#spur of the moment drawing-- was nice to experience again

[juls-art]

Chibi Kouru, that’s all~ (❁´◡`❁) –   Kofi | Patreon  

[claudemblems]

Hi 😊 congrats on 1k, I've been following your blog for a while and it's amazing how far you've come 💕🎉

Can I request a platonic and romantic matchup?

I'm INFJ really reserved but if you approach me I can be really funny and chill. I like to draw, I'm learning crochet, lay on the grass and look at the sky and baking.

Hope you have a wonderful day 😊💕✨

(Thank you for being here and supporting my blog for so long!! I'm always glad to see you in my notifications 💖)

Your romantic matchup is Venti!

You, like Venti, are guided by the winds, letting them direct which path you'll venture on next. This way of living has led to many exciting adventures, and, most important of all, it led you to the love of your life. Sometimes you wonder if your chance meeting with Venti wasn't just chance after all. Had you caught his eye in passing before? Did something about you tug at his heart and spur him to change the direction of the winds to lead you towards him? He says he had no part in the matter up until he met you--yes, until he met you. Venti definitely changed the course of the winds a few times so that you could cross paths once more. You eventually found yourself waiting expectantly for him to send you a sign that he was waiting to see you, and over time, you both fell in love.

Venti will drag you along wherever his curiosity leads him. You don't mind--his spontaneity means that you'll never experience a dull day at his side. He's always eager to show you his favorite places to relax such as Windrise or on top of Mondstadt's archon statue. Can't get up there on your own? Don't worry, he'll carry you in his arms and propel you two up with the help of his trusty anemo vision!

Venti loves to sing you the newest ballads he's written (about you, of course). During these moments, you'll either have your head in his lap or you'll be working on your crocheting, his soothing voice adding to the peaceful atmosphere. There's been many times where you've become so relaxed that you fall asleep. Venti simply smiles, gently helping you into a more comfortable position. Within a few minutes, he joins in on your snoozing. Warm sunny days are meant to be enjoyed with a nice nap, after all.

Venti is so overjoyed that he was able to find another free soul who understands and loves him for who he is, past and all. He can't remember a time where he's ever felt so happy. He'll cause the wind to blow on a calm day to let you know that he's thinking of you and that he wants to be able to see you again. It's his way of telling you that he loves you. And all he needs in this world is your love, and as long as he has that, he has all the happiness he could ever wish for.

Your platonic matchup is Ganyu!

Though Ganyu is often busy poring over her work, she always makes sure to set aside some time to spend with you. It's because of your presence in her life that's she's finally started to understand the importance not just of resting but also of being around those she cares about. It's important to have a friend to rely on. Life is much more enjoyable when you have a trusted friend at your side.

Ganyu is amazed at your artistic abilities. She's always left gaping in awe at your finished pieces no matter how many times she's seen them. She'll watch your drawing process and ask you questions about your composition, eager to understand what goes through your mind when you're creating something new. You might even convince her to take up drawing herself. But if you ask for permission to draw a portrait of her, expect to see a very flustered Ganyu. At your insistence, she'll allow you, but she'll be fighting a blush during the entire session.

There have been numerous times where the two of you have ended up falling asleep while relaxing in the grass as you gaze up at the bright blue sky. You two find one another's presence comforting, and with the worries of the world fading far from view, it's no wonder that you eventually end up falling asleep. Keqing and Cloud Retainer often have to come looking for you because you've been away for so long. You both get a light scolding, but it's because of their concern for you. You can nap as you please, but they ask that you not vanish from Liyue Harbor for 5 hours at a time.

You are the peace and serenity within Ganyu's ever busy life. She feels refreshed after spending time with you, and her heart is warmed by the fact that you accept her even as an adeptus. You make her feel like she truly belongs in Liyue Harbor. She can't thank you enough for all the joy you've brought her way since she met you. Your friendship is precious to her; she will treasure it always.

[palmtreehero]

AND. YOU. DESERVE. EVERY. GOOD. MESSAGE!!! And I don't think your au is delusional at all! It's fun and it made so many people happy!! I think it's nice that Yuka's arts and AU managed to bring so many people together and just have fun and being silly talking about hcs and other sfuff!! None of that would happen without your amazing and sweet akeshu fanarts! I'm always so grateful to all akeshu artists out there, including Yuka, for keeping akeshu fandom alive 🙏 you guys are the best and I hope Yuka will continue to create whatever arts that make you happy, akeshu or not, since you already made so many people happy with your arts so it's important for Yuka to be happy too 🥳

ANON WHAT IF I CRIED.

It makes me so happy that I decided one day to just post a random spur-of-the-moment doodle of them. I didn't think I'd continue drawing them past that, tbh.

I think I might have mentioned it here before but when I first posted my very first drawing of them on twitter it got QRT'd by someone from the reverse-lane telling me to delete it LOL

It was such a wild experience for me since I had never posted an akeshu drawing before and, really? On my first drawing..? I felt like, huh, is this going to be my experience moving forward...?

I was proven wrong, I've only had one other unpleasant experience after but it was thanks to that drawing that I met so many cool people that I can call my friends. It also allowed me to build some community on here. I think one of the best decisions I made was to take a chance in posting again on this platform.

Thank you..!!

[nomdepen]

Pen could see the confusion on Varley's face, stark lines carved into her expression as she looked from Penelope to Benjamin. No one in the house expected her to receive a caller, surely. And certainly not one like Ben. Pen was destined to wind up with someone lackluster at best, which was the exact opposite of everything she found Ben to be.

"Please be nice, Mama." Pen whispered, clutching at the fabric of her skirt to anchor her to the moment. More than anything, she wanted to leap through the window and fly away, to avoid the awkwardness of the approaching moments. But if she could endure a lifetime of embarrassment, she could stand to bear a little more for the sake of a lifetime of happiness.

Her breath hitched in her throat when she caught sight of him. Although she could tell he was as nervous as she was, he still looked as beautiful as ever. She knew he was handsome, he always had been, but he seemed to glow in the light of the drawing room. The early morning sunlight streamed through the chiffon curtains, showering him in a golden light that made him look like a storybook hero. Her hero, she reminded herself. His smile was sweet and his soft eyes drew her in like a siren song, daring her to weather the storm for a chance at happiness.

Pen knew that absence made the heart grow stronger, but she was surprised at how much stronger her heart grew after only a few days. She never wanted to be away from him. Once they were married, she'd prove to be an entirely annoying wife, glued to his side for the foreseeable future. But for now, she knew she had to be patient.

Lady Featherington didn't speak at first, only sparing Pen a curious glance before standing to meet the visitor. It was clear that Portia wasn't accustomed to receiving such a warm welcome-- none of the Featherington women were-- but she remained as composed, calculated as ever. Pen bristled with anxiety, willing the clock on the wall to skip forward so she didn't have to experience these next painfully slow minutes.

Instead of softening to his kind gesture as Pen undoubtedly would've done, Portia remained stiff and cautious, eyeing the man like a cougar hunting it's prey. It made sense that her mama would be so critical. She'd been much the same when it came to Albion, who held no candle to Ben. Even though Penelope wished for her mother's approval more than anyone else, she was the youngest daughter, the last hatchling to break free from the nest and it was unlikely that Portia would let her fly off with any old dove. No, Pen knew that her mother would be thorough in her examinations. It was her way of showing love. Her only hope was that Ben didn't take anything her mother said to heart, like she often did.

Pen lingered behind her mother, hands folded in front of her, fidgeting and yearning to reach out and pull him close. She watched him with loving eyes as he offered the flowers, explaining his reasoning for choosing the bouquet. He was a poetic creature, charming and entirely too good to be true. To Pen, such a gesture was romantic and it made her want to kiss him all the more. But to Portia, it seemed like a rouse of some kind.

After a moment, Lady Featherington waved her hand, spurring Varley to step forward and take the bundle of flowers from his hand. It wasn't the friendliest gesture, but Pen knew it could've been worse. Her mother wouldn't be opposed to crushing the buds beneath her slipper if she'd been truly outraged by his actions. Her subtle aggression was a good sign. She hoped.

"Friendship?" Her tone was flat and straightforward, though a smile adorned her lips. "Is that why you've called on my daughter this morn? For friendship?"

"Mama, that's not what he--" Portia's hand flew up, the gesture effectively silencing Pen in a millisecond. She had lived a lifetime of being told to be quiet but, once she married Ben, she would never be silenced again.

"Please note that your gifts are appreciated, sir. But I'd rather not waste a perfectly good morning talking about flowers."

Pen stared at her mother with an incredulous expression. The same woman who had spent hours grueling over floral arrangements for parties and Philippa's wedding. The same woman who claimed to know the meaning for every color of a rose, was saying such a thing. All Pen could do was scoff. Instead of speaking up, she simply moves her gaze to settle on Ben, his mere presence in her view enough to quell the dread in her stomach.

When he offers her the book and sweet words to pair with it, Pen's heart flutters. Her cheeks flush and a wave of girlish delight washes over her. Nervously, she bit at her lip, determined to keep herself from smiling like a fool so early on. There would be plenty of type for giggling when the nuptials were approved. But for now, she needed to remain proper and composed.

"Thank you." She offers a grateful bow, uttering a soft addendum. "I will cherish it for as long as my heart beats."

"Oh, great, another book to fill her head with romantic fantasies. Penelope, I've told you that reading those stories won't get you any closer to finding a husband." Portia rose a hand to her forehead as she spun on her heel to return to her spot on the sofa. Pen waited a moment, debating just how inappropriate it would be to stand beside Ben rather than her mother. Ultimately, she decides on the less appealing option and takes a seat beside Portia.

"Mama," She began, garnering the courage to speak up, if only to save Ben from hearing her mother's further views on literature. "As I was saying, Mister Tallmadge wanted to speak with you first. I think it prudent, if not polite, to listen to what he has to say--quietly."

The days that followed were nothing short of torture. Not because of Penelope -- no, no, never that; she was one of the few blessings that kept his eyes alight and his heart thrumming -- but rather, because they needed to be apart in order for everything to go seamlessly. But with as anxious as Penelope seemed, he was beginning to wonder if such a feat was even possible. In his experience, mothers could either be sweet and demure, or barking guard dogs with a venomous bite. It didn't take long to figure out which category Mrs. Featherington surely laid.

Beyond his frayed nerves, Benjamin found support in Caleb. As it turned out, Brewster wasn't the slightest bit surprised -- he'd "suspected all along," he boastfully claimed -- and between the jeers and chummy quips, it was clear his old friend was giddy about the match.

"It's about time someone tied your arse down," he'd jeered. "You were gettin' a bit insufferable with all your pinin'."

Regardless of whether or not he truly was insufferable, Benjamin could scarcely keep from fussing with his clothes and hair and overall appearance while he anxiously trekked over to the Featherington manor. If status had anything to say about it, he supposed he was already losing favor by arriving on foot rather than by horse or carriage, but it seemed silly to ride over when he'd literally just come from Bridgerton house.

Unfortunately, when he rang the bell, Benjamin was greeted by Varley -- she wasn't exactly what one would call pleasant -- and gripping at the flowers in his hands, he couldn't help but flush once she looked him over with her long, drawn-out appraisal. It was clear by the curl of her mouth that she was unimpressed.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Ah...Miss Featherington. If you please," Benjamin stammered. "She invited me, so..."

"Just one moment," Varley muttered.

After she'd disappeared, he remained on the stoop for what felt like a century. He rocked anxiously from side-to-side, gripping harder and harder at the poor posies in his grasp, before Varley returned and grumbled, "Right this way. Mister...?"

"Tallmadge," Benjamin reminded her, certain that she knew his name. He'd already stopped by once before, so surely, she hadn't forgotten?

The barely concealed huff of disdain proved she likely did know, and just didn't deem him worthy of note, and once she'd trekked into the room and announced him, a cold sweat spread across his skin before he stepped into the entryway.

All at once, it felt as though there were a spotlight shining upon his face. Despite his nerves, the moment he saw Penelope standing there before him, Benjamin grinned, his heart stuttering as he stepped forward and cleared his throat. "Miss Featherington," he greeted. "I've waited so long to...ah..." Glancing cautiously toward Portia, he decided he needed to appease her mother before gifting anything of import.

"Mrs. Featherington," Benjamin greeted in turn. He stepped toward her, extending the bouquet with a small incline of his head. "These are for you, madam. The florist informed me that yellow freesia symbolize joy, renewal, and friendship...and I very much hope to secure your friendship one day, seeing how you are the mother of the most important person in my life."

Flushing more deeply beneath her gaze, Benjamin glanced back toward Penelope and offered her a shy smile. "I'm afraid I brought you a book instead of flowers," he said. "The beauty found in floral arrangements are ephemeral, so I wished to give you something as deep, and long-lasting as my affections." Burning hotly beneath Portia's sharp appraisal, he softly explained, "It's Camilla...by Frances Burney. I figured I owed you another romance novel, seeing how your last picks were cut so tragically short."

[wri0thesley]

Please could I get poly Nanami and Gojo working together to overstimulation their fem s/o? Thank you nat!!! 🥵

do not look at me

teamwork - nanami x fem reader x gojo (5.4k)

it’s not surprising that satoru gojo wants to turn everything into a competition. even this. still - you’re not exactly complaining. 

(warnings: afab reader, fem pronouns. cunnilingus, fingering, overstimulation, use of toys, deep-throating, threesome, coming inside)

Every time you end up with either one of these men, you wonder how it happened. But this time . . . with both of them beside you, hungrily eyeing you, your bedroom feeling very small and warm . . . this time, you decide not to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

Gojo’s fingers brush across your cheek, turning your face so you can’t look anywhere but into his crystalline blue eyes. You know what they look like under his blindfold, of course – but every time you see them feels like a surprise, like the wind is being knocked out of your sails. He’s too handsome for his own good, and the worst part about it is that he absolutely knows that.

From the other side of you on the bed is a long-suffering, world-weary sigh.

“It’s not a fair competition if you monopolise her,” comes Nanami’s voice.

“Aww,” Gojo complains, not breaking the eye contact with you. “Come on. You’re around way more often than I am, you get more of a chance to monopolise--”

“If we had to see even more of you,” Nanami says drily, “I’m not sure we’d survive.”

“C-competition?” You breathe, even as you feel Nanami’s hand feather light on your leg. “I didn’t realise that was what happening--”

Maybe you had been too breathlessly caught off-guard by the suggestion that the two sorcerers take you home. Too distracted by how handsome they both were when they had kissed you in turn, by how you’d opened the door and tumbled into your bedroom.

You’ve only ever had them one at a time before, their schedules never quite lining up, their various duties calling them away and depositing them back in your bed at a whim. Having both of them on your bed, touching you, looking at you – that feels like a novelty, despite how long these trysts have been going on.

“Satoru’s nature makes him want to turn everything into a competition,” Nanami murmurs, leaning in – you start as you feel his lips on your calf, gently drawing a path higher and higher, feather-light and reverent.

Gojo huffs out a laugh.

“I just know I’ll win,” he tells you. His face comes very close to yours and you feel like you could drown in the starlight of his eyes, his lips curving into a smirk. “Nanamin’s acting like this because he knows it, too--”

He kisses you even as Nanami snorts against the back of your knee. Gojo’s lips press against yours hungrily, as good at kissing as he is at everything else – suckling your lower lip into his mouth, nipping at it with his teeth, a taste that’s unmistakably sugary sweet flooding your senses. You’ve learnt from much experience that Gojo always tastes like sweets. The hand on your cheek strokes across your face to grip your hair, tugging it hard enough that a gasp escapes from your mouth to be caught in Gojo’s in turn. Nanami’s kisses have not stopped a moment, higher and higher, on the soft flesh of your inner thigh now--

Gojo pauses to pull back, drinking in your widened eyes and the swollen jut of your lower lip. He’s far too pleased with himself. You manage to put some of your thoughts in order, as strong fingers stroke up the thigh that isn’t being lavished with Nanami’s kisses, to say;

“W-what’s the competition?”

“Aww,” Gojo’s hands are at your shirt, pulling the fabric up over your breasts. He whistles when he sees them; it’s been so many times, and you’re still not over Satoru Gojo being impressed by the way you look. Your cheeks flame at the appreciation raw in his gaze. “It’s way more fun if you don’t know, princess.”

You’ve almost forgotten Nanami is there until you feel lips firmly press against the fabric of your underwear, hot breath obvious even through the cotton. You whimper, your back arching up to seek out more sensation and friction. Gojo sighs, tugging off the fabric of your shirt and throwing it off the bed (possibly to never be seen again).

