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#than be just dragged on along on every occasion we hang out like an annoying sibling they were forced to bring

drabbles-mc · 11 months

Note

Okay, so I just spent all morning going down the rabbit hole of our past shenanigans and I am here with MORE.

Motorcycle Boys: Dating Edition

Obviously a lot of fic is centered around relationships with these men, but, personally, I think they get a lot more credit than they deserve, so let's drag them a little.

Who says I love you by the third date? Who's most likely to cry the first time they have sex? Who doesn't even realize they were dating? Who just looks around one day and realize their girl moved in without them noticing? Who thinks they are dating but they aren't? (And obviously whatever other silly scenario you can think of)

Okay but these men DO get more credit than they deserve. I'm one of the worst offenders but it's just wishful thinking because every single one of these men is a certifiable mess 😂

The way I'm losing my ever-loving shit over thinking about who doesn't realize that their girl is just gradually moving in with them. 😂 I feel like this would be easy to do with a bunch of the guys because most of them are just never home. Like, they just come home from a run one day and realize that oh, shit, all of her stuff is here now. 😂 Tig would be one of these guys. He just thinks that his girl stays over a lot and doesn't realize that "a lot" is actually every night. Because, you know, she moved in. I want to put Angel here because I firmly believe that he's dumb enough not to notice but I think that he's too much of a commitophobe to let a girl spend that much time at his place lmao

On the flipside of this I think that Jax would be the type to not notice that his girl is moving out without telling him. He gets home from the clubhouse one day and he's back to only owning like two plates, one cup, and the curtains are gone. It's only then that he realizes that shit has been going missing a lot over the last few weeks.

Opie & Angel are kings of the, "what do you mean we aren't dating?" club. Because neither of them can communicate worth a damn. 😂 So then one day when they see the girl they've been talking to and hanging out with flirting with someone else they get all butt-hurt but when they actually bring it up, you know she's just going to clap back with something about their lack of communication or lack of commitment. As she should. It's her right.

Happy is also the type to assume that he's dating someone without ever saying it but that's because his facial expressions and his love language are difficult to process without having the goddamn Lowman Rosetta Stone.

Juice will say I love you on the third date and he will cry the first time he has sex. I don't think I need to explain this at all. Just look at that man and you will know it to be true 😂

Creeper and Hank are also throwing, "I love you" out there as soon as humanly possible. They're so valid for that. It's a lot but I'll allow it. 😌

Gilly and Coco have, on more than one occasion, not realized that they landed themselves in a relationship. I feel like they both are just such, "Yea this is just what we're doing idk" kind of guys not realize that "what they're doing" is having a relationship with someone. Clueless men that I adore so much. Someone will call them out on it, or they'll try to call each other out on it just to be annoying and the other just responds with, "It's not like that." Spoiler Alert: it's exactly like that.

Nestor also doesn't realize that he's landed himself in a relationship but tbh that's because he's pouring all of his attention and energy into whoever he is working for at the time. He's too busy working on keeping his boss/boyfriend to worry about the girlfriend he's accidentally procured along the way.

These men are all so messy. I do love to fix them but honestly this is making me think that I should just let them flounder around a lot more often 😂😂😂

#chaos wiht cricket is my fave #ask #asks #withmyteeth

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lovesosweeet · 23 days

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MAY THE BEST MAN WIN

competing for the best toast at their best friends' wedding, calum and tanner go from being pretend rivals to… something like friends. maybe a little more? may the best man win.

read on ao3

part two

a year later

Tanner is annoyed. Ashton is late. She’s squatting in a bush in Joshua Tree, her camera hanging from her neck and sweat beading on her forehead. He just had to choose to propose to Valerie in August on the hottest day of the year, and now he’s more than thirty minutes later than he had promised he would be.

She checks the time again, frustrated that he hasn’t even texted her to give his new ETA. Just as she goes to check her best friend’s location, she hears the sound of hiking boots crunching on the dusty trail. She hopes it’s Ashton and Val, and it better be, so she holds her camera up and points it in the direction of where the trail opens to the clearing where she helped Ashton set up the proposal.

Valerie walks out, her hands pressed against her face in shock. The white letters spelling out “FOREVER?” give away what the occasion is, and Ashton is beaming while his girlfriend takes in the moment. Tanner is clicking her shutter as quickly as she can, tears already forming in her eyes as she watches her best friend get proposed to by the love of her life.

The moment goes by quickly, because before Ashton even speaks, Valerie is yelling “YES!” repeatedly and trying to kiss him. Tanner cries quietly as she watches on, getting all her pictures, making sure her exposure settings are capturing the sunset behind them as well as possible. She’s grateful she chose her longer lens so she can see the emotions on Valerie’s and Ashton’s faces. Ashton is crying along with her, but Valerie never cries and is just smiling wider than ever.

The couple whispers to each other while they let the air of love swirl around them, Valerie staring at the sparkling black diamond now adorning her left hand. Ashton holds her to him, not even remembering where Tanner said she’d be hiding so he can’t even give her a thumbs up.

“Wait, Ash—please tell me you got a photographer!” Valerie suddenly cries, spinning around, trying to find the glint of a camera lens in the bushes around them. That has always been her one condition with a proposal. She didn’t care where or when, but it had to be photographed.

Tanner takes that as her cue, standing up from her squat in the bushes and holding her massive camera in the air. “Congratu-fucking-lations!” She screams, awkwardly climbing out of the greenery and running to her best friend.

She passes her camera off to Ashton so she can hug Valerie, the two of them squealing and jumping up and down.

“Tanner! What are you doing here?! Aren’t you supposed to be in Tokyo?!”

Tanner giggles and lets go of Val so she can look at her. “Tokyo was a cover up so I could help Ashton set all this up without you knowing.”

“Wait, so you’re not getting me matcha KitKats?”

Tanner frowns. “We can go together for fashion week? And I’ll buy you all the matcha KitKats your heart desires.”

After the two of them have giggled and reviewed every detail of setting this whole plan up with Ashton, Tanner takes more photos of the couple while the sun sets behind them. She brought a change of clothes for both of them so they didn’t take all their pictures wearing hiking gear. Once the sun is down, the three of them head back to the car.

Ashton and Tanner share a knowing glance in the rearview mirror, knowing the surprises aren’t over yet. Ashton rented out a Mexican restaurant to have a surprise engagement party, but Val thinks they’re simply stopping for celebratory margaritas on the way to their house in Palm Springs.

Valerie is clutching onto both Tanner’s and Ashton’s hands as she drags both of them into the restaurant with her, but she’s met with the mass of people as soon as she steps inside. Everyone screams “congratulations” together, and Valerie is back to being in shock.

“Wait, I know all of you?!” She yells, her eyes scanning the room and taking in that she can name each individual person. It takes her a second, but then she sees the massive — but still tasteful — signage that says ‘Ash + Val = Together for Eternity’ designed by Tanner.

“It’s an engagement party, Val,” Tanner says, letting go of her hand so she can greet everyone.

Valerie and Ashton disappear into the crowd. Everyone swallows them in hugs and love, and Tanner looks down at her black hiking gear, remembering she needs to change into her dress. She spins to walk back outside to the car as a hand catches her elbow.

“Tanner?”

She halts, turning around.

It’s Calum, Ashton’s bandmate and best friend.

Tanner, despite being instrumental in Valerie and Ashton getting together, has really only met Ashton a handful of times before helping orchestrate the proposal. The relationship was a whirlwind and moved quickly, and they moved in together after just a few weeks of dating. With Tanner being on the move constantly and Valerie and Ashton’s schedules being equally complicated, they’ve only wound up in the same city at the same time twice since the couple started dating last year.

Naturally, she hasn’t been able to meet the rest of 5SOS since she’s barely met Ashton.

“Uh, hi! Calum, right?”

Calum smiles and nods. “Yeah, that’s me. Um, Ash had me grab your dress and it’s in the ladies room. Your shoes and stuff are in there too.”

“Oh! That’s so sweet. Thank you, I’ll go change.”

“Just playing the part of best man for the maid of honor. Gotta be on my best behavior.”

Tanner smirks and raises an eyebrow. “How do you know you’ll be the best man? Aren’t there two other top contenders? Hell, he’s got a brother, too.”

Calum, pretending she has just wounded him, winces and clutches at his chest. “Okay, first off, I’m his brother too.”

She snorts with a loud chuckle. He glares.

“Secondly, he already asked me.”

Her eyes narrow into slits. “And how are you so sure that I’m the maid of honor?”

It’s Calum’s turn to laugh then. “You’re joking, right?”

Tanner frowns.

“You’re literally so obviously the only person she would even consider having be her maid of honor.”

She shrugs. “Guess only time will tell, Calum.”

The petite blonde steps around him, headed for the back corner at the Mexican restaurant that she’s come to dozens of times with Val over the years. Her dark blue dress is hanging in the bathroom as expected, along with her strappy nude heels and makeup.

Tanner quickly freshens up, readjusting her ponytail and changing into the silky dress. She reapplies some deodorant and throws on a layer of blush, fluffs her eyebrows, and slides a lip oil onto her dry lips before she stuffs everything back into her duffel bag. Once she feels presentable enough to be seen at a celebrity engagement party, she walks back into the swarm of bustling people and is instantly overwhelmed.

She’s still never gotten used to the chaos of events like this, especially when she’s a guest and not the photographer. Lou is around somewhere, already commissioned to photograph the wedding, whenever they choose the date. What else are celebrity photographer friends for? Tanner scans the room for a familiar face, and when her eyes land on Valerie’s parents, they’re waving her over to them.

She trudges her way through the crowd of people to reach her extra set of parents. The Summers have always treated her like one of their own since she spent most of her childhood at their house. Valerie’s mom hugs her quickly, and Tanner is surprised when she steps back and finds none other than Calum chatting to Mr. Summers.

“Are you stalking me?” Tanner teases, smiling up at the tall man that she’s heard so much about.

Cal smiles. “You really think I’d stalk you? As if I haven’t dealt with actual stalkers for the past decade.”

Tanner chuckles softly while Mr. Summers gives her a half hug.

“Calum and I were just chatting about the big day,” he says.

“Oh yeah, Ed asked if Ashton wants us to perform at the reception.”

She raises her eyebrows in question. While it’s been a while since she and Valerie put together their wedding Pinterest boards back in middle school, having a pop or rock band at the wedding was not on her agenda. Granted, these boards were made before Valerie could have predicted she would actually be marrying someone from a famous band.

“And, what’s the verdict?” Tanner asks.

Calum snorts. “Definitely not. He doesn’t trust us like that.”

She giggles and looks over to Mr. Summers, or Ed, who is smiling at her with a somewhat wistful look in his eyes.

“Tanner here is quite the writer. I’m sure she will have an incredible speech to read,” Ed says, and as he does it, Calum’s expression shifts to surprise.

“Is that so? Here I thought she was a one-trick pony.”

Tanner glares at the man who’s at least half a foot taller than her. “So you just know nothing about me other than my single-sentence bio as touted by every single magazine ever?”

Calum is stunned and looks back and forth between Tanner and Valerie’s father. Ed smiles, proud of his unofficial second daughter, then throws a hand up to squeeze her shoulder.

“You’re speaking with a two-time gold key winner of the National Scholastic Writing Competition, Calum.”

Tanner blushes as Mr. Summers announces her wins from when she was in high school. She hasn’t written in a long time, but she was always a great writer. Photography was her passion, but writing was what set her apart in school. Her guidance counselor senior year kept pushing college applications in her face, but all she was interested in was a photography apprenticeship in New York, which she ended up getting, with Valerie signing a modeling deal via the same agency.

“Sounds like I’ve got some stiff competition for the best toast of the wedding, then.”

Her lips curve up into a grin. “Is that a challenge, Mr. Hood?”

Neither Calum nor Tanner notice as Mr. Summers steps away from their conversation.

“I mean, I’ve written how many hit songs now, Miss Thorne?”

Tanner snorts and shakes her head. “Yeah, you and your army of bandmates and collaborators.”

Calum gasps in shock, his mouth falling open. “Alright, Tanner, let’s settle this like grownups. A bet. Whoever wins gets the title of the ultimate speechwriter.”

Tanner looks up, brown eyes looking into brown eyes, both with a golden glint of mischief lighting up their irises. She nods, chewing on her lower lip, with one edge of her lips tugged up. She holds out her hand, slender and bony compared to Calum’s strong and callused one.

“Sure, you’re on. But that’s a shitty prize,” she says.

He frowns.

“A title is nothing. Money, however,” Tanner continues, raising her eyebrows.

Calum laughs. “Alright, Miss Golden Key, how much?”

She shrugs. “I’m good with a dollar. Just gotta monetize everything these days. You know, showbiz and whatnot. Inflation.”

His hand engulfs hers as he shakes it firmly.

“A dollar it is. The bet is on.”

#5sos fic #5sosficfest2024 #5sos #5 seconds of summer #luke hemmings #ashton irwin #calum hood #5sosfam #michael clifford #fanfiction #fanfic #mtbmw #calum hood x oc #calum hood x ofc #calum fic #calum 5sos

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parkersbliss · 3 years

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Diamonds | K. Brekker

pairing; kaz brekker x female!reader

warnings: cursing, I think that’s it

wc; 2.3K

synopsis: dirtyhands doesn’t need anyone, but he wants you, even if he can’t have you

prompts: 001: “why do you care?” 047: “please just let me in.”

a/n: this went in a very different direction then I planned but I love it??

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List

—

Kaz Brekker was a lot of things.

Emotionally unavailable was one of them.

But you never thought much of it. You didn’t think less of him because of that. Surviving the barrel meant being cold, ruthless, and cunning.

Everyone had to have some dark side to them. It was a given.

But Kaz’s dark side never turned off. He was always in a constant state of brooding, thinking about all the ways the plan could fail or coming up with a new heist.

His brain never shuts off.

You never considered that a bad thing, but everyone has to rest eventually.

But rest wasn’t a word in Kaz’s dictionary. For him, resting meant thinking about other things.

Things that he wanted to forget.

So he busied himself with work, numbers, and other things to push the other thoughts out of his mind. Sometimes they were about Jordie and the harbor, sometimes they were about Rollins or you.

Kaz never wanted to forget you, but he didn’t want to think about you either. About the way, your lips curved up into a smile every time Jesper threw his arm around you. Or the way you throw your head back every time Nina makes a joke, the way you sit patiently with Wylan when he tries to read, the way you train so gracefully with Inej, and the way you make fun of Matthias’ accent.

He wants to push it all out of his mind because he doesn’t understand it. He doesn’t get how he manages to notice every detail about you.

It would cost him eventually, which is why he didn’t think about it. It’s why he tried to busy himself with things that have nothing to do with you.

But sometimes, it doesn’t always work out that way.

It was moments like these where Kaz is in a constant state of don’t fuck up and don’t say anything.

Which never goes in his favor.

The plan was simple, break-in and walk-out. There were three separate sections to the museum, and the event kept everyone pretty busy.

All you had to do was get in, steal a few jewels and then blend in with the crowd for the rest of the night.

It should be easy enough.

You all dress in your best attire, at least, the best attire that wouldn’t slow you down if you have to run. Kaz’s breath hitches in his throat when he sees you. Silky fabric, exposed skin, and all your beauty.

He nods at you as you fall into step behind him.

“You look nice,” You said.

“Thank you. So do you.”

You all find yourself in an ally by the museum as Inej scales the roof for her way in. You know she’s successful when the back entrance pops open, and she leans against the door frame with a satisfied smile on her face; her green dress trails along the floor as you make your way inside.

Bright fluorescent lights illuminate the hallway, and the sound of heels and Kaz’s cane echo down it. Kaz pick locks the three doors with ease, signaling for the groups of you to go in.

Matthias and Nina are responsible for the smaller riches, Inej, Wylan, and Jesper take care of replacing them, and you and Kaz get the big stuff.

The room sparkles with diamonds, almost blinding you. To Kaz, it smells like money. For each piece stolen, the two of you replace it with a cheaper place holder.

By the time anyone noticed, you would be gone.

You grab a ring off a stand, slipping it on and examining it in the light.

Kaz coughs, and you turn to face him.

He holds the most expensive piece in his hand, a diamond necklace.

It’s worth more than a quarter of a million kruge.

“Woah,” you breathe out. The diamonds are arranged in such a way that it sits close to the neck, and looks like small interconnected leaves.

“Wear it,” Kaz said.

“Kaz-”

“You would look… pretty with it,” The last part is barely above a whisper.

“Okay,” You agree, taking the piece from his hands. Your fingers barely brush his gloved ones as you take the necklace, clasping it around your neck.

Then, Kaz steps back. “I think we got most of it.”

You can’t take all of the riches, but you can take enough to make some serious bank. You exit the room, Kaz locking it after, and meet back in the hallway with everyone else. Inej and Nina both drip in equal expenses and gasp when they see your necklace.

“I almost want to keep it,” You said, touching the diamonds.

“It does look stunning on you,” Nina said.

“I’m sure we have enough to keep that piece,” Inej said, gesturing to the jewelry between you all.

“I do not understand the need for stones to prove one’s worth,” Matthias said.

Nina pats his shoulder, “It’s like you Fjerdans and your fur coats.”

"Witch," Matthias mumbled under his breath.

Kaz takes the lead, directing you to the main room. You can hear the sounds of people chattering, classical music floating in the air. You all split into smaller groups, mostly pairs, to avoid detection.

You and Kaz stay towards the center of the room, observing everyone else and waiting till the event ends.

As Kaz’s eyes sweep the ballroom, yours sweep over his face, familiarizing yourself with his features.

He has sharp cheekbones, fair skin, and a pointed nose. His lips are drawn down into the softest frown, and there are bags under his dark eyes. His eyebrow twitches ever so slightly whenever he sees someone he doesn’t like, and he runs a gloved hand through his hair, slicking it back more if it’s possible.

He was beautiful.

After a few more moments of mingling, they prepare to bring the jewelry out on display. You and Kaz back towards the exit, just in case something goes wrong.

The fake one sparkles just the same, and a clear difference can’t be seen. It’s only glass that Wylan had managed to craft by himself.

The servant gulps, taking careful steps with the case in his hand. His hands shake, and as he takes the first step up the stairs, he stumbles.

It shatters.

The glass scatters across the floor, the fake necklace you planted aside does the same, the pieces landing everywhere.

You can practically feel Kaz tense next to you when the crowd gasps; actual diamonds wouldn’t break.

“Don’t move,” Kaz whispers. He makes a hand gesture to the rest of the Dregs around the room that means remain still. “Act just as surprised.”

On any other occasion, it would be easy, but when the original necklace is dangling from your neck, it’s like an open target for anyone with eyes. Murmurs flow through the crowd, but no one pays any mind to the Dregs because you all look like you belong here. They’re looking for the black sheep among the white.

But they all look just the same.

“We will be conducting manual searches,” The guards announce.

“Saints,” You whisper, hand instinctively grabbing the diamonds on your neck.

“Plan B,” Kaz said. He meets Jesper’s eyes across the room, nodding his head, and Jesper smirks. He grabs one of his revolvers, firing a single shot and tucking it away before anyone notices. The crowd screams, everyone rushing to the exits as more shots are fired from various parties (some from Jesper, some from guards, or others who just love chaos).

You all make a run for it, using the main exit where guards were desperately trying to keep everyone in.

You watch Inej slip through with ease, Nina and Mattias next. Jesper gets held up, but he managed to talk his way out of it as Wylan tugs on his sleeve.

You and Kaz are last, taking your time to avoid being pushed in by the crowd. You could run ahead, get out before Kaz, but you don’t.

You stay by his side and maintain the slow pace, even when there’s a quarter of a million kruge hanging from your neck.

As you approach the exit, you’re one foot out when someone grabs your arm.

