are to you.

He forgoes his hold on your legs, letting them fall to your sides briefly before wrapping them around his waist. Your eyes flutter shut and your head starts to loll to the side, but Silco grabs your jaw quickly and forces you to look directly at him.

“None of that, darling. I want you to look at me when you come undone,”  His breath comes out ragged and primal. “You want to be a good girl for me, don’t you?”

You nod frantically in response, eyes drifting downward to stare at his mouth, like a silent plea. He takes the hint without delay, squishing your cheeks together until your lips form a small pout before leaning down to kiss you fervently. His tongue swirls around yours, hot and wanting, before he pulls away just enough for him to pant into your open mouth, his connecting to yours by the thinnest string of saliva. 

Silco can sense your second orgasm approaching rapidly, and he brings his fingers towards your lips. You take the hint right away, wrapping them around his digits and sucking on them lavishly. Once he’s satisfied enough, he removes them and snakes his hand down through your intertwined bodies, settling for the bundle of nerves located between your legs.

Your moans increase in pitch, arms and legs squeezing even tighter around him as he works you with skilled flicks of his wrist.

“You’ve endured this so well, my love,” he whispers against your ear, voice laced with unrestrained hedonism and resolve. “Let’s reward all that effort of yours tonight, shall we?”

His question is rhetorical, but you nod so eagerly for him nonetheless as your walls begin to pulsate, clenching so unbelievably tight around him you’re practically pushing his cock out, nearly sending him over the edge himself.  

“That’s my girl,” he sighs with heavy grit and worship. “You feel incredible.”  

Silco’s face comes back up to hover over yours, looking directly into your eyes while he fucks you through your climax, his own looming closer and closer. He leans down to kiss you, swallowing your labored breaths greedily as his thrusts begin to stagger before coming to a complete halt, his pelvis flush against yours as his cock twitches obscenely within your heat. He lets out a harsh, guttural moan right into your mouth as he spills into you, your walls continuing to milk him with stuttered squeezes, and he has to pull away sharply to exhale a series of delirious gasps. 

Your chests heave against one another, waves of pleasure slowly dissipating as your sweat soaked bodies stay interlocked. Silco shifts slightly, bringing his hands to stroke the top of your head lazily with his fingertips. His forehead comes to rest against yours as he places soft, tender kisses along your cheeks, your eyes, your lips, anything within reach.

He’s rewarded with a giggle, followed by a dopey little grin.

“You know,” you say as your breaths finally return to normal. “I just remembered the other reason you try to send me away while you work.”

Silco already knows the answer, but you punctuate your words anyway by wiggling your ass, causing the sound of his paperwork shuffling beneath you, followed by a light yelp as he smacks your bottom lightly. 

“Impossible little wench,” he chastises, lifting himself off of you and being greeted once again by the sight of the thing you keep referring to as a ‘skirt’. He grabs the edge of it with his fingertips, holding it up like it was a cursed object. “Where in Janna’s name did you even get this from?”

You bark out a laugh before propping yourself up hastily to look down at it with pride. “Ran let me borrow it.”

“Excuse me?”

“What?”

“Borrow it,” he repeats, “as in you have every intention of giving it back to them?”

You stare at him for a moment, no doubt mulling over your answer.

“...No?”

Silco smirks at your response before leaning in. “Good girl. Besides, I think we may find many more uses for it still.”

Your eyes widen with child-like wonder, but for the entirely wrong reason. “Oh, so you’ll wear it for me, too?”

He stares back at you blankly, blinking several times before rolling his eyes almost theatrically, earning him another small fit of laughter as he finally graces you with a response.

“Whatever pleases you, I suppose.” 

[theclaravoyant]

boyfriend material ~ a 7x06 bucktommy coda (T)

AN ~ inspired by this post ... ~1200 words of shamelessly self indulgent domestic bucktommy fluff

-

“I'm sorry we couldn't stay,” Tommy says again, as Evan helps him through the door. Going on hour thirty-something awake – and a pretty strenuous thirty something at that - is taking its toll, but his heart still flutters when Evan laughs.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Evan promises. “All the reception stuff's been pushed anyways. Tonight, I'm all yours.”

A smile lifts Tommy's weary lips. “I like the sound of that.”

Evan pauses a moment, hooked under his arm, to gaze admiringly with his beautiful blues. He likes the sound of that too, and he leans up on his toes to press a tantalising a kiss to Tommy's lips – a promise to pick up where they had left off earlier, but not right now.

“You want to shower first or eat first?”

“Uh...” What he wants is to collapse into a heap in the entry way and sleep like a log for the next several days. But Evan is right: if he doesn't eat something (other than that beautiful, light, fluffy, sugary cake), he'll be sick, and it's not like he can sleep in his turnouts anyway (although his heavy eyelids beg him to make an attempt).

“How about this,” Evan proposes. “You shower. I'll make us something to eat. Where's your bathroom?”

The words on the tip of his tongue are, you don't have to stay, but Evan is already leading him through the living area and toward the hall. His shoulders are steady bearing Tommy's weight. It's been a long time since he let himself lean on somebody like this.

“Second on the left.”

Evan steers them in and still doesn't leave. He helps Tommy shrug off his jacket and turnout pants, and heave off the boots Tommy's tired feet have swollen into. He turns the tap onto a hot, steamy setting and blasts it, then presses a drink bottle into Tommy's hands. “Get some electrolytes in you, too,” he insists. “When did you...” You know what, never mind. Tommy unscrews the lid and all but swallows the bottle in one go. It sends a tingle through him – he did not realise how dehydrated he was. It's also a little lemony, which is a nice touch. The lemon ones are his favourite.

“Take your time,” Evan instructs. “Dinner will be waiting when you get out. I'm right here if you need me.”

Only then does he finally peel away, leaving Tommy to extricate himself from his remaining sweat-slicked inner layers of clothing and stumble into the sweet beckoning call of the shower. With the help of the steam and citrus scrub he begins to wash the day – days? - off himself. It's a familiar ritual as the sirens and screaming and falling trees and the stench of melting asphalt fall away and leech out of his pores and wash down the drain. Even his head feels a little clearer, his limbs a little lighter by the time he's done and ready for the less familiar part... an enticing smell from the kitchen, something involving garlic, lime and chilli? His mouth waters.

-

Buck beams as a soft, clean Tommy pads back out into the kitchen in the soft, clean pyjamas he'd laid out for him. His soft, clean curls are even starting to puff back up already, and the promise of a meal has put a bit of pep back in his step.

“Feel better?” Buck asks. “You have no idea.” Tommy hums in satisfaction, deep and rumbling in his chest as he pulls Buck in for another kiss. Buck takes a deep breath and the musky deodorant that's meant to smell like some kind of forest – one that isn't on fire – makes his head spin. He very much does have an idea of Tommy's relief, is the thing, and the bone-tiring, soot-drenching work and the power of good old citrus scrub is something nobody he's ever dated can really understand. If Tommy's knees weren't about to drop out from under him, Buck thinks, he might just climb the man like a tree. But not tonight.

“You like stir fry?”

“God, yes.” Tommy all but snatches the proffered bowl. He moans as the first delicious mouthful forces him to savour it. It's positively indecent, but he's so hungry he's going to puke, so he continues between enthusiastically shovelled mouthfuls - “This. Is incredible. Where'd you learn to cook like this?”

Buck can feel himself blushing and puffing his chest up with pride at the same time. He humble-brags the best he can about how Bobby's taught him everything he knows. And about that one time he worked a kitchen in Phuket and learnt this killer Thai chilli sauce recipe. Tommy likes spicy food too apparently and jumps in with a story about how he, Chim and the other 118 crew back in the day had once challenged each other to eat prik kee noo and ended up with all of them (or as Hen would later correct it, all of them stupid enough to try) weeping over various sinks. It's easy, regaling each other back and forth and laughing until both of them are fed and blood sugar stabilised and Tommy's had as much water as he dares force through his poor kidneys. Still, the day they've had bleeds back through eventually – not least because Tommy sways dangerously with exhaustion on his way back from the bathroom, and Buck takes this as his cue to make his exit. He offers for Tommy to text when he's up, for a lift to Harbor for his truck, to do the dishes sometime the next day, but Tommy counter-offers;

“Stay.”

Yes. Buck's already thinking about what to make for breakfast tomorrow. Or today. Or whatever it is. But he manages -

“Are you... sure?”

“Evan,” Tommy scolds, with a fond, fatigue-addled smile on his face. “You've been up over a day and a half too, you know. And no, passing out in Chim's hotel room doesn't count. Frankly, it would be counter to my sworn oath to let you drive home. Please. Come to bed.”

“Oh, well, if it's for the greater good...”

They didn't get a wedding dance, but there's something of a whisper of it in the way Tommy reaches his hand out to lace his fingers through Buck's and draw him into the bedroom. It's so pleasantly dark in here on burning eyes, and the pillow is so blissfully cool on Tommy's face, that by the time Buck has kicked off his shoes and pulled his belt from its loops the time for any more flirting or kissing or talking has well and truly passed. Nevertheless, he smiles to himself, and settles in beside Tommy, and finally falls asleep to the sound of gentle snoring.

[thelittlestoflives]

The Cook and the Chronicler

just another lil instalment in my sanji x chronicler!reader series!! in which the rest of the crew finds out about the two of them hehe

tell me what you guys think!! the love you've shown for my other two silly fics has brought me more joy than you know

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

sanji x strawhat!reader

no warnings unless you don't like swearing lolll, couple uses of YN, just self indulgent fluff

wc: 2k

“I don’t get it,” the swordsman grunted as the two of you sparred on deck. 

“You’re gonna have to narrow that down for me,” you say through panting breaths, Zoro never was one for taking it easy on you. “I’m sure there’s lots you don’t get.”

He barked out a laugh, narrowing his eyes and sweeping your feet out from under you. You landed with a soft oof. 

“You and that damn chef. That’s what I don’t get.” 

You lay on your back trying to catch your breath. “What’s to get?”

He shrugged. “Dunno. He’s just so annoying I don’t know how you can stand to spend time with him.”

You sat up with a small groan and looked at your crewmate with a frown. “Who says I spend time with him?”

Zoro rolled his eyes but held out his hand to help you, which you gratefully accepted, taking a sip of water once you were standing. 

“Oh, come off it, Chronicler. Do you think I’m stupid?” And upon seeing the smirk on your face followed up with: “Don’t answer that, you little shit.” 

You crossed your arms and looked up at him. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

At this stage, you and Sanji didn’t exactly have a label for what you were. Sure, you spent most (all) of your nights curled up beside him and sure, your eyes always looked for him no matter the situation you and your crew found yourselves in, but like… It wasn’t anything of concern for anyone else.

“It’s not like I care or anything,” Zoro countered, copying your stance. “But we’ve all noticed that curly brows is less…” 

“Flamboyantly flirty?” You offer.

“Irritating, annoying, insufferable, enough that I could gouge my other eye out. But not by much.”

It was true that Sanji had become a more subdued version of himself. No longer did he feel any desire to flirt shamelessly with Robin, Nami, or any beautiful women they came across on various islands. That’s because he had you. Why on earth would his attentions divert anywhere else?

Zoro raised an eyebrow. “For someone who never shuts up, you’ve gone very quiet.” 

“Well, ever thought maybe you’ve just gone soft and you actually might like the guy?”

He snorted. “No.” 

You roll your eyes. “Whatever. Don’t see what business of yours it is anyway.”

He had a complete shit-eating grin on his face. “Struck a nerve, have I?”

“Shut up!”

“You’re in love with the waiter!”

You glare at him, but all witty comebacks die on your tongue. After all, he wasn’t wrong. You stuck your tongue out at him and flipped him off which he scoffed at, and made your way to the bathroom to wash your sweaty, post-training body. 

Before you could step out of the bathroom, however, your way was blocked by an arm. “So, were you ever gonna tell me or did I have to find out from Usopp?!” Nami looked at you half-glaring, half-smirking.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you feign innocence, drying your hair with your towel.

“Hey! I thought we were friends!” She actually looked kind of hurt, and a pang of guilt jolted you. “I wish you came to me at the start!”

“Nami, you know I adore you, right?” 

She nods.

“And if I had come to you and said I was seeing Sanji, would you or would you not have tried to talk me out of it?”

She paused, thinking. “Okay, yeah. I probably would’ve. So?!”

“What do you mean ‘so’?!” 

Nami sighed. “Fair enough, I guess. But… Urgh, why him? Of all people! I love him like I love all of the crew but… Him? And besides, I thought you said you had sworn off of romance!”

You at least had the decency to look bashful. “Yeah, I did say that. Trust me, I didn’t plan for this. We just... I dunno, we see each other. Like, really see each other.”

“Ugh.” She pinched her nose and sighed. “Well, if nothing else, you both do seem happier. And he’s not as… Sanji-esque anymore, so I suppose that’s something.”