“You’re wet,” Nanami murmurs, through a mouthful of fabric, at once sinfully close to your slit and too far away from it. Gojo raises his eyebrows.

“Of course she is,” he says, “hot guy like me here, and everything--”

Yes. Too handsome for his own good, and far, far too smug about it--

“Don’t you ever shut up?” Nanami asks, raising one eyebrow, pulling back from between your thighs. You make a soft mewl of displeasure at the movement, and he turns his stern gaze to you. “Be good, sweetheart. I had to take these off, didn’t I?” Big, calloused fingers slide under the waistband of your underwear to tug them down your legs. For a moment, the cloth clings uncomfortably to the slickness of your folds – and then, you’re bare to Nanami’s hungry eyes (and Gojo’s, though he seems far more interested in your upper half right now. You guess Nanami is having his turn at whatever this competition is first--).

“Look at you,” he murmurs, soft and low, admiring. He’s not the kind of man who throws out compliments willy-nilly, but you can still hear it in his tone, and it makes you go all over hot and needy.

“You’re gorgeous,” Gojo says, not to be outdone – and there’s a man who does throw out compliments. Nanami is right in that he really doesn’t shut up; but when the things spilling out of his mouth are about how good you are around him, how nice you feel, how pretty your face looks when you’re about to come – you’re much less bothered by Gojo’s habit of running his mouth. “I’m going to make you feel so good – you’re not going to be able to walk for a week after I’m done with you, doll--”

“We’re going to,” Nanami corrects. His hands land on your inner thigh, thumbs gently teasing the outer lips of your sex apart so that the slick folds are exposed to the cool air and the eyes of the two men in your bedroom. You shift, both uncomfortable and aroused by being so open and revealed to them – but both of them are looking at you hungrily, like two predators who are about to pounce.

You forget how dangerous they are, sometimes. You are so used to them as colleagues and friends – Gojo’s occasional childish whims, his laughter, his schemes, and Nanami’s sternness, the surprisingly caring heart beneath all of it – that you forget that their bodies are all raw power, their minds sharply trained weapons.

“Is that a promise?” You breathe, and for that you win a bright laugh from Gojo and a tilt of the lips from Nanami, a huff that would pass as laughter in a court of law.

The latter settles himself between your legs and you can’t help the rush of electricity that goes through you seeing him there, a fizzling spark that settles low in your stomach. His shirtsleeves are pushed up to reveal corded muscle in his forearm, his tired eyes still hungry as they drink in every inch of you like you’re a meal that he’s about to very much enjoy.

(Coincidentally, you’ve seen Nanami before he tucks into a meal he’s looking forward to, and it’s very much the same appreciative air – you, food, a piece of art . . . his gaze is equally appreciative).

“You’re very slow,” Gojo says, a lilt of laughter in the back of his voice. Nanami doesn’t rise to the bait as his face comes very close to your sex – you twitch under the gaze, the hot wash of his breath over your sensitive folds.

When Nanami’s tongue darts out to taste you, it sends a spiralling shock wave that you feel from your shoulders to the tips of your toes. You exhale softly – and, clearly spurred on by the soft little noise, Nanami’s tongue darts out again for a longer lick.

Gojo sighs, but when your unfocused eyes stray to him, his own gaze is locked upon where Nanami is bent with his mouth against your sex.

The tip of the latter’s tongue flickers over your clit and you mewl, heart skipping a beat. He’s being so slow – teasing you, making you incredibly aware of every wash of his breath and slight flick of his tongue. Your stomach ties itself into knots at just how good it feels – Nanami is always good at this, but having Gojo watching is clearly making him want to impress even more. This is far slower and more teasing that he usually is with you.

It’s not bad, by any stretch of the imagination – you’d argue it’s better than usual – but that doesn’t absolve the fact that you want more. You move your thighs so they’re over Nanami’s shoulder, intending to try and pull him against you – but big strong hands come to rest on them, Nanami’s grip stopping you from doing anything so rash.

He pulls back from between your legs for a moment, the glimmer of your slick on his lips, as he says;

“I told you to be good. Let me be in charge.”

There’s authority in his words that you can’t argue with – so instead, you let out a frustrated little moan. Nanami’s smirk is obvious as he presses a kiss to your clit.

He teases you for a few minutes, his tongue slowly lapping at you with nowhere near enough pressure for you to be satisfied, until you’re flushed and squirming under every brief twitch of his tongue. Only then does he pull you in a little closer and let the broad flat of his tongue slide across your sex entirely, making your toes curl and your thighs twitch and your eyes flutter closed at just how good it feels to finally have his full attention.

You’re surprised that Gojo isn’t complaining more about having nothing to do – from your experience with the man, he likes to always have himself occupied. He’s not usually prone to sitting still – at least, not without much complaint. When you do manage to look at him through the hazy veil of ‘oh, fuck, Nanami’s mouth feels amazing’, though, he’s watching Nanami with eyes of a hawk.

Right.

They’re having some kind of competition, and you know that Gojo hates to lose--

Nanami does something with his tongue, a flourish over your clit like he’s painting calligraphy, and your eyes snap shut as your hips stroke up to meet him and you come for the first time, a pleasant wash of heat and snapping pressure making your entire being feel light and floaty for a moment.

Nanami’s mouth does not stop for an instant. You know he must feel the wetness coat his chin and the twitch and flutter of your sex, but your peak does not stop him – his tongue just moves lower, pushing inside of your quivering entrance--

“Fuck,” you whimper aloud. Your toes are curling. Your hands fly up to Nanami’s hair, twisting within the strands, dishevelling him. “K-Kento, I’m-- I already--”

He pulls his tongue out of your channel only long enough to murmur;

“I know,” and then he is continuing the onslaught, the tip of his tongue imitating the action that you wish his cock were taking, thrusting in and out of your sex. Your walls try and tighten around it to suck him further in, but his tongue does not act in the same way as a cock and it’s not enough--

He alternates between the two, moving from clit to entrance to clit again, flickering his tongue and thrusting it until you’re wondering how he can even manage to keep moving it, he must be aching . . . Occasionally, he wraps his lips about your clit and sucks and you just about lose your damn mind from how it feels.

You lose track of how many times you come, weakly pulsing around him. The glide of Nanami’s face against your sex is so wet that you think it will be a miracle if you don’t have to change your sheets after this. You must be a puddle between them, every flicker of his tongue and puff of his breath against your overstimulated slit making you whine and whimper and moan.

Tears bead in the corner of your eyes as Nanami finally – finally – surfaces for air. His face is soaking wet, the aftermath of your various orgasms also staining the collar of his shirt dark with damp. You don’t know if Nanami is really done, even then – but Gojo takes the opportunity to bounce, unrestrained energy, and push Nanami away so your thighs fall from his shoulders.

“Come on,” Gojo urges. “It’s my turn--”

“Satoru,” you say, weakly. “I’m—I need a minute-- I don’t think I can--”

But his fingers are already on you. He swipes them through the mess of your sex (half with Nanami’s saliva, half with your own slick, both of them so mixed together you can’t tell what’s you and what’s not), delighting in the way your form twitches under the onslaught of sensation.

“Sure you can,” he says. “You’re so good for us--”

His fingers are cool against your heated skin. The hand that isn’t resting over your sex moves over your breast, squeezing the curve of your skin – you sigh, arching into the touch, letting him pinch your nipple between thumb and forefinger at the same time as he gently slides one of his fingers inside you.

It’s still not enough. He fits inside you without a single ounce of resistance, knuckle deep – more solid than Nanami’s tongue, reaching further and deeper, but still not filling you up as much as you want to be filled. You thrust your hips to make sure that he’s buried in as deep as he can go and he chuckles, giving the pinched nipple a good-natured tug that sends an electric surge to the pit of your stomach where another orgasm is already building.

You didn’t know you could come again. You thought that Nanami had pulled every ounce of pleasure you were capable of from your body already, but here is Gojo Satoru to prove you wrong once again--

“You want another?” He murmurs. “I thought you couldn’t . . .?”

The last words are said mocking and smug, and if you didn’t want even more of his fingers inside of you you would slap him. Instead, you simply moan and hope that he takes it as the permission that it is. Gojo knows you too well to misunderstand, and can see that you’re enjoying yourself too much to withhold (not to mention Nanami, watching him – he can’t help but want to assert his dominance even more when the junior sorcerer is around), so with the next thrust of his fingers he scissors you open with a second.

You whimper, but your body greedily welcomes them inside of you. They’re long and good, rubbing against all of the patches of your inner walls that have you seeing stars. You’re incapable of real thought right now, with Gojo’s fingers buried so deep inside of you. All you can think of is the stretch of him, the feel of him, his knuckles. With every thrust of his fingers your sex makes wet, slick noises that would be shaming if you weren’t so far gone.

You’re not ashamed of how good you feel right now. You’re not ashamed of the rocking of your hips as you help him along, fucking yourself on his fingers just as much as he’s fucking you with them. He bends his head and wraps his lips about your nipple, his teeth grazing the sensitive little bud, at the same time as his thumb strokes across the swollen pearl of your clit and the string inside of you snaps.

You don’t know what number orgasm this is, but it feels like the first one all over again as you cry out Gojo’s name into the ceiling. His lips leave your nipple with an audible pop, turning to where Nanami is sitting on the bed. At some point, he lost his ruined shirt, and your eyes blearily fixate on the scars on his side and the muscles in his shoulders. God, it’s unfair that he hides his body like that--

“She never said your name,” Gojo says, smugly. You want to reprimand him, but you can’t speak – your throat feels dry and sore, your heart beating loudly in your ears. Gojo must be able to feel it, too, where he’s still deep inside you; the heartbeat feels like it’s reverberating all through you until you can’t think of anything else. Gojo lets you ride out the final pulses of your orgasm with his fingers buried inside you.

If you think that he’s going to pull his fingers out of you, though, you’re deeply mistaken. He lets your body stop weakly pulsating around him, and then his thumb is back to drawing circles around your clit. He knows better than to touch it straight off – but the feeling is still half-good and half-ache, more than you can handle so soon after coming so hard. Your hips wriggle beneath him, your breath coming in short gasps. He slides his fingers half-out, and then pushes them back in, already halfway to establishing a rhythm.

Oh, oh, oh. It’s so much. Gojo leans his head to kiss your neck, teeth scraping across the sensitive hollows of your throat, spending a moment to suck a lovebite into your skin that you know you’ll have to cover up tomorrow. Three fingers are inside you, and Gojo is just getting faster.

His thumb stops being so delicate and drags across your clit, leaving a trail of fiery hot pleasure. Tension coils in your gut all over again.

Too much, it’s too much, all of your body is on fire – you can’t, you can’t, you can’t--

You want him to stop. You don’t want him to stop? You’re trembling all over like a tautly pulled violin string, ready to snap. How is he going so fast? How are you taking it? Three fingers stuffed inside you and you’re ready to fall into pieces--

Nanami moves, pulling your head onto his knee as Gojo continues to fuck you open with every pump of his hand.

“C-can’t,” you whimper, arching up into Gojo’s fingers. You’re soaking wet everywhere – your brow is beading with sweat, your sex so slick that it’s a wonder those fingers don’t slip out of you with every hungry flex of Gojo’s hand. “I can’t come again, Satoru, please--”

You don’t want him to stop despite the protestation, hips still hopelessly pumping up in greedy search of friction. His thumb has not ceased the assault over your swollen clit, every brush of the digit sending shocks throughout your body. Your mouth is open to take great hungry, gasping breaths – it’s a wonder you managed to form any syllables. Nanami is bent over you with a hand stroking your hair, but there’s a hungry frustration in his gaze as he watches Gojo fuck you with his fingers.

You know that the other man wants another turn – but you’re honestly not sure if you can take it.

“Aww, don’t be like that!” Gojo chirps, and his hand gets faster, which you didn’t even realise was possible. Your fingers fist into the bedsheets below you throwing your head back, panting. “Of course you can come again, princess! You’re just about to, actually--”

You hate him for being right. The ball of tension in your stomach is so tight it’s almost painful, pulling at you from all angles ready to unravel once more. One little mean grind of Gojo’s thumb against your clit has you falling again, slick walls of your sex clamping about the three fingers buried inside you, a gush of wetness soaking him even further and making Gojo exclaim in delight.

Your chest heaves with effort. Gojo pulls his fingers out of you with a weak pop, followed by a little pour of your slick that he was plugging inside you. The white-haired man brings his fingers to his mouth, tongue darting out to taste you – he tilts his head back, savouring the taste.

“Sweet,” he tells you, with a grin. “I could get drunk on you.” He turns to Nanami with a challenge in his face. “Did I win?”

As competitive as Nanami can be sometimes, you also know that he’s willing to admit when he’s beaten. You’re expecting the younger sorcerer to sigh but ultimately agree with Gojo’s words – you’re not expecting, above you, Nanami’s face to become something that’s all fervent ruthlessness.

Nanami moves to your bedside drawer and opens the second one down. Your face grows heated. He knows what’s in there, because you’ve experimented with using them in the bedroom before – but still! Having him go in there of your own accord!

Despite the panting and the sweating and the fact that you feel like you’ve been pushed to your limit already, seeing Nanami holding the bulbous headed magic wand toy sends a jolt of arousal right to your poor swollen sex.

“That’s cheating,” Gojo says hotly, pouting as Nanami gently pushes him out of the way to settle between your thighs instead. “I win by default!”

“If you want,” Nanami says, measured. You gasp as he presses the smooth head against your clit without turning it on, the cool, smooth sensation making you squirm even without the vibrations that you know are coming. “Perhaps it would be more fun if we worked together.”

A flash goes over Gojo’s face, as he tips his head to one side in consideration.

Nanami moves the toy again, still turned off – sliding it along the wet slit of your sex, to where your opening is pulsing and fluttering to be filled by something more substantial than Gojo or Nanami’s fingers and tongues. You shudder at the bolts of heat that it sends all through you. You’ve come – what, four times? Five? Almost too many to count – but you still feel so achingly empty, you still feel as though you need to be properly held down and fucked. You’re at once overstimulated and nowhere near stimulated enough, and your hips jerk with every slow measured rub of the toy against your slit.

“You admitted it,” Gojo crows, but he watches Nanami’s slow teasing of your heated body nonetheless. “I’ll remember that. But . . . if you really think we should work together . . .”

“Alright,” Nanami says agreeably, far more entranced by you and unwilling to be pulled into Gojo’s games.

Gojo moves onto the bed, over your head. You watch him undo his pants with hazy, unfocused eyes – still too far gone to make sense of anything that’s happening around you except how good the cool head of the wand feels on all of your slick, hot folds and how your entire body is still fizzling with pleasure.

When he pulls out his cock, it’s clear to see that you’ve had an effect on him – the swollen head, all pink and slick, the pulsing shaft.

“Is that for me?” You ask, and Gojo laughs at just how out of it you still sound. He supposes that the best way to describe it is ‘cockdrunk, only you haven’t taken any cock yet’ – pleasure soaked, unreal, all satisfaction and greedy arousal.

“Do you want it?” He asks, teasingly. “I’d like to give you it, but I’ll wait until you use your words, pretty girl--”

You open your mouth to speak at the same time as Nanami flicks the switch on the toy, and whatever affirmation is about to spill out of your slack mouth is lost in the wail.

It’s too fast, too soon, against your poor clit that’s had enough stimulation for a year – and you can feel your orgasm hovering at the edge of your vision in moments. You try to clamp your legs shut to stop it being so overwhelming, but Nanami is too settled in between them.

Gojo uses the open-mouthed moan to slide the head of his cock into your open mouth, groaning as if in relief when your lips seal around it. Anything to distract you from the persistent buzzing of the toy between your thighs. Anything to stop you coming again, embarrassingly quickly--

Gojo’s hand strokes through your hair tenderly as he murmurs softly;

“Good, fuck, you feel amazing--”

Your body and heart do a flip at the praise. From the glint in Gojo’s eye, he’s remembered how well you respond to praise – and your sex clenches hungrily around nothing in response. You drag your eyes from Gojo to look at Nanami, still between your legs, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he studies your sex and how it’s clenching and pulsing and dripping even with the toy pressed against your clit.

You can see the thick outline of his cock pressing against his slacks – but Nanami is far more focussed on your pleasure than his own right now. He’s always been better at holding himself off than Gojo is.