“I got her!” The guard shouts. He starts dragging you back inside as you try to dig your heel into their foot.

Then, in the span of a second, a cane comes down on his arm, a clear snap ringing out.

You stumble from their grasp, unknowingly using Kaz’s shoulder to steady yourself. He hisses but says nothing more because as soon as you notice, you let go.

“Nina!” You scream as the guards come pouring out the entrance.

It was clear who the target was.

The heartrender holds up her hands, effectively dropping their beat, but you underestimate how many there are.

“Run!” Jesper shouts.

And you do as you’re told. The guards open fire, and you bunch your dress in your hands, running through the streets of Ketterdam. Kaz begins to fall behind, and you slow down your pace.

“Jes, throw me a revolver!”

“What?”

“Throw it!”

Wylan rolls his eyes, fishing the gun from his boyfriend’s pocket and tossing it at you.

“What are you doing?” Kaz said.

“Saving your ass!” You reply.

“I don’t need your saving!” Kaz retorts, glaring at you.

You roll your eyes, “Fine, I’m covering you.”

“I don’t need that either.”

“Kaz-”

“I don’t need you!”

You nod, turning away from him to hide the hurt on your face. “No, of course, you don't."

You fire a single shot at a guard, busying yourself in taking a few out, so Kaz doesn’t get hit. When he’s a good way ahead, you sprint after the rest of the Dregs. You see the tail of Jesper’s coat disappear down an alleyway.

You fire one last round of shots and duck behind it. You move past Kaz, catching up with Jesper and thanking him.

He smiles, bumping your shoulder. “Anything for the lady.”

The slat is in sight, and you sigh in relief, happy to rest and unload all the jewels everyone is dripping in.

You could only imagine the amount of kruge you’d come up with.

Jesper opens the door for the Dregs, and you all practically collapse on the couch. You Nina and Inej are all on one, kicking off your heels.

“I hate heels,” You said.

“You’re telling me,” Inej replied. “Never again.”

Nina shrugs, “Annoying as hell, but they do work in place of a knife every now and then.”

“I am never without my knives.”

“We know.”

Kaz walks past you all, limping a bit worse than usual and going up to his office.

You don’t bother following after him. Instead, you all dump the jewelry on the table.

“Oh, saints,” Inej gasped.

Jesper leans back in his seat, “I think we’re set.”

“You’ll gamble it all away before we even cash it in,” Matthias said as Jesper scoffed.

“It’ll take me at least a few months to lose that.”

“Months?” Wylan asked.

“Like six tops.”

Everyone begins to argue, and you tune them out. You forgot about the most expensive piece hanging from your neck, absentmindedly playing with it. When you remember, you figure the best thing to do with it is give it up to Kaz.

With a sigh, you stand up, the fabric of your dress falling back into place.

You don’t bother knocking on his door, you know you should, but you didn’t care all that much.

“Here’s your necklace,” You said bitterly, dropping it on his desk.

“(Y/N)-”

“A quarter of a million kruge, enough to set you for life. That’s all you need, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t mean that.”

“Sure felt like it,” You snap.

“I just-,” Kaz sighed, avoiding your gaze. “Keep the necklace.”

“I don’t want it.”

“You don’t?” Kaz asked, eyebrows raised. “I thought you liked it. You should have it if that’s the case.”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t.”

You click your tongue, “Keep the fucking necklace, Kaz.”

Kaz curses himself, tugging at his hair. He was making the situation much worse. He didn’t know what to say that wouldn't piss you off. He thought the necklace would be like a peace offering, a sign of his thanks.

It backfired on him.

He’s bordering the line of being cold or grateful. When grateful didn’t work in his favor, he went for the other.

“I want you to have it.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Please, take it.”

“It’s worth money. That’s far more important to both of us.”

Kaz shuts his eyes, “(Y/N), please.”

And you know this isn't about the necklace anymore. It never really was.

You shake your head, crossing your arms over your chest. You were tired of pretending to brush off your feelings. It was killing you. Every time you tried to do something, Kaz pushed you back. You couldn't keep doing this to yourself.

“You either want this, or you don’t. Which one is it?”

“Please,” he said softly.

You sigh, blinking harshly. Your heart hammers in your chest. You take a breath, trying to calm yourself.

“Kaz, I need you,” You said softly, “Please just let me in.”

“I can’t,” He said, voice strained as he fights his demons. God, he wants to, but he's scared. He's scared of pushing you away or hurting either of you in the process. He couldn't go through that kind of loss again.

“I will wait,” You said. “I will wait as long as you need. I just need to know that you’re in this too.”

Kaz meets your eyes. His are glassy as he holds the necklace tightly in his hands, running his gloved fingers over the diamonds.

He could lose you.

And that is far worse than not having you at all.

He slowly peels his gloves off. His movements are slow and deliberate, taking his time. When they’re off, he grabs the necklace and stands up.

You hold your breath as he stands behind you, brushing your hair out of the way. His fingers just barely dance across your skin, but they’re there.

He clasps the necklace, and you turn around to face him.

“Kaz?” You question.

“I need you too, (Y/N).”

“I’m not leaving," You assure him.

“Good. We’re in this.”

“We’re in this.”

#IM OBSESSED WITH HIM #I love kaz #I am speedrunning this requests #hehe #kaz brekker fanfic #kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker fluff #kaz brekker imagine #kaz brekker one shot #kaz brekker angst #kaz brekker #grishaverse #six of crows imagine #six of crows #soc #crooked kingdom #shadow and bone #s&b

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nightwishesworld · 3 years

Note

Oh, I have a request! How about the daughters (who love the reader very much) always taking the reader and practically stealing her every time she’s with Alcina? (Cuz we need more daughters and reader interaction 🥲) And maybe to the point of our precious big dommy mommy gettin ya know ya know jealous? ;)) HAHGSHAHAHAHA, that would be hilarious to see. Anyways, hope you’re havin’ a great time~ ✌🏻till next time!

I’m so sorry this took me so long anon! I’ve gotten more requests than I ever thought I would and I’m starting to get behind. This was a really sweet one to put together though- really enjoyed it!

Slight Gore warning for Cassandra! Nothing too detailed but it is referenced. If you don’t like it just skip her

Bela

Being the eldest sibling has made her the most level-headed of the three. After decades of ending squabbles between her younger sisters, she’s discovered the pleasures of retail therapy.

She takes great joy in popping off to neighboring villages for a few hours perusing the various aromatherapy shops.

And she takes even greater pleasure bringing you along. Dragging you, really. Even if you’re otherwise busy. Sometimes she’ll buy you a few scents or lotions that catch your eye.

She calls it “compensation for being dragged away from Mother,” but really she’s just happy to spoil you

Also loves asking you for literature recommendations. As vast as the castle’s library is, Bela had read through most of the literature over her lifetime

Is absolutely fascinated by modern day novels.

She takes you on a day-long shopping spree visiting five surrounding villages just blowing through money buying almost every book that peaks her interest

Most of your time together is spent relaxing in the library talking about your novels.

Eventually you’ve collected enough books to make an entirely new section in the library just for the two of you.

Even when cuddled up with Alcina in the library, there is simply no escaping Bela when she’s looking for recommendations or simply someone to talk to

At the end of the day, you really didn’t mind. You were more than happy to spend time with all the girls and happy they wanted to spend time with you.

You knew as annoyed as Alcina got when interrupted she found it incredibly sweet that her daughters will go out of their way to be with you

Cassandra (Cassi)

Suffers from middle child syndrome hardcore

She’s a bit too old to understand Bela’s interests, but too old to join Daniela in her delusional fantasies. So naturally, she tries to cling onto you.

At first she tries to convince you to enter the basement with her so she can show you her “Art Gallery,” but Alcina forbade it. So things between you and Cassi went quiet for awhile

Alcina says Cassandra is an artist of some sort and all her work is done in the basement

After about a month of silence Cassandra came barrelling into your private study with some kind of canvas in her hands

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around much, y/n, but I’ve been working really hard on your gift.”

You gush, “oh Cassi, you didn’t have to make me anything. That’s so sweet of you.”

She eagerly flips over the canvas to reveal her painting of a human heart.

It was beautifully detailed, the heart really jumped off the page against the black background...but something was off about it. It took a minute for you to realize it but once you did, you couldn’t stop staring. The heart was painted with blood.

You were lost for words.

“Well?” Cassi, asked with a broad smile on her face. “Do you like it?”

All you could do at first was nod you head. “Oh Cassandra, its gorgeous. You really made this?”

The girl’s eyes were rapturous. “It’s my favorite hobby! But this particular piece was my first try at observational painting. I hope I did a good job...”

“Are you kidding Cassi? It’s beautiful! I’ve never seen anything like it. Can I hang it on my wall?”

She lunges at you, wrapping you in a suffocating hug. “Thank you, y/n. I made it a heart so you know how much we love having you here with us.”

Tears were starting to prick your eyes. “I love you guys, too.”

You looked up lust long enough to see Alcina walk in your study, roll her eyes and walk right back out.

Daniela (Dani)

Being the youngest Dimitrescu definitely has its advantages and Daniela knows how to use every single one.

Gets away with absolutely everything and anything under the sun. Even things her older sisters could only dream of getting away with and it irritates them to no end.

Daniela is definitely the most daring of the three. Always pushing her boundaries with her mother and will go out of her way to annoy Alcina just for funsies.

Is comfortable (and has) appearing in your bedroom while your, erm...busy with Alcina. Literally grabs you by the arm and swoops you away in a swarm of moths giggling the entire time. You hear Alcina shouting obscenities as you’re taken away.

You’re both thoroughly embarrassed.

Daniela seems to be, just like her mother, very needy. Attention starved if you will. So of course, she’s in need of your presence every hour. Sometimes more.

And for the dumbest freaking reasons!

“Y/n come quick! Look at the birds in the garden. They’re so pretty!”

You laugh at her excitement “They’re crows, Dani. We see them every day.”

Other times she will drag you to her room and pull out her vast collection of weapons and tell you different stories associated with each one. You loved hearing how passionate Daniela was about her collection.

On a few rare occasions, she even gifted you a set of daggers, or crossbow, or whatever your favorite weapon is.

“You don’t own any y/n, which means you’re vulnerable to attacks. One day I’ll teach you how to use them.”

BONUS: Alcina being absolutely done with her girls not sharing

Late hours of the night are Alcina’s favorite time of day

She gets to relax in bed with you all to herself while shedding away all the stresses from the day.

More often than not she’ll lazily sip a glass of wine and reread her favorite novel to you while you’re nestled in her lap.

It was the only time of day she knew she had you all to herself

...usually...

One night all three of her daughters barged in your bedroom arguing who you would spend time with first. Alcina tried shouting over them to take control of the situation, but none of them were even paying her attention.

Situations like this call for drastic measures.

Alcina covered your ears and shouted at her girls from the top of her lungs. Once she knew she had their attention she reached over to the nightstand and pulled out a...spray bottle? They were about to laugh at her before she explained that the spray bottle contained holy water.

That scared them enough to make them back up a few steps. Daniela even hisssed at her, baring her fangs like a feral animal.

“I am tired of you three stealing away my y/n and I’ve reached my breaking point. This is the one time of day I’m allowed exclusive time with them and I will not have you getting in the way of that.”

You couldn’t process what was happening before you. Was Alcina really prepared to spray her own daughters with holy water just because she wouldn’t get her cuddles tonight? Really?

Daniela felt bold tonight. “As if you would actually do it. I bet that’s not even holy water.”

Alcina only arched a brow. “Well you’re more than welcome to come see for yourself, Daniela. By all means.”

The redhead was about to do just that until Bela pulled her backwards. “I guess we can wait and see y/n tomorrow. Goodnight, mother. Goodnight, y/n.”

As soon as Alcina knew they were gone she fell back onto the mattress, pulling you with her, peppering you in kisses.

“Darling,” you ask. “Is that really holy water?”

She chuckles into your neck. “No, it’s not, and they should have known that. If it were I wouldn’t have been able to hold it without it making me feel ill. But they’ll figure that out eventually and once they do they’ll be back.”

“What then?”

“Pelting them with fake silver should do the trick.”

#lady dimitrescu x reader #tall vampire lady #alcina dimitrescu #lady alcina #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu

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glassartpeasants · 3 years

Note

That ending was a stab on the heart from beginning to end I'm gonna steal bob 🏃🏾‍♀️

The One That Got Away

Shigaraki x GN!Reader

Warnings: Angst, cheating, death

A/N: Don’t threaten Bob

~~~

The bed felt different after that night.

2 months ago you had caught Shigaraki cheating on you with someone random woman. You stood in the doorway just watching, trying to find the words to say but nothing came out. It’s only when you dropped your groceries and your present to him is when he noticed your presence.

*flashback*

“Shit! (Y/N) it’s not what it looks like-” He tripped over his words. You said nothing as you just looked at him, knowing that no matter how much you loved him that there was nothing that could ever make you forget this.

“Fuck just say something!” You were still silent as you dropped the groceries you were holding. It just wasn’t clicking for you. How could he do this to you? what had you done wrong?

“What did I do wrong?” Your voice seemed to echo throughout the room. Nobody said anything. Until she spoke up.

“Oh my god, Im so sorry! I didn’t know he was taken! Please forgive me.” The girl spoke as she jumped outta bed and started putting her clothes on.

“It’s okay. I forgive you.” Those words spilled from your mouth before you could actually say anything you meant. The girl had hugged you before saying she was so sorry a final time. Flipping off Shiggy on the way out.

“(Y/N)...i promise we can talk about this.” You just kept looking at him. Those eyes seemed to burn into his soul. He doesn’t think you noticed the tears spilling from your eyes. He was about to say something to you but you started to walk towards him. Thinking he was gonna get hit he just stood still before feeling your part of the bed dip.

He turns around to see you laying there, eyes still open with tears rushing down your face, your clothes of the day still on your body.

Shigaraki tried to put his arms around you but you had hit his hands back. and used your feet to push him to the edge of the bed while you laid clung to the wall.

*flashback over*

Thinking back on it you don’t know why you didn’t just walk away. Maybe you were to tired from being busy and running errands for him all day? Did you want it to be a bad dream and hope to walk up to realize nothing ever happened? Whatever the reason was, you weren’t sure but a part of you wishes that you left that night.

Now you sit at the bar, sitting far away from what use to be your boyfriend, not even taking a glimpse of him and he knew it. You just sat in the corner drinking and looking on your phone until a familiar smell approached you.

“Oh hey Dabi.”

“Hey there (Y/N), why aren’t you hanging out with crusty over there? He keeps staring at you and the tension in here could be cut with a knife. It’s been two months and apparently everyone said i should ask what's going on.”

“Im not going near him at the moment. We’re on a break per say.” this seemed to peak Dabi’s interest as he leaned closer.

“Oh? Did crusty do something? Your secret's safe with me, i swear on my soul.” What did it matter if you told Dabi? He already doesn’t respect Shigaraki so why not, plus, so what if that fuck didn’t want anyone knowing, he shouldn’t have cheated when everyone else was sleeping in the base.

“Don’t tell anyone I told you but, 2 months ago I caught Shigaraki cheating on me...” You felt small tears prickle the corner of your eyes. Bringing your hand up to your face you rub it away, hoping to ignore the pain that was banging against your chest.

“What a dick, wanna make him pay?” You look up at Dabi who had a huge grin on his face. You thought about it for a good few seconds before shaking each others hand.

“Once Shigaraki goes out on that mission today, we’ll talk more.” Dabi said before getting up from his seat and grabbing a drink from the bar.

You didn’t know what Dabi had planned but you hoped it would bring Shigaraki the same pain you felt that fateful night 2 months ago.

~~~

You sat on the ground in Dabi’s room as he paced back in forth, coming up with revenge plans. All of them sucked or ended up with you guys might going to Jail.

“New plan, everytime Shigaraki wants to hang out tell him you had plans with me and leave the room. You can go somewhere and i’ll go somewhere with you. Effectively ditching him.” Thinking, you try to come up with all the pros and cons this proposal Dabi shared with you. But soon your hurt over ruled the logical side of you and you agreed to it not a moment later.

“Great! Now all we need is for Shigaraki to ask to hang out with you. Don’t know how long that’ll take though...”

“I usually ignore him after what happened but sometimes he asks to hang out with me whenever its a slow day at the base or if he’s bored.”

“ Well guess we have to wait tell then huh?” Nodding your head, you get up before putting a thumbs up in his direction. You walked out of his room and see Shigaraki sitting at the bar. He must have finished his mission early. You rolled your eyes before sitting on the other side of the bar counter. You could feel shigaraki look at you through father.

“Hey....”

“.....”

“Look im sorry, a-and i know that doesn’t excuse what I did but please-” You got up before he could finishing his sentence as you walked towards your shared bedroom. Going in there use to give you comfort but now everytime you step into that room you see that fateful night over and over again.

You sat on the bed before hearing Shigaraki’s footsteps coming towards the room. Furrowing your brows, you ignore him as you put your shoes on. You needed a little bit of fresh air so you were planning on going to the local park to relax a bit. You weren’t a villain like the rest of them, you were just a simple civilian. Not that you minded really. It was peaceful not fearing for your life everyday and having the fear of failure not on your shoulders.

You didn’t really have a quirk so you just ignored the questions when people asked you if you had one.

“Can I talk to you?” You were dragged back to reality when Shigaraki’s voice rang through your ears. Annoyed you just answered hoping that the conversation would be short.

“What do you want?” You voice was snappy and you could feel the venom dripping from it.

“I understand that your mad. And you have every right to be but your not even giving me a chance to redeem myself and-”

“Redeem yourself? Why the hell would I do that? YOU cheated on ME. LIke hell im gonna forgive you so easily.”

“It’s been two months! What happened was in the past!”

“It was in the past my ass. How would you like it to see your lover in bed with another?!”

“I-”

“I felt like my soul died that day. I thought I was your only one! Only to find out that you slept with her! Was she a one time thing or were there more hookups?!” You stood up from the bed as your fists turned white and your anger slowly erupting.

“.....”

“TELL ME DAMNIT!”

“Three...there were three different occasions...” Now the tears were kicking in. You were hoping that it wasn’t true. What if there was more and he was only saying three just to ease your heart?

“Why? Why would you do this to me? What did I do to deserve this?” Your questions were like knives stabbing into Shigaraki’s heart. He wanted to tell you the truth, but he didn’t want your heart to hurt more than it already was.

“Im not going to ask again Shigaraki. You either tell me the truth or I will walk out of this base and never come back.”

“The...the first time it was a drunk accident, the second time Dabi had brought her to the base and one thing led to another. The last one was the same as the second one.”

“Did...did Dabi know about the affair?” You were begging, no pleading for him not to have known. You didn’t know if your heart could take it.

“Yes...” That was it. That was the thing that broke you. Walking up to Shigaraki you pushed past him before flipping him off and saying one final line.

“I would rather die that ever be with you again.” And with that, you left the hideout. You speed walked through the alleys to get to you parked your car. Your friends house was pretty far and you didn’t feel like walking in the dead of night were criminal activity was more active.

Getting in your car, you turn on the radio and start breaking down. Your tears were blurring your eyesight as you put the car in drive.

The streets weren’t busy except for the occasion car with some college students. Or drunk people walking along the sidewalk. The sound of the radio blasting songs that were supposed to be happy barley brightened up your mood as you drove down the dark highways.