“See!” You said brightly, hugging her despite her protests that your hair was too wet. “Only good things can come of this, right? Now, if you excuse me, I think I need to have a little word with Usopp…”

“He’s up on deck with Chopper. Don’t go easy on him,” she grins, everything forgiven. “He’s telling everyone.”

Hair still wet, you march above deck to have a word with Mr Shit-Stirrer himself.

“Usopp!” You yell. There’s the sound of feet scrambling. “You can’t hide, you know.”

He steps out looking shameful. “Oh, hi YN. I wasn’t hiding at all, I promise! If I wanted to hide you’d never find me.”

Chopper came out behind him, looking confused. “Then why did you say ‘quick, I gotta hide’?”

Usopp laughed nervously. “That doesn’t sound like something I’d say.”

“But, you did! Is it because you’re telling everyone you saw Sanji and-” 

Usopp swiftly pushes Chopper away, much to the little reindeer’s dismay.

You groan and cross your arms. “What are you telling everyone?”

He crossed his arms defiantly too. “Nothing.”

“Usopp…” You warn.

“I’m not telling anyone anything that isn’t true!”

Chopper came back over and hid behind your legs. “He says he saw you two kissing in the kitchen last night,” he giggled. 

Your face flushed red. “Did he now? Thank you, Chopper.” You pat his head and he looks gleefully at Usopp who is glaring daggers at him.

He probably did see you kissing in the kitchen last night. It had been a few months since the two of you had started having your little midnight rendezvous, and you were definitely being less careful. It was kind of impressive how the others had only now started to notice.

“Well, I did!” Usopp protests.

“And you had to tell everyone?!” You hiss.

He cowers at your tone, beginning to look guilty. “I’m sorry YN! Forgive me!” 

“We’ll see,” you say before heading back to the girls’ quarters. You can hear Chopper and Usopp bickering behind you.

You enter the room with a sigh, leaning against the door. Robin sits on her bed reading a book.

“YN?” She asks with concern. “What’s wrong? Is it because Usopp is telling everyone about you and Sanji?” 

You bang your head against the door. “So he told you too then?”

She shakes her head. “No. I’ve known for a while.”

You gape at her. “Uh… What?”

“I heard you creeping out at night and saw Sanji bringing you back to bed one morning. Plus, he’s been slightly, hmm, less…”

“Less Sanji, so I’ve heard,” you sigh again. 

“Why does it matter if everyone knows?” she asks as she closes her book.

You sit down on your bed and face her. “It doesn’t. I don’t know. It just felt very… Special. Secret. It only belonged to us, and now it belongs to everyone.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “I see. So it feels less sacred now? Like you’re sharing it with everyone else?”

“I guess so.” 

“Have you spoken to him about it?”

You shake your head.

“Well, I suggest you go to the kitchen and talk about it with him. He might make you feel better.” 

“You’re right, as usual,” you stand up and check yourself in the mirror. “I can’t believe you’ve known this whole time and didn’t say a word.” 

She smiles slyly. “You’d be amazed at the things I know and don’t tell.” 

“You’re scary, I love that.” 

For whatever reason, you were nervous on that walk to the kitchen. You could hear the sound of knives chopping and Sanji humming to himself as you stood at the door, trying to build the courage to enter. With a breath, you push the door open.

The blonde chef turned around, ready to yell at Luffy for trying to come in before dinner was ready, his face softening exponentially as he saw it was you.

“Mon amour!” he said in a hushed voice, moving towards you to press a kiss to your head. His sleeves were rolled up at the elbow and he looked the way he did when he got lost in his cooking. 

“Hey, Sanj,” you greet him, nerves dissipating as you look up into his face.

“Come, you have to try this!” He grabbed your hand and pulled you to the stove, lifting a spoon up to your mouth. As always, it was delicious and you made sure he knew.

His face brightened so much you thought he might burst. “So, sweetheart, what’s on your mind?” He asks, brushing your hair off your face. He could read you so well now.

“Well… Usopp saw us in the kitchen last night and told everyone so now they all know about us,” you say, inwardly cringing. “And I don’t know how I feel about it.”

Sanji’s face fell slightly. “I see. Are you…” He cleared his throat. “Embarrassed? Of… Me?” 

Your face twisted into one of horror. “Oh god, no! No! Not at all!” You reach up to hold his face, looking into his eyes. “I could never be embarrassed of you. Don’t be silly, Sanj!” 

You could’ve cried at the look of relief on his face.

“I don’t know how I feel about it because it was so special and uniquely ours, and now it’s some bit of gossip. I just feel like… What we have is so… It transcends anything, and it feels a disservice for it to be spoken about by anyone else.” You’re still holding his face gently, rubbing small circles with your thumb, his hands settled on your waist.

His face blossomed into a lovesick expression, and he looked like he might swoon. “I never tire of hearing how you feel about me,” he murmurs. “It blows me away every time.” His hands creep from your waist to your back as he peppers your face with kisses. “You really feel so strongly for me that the thought of others knowing hurts you. Mon cherie, I will never understand why you chose me, but will forever be grateful.” 

All your concerns floated away like dandelions in the wind. Why would you ever be worried that others knowing would take away from what you had with this man? 

“Let them know,” he proclaimed softly into your hair as he pressed another kiss. “Let them all know! Let every damn pirate crew know of the Strawhat Cook and Chronicler. Let them sing songs about our love for generations to come. In fact, I want everyone in this shitty world to know!” He picked you up and twirled you around as you laughed. He raised his voice. “Hear that, everyone? Me and YN are together!”

He put you down and put his fingers under your chin, tilting your face up to his.

“My darling YN… No one else matters to me, but you. That said,” he kissed your nose softly. “God, I’m glad everyone knows you’re mine.”

His lips meet yours in a passionate kiss, hot and desperate. His mouth was greedy, time slowed down around you both, as it always did. Your hands tangled in his hair and he groaned into your mouth,

“Sanjiiii, I’m hungry!” Came a whine behind the two of you as you both whipped around. “Oh, hey YN. Anyway, when’s dinner? I think I’m going to die of hunger.”

“GET OUT!” Sanji yelled, reaching behind him and throwing an empty pot in Luffy’s direction. “It’s ready when it’s ready!” 

Luffy pouts and leaves the room. You and Sanji turn to look at each other, faces flushed both from the kiss and being caught. Then you both burst into laughter, and once again he pulled you to him.

“I love you, Sanj,” you whisper.

His eyes well with tears of joy, your sweet, lovesick cook.

“I love you more, darling YN.”

[n3ptoonz]

Idk man, I think I’m gonna need to see you write how Raiden, Kenshi, Syzoth, Tomas, and Liu Kang behave when giving and receiving body worship 😏

oh...oh 😏

first half is bullet points and the second is blurbs bc my brain likes to stop working for some reason

suggestive, fluff elements under the cut, THIS WAS SO HARD TO FORMAT HOLY i'm sorry for taking so long!1!1?3? i hope this isn't ass🗿

When giving body worship:

Raiden

is nervous at first. so many things he wants to say, so many things he wants to do. you'd have to guide him at first but he quickly takes over as he gets the hang of it

he'd have you facing him because he wants to start from head to toe, taking extra time inspecting your face and kissing all over it

i can see him going as far as kneeling to get into what he likes about your lower body starting at your torso. if you have some type of tummy going on he's gonna sit there and knead at you like a cat (totally not self indulgent 😹)

Kenshi

makes it his mission. i'm referring back to my kenshi fic with this cause there's body worship in it

it don't matter what you look like or how secure/insecure you are in regards to your body, he's having you stand in front of a mirror and will shamelessly glide his soft tatted hands over the exact parts he adores

he praises you the entire time. physicality, personality, the things you do for him, how you've personally helped him and didn't realize, every. single. thing.

Syzoth

gets lost in the moment. i feel like he's a very emotional guy and lover to the point where he would prob almost cry (yall saw how fast he fell to his knees in the story) talking about the things he adores about you

don't even get him started on your body. he doesn't really understand the concept of body image, but he got the idea to worship yours because he found it so unique. like he's genuinely intrigued

expect him to leave bite barks on the places he likes the most, it's how his folks show love. his eyes would be sparkling and everything

Tomas

whispers sweet nothings. he LOVES giving body worship. he was always the kind of person who admired others quickly, and that especially included you

he's whispering/murmuring all types of cute things in your ear as you rock back in forth in his strong arms (lord god help me) whether you're facing him or not. "...to your lips, oh how i love your lips..." is definitely the cadence he's going for

it's actually pretty funny to think about him innocently talking about your body and innocently touching/grabbing at certain parts and then gets to like your ass and he's like "and this ass of yours...i could never grow tired of it." like 😭 what happened to pretty eyes mister?! (kidding you can say that again 😝)

Liu Kang

knows exactly what to do. If you're lying down, there's no part of your body that goes without a kiss. i mean literally no part of your body

he loves every single part of it, and he makes sure you understand that without a doubt. he'll make comments about almost everything

it surprises you sometimes how he's able to come up with such sentiments for something as simple as a knee or elbow, but it surely gets the job done

When receiving body worship:

Raiden is super shy. Whether you copy what he did or if it was for the first time and you gave him praise the whole time, he's a nervous wreck. It happened while you were straddling him and telling him how impressed you were with the work he put into his body, running your hands down his bare chest and peppering kisses all over him. The deep blush on his cheeks weren't nearly enough to tell you how much he appreciated you and your kind words.

Kenshi went from shy to letting his ego get fed a little bit. He values physical touch and quality time so much, and this was the perfect combination. He obviously wasn't expecting this, so at first he playfully brushed it off. Then once you started to really show and tell what you liked about him, you could see his eyebrow raise and the smirk on his face grow. He'd hold your face or hips while you did it, just to keep himself grounded and in the moment.

Syzoth didn't know what to do. He just...stood there. You could see the visible shock on his face, but clearly this was only because things like this didn't happen in the Zaterran world. Especially when you'd worship literally both forms, this is a newfound concept to him. Normally people are afraid of his natural form. But no, you showing love to all of him brought happy tears to his eyes.

Tomas was also very shy. He's confident in his abilities and clearly took the time to perfectly sculpt his own body for combat, but he never really thought about his own looks. So your intense focus and worship towards his physical appearance had him in awe. To the point of littering hickeys on the parts of his body nobody would be able to see but him made him all giddy and excited in and outside. In fact, he'd ask you to do this more often!

Liu Kang didn't really know how to respond at first. He appreciated your efforts, really. You decided to surprise him after you hadn't seen him in a while. He'd smile down at you using some of his techniques and kissing down his body starting from his forehead. Eventually he gets used to your way of showing affection and you'll physically see him melt under your touch.

[hetaherr]

scent of tomorrow

: childe, thoma, wriothesley, kazuha, wanderer

: fluff, a little angst if u squint, all about smells

super self indulgent, literally thought of this in the shower lmao okay bye happy reading and reblog to win your 5050s <3

childe

scent is one of the senses you should put to use when childe is around. it is known to see and to feel is a privilege given that the man is often travelling in his line of work. but i implore you to not take smell for granted, for in his abscence all that shall be left in your home is the scent of his presence. you find yourself sinking into the cold and empty bed, the smell of him freshly out the shower will waft through the room, eventually dissipating in the following days. you remember his muscular arms wrapping around you shamelessly, a cheeky smile adorning his tired face as he begins to tickle you. take a whiff and it smells of water, clean and refreshing, it's slightly minty and it feels pristine. there are floral notes like the orange blossom, you can make out the innocence and playfulness- much like the purity that is his love for you. it's weird how the first time you met childe, the air was grim and smelled strongly of metal. it isn't hard to guess why, he looked intimidating and seemed far away. but now he was yours, all you can think about is how much you miss his joyful and refreshing antics- much like the aroma he brings and makes any space immediately feel like home.

thoma

though far away, you often find yourself transported into the charming yet quaint town of mondstadt. or at least what you pressume to be mondstadt. thoma smells like a freshly baked apple pie, vanilla and apple- and a little cinnamony as you've mentioned before. "my cinnamon boy" you will say while snugging into him on a cold rainy inazuma day, he feels warm and the smell of vanilla feels oddly comforting and relaxing. if you think about it he smells like walking into a kitchen with the oven on during christmas. he smells like the feeling of running fingers through your hair, cozy as you listen to him ramble about his day with the kamisato clan. it is the perfect feeling of nostalgia and pure comfort, the embodiment of fall. there is something so homely about his scent that makes you want to call your family or childhood friends again, he reminds you of the innocence of youth that is forever unattainable. he smells like the remembrance of the past and the security of the future that lies in his warm embrace.