“Hey,” Gojo says. “Keep your eyes on me, let him do whatever he wants . . . I deserve that, for winning, huh?”

You drag your eyes back to Gojo as you keep sucking at his cock. You whine around it – and there’s Nanami again, flicking up the intensity the barest notch. You whine around the shaft, making his cock vibrate with your hums, your tongue sloppily sliding along the salty slit. “Oh, fuck – you’re gonna come again? Ha-a, guess both of us is . . . a bit much--”

You do. You come again, your back arching – Nanami grabs your waist with one hand to keep you anchored against the bed, your thighs still unable to close as a pleasure-painful orgasm is wrung out of you. You’re not going to be able to walk for a week, Gojo was right.

Somehow, there is still enough liquid in your body to soak the bed beneath you again, though you feel like after the amount that the two have brought forth from your body you ought to be a dry husk where you lay.

“Good girl,” Nanami purrs, and you’re helpless under the onslaught of him turning the toy up one more time. You can’t come again, you can’t you can’t you can’t--

And moments after the last orgasm you do, your legs shaking wildly. Nanami has the sense to pull the toy off you this time and he’s treated to the full view of your empty hole clenching around nothing. The scream of pleasure is lost to Gojo’s cock – his hips thrusting against you, the head bumping against your throat. You wish you could concentrate on anything but the fire between your legs. You’re in pieces, feeling like you’re floating through stars, not properly anchored down anywhere--

Maybe you pass out for a moment, but your tongue is still moving against the meat of Gojo’s shaft and your heart is still beating a frantic rhythm and aftershocks are still ricocheting through you when your eyes manage to refocus and you remember where you are.

“I need to--” Nanami murmurs softly, and you hear the zipper and button of his trousers. He’s almost apologetic as his cock rests at your entrance. You make a soft noise of encouragement around Gojo’s cock and Nanami seizes upon it with relief, your entrance welcoming him inside its wet, tight embrace without a fraction of resistance.

You’re still utterly overwhelmed in the best possible way, sore from coming over and over again, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to leave the two of them high and dry. You redouble your efforts on Gojo’s cock, tongue tracing line where his cock head and shaft meet and winning a groan from him. You hollow your cheeks and suck as Nanami begins to establish an even pace, the slick glide of his cock inside of you sending pleasant shivers all through your body.

Gojo’s hips chase every suck, his breath beginning to sound unsteady in his chest. His mouth is moving and you know he must be talking to you, but all you can hear is the slick wet sound of Nanami’s cock driving in and out of you and the pound of your own heart in your ears.

Gojo’s cock twitches in your mouth as the only warning before he’s coming, thick spurts down your throat. You swallow reflexively, practically sucking him dry and making Gojo groan and whisper your name like a prayer. Part of you feels smug about the heated way his voice sounds as you suck the very final shivers of his orgasm out of him, wondering if he feels even half as drunk on it as you did after all the times he’s made you come tonight.

He pulls out of your mouth in time for Nanami to grab your face and kiss you, seemingly uncaring about the fact you must still taste like Gojo. Nanami always likes to have his mouth pressed somewhere against you when he comes, almost as if he’s embarrassed of the breathy groans he makes as you push him over the edge. His hips stutter, his even strokes turning into ragged plunges of his cock into you, and you use your energy to give his lip a nip as you feel him come inside of you with weak pulses. The way that his pelvis grinds against your clit with his final thrust is enough to push you over the edge one last time, your channel throbbing feebly against his as the final, quieter orgasm washes over you like waves lapping at a seashore.

He stays there for a moment, gasping against your lips. You suppose he did wait longer than Gojo did to finally be touched, even after touching you first, and you wonder just how much he was aching to be inside of you by the time he finally got there.

You’d be willing to let him lay there forever, if he wanted to – unfortunately, that feeling is not mutual on the part of everyone in the bedroom.

Gojo clicks his tongue.

“You can’t stay there forever.” He says. “I want to cuddle.”

Of course he does. Nanami groans as he rolls off you, his softening cock popping out of you with a wet noise. You should clean up – the bed beneath you is already soaking wet, your thighs soaking and uncomfortably sticky, Nanami’s come oozing from your hole as press your thighs together. But . . . if you do stand up, you think you will just fall over. And Nanami’s chest looks inviting, perfectly positioned for you to just shift an inch or two and rest upon it . . .

Cleaning up can wait. You stifle a yawn, the bed dipping as Gojo chases the way you move towards Nanami, as if he cannot bear for there to be space between any of you.

“Do I get to decide who won?” You ask, sleepily, resting your head on Nanami’s chest as he sighs and allows it, running his fingers through your hair. Gojo grumbles, locking his arms about your waist and pressing his cheek against your bare back despite the fact you know you must be sticky with sweat. Despite the sigh, Nanami’s hand is fond, his posture all relaxed, a quiet kind of satisfaction in every line of his body.

“You’re probably the best judge,” he says.

“I thought we already decided,” Gojo whines. “Nanamin cheated--”

“I think,” you say, ignoring what Gojo is saying (which you have long learned is one of the best ways to deal with him when he gets prideful and arrogant). “You both won. Teamwork was definitely superior.”

“Hmm,” Nanami says. “You know what? I think you’re right.”

Gojo shifts, hugging you tighter, his body pressed as close to you as is humanly possible. Your bed isn’t really comfortable for all three of you to embrace like this, but in between them you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Say whatever you want to make yourself feel better,” he says, all dignity. “I definitely won.”

[writertitan]

Only You

pairing: levi x reader 

word count: 2307

themes: jealous!reader, so much fluff and comfort, one could say too much fluff (but not me), angst if you squint at the beginning

requested by anon

A single, light touch of his arm and batting of lashes never affected you. Plenty of girls had done this before and were always shaken off of Levi by the man himself, almost instantly. He was always quick to draw a boundary, with women especially, if they got too close for comfort. It was the persistence of this current girl, though, that made you squirm and made you uncomfortable. Because she was good at making it lighthearted, innocent, not as brash and bold as all the others who had tried to flirt with Levi before. And if Levi had caught on to her advances, he hadn’t done a thing to ward her off. 

Granted, she was an employee, someone who was helping you both pick out a birthday gift for Hange, but you were able to read between the lines. The way she let her fingers brush with Levi’s just for a moment as she handed him a potential gift for your mutual friend, the way her smile was polite for you but beaming for Levi, the way her eyes sparkled when his own gaze landed on her, the way she was either between the two of you or next to him, but never next to you. Her praises of his taste when he looked at a new gift, her polite recognition of you when Levi would ask for your input, all of it, just all of it. You weren’t blind to it but it seemed that Levi was. It made you quiet, quieter than usual, but you couldn’t help your own unspoken behaviors that told more than words could. You were fidgeting, withdrawn, and while Levi didn’t seem to notice the girl’s advances, he did quickly tune into the fact that getting a full sentence out of you was suddenly like pulling teeth. 

Eventually, you let Levi take the lead and shrunk back from him and the girl, your heart sinking low each time she smiled at him, each time she complimented him. Your arms were folded tightly over your chest, as if to keep your heart in one piece, and you hoped that you didn’t look as uncomfortable and upset as you felt. Still, you felt your eyes squinting each time they interacted, and you felt yourself hiding into yourself, wishing you could do more than just watch.

“What do you think?” he pressed you, holding up a small apothecary box. “Four Eyes has been harping on and on about experimenting with alchemy like the crackpot she is. You think this set will be put to good use?” 

You watched as the girl blinked at you expectantly, eyes wide and innocent as she shuffled closer to Levi. 

Try as you might to try and get even a short approval out of your mouth, the words couldn’t come. They were stuck in your throat, bubbling over and dying out before you could even open your mouth. You gave Levi a shrug, and finally, a short and simple, “She’ll like it,” left your lips. Barely above a whisper. 

Levi was frustrated with you now, you could tell, but said nothing of it as he walked up to the counter to pay for the gift. You hadn’t followed him and that had spurred the employee on a little, it seemed; she was much chattier as she packaged the gift for Levi, marveling again about what a wonderful gift giver he was. It wasn’t until she handed Levi the package and set her hand on his arm for a moment too long that it seemed to click for him. 

“Come back again soon,” you heard her say. Levi said nothing to her, and said nothing to you as you both stepped out into the evening. 

                 — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Not a word had been said since leaving the shop. Levi had taken you back to his room and you sat down in a chair in the corner as you fidgeted quietly, those words still squashed and thick in your throat. Truth be told, you knew that it was a little silly. Levi would never encourage flirtatious behavior, much less reciprocate, and he may have genuinely not noticed earlier. But that had been the first time someone had blatantly disregarded you like that. That had been the first time a woman had been so shameless in her pursuit, however discreet it was. 

“Are we going to talk about it or are you going to keep moping?” Levi asked from his closet, grabbing some clothes to change into for bed. His voice cut clear into the air, cutting away at the tension that was palpable. After grabbing the clothes he’d decided on, he walked to his bed and sat on the edge, gazing at you intently. 

You blushed, huddling up in your chair more and sighing. He knew, better than most, how you preferred to show how you were feeling with your actions, your body language, rather than with actual words. In a lot of ways, Levi was exactly the same, the only difference being that he wasn’t one to shy away from confrontation when needed. 

Part of you wanted to just shrink away into nothing and try to pretend it never happened. You’d get over it. After all, you weren’t mad at Levi, weren’t even mad at the girl. You were just mad at yourself now. All of these words wanted to be blurted out, but you didn’t even know where to begin. The other part of you that didn’t want to run away from this took the lead, not giving you time to think or regret the choice to get up and sit on the edge of Levi’s bed next to him, your eyes downcast as you swallowed thickly, as if physically opening up your throat to finally speak your mind. 

“It made me uncomfortable,” you admitted to him in a quiet voice. “How the girl was acting with you, I mean. And I know it’s so silly to feel like this. Nothing happened and nothing was going to happen. I trust you completely and I’m not mad at you. I’m not mad at anybody except for myself. I’m just so upset that I let it get to me, and I’m even more upset that I still don’t know how to speak my mind like you can. I also just...don’t want to seem like a crazed and possessive partner, but I’ll admit that I got jealous. I’m sorry.” 

And there you were, rambling away, hoping that what you were saying was even coherent. 

When Levi didn’t answer right away, you looked up from your lap to see that he actually looked taken aback, like he hadn’t expected that to be your response. He scoffed your name moments later, back to his usual self, but you saw the softness in his eyes as he gazed at you. 

“I didn’t realize what she was up to until the end,” he said, reaching over to place a hand on your thigh. “You know if I’d caught on earlier, I would have put a stop to it.” 

“I know,” you said lamely, gazing at him from under your lashes. “I’m sorry for getting jealous. It was just...the first time it had happened like that. She just didn’t stop.” 

Much to your chagrin, your words elicited a small smirk from Levi. 

“Stop apologizing. You have nothing to be sorry for,” he said to you, willingly letting you lean into him. “The one who should apologize is the snotty girl who honestly wasn’t even that helpful. I’m surprised you were jealous of her.”

“Huh?” You lifted your head up from your place on his shoulder to look at him. “Why surprised?” 

Levi returned your gaze steadily, raising a brow as if it were so obvious and you weren’t getting it. 

“Because there was no contest. There never is. I don’t give a shit about anybody but you.”

Oh. 

Instantly you were blushing, your heart sputtering out of control. It wasn’t often that Levi admitted things like that, but when he did, it always caught you off guard. He always said things so bluntly and so decisively. 

He only had eyes for you. Though you already knew that, it was nice to hear it, and it washed away the remnants of the jealousy still stirring through you. 

Again, you couldn’t find the words. Only this time, it was for a good reason, a positive thing. Left speechless by Levi yet again. You took your preferred route of speaking your feelings through actions, and leaned in to press a grateful kiss into his mouth, your hand reaching up to comb back his hair from his face. 

“You know that no one compares to you, either, right?” you asked against his lips, slowly pulling back to gaze at him. 

“Of course,” he snorted, squeezing your thigh before getting up. “I’m making us some tea before bed. Be back soon.” 

You stood and got changed for bed, greeting Levi with a tight-lipped smile when he returned with a tray filled with your teacups, the tea pot, and a few of your favorite tea snacks. He set the tray down at the small table by his bed and changed into his own pajamas as well, calling over his shoulder as he adjusted his shirt, “Let’s read some of that book you’ve been wanting to finish before bed, too.” 

“Really?” you asked, brightening up at the thought. You and Levi hadn’t done that in a while; you in his lap, resting against his chest as he sat up against the headboard, the two of you silently reading a book you held with Levi always nudging you to let you know when he wanted you to turn the page (and then making fun of you for reading too slow). The current book you were reading was a little too sappy - his words, not yours - so he hadn’t been following along. 

“Come here,” he instructed, getting under the covers and pulling you into him once you’d grabbed your book. You settled into him like you normally did, both of you reaching over to grab your cups of tea and take a sip, and that’s when you noticed that Levi had prepared your favorite kind of tea, and had made it his special way for you: a small hint of honey, which he only saved for special days since it had been such an expensive batch, and a dash of cinnamon. Your heart swelled at his thoughtfulness, knowing that instead of telling you, Levi was showing you how much you meant to him. Hell, he was even willing to have tea in bed with you. He usually made you drink at his desk with him. 

“Just the way I like it,” you murmured after taking another gulp, giving Levi a warm and loving grin; your way of letting him know that you appreciated what he was doing. 

Levi hummed in acknowledgement and set his cup back down on the tray, nodding towards the book silently, and you quickly flipped open to the page you’d ended on. Squirming around in his arms until you were sort of facing him, you gave him a brief summary of what had happened so far, so he wouldn’t be lost. 

“So my prediction is that, since he’s leaving and doesn’t know when he’ll come back if at all, she’ll tell him that she still loves him,” you finished proudly, turning back around to press your back flush against Levi’s chest. 

“Like I said before...sappy as shit,” Levi grumbled. You smirked when his chin rested on your shoulder to read with you, though, and reached up with one hand to stroke his cheek with your thumb before completely absorbing yourself into your book. 

The two of you stayed like that for a long time, with both of you silently reading to yourselves and Levi pressing a soft kiss to your jaw to signal he was ready to turn the page. Occasionally you’d stop for short tea breaks and to nibble on the snacks he’d brought along, a comfortable silence embracing the two of you. 

After a loud yawn from you, Levi squeezed his arms around you and made a small noise in his throat as he nuzzled into your neck, one hand moving to snatch the book from your hands to toss it to the end of the bed. It was well into the night now and all the candles you’d lit at the bedside table to help with reading were burning low, making your eyes heavy. 

“Time for bed,” he announced, hoisting you up by the waist and gently scooting you off his lap and into your own spot in bed. He adjusted the blankets around you and then gave you a long, unreadable look as you settled your head into the pillow, eyes half-lidded and blinking slowly as you tried to hold his gaze. He didn’t speak, just reached out to adjust the hair out of your face. But then, after another moment of deliberation, leaned in and whispered, “Do you feel better?” 

You smiled tiredy and nodded, reaching out to hold his hand in yours for a moment. “Much. Thank you for making me feel better.” 

“Jealous brat,” he murmured before pressing a kiss to your forehead, getting out of bed and grabbing the tray to clean up and get it out of the room. You tried to wait for him to come back but just couldn’t stay awake much longer, much less keep your eyes open. 

You vaguely heard Levi come back in after a while, sliding under the covers with you, but your mind was foggy and already in the beginnings of a soft dream. Absently, you moved to be closer to him, succumbing to sleep as a voice whispered in your ear, “There’s only you.” 

[qianinterprises]

WayV Reaction: to asking them to take over while riding them

Warnings: SMUT!!!! This has 90% smut, 10% fluff, so if you are underaged, be warned!!

Work Count: 1.4k

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for your request, love! This was my first requested request and it was so much fun to write! I hope you enjoy it sweet anon!

Tagging: @treasuretaeil

Kun:

Originally Posted Here

Your hands were planted against your boyfriends chest, using him for leverage to hold yourself up as your hips pummeled against his. His hands gripped your hips, loosely guiding your hips down on him. His cock dragged deliciously along your walls, drawing moans from your lips, moans that were spurred on by his lips around your nipple.

You moaned out at a particularly hard thrust. Your hips stuttered, arms beginning to shake with your weight. It was all becoming too much.

"Kun?"

The man beneath you released your perky bud with a lewd pop, eyes flicking up to yours in question.