All of a sudden a bright light hit your eyes from the right side. Some fuck must have had their brights on. But you had the right away so you went. All of a sudden a huge crash rang through your ears and the world became dark.

~~~

A ring came from Shigaraki’s phone. Looking at the clock he noticed it to be 2am. Annoyed he just decided to answer it.

“Hello, this is (hospital name). You were listed under a emergency contact for (Y/N) (L/N).” Shigaraki jolted awake as his hands reached his neck, standing up and already begun to pace the floor of his room.

“Yes did something happen?!”

“At 12am tonight miss (Y/N) was in a car crash. A hit and run to be exact. Their car was totalled after it rolled about 3 times from the speed that the driver hit them. A bystander of the accident called 119. They were in need of surgery immediately once paramedics noticed that they were crushed and bleeding out quickly due to a shard of glass that was stabbed in their chest.”

“Are they okay?!” The doctor on the other end went silent.

“Im deeply sorry for your lost sir. They died during surgery trying to remove the glass that was lodged in their skin. The police are on the look for the suspect. if you wish to see them were on (blank street). Once again, im sorry for your loss. Goodnight sir.” The phone went silent as the doctor hung up.

Everything seemed to stop as the feared villain feel to his knees. Tears fell from his eyes as his body shook. He realized that now it was impossible to even try. And the last words you had ever said were ‘ you’d rather die than ever be with him again.’ Crying into his hands as his tears made a puddle on the floor.

I guess you took your words seriously.

#shigaraki tomura #tomura shigaraki #Shigaraki #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x reader #tomura shiragaki #mha #bnha #mha angst #bnha angst #tomura shigaraki angst #:)

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ootahime · 3 years

Text

analyzing every gojohime moment in the manga >:) pt. 3

more and more paragraphs ahead. BE PREPARED!

i’m also writing this at 3 am so please bear with the horrendous grammar and punctuation.

chapter 63

i know he’s probably like this with everyone but i love how excited he is bragging about his students to her. he’s like a child telling his mother about an amazing adventure he had with his friends, making sure he mentions every detail. in the anime, their conversation lasted for 3:41 :3 backwards 341 is 143 which means i love you.

1 letter = i

4 letters = love

3 letters = you

chapter 63

i love her fit! i also like how both of them like to wear baggy clothing that accentuates their collarbones `w` it’s like they’re matching in a way. even if she did tell him to cut the crap, she still let him run his mouth to his content LOL i feel like if he didn’t compliment himself at the end, she would have said something different. UGH HE LOOKS SO HAPPY CALLING HER

ah, let me translate the conversation just in case anyone needs it.

utahime: you wanted to talk about the investigation, right?

gojo: well, got any idea who?

utahime: i have no idea. no one seems suspicious. what do we do now? should we ask the students for help?

gojo: yeah, that’s fine. i’m busy so asking the kids would be okay. keep looking. i’m counting on you.

I THINK THAT’S WHAT THEY’RE TRYING TO SAY.

OR it could mean that she’s asking if they should start investigating the students. it would make sense either way because gojo says in the next panel that he doesn’t want to assume that the mole is a student, and in chapter 79, gojo sends the trio to utahime to help her.

chapter 63

these two love their students to death. neither of them wanted to assume that the mole was a student. in chapter 79, when utahime is talking to the trio about the mole, nobara points out to the group that the traitor must be from kyoto because utahime is the one who’s reaching out to the tokyo side. utahime has a dismal look on her face, almost like she’s saying, “i didn’t want it to turn out this way -- for this to be true.” after mechamaru says his farewells to miwa on the train, mai tries to talk about what he did to which utahime says, “it doesn’t matter, he’s dead, after all,” with a similar sunken expression. i just love how her care for the students is one of the biggest aspects of her personality that’s been showcased so far. it’s also cool how it ties together with gojo’s belief that no child’s youth should be taken away. i truly think these two have the capacity to understand each other to a deep level, down to the core. seeing as utahime is also a teacher, it’s safe to assume that she also wants to raise the next generation of sorcerers to be strong. utahime and gojo’s similarities and contrasting elements are so interwined, i really wonder if it’s intentional. like am i looking too much into this? are utahime and gojo really meant to be this connected? think about it. similar motivations, care of the kids, contrasting palettes, the bickering, long history. IT’S JUST TOO MUCH.

also can we mention how their phone calls and meetings must be heavily planned out? this means they’ve talked and interacted with each other A LOT behind the scenes. she doesn’t answer his call with “what do you want? don’t bother me on my day off.” she knows exactly why he’s calling her and they even speak in code. she probably meets up with him and tells him to call her on a specific day and at a specific time. they must know each other’s schedules very well in order to execute this investigation in complete secrecy. when he says, “we can never be too sure who is listening in around utahime” it implies that they find calling a risk, so in order to guarantee that there is no one around, they have to meet up in person. see where i’m getting at? they talk A LOTTT and most likely are aware of each other’s daily lives.

the fact that gojo is her main source of stress when he’s literally a 3 hour train ride away from her is hilarious LMAOOOO. you know what that means, right? he must call and text her constantly about random things to annoy her.

chapter 65

ah yes, my favorite moment by far. look at that smile on his face.

chapter 65

he loves saying her name. he probably rushed over with the sole purpose of doing something like this to her LMAOOOO like i mean, mei was in there with her so technically they both needed to be helped but judging from his words and expression, he only wanted to help utahime. notice how mei’s not there in the debris. could she possibly have suspected gojo’s presence or an outside force? or was she fast enough to avoid being in the debris? either way, her lack of presence in this scene helps highlight the fact that this is a special interaction between utahime and gojo. he refers to her in a very familiar sense. the most formal way to address someone is by their last name followed by the honorific, -san. in gojo’s case, he should be calling her iori-san if they weren’t acquainted. he doesn’t even bother to call her utahime-senpai. granted, gojo is not the most respectful and socially competent person out there because geto points this out to him. he isn’t even aware that she finds him annoying because he views her bad attitude toward him as her just playing along with him. he probably thinks she’s flirting back LOLOL

since he asks her “you cryin?” that definitely means that gojo witnessed her crying on one occasion or maybe multiple. who knows, the old utahime could have been a very emotional person. while this is happening, mei is close to gojo, she then asks him if he would console her if she were to cry in a flirtatious manner. gojo dismisses her attempt at flirting with him and says she won’t cry because she’s strong. now normally, you’re supposed to face the person you’re talking to, GOJO. he KEEPS his eyes on her even when more people come to join the conversation.

now, we can all agree that geto, mei, and shoko are better at picking up social cues than gojo. they probably knew the vibe of the conversation and decided to play along with gojo’s antics.

chapter 65

WE were worried about you.

pay attention to the order of the characters that show up. gojo makes his appearance first, then geto, followed by shoko. based on utahime’s reaction to seeing shoko, it’s evident that these two share a close bond. shouldn’t shoko be the one to arrive on the scene first? she’s the closest to utahime and would therefore be more concerned about her condition, right? i know shoko’s technique doesn’t really allow her to do anything other than treat the wounds of others, but if you heard your friend was missing, you would definitely rush to the scene.

look at geto’s reaction when mei says, “you’re the one who’s picking on her, geto. you don’t even know it.” i think it’s mei who’s saying this because gojo calls geto “suguru”. but anyway, mei is aware that they’re picking on her. i don’t think she’s the type to legitimately bully someone for their strength. her reaction to all of this is very playful and her “heh heh heh” is proof of that. when geto shows up and swallows the curse before it gets to utahime, he says, “satoru. it’s not nice to pick on the weak.” by saying this, he pisses utahime off because he too, is joining in on gojo’s joke. i believe he’s unaware that he’s making fun of utahime because his reaction is “gah!” with a sweatdrop. he probably thought gojo was making fun of weak people in general.

geto’s usually a gentleman seeing as it is canon that he is more popular with girls than gojo. BUT WHO KNOWS...you gotta be a specific type of person to be best friends with gojo. maybe he ain’t shit too... okay, my point is that everyone is just playing along. when shoko shows up, utahime is relieved to see her because shoko doesn’t tease her like this. since utahime tells shoko to not become like those two, this implies that geto teases her as well (probably not as much as gojo). we all know geto is really big on looking out for the weak so he probably wouldn’t have insulted her for real.

verdict: utahime being weak is just a joke. i’ve mentioned this so many times, sorry if it’s getting annoying and repetitive hehehehehe...

chapter 65

these three aren’t irresponsible. geto and gojo are a troublesome duo for sure, but they’re dependable. seems unlike them to forget something so simple and essential to pretty much every mission.

chapter 65

here’s my headcanon. they were hanging outside or in the car when their assistant manager got a call. the assistant was informed that two days have elapsed since mei and utahime went on their mission (or last contacted someone).

gojo: that’s weird. mei’s with her so they should have finished exorcising the spirit sooner.

geto: you think something happened to them? maybe it’s a strong special grade.

gojo: utahime probably dragged mei down with her. poor mei-san~

gojo gets up

geto: where are you going?

gojo: going to save utahime! it’s fine i’ll put up a curtain!

manager: gojo wait!!!!!!!!!!!

geto sighs

shoko: that idiot’s always running off without us.

they pin the blame on gojo for saying that he’ll put up a curtain and leaving the assistant manager behind. you know what this means? he ran and the manager couldn’t catch up HEHE... why the rush, gojo? were you actually concerned about her?

tbh i don’t see gojo ever running to something unless it’s urgent. the fact that he ran to save her says a lot.

----

let me know if you have any thoughts or questions! i forgot to add this but gojo had a more serious expression when he was explaining how they must’ve been trapped in a barrier that messes with time. he then states, “we thought it was weird even though you’re here, mei.” i know he was probably worried sick because if mei couldn’t be contacted then that means something must’ve happened to utahime too. okay that’s it for now. i’ll be bringing up this little detail i’ve noticed about utahime in the manga next :3

#gojohime #gouta #gojo x utahime

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lady-o-ren · 3 years

Text

The Dig

Part Two (Because I was bullied into this . . .)

//Which can be read (HERE) for easier reading// And Part One (HERE)

In a little rented room above auld Geordie’s pub, Claire Beauchamp stood in nothing but her silk undergarments as she flipped open her weathered suitcase (once belonging to her dear uncle Lamb) she had heaved atop her bed. She rummaged through the contents, blowing at her curls clouding around her face, before pulling out a single dress of pale blue.

It wasn't something she usually packed whenever she went off on a dig but the dress had caught her eye in a department store window in London just before coming to Suffolk. She reasoned one never knew when the occasion might call for her to dress in something other than dirt stained trousers.

And never had she been more relieved by an impulse buy.

Or thankful for a rainy day that halted her excavation.

It was a chance to be with the Scot who thought her more precious than the iron rivets they discovered a few days ago, proof that the burial site they were knee deep in was a ship to honor a fallen king. She would've kissed him on the spot if it weren't for Foster and Pound.

The kiss however did come later.

After her and the lads celebrated with too many pints, she and Fraser went back to Sutton Hoo, slightly swaying with every step beneath the twilight, until their arms found their way around one another. Soon they were laying side by side in the grass and dirt, the air cool on their whiskey flushed cheeks, and she wrapped in his coat. Big and warm and enveloping like himself.

"We may very well be unearthing a legend here ," said Beauchamp, leaning back on her elbows, eyes closed facing the moon.

Fraser grinned.

" Beowulf ?"

She laughed and turned her gaze to him. "Arthur, King of the Britons !"

He laughed along with her, a deep and hearty sound, then joking all aside said -

"Anglo Saxon, ye think?"

She nodded and rolled to her side, nearly pressing herself against Fraser's chest, heaving from a sharp intake of breath.

"I told you before that something grand and marvelous was buried here . . ."

"Ye did."

Then shyly Fraser said -

"Bha mi a ’bruadar mun bhròn mhòr. . . Remember that bit from my notebook?"

Her eyes softened and her features took on a pretty shade of pink remembering a great deal more of what that book contained.

How each page held a piece of his heart.

And laid a hand over his chest, against that fervent beat.

"Of course I do," she answered back, but frowned a little when Fraser bashfully kept his gaze to the small gap between them where a dandelion bloomed.

"Weel, I wrote it that night after we first met, from a dream I had. Sounds a great deal better in the gaelic though. . ."

Beauchamp raised her hand to cup his cheek, thumbing the fine cut bones beneath his skin, before pressing her soft warm mouth against his lips.

"Tell me," she insisted, when they managed to part and nudged her nose against his.

And so he did, voice low and more than a little breathless.

I dreamt about the mourning.

The deaths of great men. Terrible men. Old and young. Of Kings lost in battle buried beneath us.

They cried out to me and the Earth came to life and twisted her roots around me, dragging me inside her womb. Dark and cold, breathless like a cave.

But I wasn't frightened. I saw lights rushing around me, bright as the twilight sky. The souls that lie ahead. Surrounding us.

They brought me to you.

He shrugged sheepishly then.

Just before she kissed him again. Knowing she'd never want anyone more than she did right then and there amongst the swaying trees and spirits of auld.

This man whose soul spoke to her own.

Too bad a crack of lightning had to ruin the night.

But at least the rain blessed them with a day to themselves in apology.

Taking one last glance in the vanity mirror (that was about as big as her compact) and another quick check that her nails were clean of dirt, Beauchamp left her room and walked down the hallway to Fraser's, knocking softly against his door. When no one answered she pressed her ear curiously to the door hearing voices and knocked again, just a bit more louder, tapping the toe of her slingback heels against the beaten wooden floor. With still no response (and patience never being a virtue she ever possessed) she flat out turned the knob finding it unlocked.

She poked her head in and found a room even smaller than her own and the source of the voices coming from a small red radio playing an adaption of a film from the windowsill.

- I might have known you were here. I had a feeling just as I hit the floor.

- That was your hat.

- Oh, Susan! Just look at it! Look!

Fraser himself was fast asleep and spread out atop the bed sheets dressed for a date to the cinema with his long arms crossed above his head and his big feet dangling off the edge of his too small bed.

Beauchamp stood watching him for a moment, filled with a sudden tenderness at his sleeping innocence . . . and a bone deep wickedness that gave her an idea. She closed the door quietly behind herself and flipped the lock, grinning as she did so. She then slipped out of her slingback heels and crossed the room in two short strides (the floorboards creaking with the pitch of a mouse beneath her), to carefully lay down beside him.

Fraser turned to her in sleep, a throaty murmur on his lips, and laid a heavy arm around her slim waist, gathering her heart to heart. She sighed happily and reached to caress a curl hanging low at his brow, admiring the color that reminded her of the scorching sunsets in Giza she basked in with her uncle so many years ago. Her fingers then threaded through his thick mane down to where they began to curl at his neck and was rewarded with an unexpected smile. Pure and sweet.

"You're too perfect for words, lad," she whispered against his wide mouth, but before she could seal their lips together his long blonde lashes fluttered open.

Fraser gazed at her sleepily, his smile only growing wider as the word Sorcha was adoringly breathed against her cheeks.

She wanted to ask him what that one meant. It might be her favorite bit of gaelic so far.

But then . . .

"Claire!" Fraser exclaimed, and nearly toppled them both out of the bed if not for Beauchamp clinging to his shoulders, steadying him above her.

"How di' ye - Why are ye -"

Beauchamp giggled loudly at his befuddled face and at his hair sticking up in all directions like a sunflower crown. She coasted her hands up the wide breadth of his shoulders to cup both his scarlet cheeks.

"You're door was unlocked, and you know how cold I easily get . . ." she playfully pouted, and tugged his face closer, enjoying how his skin felt like a glowing hot coal between her hands.

But Fraser pulled away.

"Claire. . ."

She sighed yet kept her amused grin.

"You're not a lad of sixteen, you know. You can have a girl in your room."

"I ken that," he answered back, with a defensive spike in his voice.

Beauchamp ignored his tone letting her hands wander to his chest, the muscles taut beneath his crisp white shirt straining to contain his racing heartbeat.

"We even spent a night under the stars together."

"That was altogether different."

Her eyes flashed with mischief as she toyed with the buttons of his shirt. "How so?"

"For one," Fraser breathed hoarsely, placing a hand over hers lest she get too carried away. "It wasn't all night, the thunder made sure of that, and we mostly were talking anyway."

"Mostly?"

"And two," he said firmly, ears pink. "There wasn't a bed either of us could fall out of."

"No, there wasn't," she agreed, deciding he'd had enough of her teasing (and only because she had never taken anyone seriously enough to go slow). "But you can still keep me warm, Fraser. Virtue intact. I promise."

He arched a ruddy brow, doubtful of the lass with cheeky hands and a red cheshire grin that could lure a man to break every sin. Yet he eased himself beside her anyway and in the only way that worked.

With their legs twined together, nearly flushed against one another.

And his big hand braced along her back, the fabric soft against his callused palm as he smoothed it up and down, feeling the gentle rise of her ribs as she breathed in absolute contentment.

“Better than sitting in the cinema don't you think?” said Beauchamp, as she nuzzled her face to the crook of his neck, warmed by his skin that smelled freshly clean. Yet she found herself missing the scent of a hard day's labor on him.

“Aye, much - wait!” Fraser shifted to his elbow. “We missed the film didn't we?"

Beauchamp, a little annoyed at being jostled, shook her head and tugged at his collar to settle her lad back down.

"No, there's still some time left. Cary Grant just lost his intercostal clavicle bone to a dog named George. . . Or was it a leopard named Baby?"

Fraser stared at her like she'd gone completely daft until he noticed the radio playing in the background and heard the inimitable voices of Grant alongside Katherine Hepburn.

- Now it isn't that I don't like you, Susan, because, after all, in moments of quiet, I'm strangely drawn toward you, but - well, there haven't been any quiet moments.

"Oh,” he chuckled lightly, dropping his head to the side. “I must've fallen asleep listening to Lux Theatre . What I meant was the actual cinema though.”

“I think Judy Garland is merrily singing down that yellow brick road as we speak. But don't be sorry," she said, with a kiss to the hard line of his jaw, before the words could fall from his mouth. "It would've been far too crowded anyway."

“But you got yourself all dressed up," he protested, as his eyes traveled down to where her dress had been rucked up tight over her breasts and waist (and where his hand involuntarily flexed over the winged flare of her hip) before hastily clearing his throat.

"Ye look lovely by the way, mo chridhe. More than lovely actually. . ."

That shy and tender smile of his was her undoing and made her feel light-headed and reckless.

"Either that clever mouth of yours keeps on with the compliments, Fraser, or . . ."

Her voice carried off as her knee glided up between his thighs and her arms clasped around his shoulders so that any thoughts Fraser had of being a gentleman were forgotten in a wanton blaze of heat.

Some time later, with Fraser's cheek pillowed against her breasts, breath hot and seeping through the thin blue fabric thoroughly wrinkled now, he groaned.

"I wish we weren't in a room above a pub that reeks of cigarettes and wee."

She hummed softly, her fingertips stroking the back of his head, twirling around his curls. Admiring their beauty.

"Where should we be then?"

Fraser lifted his gaze to hers, blue eyes glimmering with that undeniable emotion that should've scared her yet it only made her want to claim him forever.

"A woman like you. . ." He smiled. " In a tent somewhere outside the ruins of a temple or in a cave in the Himalayas."

Her chest bounced with sparkling laughter.

"How about when this is all over and our names are the talk of the town, you take me anywhere you please. Preferably with a bed we can both fit in."

It was a tantalizing thought yet Fraser couldn't help but think of Scotland. Of his home Lallybroch. With her hand in his passing through the centuries old stone archway as his lady of Broch Turach.

Someday, maybe. God willing.

"I can think of a place," he murmured, and tightened his hold around her lush frame and pressed a daring kiss of hope above her heart. Felt her shiver beneath his mouth.

- I've just discovered that was the best day I've ever had in my whole life!

- But I was there!

- That's what made it so good!

And together they drifted off listening to the rain and the silly, sappy music.

I can't give you anything but love, baby.

That's the only thing I've plenty of, baby.

Dream awhile, scheme awhile

We're sure to find happiness . . .

A/N: There’s a lot of notes so I’ll keep them to ao3. And there’s probably mistakes galore but I needed to post this before cringe settled in and I deleted it, Thank you for reading!