wriothesley

there is something so on brand as you see those 3 in one soaps sitting so awkwardly in your shower, squeezed inbetween your fancy bottles of shower gels and all kinds of face and hair masks, body scrubs to keep yourself feeling clean. i suppose to this man, one bottle will do, and being clean is a 2 step process. however it's funny, he'll come home and a teasing grin will fall apon his face while chasing you around the living room- despite being exhausted from work- for a hug. "no hugs until you take a shower!" you can try shouting, squirming as he catches you. but trying is really all you can do. you can smell the musk that is his sweat, it's a little woody yet it makes you feel so very secure and safe- similar to the fortress he runs. a true sign of his hardwork, it may be a little gross as you return his hug- groaning as usual. but as he relishes in your touch, you can smell the lingering scent of that ridiculous soap he insists on using, it smells like jasmine. so pure and weirdly sensual as he tells you yet again that "i've missed you". its fascinating how his scent does such an accurate job at reminding you of his honesty in his work and in loving you. you may complain about his sweaty hugs and his odd taste in soaps but you do hope that the both of you stay in each other's embrace for just a little longer, before it's all washed away down the pipes.

kazuha

an honest laugh sounds across the beach, kazuha's hand unconsciously moving a piece of your hair away from your face as he listens to you speak. "you just smell different from how i imagined..." the sheepish remark sparks the feeling of surprise within his chest. when you first set eyes on the wandering samurai, the image of autumn and beautiful maple leaves falling from trees appears within your mind- a reasonable thought. but it couldn't be further from the truth. kazuha smells like summer, he smells like white musk and coconut. it's a little woody, fruity and floral at the same time, similar to his calm yet charming nature. it reminds you of the way he is able to remain so composed like the tranquil ocean while he manages to fluster you with his flowery words. at times you can faintly smell the sea breeze, salty and citrusy- but the scent comes and goes as does he, never staying in one spot for too long. under the sun as you lay with him atop a warm rock feeling the breeze, his scent is vast. one moment it feels like splashing in the ocean under the sun and the next it feels like watching the waves crash against the shore under the moonlight. he smells like the way you romanticise being at the beach, whether you are playing with your friends or sitting in a hammock, just watching and existing. be glad that everytime he is away, the beach will always feel like home.

wanderer

there is something so peaceful about waking up in the early mornings of spring, the crisp air and morning dew is something so miniscule yet so easy to love. but all you chose to look at is how his mouth is agape, brows slightly scrunched together, the motion of his chest falling and rising is the only thing moving in the still environment that surrounds you. at this moment as he wakes, you are greeted with the delightful aroma of lavender. unlike his usual stubborn and harsh behaviour, the scent of lavender only enhances how calm and tranquil it feels. it makes you laugh at how different his personalities seem throughout the day. his eyes narrow at you as his arm that drapes lazily across your waist pulls you closer. you can smell the aroma, surprised at how long it has lasted, you like how it reminds you of his devotion to you. there are times he smells like bergamot too. it smells like the sun, citrusy and a little playful. it dispells the shadows of despondency and anxiety, he smells like breathing the fresh air of morning walks. he smells like hanging the fresh laundry in the afternoon on a sunny yet windy day. the mixture of scents remind you of the elegance and purity that he is. a man capable of change and love, after being brought his sun.

[definitelynotshouting]

fic writer interview!

shamelessly yoinking from @karliahs bc this looks fun as hell to do :]

How many works do you have on AO3?

32 fics total, between my main and rough draft pseud!! which feels like a really small amount, honestly-- i think my private WIPs list is MUCH higher 😂😂😂😂 if we're counting my very first (and very abandoned) ao3 acct too, then that number is bumped up to 35!!

What's your total AO3 word count?

163,211, and a good 65k of that was written this year somehow??? according to my statistics ._. lowkey crazy to think about

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

paid for it with all of my blood (BNHA | 8,452)

at times so self destructive (BNHA | 4,554)

lost in the dark (he's got a heavy heart) (HC/LIFE | 3,618)

or we can just have conversation (MSA | 1,834)

the art of rawgabbitry (BNHA | 1,609)

if youve been following me since my bnha fics in 2018 you deserve a veteran's discount

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

i used to answer every single comment i got, honestly, unless it came by years after i posted it-- the only reason i dont as much anymore is because it gets REALLY overwhelming for me to respond to everyone after the initial barrage 😅😅 the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak etc etc. but i do read every comment and appreciate them SO SO MUCH, and whenever i find one particularly moving or want to just reassure people im still working on something i'll respond to those :]

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

not counting the wips that just never got finished and left off before their main shit could resolve, id say at times so self destructive (BNHA)-- i mean i LITERALLY ended it with izuku potentially dying 😭😭😭😭

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

tbh i dont think i write happy endings so much as i write hopeful, bittersweet, or open-ended ones-- i tend to like catharsis more than fluff when it comes down to it. but out of my fluff fics i think honey it's starting to storm (HC) is one of the genuinely sweetest ive written. my runner-ups on that would probably be when the smoke does finally pass (TMA) and or we could just have conversation (MSA) :]

Do you write crossovers?

not typically, and ive never published any, but i am definitely not immune to them 😂😂😂😂 i think my most niche crossover ive actually written (never to see the light of day) was a Nine Lives of Chloe King and Supernatural fic that was the definition of self-indulgent rot. only a little less niche than that was a Mortal Instruments and Supernatural crossover (theres a running theme here lol) lying in snippets on an ancient google doc in my oldest gmail acct. reread that one recently and its shockingly coherent for being written in like. 2016. id even call it decent (though theres a lot id change up if i were writing it now)

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

idk if it'd be considered hate but once i wrote a fic inspired by someone else's when i was very new to ao3, let them know (i didnt know about the "inspired by" option back then), and they got mad at me in my comments section because in their words, "its better than mine" 😭😭😭😭💥💥💥💥💥💥

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

YOU COULD SAY THAT

as for what kind, honestly whatever strikes my fancy-- usually character/relationship studies, or just a fun focus on character intimacy. love 2 be asexual<3 love 2 write asexual sex<3

i had a discussion with my qpp recently about how in all honesty the smut i write is pretty tame, its just the character emotions written behind it that makes it feel a bit deranged. smth smth scarian is a chemical explosion. u understand

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not to my knowledge!!!

Have you ever had a fic translated?

yeppers!! the art of rawgabbitry (BNHA) received a translation to Russian, which i always found a bit funny because rawgabbitry is. one of my least favorite works ive ever written, if only for the type of comments it tended to receive back in the day 😭😭😭😭

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

ive never managed it honestly-- i get a bit precious about my process, which can make it hard to collaborate on that level. but its something ive always wanted to grow enough as a writer to try :]

What's your all-time favorite ship?

not so much of a singular OTP type of guy as i have favorite pairings per fandom im in-- that being said rn its scarian :P

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

pretty much all of my dsmp wips honestly. i may surprise myself someday, but for now i just have zero urge to actually finish any of them

What are your writing strengths?

like my pal karliahs im gonna rip these from the comments ive received 😅😅😅 but id definitely say imagery is my strongest skill!! i have a very strong imagination, and tend to see fic scenes as movie scenes in my head which i then transcribe into written format. id like to say im also really skilled at characterization and realistic dialogue that captures character voices very well!! and frankly i just love emotional realism so much i cant NOT write it, its always leaking into everything i do

What are your writing weaknesses?

i tend to get a little too funky and abstract with my descriptions sometimes-- that can work for some scenes, but grounding everything so that it feels more real and makes actual sense to the reader is something i often have to do on the second, third, and final passes

also to every person who has to crack open a thesaurus to understand what i write, i am so fucking sorry😭💥💥💥💥💥💥💥

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

no thoughts beyond if its not a language you're proficient in you should probably get that checked over by a native speaker, just in case :P

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

fairy tail..... ff.net was a dark place

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

crying sobbing wailing as i desperately beg my brain to start writing that post-canon siffrin and odile relationship study. unfortunately i dont think i can have more than one longfic on my docket at a time so it shrimply must wait

What's your favorite fic you've written?

to the surprise of absolutely nobody, i'd have say lost in the dark (he's got a heavy heart) (HC/LIFE) :]

No obligation, but im tagging: @raichett, @kayawolfhorse, @boonbeenblade, @sillyfairygarden, and @grimfey !!! And anyone else who wants to do this ofc :]]]❤️❤️❤️❤️

[realisticjupiter]

Can I request Arisu with a super clingy/perhaps touch starved s/o? (This is shamelessly self indulgent of me, I want to hold the fluffy-haired gamer boy).

you're real for this one anon

Summary: Teasing Arisu while he's on the game.

Genre: Pure fluff !

Pairing: pre-borderlands Arisu x gn!touch-starved!reader

Warnings: Lap sitting, idk that's kinda it....

Word count: 578

You and Arisu had been living together after the first time his dad kicked him out. He didn't bother trying to win him back, he just wandered off while trying to find someone close to take him in.

Karube was the one that informed you of his situation, you had a decent sized apartment so you didn't see why Arisu couldn't live with you.

It's been a few months since then. You've grown closer. Sorta dating, but just to 'try it out'. You're not sure what it is though, you've grown to really like him. All you want to do is touch him, please him; anything to make him happy.

You were lying on his bed while watching him play like every other day after work. It was relaxing and quite funny to see him pissed off after he dies.

You couldn't help but let your thoughts race, wanting to just ease his tensed up muscles and replace them with something, anything else.

Lying on his bed, was a choice. Watching him play, was a choice.

A choice you chose to be closer to him. In your head, when you think about him, he's yours and someone you've become dependent on to help you relax.

You slid off of his bed and stood behind him as he played. Your hands fell onto his shoulders, causing him to jump a little but quickly going back to focus.

You lightly squeezed his shoulders, pushing on all the knots he may have made throughout the day.

"I--Mm.. What--what are you doing?" Arisu asked, his body almost melting to your touch.

"I don't know." You admitted, sliding your hands down his body to his chest, resting your head on his shoulders.

His body shivered to your touch, not knowing how to focus when you're constantly touching him.

"You missed a guy." You stated, your eyes on his game.

"No I didn't." He shook his head, trying to sound confident but his voice was betraying him with a voice crack.

"Did to. You need to learn how to focus better, Arisu. He was right in front of you." You began in a short whisper, your mouth right next to his ear.

"I can't focus when you're..." He mumbled with a soft groan.

"When I'm what?" You smiled, watching his eyes fight everything to not look at you.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, but no answer.

"I like touching you, Arisu. Is that such a crime?" You mumbled, almost in defeat when you watched his features; studying them.

He stayed silent again, instead he just turned his head to finally look you in the eyes. The same eyes that were filled with either innocence or mischief; it was hard to tell with you.

You smiled at him, lifting your head and walking around his chair to be in front of him. Before he could protest, and complain you were blocking his view. You got into his lap, nuzzling your face into his neck and wrapping your arms around his torso.

"Where did you say the other guy was?" He mumbled quietly, trying to adjust himself to be more comfortable.

"In the subway." You replied, taking in his scent and smiling against his skin.

He smiled too, he had been wanting you to do this. To sit on his lap as he played to be closer, but was far too afraid. He loved you, even if he didn't know it yet.

reposts and comments are appreciated<3

[brighteststar707]

Daydreams

I’ve been trying to get used to writing again, so I thought I’d be self-indulgent and write about kissing my number one boy.

✦ Saeyoung x Reader (set during his route)

✦ Words: 1607

✦  Genre: Fluff

Here’s the thing: Seven really wants to kiss you.

Here’s the problem: he’s stuck in his dungeon of an office, a safe (but frustrating) distance away. Here’s another problem: he isn’t supposed to be kissing anyone, or even thinking about kissing anyone. As Vanderwood has reminded him several times, attachments are dangerous.

Even so, he wants to kiss you when you shamelessly flirt with him in the chatrooms and join in on his ridiculous pranks. He wonders what your smile would feel like pressed against his lips. It’s a good thing you can’t see how hard you make him blush.

Once or twice, you’ve called him up late at night and, in a tone more serious than he’s ever heard from you, told him that you hoped he was taking care of himself. How was he supposed to say that you’re in more danger than you think (thanks to him) and that he’d work himself to the point of exhaustion rather than see you get hurt?

He doesn’t. He does tell you a joke about how he’s the invincible God Seven, but even over the phone he can tell that you’re not convinced. When he hangs up, he rubs his aching eyes and wonders if you’d hold him if he asked nicely. If you’d kiss his temples and tell him that this headache, this stress, this exhaustion will pass.

It gets worse once he starts obsessively watching the cameras. He stares at his screen so intensely that he starts to see it behind his eyelids when he closes his eyes. It’s all worth it, though, for the glimpses he catches of you when you leave the apartment. Surely, you must know that he’s always watching for you, because you often take the time to wave at the camera before you go. A little sign, just for him. It gives him butterflies every time you do it.

It’s a problem. He is supposed to be focusing on protecting you, and instead he’s fantasizing about what it would be like to be in that apartment with you. No hacking, no bomb, no threats. He’d be the Seven you like, not the liar Luciel who keeps nasty secrets. You’d still talk to him the way you do now, maybe with more cheeky flirting and less concern. 