"Can you take over? I'm getting tired..."

With a smirk, Kun's hands gripped your hips tighter and lifted his pelvis. Skillfully, he flipped you around, settling you against the pillows. He moved his hands from your hips, planting them on both sides of your head.

"Let me take care of you," he whispered, hips thrusting into you as your walls squeezed around him.

Ten:

Originally Posted Here

Riding Ten was something you'd always wanted to do. He was always dominant, always putting your needs first. So when he came home from practice sweaty an exhausted, you jumped at the chance to take care of him.

Rather than fighting you for dominance, Ten gave in relatively easily. However, you seemed to have underestimated the amount of energy that went into topping.

Moans left his mouth has his hands fondled your breasts softly. You almost felt bad as your arms holding you up gave out and you were falling against his chest, hips moving slowly now.

"Tired baby?" he asked, voice soft as he ran his hands down your back.

You nodded against him. You really should start working out more.

"Can you take over please?" you asked softly.

With a soft chuckle, Ten rolled you over onto your back and gently thrust his hips into you. He laid over your body as his hips moved, lips softly kissing down your neck.

"Just enjoy," he whispered against your skin as his hips began moving at an infuriatingly slow pace.

WinWin:

Originally posted here

It wasn't uncommon for you to ride Sicheng. You both generally took turns with dominance, however, what was uncommon was how fast you had managed to get tired.

Sure, you could never last quite as long as your boyfriend, but you usually always managed to spur an orgasm out of him before your body collapsed against his chest. However, as your muscles suddenly seized up, you feel face first toward his chest. He only managed to catch your falling body by a few seconds before you slammed your nose against his collar bone.

"Babe?!" he asked, alarmed.

"I'm so sorry," you breathed, arms spasming with overuse.

"What happened?!"

"I couldn't hold myself up anymore..." you muttered, embarrassment rushing through you.

"Do you want to stop?"

You knew he didn't. You could still feel him twitching inside you, and to be frank, your core was aching for a mind-shattering orgasm, the kind only he was capable of giving.

"No but would you mind taking over?" you asked.

"Say no more."

With that, he flipped you around until your back was pressed against the mattress. He lifted your legs to wrap around his hips and pulled his cock almost completely out before thrusting back in, pulling a loud moan from your throat.

Lucas:

Originally posted here

Yukhei's hands lightly squeezed your breasts as your hips bounced on his cock, moaning loudly as he stretched you in all the right ways.

"Oh fuck Yukhei!" you moaned as he hit a particularly sensitive spot inside you.

"You like riding me baby girl?" his voice was low and husky, a tone he only used when he was feeling exceptionally good.

You nodded enthusiastically, but you knew you wouldn't be able to keep this up much longer. Yukhei had a lot more strength and stamina than you. He could fuck you for hours if you let him, but as your thighs began to quiver more from exertion than pleasure, you knew you didn't have much strength left to give.

As your thrusts slowed, Yukhei looked up at you questioningly, thumbs rubbing over your nipples softly.

"What's wrong baby?" he asked.

If there's one thing you loved about Yukhei, it's how he never got too caught up to care about you.

"I can't..." you breathed as your hips stilled completely. "I can't hold myself up anymore..."

A smirk covered his worried features.

"Want me to continue?"

With a nod, you allowed your thighs to relax. He shifted beneath you, lifting his legs until his feet were planted firmly in the mattress.

"You better hold on baby, I won't go easy," he growled before fucking up into you, sending you grappling for his shoulders to support yourself.

Xiaojun:

Originally posted here

Your first time riding anyone was proving to be a lot more difficult that you would have ever imagined. Typically, you'd say it looked easy enough, just moving your hips on someone rather than taking what they were giving you. However, as you struggled to find a happy medium between holding yourself up and fucking yourself down on Dejun's cock, you were getting frustrated.

"How do you do this all the time!" you whined as your hips moved sloppily, unable to find a comfortable pace.

Dejun, who looked far too amused beneath you, just shrugged.

"There's a training session we all have to go through to ensure we're strong enough to please our woman!"

You raised a hand to slap his chest, but as that support left, you found your body toppling down off of him and onto the bed, his cock slipping out of you, making you whine.

"I think you need more practice."

"Oh just shut up and fuck me!" you demanded.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Ask nicely."

You scoffed. Part of you wanted to just say 'never mind' and go finish yourself off in the bathroom, but he felt really good inside you.

With a huff, you conceded.

"Oh great Dejun, will you please do me the great honor of fucking me?"

With a far too satisfied grin, he moved on top of you, not hesitating to sheath himself back inside you.

Hendery:

Originally posted here

It had been his request. You weren't too keen on the idea because you were positive you wouldn't be able to do it for long. Your upper body strength was low, and you knew it was going to take a lot to keep yourself grounded as your hips moved. You had told your boyfriend this, but he'd insisted that you at least try. Which is how you ended up where you were not, laying flat on his chest, arms by your sides, hips barely moving to keep him the slightest bit stimulated.

"I told you this was a bad idea," you groaned, not looking up.

"You barely tried!" Kunhang complained.

"Did too! It's just hard!"

He didn't say anything after that, just moved his hands to your hips. He gripped them tightly and lifted them a little higher before letting them drop, pulling out moans from both of you.

"I have an idea, how about I stay on top but you take over?" you asked, looking up at him.

He raised an eyebrow, lifting your hips again and letting them drop.

"What will that do?"

You rolled your eyes.

"It will give you what you want and also allow me to practice holding myself up for next time!"

He didn't seem to keen on the idea at first, but as you lifted yourself up, placing both hands on the headboard to hold yourself up while he lifted your hips, he let out a satisfied moan.

"Deal."

YangYang:

Originally posted here

"Can't you go any faster?"

"I'm going as fast as I can!"

"But it's too slow!"

Your eyes snapped down to stair at your annoying boyfriend beneath you.

"How about you do it then!" you glared.

Riding him had been his idea. Something on your list to try, but ultimately his idea. You'd told him when he'd suggested it that it'd be slow. You didn't have great balance. Holding yourself up was going to take some practice and as he was the first person you'd ever been sexually intimate with, you obviously had no prior experience. Thus, here he was, whining at you to go faster when, even though you understood the need, you didn't have the balance or the practice to go any faster.

"Fucking finally!" he cheered.

Not a moment later, he was dumping you off his lap, pulling a yelp from your lips that was quickly drowned out by the embarrassingly loud moan that pooled from your throat as he thrust into you from behind, immediately setting a brutally fast pace.

[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.” 

[zenith-impact]

Albedo - Path

Part One of my 50 Theme Challenge. If you’re interested in requesting a story of your own, you can find the prompt list here!

My first Albedo story! I was a little nervous about it, but I’m really proud of it. I hope you all enjoy  ＼(＾▽＾)／

Albedo didn’t know what he was going to do with you. Your sheer level of fascination at the sight of a Seelie of all things was astounding. 

How had you traveled all the way to Dragonspine and never seen a Seelie? He knew you weren’t an adventurer, but even Sucrose had seen a Seelie. But you… you were staring at the one that had wandered close to camp with unabashed adoration. And, what was even stranger, was that the Seelie itself was standing still, head turned toward you as if it were staring right back. And that defied all the logic Albedo knew about Seelies of that kind, as it should have wandered off to its treasure the second you got close. 

“It’s just a Seelie,” He said when you looked toward him with a question on your lips. 

“But what is a Seelie?” You said. 

Albedo paused. What was a Seelie? A bundle of energy that only cared about treasure at the end of its path? An ancient race transformed into these seemingly mindless beings? Something else in between? The more Albedo thought about it, the more he realized he didn’t actually have an answer. He’d never thought about it so deeply. Seelies were just Seelies. It was straight forward. Simple. No need to dwell on it. “They are the remnants of an ancient race,” he said, deciding to rely on the theories he knew so well. 

Your eyes softened as you took a step back. The Seelie followed you, hovering close to your face. “A race that looks like this?”

“Supposably they looked very different,” Albedo said. “Some even claimed that they were beautiful, but only the most ancient of Archons would know that truth now.” The Seelie moved closer to you, and Albedo could see the glow in your eyes. 

“Where do you want to go?” You said. The Seelie, of course, didn’t answer. You looked at Albedo. “What do Seelies usually do?”

“They lead you to treasure gardens,” Albedo said. “If you follow their path for long enough.” 

You looked back to the Seelie. “Would that make you happy little… one?” You tilted your head, but still, the Seelie didn’t move. “You are quite warm…” You said thoughtfully. “It would make a nice addition to our camp.”

Albedo said nothing, even though you had a point. A permanent, warming Seelie would be an interesting observation subject. And if it were as attached to you as it seemed to be, then maybe you’d be safer, as you would always have something to push away the cold even when you weren’t by Albedo’s side. And with all the research the two of you had to do, that was becoming more frequent. A necessary thing that bothered Albedo more than he cared to admit. 

Then, the Seelie turned and flew away, stopping at the top of a small cliff. Your expression turned to sadness as you looked up at it. “I guess I should follow it, huh.”

“I’ll go with you,” Albedo said, setting down his sketchbook. He wasn’t quite sure what prompted him to do such a thing. He had plenty of work to do, and chasing a Seelie around wasn’t the best use of his time. But that flicker of excitement that flashed in your eyes was enough to spur him on. “We will continue our experiments the moment we return.” You nodded as you both looked up at the Seelie. It still hadn’t moved, and Albedo could imagine it beckoning to you both. You climbed the cliff together, and the Seelie flew away the moment you reached the top. Both of you continued along as the Seelie followed the path, dodging the Hilichurl camps nestled into the mountain. Albedo kept you close, not wanting to waste time on a fight. 

The further you went from camp, however, the more frustrated Albedo became. Seelie gardens were supposed to be close by. Why was this one taking you so far away? “We should…”

“Thank you,” You said at the same time. Albedo blinked, glancing at you. But your eyes were trained on the Seelie as you walked with your head held high. “I know this isn’t what you’d planned to do for the afternoon,” You said. “But I’m happy to spend some time with you.” 

Despite the cold, he felt a strange heat in his cheeks when you smiled at him. “It’s nothing,” He said with a light shrug. “I have long since wondered what drives these Seelies to lead people on these… adventures for some time now.”

You chuckled. “No, you haven’t.”

“It is an interesting question,” He continued. “Do they guide others to a treasure they themselves cannot possess? Do they want to help travelers? Maybe they cannot go home if…”

“Albedo.”

He paused, looking up at you. “Yes?”

“You don’t have to pretend for me.”

“But these are interesting thoughts,” He said. “And maybe it’s something worth looking into.”

“Or it’s something simple and you’re overthinking it.”

Albedo hummed in thought as the Seelie turned the corner. When the two of you followed it, you found a small stone statue. A part of him was relieved as the Seelie settled into it. A treasure chest appeared at its side, but you were slow to open it, watching the Seelie. “Why does it seem so sad?” You whispered. 

 “Sad?”

You nodded. “It seems almost… disappointed that it’s back home.” You tilted your head as you knelt in the snow. Albedo watched as you pat the Seelies head before opening the treasure chest. The few crystals you pulled out were easy enough to tuck away, and you soon found yourselves back on the pathway home. This time, however, you were more contemplative, not speaking for most of the trip. And for some reason, this bothered Albedo. So, when you were close to the cliff back to camp, he stopped you and said “what did you mean when you said it felt sad?”

You paused, looking up at him. The snow started to fall in a quiet flurry, clinging to your hair and clothing. You didn’t seem to mind. “When it settled in its garden, I could feel something,” You said. “But maybe it’s silly.”

“Nothing you say is silly.”

Your eyes widened. Finally, you smiled. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” Albedo pressed. “Your thoughts are…” He trailed off, searching for the right word. Finally, and somewhat regrettably, he settled on the word “interesting.”

“You think I’m interesting?”

I think you’re fascinating. He thought, but all he could do was nod as words failed him. But then you reached out and took his hand with both of yours. Your warmth made him blush again, but he didn’t pull away. "Well I think you're interesting too," you said. 

-----------

It was late at night when Albedo returned to the Seelie's garden, sketchbook in hand. The Seelie was still there, nestled in its pillar. Albedo lit a nearby torch and got to work, sketching everything he could remember about the Seelie. The wispy body that was almost translucent. The shape of its head. The way it had watched you with something akin to fascination. Soon, Albedo's sketch became something more as he began to draw you alongside it. He drew silently, pulling on his memories of your smile, the feel of his hand in yours. Determination settled in his stomach as he finished his sketch, knowing exactly what he needed to do. 

----------

A week went by when Albedo approached you with a glowing blue orb in his hands. "I have something for you," he said, his voice somewhat awkward as he held it out to you. You took it, only for the ball to spin in your hand. Little ears popped out of the top as the center glowed. You swore it was looking up at you, even though it had no eyes. 

"What is this?" You said. 

"A Seelie," Albedo said. "Not a real one… well." He took a breath to avoid stumbling over his words. "I used some alchemy, but it's as real as I could make it." He was surprised at how nervous he felt. Stress rarely got to him. Nervousness was a nuisance he always avoided. But watching you stare at the orb with a semi-perplexed look on your face made him anxious. You must hate it. It was nothing compared to a real Seelie. But he couldn't capture one of those. This was all he could do. "If you don't…" 

Then, the little Seelie shot out of your hand, spinning around you both as it squeaked in happiness. Then, it nuzzled up to your face, and your laugh was music to his ears. "I love it," you said. 

Then, you hugged him, and Albedo's face reddened brighter than it ever had before. But he found himself smiling as he awkwardly hugged you back. "I'm glad," he said. The Seelie spun beside you both, and Albedo couldn't help but relax, happier than he had been in a long time.

[abovethesmokestacks]

Kiss Me

Title: Kiss Me

Pairing: Captain Syverson x reader

Rating: T

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: Very intense kissing? Some grinding?

I am back on my Henry bullshit, this time with the lovely Captain Syverson. As with my last Henry fic, this came about from a discussion with Brooke, which led to a personalized fic, and she graciously okayed me posting it as a reader insert for the rest of you to enjoy. Partly inspired by the video of strangers kissing for the first time. And if this guy were the one I’d get to kiss? Hold on while I go full koala on him.

The early afternoon sun had seemed blistering when she left her apartment, and the sundress had been the obvious option; light, breezy material, a pretty pattern that combined comfort and style. The sun had nothing on the man sitting down opposite her now, radiating a kind of warmth and confidence that had heat creeping up her chest and neck, her fingers fiddling in her lap.

It had been a spur of the moment decision, an audition call shared by a recent acquaintance on Instagram. Film majors at the nearby college needed volunteers for a course project, weekend appointments, no experience needed, come as you are. Sounded fun, her weekends were mostly open anyway. What could possibly go wrong. She had messaged the contact person, gotten an address and a time to show up.

The first shock, admittedly, had come as she was signed in, given a form to fill out, detailing the project. She. Was going to kiss. A stranger. In front of cameras. For a film project. 

“Miss? Are you alright?” The bubbly brunette who had signed her in, Abigail, according to the name tag tacked to her t-shirt, had looked at her, and she realized she must have made a sound.

“No! No, I'm fine, I- I just didn’t realize I’d- That this was-”

“Oh! Oh, you’ll be fine, there will be people in the room, you'll be safe as houses, darling, we won't say your names, that'll be up to you to share if you want.” The twang of her accent had was oddly comforting, but her heart was still racing, and suddenly, the handful of people lined up sitting in the corridor seemed all the more dangerous. She was going to kiss one of them. Fuck. Hastily, she'd filled out the rest of the form, handing it back and taking the number given, finding the nearest chair and trying to rifle through her purse as discreetly as she could for a chewing gum or a breath mint. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

She had nearly launched out of her seat when her number was called, probably doing a credible impression of a deer caught in headlights. Abigail had smiled at her, motioning for her to follow.

“I promise, you will be fine. Our project manager wanted to explore the intimacy of the first kiss, what happens in those seconds before.”

“Why strangers?”

“It’s more… honest,” Abigail had said. “Couples know each other, know what to expect. They are comfortable. And it’s beautiful, don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing sweeter. I still remember my grandpa kissing my grandma goodnight when my brother and I would stay over when we were kids, the absolute comfort and love between them. But strangers, they don’t know what to expect. There’s a level of trust between them, courage to take the leap.”

That’s… She couldn’t decide if that eased her mind or set it racing even more. She’d simply nodded, letting Abigail lead her to a door a little way ahead, unlocking it for her.