#jamie x claire #outlander fic #outlander fanfiction #gobbledygook writing

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todoscript · 4 years

Text

seeing you dressed as a cat for your first halloween together

character: shinsou hitoshi. genre: suggestive. warnings: mature. implied sexual content.

anonymous requested: shinsous reaction to seeing reader dress as a cat for their first halloween together? maybe he’s just become brave enough and started to call her “kitty/kitten”, so reader sees how far she can push him in her costume?? 😳🤭

author’s note: didn’t mean for it to get this long, but y’know. scenario portion underneath the cut!

shinsou hitoshi

your first halloween as a couple is celebrated a year after you and class a had graduated from u.a.

shinsou and you have been together since then, starting dating after you both confessed your long time crushes enduring throughout high school before forming a committed relationship while in the spring of your hero work

for this year’s halloween, the u.a. alumni had decided on a reunion/get-together to celebrate the occasion of spooks and sweets—a longstanding tradition you all just couldn’t seem to let go of despite now being fledging heroes out on the field

yes, this year, the group was planning a festive, joint halloween party along with former class b

of course, you made a point that the two of you would definitely be there the night of the 31st

and like every halloween party, everyone knows it’d be absolute heresy not to dress up in the spirit of the event

the most challenging part, however, was choosing which costume to wear

you thought the idea would come naturally to you, that it wouldn’t be much of a problem finding the character or creature you’d like to parade into the party as

with a dash of makeup and some advice from the girls, you’re sure you could pull off any look, so long as the ensemble wasn’t too extravagant for your liking

yes, something subtle, yet enticing seemed about right—a costume, that when thrown together, read “effortless” the moment you saunter down into the party with a grin painted on lips and confidence oozing out of your presence

though as much as you’d like to impress those attending, you’d be doubtlessly lying to yourself if you weren’t extra indecisive about your attire this year due to the keen eyes of your indigo-haired boyfriend

it is your first halloween together after all, and what better way to enjoy the event than to rile shinsou up, right?

now, it was only the matter of what got him the most hot and bothered—what’d you have to wear to have his heart fluttering and every nerve in his body receptive at just a simple glance at you?

and that’s when it hits you

ah, you thought, a couple of nights before the awaited event, why didn’t i think of this sooner?

- - - - -

Shinsou arrives at the foot of your apartment door the very evening the moon begins hanging in the sky, beholding all the festivities taking place on the anticipated thirty-first of October from its darkening haven.

He nearly trips on his way there, his costume’s frayed bandages dragging behind his feet. As anyone would have guessed, Shinsou decides to tackle the event tonight as your run-of-the-mill mummy—covered head to toe in an assortment of dreary-colored wrappings. Though far from flashy, the costume gets the job done without him having to put too much effort to look presentable, and that is enough for him.

Having texted you about his arrival at your doorstep already, Shinsou lets himself in using the spare key to your apartment you gave him a couple of months ago.

“Y/n? I’m here, are you ready yet?” His voice rings across the expanse of your residence, traveling across the thresholds and penetrating through your room, muffled by the closed door.

“Not quite, but I’m almost done! Wait for me on the couch, Toshi!” He hears you yell in response. Your voice is equally stifled but heard nonetheless. As told, he plants himself comfortably on the couch in your humble living space.

Leg folded over the other, his hands naturally find themselves playing with the edges of his bandages between the minutes ticking by. He checks his phone after the fifth-minute passes, acting wary about the time and pondering how long it would take to reach the party from your current location. Though in all honesty, he never truly cared much about punctuality. Shinsou has never really been a party guy himself, but he’d parade through this shindig just for you if it made you happy. Plus, it is your first Halloween together, after all. It only feels right to indulge in the festivities this year.

Speaking of, right after he presses his phone to sleep mode, he detects the footfalls of your heels clicking against the floor. It seizes his attention to look up and greet you; however, the words barely prevail past his throat at what stands before him.

“Hey, kitten—” His pet name for you is the last discernible thing uttered. You have to giggle at the way Shinsou’s eyes widen while he rakes over your form scrupulously, absorbing every detail available in his line of vision.

You stand at the threshold of your hallway clad in a tight, dark leopard printed suit that molds perfectly against your body—emphasizing its luscious curves—and paired with a set of black cat ears perched atop your head. Your makeup is executed in a way in which the look is sophisticated yet enticing, eyelids smoked in subtle shadows, and lavish lips lined crimson. Shinsou especially doesn’t miss the faint whisker markings drawn across your cheeks.

“Yes~?” you reply playfully, tone teetering the line of innocent and mischievous as you turn around and show him a tease of a view, where he finds the cat tail hanging limply behind your beautiful ass. The way his teeth chafe the delicate skin of his bottom lip doesn’t go unnoticed as it urges you to continue playing along.

“What’s the matter, Toshi? Cat got your tongue? Your kitten’s right here,” you follow with a purr reverberating the roof of your mouth. It isn’t long until Shinsou catches on your act. There’s a shift in his violet eyes that glints darkly as you tauntingly spin your faux tail in place.

“Well come here then, kitty.” He motions you toward him in a hithering gesture. You give him a small show by swaying your hips, gliding in his direction. Drinking in your approaching form, he parts his legs, allowing you to stand between them.

Coming out of your room dressed like this, you knew what you were in for, and you’re positively elated by his reaction at your thoughtfully planned out costume.

Being that Shinsou’s few weaknesses consisted of cats and his girlfriend, it’s only natural that the man simply can’t seem to keep his hands off you, witnessing the best of both worlds before him. While his hands roam across the leopard print fabric veiled on your skin, you fiddle with the ragged bandages wrapped listlessly around his head, an amused grin on your lips.

“I see Pro Hero Mindjack decided to be a mummy this Halloween. It very much fits you, Hitoshi,” you comment. You manage to retain the stability in your voice despite Shinsou’s grabby hands pawing the back of your thighs, slowly wavering to the bottom of your ass.

“Mm, not as much as this suit fits you. Kitten, you’re absolutely gorgeous,” he says, pressing a kiss against your lower abdomen.

You continue, musing, “Oh? So I’m only gorgeous to you dressed as a cat then?”

Shinsou shakes his head coolly. “Of course not. You’re always so beautiful to me, you know that. But damn, sweetheart, you really outdid yourself tonight, dressing up as a naughty cat on Halloween. Just who gave you the idea?”

He palms the globes of your ass in his large hands, which sprouts a chuckle from you before you bend down to plant a delicate peck on his lips, mindful not to smear the freshly coated pigment on your own.

“You, of course,” you answer, honest about the appeal his pet name evoked for you to go about your choice of attire tonight. “Now come on, we have a party to get to, don’t we?”

Shinsou narrows his brows at your last statement, remembering your plans for the night. The image of you strutting down an aisle of partygoers—each of their deviating eyes staring at what’s clearly his—rubs him the wrong way. He’s never pegged himself overly possessive of you, but this costume of yours is much too delectable to be eaten up by anyone else’s eyes. So to be completely blunt, he doesn’t want to share.

As soon as you make a move to turn around to head toward the door, you’re foiled by two tattered arms wound on your waist that effectively pull you onto the couch.

Situated in the empty slot between Shinsou’s thighs, his mouth maneuvers to your right ear to whisper huskily, “Y’know… We could just celebrate Halloween together here. Alone.”

There’s an evident suggestion in his tone that you truthfully expected out of him. To his chagrin, however, you don’t allow him to indulge in his revelries yet.

“Ah-ah Mummy Man, we got all dolled up and everything—”

“Correction, kitty cat, you got dolled up, I did the bare minimum,” he counters, “and quite frankly, I wouldn’t mind getting out of these annoying bandages already.”

Aware it’s going to take a little more to get Shinsou to budge from his seat, you decide to bring out the heavy artillery.

“Yes, but we did give them our word that we’d be there…” you reason, voice sounding sweeter to his ears that he starts wavering his stance. “And I want to see everyone in all their costumes. C’mon, please?”

Damn, for a sexy little thing, you sure know how to immediately flip a switch and act all cute. And how is he to resist when you’re fluttering your long lashes and bestowing him the sanguine light in your eyes. You watch as the fight within him gradually dissipates into dust until he demurely shrugs his shoulders in defeat.

“Fine, let’s get this Halloween party over with,” he grumbles, and you tip his white flag with a kiss on his cheek when he glances away.

“Mm thanks, Toshi, I’ll make sure to reward you handsomely tonight, alright?” Your promises bloom heat in his cheeks, evolving into anticipation throughout his body.

“And who knows… maybe you can find some different usages for those mummy wrappings of yours later.”

#bnha x reader #shinsou x reader #bnha imagine #shinsou hitoshi x reader #bnha headcanons #hitoshi shinso x reader #mha x reader #bnha scenarios #mha imagine #shinsou headcanons #shinso x reader #mha headcanons

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 4 years

Text

you’re someone i just want around: III

“You can have me tonight or never

I thought you understood

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

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

—Wrong, Zayn and Kehlani

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

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

word count: 24.2k

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

///

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

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

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

Harry still hates clubs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Very satisfied, yeah. Your help was greatly appreciated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is that so?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The name’s Styles. Harry Styles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not going.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lock the door on your way out!”

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

That is, until she met Harry seven days ago.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The first thing he notices is the dress.

Fuck, the dress.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nice to see you again, Disco Ball.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Far from it, love.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I like your dress.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve been thinking about you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck off.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It felt really nice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wouldn’t mind it, either.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, y-yes.”

“Want me to keep going?”

“Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We do make quite the team, don’t we?

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

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

Alright, Watson. What time will you be home?

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

I’m off at 6:45. Should be home by 7.

I’ll see you there, then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fan came in. Wanna come check it out?

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

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

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

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

Sounds good to me, Sherlock.

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

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

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

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

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

Harry swiftly pops the button of his trousers, helping her coax them down his legs, releasing a stuttery moan when she immediately bends down and mouths at his prick over his briefs. The soiled stain forming around the tip of his cock would be embarrassing if he didn’t know she found it hot.

His tone is tight but humorous as she continues licking at him eagerly through his underwear, nails digging into his inner thighs. “Am I your first?”

Confusion flickers in her eyes for a moment before she realizes the joke. He’s referring to if he’s the first person she’s slept with on her new bed in her new home. “Yes, you are, actually.”

Harry’s juts his bottom lip out into an overly-sweet exaggerated pout, talking in a honeyed drawl. “Aw, I get to christen your bed with you? We’re practically married now. When’s the baby due?”

“God, you’re a moron.” Y/N bursts into a fit of laughter as she mounts back onto his lap, pinching at his torso in fake spite and feeling her insides flutter at the airy giggles that escape him. She gnaws on her bottom lip thoughtfully for a second, watching with hunger as he finishes removing his shirt and momentarily sits up to chuck it onto the ground over her shoulder.

Harry falls back onto the mattress, folding his taut arms behind his neck, biceps flexing with the movements as his strong chest and toned stomach look as appealing as ever. She runs her palms over his tanned skin, feeling the sturdy muscle shift beneath her touch. Shit.

The immortal slinks his head to the side, eyes going half-lidded in suggestive mischief as he sees the way she’s objectifying him. He doesn’t mind; he actually lives for it. “Are you just gonna keep staring or are you gonna fuck me?”

His lewd comment washes warmth across Y/N’s ears and spurs her into action. In less than a minute, she’s fully unclothed, bouncing on his cock with a type of need that boils the pit of Harry’s belly. His fingers are digging bruises into her waist, slamming her down onto his prick with enough force to make the old bed creak wildly. She may be on top, but he’s still the one pulling the strings.

Y/N collapses forward, anchoring herself onto her forearms on either sides of his head, burying her face in his auburn ringlets. She bites onto her tongue, trying to keep a tab on the atrociously loud sounds threatening to spill from her mouth. They come out as broken whines instead, which Harry drinks up like a glass of aged bourbon. She fists at his roots, jolting with every thrust he gives upwards, her knees digging into his love handles to keep balanced. At this point, she’s barely riding him at all. He’s just ramming himself into her from below as he guides her hips and she doesn’t have an issue with that at all. She likes when he leads.

His growl comes out low and raspy, riding on a moan, his warm, choppy exhales pebbling her bare nipples. “How’s that, darling? How’s that cock feel?”

Y/N nods her head frantically, not trusting her tongue to form an appropriate response.

“Tell me.” He grits out through bared teeth, back arching a bit as he feels the knot of white hot pleasure in his stomach twist and turn.

“I— I can’t. I’m—”

One of Harry’s hands coasts down the small of her back and onto her ass, giving it a harsh squeeze. She yelps at the new sensation, pain and bliss intermingling. “Yeah, you fucking can. You will. Use your words. Tell me how much you like it.”

A violent shutter runs through Y/N’s limbs and she instinctively pushes back against his palm. Harry’s eyebrows kink in question as he feels her draw her face back from his hair. One look at her eyes tells the entire narrative: She wants him to spank her.

Harry slowly lifts his hand from her skin, brows raising a bit higher for confirmation. Y/N smears his lips against his forehead and left cheekbone, bobbing her head desperately, whispering a tiny, “Yes, please.” that sends smoky tendrils of hot air cascading down his straining neck.

When the vampire’s hand comes down, it’s fast and hard, his cold rings biting into her flesh and leaving welts, the sound echoing off the glossy walls and tall bookshelf in her room. The cry that betrays her could probably be heard down on the main floor of her complex.

The shattered noise makes Harry sanity slip and he’s lucky she’s too lost in her own bliss to see the way his eyes glow dangerously red. “Fuck, you’re such a slut for it.”

Harry suddenly boosts himself forward, toppling Y/N backwards until she’s the one wedged against the bed. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, nestling her face into the crook of his sweaty collarbones, cracked cries pooling into the junction of his clavicle as he hikes her roughly up his thighs. He sinks further between her legs until he bottoms out with a loud garbled groan, pushing so deep she can feel him in the trench of her belly.

“Oh my God, Harry— I— fuck, just—just— oh!”

His pace rises in intensity, strokes messy and unforgivable as he fucks her into the bed, the cracking of the frame warning him that it might give away. “Oh, so you liked that, did you? Like it when I call you a slut and stretch you out like one?”

Harry feels Y/N’s teeth rip into his shoulder in order to evade a scream; a strong shiver pin-balls down his spine as a result. Her voice is absolutely wrecked as she talks over her muffled mouth. “Loved it. Loved it so much. Want—Want more. Please, please, please.”

Harry holds her down firmly to the sheets, pounding into her with a form of unrestrained force he’s never exhibited. She just drives him to the brink like no one else has in nearly twenty decades. “Can you feel me in your tummy, pet? Can you feel how I fill you up?”

“Yes, yes— it’s so good, Harry. You’re incredible.”

“Such a proper little whore.” He has to actively hold back from digging into her throat with his fangs, his eyes screwing shut in concentration as his orgasm begins to burn through his veins. “Begging me to fuck you like one, over and over. You’ve never had it this good, have you?”

“N-No. You’re the only one who makes me feel like this.”

“Hands off.”

“W-What?”

“Hands off.”

Y/N obeys, throwing her arms above her head and letting them hang off the edge of the bed as he’d instructed. It’s not like he wants her to stop scratching down his back, but he knows that if she continues, he’s going to black out. He’s already teetering, obvious in the black webs he can feel materializing over the whites of his eyes.

“Ask for permission.”

The mortal unclamps her teeth from his bruised shoulder and swallows heavily, her words sputtering out from how hard she’s jerking against the bed. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please—can I—can I cum?”

“‘May I cum.’” The boy corrects, half because he wants to be a cocky ass, and half because it’s automatic. He was raised during an era where intellectual accuracy was of utmost value in society. It’s hard to leave those lessons behind.

Y/N hiccups another mewl, hands curling into loose fists above her head as he continues to fuck her deliberately into the duvet. She repeats his phrase shakily. “May I cum? Please?”

Harry’s lashes flutter open and as soon as he sees her, all doe-eyed, covered in his love marks, with her bottom lip trembling...It’s like a switch flips. When he speaks, it’s soft and encouraging; a drastic contrast from his mood a few seconds ago. “Yeah...Yeah, baby, go ahead. Cum for me.”

That night, as Harry lays there awake staring at that awful popcorn roof with the taste of her blood fresh on his tongue and her steady heartbeat throbbing in his heightened ears, he catches himself smiling in the dark. It doesn't have to do with emotions or feelings or any of that complicated bullshit. It just has to do with the fact that he found some consistency in his life, as unattached and materialistic as it may be. They don’t have a complex bond or a deeper meaning. They simply just coexist. They provide some common stability to each others’ lives and it helps keep an important balance. Stability is so rare to find, especially for an immortal who is condemned to witness the world constantly evolve around them while they remain frozen in time. Society will change, people change, appearances change, alliances change, and though it can be exhilarating, at times, Harry never truly has a say in it. He’s always just strung along for the ride.

This is different. It’s static, and that’s all he really needs it to be. Sex can be so emotionally messy if lines aren’t drawn and boundaries aren’t set. But with Y/N, it’s like they have a silent understanding— an unspoken agreement signed by both parties. It’s a notion that could have spared Harry his life in the past, and it’s an ideal that— even in death— took him centuries to learn:

Some people are meant to be loved, while others are just meant to be naked.

///

The third week is when things escalate for the better.

Specifically, Tuesday night. That’s when the sexting starts.

It’s a pretty calm evening and Harry finds himself with nothing to do. Mitch is out with Sarah, who had come into town two days ago due to the band she’s touring with being on a three week break. She’d said she wasn’t staying for long— maybe a week, because she has plans to visit some other bloodsucker friends in Canada. Even though Mitch tries to hide it, Harry can tell he’s bummed about Sarah’s short visit. The older vampire is good at hiding his emotions, but Harry’s known him for so long that he could read Mitch’s mood even if he was blindfolded and gagged.

The jade-eyed boy had been honest with his best friend, asking him what the point was in continuing to see someone whose depth of interest in the relationship wasn’t as developed as his own. Mitch had simply shrugged one shoulder and told Harry that he wouldn’t understand. He mentioned something about how eventually, the freshblood high would wear off and Sarah would find herself wanting to settle down somewhere with someone she could trust for the rest of eternity. Mitch explained that he cared for her enough to wait until then.

His best mate had been wrong. Harry does understand. He understands the concept of chasing after someone who, in the end, didn’t want anything to do with him. He understands it a little too well, sadly. He figures that’s the same fate Mitch is bound to suffer, just on a less extreme level.

But then again, Harry’s perception of love is majorly skewed, so who is he to judge?