Instead of obsessively watching the camera footage for the off chance that he’d get to see you for a second, he’d be there, sharing space with you. Maybe you’d mention that you’re out of groceries, that you needed to go out for more. And instead of staring at the screen intensely like he does, he’d walk you to the door.

Maybe, just maybe, he’d kiss you goodbye. He’d cup your face between his hands (you wouldn’t mind that the skin on his palms was callused), and gently bring you close to him. You’d smile at him, that smile he has only managed to see once or twice so far but has imprinted in his memory. And then, he’d kiss you.

It’s all very distracting. And embarrassing when Vanderwood comes back into his study and asks him why he’s so red.

Hey, even agents can dream. 

✦✧✦✧ 

  It’s not like he has never kissed anybody before. From the beginning the agency had made it pretty clear that he was to use all the tools at his disposal in order to achieve his goals. It didn’t take him long to realize they meant his body, too.

He could probably count all the kisses he has had, if he tried. But those kisses were different from what he pictures when he thinks of you. They were stolen in dark, hazy rooms, his mind was always elsewhere, trying to get to the next step of the plan. Most of those memories don’t feel like they belong to him at all, that’s how far he has dissociated himself from them.

So, really, it doesn’t matter how many people he has kissed. Nothing has ever felt like this before. His fantasies about kissing you leave him feeling hot and fuzzy. He fixates on every detail, lingers in the moment and wonders if you feel the same way. He isn’t sure what he wants the answer to be. 

  ✦✧✦✧

It’s funny how quickly things can change.

A week ago, Seven was sitting in the safe solitude of his office. He was in his element, protecting you the best way he knew how, and fully in denial of how quickly his feelings for you were growing.

It was easy, back then, to dream up fairy tales, knowing full well just how ridiculous they were. The thought of sharing the apartment with you was outlandish enough, let alone the idea of the two of you kissing. It was all just harmless daydreaming.

Turns out, those feelings were a lot more real than he had let himself believe. You were no longer an image on a screen, a voice through a phone, but a living, breathing person. You had cute little habits he never could have guessed at before, and you were frustratingly fixated on getting close to him.

Oh, and now you’re close. So impossibly close. With your arms resting on his shoulders, hands fiddling with the hair at the base of his neck, looking at him with such certainty in your eyes.

And oh, he really wants to kiss you.  

The strange sequence of events that led up to this point is one he still can’t piece together fully. Despite everything he said and did over the past few days, you still treated him with the same kindness you had always shown him. You somehow still want him, somehow seem to like him as much as he likes you.

His own hands rest uselessly by his sides, caught somewhere between the overwhelming need for you and the fear of what will happen if he gives in.

In all his fantasies, he was perfectly in control. His head was clear, his every movement intentional. He was the one holding you close, giving you that look you’re giving him now. However, he had failed to consider the overwhelming sensations that would cloud his head in the moment itself. The scent of you surrounding him completely, the intensity of your eyes studying his face, the burning in his cheeks.

The world is shifting on its axis, and it’s a wonder he’s still standing upright. And he hasn’t even kissed you yet.

It’s in the way you play with his hair, so at ease, even in a moment like this. He isn’t sure if anyone has ever touched him like this. It’s making his stomach do somersaults and his thoughts run wild. He can’t focus on everything at once, and his gaze drops to your lips.

You smile.

That’s what does it. That smile, the one he has only seen a few times, and seen only directed at him over a pixelated CCTV feed. It breaks through the buzzing in his head and the pounding of his heart and gives him the push he has been looking for.

He cups your face in his hands (you don’t seem to mind the roughness of his palms) and pulls your face towards his. The last thing he sees before he closes his eyes is your smile.

The first kiss is something soft, experimental, your lips just moulded together. A taste.

Against his lips, he feels you hum softly. That’s all it takes for his remaining hesitancy to melt away.

Instead, it is replaced with a sense of urgency so intense that he can feel it in the back of his throat. All the fear, the loneliness, the desperation of the past few days catches up to him and he needs to make up for all the time he has lost, right now.

His hands move to the back of your head, and he pulls your face back towards him. You crash together again, this time all notions of gentleness forgotten. He kisses you hard and you nip at his lower lip until he opens for you. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wonders if you haven’t been harbouring any fantasies of your own. Then, he feels you tug at his hair and he doesn’t think anything at all.

Where the first kiss was soft, this one is hungry. He cannot have you close enough, cannot catch his breath, cannot think about anything but you you you. His hands drop down to your waist to pull your bodies flush together. After enduring several days of self-imposed distance from each other, he relishes the feeling of you under his hands.  

When you break apart, you keep your arms around him. He’s glad. He isn’t sure what will happen if you let go of him now. You smooth out his hair where you tugged at it before, and he shivers. His hands linger on your hips, fingertips still buzzing with the thrill of touching you. Nothing feels quite real, like the colours are too bright and his skin is too sensitive to your touch.

It must show on his face, because your expression goes from giddy to concerned. “Are you alright, Seven? Was that okay?”

“Okay… Hah…” He has apparently also forgotten how to speak. There is a piece of hair that he must have messed up earlier, and he reaches out to fix it. His brain usually doesn’t have any trouble keeping up, but today it feels like he is wading through deep water, like everything takes more effort than it should. He takes a breath, allows his heart a moment to slow down.

“It’s like... I’m dreaming.”

[the-butch-of-blaviken]

Aiden/Lambert/Keira, modern au, pure fluff, sharing food (890 words)

something silly and self-indulgent written for a discord server prompt

It’s a hot summer day and they’d thought going to the beach on their day off was a good idea – and it would have been, had not about a billion other people had the same idea.

Lambert has not been to the beach since he was eleven years old and Vesemir took him and his brothers to the beach on one of those rare, blessed week-ends where he didn’t work. Lambert remembers splashing around in the water and daring his brothers to see who could hold his breath the longest underwater. The ice cream cart had wobbled over to their spot and the three of them had turned to Vesemir with eyes like war orphans’. “Absolutely not,” Vesemir had said without looking up from his crosswords. 

Turns out splashing around in the water all day was good enough for eleven-year-olds but he feels a little self-conscious about it now, and besides, kids and middle-aged dads in khaki bathing shorts standing perfectly still knee-deep in water with their hands on their hips are already taking up all the space.

Aiden does manage to lure him to deeper waters and for a moment they’re busy racing each other, shamelessly cheating by catching the other’s foot and tickling him or grabbing each other by the leg and dragging him underwater, but it rapidly gets old and after an hour and a half, they’re back on dry land. Keira complains that they’re kicking up sand and dripping all over her like dogs after a bath, but she still makes room for them under her parasol. After that, it gets rather dull and Lambert starts feeling like seasoned meat on a barbecue grill. As a matter of fact, all three of them are sweating profusely, even Keira, who somehow still manages to look like a Barbie straight out of the box.

When the ice cream cart wheels past their spot, they all share a look.

“Let’s share an ice cream,” Aiden suggests.

“They only come in cones.”

“Yeah, and? It’s romantic,” he replies, grinning.

Keira scoffs. “It’s disgusting and unsanitary is what it is.”

“We’ve done more unsanitary stuff than this.”

“What kind of argument is that?” She turns to Lambert, looking for support.

He just shrugs. “I don’t feel like getting ice cream just for me.” He still kind of wants the ice cream, though.

She stares at him over the brim of her thick-rimmed sunglasses for a moment before capitulating, sighing. She fishes a ten-florin bill out of her wallet and holds it out between her index and middle fingers for Aiden to take. He snatches it and gives her a peck on the cheek.

“Thanks, mom.”

She slaps his ass on his way up. Lambert hides his smile behind a hand when Aiden yelps. He probably would have done the same.

They each choose a perfume: strawberry for Keira, chocolate mint for Lambert and peanut butter for Aiden. The ice cream starts melting before they’ve even sat back down on their towel, running down the cone in a glorious pink, green and brown mess.

Keira gets the first taste. After that, they pass the cone around in turns: Aiden makes a point of taking comically long licks whenever he can. It takes Keira and Lambert a while to notice, but when they do, Aiden has to sit out two of his turns to compensate. He looks at them like a kicked puppy while they enjoy their ice cream with overzealous noises of enjoyment until the mother of a nearby family glares at them.

Ice cream is running down their fingers in creamy, sticky streaks and it tastes everything Lambert thought ice cream from the ice cream cart would taste: cheap, too sugary and delicious.

In the end, Aiden sinks his teeth into the ice cream, raising exclamations of protest and indignation.

“Oh, Aiden, no!”

“You’re really bad at sharing,” Lambert says and he and Keira laugh when Aiden winces like someone who’s got a bad case of brain freeze.

“You guys just needed to eat faster,” Aiden replies when he’s recovered. “It’s survival of the fittest out here.” He holds out the remains of the ice cream to Keira.

“Oh no, you can keep it now. And don’t look so proud of yourself. You’re doing the dishes tonight.”

Aiden smiles, baring his teeth. “Worth it.”

“Terrible man.” She doesn’t bother keeping the fondness from her voice.

Later, Lambert takes Keira’s hand in his as they walk back to the car and Aiden slings an arm around her shoulders.

“Don’t touch me, I’m all gross and sweaty,” she warns him and he presses himself against her side, squishing his cheek against hers. She groans. “Dishes duty today and tomorrow.”

He laughs. Nothing gets to him.

They hiss as they settle into their seats, fake leather burning every inch of exposed skin.

“Am I the only one thinking the beach is kind of overrated?” Lambert says, brushing sand from between his toes. Keira smiles at him in the rearview mirror.

“Too many kids, man,” Aiden complains as he adjusts his hair with his fingers in the little mirror inside the sun visor.

“Let’s stay home next time.”

Keira drives them away and Lambert rests his head against the car door, swearing he can still feel the waves as he drifts to sleep.

[thebroccolination]

TEN OPENING LINES FROM MY TEN MOST RECENT FICS AND WHAT THEY HAVE IN COMMON

Rules: List the first line of the last ten (10) stories you published. Look to see any patterns you notice yourself, and see if anyone else notices any.

The only thing I knew going in is that they’d all start kind of in medias res because that’s what I like reading. But I noticed something else after I compiled them all! Something really interesting that I’ll have to play with from now on.

Heart Like Gold [Be My Favorite, SOTUS, Between Us] Kawi x Pisaeng, Kongphob x Arthit, Win x Team

Kawi and Arthit are twins! WinTeam stalk a guy and fall in love about it!

Kawi’s theatrics would affect the weather.

Behold! The shortest! Followed immediately by:

quietly uncovering everything [SOTUS] Kongphob x Arthit

Anxiety and rope bondage and KongArt!

It’s fair to say that Kongphob might’ve lived his entire life under certain assumptions about sex and mental health that he passively absorbed from media or word-of-mouth if it hadn’t been for one conversation with a classmate while he studied abroad in Beijing.

The longest by far.

Gatekeeping Kawi [Be My Favorite] Kawi x Pisaeng

Pisaeng goalie-blocks Kawi’s terrible mother from contacting her son!

If Pisaeng has any major flaw he’s not working to improve, it’s that he takes full advantage of the nepotism that got him his job in order to leave work on time every day.

I just really wanted to establish immediately that this fic is about Pisaeng being both shamelessly petty and wildly protective.

Fireproof [Between Us] Win x Team

Exes-to-lovers with totally appropriate amounts of suffering!

Win ignores the sleeping couple on the chairs across from him.

He is also ignoring his Problems. (Also the couple is KawiPi. Li’l Easter egg.)

surprise me [Between Us] Win x Team

Team tries to throw Win a surprise party in another country!

It’s number forty-three on the list of facts about Win that Team keeps on his phone: Win’s never had a surprise birthday party.

I love that Team canonically has a list of things he wants to memorize about Win. Baby simp.

Sorry Meal [Be My Favorite] Kawi x Pisaeng

Kawi gets through life’s challenges by being adorable with food!

The shouting stops around noon, and they refuse to speak to each other at all for the rest of the day.

In which I celebrate that KawiPi can both be stubborn assholes and their arguments are enormous fun for me personally.

somewhere to begin [Be My Favorite] Kawi x Pisaeng

Self-indulgent post-series fluff!

Twenty minutes after arriving home to find his little family waiting for him, Kawi lets his draining body list against Pisaeng.

Because I believe down to my core that Kawi is a snuggly needy simp deep down. (He literally imagined Pisaeng model-walking toward him and said, “Please believe me that I hate this man.”)

through casual mistakes of fate [Be My Favorite] Kawi x Pisaeng

Self-indulgent ep-11 angst fluff! (It’s real, I checked!)

Pisaeng wakes up to his alarm, swipes the button on his phone screen to shut it off, and rolls out of bed—all within a few seconds.

This is the line that made me realize the thing!!!

keep me here, i'm right where i belong [Be My Favorite] Max x Queer Rights, Kawi x Pisaeng

Self-indulgent marriage equality fluff!