“You can leave your purse on the table on the right when you enter. Then go sit in one of the chairs. I’ll bring the guy in shortly. The camera will start rolling as soon as he sits down, you can introduce yourself if you want, just your name, doesn't even have to be your real one if you don't want to, and you can share whatever else you feel comfortable sharing and then…”

“Then we kiss.”

It had seemed so simple, so straightforward in all its terrifying simplicity.

At first, there is only the outline of him, stark against the light outside the room and showing a muscular frame with tensed shoulders and a wary gait. Folding her hands in her lap, she picks at the fabric of her dress, folding the skirt into tight pleats between her fingers, following the man as he inches closer. Dark jeans that reveal long legs and thick thighs, a worn t-shirt tucked into them that stretches over a chest that is… impressive. His face, though… His face is what sets her heart fluttering all anew. A strong jaw, hidden under a neatly trimmed beard, a slightly pouty lower lip and a perfect cupid’s bow. His nose looks like it may have been broken once, but it’s been set pretty well, lends character to his face, enhanced by the clear blue of his eyes that focus in on her. His hair is short, curling a little at the ends, but kept as neat as his beard, almost like a military man, but she can spot no chain around his neck that would hold his dog tags.

And then, he’d walked in. 

She barely hears the murmur to her left when the cameras start rolling.

He doesn’t speak until he’s sitting down, gaze on her, softening a little as he holds out a hand.

“Ca- Shit, sorry. No names, right?” He looks at her, almost a little scared that he’s messed up, and it is far too endearing for such a rugged man.

Without hesitation, she gives her first name, her real first name, a little surprised at herself for offering it along with her hand. His hand is calloused, warm and big, her own palm almost drowning in his clasp when he takes it. “Nice to meet you.”

The man laughs, releasing her hand and relaxing in his seat. “Sy. Nice to meet you, too. Pardon me if I'm being rude, but you don't sound like you're from around here.”

“Here for work for the next couple of months. Gotta say, you've got a pretty good ear.”

His eyes sparkle, a smile tugging at his lips, and god, the heat rises in her again, different from the apprehension that had her worked up just moments ago. He is the kind of man that draws you in, that can make you melt with a look, and she is fading fast. She is going to kiss him. He is going to kiss her.

“I won't hold it against you," Sy quips, hands resting on his thighs, and god, she wants to feel them on her.

"Me not being from around here? Or are we talking about something else?"

"Well, I was thinking the first..."

His words trail off, the suggestion hanging heavy in the silence. It feels like it stretches an eternity between them, but it's probably no more than five seconds. She's about to ask if they should start, if she should move, but Sy is looking at her, gaze wandering, assessing. The way he takes her in,i's not objectifying or greedy, not judgmental. It's… curiosity. Assessing her, planning his move, appreciating her, and she can feel it, feel his gaze move up and down her face, when it dips down for a fraction to her chest.

Everything fades with his first move. There are no cameras, no people, no one but them. Sy moves slowly, deliberately, scooting to sit on the edge of the chair, knee knocking against hers. It's electric, making her flinch and gasp, and that seems to please him. His hand comes up to rest on her knee, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb, locking eyes with her, willing her to relax.

"There we go…" Sy croons when she lets out a small sigh, his voice low and velvety. "Just relax. 'S just you an' me here. Don’t need to think about the rest of ‘em.. I'll be good, darlin', you can trust me. Isn't that right?"

She can only nod, inching towards the edge of her own chair, drawn into his warmth, the gentle timbre of his voice, the smolder behind the blue of his eyes.

"Yeah, that’s right, sugar. C’mon, come closer.”

His voice is hypnotic, not quite a purr, not quite a rumble, but it begs to be obeyed. She leans in closer, the two of them mirroring each other, and the tension is no longer in his shoulder, but sparking between them. His measured breaths fan lightly against her skin, and though everything in her should, by all logic, tell her to run, she finds herself relaxing. Sy’s thumb keeps working tight little circles, and he moves slowly, giving her plenty of time to see his intentions, and God, she welcomes it, tilts her head to welcome him.

It’s no explosion of stars or fireworks. His lips are a little chapped, but he knows how to kiss, working against her in soft pressure and the tease of his tongue along the seam of her lips. It’s not forcing the kiss, just giving her the option, showing that he is offering. When his other hand comes up to cup her cheek, she can’t help the needy whine that escapes her, and Sy smiles into the kiss, deepens it a little, swipes his tongue along her lips again.

She opens, happily surrendering, feeling him push back, soothing his thumb along her cheekbone. He kisses like she is the one thing he has been longing for, his happily ever after at the end of a long adventure. She kisses like he is the single point of stability in a storm, the one safe harbour in the entire world. Their spaces intertwine, slowly phasing and his one hand on her cheek is nowhere near enough. She pushes, Sy gives, and in one fluid moment and a happy sigh, she has straddled his lap, slinging her arms around his neck. She’s not letting go, not leaving this moment, and it’s almost like triumph when he embraces her, palms splaying on her back and she can feel the warmth through the thin material of her dress.

It’s a kiss for the ages, and they’re both hungry, both taking what the other gives freely. Sy’s hands wander, his fingertips teasing at the neckline to brush against heated skin, and she digs short, manicured nails into the skin of his neck, revelling in the groan he lets out. He pulls her closer, and oh. Her stomach does a somersault, a surprised giggle punctuating their kiss. Under her, Sy is hard, and the brief contact makes her all too aware of just how damp her panties have gotten.

There’s a less than discreet cough, and it pops their bubble, their gazes both snapping to the sound. 

Right.

The film crew are standing behind their gear, some squirming, clearly a little uncomfortable. Sy gives a laugh, and it’s hard not to follow. She still feels winded from the kiss, head swimming, and she touches her forehead to his, biting her lower lip.

“I think we… might have overdone it,” she whispers, lips brushing against his cheek.

“I’m inclined to agree,” Sy agrees, his shoulders shuddering with poorly disguised mirth. He looks up at the film crew, “So, are we good?”

“Yup, great! We’re really- we’re good, you guys can, uh… Yeah. Good. Thanks. Um. Yeah. Great.”

They both laugh again at the awkward crew member, and she slowly eases off Sy’s lap. It’s too much of a temptation not to glance down, to raise an eyebrow at the visible bulge pressing against his jeans. He gives her a mock-chiding look before getting up himself, taking care to not face the crew as he falls into step next to her.

“Look,” he says as soon as they are out of the building, wringing his hands as he walks, “I know we just met, and that… that back there was for a project. But, god, sugar, you got my head spinning all kinds of ways, and I… it would be rude to ask to continue right away where we left off, much as I… god, I would really, really like to kiss you again, and… other things… But maybe you would be okay with a date? Anywhere you want. You can get to know me better. I’ll answer any questions you have, I’ll bring character references, I’ll pay for dinner and dessert, whatever you want.”

Halting, she tilts her head and looks up at him. The steely look that had assessed her when he’d entered the room is gone, as is most of the smoldering passion when their kiss had broken. It still lingers in his eyes, simmering behind the hope that made them glitter.

“You’ll answer any question?” she asks, smiling at the way he eagerly nods. “Is your name really Sy?”

“Yes. Well, technically. Syverson’s my last name, so Sy’s just a nickname.”

“And your first name? You started saying something else when you came in.”

“No, that was… I was in the army for a couple of years,” he explained, pulling up one of the sleeves of his shirt to show an army insignia tattooed on his bulging bicep. She bites her tongue, wondering if he had any other tattoos on his body, almost missing when Sy continues speaking, “-made it to captain before I got my honourable discharge. Just became a force of habit to introduce myself as Captain Syverson.”

“So, you’d bring one of your army buddies as your character reference?” She slows down to a stop, clasping her hands in front of herself. “I suppose now that you’re out of the army they wouldn’t feel as compelled to make you look good.”

Sy mirrors her, feet shoulder-width apart and hands clasped in front of him, and yeah, now she can see it, the posture. Definitely army guy. “No, no, god no! The guys in my unit would sooner throw me under the bus if I asked them to vouch for me in front of a pretty lady.”

“Oh, then who’d get the honour?” she asks, blushing at his compliment.

“When you signed in, there was a girl, right? Brown hair?”

“Abigail.”

“Abby,” Sy says, glancing back towards the building. “She’s my sister. Talked me into coming today, said they needed more people.”

“She must have something major hanging over you if she got you to agree to this.” Her voice is light, joking a she inches closer to him.

“Well…” Sy drawls, taking a step forward and gently grasping her hand, “I was promised a really good kiss.”

“A really good kiss, huh?”

Just like before, he makes the first move, hooking his finger under her chin and holding her still while he closes the space, capturing her lips in another kiss. It’s searing, slowly setting her afire, and she wants it, wants him, wants everything he’s giving and everything he’s offering. He keeps it short, and she can feel herself get up on her tippy toes to get more, and damn him. Damn him, damn him, damn him. She bites her lower lip.

“So how about that date, huh, darlin’?” Sy husks out, and fuck, she can hear the smile in his voice.

“I can pick the place?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And I can pick the time?”

“Any time you want.”

She reaches out, puts a hand on his neck, drags her fingers along warm skin and pulls him down to whisper in his ear.

“Your place. Right now. And dinner… is on me.”

[jaskiersvalley]

Ur wolficorn fic sent me into a catatonic laughing fit I straight up couldn't breath for almost 2 min thank u

I'm so pleased the Wolficorn fic had you laughing so much. It was definitely one written in a spur of the moment idiocy XD While I don't have anything quite so silly to offer today, how about some idiot shenanigans of less outlandishness?

Sharing Is Caring

There was something unique to Wolf Witchers that nobody outside of their school knew about. their mages had been experimenting with not just the body but the mind too. Knowledge was essential to being a successful Witcher and little did anyone know but the mages were highly competitive, wanting their school to be the best. The Wolf mages had secretly perfected a formula. They called it Moss because it spreads and links minds so they can share knowledge without issues.

It's all well and good, Lambert, Geralt, Eskel, and Vesemir get together each winter and spend nights linked, sharing stories from the path, helping figure out whether harpies have a blind spot they could exploit to make contracts a little easier. However, the year Jaskier, Cahir and Aiden were with them, and Aiden can smell the unusual potion on Lambert, the ruse was up. They all wanted in on what sounded like quite a lot of fun.

"It requires a lot of control, adepts learn it together while they're still young," Vesemir grumbled, reluctant to share.

"Well, I'm a Witcher, I have control," Aiden shot back, pulling himself up to his full height and puffing his chest out.

Not to be out done, Jaskier was next to him, looking equally entitled. "I am nothing if not a quick study."

Somewhat slower and a bit more shy but no less determined, Cahir cleared his throat from behind them. "I won't be left out either."

Which was how, outnumbered and threatened with being pestered, sung into madness and soulfully stared at, Vesemir relented. They set the great hall up, pillows for comfort, more than usual because Jaskier demanded it and the vial of Moss was brought out.

"As the strongest in Chaos, Eskel goes first, he'll ground us," Geralt explained. One by one they took a sip and passed the vial on, then got comfortable, lying down and reaching for the person either side so they formed a circle of sorts. Like a gentle wave, something tugged at them, dragging them from the present into something warm and comforting.

The memory surfaced gently, there were pangs of fatigue and aching muscles but muted. The focus was very much on the nest of harpies that had been disturbed. Through Eskel's eyes they could see how he worked, corralling the creatures and approaching from the side. An inner monologue started up.

"I'd noticed that the harpies tended to approach at a 20 degree path from the rockface over the years. And if they swarm, they stay at a 25 degree angle to each other. So I set about testing a theory."

In the memory the harpies shifted as Eskel jumped but did nothing else. When they zeroed in on him again, Eskel moved too.

"I suspected that the harpies have a blind spot in the 20-25 degree range. It is something that is worth exploiting. In a group they will try to guard each other's blind spots but can be used against them, especially with projectiles."

There was a soft clamour in the memory of multiple not quite voices brushing together, a feeling of intrigue and gratitude. Eskel's memory was followed by Geralt's a review of some of the flowers and the regional mutations he had found in them. Lambert brought forth his contract on a werewolf whose stomach had been filled with stolen silver jewellery, probably in the mistaken hope of it preventing the transformation. Though he quickly stopped sharing about what he then did with the found silver, Aiden's memories picked up. There was glee and excitement in there. They had sold some of the silver to get a nice room for the night as well as a bath to share.

The problem was, there was no way to look away from a memory and Aiden seemed to have no shame in sharing the knowledge he'd learned on the Path that year. Namely, he'd discovered a new way to flick his tongue during a blowjob that had Lambert keening, head thrown back and tendons in his neck standing out.

Somewhere in the muted mixture of outrage, humiliation and pride there was one clearer voice.

"Thanks for the tip, I'm so trying that." Which was how focus moved from Aiden to Jaskier. The first thing that hit them all was exhaustion. Aching legs, a creaky knee a back that screamed to be allowed to lie on a flat surface. Instead, Geralt stepped through the doors of the tavern, looking equally drawn and in the memory they could all feel the wide smile Jaskier sent him before looking to the tavern owner. The set Jaskier played was no different to his usual by the looks of it, however this time there was an increasing wave of concern from Geralt as Jaskier struggled at hiding his fatigue and sadness. It wasn't that he didn't like performing but his heart ached that he had to push himself at every opportunity because people didn't take kindly to Geralt. The memory ended when Jaskier trudge upstairs, forcing his chatter and smile until his head hit the pillow and he was out like a light.

There was silence in their joined consciousness, an uneasy shifting from Jaskier at his secret having been spilled until Geralt mentally enveloped him, gratitude and sadness.

"There's a lot that's done out of love," Cahir mused. There had been absolute blankness from him for the whole joining which had been unnerving. It made Lambert and Aiden turn their attention to the void that shrouded him and began poking, pulling and trying to tease something out of him. It was Eskel's warm push that jolted them all into a memory.

"I remember this," Eskel thought. "You said nothing had happened."

That might have been a small lie. Eskel had been out to track down fiend that had been terrorising a king's hunting grounds. He'd said it would take at least three days to track it and kill it before dragging a head back as proof of completion of the contract. While he was gone, Cahir had been permitted to stay at the castle as a guest. With his knowledge of Nilfgaard, he was a valuable asset and many often tried to draw information from him in a variety of ways.

The fiend was taking longer to sort than anticipated, not that Cahir was worried. It was only the fourth day and he'd ride out the next day if there was no sign of Eskel, that was fine. However, he had been invited for an audience with the king in the throne room. What was nice was that the king stood rather than lounge in his throne though that was probably more to do with his sciatica than the desire to treat Cahir as an equal. It did mean though that when a messenger came in, Cahir heard it all.

"My King, there's news that the fiend has struck again. Rumour is that the Witcher has failed, might be injured in the forest."

"How unfortunate," the king had drawled.

"Do we send a rescue party?"

"Why bother? He's just a Witcher?"

The flare of fury and protectiveness was overwhelming and the memory was choked by it, only brought back into focus by the sound of a slap as Cahir delivered a swift, hard backhand, making the king's head snap to the side.

Immediately there was the sound of swords being drawn and guards advanced on Cahir who gave a nonchalant shrug.

"What? He's just a king."

Spluttering, the king waved his guards off and glared at Cahir. "People love me. I matter to them. A Witcher doesn't."

"I don't love you. But I love my Witcher, he matters to me." Cahir glanced at his nails, the perfect image of disinterest even as his stomach was in tight knots. "You're say here, getting fatter each day. Eskel's out there actually protecting your people. So tell me, who matters more? A king who is easily replaced and they're dime a dozen on this Continent? Or a Witcher when no more of them are being made and the only ones who can conquer a fiend when it hunts in the same area you wish to pursue for sport?"

The memory closed off at that, Cahir finally getting control back over himself. He shrank back into his void, a soft murmur of embarrassment echoed in the connection. "You weren't meant to find that out."

Breaking the circle, Eskel pulled himself from the effects of Moss and the others broke out of it too, just in time to see Eskel roll on top of Cahir and kiss him.

"You could have died you idiot."

"So could you." Cahir refused to feel remorse or regret for his actions. "From what I recall, the king paid you handsomely for your efforts when you came back the next day."

The moment was broken by Jaskier clearing his throat, hand in Geralt's and tugging. "If you'll excuse us, we have a new tongue trick to try."

Without a word, Vesemir walked into the kitchen, down into the cellar and got started early on the moonshine.