With Mitch tied up with Sarah (probably literally, though Harry doesn’t dwell on that; it’s none of his business), his options dwindle to the rest of the crew. Niall and Xander had invited him to a concert they were attending, but Harry politely declined the offer. The musicians were some wannabe indie band and Harry would rather swallow a nicotine addict’s blood than listen to a couple of morons sing in cursive. Adam had suggested he tag along with him, Ny-Oh, and Charlotte to a new art exhibit that had opened up in the next town over. It was a thirty minute drive, so it wasn’t that bad, but Harry declined that invitation, as well. He loves art, if the giant collection on his wall has anything to say about it, but he doesn’t get on well with Ny or Charlotte. They say he’s “too much of an arrogant dickhead” to be around for an extended period of time. They’re right, of course, but it still hurts. Plus, Ny has a mullet and Harry knows he wouldn’t be able to withhold from making a Billy Ray joke. It’s best he stay away, lest she end up with an achy-breaky heart.

So that leaves him here, all alone at eight P.M. on a Tuesday, plopped on his couch in nothing but a pair of maroon plaid boxers as Hamilton plays on the ninety inch flatscreen mounted on his glass wall. He had left the curtains open, not really caring that he’s practically naked. The sun’s already set and it’s almost pitch black outside; plus, he lives on the twenty-fourth floor of the condominium complex. The only living being risking an eyeful is a peepy pigeon. Even then, Harry’s more than happy to put on a show. He’s confident enough in himself that nudity is practically second nature. His friends can attest to that.

Harry lays across his leather sofa with a large checkered throw cushion snuggled into his side, one of his hands slung across the backrest of the couch as the other remains submerged wrist-deep in a bag of Veggie Straws. His socked feet are propped up on his round marble coffee table, ankles crossed and posture anything but eloquent. The apartment is silent, except for the musical streaming through the speakers of his television set and the gentle pattering of rain just outside his glorified window pane, accompanied by the faint flickering of the city lights below. The atmosphere of the room is relaxed and cozy and it lulls his soul in a manner he can’t put into words.

Harry has always liked the rain. Ever since he was a child, he would sit by the small round window of the attic room he shared with his older sister, watching it fall from the sky in sheets of glittering sapphires, soaking into the dry ground and turning it into a slush of dirt he would later sneak out to play in. When he got older, he would prop his shoulder against the doorframe at the back of his father’s blacksmith shop and gaze at it, mesmerized by how it would trickle down the streets of the public market, washing away all the grime that came with a bustling city’s reputation. Sometimes he would stand in it, feeling its cool touch run down his arms and soak into the back of his sot-covered work shirt. He enjoyed how it would cleanse the sticky sweat from his face and neck, its gentle nature leaving him feeling like he could float through air. Then his father would call him back into the store and playfully scold him for allowing himself to get drenched, warning that his mother would kill him if he caught a cold.

Harry’s changed a lot since then, he knows that, but it comforts him that his love for rain is the one aspect of his personality that two hundred years of Hell had failed to take from him.

The melodies swimming out of his TV reign him back in from memory lane.

Harry’s not really one to enjoy musicals, but back when Hamilton had first hit Broadway, he’d used his persuasive supernatural abilities to sneak into one of the first showings. He’d been curious as to what all the hype was about, and the play did not disappoint. The songs were catchy, the acting was good, and the characters were brought to life through raw emotion and comedy. He respected that. And the plot of the story itself resonated with him deeply, as well. A protagonist that rose from nothing, fell in love with the wrong woman, and made terrible life choices that seemed correct at the time, which would all eventually lead to his death. It hit a bit too close to home.

If he had a dollar for every time he’s seen it since it had come out on Disney+, he could probably pay rent himself instead of compelling others to do it for him.

The play is halfway through one of its most famous ballads when the monster’s phone dings with a familiar tune. A smirk is already etching itself across his face before he even unlocks his device.

I need interior design advice.

I’m still a little sore from our last help session. How’d you bounce back so quick?

Funny, but I need ACTUAL interior design advice this time.

Harry’s brows furrow in mild confusion and slight disappointment. He draws his hand from the junk food container, dusting off the crumbs. Oh.

Genuinely?

Yup!

He guesses he’ll give it a go. He does have pretty exquisite taste; the modern gothic aesthetic of his condo proves that. It’s not like he has anything better to do.

Alright, shoot.

Y/N releases the breath she’d been holding in. Thank God he’s agreed to help. As much as she’s ashamed to admit it, Harry’s really the only person in LA that she deems relatively close to a friend. She hasn’t managed to mesh well with her coworkers much, despite the fact that she’s been trying extremely hard. She just doesn’t wanna force herself into unfulfilling fake friendships for the sake of having people to flaunt. It’s not right and she knows she’d grow to resent it.

So instead, she’d reached out to the one California resident who doesn’t make her skin crawl.

Whew, okay, thanks in advance! So I went out yesterday and got a new bedspread and I wanted some help choosing a new accessory to go with it, which is going on my wall.

Harry’s ears perk up and his back straightens at her statement. Could she finally, by the grace of fucking God, be getting rid of that shitty tapestry?

Well, let me see it, then. Don’t keep a man waiting, I’m dying to play Property Brothers over here.

A picture comes through of the two new accessories Y/N is referring to and the way Harry’s face drops instantly is almost comical.

Which tapestry fits better? I’m thinking the Van Gogh style painting of a lighthouse. The blue goes well with the dark turquoise of the comforter. But then again, the forest canopy has those pretty exotic flowers that compliment the coral stitching. I can’t decide.

The vampire’s face pinches in disgusted horror as he blinks down numbly at the image on his screen. He’s going to be sick. Those Veggie Straws are about to make a hideous comeback.

…two new tapestries? Did the other one rip or…?

What? No!! I just saw these down at the thrift store and thought they were cute. Why? Are they really that bad??

They’re not just bad, they’re worse. He’s going to ask her to blindfold him next time he visits.

They’re…kinda immature, dove. I just thought you’d go for something cooler this time, like a vintage painting or a couple vinyls to mount on the wall.

Immature?

Oops. He should have picked his words more carefully. Now he’s gone and offended her and she’ll probably bite down the next time he puts his—

Another message interrupts his spiraling negative conclusions.

I know you didn’t just call ME immature when you compared me to a cream-filled donut, Harry.

The playful tone in the text delivers a wave of relief that is almost as pleasurable as what lies between Y/N’s legs.

Can I speak freely for a second? Full disclosure, no consequences?

That preface makes me think you’re about to chew me out.

I’ll be gentle, I promise. I know it’s not our usual dynamic, but I’ll give it a go.

Y/N ignores the bristling across her cheeks.

Alright, go head.

I just think tapestries are kinda stupid. They scream “confused teenager trying to find myself.” But that’s just my opinion. I’m only telling you so you know that I’m probably not the best bloke to go to with tapestry inquiries.

Harry watches as a read receipt stares up at him for a few seconds. Just when he thinks he might have truly upset her this time, her message bubble pops up.

So...the one I’ve had hanging in my room the last three times you’ve been over…

I had to actively restrain the urge to strangle myself with it.

Y/N breaks out into laughter. The image of waking up to Harry laying facedown on her bedroom floor, balls naked and mummified within a sunrise tapestry...It’s sending her.

Well, you know what? That’s not fair! You can’t judge my house when I haven’t even had the chance to judge yours.

Harry nods once to himself in surrender, reaching up to finger-comb a few rebellious curls out of his eyes. She makes a valid play.

Fair enough. You’ll have to come over and give me your opinion sometime.

I’d be honored to. Now, would you be so kind as to put your own personal bias aside this once and help me choose which one to put up. I promise I’ll spare you any more tapestry-related problems in the future. I’ll remove it from my customer contract.

Harry sighs defeatedly. He can’t believe he’s giving up his integrity for sex.

Fine. Send me a picture of both of them up on the wall. It’ll give some perspective.

Y/N giddily obliges, deciding to send a video instead. That way, she can get all of the angles in one go rather than having to send multiple pictures.

Harry waits patiently, shoving another handful of chips into his mouth as he taps his foot against the coffee table to the tune of Wait for It, which is playing in the film that has now become the backdrop of his night. When Y/N’s next message comes through, he’s mildly surprised to find it’s a video. He clicks play, watching intently as she circles the two pinned tapestries slowly, making sure to get a proper view from all sides. By the time the thirty second clip is coming to an end, Harry’s leaning more towards the tropical canopy painting. It’s not as loud and she was right about the flowers matching the stitching on the duvet.

He’s about to tap back “the forest one” when something flashes across the screen that makes him choke on his snack, launching him into a coughing fit.

It’s within the last three seconds of the video and if he had cut it off in order to text back, he would have missed it. But he hadn’t, and now it’s burned into the back of his eyelids, causing a buzzing sensation to string right to the area between his thighs.

The last few frames of the video, Y/N had lowered her phone from the position she’d been suspending it, probably thinking she had already stopped filming. She hadn’t. And because of that, Harry gets a full frontal view of her body, covered in nothing except a pair of lace panties and a mid-thigh oversized Avengers t-shirt. The entire screen fills with bare, silky skin and raunchy lace and he can feel his fangs poke into his tongue.

Harry’s not a pre-teen; he’s not going to drool over seeing a pair of legs. What really gets to him is the fact that it appears Y/N still has a few hickies across the inner area of her thighs, which have failed to fade as quickly as the others. They should be gone, given that anytime Harry feeds (like he had the last time they’d slept together), he always gives her a bit of his blood to heal. Meaning, normal bruises like that should be gone. Maybe he just hadn’t given her a high enough dosage, or maybe he’d marked her more than he remembers, but either way, the stains are there.

The vampire ogles at the paused image with a dry throat and wide eyes. Just seeing her like that, dressed in comfy yet effortlessly sensual attire with no bottoms on whatsoever, freely flaunting his love bites around her apartment, probably looking at them in her mirror, thinking about how his teeth had felt grazing her skin…

It’s enough to pop a stiffy into his briefs.

Harry glimpses over the top of his phone, swallowing thickly at the large bulge beginning to tent his boxers. His socked toes curl as he feels a longing throb begin to swell at the pit of his clenching stomach. Great. This is just fucking perfect.

He attempts to tap back a reply, but his hands have started quivering slightly, clumsy thumbs ruining his message to the point where he has to retype it three times.

The forest one. I agree with what you said about the stitching.

Okay, thank you so much! Your input is highly appreciated, as always.

The immortal finds himself gnawing at the inside of his cheek, weighing on whether he should mention the little softcore porn moment she’d unknowingly shot, or if he should just let it slide and go take care of the issue that is literally weighing on him— he can feel it getting heavy against his thigh.

His fingers seem to take on a mind of their own, printing out a quick sentence and hitting the send button before he can rethink his motives.

Did you watch your video before you sent it?

Uh no...It looked pretty okay to me while I took it. Why, do you need a different one? Was the lighting too dark?

The fact that she sent it by accident only adds to the appeal. She’s such a good girl. So fucking innocent and sweet, she could practically give him a toothache.

Do me a quick favor and rewatch it all the way to the end. I think you’ll be surprised with what you find.

Y/N leans back against her bookshelf wall, chewing on her bottom lip as a sly grin ticks the corners. She doesn’t have to rewatch the video. She’s fully aware of what she had done, which had been completely on purpose. She’s only playing dumb to see his reaction, getting off on how flustered he seems to have become. Yes, her intentions for contacting him had originally been purely for his opinion on decor. But when she saw the chance, she decided to jump headfirst and take it. What are friends with benefits for if not for times like these, when you’re too lazy to come over but need a bit of relief?

The human allows a full thirty seconds to pass, simulating that she’s watching the video, and then thoughtfully taps out her response.

Oh, whoops. Sorry for the indecent exposure.

Harry shifts in exasperation against his sofa, the radiating in his abdomen crawling up to his chest and down to his knees. He needs to take care of himself now.

It’s fine, babe. You just might wanna be more careful, cause this time around you got lucky that it was me and it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Could go south if it were someone else.

Y/N rolls her eyes lightly at his scolding, but continues to play the clueless act, curious to see where it’ll take her.

You’re absolutely right, I’m so sorry.

Harry clears his throat, flinching as he feels a soft twitch run up the length of his cock. He exhales tightly, trying to steer the conversation into a lighter mood. He doesn’t want her to feel bad; it’s not like he’s angry about this. He’s hot and bothered and needy, but not mad.

I just think it’s funny you exposed the fact that you go around your house without pants.

Oh, fuck off! No one ever wears pants around their own house, especially if they’re alone. It’s one of the laws of physics. No human resistance, no pants.

Harry glances down at his body symbolically, where he’s clad in only his underwear, as well.

Touché.

Exactly.

A pause befalls the conversation as both parties fish for something new to say. The situation’s become less lively and more intense now and neither are sure how to navigate without crossing a line. In a surge of courage, Y/N decides to just directly communicate her intentions, praying that he doesn’t take it the wrong way.

I have an idea, just hear me out. For the sake of evening the playing field, I think that since you saw me pantsless, it’s only fair that I see you the same way. It balances out, right?

Harry’s jaw drops in an open-mouthed simper, impressed by her blatant suggestion, but also by how smoothly she had delivered it. He mumbles his next words to himself, voice amused and somewhat awed at how she had managed to spin this to her benefit. “You clever little minx. Bet it wasn’t even an accident.”

You did it on purpose, didn’t you?

Y/N purses her lips, shrugging her brows cheekily.

Maybe.

The vampire scoffs, taken aback not only at the ploy she’d pulled off, but at how unapologetic she is about the whole thing. It’s hot.

Alright, l’ll bite. Tick for tack.

The photo that comes through makes Y/N choke on her spit. It’s not anything too revealing, but it packs a lot. Literally.

It’s a pretty casual picture, and she gets the feeling he took it as so just to be a tease. In the frame, all she sees is a snapshot of Harry’s lap, thighs straining against the flimsy material of a pair of crimson tartan boxers, the large tigerhead tattoo he totes somehow prominent in the low lightning. Of course it stands out, though. That’s to be expected; his thighs are thick in the most satisfying fashion and they’re one of his most defining features. She can also see the bottom half of his lean tummy, the cutoff being the crest of his belly button. His fern inkings are peeking out of from below the waistband of the Calvin Kleins, dark and matte on his lightly bronzed skin, and she spots the nonchalant position of his crossed ankles in the background.

As appetizing as every little detail is, the centerpiece of the portrait is the obvious bulge pressing into the fabric of his briefs. The outline is so prominent, the picture borderlines on graphic. His cock looks pretty as ever, even when it’s covered; the thin underwear leaves very little to the imagination.

Y/N has to bite down on her tongue to keep from making an embarrassing sound.

Wow, okay, well...Your picture was much more explicit than my video. That’s not fair at all. Throws off the equilibrium we were trying to establish.

Harry chuckles aloud, shaking his head in amazement at how well she can bend the game to her will. Three weeks ago, when he’d first laid eyes on that shy girl at the club, he would have never expected her to be so bold. Now, she has him wrapped around her pinky like a string.

You’re absolutely right. My apologies. Maybe you should send one similar so we can even out the stakes.

You read my mind.

Y/N’s next picture causes a hiss to stream through the cracks of Harry’s teeth, eyes glinting red.

It’s a picture taken on top of her bed, the angle set from above. She’s laying on her side, her torso twisted so that her backside is in the shot, her huge tee pulled tight against her waist so it creates an enticing cinching effect. Her thighs are clasped together, the collar of her shirt pulled away just enough that he can see where the valley of her chest begins to curve, and the cheeky lace panties are working utter wonders for her ass. He can’t stop staring. He physically can’t pull himself away, his eyes bouncing across every pixel, attempting to commit the picture to memory to keep it locked in the back of his brain forever.

Y/N awaits anxiously for his reaction, biting into the pad of her thumb as the seconds list by, wondering if he had enjoyed the nude or if he was just sitting there judging all her flaws. It’s been so long since she’s sent a risky photo like that, she can’t help but stress. Sharing your body with someone digitally is almost as intimate as real sex and it comes with similar worries and insecurities. Was the angle good? Are her stretch marks unattractive? Are the dimples along her backside gross? Is he second-guessing their arrangement? Is he wishing they hadn’t met?

She practically drops her phone when it vibrates.

God, you look stunning. Like a proper fucking dream.

All of her concerns immediately disintegrate, replaced by an odd sense of pride. She’s happy that he enjoyed it, and she’s thankful for the caliber of his response. Most men don’t care to comment that nicely, if they comment at all, and Harry’s enthusiasm only excites her further. She wants to keep going.

You look pretty fucking good yourself. Wish I could just kneel between your thighs, take you into my mouth, and make you feel good for hours.

Harry struggles to get saliva down his parched throat, her words bouncing around the inside of his skull, sending a current of bliss directly to where he needs it.

Hours? You want me down your throat for hours?

For hours, Harry. I’d literally just sit between your legs and let you fuck my face again. Let you use me to make yourself cum.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Harry’s broken whine echoes off the tall walls of his home, one of his big hands finding a path to his curls and tugging in desperation. He needs to keep composure.

Harry’s next snapshot comes through and Y/N has to screw her eyes shut for a second to brace the bolt of electricity that zips down to her core.

The boy’s thighs have parted wider, his feet now down from the table, knees hanging off the edge of the sofa. His free hand has delved below his briefs, pulling them up just enough to show a tad of the neatly trimmed area beneath. His fingers are cupped over his cock, hiding it from plain view, but the imprint of his knuckles on the fabric suggest he’s gripping it tightly. The longer she looks, the more she notices— specifically, a dark damp patch spreading at the middle of his boxers and she knows damn well what it is. The fact that she’d got him riled up enough that he’s leaking through like that...She can hardly breathe right.

Shit, you look so good. How do you always look that fucking good? I just want to feel you stretch me out while you moan into my mouth.

Harry slowly starts pumping his palm up and down his cock as he rereads her words, catching his lower lip between his teeth, his naked and flushed chest stuttering. He doesn’t want to be the douche that tells her to send another picture, but he really needs her to. He wants to see what she’s doing, how she’s fairing. Wants to know if he has her as fucked as she has him right now.

It’s almost like they share a telepathic link because not even five seconds later, another beautifully filthy photo is decorating his screen.

This time around, Y/N has decided to fully lay on her back, spreading her legs open and drawing her knees up slightly so that her thighs are not only flexing, but displaying all the love bites he’d left only a few days prior. They’re all different shades of purple and brown, scattered over the satin suppleness of her skin, painting a canvas of the heated night they’d shared. It’s art at its most prestigious, if he’s ever seen it. And she has her hand ducked below her panties, the outline of her fingers situated right over her clit.

Harry’s own hand instinctively tightens around his length, pulling a weak groan from his parted lips. He throws his head back against the backrest of the couch, bucking into his palm and teasing his forefinger over his bubbling tip. He spreads the precum all over the sensitive head, whimpering when the draft from the air conditioning caresses it and sends a quiver toppling over his shoulders.

Fuck, she’s driving him mental. There’s only one way to take care of this effectively, despite their distance.

I’m going to call you.

Y/N gulps heavily, licking over her chapped lips and feeling her pulse jump at the realization that she’ll be getting to hear his throaty voice coax her through an orgasm. Not only that, but she’ll get to hear him cum, too. She’ll get to hear every shattered gasp and needy mewl, almost as if he were pouring all those sounds of pleasure right into her ears in person.

The mortal’s heart hiccups when his contact pops up on the Caller ID, phone vibrating insistently. After a deep breath taken to ground herself, she slides her shaky thumb over the glass, slowly bringing the device up to her ear. Her voice is soft and timid as ever, a tremble running through its undertone. “H-Hello?”

Harry’s words come through the crackling speaker as dark and smoky as whiskey, pouring into her mind and intoxicating her as easily as the real liquor would.

“Flip onto your stomach and take off the lace. Now.”

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sweater-daddiesdumbdork · 3 years

Text

Real Life Tasks With Ransom Drysdale

An Advent Calendar of 24 Normal Human Tasks As Performed By A Huge Man Baby.