When true marriage equality is won, Max is the first one to deliver the news to most of his friends.

Sooort of this one?

We Must Lead by Example [Naughty Babe] Lian x Kuea

LianKuea being smug about their sex-successful marriage!

When your best friend asks you not to tell your husband something, common courtesy dictates that you honor all those days and nights of laughter and tears by keeping the secret not just in this life but in the next and whatever’s in the interim.

And this is a return to form. INTERESTING.

——————

So here’s the thing: most of my opening lines are, like. Observations. Team keeps a list. Pisaeng and Kawi are fighting. Pisaeng has a flaw. Kongphob learned about bondage.

Very few are action-based. Pisaeng jumping out of bed, Kawi leaning on Pisaeng, Max telling his friends that marriage equality has passed.

I’ll have to go through more of my fics to know if this is a common thing, but it feels like it! I think most of my fics begin with observations rather than actions, and maybe I’ll try it the other way for a while and see what changes!

What a fun li’l exercise. \:D/

If you noticed anything different, definitely tell me! This is fun~

[withloveajaxx]

kiss me through the phone

𓂅 genre: modern au! diluc x gn! reader fluff

𓂅 warnings: description of diluc's attractive body???

𓂅 summary: this is how your usual mornings go with diluc unable to physically be by your side (or its just you watching him change for work in the morning)

𓂅 note: i remember this one time a very good friend of mine and i were screaming over having an ldr vc with diluc while he changes and does his shit. so i just transformed these thoughts into an actual fic LMAOOO. not the best fic bc it's self indulgent asf BUT OH WELL <33 HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOY <33

sometimes, the hardest thing about having a long distance relationship with diluc is not the thousands of miles that kept you apart. it wasn't the god awful time difference between the places you both lived in either. sometimes, the hardest part was trying to listen to him tell you about his previous day whilst you watched him get ready for his work in the morning. 

of course you want to listen to your boyfriend tell you about his day. you'd never want to miss a single detail from his small yet cute little rambles or stories. however, it was proving to be very difficult to focus on barely anything as diluc's toned back faces you and projects onto your screen.

at the time you called, he had just started getting dressed for his routine work day. finding it rather challenging to change while holding the phone in his hand, diluc decided to place his phone upright, against one of the many books laid out across his desk nearby. coincidentally, this gave you what you could only call the perfect view of him. 

(more utc!)

the bright rays of the sun were beginning to slip through the curtains of diluc's room, generously highlighting the built muscles of the latter's upper half as he continued chatting about what happened yesterday. you could only hum absentmindedly to whatever he was saying as he started tying his crimson locks into a high ponytail. 

at the point when diluc slips into a crisp white button up, you couldn't even catch a word he was saying. you admire the way your significant other looks absolutely stunning as he turns to a mirror to button up the piece of clothing accordingly, giving you mere moments to peek at his firm abdomen before tucking the remnants of the shirt into his buckled pants. 

"are you still there, my love?" diluc asks, a hint of worry in his soothing voice as he turns to the camera to check up on you, effectively snapping you out of your trance. 

your cheeks turn red at the horrifying realization that diluc's just caught you staring at him with the biggest heart eyes. you hope the light from your phone isn't bright enough to reveal the blush on your cheeks as you chuckle in embarrassment. 

"yeah, yeah. sorry about that, i spaced out a little," you admit sheepishly. thankfully, diluc made no further comment. you wanted anything else but to explain how you were shamelessly staring and awing at his figure. 

you swear you tried your hardest this time to listen to diluc, even commenting and joking about some of the things he was saying. but alas, both your eyes and mind were distracted yet again at the sight of diluc leaning closely into his mirror, tying a necktie around the collar of his shirt. 

he's still saying something as he tilts his jaw to examine himself further, but again, his words go through one ear and immediately out the other. he's making sure he looked the best he could for his work and all you can focus on is the sharp line of his jaw, the slight hollowness of his cheek bones, and all the little things that seemingly make you fall all over for him again. 

"(y/n)? are you sure you're okay, love? you seem to be spacing out a lot." diluc's caught you staring yet again, and yet he's oblivious. concern weighs heavy in his tone, clearly worried about you. "did something unfortunate happen today?" 

"nothing's wrong diluc, don't worry," you smile. his sweet nature causes your heart to thunder loudly against your chest in fondness. however, you still haven't answered him. so, you fumble with your phone, attempting to explain yourself in a less humiliating way. "it's just that… i can't help but admire how handsome you look sometimes." 

now it's diluc's turn to blush. his cheeks quickly turn into a deep shade of crimson, almost similar to the color of his hair. he clears his throat and picks his phone up from its makeshift stand, eyes avoiding the camera as to shy himself away from your gaze. 

despite still being embarrassed about your actions and your explanation, you chuckle in entertainment. your significant other still looked charming, even with a deep blush painting his cheeks red. 

"well, i'm glad you find me... handsome." you don't miss the small smile that creeps onto his lips before he finally turn to look at you through the screen. his features soften when you yawn and look back at him with slightly teary eyes that scream nothing but adoration and love. "but you need your sleep and i still have to drive myself to work, so we should hang up." 

"mhm, alright. talk to you later. love you, luc," you hum, rubbing your eyes with your free hand before waving at the camera. diluc takes his own time, a few precious seconds to stare at you with a lovesick look in his eyes and a gentle smile on his lips as he raises his hand to politely wave back at you.  

"mhm, i'll call you later and i love you too, darling." with that, you kiss him through the phone. you cheesily peck the front camera and smile at the sight of him chuckling in amusement before ending the call and drifting off to a content and dreamless sleep.

taglist (send an ask to be added or removed): @dawndelion-winery @tiredsleep @codename-hiraeth @mari-san-cant @mininji @artificial-heartache

© withloveajaxx 2022. please do not copy, plagarize, or translate in any way.

[snzunii]

OMG YOUR REQUESTS ARE OPEN ASDFGHJK can I pls get a domesticity (?) with sanzu? I've just been wanting sanzu fluff tbh I love that man too much thank you <33

NIGHTS LIKE THIS.

+ pairings. sanzu haruchiyo x f!reader.

+ tags. fluff, fluff and fluff <333 + spanking (like once gajsgah)

+ word count. 1.1k

+ note. so hi anon! here's ur requeeest aaaaa im sorry if this took so long i swear im just busy af, idk if this is any good cos i feel like my writing's off today. anyways i still enjoyed writing this cos i've been craving some sanzu fluff too, ify i love that man sm too akshsdhaj anw, this is kinda self-indulgent— i'm sorry jskaglsdh 😭 u'll see, anyways i hope u enjoy!! feedbacks are always appreciated <3

It's three in the morning.

Your boyfriend expects that you're already tucked in on your comfortable sheets; in that soft mattress, that you’re already far off to dreamland but it was kind of a surprise to him that you’re still wide awake— no, scratch that.

Your eyes are hardly wide, they’re holding on as you take in all the information in the transes that your blockmates made. It shouldn’t be a surprise to Sanzu that you’re still awake, considering your program. He knows that there would be long nights with you like this.

He stared at you for a while and there’s a brief smile when he saw you wearing his shirt. There’s a loving look in his eyes as he examine you; your hair’s in all places, there’s heavy bags under your eyes, you look like you just finished breaking down cause he can see the dried up tears in your cheeks.

He sighed, it’s a good thing that he isn’t high tonight because he’ll take good care of you.

When you see yourself in the mirror, you’ll think that you probably look like shit but not to him, even though you look like what you are right now, you’re still the prettiest for him.

“Hey, angel.” he said softly, “You’re still awake.”

You pulled your head up, smiling to your boyfriend. “Hey, Haru. You’re home. I was waiting for you and you know, studying. How was your day?”

You know what amazes Sanzu? You’re tired yourself, he bet you’re studying for hours now but you still check on him. Sometimes he’s just wondering, how in the hell did he get someone as you to fall in love with him? He doesn’t even know. You’re a complete angel and him— he sure isn’t.

He pulled the chair beside you and sat there himself, “You know, nothing special. Just killing some guys. How about you, how’s your day?”

You snickered, putting the thick binder down. You moved to sit on your boyfriend’s lap in a sideways manner, you buried your face on his neck as you close your eyes. “I’m tired, Haru.”

Sanzu wrapped his arms around your waist, leaning his head on your temple, “Hm? Then let’s get you to bed, yeah?”

“But I need to study.”

“You don’t need to. I make lots of-“

You tutted him before he could even finish what he was saying, you rolled your eyes. He’s always suggesting this whenever he sees you like this, “Stop suggesting that, you know I don’t want to rely on you for everything. I need to have my own career. I don’t want to be just Bonten’s number two’s girlfriend- “

“Wife.” he corrected you. “You’re my wife.”

You bit your lip to stop yourself from smiling. Just the thought of marrying this man just makes your heart feel like it was about to explode. You don’t even know how you to ended up here, you, a graduating college student getting involved with someone like him.

You were always thankful for that one night that your friends dragged you out in a nightclub in Roppongi, if they didn't then you would have never met him. You would have never meet that high as fuck + wasted pink haired motherfucker who shamelessly flirted with you the moment you entered that club.

And now, you’re here— planning your future with him. Before, you were planning for yourself. It was always just for you but now, it never feels right without Sanzu. It’s really amazing how life plays out sometimes, one minute he’s just a stranger and the next he’s the love of your life.

“Not yet.” you said, fingers playing with his tie. “I need to graduate first then earn some money and then I’ll marry you, how’s that sound?”

“Sounds good. Now, let’s get you to bed.” you squealed a bit when he stood up, carrying you in his arms in bridal style. “But, take a bath with me first. You stink.”

“Uh—” you scoffed, you looked at him with disbelief. “Excuse me? Don’t you think that maybe it was you? Look at your suit, you still have dried up blood in it.”

“Eh. It’s you.” he said, leaning his face close to your hair to sniff it. “See? When was the last the time you washed your hair? You stink, baby.”

“Well, if I’m stinky then why are you with me? You hate stinky stuff.”

“You’re the only one I can tolerate.”

You rolled your eyes jokingly, he gave you his signature smile, the one that makes his eyes disappear and make your heart flutter inside your chest because of how cute and handsome he is at the same time. You just smiled as you lean your head on his shoulder while he carries you up to the bathroom. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“Huh?”

“You cried.”

“Ah.” you sighed, “You’re at work. I don’t want to be a bother. Plus, it’s not a big deal. It’s just a good old breakdown, you know.”

Sanzu just clicked his tongue as he puts you down once you reach the bathroom. You slipped into the shower first and he followed you once he removed his clothes. You turned around and wrapped your arms around his nape.

You smiled at him while you let the warm water fall onto your bodies. He leaned down on your face, his forehead resting onto yours while his arms snaked around your bare waist. He whispered, “You’re never a bother.”

“Hm. I know.”

“Okay, then. Next time call me.” he said, you chuckled. Sanzu combs your wet hair with his fingers and tucks some of it behind your ear.

“Alright, sir. I’ll call you next time.”

“Stop. Don’t call me that right now.”

“Oh. But why sir Haruchiyo-“ you shrieked when he smacked your ass and squeezed it a bit. “Okay, okay. I won’t.”

You laughed and leaned forward to give him a peck on the lips. After you bathe each other, and a very long session of him brushing your teeth because he insisted to— you know how that went, you two laughing and making stupid jokes that’s why it took so long.

You’re now laying on top of him, butt naked. The only thing that’s covering your bodies was the soft comforter. You both do this often, just lay on your bed naked, sometimes it’s because you’re too lazy to dress up but most of the time, you just want to feel each other.

You don’t know, moments like this with him always warms your heart. It’s just you two, enjoying each other’s company silently. You feel him and only him.

Sanzu was combing your hair with his fingers until you feel the familiar feeling taking over you, your eyes were getting heavier as time goes by.

“Getting sleepy, Haru.” you murmured.

“Sleep tight, angel.” he whispered, you smiled faintly until you drift off to a deep and comfortable slumber on top of your lover, “I love you.”

+ taglist. @cosmiclvsh @tojisqueen @joranhaitani @r-xochitl @bekky06 @toshiswifey @Michelle_simps @ninetyeightrins @t4keomi @litle-crow @n-nara @hollowpurpl @iiclal @miyuuuuuposts @haitanilove @aclairysm @awkcasted @yukie35 @Prettylily @chronic-claire-universe @inupiko @chosoisbaby @marixxi @spaceemeeat @shizukuusagii @amaejiki @parca-de-destinos @kuraries @missysimpy @a-astxr @mui_xd @fr00g1es @gwynsapphire

if you want to join the taglist, please answer the form here! 🤍

[flower-gothic]

she wears short skirts, i wear t-shirts (eddie munson x fem!reader)

summary: you've been best friends (and secretly in love) with eddie for years, but when he gets a date with one of the cheerleaders, you find yourself doing everything you can to win his attention.

a/n: yes, the title and premise of this story is loosely based on "you belong with me" by taylor swift...this story is pretty self-indulgent, slightly angsty fluff. the descriptions of the reader are pretty closely based on myself, but feel free to imagine them however you like! please enjoy this little (okay, not so little) piece that would not get outta my head.