[mrs-hatake]

why’d you only call me when you’re high

A/N: this spur of the moment fanfic is loosely based on a tiktok video by dabisjuicycums0ckk. enjoy!

p.s, i’m not sure who the owner of the gif is so if you do know please lmk and i’ll credit them!

also, a HUGE thanks to @runeterrankhaleesi​ for proof reading this fic for me!

The persistent vibration from your phone under your pillow disrupted your sleep.

Groaning, you flipped onto your side and pulled the blanket further above your head, hoping it would somehow block the vibration of your phone and allowing you to return to sleep.

Seconds later, the vibration stopped and you sighed in relief. Just as you were about to fall back into sleep, your phone vibrated again but this time, the action was small. This meant you had a message. Whatever, the person who was texting you at this ungodly hour can wait till the morning when you were awake and had plenty of sleep.

Your phone vibrates not five minutes later. Annoyed and the last bits of sleep had all but disappeared, you propped yourself on your elbow while your other hand searched for your phone under the pillow. Once you’ve come in contact with the rubber material of your phone case, you pulled your phone out and tapped on the screen.

Squinting at the harsh brightness of your phone, you waited until your eyes adjusted to the screen before blinking down at the notifications.

5 Missed calls from Dabi

The first notification had read.

Your heart skipped a beat but you ignored it and read the notification above it.

Answer your phone

Right now

Your breathing had become shallow and your heart quickened. Dabi was pissed. If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Dabi it’s that he does not like to be kept waiting. And, not wanting to be on the receiving end of his fury, you heaved a heavy sigh and called him back. Noticing that it was just a few minutes past three in the morning.

“Took you long enough.” His rough voice greeted you after two rings. “Why didn’t you answer?”

Rolling your eyes, you calmly replied, “I was sleeping.” You hoped that your groggy voice would somehow inform him that you were too tired to do whatever shit he wanted.

“Well, too bad.” Dabi scoffed. “I need to see you.”

Your relationship with Dabi was an odd one.

The two of you have met about a year and a half now after you had encountered the scarred man near the piers one misty, Monday morning. You had been near the piers to meet with one of the loan sharks you had borrowed money from to extend the payment deadline. You never wanted to be associated with such people, but unfortunately, being a teacher doesn’t pay enough. Even though you worked at a prestigious school for up and coming young heroes, your income from that school couldn’t help pay the amount for your mother’s heart surgery. The bank would take too long. They’d have to take up your request to a committee to determine if they could lend you the money based on your yearly salary and how long it takes for you to pay them back. That could take months, maybe even years and you didn’t have time to wait. You were desperate and your mother was in a critical condition- she could die at any moment.

Searching through the dark web, you managed to find a loan shark that was highly respected by people who were in similar positions like you. If you could go back in time, you would’ve stopped yourself from borrowing money from them and wait for the bank’s approval. It’s too late now and what’s done is done. You just hoped that the school wouldn’t find out about this and risk losing your job.

You still trembled in fear whenever you remembered the goon asking you if you had their money. You could vividly hear the slight lisp in his words and could almost smell the scent of his cigar. “You got our money?” He asked in greeting.

Pulling your jacket closer to your body to protect you from the harsh and cold weather, you shook your head at them, “I would like an extension please. I’m close to paying you back. I just need more time.” You pleaded with wide and hopeful eyes. You knew that these people weren’t nice. You knew they’d kill anyone who wouldn’t pay them back. Still, it won’t hurt to ask. Right?

Wrong.

With a snap of the man’s fingers, a foot kicked the back of your knees causing you to fall harshly on the wet ground with a painful wail.

“What the fuck?!” You cried as you held your leg that was throbbing in pain. You let out a hiss as fingers dug themselves into your hair and gave a rough tug, pulling your head up to face the man with the cigar. “I said I’ll pay you back!”

The man let out a chuckle, “Sorry, babycakes. Boss doesn’t like to wait. If you don’t have his money by tonight…” He didn't finish his sentence for you to understand that these people were willing to kill you.

“I can’t save two million yen in one day!”

The man simply shrugged, as if to say, ‘Not my problem.’ “You can rob a bank for all I care.”

“You’re insane!”

The man’s expression darkened and he nodded at the man still clutching your hair tightly. Before you could process what else was going on, the man’s foot came into contact to your side. You couldn’t even scream as the man continued to kick you repeatedly.

Never in your life had you wished you had a quirk than you did at that moment. Curse your quirkless nature and curse the fact that you were only a home room teacher who taught quirk theoretics. If only you had one of your students' quirks, you would’ve fought back and escaped.

Suddenly, you felt an immense wave of heat and heard horrifying screams from above you. The man suddenly let go of your hair, screaming in pain, as the blue flames enveloped him, eating his skin and burning him. Then, he collapsed, his body on the ground still lit ablaze by the inferno. Your breath hitched at the sight.

Turning to your right, you saw a young man dressed in a long leather jacket with a crazed look in his eyes as he turned to face the man with the cigar, a wave of blue fire came from his palm and surged towards the man, ending his life instantly.

The smell of charred skin wafted your nose and you quickly vomited at the disgusting smell of burning flesh.

Once you’ve calmed down, you wiped your lips with the back of your hand and glanced up at the deranged man looking down on you. “What have you done?” Your voice was shaky and your breathing was shallow.

This was bad. The two men you owed money to were dead. There was no way their boss wouldn’t find out about this. They’ll come for you and for that man with a fire quirk. And when you voiced your thoughts, the man just smirked. “I’d like to see them try.”

The glare in your eyes did nothing to diminish his amusement, “I can’t protect myself.” You spat at him.

He blinked lazily at you, his sapphire eyes glowing brightly. “Let’s make a deal. I offer my services to protect you-”

“I’m not going to pay you to protect me.” You interrupted him.

“Wasn’t asking for money.”

“Then what do you want.”

For the second time in your life, you wished you could go back in time to stop yourself from making stupid decisions.

Ever since that day, you’ve become Dabi’s sexual partner.

The two of you didn’t meet often, maybe once or twice every other month before parting ways and never having to see each other until Dabi needed you again.

Things were difficult at first. You had refused the man, almost laughing at the proposition. Dabi, however, had managed to convince you.

“You’ll die.” He had said.

And before you could say anything like I work at U.A, I have other people who can protect me. You remembered that the reason you were in this mess was because you had approached the loan sharks, borrowed money from them and had his goons killed. If the school found out...

The first night Dabi had called you was a week after the two of you had met. He had sent you the location to some cheap motel hidden deep within the city. Somewhere far from respectable neighborhoods and a place where no teacher such as yourself should be in.

Sex with Dabi was...an experience.

Dabi had a strict “Don’t ask, don’t talk” policy. You come, you get naked and you had sex. That’s it. He wouldn’t even offer to clean you up after sex- not that you were expecting him to, but he didn’t even bother cleaning up after himself either. Opted to wipe his dick clean with tissues before pulling his trousers back up and escaping through the motel window. Leaving the check-out procedure to you.

Somewhere down the road, things had shifted between the two of you. He’d call you more often. Your late night encounters becoming weekly rather every other month. His “Don’t ask, Don’t talk policy” had changed to “I ask, You answer”. And, instead of meeting at some shady motels, he’d spend the night with you. That happened when you had received a threatening letter which you instantly knew was from the loan sharks. The fact that they knew where you lived frightened you and the first thing that you did was call Dabi.

The first night Dabi spent in your apartment, he had scanned the entire place to make sure they didn’t bug you.

He had stood by the window, hidden by the thin material of your curtain, to keep an eye out for any suspicious-looking people.

Sleep didn’t come easy for you. Your head jerked whenever you closed your eyes for a couple of minutes. Images of Dabi lying dead on the ground with his blood staining your bedroom floor flashing before you.

“Hey.”

It took you a second to register that Dabi was sitting on the edge of your bed, his fingers tracing your leg that was hidden under the blanket, “You should sleep.” He whispered.

“I’m trying.” You mumbled in exhaustion. You could hear the concern in your colleagues’ voice the next morning when they asked about your well-being.

“They’re not going to hurt you.” His fingers were drawing random patterns on your leg, “I won’t let them.”

The softness of his voice and the way his fingers gliding up against your leg had managed to lull you to sleep.

This happened every night and on the tenth night Dabi had spent with you, you discovered that the man would stay up late, ensuring your safety, before leaving just before your alarm rang for work.

You had discovered this when you had woken up one night wanting to drink a glass of water found Dabi still sitting on the edge of your bed, his hand holding your ankle securely. The gesture did things to you; things you couldn’t understand. Not wanting to disturb the rare moment of vulnerability, you willed yourself back to sleep.

Even after Dabi had killed the man who was after you, Dabi didn’t stop his services. He no longer protected you, however, he still called you whenever he needed you to help relieve some of his tension. And somewhere along the road, you started developing feelings towards him.

Your newfound attachments crept up to you slowly.

There was a period of time where Dabi didn’t call you; didn’t seek for you in the late hours of the night. And your messages asking about his well-being went unanswered.

Don’t ask, don’t talk.

You craved his rough touches.

His deep voice calling your name and whispering filthy things in your ear that you knew you should be ashamed instead of feeling turned on.

The way he’d grunt and moan, his fingers holding onto your hips so tightly that you’d often wake up the next day with bruises.

“Y/N? Y/N?” The sound of Dabi calling your name brought you back to reality.

“Sorry.” You cleared your throat and inwardly cursed the fact that you were fully awake and had no intentions of going back to sleep. “What were you saying?”

“Open the window, I’m outside.”

To say that you were surprised that Dabi was outside of your window was understatement. He didn’t like to be kept waiting so it shouldn’t come as a surprise to you that Dabi was already outside waiting for you. You wouldn’t put past him if he had been outside your window the second he started calling you.

After ending the call, you unlocked your window to let Dabi in and returned to sit on the edge of your bed.

Dabi had sauntered his way in, standing the middle of your bedroom, as if he owned the place- as if he owned you.

It pained you to see Dabi in all of his glory.

After not seeing him for months and worrying about him all that time, he texted you after so long, only for his selfish desires. Your messages of asking about his whereabouts and if things were alright were left unanswered.

It killed you that he ignored you like that, kept you in the dark while he was gallivant somewhere doing God knows what, while you worried over him that even the other teachers had taken notice of the dark and deep circles appearing under your eyes.

Truly, it was unfair.

“What’s wrong, baby girl?” He asked with a sly smirk on his charred lips, “You’re normally so eager to see me.” And crept his way towards your bed and placed both of his scarred hands on either sides of your thighs, trapping you.

He leaned in and nuzzled his nose against your neck and took a deep inhale, his eyes closing at your addicting scent. “Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong and we’ll see if daddy can fix it?”

You lifted your hands upwards and rested upon his shoulders and pushed him away in annoyance.

But Dabi didn’t budge as his hands still caged you securely. Removing one of his hands from your bed, he cupped your cheeks and roughly caressed your soft skin. He had a glint in his sapphire eyes which reminded you of just how dangerous he truly was.

Slowly, as if to not frighten his prey away, Dabi leaned in and roughly kissed you.

Despite the kiss being languid, it was sloppy. Drool dripped down your chin as Dabi’s hand trailed from your cheek to your neck and squeezed. Dabi took advantage of your gasp and shoved his tongue all the way in. The metal ball of his piercing felt cold against the roof of your mouth.

It didn’t take you long to give in and ease into the kiss, shoulders sagging in relaxation as his one of his arms wrapped around your waist.

Dabi tilted his head and deepened the kiss in a certain way that made your eyes roll backwards in delight. It was an invitation for you to bury your fingers deep in his thick tuft of hair, roughly tugging at the dyed locks.

All too soon, Dabi broke the kiss and you almost whined at the loss until you felt his scarred lips attached themselves to your neck. His hand trailed up your neck then to your cheek and titled your chin upwards to have better access.

His kisses were fervent.

His tongue lapped at your neck and you shivered at the way his tongue piercing felt against your skin. The cold metal rapidly cooled your warm skin.

A broken moan fell from your lips as he bit your neck. Chuckling, he reattached his mouth to your neck and sucked with all of his might. Once he was satisfied, he darted his tongue and licked a long stripe upwards until his lips found yours again.

His tongue against yours.

His hand squeezing your neck.

The heat between your legs.

It was all too much for you to handle.

You’ve missed Dabi so much.

Missed the way he looked at you with mischief in his eyes before he would touch you. Missed the way he would grunt your name in your ear when he was close to coming undone. But most of all, you had missed how good Dabi made you feel. A soft whimper fell from your lips when you felt a single tear roll down your cheek and make its way into the kiss. A single tear turned to two. Then three. Until they became so many that you lost track of them.

The kiss turned bitter as you remembered the suffocating loneliness you had felt the past couple of months when Dabi had ignored you. How you would clutch onto your phone and stare at your screen, waiting for Dabi to text or call you. At how it was arduous for you to fall asleep, disquiet over Dabi’s well-being.

The hand on your neck trailed to the back of your head and gripped on the locks of hair on the nape of your neck and pulled your head backwards. “What’s this?” Dabi asked, breaking the kiss.

Your cheeks glistened with tears still falling.

Dabi was staring down at you in disappointment. You felt ashamed and turned your head to look away from those alluring blue eyes. But the hand on your chin prevented  you from doing so.

“You really went and did it, didn’t you.” Dabi sighed in despondency, his fingers tapping your cheeks. “You really want to give me your little heart. That’s cute~”

He cupped your chin harshly and forced you to stare in his blue eyes that danced wildly just like his flames. “But it’s not something that I want.”

“What about what I want?” You whispered, ignoring the way Dabi’s fingers dug deeper into your skin.

Dabi said nothing and instead, leaned in and kissed your lips again in a harsh kiss. And you allowed him to take control. To have his way with you and do whatever pleased him. Because the look of disappointment he had displayed earlier was unbearable.

Dissatisfying Dabi was far more important than what you wanted- what you needed from the wanted criminal. The last thing you wanted was for him to end whatever it was going on between you.

So you let him ruin you, taint you and make you cry in pleasure and dejection. Your moans were desperate, begging and pleading for him; For his touches, his kisses and for his name to fall from his lips.

And when he was done with you, his needs fulfilled and his thirst quenched, he silently left through the window just as the sun began to peak its way through the horizon.

When you step into your office the next day, your colleague Aizawa was there to silently greet you with a warm cup of coffee as always. Whether he had noticed the puffiness of your eyes and the red tint at the corner from all those hours of crying, he said nothing and you didn’t care.

Aizawa quietly watched as you lifelessly stared down at your phone. It was a known fact that Aizawa was the least sociable person in school, if not the whole world. So, going out of his way to interact with people was out of the question. Though, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy your small talk. Which is why he noticed the gradual shift in you.

The way you’d arrive in school with smiles and eyes twinkling brighter than the stars at night- How those stars slowly dimmed and died out one autumn evening, those orbs never leaving the phone in your hand. The way you’d tap on the screen to see if you had a new message or an incoming call.

It was difficult for him to not notice those dark circles under your eyes, darker and more prominent than his own. He wanted to reach out to you, to ask if you were alright but the emptiness in your eyes had him hesitating. He had never seen you so lifeless, so vulnerable. Just as he opened his mouth to ask you the question that was eating him alive- to know what had you so depressed, the first bell rang and he watched as you dragged yourself to your first class.

[milkttea]

don't be scared,don't ask to ask for something about the pee oh the poop.

I would like to request a request about a quirkless!college! AU where hawks is an idiot fuckboy scumbag who harasses the reader and bullying him until the reader can not bear it anymore and decides to take revenge (dom!reader,femdom and ¿¿mommy kink i guess??).

few days ago I read some fics(NSFW)so they involve dabi and hawks some of them were misogynous incels and other they 2 bullied the reader,they all have something in common,the reader defends himself and puts them in their place until they're begging and pleading,yes,it involves dom!reader.

and I loved it,it was very satisfactory to read them and I was a little disappointed when I no longer find more fics like this,where the reader does justice by his own hand.

That is why I was looking for a blog with open orders,to ask for more of this content and feel a pleasant satisfaction,but if this is too much for you then ignore it,just let me know.

Idk your pronouns so I’m gonna refer to you as anon,, anon you are too kind to me 🥺

Now for pure filth😈 I saw the request and just OOOOO I BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE I will gladly put hawks in his place like the bratty little bottom he is.

Warnings: NSFW, smut, mommy kink? Mommy kink, hawks being a sub, femdom, no condoms on oops wrap it before you tap it y’all.