Day 2: That’s Not Exactly Folgers In Your Cup

Warnings: Smut (Oral) and Bad Language Words

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N- Hello! I hope y’all are as excited about this holiday special collaboration made with @what-is-your-plan-today and @jennmurawski13 as I am. It all blossomed from early morning (for me) ramblings and we decided to do it. 2020 has been a hell of a year and we all needed a little something to smile about. And come on, whats funnier then imagining Ransom Drysdale trying to be domestic? Plus it gives some feels. There will be smut written in occasionally, so please heed the warnings to each individual fic.

Also, we are alternating, but will reblog on our accounts, if you don’t want to miss any, send a message and we will get you added to the tag list. Happy Reading.

Series Masterlist

Ransom woke before you, the early morning light streaming through the window cut right across his face and he swore into the pillow while rolling to his back to sling his arm over his eyes to cut off the annoyance. He was almost there, back in that blissful state of unconsciousness when his body took over and insisted he get up. Any further attempt to return to sleep was now disrupted when natural morning urges overtook him and he sighed while lifting his arm to let the light return, blinking rapidly to adjust to the the most inconvenient thing to plague him at this hour.

Next to him you were still asleep, soundly, peacefully which made him scowl at you for being so blissfully unconscious. He envied you in this moment as he rolled up from bed and trudged into the bathroom to take care of himself. Afterwards once he came back out, he grabbed a pair of grey sweatpants and slipped them on. You would be waking up soon, and there was one thing you always wanted before anything else, even before you were pregnant, it was a must have or else. Now you valued this all that much more since his child seemed to just suck all the energy from you, savored it more then he savored his biscoff cookies.

Your coffee. And hell be damned if you didn't get your coffee.

Now typically you make it, liking a certain amount of scoops to get you through the morning, touch of cream and a little sprinkle of sugar just to take the bite out of it. Ransom has seen you make it countless times in the morning, your over sized tee hanging around your thighs and hair piled atop your head. Your eyes would be closed while you measured, you just knew it down to the action how you wanted it. He never tried to mess with your perfection. In fact he learned early on to stay out of your way the first twenty minutes in the morning unless he was taking care of you between the sheets. That was the only equivalent you were accepting of in the morning.

This morning Ransom felt a twinge of affection now that he was awake, seeing you shift into the middle of the bed and pull his pillow into your chest like you were hugging it. Gently he leaned over and brushed the flyaway hair from your forehead and pressed a kiss there before leaving the bedroom to head downstairs.

Typically you just made Ransom a coffee too, it became almost a habit for him to want it, although he didn't need it, not like you did. But yea, he craved it and decided that this morning, since he was already up, he would just do it himself. Regardless of the fact that you had forbidden him to touch the coffee maker for some reason. Which fuck it was in his kitchen, if he wanted to use it he was going to.

“Can't be that hard, dump some grounds in, put in the fucking water.” He flipped off the top of the coffee maker to see if you pre-filled it the night before, sometimes you did. Last night was not the case though. Reached into the cupboard for the precious Starbucks coffee and opened the bag to breathe in the strong coffee bean aroma. Okay, he had to admit it was a pleasant smell, and already he could feel himself feel a bit more upbeat. He ended up setting it aside and searched everywhere for the measuring spoon, leaving a slight kitchen destruction in his path of open drawers and stuff piled on top of the kitchen counter, he just eyeballed dumping the coffee in. Completely forgetting the filter in the process.

Impatiently he waited, fingers tapping on the counter as the drip drip drip started. “It would be faster just to have someone deliver.” He muttered to himself, contemplating how much you would protest possibly hiring a housekeeper. Fran was decent… enough. He thought to himself. Aside from her being the most annoying woman his grandfather had hired. Of course she could be useful when the occasion called for it. Like now, how fucking easy would it be if someone was just delivering you two the coffee in bed.

Already he knew you probably weren't going to go for it, it was fine for Harlan according to you because he needed the help. In fact when he brought it up, your eyes rolled and you scoffed at him. “You are kidding right Ransom? You are a grown ass man, do it yourself.”

When the coffee maker finally gave the last spurt, and sounded exhausted, Ransom shook his head from the memory and turned to pull down two mugs and proceeded to pour into each. It was black, blacker than usual. He sniffed it, and needless to say it was STRONG.

Ransom just kept going, grabbing your half and half, as well as the small bit of sugar you like, he stirred it all together and brought it back up the stairs.

You were just waking up when he reentered the bedroom. Your arms lifting up to hit lightly against the headboard and your wiggling fingers while giving a yawn, you inhaled the strong scent of coffee and immediately pushed to sit.

“What is that? Is that what I think it is?” Your eyes widened as Ransom set the mug down on your nightstand with a roll of his eyes.

“Well good morning to you to Princess.” he stated as you grinned at him, reaching over for the mug while he sat on the end of the bed. You didn't dare take a sniff as if to check, not with the way Ransom was watching you intently and you just took a sip.

It hit your mouth with a ferocity that brought tears to brim to your eyes, and your taste buds screamed in protest at the gritty black death you were forcing yourself to swallow, doing everything you could to keep from spitting it out. You were just thankful that this morning you were dealing with morning sickness, yet. Somehow you forced the bitter liquid down your throat and tried to keep a straight face, as you were touched with Ransom’s act of kindness, something he was still working on. But there was no hiding your expression, as hard as you tried to keep it from Ransom.

His head dropped when he saw your face. “Fucking terrible isn’t it? See this is why you should let me hire a housekeeper.”

“Ransom, it tastes just fine. And we don’t need a housekeeper. This house isn't all that big.” You rolled your eyes as you showed him you were right by taking another sip of his coffee, forcing a smile on your face.

“I always had a housekeeper, and I turned out fine.” Ransom rebutted while moving to a stand. “Put that cup down. You can make some later.” He instructed and you were quick to set it aside, relieved not to have to pretend anymore. Ransom yanked the blankets away, making you tumble a bit in bed with a yelp.

“Ransom! What are you doing?” You looked down at him as he grasped your ankles, sliding you down the bed while he moved to kneel at the end of the bed, smirking at you.

“Cant make coffee worth shit. But I can do this, and I know you like this just as much.”

He was right, the man had a mouth on him that you had a hard time resisting, even when he was pissing you off.

Fingers delved under the band of your sleep shorts and slipped them off before draping your legs over his shoulders and pressing hungry kisses along the inside of your thigh. “Okay, you have me there, maybe I do. I'm a little scared to see what you did down in the kitchen now.”

“Nothing that can't be cleaned up.” He looked up at you, and you opened your mouth to say something about how you were going to have to clean it when he let his mouth press against your cunt and his tongue bury between the folds.

That effectively distracted you, making your words stutter from the tip of your tongue into a moan while he lapped at you, shifting between quick flicks to flattening his tongue and dragging through your folds to suck at that bundle of nerves that made you gasp his name in a needy way. Your hands shoot down to twist into his hair, holding onto his scalp while he takes you apart with his mouth. Toes curled into his upper back when he teased you further, your hips starting to rock to meet the darts of his tongue in your clenching channel. You let yourself fall back into the pillows and quit trying to reason with him or make him feel better. You just let yourself experience this new attempt at treating you.

“Please Ransom, I want to come now.” You whined out while his fingers flexed on your hips, keeping you mostly pinned in place although your body was rippling to arch and grind into him. Your heels firmly pressing into his back in an attempt to lever yourself although he was firm in his hold. Unwilling to let you move just yet. Ransom sucked folds of flesh into his mouth, the lower part of his face slick when he lifted to smirk at you, and shifted a heavy forearm across your hips, careful not to press against your stomach.

“How badly do you want to come, Princess?” He licked at his lips, brighter pink with use then normal and you glared at him down your body.

“Considering I am growing you spawn in me, you think you would treat me better.” Trying your hand at using guilt to get him into giving you your orgasm, he let his fingers stretch your open, pressing into your warmth.

“You know I love you, and only treat you fucking good.” His fingers curled to stroke your fluttering walls, enticing you to come for him with every stroke against your sweet spot. “Come on Beautiful, come undone for me so we can start our day.”

You pressed to arch but he was sure to keep you held down. You started to see stars peppering your eyesight and your mouth dropped open in a silent gasp as you came for him, that rush enveloped you to send tingles all along your nerves, and your voice finally broke out in a soft cry of his name while your toes dug into his flexing back, and fingers twisted in the sheets in a weak attempt to stay grounded.

It didn't stop him, he kept lapping at your sensitive bud, sucking and driving you to another with steady strokes of his finger. “That was just one... you know we are not stopping Princess until you have had a couple more.”

Ransom couldn't make coffee to save his life, but he certainly knew how to make you come more than just the one time.

#real life tasks with ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale fic #amber writes #sweater writes #ransom drysdale au #knives out #knives out au #knives out fic

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blinder-secrets · 3 years

Text

Your John, Your Home

In which you’re the girl they picked to marry John, and he’s the one you found your home in.

4,373 words. fluff, some angst, sickly-sweet love, very mild nsfw

ao3 link

It’s Tommy’s wedding day, something you thought would never come, and John is yet to finish dressing. Running late as he always does, despite him hounding after you to be ready on time.

You’re sat by the vanity, watching him loop his tie over and over, fingers clumsy and directionless. He’s still not learnt how to do them properly, but you’re too caught up in staring at him to offer any help. There’s something about formal suits that make him mesmerising. You’re used to his every-day attire, the waistcoats, the tweed jackets, but the crisp pinstripes running down his trouser legs make you feel like a woman in a movie. Like you’re the sweetheart and he’s the hero, like you’ve been through everything that you have, just for him, and now you’ve won. You’ve got your prize.

Sighing, he swears under his breath and lets the tie fall open around his neck. ‘Will you do this bloody thing?’ he asks, darting a look in your direction. He reaches for the suit-jacket and begins pulling it onto his shoulders. When you don’t answer him, he glances again and says, ‘What is it?’ like he might be in trouble.

‘Do you think you would’ve liked me if we met normally?’ you ask, slouching in the chair as you pool your thoughts into the room. ‘Like, if you weren’t forced to marry me?’

His hands still, brows scrunching over the bridge of his nose. ‘Are you kidding?’

You shake your head, almost embarrassed to say that part out loud; yes, I’m really asking that, John. Yes, I worry. There wasn’t a day that had passed without you considering it. Was he just making do with what he had? Would he have chosen you, if he’d had the chance to choose at all? You know what your answer would be.

He crosses the room in three steps and takes your face between his palms. He looks serious, and he never looks serious about anything really. ‘I won the fucking lottery with you,’ he says, accent thick and strong like it is when he speaks from the heart. ‘If I could go back in time, I’d pick you again, and again, and a-fucking-gain, alright?’

‘Even if I was just some girl in the Garrison?’

‘Even if you were a fucking witch in the forrest,’ he answers quickly, certainly. His thumbs rub up and across your cheekbones. ‘You’re mine, yeah, you’re perfect.’ Bending, he pushes a kiss into your forehead and mutters, ‘Was fucking fate when they put us together.’ And for him, that’s poetry. That’s the softness he only gives when you’re alone, when you need it. It’s touchable love, crafted and trickled into your ears, poured over you like he’s full of it.

‘Thank-you,’ you tell him, smiling easily. ‘I’ll only ask again in a month, but that’ll do me for now.’

He snorts through his nose and straightens, running a palm over your hair. ‘You just like seeing me soft, don’t you?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Well, only for you, yeah?’ He tilts down again for a kiss and you stretch to meet him in the middle. ‘No-one else has me speaking like a fucking Eton boy,’ he says, quietly, into the soft of your cheek.

You laugh, kissing him again before you reply. ‘You couldn’t if you tried, J.’ He’s too rough for it, too shaped by the smog and the fighting. ‘I wouldn’t like you so much if you were an Eton boy.’

When you were first married, you had barely known what to do with yourself. After the drama of Ada’s birth, and John’s frantic attempt to catch you up with everything that had passed, you hadn’t had time to discuss the ceremony. Or the arrangement. Or even consummate the damn thing. He’d told you everything, all the family intricacies he could, by the lamplight in his little room, and then he’d passed out on your lap like a dog before the fire. Too tired and full of beer to give you anything more than secrets.

You hadn’t minded though, not really, it had given you time to think. To breathe. You’d sat and taken in every detail of his face, every freckle along his nose, every nick of scar tissue on his skin, his cheeks, his shoulders. You’d looked and looked and looked, until you felt so comfortable with him, and so entranced by the sight of him, quiet and peaceful, that you had almost convinced yourself you’d known him for years. He felt familiar without even doing anything. You’d ran your finger across his brows and down the line of his nose, and when he’d whined and pulled into you, putting his arms around your waist, you’d felt like you were coming home. Or that he was coming home, finding it in you. It was the gin, you thought, it was the length of the day and the ache from dancing that had made your brain think things that weren’t true.

But then you’d woken up in the morning, and it had still felt like you were home and that he was the key. And it kept feeling like that, over and over. It had felt like that the first time you’d fucked, the first time you sat with him at breakfast, and made him tea, and food for his children. It had felt like that every time you saw him smile, every time he laughed. It had felt that way because he was, somehow, he was. He was home and he’d been handed to you over an upturned milk crate, knelt in front of your father’s caravan. It was a truce, yes, a deal between families, but it had been a hand out in the cold, a light in the distance. You had never realised you were always wandering, looking for a way back, until you had felt the pull of John beside you. The call of home at last.

‘Oi,’ he says, tapping his finger on your chin. ‘Where’ve you gone?’

‘Nowhere.’ You smile and look up at him like he’s gold in a river-sieve. ‘Shall we go?’

‘Not ’til you’ve sorted this fucking thing.’ He dangles the end of the tie in front of you and then, thinking better of it, pulls it from under his collar and puts it onto your lap. ‘Do it in the car, we’re gonna be late.’

You’re sitting with the tie knotted, and hanging around your neck, when he pulls the car into the road by the church. There’s guests already gathering, but not a lot which is a good sign. It means you aren’t late, not in trouble, not yet. Polly will be inside somewhere, wrangling the kids so you don’t have to. God bless her. She’d offered to watch them before hand, willing, but begrudging all the same, and you couldn’t help but feel glad of the time it’d given you and John. It’d been months since you had any peace, had the freedom to go about your morning slowly and intimately. It’d made everything feel even more special. It wasn’t your day, no, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be an occasion for the two of you.

You let your gaze draw from the flowers by the entrance to settle on John, who’s craning his neck out the window to see himself in the wing-mirror.

‘Is my hair alright?’ he asks, pawing at the parting he’s given himself.

‘Yes,’ you answer, grinning though you want to roll your eyes. ‘Christ, John, it’s not you going up the aisle, y’know?’

He tuts. ‘I won’t look like shit with the fucking cavalry there.’

‘You don’t look like shit.’

‘You sure?’ He pulls back into his seat to look at you.

‘Yes, I’m sure.’ You lift the tie over your head and onto his, settling it under his collar. ‘I’m sure you’ll find a very nice soldier to-‘

‘Alright,’ he drawls, ‘very funny.’

You laugh and push the knot tight to his neck. ‘Seriously,’ you say, ‘stop fretting. They’re gonna look like a bunch of unlit matches standing there in their uniforms.’

‘Bunch of fucking pricks more like,’ he grumbles, eyes flitting over your face. ‘Have I said you look beautiful yet?’

‘No, not yet.’ You hang onto his tie, dragging him forward until you’re kissing and he’s speaking into your mouth between pecks.

‘Well,’ he says, ‘you look. Fucking.’ You bite his lip; he swallows once before trying again. ‘You look…’

‘Hm?’

‘Stunning.’

‘Thank-you,’ you purr, breaking away and leaving him to gawk. His mouth’s red from meeting with your lipstick. ‘I was waiting for you to say something.’

His hand goes to your face, to your hair, it sweeps it behind your ear, gentle enough to not disturb the main structure of its styling, and then drops so that his fingers can run down your neck. ‘Can I marry you again?’ he asks through the corner of a smirk. ‘Is that a thing?’

You pout, humming as if you’re considering it. ‘You’d have to divorce me first, I think.’

‘Nope, no way.’

‘Well then, you’ll have to settle for just the once.’

He groans and turns to open the door on his side. ‘You can’t have it all,’ he says, stepping out and away from you. You watch him cross in front of the bonnet, around the car, until he’s by you on the pavement. He pulls the door open and offers his hand, which he does every time he drives you anywhere. You don’t think you’ve opened your own door once since you’d met him. ‘Come on, Polly will have your tits if we’re late.’

You take his palm and step down, holding the fur of your shawl in place with the other hand. ‘No,’ you laugh, ‘she likes me. It’ll be your balls on the line.’

‘Yeah, and you’d miss them too much, wouldn’t you?’

‘John!’ You smack his arm lightly and move out the way so he can lock the car behind you. ‘This is a church, you know? It’s right there.’

A very ungodly grin is thrown over his shoulder at you. ‘And which one of us brought up my bollocks, ay?’

You laugh because you can’t do anything else, because he coaxes it from you like he’s been trained to, like he’s an expert in making your cheeks hurt from grinning. He was put on Earth specifically, you think, to make you laugh in the ugliest way possible: loud and uneven. He’s annoyingly good at it, desperately, desperately annoying.

‘Stop it,’ you tell him, stifling the giggles. When he comes back to you, ready to link his arm with yours, you nod to his face and say, ‘You might want to…’ You point at his mouth, gesturing around its shape, following the smudge of lipstick above his cupid’s bow. ‘From the kissing,’ you explain.

In one second, his eyebrows pinch and then crumple down in annoyance. ‘Oh for fuck’s sake, babe.’ He turns quickly, bending to look in the mirror closest. ‘I look like a fucking clown,’ he moans. He scrubs at his lips, licking his fingers once, then again, to wash the red-stain away. It comes off easily, but his frantic rubbing will only leave more of a mark.

‘You don’t need to rub that hard,’ you say.

‘Am not going in there with fucking lipstick on. S’not funny.’

But it is, and you laugh again, because he’s just so John, and so silly, and everything he does makes your heart dip into the same sickly ambrosia.

You put your hands out for him. Wave him forward like you’re consoling a child. ‘Come here, let me see.’

After they took Epsom, John had come home with his tail between his legs. Cap off, shoulders slack, he’d walked through the front door like they’d lost, not won. Like something had gone wrong. He stood in the doorway to the kitchen and cleared his throat once, like he had something to say, and then he’d looked from you, to Katie and the baby, and said nothing at all. It was the only time he’d ever looked like a stranger in the house he’d bought for you.

‘What’s happened?’ you’d asked, standing from the table as soon as you’d seen him. ‘Katie, take your brother upstairs.’

‘We got it,’ John had started. ‘Epsom. It’s ours.’

‘Okay?’ You walked toward him; slow, like snowfall pulling down from the sky, drifting until it found something to cling to, something to wrap around. ‘So, what’s wrong?’ You put your hands to his biceps, ran them up until you were looped around the back of his neck. He looked tired. Weary but not damaged, not hurt. A few scuffs that wouldn’t last past the next day. ‘You look worried, John,’ you said, prompting him to tell you more.

‘It’s Tommy,’ he forced out, looking between you, his gaze aiming for the floor. ‘They took him,’ he said, ‘some coppers. We haven’t.’ He stopped mid-sentence and you finished for him because you knew nothing else would come, he wouldn’t push any words that didn’t fall easily.

‘He’ll be fine,’ you told him, out of comfort rather than certainty. ‘Tommy always has a plan.’

‘This wasn’t fuckin’ part of it.’

‘I know.’ You rubbed your thumbs into the shortest part of his hair. ‘He’ll turn up, he always does.’

And he did, of course he did, but it took you twenty minutes to wind John down, to get him sitting and somewhat comfortable. It was only after the call from Pol, telling you that Tommy was fine, that he let you make him something to eat. Let you look after him properly. You sat at the table and watched him take slow forkfuls of food, lagging with each bite.

‘He’s alright,’ you said to him, leaning on your palm. ‘Why do you still look stressed?’

‘I’m not.’ He lowered his fork until it was flat on the plate; he looked at it like it had done it all by itself.

‘John.’

‘It’s nothing.’

You sighed and the sound itched life under his skin, animating his features with a burst of agitation.