By all accounts, it was a typical Tuesday night–it started out like that, anyway. You were sat at your desk doing homework, the latest Iron Maiden record blaring through your headphones at a volume that was certain to damage your hearing. You knew Eddie, your oldest and closest friend, would most likely climb through your bedroom window any minute, despite the fact that your parents had no problem with him coming over; they, and everyone else, knew that nothing was going on between the two of you. Eddie just liked the dramatics of climbing up the side of your house to get inside, even though he waved at your mother through the window on his way up.

Like clockwork, right at 8:30, Eddie came pounding at the window loudly enough to cut through the sound of the music in your ears. Though he knew this was always necessary to get your attention, there was a certain urgency in his knocking on this particular evening. You pushed the window up for him, singing the chorus of “Wasted Years” to him with a cheesy grin as the music continued to pour through your headphones. You saw Eddie roll his eyes and smile at you, ever-amused by your shamelessly off-key singing. He pulled the headphones from your ears, bringing them to his own for a quick listen.

“Ah, the new Maiden album! This is a good one,” he observed loudly, unaware of his yelling over the music only he could hear.

You snatched the headphones back before hitting pause on the cassette. “Well, duh. Couldn’t you tell that from me singing to you?” 

Eddie’s eyebrows shot up underneath his curly mess of bangs. “Actually, I couldn’t. As much as I adore you, sweetheart, you’re no Bruce Dickinson,” he teased. You shoved him playfully, scoffing at the comment.

“Cruel, Eddie! I’d put myself right on par with the greatest of metal vocalists.”

“Sure, whatever you say,” he said. “Enough about the legitimacy of your singing talents, though. I have something important to tell you.” 

You could feel the excitement buzzing off of your friend, now that he mentioned it. He was bouncing around happily, making you wonder what had him so worked up. “What’s up, Eds?” you asked. 

Eddie’s signature toothy grin spread across his lovely face, reaching his chocolate-colored eyes; you could’ve sworn his cheeks blushed red. He flopped down onto your bed before he started to recount his tale. “Well, you know how I’ve always had a little bit of a crush on Megan, right? I accidentally ran into her at the store after school, like physically ran into her with a bunch of snacks in my arms–you know how I crave Yoohoo after I smoke–and we both dropped everything. Anyways, we helped each other pick up our stuff, got to talking, and we actually hit it off. And get this, Y/N. I’m taking her out on a date this Friday night!” Eddie beamed at you, clearly both exhilarated and proud of his story. 

For you, however, it felt as though someone had just landed a hard punch to your gut. Because little did Eddie, or your parents, or your friends know, you had had a crush on Eddie for quite some time. Finally, you worked up a response. “Megan M., you mean? Cheerleader, class president Megan?” you asked, slightly disbelieving. 

“Well, yeah. You knew that’s the Megan I’ve always had a thing for,” Eddie replied, seeming a little let down by your reaction. 

You let out a little puff of air, then turned back to your desk. “Oh,” was all you could muster. Tears were prickling at the corners of your eyes, but you would rather die than let Eddie see them. 

“That’s all you have to say? Oh? I thought you’d be a little more excited for me,” Eddie said, clearly downtrodden. 

You shook your head, gathering all the composure you could find within yourself and turning to face him. “No, Eds, it’s not that. I’m happy for you, really. I just have a bit of a headache and I have some homework to finish up, so I’m not feeling the greatest. I think I need to be by myself,” you lied, giving him a halfhearted smile.

Eddie frowned. “Really? We were supposed to watch a movie tonight. Robin gave me a couple good scary options for free,” he complained. Eddie could tell something was going on with you; even when you did have homework, you were usually happy to let him occupy himself with the books and magazines and tapes in your room, simply content to have some company. 

“Yes, Eddie, really. I just remembered I have an essay due in the morning, so I really need peace and quiet. You could go over to Gareth’s if you don’t feel like being alone, I know he’s been dying to see the new Friday the 13th movie,” you suggested. Then, as petty jealousy lanced through you, you added, “Or maybe you could go watch it with Megan.” You spat her name out like it tasted bitter. 

Standing from your bed, Eddie gave you a puzzled, slightly hurt look. “Fine, I guess I’ll just go, then. See you tomorrow, I guess.” Eddie slipped out your window as easily as he had entered, and when you heard his filthy white high-tops hit solid ground, you walked to the window and watched him jog to his van. As soon as the tires screeched away, the tears that had been threatening to fall for Eddie’s entire visit began spilling over.

Of all the girls Eddie could go out with, why did it have to be Megan? She was sweet, popular, and smart, not to mention absolutely gorgeous–the polar opposite of you. You looked in the mirror at yourself: curly, wild hair, big, chunky glasses, and your body draped in one of Eddie’s old Corroded Coffin t-shirts, making you look totally shapeless. You didn’t stand a chance against Megan and her perfect high ponytails and sinfully short skirts. Though you’d had your suspicions about the sorts of girls Eddie liked based on the magazines that were sometimes lying around his bedroom, this was your final, heartbreaking confirmation that you weren’t Eddie’s type–that he would never be attracted to you. 

You slept fitfully that night. Frustration plagued your mind, and you found yourself, in your sleeplessness, hatching a plan. Though it wasn’t likely to work, you came up with one final, last-ditch effort to get Eddie’s attention for yourself, to get him to see you. You set your alarm extra-early, knowing you’d have to get to work before the sun rose in order to make this happen.

At 5:45am the next morning, the obnoxious ringing of your alarm awoke you;  you had apparently drifted off at some point late in the night. You dragged yourself reluctantly out of bed. The gray morning light of autumn was just beginning to peek through your curtains, and you found yourself questioning if Eddie’s attention was truly worth waking up an hour earlier than normal. The thought of Eddie on a date with Megan M. helped you decide that it certainly was.

Thus began a painstaking morning routine: you took a long, hot shower, shaving your legs baby-smooth and scrubbing down with the floral body wash that your mother usually used. You blow-dried your hair smooth before tying it up into a ponytail that made your scalp ache. Then came the part which you found yourself most daunted by: makeup. You had a few products for special occasions, but they were rarely used otherwise. You had seen Nancy do her makeup a few times, though, and tried to remember her steps: light concealer to cover the tired circles under your eyes, rosy pink blush, mascara, and lip gloss that made your lips look full and shiny. Finally, you sneaked into your older sister’s room to raid her closet for something more feminine, apprehensive despite the fact that she was a few hundred miles away at college. It felt like she would know you were about to steal her clothes despite that fact.

In the end, you found yourself slipping into a short, pink skirt and white sweater that she had left behind, along with a pair of your own white sneakers. You tied a blush-pink satin ribbon into your hair as the finishing touch, then placed your thick glasses on your dresser, brushing off the slight blurriness in the name of looking more fashionable. Gazing in the mirror, you felt nothing like yourself: the only remnant of the real you left behind was the faded little stick-and-poke tattoo of a bat on your thigh that Eddie had put there while you were both drunk one night; he had one to match in the same spot. 

You grabbed your schoolbag and awaited Eddie’s appearance in front of your house; he took you to school every morning. As the minutes ticked by, you became worried that the previous night’s awkwardness was going to prevent him from showing up, but as you heard the van’s tires screech to a stop, you realized it was only Eddie’s habitual lateness. Eddie was drumming distractedly on the steering wheel when you opened the door and hopped inside. He turned to you with a smile. “Morning, sunshine. You feeling–” he stopped abruptly as he looked you up and down, jaw almost dropping. “You feeling better?” he managed after gawking at you for a few seconds. 

You smiled lightly at Eddie, trying to emulate the pleasant prettiness of the popular girls that Eddie was apparently interested in. “Much better today, thanks, Eds. Sorry I kicked you out last night,” you replied politely. 

Eddie continued staring you down as he pulled off towards Hawkins High. “Don’t worry about it,” he mumbled. Quietly, secretly, he wondered if you had actually hit your head, for he had only seen you dress this way for the family photos you so hated taking last year. 

You arrived at school and walked in together, as you always did. Before you could take your usual morning spot in the cafeteria, however, Megan was walking up, waving sweetly to Eddie. Immediately, your conversation about the upcoming Hellfire campaign was discarded. 

“Hey, Eddie!” she greeted the metalhead eagerly. “Hi,Y/N,” she added, smiling kindly at you, and dammit, you couldn’t even hate her because she truly was sweet.

“Good morning, m’lady,” Eddie replied, dropping to a knee and kissing her hand, and she giggled at him.

 Jealousy bubbled up in your chest: that stupid, cheesy routine was typically reserved for you. As the pair started a conversation, you broke away, quietly saying, “I gotta get to class,” but you didn’t think anyone was listening. 

In Mrs. O’Donnell’s Eddie took his usual spot next to you. “Hey, why’d you ditch me this morning?” he whispered. 

Looking straight ahead, you replied, “Dunno. Didn’t want to interrupt your conversation with Megan.”

“Aw, come on, Y/N. You’re never interrupting, and besides–” 

Eddie was abruptly cut off by Mrs. O’Donnell’s sharp voice. “Mr. Munson, would you like to share something with the class?” she asked. 

Eddie sighed, sinking down in his seat and facing forward. “No, ma’am.” 

At lunch, Megan was already sitting in your usual seat at the table, laughing away with Eddie and the rest of Hellfire. You approached awkwardly with your tray in hand, trying to turn the other direction before anyone noticed you when you realized there were no open chairs. Eddie spotted you before you could get away, though. “Oh, shoot, Y/N, I’m sorry. I can pull up a chair from one of the other tables,” he offered.

You felt your cheeks burning, wishing for a less embarrassing way out of this. “Oh, um, don’t worry about it! I told Nancy I’d help her out with something today anyway,” you said, ducking away from the table before Eddie could get another word in. 

That was how you ended up eating lunch all alone in the library. So much for capturing Eddie’s attention. 

You were nearly late to your afternoon classes due to the long walk back to the cafeteria to return your tray. Eddie and Megan were nowhere to be seen, but you bumped into Dustin as you rushed to chemistry. “Sorry,” you muttered. You didn’t even realize it was him at first.

“Hey, Y/N,” Dustin said, getting you to look up from your feet. “Sorry about lunch, I don’t know what Eddie was thinking, giving your seat away.” 

You just shrugged. “It’s fine. I just ate in the library, caught up on studying.” 

“Well I know this doesn’t make up for it, but she’s pretty cool, actually. Megan, I mean,” he explained.

Without meaning to, you rolled your eyes. “Yeah, Megan’s so cool and great and pretty. May as well have my seat at the table and my best friend.” 

Dustin’s brow knit together. “Are you upset about her going out with Eddie?” he asked. You didn’t respond for a moment, and realization soon dawned on his face. “You’re upset about her going out with Eddie,” he breathed, eyes wide. “Do you like him?” 

“I dunno. Maybe,” you answered hesitantly.

Dustin nodded. “You’re mad at Eddie, you’re dressed all weird, it all makes sense now!” Dustin said triumphantly. When you glared, he gave a sheepish chuckle. “Uh, sorry. This situation really is shit.”

The bell rang again before you could respond with any substance. “Yeah. Gotta go,” you said, rushing off to class and hoping that chemical formulas would take your mind off of all this, if only for the next 50 minutes.

After school, you were met by the not-so-shocking sight of Megan and Eddie leant up against his beat-up van and chatting. When he caught sight of you, Eddie smiled, and your anger melted away for a split-second. “Hey, you ready to go?” he asked. “I’m gonna give Megan a ride too, if you don’t mind giving up shotgun.” His eyes pleaded with you to go along with it, and with a forced smile, you did.

“No problem,” you said through gritted teeth. From the backseat you watched the two flirt; Eddie was nauseatingly sweet, playing some obnoxiously poppy Madonna tape through the speakers and driving like your grandmother would. He dropped you off first, much to your confusion. “Um, it’s pasta night, you know. Are you coming back after?” you asked. On Wednesday nights, Eddie usually joined your family for dinner. He hated being alone at the trailer and you knew that if he was home alone, he’d probably be eating a bowl of cereal for every meal. 

Eddie balked slightly. “Uh, probably not tonight. I’m kinda busy, got some homework to take care of. Tell your mom and dad I said hi, though,” he said. 

“Will do,” you replied tightly, hopping out of the backseat without saying goodbye.

So this was how it started. First, he put you in the backseat, now he wasn’t hanging out alone with you anymore, either–probably in order to prevent Megan’s jealousy and quell her doubts about the nature of your friendship. You knew that Eddie’s pet names and his cuddles were long gone, too. You headed directly to your bedroom and tore out of the stupid, pretty outfit and the ponytail you wore before scrubbing wildly at the makeup on your face. You then threw yourself on your bed and laid there until your mother called you for supper, but you barely ate; all you could do was stare at Eddie’s empty seat at your dining room table.