(If you want this to be gender neutral it could be read that way too ☺️, Mommy and Daddy can be used for both genders sometimes👀👀)

Everyone is 20+ remember to stay safe everyone!

𝙔𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙏𝙤𝙧𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙞𝙨 𝙈𝙮 𝙂𝙡𝙚𝙚

College wasn’t going to be easy and knowing Takami Keigo, or as he commonly went by Hawks (though you never called him that), only made the experience even worse for you. Having known him for the worst part of four years meant that you’ve seen him through his phases of late high school and early college.

He hasn’t changed much, if his douchebag tendencies and fuck boy antics have anything to say about it. You truly couldn’t stand him and would rather not see his face ever again and you really thought you could escape him, but of course life decided to fuck you over once again and have you both go to the same college.

He would personally make it his mission to tease you about being a prude and boring and never doing anything that would bring any danger. Usually these comments wouldn’t bother you, you’d ignore them for two years already, but something about it irked you even more this time.

So you ignored his existence, no responding to his comments, no yelling at him, nothing. It bothered him more than you knew that his favorite little toy wasn’t responding. This is why he wanted to find you at the school library since he knew you would be there and he was right, of course he was right he’s always right.

He went there during the lunch period when he knew you would be there, it was less crowded and you preferred to be in a quieter place where you could watch whatever without judgement. He spotted you walking into one of the private rooms and made his way over to most likely harass you again as he usually does. However, he was stopped as he noticed a guy that followed after you and shut the door.

Said guy was a friend of yours who also happened to have a common friend with Keigo, he was inviting you to a party that would be happening later that day. Now it was a Friday, so that meant no classes the next day and normally you would decline but considering how stressed you were feeling you decided to give in and accept the invitation.

Your friend had left after telling you about the invite, little did he know he was being watched by Keigo the entire time. Keigo enters your room soon after as you sit at the desk in the room with your lap top open working on your latest assignment. You had your headphones in so you didn’t notice him at first since you were so focused, until his feather necklace went over your screen as he leaned over you.

“So, who was that?”

You raised an eyebrow at him before letting out with annoyance.

“Who was what?”

He just stared down at you, the tension in the room raised with something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. You just didn’t know why he cared so much about who your friend was, not like he was close with you or anything, he was more of a constant annoyance to you if you were being honest.

“Don’t act coy with me (Y/n), who was that guy who was just talking to you?”

You stared at him before letting out a scoff.

“Aw Keigo, that’s so sweet of you to see who I’m interacting with but, it’s none of your business sweetheart,” the pet name had heat rushing through Keigo with the way you said it in such a demeaning way, “now run along before I make you.”

He was frozen if he was being honest, the way you told him off just did something to him, not that you’d notice as you went back to your work. Getting out of his stupor he left the room quietly without a glance in your direction. Odd to say the least, but it was Keigo what else can you expect.

The interaction you’d had hours before had slipped completely from your mind as you were getting ready to go out to the frat party. You got ready pretty quick, not wanting to take too long unless you wanted your friend to drag you out by your hair.

Arriving at the house that the party was at was as you expected, loud and obnoxious with the smell of alcohol and cheap liquor all around. Truly the college experience. That was for the newbies though, there was always a tamer side where the upperclassmen could be and indeed there was.

You soon found yourself nursing a random alcoholic drink that you poured yourself while you chat with some people you were friendly with. Honestly you weren’t expecting much to come out of this, but the universe just loves to ruin your expectations and lo and behold Keigo Takami was here talking to some random girl. Why it bothered you you didn’t know.

Maybe it was because you knew he was a sleaze or the fact that you wished he could some form of humanity towards you. Truly you don’t know.

He makes eye contact with you and by some weird force of nature you follow him to a secluded area in the hallway, you curse inwardly towards yourself for following him. You’re a fool.

“Well if it isn’t (y/n), didn’t know these kinds of party’s were your thing?”

He holds a drink in his hand, most likely a beer of some kind judging from the lack of variety in the drinks that were in the fridge.

“Well I was invited by a friend and it’s not like I had anything to do today, I’m for once caught up with all my work, ‘m actually a little ahead.”

You took a sip from your cup with a slight smack to your lips as you licked away some of the slight residue of your drink. Keigo eyes the way you lick your lips before tilting his head and focusing on your face. You notice as you lift an eyebrow toward him in confusion.

“I can’t figure you out.”

Your eyebrow goes down as you narrow your eyes at him.

“What do you mean?”

He scoffs, as if to say that you should know the answer already.

“I just know there’s got to be something you like about me, maybe not my personality cause it’s shit and I know it, but I just gotta know what you like about me.”

You let out a scoff of your own as you take a tentative sip of your drink once more, eventually letting out a sigh with your response and with an almost regretful statement you continue with your speaking.

“You want me to be honest? You’re hot.”

Keigo, who had been taking a sip as he waited for your response, choked a bit on his drink as he let out coughs. He honestly was not expecting your response, he knew he was attractive but he wasn’t sure if you thought so.

“Really? You really think so?”

“I’m not blind Keigo, your attractive. Honestly if you weren’t such a brat I’d have fucked you already, but for some reason you just hate me.”

His eyes widen and he has to take a moment to double back and think about your words. Just hearing you call him a brat and thinking about you fucking him sends heat straight to his crotch.

“You think I hate you?”

“HA! I know you hate me, why else would you torment me all throughout high school and through college. You would go out of your way to make sure I was just having a shitty time.”

He gets closer to your form and backs you against the wall of the hallway before whispering in your ear with as much breath as he could.

“Maybe I just wanted attention from you,” and with a particularly breathy moan he says, “Mommy.”

You shiver involuntarily and reach back to the back of his head and grab his hair and pull back, hard, drawing a slight moan from the man in front of you.

“Well baby boy, maybe if you would have asked nicely I would have given it to you.”

He lets out a shiver of his own, his knees buckling slightly as you keep a firm grasp on his hair and pull the feather around his neck. The action seems to spur him on as he grabs your waist and lets out an almost silent moan. To anyone else it may have looked like he was crying and that you were comforting him, but oh they should know better.

You place your knee in between his legs and rub it it up and down his growing erection, as he lets out more whines and whimpers.

“I always knew you could be a bottom Keigo,“ you let out with a coo. He just continues to whine and you knew that you needed to do something quick before this went any further in a hallway within a frat house of all places.

“Baby boy,“ he nods, “I need you to listen to me alright? Your going to walk out of this house and wait outside for me and I’m gonna follow in a couple minutes then we’re gonna head out of here together, okay. Then I’m going to take really good care of you, you’d like that right honey?“ 

He lets out a louder whine as you put your hand around his throat to quiet him and then with a last slow rub on his crotch, pushed him off of you in a slightly rough manner. He takes a minute to compose himself and leaves to tell one of his buddy’s that he��s going to head out, not something out of the ordinary since he dips out more often than not.

You stay true to your word and tell one of your friends that you’ve had your fun and decided to head home, they trusted you to be home on your own, you only had the one drink you’d poured yourself. After waving a final goodbye to the small group you were talking to, you head out the door and look for Keigo, finding him hunched over on a bench nearby. You calmly walk over and see him with his dick in hand and stroking it fast.

“Oh baby, you couldn’t wait for me could you? Well sweetheart, you’re gonna be punished for this, but you know that right,” he let out a strangled whine as you took his hand off his cock and put it back in his jeans very softly making him cry out.

Not soon enough you end up back at your house after a very long, not really only 5 minutes at most, uber ride. The poor uber driver, you made sure to tip him more as Keigo had no shame in moaning in your ear about how badly he wanted you and how badly he needed you to touch him and take care of him. The Uber driver put the music up louder after a pointed stare.

After arriving at the house and exiting the car, with a very sorry look to the driver, you entered your house with Keigo trailing painfully behind you. The minute that you were in your house and locked the door, Keigo had pushed you against the wall with his arms next to your head.

“Don’t tease me, little mouse. You and I both know I could easily ruin you,” he says to you as he stares you in the eyes with a flushed face.

You simply stare back and watch him react as you put your hand on his throat and squeezed slightly. He immediately became responsive as his arms slacked and fell to your hips as you put your mouth near his ear and hummed slowly. The action spurred him to drag you through the house as you pointed out the direction of your room.

Once you reach your room you lock the door and tell Keigo to sit on your bed which he immediately does.

“The safe word is peacock, anything you’re not comfortable with tell me now,” he says nothing and repeats the safe word out loud making you nod your head.

“Get on your knees, now.”

He acts quickly as he assumes his position in front of you and waits for further instruction.

“You know Keigo, you’ve caused me a lot of pain, why don’t you make it up to me hm? Can you do that for me baby boy?”

He nods as he pulls down your pants and looks at your underwear, a growing wet spot forming that he kisses and sucks on making you pull his hair from the root slightly. Realizing that you’re getting a lot of pleasure he keeps going, making you moan out his name as he moved your underwear out of the way to pay close attention to your clit.

He continues his motions as he goes lower and licks and sucks there as well as your clit. Bearing your orgasm, you push head against you and hold it there as he keeps going steady and then when you finally release everything you let go of his head. He stops with a gasp as he drinks every bit of you and looks up at you with hazed eyes, looking drunk off of you.

“Look at you, pleasuring mommy like the good little boy you are? Want me to return the favor?”

He nods his head, too deep in sun space to form words and you coo at him.

“Get on the bed and take off everything baby boy.”

Moving quickly Keigo strips and sits on the bed waiting for you to do whatever you want to his body.

You walk to him and straddle him, leaning down to plant kisses on his neck as you leave marks. His moans fill the room and he whines when your hand makes contact with his dick and starts to rub slowly, up and down. Not fast enough for his liking, but he doesn’t voice his complaints not wanting to be punished.

“You’re such a good boy, doing exactly what I want. Do you want to cum, sweetheart?”

He nods fervishly as he moans louder when your thumb rubs the tip and swipes the precum down his shaft.

“Use your words, Keigo.”

He tries to let out a word, but doesn’t get the chance as his voice dies when you massage his balls too. The action making him buck his hips up to get more friction from your hand. You instead squeeze his dick as a warning.

“Naughty boy.”

You slip off the bottom portion of your outfit and sit down on him. Moving up and down slowly as Keigo lays back and pushes his head into the sheets as he moans loudly.

You continue riding his cock as he just moans and lets out grunts of your name. He nears his edge and you figure as his back arches and his dick hits a spot inside you that makes your head go back as your eyes close in pleasure.

“Mommy, mommy please move I’ll be so good to you, please just ride me!”

You chuckle as you do as he says and start bouncing up and down making him get closer and closer to orgasming. You stop moving once you also start to get to your high and he cries as you do so.

“Please, please keep moving!”

At this point he’s crying as tears start falling on the sheets. The sight makes you more horny and you bounce faster as you tell him to thrust up and match your rhythm.

He does so immediately and you find yourself cumming sooner as you use your fingers to mess with your clit and massage your nipples. You clench on Keigo, the sensation of both seeing you visibly tense up and then release has him cum harder than he ever has.

He lets out a series of grunts and moans as he comes down from his high. His hands grab your hips as you stay seated on him and rock slowly to get every drop of him out. A moment of silence passes as you both realize what exactly happened.

Yet, you both don’t mind as you both are in your room panting and waiting for your breaths to calm down. The air has shifted and both of you are glad for it. All those years of sexual tension went into this room and moment and it was euphoria.

[megthemewlingquim]

loki deciding you'll make a perfect queen--and mother to his heir

Be My Queen

Summary: You and Loki think about starting a family.

Pairing: Loki x fem!Reader

Warnings: talk of a recent marriage, spur of the moment talk of starting a family, smut, a tiny bit of a breeding kink

A/N: Day 11 of Kinktober! I myself do not have a breeding kink so I really hope I got this right. The smut part here is, like some of the other shots I’ve posted recently, kind of short. I promise, after today I will have more time to work on these.

"I've had a thought," Loki says.

"Oh no," you say sarcastically.

"Oh, stop, you know you like my ideas," Loki says with a chuckle. "What I meant to say is that... you are my wife. And I am a Prince, even a King. And that means that you are my Queen."

Your smile drops a little, replaced by blush. "Ahem," you laugh. "Ah, really?" It's an overwhelming thought.

He notices your change of mood. "Well, not by royal standards. But, if we were royally married, and if we were actually part of a royal family on Asgard or something, then, yeah."

His words ease your mind. "Good," you breathe. "We just married. I don't think I'm ready to be a queen just yet."

"Well, love, you're a queen to me anyways, which means that I get to adorn you with everything your heart could ever desire." He grins. "You'd look absolutely beautiful in a crown, I must admit."

He cups your head in his hands, smoothing out your hair. "I can see it now: a thin, silver crown with tiny little silver leaves on it, circling your pretty head like a halo." He kisses your forehead, drawing you close to him.

"You'd be a wonderful queen."

"I remember, when I was a little girl we would play pretend. We'd be kings and queens, and knights and dragons and princesses in towers. I was... admittedly, I was the queen quite a lot. I ordered for the beheading of pretty much everyone around me." Your amused tone turns into little chuckles of laughter.

"What?" he asks, surprised. "I don't really think beheading anybody is particularly funny."

"No, it's not — " you laugh. "It's a reference to something.

"But we used to make believe that we were powerful beings. Ones that could control the people around us, ones that could be merciful and forgiving, or harsh and cruel. It depended on the day."

"Did you have any... experience... with childbearing then?"

You pretty much choke on your own spit. "What?"

"I mean in the game you played. Historically, queens had the job of — "

"Bearing children, preferably sons," you say. "No, Loki. We didn't even know where babies came from back then. We never knew about the whole 'bearing sons' thing until high school."

"I see," he says, his eyes growing a little darker and a little more mischievous. "So, say that one time, you pretended to be a queen. This queen has just recently married to a king... Say that this marriage is actually loving and beautiful, not arranged. What if the king says that he would like to bring an heir into this world? What would the queen say?"

"You — you mean back then, or... or now?"

His eyes glint. "Now," he says.

"Are you saying..." you manage, your heartbeat quickening. "Are you saying that you want to start — start a family?"

"Absolutely." For once, Loki is not one to beat around the bush. "As you'd be a wonderful queen, you'd also be an amazing mother, if I know anything about you.

“You don’t think it would be nice?” he asks. “To be filled with me, to grow and feel this child stirring inside you, to give it all good things and then have me by your side as you bring it here? To watch him grow, and to teach him all of the things that life has to offer?”

“The second half does sound nice...” you muse. But as you think on it, you seem to grow anxious.

“Loki - ” you stammer, “I — I — I don’t know if I’m ready to start a family yet.” You’re actually nervous, truthful. The thoughts of it all - the pain, sickness, birthing - come crashing down into your mind and it scares you. What scares you the most is the thought of bringing a new life into the world, and the intimidation of it . Not that you’d never want to, but you know it’s not the best time for you.

He seems to understand. He nods, but you can still see a flicker of sadness in his eyes.

“Hey,” you say softly, reaching up to caress his cheek. “This doesn’t mean I’m not going to ever have children with you. I know I can be ready at some point, just... not now.”

“Alright, love, it’s up to the both of us, not just me,” he says, smiling a little. “I understand.”

You pause. “We could... we could pretend, though.”

Now, he’s the one to almost choke. He inhales sharply. “You - you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, even if — even if this isn’t the real thing.”

You glance down. “Yes, I do.” You can see that his cock has become visible through his pants. “You seemed very excited about the whole ‘fill me up’ part about this. So, why don’t you?”

He growls, then, like a beast. “You’re in for it.”

Five minutes later, you both are on the bed. You are beneath Loki, but he is behind you, ramming into you in a frenzy.

You had never thought that a rough fucking like this would feel as good as it does. You’re gripping the bedsheets, your knees already sore from the weight of supporting both yourself and Loki’s enormous thrusts.

Loki himself is having the time of his life, gripping your hips and thrusting into you with a very deep angle. 

“I can’t wait — ” he pants, “to see my release leaking out of you. I’ll — I’ll stuff you till you’re full, and then I might just come again. Need — need to make sure you’re filled to the brim with my seed.”

You don’t even understand how words like that could turn you on further, but they do, and you moan shamelessly.

“You like that thought?” he asks. “Yeah? You like the idea of yourself being filled with my come, having it grow into a new life within you? Good. Because, very soon, that’s what I’m going to do.”