‘I felt fucking invincible,’ he said. ‘Then it went bad and, I don’t know, feels fucking stupid, doesn’t it?’

You sat upright, reached a hand for his, but he ignored it. ‘What does?’ you asked.

‘All of it,’ he spat, his face reddening. It twisted up until he was scowling, throwing words into the woodgrain. ‘What’s the point in having fuckin’ Epsom, if they can just, just, put you in the back of a van and fucking cart you away?’

He’d flung his hand out then, catching the plate and sending it across the table to you. It rattled against the top as he continued.

‘We can go as fucking high as we like,’ he said, ‘and they’ll still treat us like dogs. Like fuckin’ mutts.’

You’d set your jaw, wound your fingers through his and put both of your hands down to still the fidgeting. ‘Then we go high enough that we’re the ones doing the carting, John.’ You’d ducked your head to make sure he saw your look, your promise. ‘We’re no-ones bloody dogs, alright? Not now, not ever.’

He’d scoffed and recoiled bitterly. ‘It’s not like we have a fucking say, is it?’

‘Course we do,’ you’d told him. Of course we do.

The wedding ceremony is over, and now the party’s been taken to Arrow House; the rooms are stocked with guests, the ceiling pushed high with noises, with music, with chatter. Your head’s spinning and it’s only a fraction to do with the alcohol.

‘I don’t think I’ll last til dinner at this rate,’ you say to John, who’s got you leaning against him in the largest room. How they’d managed to clear enough furniture away to make it feel like a dancehall, you’ve no idea, but it’s convincing enough that you hardly believe you’re in a home at all. ‘Who the fuck are these people anyway?’ you ask. 'I don’t recognise any of them.’

His hold tightens over you, pulling your back flat to his chest. He’s got his arms across you like bandoliers. ‘Grace’s lot mostly,’ he says into your ear, chin on your shoulder. ‘Lot of fucking rich boys in suits too big for them.’

You snort. 'You’re a rich boy too now, J. They’re probably looking at you and thinking the same.’

‘Nah, they can’t even fucking look at me, see.’ He nods forward, to a man in a red uniform opposite. ‘Y’alright?’ he booms; you can hear the smirk without turning to look. The soldier lifts his gaze, catching the pair of you for a moment, before looking away quickly. Like he’d caught sight of something indecent. ‘See?’ John boasts. ‘We’re like fucking ghosts to them.’

‘You’re enjoying that too much,’ you quip, though your own grin betrays your words. It still feels nice to be on the Peaky side. The side with power, danger. The ones people were afraid of. ‘If I ask you to dance, will you say no and break my heart?’ you ask, twisting your head away from his in order to flash him your best pout, to trap him with your eyes.

He smirks, squeezing you in response. ‘I’d be mad to tell you no. Come on.’

He peels himself off you, but leaves a hand dragging, cloying, snaking down your arm until he has his palm locked tight around yours. He tugs you into the centre of the room, melting the two of you into the crowd.

‘I still think ours was better,’ he says, smugly, once he’s picked a rhythm and stuck to it. ‘Our wedding.’

‘Yeah?’ You let him spin you. ‘Wouldn’t do it differently now we have the money?’

He shakes his head; the rose in his breast pocket teeters on the edge. ‘No way. Too fucking poncy for us.’

You agree with him, nodding, and laugh as he dips you half-way to the ground. ‘You drop me and I’ll fucking cut you, J.’

‘Do I look like I’m gonna drop you?’ he replies, grinning wildly. Your mad man, you think, your wonderful bucket of frogs. He pulls you up again and you fall against him with the force of it, chests held tight to each other as he pours all the wonder and drunken giddiness from his eyes, into yours. ‘This wedding’s done something to my head,’ he pants, looking bewildered.

You’re smiling before he’s even said why. ‘What d’you mean?’

‘I can’t stop thinking about how much I fuckin’ love you,’ he says. ‘I’m gonna explode with it.’

‘Alright,’ you laugh. ‘Explode then, I’ll do it with you.’

When you’d been married a month, just a month, you’d accidentally told him that you thought you loved him. It had fallen out of your mouth and onto the foot of the bed like a woollen blanket. A sock. A piece of clothing kicked off in the night without care, without thinking.

‘What?’ he’d said, quicker than you’d hoped, head snapping up from where he sat. You had wanted him to miss it entirely. You were married, yes, but it wasn’t like other marriages. You were working backwards, unpicking the puzzle after it had been made. ‘What did you say?’

‘Can’t I say it?’ you’d asked back, stalling time for your head, for your heart, to decide if it had really meant it.

He was on the edge of the bed, undoing his boots, but then he’d stopped. The ends of his laces clicked against the floorboards. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I don’t know if I heard you right.’

‘Then don’t worry about it.’

You tried to brush it away, but he grabbed your wrist and pulled you to stand in front of him.

‘Say it again,’ he told you and, if it wasn’t for that slight smirk on his lips, that tiny curl of enjoyment, of wishful thinking, you would’ve bolted. You would’ve told him to stop being so bloody annoying for once. But he sat there, looking up at you, with an almost-grin behind his features, and you’d thought, alright. Alright, sure, why not.

‘I think I love you,’ you’d said quickly, and it bounced right off his pretty face, back into your stomach, back to mingle with the butterflies.

‘You think?’

You nodded. ‘I haven’t decided yet.’

His grin settled, flourished. Grew wide and made home in his cheeks. ‘I think you have,’ he said, ‘I think you do.’

‘If you think so much, then why do I need to?’ You stepped forward and his arms had gone up to your waist like it was choreographed, like his hands knew their target without an invite. He held you steady and you found yourself toying with his hair, looking down at him fondly, so fondly. ‘I shouldn’t have to say it if you know so well,’ you’d mused.

He turned his head and kissed your forearm. ‘Just wanna hear it, from the boss herself.’

You’d snorted at the nickname, the false title he’d adopted to make you feel appreciated, valued. It only came out when he was being playful.

‘Okay,’ you’d said, ‘I love you, then,’ and he’d answered, ‘Okay, well I love you back.’

John, for all his goodness, for all his charm and well-meant nature, could be a devil walking when he wanted to be. Right now, right in the middle of a dinner party, in the middle of a fucking wedding reception, he’s being the very fire-scorched man himself. He’s got you bundled in his arms again, coaxing you from the party, tempting you with kisses and words, and touches in places he knows will break you down into nothing more than a woman; a woman who wants a man, her man, his touch, his heat. He’s tugging you out of Arrow House, away from the smokers, across the gravel. Spinning and twisting until you’re dizzy with him, lost entirely.

‘John,’ you laugh, pushing against him weakly, falsely, ‘someones going to see us.’

He drags his lips up your neck. ‘They’ll look away if they know what’s good for ‘em.’

You meet his mouth as he offers it, kissing him like you’re coal and he’s fire and that’s the spark, there it goes, up it comes. ‘You’re taking me to the car, aren’t you?’ you ask, pulling back to look at him. He’s foggy, eyes glazed with lust, desperate with need. Beautiful in the most boyish way.

‘You read my mind,’ he says. He drops his lips to your hand, or maybe your hand goes to his lips, eager like ships to lighthouses, willing to be peppered, wanting to be looked for. He takes hold of it and pulls you after him into the dark, away from the noise of the party.

You stumble along, tripping your heels through the stones, letting him guide you to where he’d parked it. Once you’re there he has you against the door, the low-cut of your dress leaving your back to meet the cold metal, the fresh steel. You gasp as your skin goes flush to it.

‘Wanted this all bloody day,’ he says into your throat, in such a throw away manner that it could’ve been a thought, one that had escaped without him realising. He nips the skin between your breasts, then comes up for a moment to say, ‘Get in.’

You laugh and it bubbles above him, pulls him to the surface. He straightens in front of you with an eyebrow raised and waiting. ‘You’re being very bossy, J,’ you tell him.

He sighs. His hands grip the dress at your waist like he’s scared you’ll vanish. ‘Please,’ he whines, needy without the shame of it, head sinking into one shoulder with the plea. ‘Please get in the car so I can fuck you.’

The smile you’re wearing might as well fly off your face and up into the stars. It’s too big to stay down, too light to not be free.

How you landed someone so perfect was beyond you. He’s every element, every angle, every part of him was made to compliment your own. So similar, that even your arguments make sense. Even your disagreements are clockwork. Ornamental. You took a gamble, you played the cards, and you’d taken the prize. You won the pot. He was yours, all yours, standing there in all his daft, gorgeous glory, loving you more and more each day. Wanting you every morning, every night. Craving you like you crave him.

‘Why’re you smirking like that?’ he asks, frowning.

‘Because,’ you drawl sweetly, ‘when have I ever held my own door open, John Shelby?’

He groans but then matches your grin, leaning around you to pop the door open, to hold it back for you to climb in. ‘After you,’ he says, playing the part.

‘Thank-you.’ You give a half-curtsey, one led by drunken humour, and duck into the back seat, feeling him follow after you keenly.

You’re flipped onto your back and then his lips are on you again, kissing the love into your mouth. He swirls his tongue with yours, tastes that part of you and leaves his own in return, and then pulls back, hands pawing at the silk of your gown.

‘John,’ you scold, ‘I swear to God, if you rip this dress.’

‘I’ll buy you another,’ he pants. He pushes it up to your hips, freezing at the sound of snagging tights, of stockings tearing and losing their purpose. ‘Sorry,’ he says, though he doesn’t mean it. ‘New ones of those too.’

You hum and reach for his collar, his neck. Your nails drag down the heated skin and his eyes roll with the feeling of it. ‘Just as long as I have something to wear afterwards,’ you warn.

He folds over you again, pressing kisses and marks into your chest. ‘Anything you want, Mrs. Shelby. Say the fuckin’ word and it’s yours.’

It flashes across your mind, white-hot fire in the dark, sweet, lasting tenderness. It strikes onto your tongue like lightening. ‘You,’ you say. ‘I want you.’

#John Shelby #john shelby x reader #john x reader #john shelby imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #sorry but have i been shot by cupid lately why am i writing love so :( <3 #anyway enjoy!!!!!!!!!!!#let me know what you think as always because i live off of feedback #i feel like i never write john so immediately im like bet its terrible !

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queenoftheworldisdead · 3 years

Text

Homecoming

Chapter 3

Summery: Slow burn. You are forced to move back to your home town due to the pandemic. When your high school tormentors return to remind you why you never wanted to come back. This gets darker as it goes. I’m not a good writer folks sorry.

Warning: assault, Kissing, flash back warning: under age drink, mentions of sexual assault. tried to be very vague and not graphic.

Dark Steve x Black Reader, Dark Bucky x Black Reader Cop AU

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

The drive back home was mostly silent and you were thankful for it. The off duty officer blew through lights and stops signs with ease. Laughing at you whenever you gasped at the yellow light as he mashed the gas to beat the red. With Steve behind the wheel time seemed to drag, with Bucky you were more concerned with making it home in one piece. When you saw your uncle's house finally approach in the distance you started to breathe easier.

Bucky slowed to a crawl, parking in-front while you unbuckled and turn to face the door for a quick escape.

*Click

The locks on the door snapped down the instant you touched the handle.

"Hold up."

Your back stayed facing him as you waited for whatever was to come.

"I'm not going to touch you" his words did not calm you. "You know I haven't seen him this happy in a long time."

It felt like every hair stood up one by one along your arms. This tone was too calm, if you didn't know him maybe you would've thought nothing of it.

"Why did you run?"

You swallowed thickly as you try and think of ways as to not raise his ire.

"He was so crushed when you left"

Of course. He didn't care what they did to you or how you felt. As if he hadn't been there, been apart of it all. As if what he put you through was OK.

"Does it matter anymore?" You felt so drained and you wondered if he could see the defeat in your eyes when you turned to look at him.

And really did it matter? You already felt trapped. With no money there was no hope.

His eyes were wet, but nothing fell from them, it looked like he was holding back a hurt that laid just below the surface. When his hand lifted to cradle your face you stiffened, but didn't pull away. Bucky's callus hand gently felt along your cheek then settled on the back of your neck.

The scenery blurred when he brought your head crashing down on to the dashboard. Throbbing and ringing marinated with this new pain that radiated through your head.

"We had to pickup the pieces of his heart when you skipped town. You broke him Roast. Took him along time to deal with how you left." he growled as he ground your face into the dashboard.

"Bucky! Bucky! Please I'm sorry!" The taste of copper filled your mouth as you screamed. Your lip was busted open and the bridge of your nose felt bruised, you worried it was broken the way it hurt. Every effort to push of the dash was met with heavy resistance by Bucky.

"I'd hate to see him get hurt again Roast." He paused before raising you.

"I'm home... I.. I-I won't run again. Please" You trembled and shook in his grasp while tears streamed down your cheek.

Before you could focus he crashed into yours. The sting from the impact had you hissing on his mouth. With the opening his tongue invaded, swirling around the blood from your lip. Your hands froze in the air, stopping yourself from trying to push him away.

Bucky's other hand began roaming the front of your sweater. You felt your body grow hotter as he touched you. Squeezing and palming your breast through your clothes, if someone were to pass by they would've thought you two were nothing more than an over eager couple.

When he bit your lip you hissed at the pain as more blood trickled down your chin. He trailed bloody kisses down to your neck, his lips sending teasing jolts of electricity throughout your body. You felt his lips start to suck hard on the nape of your neck, the suction from which drew out a soft moan as he moved down further.

"Bucky please...He won't like this" your words stopping him from marking you with a love bite.

Steve loved Bucky like a brother, but he was not fond of his pal playing with his toys without him. Maybe it was due to the fact that Bucky had a tendency to play a little too rough from your experience. Pulling back you notice your blood smeared against his lips. Keeping his hold on you he assess the damage that he's done.

"Shit..." Tilting your head around as he examines you. "Put some ice on"

When he released you shook your head in reply. Unlocking the doors Bucky finally allowed you to leave.

When you walked up to the front door you thought of how to hide your very bruised face. Taking out your key you open the door and then rush to put your hand on your forehead. Looking down you greet your uncle then high tail it to your room.

You here him call out, but you ignore him. Once inside you crumbled against the closed wooden door.

Past: Month before the incident

"Hey" Peggy calls out to you as she catches up in the hall.

"Hey stranger" you jab at your bestie. You were surprised to not see her hanging off Steve's arm.

"I know I've been super flaky lately."

"Might start calling you Kellogg...." You paused for comic relief. "Because of the cereal...like Kellogg Frosted Flakes.. they’re Great!"

"Bad joke" she deadpanned "...anyways. You, me, Steve, James movies tonight!" She was almost giddy at the idea.

"For one I don't even know James. I'm assuming its that guy that's always around Steve? And isn't he dating Wanda, that cheerleader?"

"They broke up like a while a go.... So he is single and super nice. Second it was Steve's idea, so how could he hate you if that was the case? Huh?"

"Why cant 'we' hang out together? Steve is so annoying. He is always fucking with me. I swear he hates me."

You didn't have a problem with Steve, but he seemed to have a problem with you. Anytime you made plans to hang with Peggy she came up with an excuse the last minute. At first you thought that he wanted you out of the picture so that he could have Peggy all to himself, so you bowed out. But it felt like the more space you gave the more annoying he got. So being around Steve willingly didn't seem appetizing.

🍿

You don't know how she convinced you to do this. No wait of course you do. You missed Peggy so much, but you half expected her to cancel and flake on you like she normally did.

When you two arrived the guys were waiting outside the building. As you both walk up the side walk to greet them Peggy formally introduces you.

His square jaw rivaled Steve's, when he smiled your heart fluttered a bit. You had to admit he was a handsome guy.

"Hi, I'm James, but everyone calls me Bucky. Nice to meet you." He introduced as you shyly smile back at him.

After the slightly awkward introductions everyone coupled up and headed into the theater. Finding seats the small group linking up boy, girl, boy, girl. You wanted to sit next to Peggy, but Steve pushed her down to the next seat over.

Through the upcoming trailers you noticed the odd kernel fly in your direction. That's when you knew Steve was up to his usual pranks. His massive arm taking up your arm rest, reaching in your eye-line to pass snacks between him and his buddy, ignoring you.

While Bucky was the perfect gentlemen, offering snacks, letting you take his arm rest. When you started to shiver from the cold he pulled you in, wrapping an arm around and stroking you. Even though you had a crush on someone else he was a welcome distraction.

🍿🍿

At the end of the movie Steve drove everyone home. You sat in the back with James while Peggy sat up front. James's arm outstretched on the back of the seat as he chatted with you. If you didn't know any better, which you didn't, you would swear he was flirting with you.

You felt a weird sensation throughout the car ride. Looking up you saw Steve lock eyes with you on more than one occasion through the rear view. Shaking it off each time you try to focus on James, but he made it hard to concentrate. Dropping you home first you tell James to call you then wave bye to everyone as you walk up to your house.

🍿🍿🍿

The next day at school James sported a black eye and a bruised cheek. You tried to ask him what happened when you saw him in the hall, but he walked past ignoring you.

In class you asked Peggy if something happened when you left, but she too had no clue. Just explaining it away as some rough housing that must've happened after she got dropped home.

You noticed him a few more times throughout the day, but you stop completely when you saw him wrapped around Wanda. The beautiful cheerleader coddled his face examining the wounds. You weren't looking to start anything with James, but he made you want think otherwise. it was so odd that he would even go out with you if he was still with her and then completely ignore you. You also had the misfortune to see Steve watch you realize that fact. The smile on his face let you know this was all some sick prank he must've cooked up. Turning down the wrong hallway you rush away fuming and holding in tears of embarrassment.

Present

Early the next day you sat in front of the Pawnshop until the 'Open' sign turned on . Thinking now that maybe you should've taken the bus here instead of your Uncle's truck. But then the other half of you didn't want to be spotted at the outside waiting a the bus stop. As the light came on you hurried out of the truck and over to the shop door. When you entered Moscow's Pawn the bell chimed alerting the redhead to your presence.

The shop was filled with pawned goods like bikes, lawn mowers and a glass case full of guns behind the register. You were the first one in the shop, but you weren't sure for how long.

Before you left home you went into the garage and stole your uncles old tool box. The weight of the box wasn't heavier than the guilt you held from your thievery.

"Hello, I'm Nat! Welcome how can I help you today?" She greeted you as you approached.

"Um.. what can I get for these?" you lift the box, plopping it down on the counter.

"Are these yours or stolen?"

"They're mine. I mean they are my Uncles. But he gave me permission." You stuttered a bit at the accusation.

She cocked a brow at you, but didn't press. Taking the box from you and examining the contents, lifting each up one by one. Letting out a big sigh before she spoke. When she started looking too hard at your face you looked down at the floor. The bruises Bucky left you with were covered a bit with concealer and your mask so you were confident enough to push through with your plan. "I can give you a hundred for it all." She said while closing the box.

"I'll take it" you could tell she was low-balling you, but you didn't care. Those tools were worth more than that, but you didn't have time to haggle. This would be more than enough for a bus ticket out. Your uncle would be pissed for sure, but you would pay him back when you got back on your feet.

"OK well I need your ID to process it."

You started to panic and you could tell she knew something was off.

"Look its policy. I know you said it's your uncle's, but just encase its not... my ass is covered if he files a police report for stolen goods." The word 'police' had you more nervous than before.

"OK, OK." You dug in your purse and got out your ID. The redhead took it from you and entered in your information. You worried for a bit, but you knew your uncle would be the last person to call the cops for missing tools.

When she handed it back she also passed you the money. You bid her adieu and headed toward the door.

When your hand hit the handle your heart stopped. Through the bard glass door you saw a patrol car pass the shop. Holding your breath you watched it as it disappeared down the street.

Past: Week before the incident

"He is such a prude or super religious. You know we haven't even done it yet." Peggy said frustrated as she sat across from you at the small coffee shop. Steve was at an away game and without a car she found time to finally hang out with you.

"That's surprising seeing as how much you two go at it whenever I see you" you remarked while drinking your iced tea. Anytime you were stuck with the love birds they were nauseatingly affectionate.

"I know right. Gawd he gets me so riled up and then nothing. So frustrating... Any who I want to have a party at my house this weekend for my birthday."

You cocked a suspicious brow at her. Peggy had never been into school dances let alone parties, before Steve she was a book worm that enjoyed small simple quite nights in.

"Isn't your birthday next month?"

"Yes, but my folks are going out of town soooo..." She looked at you so innocently. Your heart always fluttered a bit when she did that.