Despite the futility of it, you continued to wear the same outfits on the following days, feigning indifference to the newly-formed rift between Eddie and yourself. He brought you to school in the backseat and took you home the same way. You sat in a pulled-up extra seat at lunch while Eddie fawned over the object of his affections. 

On Friday, after school, you knew your time had run out. You couldn’t wait to get home, take off the fake outfit once and for all, and mourn what your friendship with Eddie used to be; after tonight, you were sure that the relationship you once shared would be a shadow of its former self. As you trudged out to meet Hawkins’ future hottest couple, you noticed Megan gesture to you. You frowned curiously as you approached.

“Hey, Y/N, I’ve been meaning to ask you about the tattoo on your leg. Where’d you get it? It’s kinda cool,” she said.

Before you could open your mouth to tell her that it was kind of a long story (a special and secret one at that), Eddie was answering for you. “I did it, actually. Y/N and I got super wasted and we were playing truth or dare, and she dared me to give her the tattoo. If you really like it, I could give you one too. Maybe tonight,” he suggested with a raise of his eyebrows. 

Before you could see her reaction, you were storming off in the other direction. Anger rose in your throat: giving away your seat was one thing, ditching you was another, but throwing away the sentimentality of the tattoo he gave you as though it was nothing? That was the last straw. “Y/N, where are you going?” Eddie called after you. 

You whipped your head around quickly. “Don’t fucking worry about it,” you said, venom lacing your voice. You turned back around, making a beeline for the big yellow school bus you hadn’t had to take since Eddie got his driver’s license. You heard him trotting up behind you, but you didn’t dare turn around.

“Hey! Don’t just walk away from me. What the fuck, Y/N? We aren’t like this. What’s going on with you? First you start dressing all crazy, now this,” he said as he sidled up to you.

Abruptly you stopped walking, fully turning to face him. “You just don’t get it, do you? God, I’m so stupid. I try acting different, I try dressing different, I even put on this damn mascara to try to get you to notice me! But it was never about the clothes and the makeup, was it? It’s just me you can’t see.” By this point, your lip was quivering and your voice shook, and you could feel a fat tear rolling down your cheek. You knew your dignity was gone at this point. You tore yourself away from Eddie’s big brown puppy eyes before he could stop you, before he could hurt you even more by confirming all of this, and made your way to the bus. 

The ride home was loud and bumpy. Eddie’s van was, too, but in the fun sort of way where the two of you blasted vulgar music and hit the bumps in the road at high speed just for the thrill of it. This was just grating on your frayed nerves. 

You spent the remainder of the afternoon in your room, sprawled across your bed while your music played. You’d ditched the high ponytail and the skirt for your usual look: wild hair and ripped jeans. You were wearing Eddie’s Corroded Coffin shirt again if only just for the futile comfort of being surrounded by something of his. You had put your glasses back on, too, because three days without them had left you with a relentless headache. 

You stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours, only getting up to switch out your tapes every so often. Your parents had gone out for the night, so no one was home to tell you to get rid of the ear-shattering music. You barely noticed when the sun set and the light of day faded into night.

The sound of knuckles rapping against your window startled you from your stupor. You shot up in your bed, glancing at the clock first. 8:37, it said. So when you saw Eddie’s face peering through the window, things didn’t add up.

Your brows furrowed as you reluctantly opened the window. “I thought you had your date with Megan tonight,” you said. Eddie tumbled through the window and shook his head.

“I canceled,” he explained, standing before you with an expectant look on his face, but you only shrugged. 

“Okay? Why? You were like, so excited. Fuckin’ over the moon about her,” you muttered, walking away from the window and the chill of the fall evening. Eddie closed it behind him. 

“Well, my girl seemed like she needed me, and that’s more important than any old date.” 

You sighed. “Eddie, cut the bullshit, I know you’d rather be with–”

“Megan? No, Y/N, I’d rather figure out what’s been going on with you all week,” Eddie said. He gave you a stern sort of look that told you he was serious. 

You sighed in defeat; the truth was going to come out eventually, and you figured you may as well tell it yourself. “Fine. You really wanna know? I’m jealous. So there. I’m jealous that I’ve been here with you for all this time, and then at the drop of a hat you wanted to go date one of the pretty, popular girls. So I thought maybe you’d be into me, too, if I wore what they wear and acted how they act, b-but it didn’t change anything.” You looked at him tearfully and shrugged.

Eddie's eyes filled up with compassion. “I was wondering why you were dressing that way. Not that you didn’t look fuckin’ incredible in a skirt, but I missed seein’ you in my old t-shirts and these big dorky glasses,” he said fondly, stepping closer to you.

You shook your head. “Just stop, okay? I know I already fucked everything up, and I know it was stupid for me to try to make you like me with clothes and a new hairstyle. You don’t have to say things like that.” 

“But I’m not just saying it, sweet thing. You don’t have to change your clothes or your hair to make me like you. You are perfect exactly the way you are. You’re beautiful,” Eddie told you with a soft smile. He was standing right in front of you now, just inches away. When you looked up to meet his eyes, the love you felt for him stabbed painfully through your chest. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean exactly what I’m saying. And I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner, because obviously I’ve wasted a lot of time. I always thought you’d never be into me like that, so I tried to get over you and date other people. And Megan, she’s pretty and all, but you? I’m pretty sure you’re my soulmate, Y/N. Not to mention the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever met.” 

You felt your cheeks turn bright red. “Eddie, c’mon…” you mumbled, still not believing him. 

Eddie took your hands in his. “I’m not just messing around or joking, doll. You’ve been with me for years, put up with all my quirks and been there when things are bad. I can be with you for hours, days even, and still miss you the second I have to leave. I feel like myself when I’m with you. You never make me feel like the freak everyone says I am,” he said sincerely. 

“But-but what about the girls you usually like? I’m nothing like them.” 

Eddie grinned at you then, that smile that was just as bright as sunshine. He reached out, twirling one of your curls around his finger. “I prefer you like this. You look like yourself. Not to mention, I’ve always found you adorable in my shirts.” He paused for a moment, seeming to work himself up to say something bigger. “I never cared about the clothes and the makeup and all that. I want you just the way you are, not pretending to be something you’re not. Because honestly, Y/N, I love you for you.” 

You smiled back at Eddie then, finally starting to believe that this was real. Before you could speak again, Eddie took your face gently in his hands and pressed his lips against your own in a chaste kiss. When the shock of it wore off, you kissed him back; you savored the soft feeling of his lips against yours, the taste of spearmint gum and tobacco in his mouth, the smell of his cologne and the hint of weed that always lingered around him. It was a smell so distinctly and perfectly Eddie that you could just drown in it. 

Eddie smiled and licked his lips when you finally parted. “I think you forgot to take off that lipgloss you were wearing earlier, you taste like strawberries. Not that I’m complaining,” he said with a chuckle. 

You blushed and gave him a soft shove, which quickly turned into a warm embrace. “Shut up, Munson,” you said softly into his chest. He ghosted a hand over your hair. 

“I brought Friday the 13th Part VI and a couple beers if you’re free for the evening,” Eddie offered. “I know it’s not a very exciting first date, but…” 

“There’s no way I’d rather spend my evening.” You grabbed his hand, leading him to the family room with a grin. 

Plopping down on the couch, safely in Eddie’s arms, you watched the cheesy movie. Right before you could drift off, you heard Eddie’s mischievous voice one more time: “So, about these outfits you were wearing the past couple days, baby. What would it take to get you back into one of those skirts? Maybe just for a private viewing.” 

With a soft punch in the thigh, you replied, “Maybe you’ll just have to take me upstairs and find out.”

Eddie gave you a wicked grin, something hungry like you’d never seen before. It made your stomach flip-flop in anticipation. “Deal.” 

Maybe the skirts you’d worn weren’t completely useless, after all.

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

The Midnight Coconuts

Summary: Bucky and his girl take a trip to the grocery store. Several things are involved, including coconuts, a 25cent gum-ball machine, Avengers branded Jell-O, chocolate milk straight from the jug, and tampons.  Characters: Bucky x Reader Words: 3k Warnings: Some swearing. Insane levels of fluff. Dangerously adorable Bucky. One (1) random reference to Not Another Teen Movie. 

A/N: Listen, I will never be over silly domestic Bucky! I originally started this story before TFATWS came out and when I imagined Sam had a niece, so just go with it. Part of me wrote this, because I needed to convince myself that I love grocery shopping (one can only eat takeaway and Trader Joe’s Orange Chicken for so long) and the other part wrote this because I firmly believe domestic routines can be the most romantic adventures out there.

When the doors to the grocery store whoosh open with a gust of stale manufactured air, Bucky skids to an abrupt and dramatic stop.  

“WAIT!”

Behind him, you stumble in panic, fumbling with an armful of reusable grocery bags. Instantly you’re imagining spilled blood and stab wounds and clean ups on aisle three and god dammit, how can there be a problem? This is a grocery store at midnight on a Wednesday. Shouldn’t the forces of evil be sleeping? Why is it so impossible to get a day off work? Don’t they know you need rest? And peanut butter? And that you’re dangerously low on toilet paper?

The forces of evil are the worst.

Raising weary fists, you huff.

“What? Where is it?”

Bucky sidesteps toward a row of small red and green machines beside the entrance, falling to his knees and smushing his nose eagerly against the glass. Reaching a hand behind him, there are several impatient grabby motions, before he glances back.

“Babe, can you give me a quarter? I need a gum-ball.”

Planting a sneaker clad foot on his ass, you shove. Hard.  

“Bucky, we talked about this. Remember how you agreed to lower the drama and keep things in perspective? I thought we were under attack.”

“If I don’t get a green gum-ball,” he declares dramatically, “there will be an attack.”

Throwing the cloth bags at his face, you stomp off to retrieve a shopping cart, plunking your purse in the front and hunching over the handlebars.  

“I thought you said you were a millionaire now. Buy your own gum-ball.”

Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Like I carry loose change,” he scoffs. “C’mon, just one quarter. Please?”

This time, he gives you the Look. That patented Bucky Barnes stare, with the wide eyes and full pouty lips and faux innocent expression, and if this man wasn’t the love of your life you’d quite happily stab him in the heart.

Instead, you open your purse and fish out a quarter, flinging it at his frustratingly pretty face. It bounces off his forehead and he scoops it up with a grin.

“So just to clarify. You came to the grocery store covered in knives, but you forgot to bring money?”

Giving you an indulgent smile, he jams the quarter into the slot. With a twist and shake, a gum-ball rattles free, and Bucky crows with delight when he sees the green candy. He pops it in his mouth. 

“I didn’t forget. I made a conscious decision to remove the temptation. If I bring cash, I’ll spend it. You know I ain’t great with that whole self control thing.”

“How encouraging to hear, from the man with knives pouring out his ass.”  

Jumping to his feet, he throws an arm around your shoulders. 

“Ass knives sound painful.”

“Depends on how sharp they are,” you mumble, pulling a carefully folded sheet of paper from your jacket.

“Excuse you? My knives are always perfectly sharpened, thank you very much. What kind of expert assassin runs around with dull knives? Damn baby, it’s like you don’t even know me.”

Ignoring him, you flatten out the paper and smooth the edges, sighing happily at the block letters and structured diagrams drawn in deep blue ink. 

Here it is, your masterpiece. A monument to productivity. The gold standard by which all optimization models should be benchmarked. This isn’t just any list, this is The List.

Everything is grouped, first by aisle, then by product location within the aisle, and then from top to bottom shelf order, to maximize efficiency. This is the dream list. The kind that inspires jealousy. The kind people hold up at TED talks when they talk about time management techniques. Marie Kondo wishes she had this list. 

Bucky snorts when he sees the carefully printed boxes.  

“God, you’re such a square,” he says adoringly. He plants a sugary wet kiss on your temple and you grind an elbow into his ribs.

“We discussed this, Bucky. Don’t mock my lists.” 

“Sorry babe, I ain’t mocking. Your lists are beautiful, they always get me all hot and bothered,” he agrees, dipping lower to lick behind your ear. “And I really love that list you keep with all those dirty, filthy, sex things you wanna do to me.”

“I don’t have a list like that.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky sighs, “and I don’t know how many more hints I can drop here.”

Reaching under his shirt, you rub his belly consolingly. “Okay then. This weekend I’ll sit down and make you a special list. One so disgusting and dirty and depraved, it would make Wade Wilson cry.”

Bucky laughs and squeezes you tighter. 

“About damn time honey. I’m equally parts terrified and horny. So where’re we headed first?”

“Produce,” you answer promptly, plowing forward, Bucky still chuckling beside you.