He actually does come twice, and by that time you’re limp, a whimpering mess. You have already come in this time. After he pulls out, you can feel his come seeping down your thighs. 

“That...” Loki pants. “That is beautiful.”

He flops down beside you, stroking your cheek, your shoulders, your back. “Thank you for letting me do that... I can’t wait until we do it for real...”

[cygnetofthesea]

Part 2 of Welcome Home.

He’s staring at her with a goofy smile on. He can’t help himself as his eyes rove over her and he knows she’s aware of his eyes, the corners of her lips curled in amusement. She’s all too used to his burning gaze on her but it never ceases to have an affect on her whether it’s turning her into mush or filling her will suppressed mirth. 

In this particular case, it seemed to be a combination of both even as she tries to ask him about everyone back home. 

“How’s Samuel doing? I spoke with him over the weekend and he seems good but I feel like he tries to spare me from the heavy stuff.”

He smiles softly at her. He knew exactly what she was talking about and it was true he had refrained from telling Nadia about some of his troubles lest he worry her but this time he was pleased he could honestly reassure her.

“He’s really fine actually. That trip we took to parliament was really good for him, I think. It was the first time he made moves toward his future instead of worrying so much about his family. It was nice to see actually.”

Nadia looks content with that response. “That’s good.  I understand familial obligations and it's why I never said anything, but I think they were too much of a distraction for him. He was the kid and the youngest one too, yet somehow with the most responsibilities.”

Guzman is intrigued by that and tilts his head to the side. “And it’s unfair, isn’t it? That burden shouldn’t fall on the child, should it?”

“No, not like that.”

He narrows his eyes at her, waiting for her to make the connection. “Sounds a bit familiar, doesn’t it?”

She looks at him confused for a moment before realization settles in. “What? No, it’s not the same.”

“Oh, it’s not?” Guzman smirks.

“No, because Samuel’s mom didn’t care that he was working more than he was studying…”

Guzman lifts a brow. He was sure Nadia’s mother wasn’t apathetic about how much Nadia spent at the shop per se, but she at least didn’t do much about it either. 

Nadia continues on anyway, pivoting. “Ok well, Samuel has an older brother that could help.”

Guzman remains silent.

“At least my brother didn’t deal drugs…” She trails off as the realization finally settles in. She and Samuel dealt with a lot of the same issues. “Huh, wow...I guess it makes sense how we ended up friends.”

“Mm-hmm,” Guzman nods. “It’s easy for you to see Samuel’s hardship and judge his family for it, but you don’t realize that your own family has done the same to you. And that’s not fair either.”

Nadia looks stunned for a moment and he can see her tell-tale pondering face as she considers his words. 

“I...But-I…” Nadia stammers looking genuinely befuddled and it endears Guzman. He knew her relationship with her parents had gotten better but he couldn't help feeling protective over her and ensuring that she was always treated with the respect she deserved. It was only an afterthought that she and Samuel shared similar experiences and perhaps that was how he came to be friends with Samuel after getting over his biases.

But Guzman wasn’t particularly interested in a teachable moment just then. He missed Nadia too much to spend the first few hours talking about Samuel. No offense to his best friend.

“You know, I actually don’t really want to talk about Samuel right now.”

Her eyes are full of mirth as her body shakes with quiet laughter. She was so happy and it thrilled him that it was largely because of him.

“No?” she asks.

“No.”

And before she can get another word in, he’s pushing her against the wall, his lips gentle but urgent against hers. It starts off slow as they savor the moment, reveling in each other’s touch. The familiar warmth, her soft lip soothing against his own slightly chapped ones. Somehow he’s already breathless, the sheer nearness to her knocking the breath out of him, but he can’t stop tasting her. His hands slide firmly from her hips up to her ribs and lifts her up against the wall so her feet are barely touching the ground but her mouth is more aligned with his. Nadia wraps her arms around his shoulders tighter and lets out a muffled sigh.

Just like that, the languid pace of their kiss turns into desperate gasps, wet lips pressing and sliding against each other firmly. Guzman forgets himself for a moment and hikes one of her legs around his hip, pressing their pelvises closer—but still not close enough for his liking—while his other hand untucks her blouse from her pants. His fingers immediately seek out her smooth, warm skin and he feels so deprived from the glorious sensation that he can’t help the groan that escapes him.

God, how he had missed her.

His hot hand against her heated skin set him ablaze and he needed more, needed to feel her skin, taste more of her flavor, smell more of her essence...he just needed more. He keeps their body melded together as he drags his lips across her neck and sucks the skin at the base of her throat. 

She lets out a breathless whimper, arching her neck against the pressure of his mouth and tongue. “Guzman…”

He’d have to be wrenched away from her at this point, her heavy breaths, her familiar sounds when he would touch her, spurred him on. His fingers made quick work on the buttons of her blouse, his mouth following behind with every new patch of skin that was revealed. He traces the edges of her bra with his tongue before she yanks his head back up to hers, pulling him into a desperate kiss. Her hands drag through his hair, pulling slightly, not enough to draw pain but enough to make him thrust his hips instinctively against hers.

“Nadia, Nadia, Nadia…” he chants in between kisses. “I need you.”

The elevator comes to an abrupt stop, jostling them enough to break apart with a wet smack. Guzman keeps his grip firmly on Nadia as he looks toward the door, his chest heaving. He has to blink several times to ease back to reality and realize they had apparently stopped on their floor. 

Nadia comes back to reality sooner, scrambling to button her shirt again while keeping the door open. 

“Oh my god, I can’t believe we just did that. What if someone caught us, or worse, my super? So stupid of us.” 

Nadia presses a hand to her flushed cheek while the other reaches for his suitcase. That gets him moving and he steps away from her, taking the handle from her. 

“It’s ok, we weren’t doing anything bad.” 

Guzman wasn’t bothered by the circumstances but he knows public displays of amorous affections were a sore spot for Nadia because of the locker room incident. A part of him will always feel resentful toward Valerio and Lu for their part but he knows that Nadia frets about it enough for the both of them so he tries to ease her worries. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, following behind her at a respectable distance so that if anyone were to glance over, they’d be none the wiser of their elevator activities. “I didn’t mean to get carried away—”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Nadia says with a slight smile. She seems a lot more composed. She takes his hand and he feels relieved. “I got carried away too. Can’t blame either of us for doing so, but let’s stick to the safety of our home next time.”

Home. Once again, the word causes a flutter in his chest and elation to fill his body. It was enough to cool down his heated and excited body momentarily. 

He beams at her. “Home sounds perfect. In more ways than one.”

They stop in front of an apartment door with the number 207 on it and Nadia begins to fuss with her clothes once more. 

“I don’t look like a mess, do I? It’s not obvious what we were up to?”

Before he can get a word in, Nadia reaches over and fixes the collar of his shirt and straightens his hair a little.

Guzman shakes his head. “You look great. Besides, we’re heading inside anyway.”

Nadia nods, unlocking the door and swinging it open. “Here we are.”

Before Guzman can process the sight before him, he blinks against the flash of Nadia’s polaroid camera. She pulled it from her eyes with a shy smile. “I wanted to get a picture of your reaction. I knew it would be too good to pass up.”

He looks at her in awe, stepping further into the apartment with his suitcase. He vaguely registers the door slamming shut behind his but he’s too transfixed and filled with emotions bubbling inside him. 

Hung up across the living room was a huge banner that said “Welcome Home” and underneath it, in glittering capital letters, his name was spelled out. On either side of the banner were streamers and balloons and sitting on the dining table to his right sat a huge chocolate cake, his favorite. He continues to take in the apartment, his new home, and sees there are fairy lights lining the top edges of the wall, more streamers and balloons in the kitchen and off to the side, making the place look festive and cozy. 

“I know it’s probably overboard but we were just too excited and couldn’t help ourselves,” Nadia says. 

He looks at her and her face softens. It’s only then he realizes his eyes have started watering again. She rushes to him and pulls him into a tight hug, pulling back just enough to look at his face. 

“We wanted you to feel at home here. It’s going to be an adjustment but we stocked up the place with all your favorite things from back home.”

He pulls her into a soft kiss, holding her in place just to savor her taste. There’s a lump in his throat and he feels so overwhelmed but he holds onto Nadia to tether him, holding onto her as his safe haven. 

“Thank you,” he says hoarsely when he pulls away and presses his forehead to hers. 

“Of course. Plus, it was a group effort.”

Guzman looks over at the cake before turning back to Nadia with a quirked brow. 

“Ok, well that was me,” Nadia amends. “You know Lu wouldn’t ever be caught dead with a whisk.”

He lets out a burst of laughter and Nadia strokes the corner of his eyes where he’s sure they are red-rimmed with unshed tears. 

“Well, since that’s the case, what do you say we dive in?”

Nadia helps him shed his and places it next to hers on the coat rack by the door. She leads him over to the table in front of the cake where it too says “Welcome Home, Guzman!” There’s also even a heart drawn on there and he knows it was Nadia’s. 

“You made my favorite,” he murmurs to her, his mouth already salivating at the thought of digging into what he knew were three layers of moist chocolate cake with layers of dark chocolate ganache and coffee mousse in between. This was just one of the things he had missed about her while she had been gone. 

“Of course.” She pecks him against his temple and hands him a knife. 

As they settle in with a large piece of cake to share, Guzman realizes this is just one of the many quiet moments they’ll get to have. This was the start of their lives together and he was so at peace, finally home. 

Home with Nadia.

[solivagusdraco]

From the Depths of a Lab: Boundaries Between Nonhumanity and Creativity through the Journey of a Potential Silvally 'kin

I'm a dragon.

That's a fact I've known for over a decade at this point. It was pure chance that I ever even learned of otherkin - somewhere along the line, one of my best friends mentioned being a therian, and so I asked what that was. If I ever had any doubts about my draconity just being something developed because I heard this new fascinating thing… the fact that I still feel my wings and get sense memories when I search for them, even after this long, would eliminate those… we'll call them worries. Perhaps a poor choice of words, but it's what fits in my experience - I'm firmly in the spiritual otherkin camp.

And perhaps that, and my continued journey to understand psychological 'kin, is part of the "problem" that spurred this essay.

Again, perhaps a poor choice in words.

This isn't some discussion about facets of the community, or debate on origins. My experiences aren't another's, just as theirs aren't mine. This is an essay on personal exploration, and the adventure of trying to confirm or deny a kintype whilst sifting through muddy water, years after I've last done any serious introspection on such topics. But if you're still interested in the personal ramblings of this dragon, then I welcome you and will pull up a nice rock for you to sit on. All I ask is patience, for words are hard for me. Talking about myself is even harder.

I awakened as a Dragon in 2010. I found a hearttype in Painted Dogs in 2014. Both of which were… simple.

I found my dragon in meditation and introspection, finding memories of both sense and the more traditional kind. The senses persisted, and still persist. Perhaps one day I'll wake and realize I'm not a dragon, but that doesn't change what I am now, nor how I feel. I am a dragon, and I found that through soul searching.

I found a home in painted dogs during a chance trip to the zoo. They had just recently finished a new exhibit for those fancy canines, and for some reason I just felt so excited to go see these creatures I'd never heard of before that moment. And then I saw them and while I didn't feel like looking in the mirror… It felt like looking through a photo album. I'm not them, yet still they're so familiar.

But this isn't an essay about dragons or canines. Or perhaps it's an essay about them both, just in a different, chimeric form.

Pokémon has always been a part of my life. As of writing this, I'm 27 and the franchise is 25 - the only part of my life without Pokémon are years I don't even remember. I learned the TCG, my first video games ever were Gold and Silver, I had plush and played pretend with my friends. I had favorites… but I never made a character. Not a trainer, not a Pokémon. Rather, it was literal decades before I made a proper Pokémon OC.

Sev the Silvally was made out of a desire to try and run a Pokémon ask blog as a means to improve my art skills through regular practice. I don't even remember the thought process that made me choose a Silvally over any of the other hundreds of Pokémon - I just knew that I'd started drawing and suddenly I had a crime against Arceus with a broken RKS Drive. Granted, Type: Null and Silvally had been my favorite Pokémon of that generation, and my inspiration for the blog was a Type: Null blog.

Later on, Sev would become something of a comfort and coping character for me.

I had been abused by someone I considered one of my best friends in high school, and while I had since recognized it as abuse by the time of Sev's creation… It still bothered me. So I decided to have Sev's escape from the Aether Paradise be that he was stolen by an abusive trainer, and his evolution happened when that trainer turned her abusive hand to a Rockruff pup - an evolution not through love for his trainer, but rather through a desire to protect. Sev escaped his abuse and got the chance to learn how to live without the shadow of his trainer looming over him, just like I hoped to do. Escape that shadow. Let Sev be my guide through the nightmares and hate scrolling that still persisted.

He stopped being just a character.

But what does this all have to do with otherkin?

As I mentioned, Pokémon has been a part of my life for effectively my whole life. Yet despite that… There's never been a Pokémon that gripped me with the intensity that Silvally has. I've hungrily looked for merch, official and unofficial. I'm in the midst of making a fursuit, complete with electronics. One of my Tumblr usernames is multi-attack, and oftentimes now when making an account on a website, the first thing I check is if 'Silvally' is taken as a username. The design I painted on my mailbox is of my dragon and Sev, in a sort of "coat of arms" reminiscent style. This chimeric Pokémon latched on to some part of my mind and refused to let go.

And yet it wasn't until this past year that I even considered that Silvally could be something other than a "mere" favorite character.

Perhaps it's a hearttype. Perhaps it's a kintype. Perhaps it is just a mere favorite character. Introspection is the answer, regardless. My way to find just what Silvally is to me. But then there comes another question. Another problem.

With my dragon, the hunt for memories was clear cut. I had no existing thoughts to sway the hunt, and what memories I eventually found… They had little comparisons to various dragon media I'd consumed. But I start this investigation with Silvally at a disadvantage - I've made a character with crafted backstory, and consumed what little canon information exists on the species. There's no blank slate for me to start from - whatever search I do will always be colored by Sev and his tale.

So then I have to ask myself:

Is Sev his own character, or is he me?

I've never had a character that I was able to just write. Perhaps it's akin to soulbonding, but what I've read on that experience just doesn't quite taste right for the circumstance. I'll create a path for my characters, a baseline for their personality to grow on… but all too frequently, they end up bucking those guidelines and becoming their own person, as it were. They don't keep me company in my mind, but they still make their own minds clear should I try to direct their story or actions in ways they don't agree with.

Where does one find the boundary between self and other, when those "others" make their own decisions yet aren't their own entities?

To say nothing of my tendency to dole out my flaws and traits to each of my characters. Each little facet of myself being the seed from which a character will grow. Sometimes as the simple fact that the familiar makes creation easier. Sometimes as a means to work through a problem. But regardless of reason, it doesn't change the fact that almost every character I've ever made has had some piece of me in their core.

But… When every character you make is a facet of yourself, the moment you consider that they might be more than just a character gets muddy. Is it a hearttype, born from a facet of yourself that your subconscious decided you needed to care for more? Or is that facet just a part of you that recognized what you were, long before your consciousness connected the dots? And if kintype it is, then how do you determine what memories are real? Were the plot points and character biology you designed mere fabrication of the mind? Or were they flashes of another life, fleshed out, recorded, and/or adapted in the name of writing?

As if the discovery and determination of memories wasn't already complicated enough.

Sev's name was the only decision I consciously made whilst creating him - shortened from 'severance', as his creation was for the partial purpose of finally separating myself from old memories. Everything else just… happened. There was no rhyme or reason or choice to anything. Not his color, not the reason he and the other Silvally of his world were created. Every plot point, every musing on his biology was a simple moment of "Oh, so that's how it happened".

In what way is that different from how I found my dragon, with her quiet nights of meditation and introspection until the memories and feelings fell into place?

Now don't misunderstand - this isn't me saying that discovering a kintype is nothing more than making a character. That couldn't be farther from what I'm saying! Rather, I'm musing on the question of where the boundary is between the creative process and the discovery process. If Sev (or just Silvally in general) isn't a kintype, then it's still fascinating to me that his creation was so similar to me discovering my dragon. And if he is a kintype? Then is that particular creative process something to be mindful of when contemplating "original character" kintypes?

Perhaps this question would be easier to find an "answer" to if I knew what Silvally was to me… but I don't! That's almost the point of this essay - a vague attempt to knock some solid feeling thought loose from my mind.

It just happened to lead to a fascinating line of thought.