The whole scenario was ironic, actually. There was no need to grocery shop - automatic ordering mechanisms  across the Avengers tower rendered the task meaningless - but sometimes it was a welcome relief to partake in such an ordinary thing. Unable to sleep after one particularly terrible mission, you found yourself wandering the aisles of your 24-hour supermarket, dressed in pineapple adorned pajama pants and one of Bucky’s rattier sweatshirts, searching for ice cream. The unexpected symmetry of products arranged along the shelves, the rainbow hued produce, the hint of baking bread wafting from the ovens, all those everyday trappings of normality, they washed over like a soothing balm. Soon enough, the boiling bad thoughts simmered to nothing more than a cache of blurry memories.

When you got home, sleep came fast, deep and dreamless.

One month later, the idea struck again.

After 36 hours of Bucky tossing and turning, dark shadows bruising beneath weary blue eyes, you took his hand and led him down the dark street for a midnight adventure. He was skeptical, disbelieving that something so simple could chase away the insomnia. But he dutifully followed you, strolling aimlessly through the aisles, throwing odds and ends into the cart. 

The tension gradually eased, he began to relax, and suddenly? 

He was hooked.

An hour later, after arguing the health benefits of frosted Cheerios over oatmeal, poking each hunk of cheese in the display, and loading the cart with every single flavor of spaghetti sauce on the shelf, the heavy weight of remembering began to ease. When he collapsed into bed, he slept for eight hours straight.

I don’t know what that was, he swore the next morning, munching through his third bowl of frosted Cheerios, but it was magic.

And with that, a midnight ritual was born. Sometimes you make the trek alone, sometimes Bucky does the same, but whenever life permits you go together. This small slice of domesticity brings a warm comfort to this strange life.   

There is no doubt, this is your favorite area of the entire store.

Barrels filled with tart oranges and smooth red apples. Tables piled high with bananas, some just shy of yellow, others sunshine perfect, and a few with speckles of black (which are the best). Shelves lining the walls, overflowing with bundles of herbs and lettuce, all coated in a fine layer of mist. 

Bliss. 

Heading straight for the apples, you plunge into the Gala pile, rummaging until you come up with ten perfect ones. Peaches follow, fingers rubbing along the delicate pinky-orange fuzz. Squeeze, smell, squeeze, smell. Five are chosen for a pie (Sam pleaded shamelessly until you agreed to make him one), and in the cart they go. Heading toward the wall of herbs, you’re reaching for the basil when a metallic bang makes you jump. Spinning around, you find Bucky lobbing coconuts into the cart.

“We need these.”

“We really don’t, Buck. I hate coconut, it tastes like suntan lotion.”

“They’re not for eating,” he grabs an apple, wipes it on his shirt, and takes a juicy bite. “They’re for security.”

Sticky juice drips from his lip, catching in his beard. When you reach over to swipe it away, he nips your finger with a grin.

“Explain please.”

“See it’s like this. We’re just here shopping, doin’ our thang -”

“Don’t say thang.”

“- when someone attacks. What happens? BAM. One of these furry beauties breaks their face. Problem solved.”

Giving him a slow perusal, you raise an eyebrow.

“Were the 47 knives you’re carrying not enough to deflect this attack?”

Finishing off the apple in three sloppy bites, he carefully tucks the price sticker in his pocket so he can scan it before leaving and sets the mangled core beside your purse.

“Babe, these are my back-up plan. A good soldier always has a back-up plan.”

While you grab a bottle of extra-pulpy orange juice, Bucky picks two jugs of chocolate milk, snaps one open and takes a swing. Ever the thrifty shopper, he pulls a familiar bag from his back pocket, fishes out a crumpled piece of newspaper, and dangles it before you.

“Found a coupon for this,” he says gleefully. “Buy one, get one free. It’s called a BOGO. A BOGO. Hilarious, right? Fuck me, I love the future.”

Still laughing, he takes another long drink of chocolate milk and smacks his lips.

It was a lazy Sunday morning when you discovered this particular habit. Walking into the living room, you found Bucky buried in a sea of Sunday newspaper, tongue between his teeth and scissors in hand while he clipped coupons. He wasn’t picky, if it was remotely interesting, it went into the YES pile. It was one of those random things that brought him inordinate levels of joy, so of course you encouraged it. On his last birthday, you gifted him with a green zippered bag decorated with angry looking owls and official looking letters stitched across the front:

Bucky’s Coupon Bag  Thriftn’ Machine Since 1917

He laughed for five straight minutes and then stuffed it full. The bag accompanies you on every trip and the sight of Bucky excitedly rifling through his wad of coupons still makes your heart swell.  

Setting aside his BOGO, Bucky continues down the aisle, leaving you to pause in front of the yogurt. While you contemplate the merits of blackberry vs strawberry, Bucky slides over holding three cans of Reddi-Whip. 

“Are you actually planning to eat that? I thought you said whipped air is for, and I quote, ‘spineless, tasteless trash heathens’?”

Bucky shakes the can of spray whipped cream and wiggles his eyebrows, leveling you with a sultry stare. 

“Hell no I’m not eating it. This is for the bedroom. Last week I watched this god-awful movie where some blond guy - who looked exactly like Steve, by the way - made himself a whipped cream bikini for his girl. Decided I’m gonna do that for you. You’re welcome.”

“That sounds gross and unsanitary.” 

“If by gross and unsanitary you mean spicy and sexy, then yes. Yes it does.”

Whistling what sounds like the theme music from a bad porn, he adds two tubs of honey swirled Greek yogurt, pats your butt, and strolls ahead, throwing a roughish wink over his shoulder. Imagining the melted whipped cream soaking into your bedsheets, you mentally add more laundry detergent to the list.

“Hang on, turn here.”

Tugging the cart behind him, Bucky stalks toward the feminine hygiene display. It takes him a minute to scan the products before squatting down to the bottom shelf. Grabbing two jumbo boxes of tampons, oddly enough the brand you prefer, he pops back to his feet.  

“Dare I ask why you need these?”

A faint pink flush crawls up his neck.  

“Well, you know, two reasons. They’re really great for stopping bloody noses, you know? Just poke ‘em up there and they soak it all up.”

 He mimes the execution and adds a thumbs up.

“And the second reason?”

Squinting at his boots, he shuffles his feet a bit. The pink flush deepens. 

“Um, you know - I know you’re out, since I stuck the last one up Steve’s nose last week, and yeah. Anyway. It’s about that time. Of the month. For you.”

Clearing his throat, he reaches for his chocolate milk, but you grab his wrist.  

“You know when my period’s going to start?”

He shrugs self-consciously and fiddles with a loose thread on his shirt.  

“Well yeah. You think it’s just a coincidence when all your favorite candy shows up every month?” Looking up, he shoots you a crooked smile and leans over the cart to kiss your forehead. Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, you haul him in for a real kiss instead and his startled laughter tickles your lips. When you break away, those bright blue eyes are shining. 

“Thank you, Bucky,” you murmur.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he whispers. 

This is the aisle where the cart officially explodes.

Lasagna noodles.

Egg noodles.

Spaghetti noodles.

Penne.

Linguine. 

Fettuccine.

Literally one of every noodle is selected, because Bucky Barnes is a self-proclaimed noodle slut. 

As you organize the boxes and search for orzo, you see him furtively add an extra bag of elbow macaroni. A quiet cough hides your laughter.

The last time Sam’s four-year-old niece came to the tower, she and Bucky spent hours making glittery elbow macaroni necklaces, which they ceremoniously gifted to everyone. When Sam casually mentioned her enthusiastically telling everyone at pre-school about her friend Bucky and how much fun she had visiting him, Bucky ran to a craft store and bulk bought supplies of glue, string, paint, and glitter, just in case she comes over again.

Months later and the entire team are still finding puddles of glitter all over the tower, but the delight on Bucky’s face anytime someone mentions that arts and crafts afternoon? 

It’s worth the mess.     

Gathering up brown sugar, instant oats, and chocolate chips, you turn to drop them in the cart when Bucky makes a strangled noise. Glancing over, you find him bouncing on his toes, vibrating with excitement.

“Babe. Babe. Are you making monster cookies?”

Adding a can of raisins, you search for the good vanilla. The kind that actually tastes like vanilla, not a cheap car wash air freshener. 

“I promised I would,” you remind him. Bucky plasters himself against your back, wrapping you in an enthusiastic hug and nuzzling his face against your neck.

“I love those fucking cookies,” he declares. “They’re my favorite thing ever. Next to you I mean.”

Finding the vanilla, you spin in his arms and return the squeeze.  

“I know you do. But you have to share them this time, okay? You can’t just eat them all yourself like the last two times. Agree?”

“Agree…to disagree. They’re wasted on other people, no one else loves as much. It’s for the best when I eat them all, it’s proof how much I love you. I’m doing it for you. I’m supporting you. Because I love you.”

“You’re completely full of shit,” you reply.

“I swear I’m not! Just listen!”

The excuses grow longer and wilder as Bucky outlines his rationale against sharing, walking backward and dragging the cart with him as he pleads his case. He’s diving into the science of super soldier metabolism levels and caloric requirements and the fact that his sister never shared anything with him, when he bumps into a tall display. 

He pulls up short, eyes narrowing. Plunking his fists on his hips, he growls a disgruntled sigh and glares at the rows of packaging. 

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

Lined up in neat rows, you see boxes of Jell-O organized by color and flavor. On the cover of each are an assortment of familiar images.  

“Are these Avengers themed Jell-O?” you ask, picking up a box with Sam’s image and the words Wild Berry Wilson. The rows extend further, filled with Lime Green Hulk and Blue Raspberry Rogers and Black Cherry Widow and Strawberry Lemon Stark. Exasperated, Bucky grabs the Sparkling Orange Spider flavor. 

“Is this for real? The kid gets one and I didn’t? Someone in PR is getting fired.”

“Well there’re only so many flavors, Buck,” you point out practically, but Bucky’s not in the mood for logic. Instead, he swipes an entire shelf of Jell-O flavors into the cart.  

“I swear to god, I have to do everything around here. Fine then. I’ll make my own flavor, Blackberry Kiwi Soldier or Winter Watermelon Rainbow, or something.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Anyway, I’ll work on the name. But I’m bringing it to dinner tomorrow night and everyone is gonna eat it.”

He dumps in a bag of mini-marshmallows and grabs sprinkles for topping, before marching down the aisle. Cringing at the volume of sugar in the cart, you make another mental note to schedule a dentist appointment.

“Go do your manly duty and find the meat. We need two 5lb rump roasts.”

“I like your rump roast,” he instantly responds and reaches over to smack your butt again. Anticipating the move, you catch his arm and twist it behind his back. He barks out a breathless laugh and you slap his ass in return.

“Your innuendos are tragic.”

Releasing him with a gentle shove, Bucky snatches up his three coconuts and ambles away, laughing while he juggles them. When he returns, he has the requested rump roasts, several packages of bacon, and a bundle of cocktail shrimp.

“If my innuendos get better, then can I touch your butt?”

“Maybe. But they better be real good.”

An added benefit to shopping at midnight? Not a soul in line.

Loading everything onto the conveyer belt, you automatically organize for bagging. Boxes together, produce together, meat together. Bucky adds a pack of batteries, a tin of mints, and some trashy magazines.

The last three items in the cart are his coconuts. They rattle around until you toss them at him, motioning back to the produce department. 

“We made it out alive. Go put them back.”

Still chomping his tasteless green gum-ball, he shakes his head and plops them down. 

“Nah, I have another idea for them. Got all those craft supplies at home, I’m gonna make you something.”

“Should I even ask?”

Bucky blows a huge, wet bubble and looks you up and down.

“Have you every worn one of those coconut bras? Like on TV, with the ladies in grass skirts? I’m gonna make you one. I already have string and glue. And glitter.”

“I think you may be overestimating your crafting abilities.” Digging out your credit card, you wait for the final tally. 

“Well, if it’s terrible then you’ll just be naked. Either way, I win.”

Shaking out your grocery sacks, he packs everything with Tetris-like efficiency and slides all of them up the vibranium arm.   

“How about I make you a deal. I’ll wear a coconut bra, if you’ll make yourself something to wear as well.”

Bucky blows another sugary bubble, pondering the idea.

“Like a coconut man thong?”

“Exactly like a coconut man thong.”

“Deal. Add it to that special dirty list you’re making me honey. We got loads to do.” 

Outside, the night air smells sweet and cool, the barest hint of a spring rain and fresh grass lingering on the breeze. Already, your eyes are feeling heavy, tonight’s quiet adventure ushering in that sought after peace. 

In your right hand, the three coconuts swing gently in their plastic sack. Humming under his breath, Bucky yawns, reaching for your other hand. His warm, calloused palm squeezes tight, his thumb stroking lightly over your skin.

He turns to you with a sleepy, lopsided smile.

Midnight and coconuts.  

It always does the trick.

***

[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.”