"I want to, but ever since that movie thing Bucky acts weird whenever I try and speak to him while Steve has just gotten worse." It was true it was one thing to annoy you at school, but he was bringing your Uncle into the mix. Police were called to the house on several occasions. Telling your uncle there was a report of women's screams coming from the house, it took half an hour to convince them otherwise without incident. Then the prank calls started. The calls were at the same time every night and wouldn't stop until you turned off the phones. Not to mention you were getting tired of having to clean the shattered eggs and toilet paper that decorated the lawn.

"I spoke to Steve when you told me about what's been happening and he promised me that it wasn't him. He is such a sweetheart once you get to know him...Come on please...for me?" Peggy pleaded. You wanted to believe her, but your gut knew better.

"Since its your birthday I will make this one exception" She squealed at your answer. "But if he start anything I'm gone."

🎂

The house was already a disaster. You weren't sure who, how or when kegs were brought in, but red cups could be seen within every corner of the room. Everyone was very drunk and rowdy except for you.

You kept stuck around Peg as she clung to Steve. "Oh oh oh theres James" Peggy shouted over the music. She caught the handsome boys attention, screaming his name repeatedly from across the room, he made his way over and you felt instantly awkward.

Not knowing were to look as he approached you turn away only to find Peggy locking lips with Steve again.

"Sickening isn't it" James voice brushed your ear. Giving him your full attention you were surprised he was even talking to you.

"You have no idea. The only time I see her now a days is when she is attached to him." You joke, you hear him chuckle and you wonder if maybe he had a twin. This guy's vibe was way different than the Bucky that walked the halls of your school.

"Can I get you a drink? Believe me it makes the sight of it a lot easier" James did have a point, you were only young once. It was getting boring just watching the show.

Breaking from Peggy Steve interrupts "Where's Wanda?"

Welp that confirmed he was indeed the same guy that ignores your existence at school. Looking up at the sly dog you wait for him to confirm. Bucky shouted something to Steve over the music, but you couldn't tell what.

"You know what? A drink sounds like a good idea." You break from the small group and find a keg yourself.

The silver barrel was a strange contraption to you. With the red cup in your hand you try and figure out how to use it. Steve snatched your cup and placed it on your head like a party hat. " Really Steve!"

"Here let me" James takes the cup from your head and pours beer into the cup. Handing it back to you, you take it and take a big gulp. That was a mistake as the taste was horrid, coughing uncontrollable as they laugh at you.

🎂🎂

The buzz hit almost instantly. You were dancing to your own beat despite the music. Peggy even grabbed your hands and danced with you. She looked so beautiful tonight, your heart wanted to explode in your chest when she hugged you tightly, whispering and giggling in your ear. It took a bit of self control not to kiss her in the moment.

Who knew alcohol could be so much fun.

The room started to swirl at some point.

Hands held on to you, steadying you against them as the room spun on.

"Bucky take care of her for me" a voice broke through your cloud. The music of the party had died down, things weren't as loud as before and you wondered what the time was. When you tried to look it was as if everything was underwater, blurry and fuzzy, moving giving you motion sickness.

You couldn't hear his reply, but you were sure Steve walked off with Peggy so they could have some fun. With an arm around your waist you were led away too. Bucky whispered something in your ear, but it felt off, his voice didn't sound right.

When you blinked you were on your back. The fabric of a comforter rubbed against your palms.

Blinking again you felt something heavy on you, but it was a struggle to focus still. The lights were on in the room, but you couldn't register the features of the person on top of you. Your head was so clouded, your limps too heavy to lift as you try and create a distance between you too.

"Buoockkky.."You felt as if your mouth was filled with cement, your words were a jumble as you try and talk. A figure lowered down and kissed you. Turning your head to the side was the only movement you could manage. The unwanted kissing didn't stop, moving your head back their tongue deepened within your mouth as you try to cry out in protest.

Blinking this time you weren't sure how long it took to get your eyes open. The air was much colder than you remembered sending a shiver throughout your body. Something licked on your chest and you yelp pathetically at the sensation.

"Mmm" you moaned as it sucked and kissed so tenderly at parts of you. It felt so good, your body just wanted to give into it all. Looking down you were sure you were seeing things as Bucky's hair looked just as wrong as his voice. "No..." You managed to get out, but when you repeated it it didn't sound the same.

The next blink welcomed you to an unfamiliar pain between your thighs. It shot up through your core and you wanted desperately to escape it. You tried to lift your legs and arms but it felt like you forgot how to move them.

"Thats.. it .." His voice panted through your subconscious. You felt like you were a rag doll when someone moved your legs around, spreading them open as you blacked out again.

"Oww.." You hissed out waking up to shooting pains. "Hurt.." Words still failing to be put together. Every syllable taking more and more energy from you.

"Shh.. shhh" the voice hushed you as the pain permeated through you.

There was something stretching you so much so that you whimpered at the fullness.

You heard a familiar voice pant your name, praising you, but it was so floaty you weren't sure if it were real. Your eyes fell shut again before you could register it all.

The world around you felt so warm and fuzzy. You tried opening your eyes again, but they were just too heavy. It didn't matter now as the gentle rocking of the room lulled you to sleep.

🎂🎂🎂

The light coming from the window seemed to amplify the pounding in your head. You weren't sure when you got in bed with Peggy, but you were sure that if this was what it felt like to drink you would never do it again. The last thing you remember was dancing with her then everything went black.

When you moved your legs there was a shooting pain and soreness between your thighs and it felt as if you peed yourself. Patting the mattress you felt the reminisce of wetness, lifting your hand to your face you saw blood. Your period must've started in the middle of the night. Peggy would never let you live down bleeding on her bed that was for sure.

Present

When you leave this time you were going to stay gone, no matter what. Finding an apartment that didn't care about what name you put on the lease or sleep in a shelter if you had to. Just like before you would get a job that paid under the table maybe another waitress job somewhere along the way. It might take a while to get over the paranoia of him finding you and dragging you back. But eventually you could move on. Move to a better neighborhood find a better job and live free again.

The drive back from the Pawn shop had you a bit on edge by now you were sure that your uncle would be up and wondering about his truck. You had half a mind to go to the bus station now and just mail him his truck keys, but you didn't want to burn that bridge.

At every light, corner or stop sign you had an eye out for their patrol car as well. Pulling into your Uncle's driveway you park. It took a moment before you could move. You didn’t want to find out if your uncle found his truck and tools gone just yet.

*Buzz Buzz

Grabbing your bag from the passenger seat you dig out your cell. Your fingers itched as you began unlocking your phone. Praying in your head that Steve had not been in the cop car you saw at the pawn shop. Praying that he wasn't going to punish you.

MSG Steve: Morning! MSG Steve:(...typing)

Chapter 4>>>>

#Dark Steve x Black Reader #Dark Bucky x Black Reader #Dark!Steve x Black!Reader #Dark!Bucky x Reader #black writer #smut #dark steve x reader #dark Steve Rogers x reader

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twiceinadream · 3 years

Text

“Trust me.”

Requested: Yup

Request: Dahyun and reader have been best friends for as long as the both of them can remember. When Valentine's Day is nearing but Dahyun's date bails on her at the last minute, reader offers to be the one spending Valentine's Day with Dahyun instead(maybe because there was already so much planned/prepared or something, also to cheer Dahyun up). At the end of the day, Dahyun admits that she'd much rather spend any and every day with reader than with a guy, and in the heat of the moment, reader confesses that she's been in love with Dahyun for forever

a/u: Hey, guys! So I’m back and I hope you enjoy the first fic of my Valentine’s Day prompts along with my first Dahyun fic. I had a lot of fun writing this so I hope you all like it too. I love you guys!

Background: “The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?” (In Japanese, is a way of saying “I love you” or expressing your love) and you respond with, “I can die happy.” (If this is wrong, I’m sorry in advance I learned everything off Google)

Category: Fluff

Word Count: 3.1k

The cool spring breeze blew the scent of fresh flowers and fried food throughout the market as you and Dahyun walked by the various stalls. And by the look of all the roses and pink hearts you could definitely sense the love in the air since Valentine’s Day was tomorrow after all and just like before, you would be spending it alone. However your best friend wouldn’t be joining you this year like in the past when the both of you would watch cheesy rom-coms and gorge on overpriced chocolates. She had been asked on a date and you were equal parts excited and annoyed.

You loved Dahyun and wished her nothing but happiness, but the thought of really spending the “day of love” alone in your apartment stung a bit. That’s when you felt a poke at your shoulder before turning to face the brunette, “What's wrong?”

You raised an eyebrow to feign confusion, “What do you mean?”

She frowned, looking you in the eyes as she looked you over, “Don’t play stupid with me Y/N, I know you too well for that.” You shrugged as you turned away from her, not wanting to answer her question when you felt her grab your sleeve; stopping you in your tracks.

“It’s nothing really, so please drop it.” You gave her the best smile you could muster as you felt your heart seize in your chest, looking at the way she wanted to help you but you continued pushing her away. Clearing your throat to change the subject as you continued walking, “So...what do you and your date have planned for tomorrow?” At the question you could instantly see the way your best friend’s mood perked up as a wide smile spread over her lips as you felt your heart drop in your stomach, ‘And I thought I was the only one who could make her smile like that.’

But you quickly steeled your emotions as you tilted your head towards the brunette to talk, “We’re gonna go to an art museum, then go check out a traditional Japanese garden, then go to dinner at some fancy restaurant they really like.” At the list of activities she had planned with her date you couldn’t help but wonder if she was more excited about the date itself or the fact she wouldn’t be single for Valentine’s, because for the entirety of the lifetime you had known Dahyun she didn’t really like any of those things.

You pursed your lips as you looked up to the sky, “Sounds fun, Dahyunnie.” A cool breeze blew across your face as you inhaled deeply, trying to ignore the pounding in your head as you tried to calculate how much ice cream could mend your breaking heart, “I hope you have fun with them.”

—

-The Next Morning-

It was a nearly perfect spring morning, the sun was barely peeking over the tops of the buildings as the sky remained a beautiful blue, free of any stray clouds. It seemed just a little too perfect.

But, that was none of your concern as you cuddled into your comforter, content on just staying in bed till the afternoon before moving to your living room to binge on every rom-com Hollywood had ever produced along with a tub of ice cream and takeout for dinner.

You face-planted into your pillow as you groaned at your own plan, “God, I'm single.” But your small pity-party didn’t last for much longer as your phone suddenly began ringing, you reached blindly onto your nightstand not even bothering to see who was calling as you answered, “Hello?”

The sound of crying met your ears as your eyebrows knitted in confusion pulling your phone away from your ear to look at the caller ID. Your eyes immediately widen at the name, “Dahyun?”

“Y/N?” Her voice sounded broken and shaky - you could tell she’s been crying and it broke your heart that she hadn’t called you sooner - she sniffed hard, “They canceled, they said they found another girl to go out with. I saw the text this morning.”

You gritted your teeth, not wanting any creative insults to slip from your mouth as you were already getting out of bed, “That bastard, I’ll be over in fifteen.” Dahyun hummed into the phone as you hung up. Standing in front of your closet as you grabbed a comfortable pair of jeans and a soft sweatshirt Dahyun had given to you for your birthday that you knew she loved to borrow - steal - from you. Before moving to the bathroom to brush your teeth and touch up on your appearance before heading to the door to slip on a pair of sensible shoes before walking out of your apartment and locking the door. Dead set on giving your best friend the best Valentine’s Day of her life.

—

-Dahyun’s Place-

True to your word you had arrived at your best friend’s apartment in a little under fifteen minutes as you used the spare key she had given you to enter the home. Quickly kicking off your shoes by the door as you made your way down the hall to her bedroom, sighing as you lifted a fist to knock. Immediately after your knuckles hit the wood Dahyun was already beckoning you inside, “Come in!”

You could tell she was still crying by the crack her voice made when she yelled, a sad smile painting your features as you entered the room. Noticing how the brunette looked smaller than usual swaddled in blankets and a sweatshirt, stray tissues littering her bed as you could see that her eyes were red and puffy. You quickly sat on the bed beside her and waited for Dahyun to either climb into your arms or not, not wanting to force any physical affection on her. To your slight relief she quickly made her way into your arms, sitting between your legs as she leaned into your hold. Both of you sitting in silence as you rocked the two of you slightly, her tears eventually subsiding as she let out a deep breath. “Th..thanks for coming.”

She pulled away from your grasp to look at you directly as you smiled at her crookedly, “Of course. I would rather spend my morning comforting my best friend than going to jail for manslaughter, I always have time for that later.” Dahyun laughed wetly as she hit your shoulder, you grabbed it in mock pain as you pouted, “Wow, Dahyun-ah, I come here to make you feel better and you wound me.”

The brunette rolled her eyes as she turned around to tackle you to the bed, “Crybaby.” You raised an eyebrow as you rolled the two of you over.

“You’re one to talk.” Dahyun stuck her tongue out and for a second you almost kissed her, almost. You noticed your staring had gone for a little too long as you released her from beneath, clearing your throat as you sat back against her headboard. “So, any plans for the rest of the day?”

Your best friend deadpanned, “I just got dumped Y/N. What do you think?” You held up your hands in surrender.

“Sorry, sorry. Token single person here, but is there anything in particular you were thinking of doing?” Dahyun shrugged as she played with the corner of her pillow.

“I don’t know, I was really excited to go out today. I even bought a new outfit for the occasion, but I guess we just stay in and watch movies.” You could hear the dejection in her voice as you stood from the bed, looking from her to the outfit hanging by the bathroom.

“I have an idea, but I need you to get ready.” Dahyun looked at you questioningly.

“Why?” You smiled brightly as you pulled out your phone.

“Because. I’m gonna give you the best Valentine’s date of your life.” The brunette seemed unconvinced as you moved to physically drag her out of bed and shove her towards the bathroom, “Trust me.”

Dahyun shrugged, as she began closing the bathroom door. Shaking her head to herself, “Why not, I’ve got nothing to lose.”

A grin broke out across your face as you left the room, doing a small victory dance in the hallway as you let out a giddy laugh, ‘Yes!’ You cheered to yourself as you settled down on the couch to research a place to end the night, smiling as you read that there was going to be fireworks later and you had a perfect place in mind to watch them.

—

It took Dahyun an additional half hour before she was finally ready and you were starting to think she had climbed out her bathroom window to ditch you. But the sound of her bedroom door opening quelled your fears as you stood from the sofa, smoothing down your outfit as she rounded the corner. Your jaw dropping as you saw her.

Her hair was done up in a bun, she wore a brown cable knit sweater, and a flowy beige skirt. She laughed at your reaction as a light blush dusted your cheeks as she twirled, the skirt lifting around her ankles as she smiled at you, “How do I look?”

You were at a loss for words as you opened and closed your mouth like a goldfish before finally being able to form a coherent word, “Stunning.”

Dahyun laughed lightly as she walked past you to the door, “Well, are you just going to stand there or are you going to give me the ‘best Valentine’s date of your life’?”

You quickly followed after her as she threw you words back in your face, leaving the apartment as you both stepped out onto the street, “You bet I am.”

—

The two of you sat in comfortable silence as you drove, the radio playing quietly as the new song by 3Mix played in the background. You couldn’t help but smile as you kept stealing glances of Dahyun beside you, your long time crush and best friend looked beautiful and you just couldn’t help but keep looking as you pulled up to a market. It was busier than it normally was with most people spending the day out with their significant other, leaving the place more packed as you opened the passenger for Dahyun to get out.

A teasing smile on her lips as she slung her bag back over her shoulder as you both entered the street market. Couples walking all around you as Dahyun threaded her arm through yours, holding onto you as you weaved through the crowd to her favorite tteokbokki stall, it was farther back in the market leaving it less busy than the ones near the front as you both went up to the counter to order. The old man working the stall immediately recognized the both of you as he smiled, “Same as always?” You both nodded as he scooped the rice cakes and sauce onto a plate, noticing Dahyun’s arms wrapped around yours, “I didn’t know you were two dating.” He said fondly as you handed him the money, shaking your head.

“Oh um, we’re just friends.” You said shyly as he apologized immediately.

“I’m so sorry, you two just look good together.” You and Dahyun just blushed as you thanked him before moving to sit.

The brunette dug in immediately as you watched her eat, “Do we really look like a couple?”

Dahyun looked up from her plate, “I mean, it’s Valentine’s and we’re out together Y/N, of course we look like a couple.”

The amount of sarcasm in her voice made you roll your eyes playfully, “Seems like Cupid got his arrow stuck somewhere other than your heart.”

Your best friend let out a scandalized gasp as she reached over the table to hit your head, “L/N Y/N!” You cackled loudly as you avoided her attempts to hit you, as you stuck your tongue out.

From behind the counter the old man watched the two of you from the corner of his eye, ‘And they’re so convinced they’re ‘not dating’.”

—

When the two of you finished you thanked the man one more time as you returned the plates, before walking to the main portion of the market that seemed busier than when you had arrived. Neither of you wanted to enter the fray until you got a whiff of the smell of freshly made hotteok hitting your nose. Did you grab hold of Dahyun’s hand and rush in the direction of the smell.

Smiling like a little kid as you located the stall and quickly got into line behind a few couples, waiting for a few minutes before you and Dahyun made it to the front. A lady in her mid-40s greeted the two of you as you placed your order, “Hi, can I get two honey hotteok please.” You gave the woman a small smile as Dahyun leaned her head against your shoulder, watching as the lady began making the fried pancakes on a griddle beside her.

It didn’t take long for the batter to cook as she wrapped in paper and handed it to the both of you, “That’ll be ₩2,000 please. And I have to say, you two make a very cute couple.”

Before you could open your mouth, Dahyun was already handing her the money, “Thank you, have a nice evening.” You looked at the brunette in confusion as she shrugged, handing you your pancake.

“It’s easier to just say, ‘thank you’. They stop asking questions or looking at us like we’re weird.” You shrugged as the two of you made it back to your car, noticing the setting sun as the sky was a mix of yellow and orange.

“Hey,” You looked over to Dahyun to catch her attention, “I have one more place I want to go if you don’t mind.”

The brunette shook her head, “Of course I don’t mind, you’re the one planning the date after all. I’m just enjoying the ride.” She added a wink at the end that made your heart flutter as you pulled out onto the street.

“You should probably nap, it’s a bit of a drive.”

—

Getting through the city during rush hour was a nightmare and a half that you had forgotten to account for as it took an additional hour to finally make it out towards the mountains that surrounded Seoul. The road up was filled with soft curves that eventually woke Dahyun as she noticed that the two of you had left the city and were heading up, the sky was beginning to darken as the moon began making its presence known.

You continued driving past the usual lookouts till you turned onto a dirt path, a questioning look on the brunette’s face, “Where are we going?”

It was now your turn to deadpan Dahyun, “Just trust me, okay?” Your best friend shrugged as she sat back in her seat, looking out the window till you stopped the car. “We need to hike a bit.”

The unkempt grass brushed against yours and Dahyun’s ankles as you navigate your way through the overgrown foliage. Along the way the brunette’s hand found yours as you helped her down the steep path till you came to an open cliff that gave a perfect outlook to the skyline of Seoul. Night had blanked the sky as stars glittered against the dark, a look of awe on the Korean girl’s face as she couldn’t believe her eyes. She had lived her entire life here and she had never seen the city as beautiful as it looked now.

You couldn’t help but smirk as you noticed the lost look in your crush’s eyes, “Beautiful isn’t it.”

Dahyun nodded as she tore her eyes away from the lights to look at you, “I didn’t even know this place existed, thank you for taking me here.” The brunette’s eyes softened as she felt something in her change as she looked at you, a feeling she never felt before. “But I have to ask, why are we…”

Before she could ask, the sound of an explosion sounded as you both turned to see the remains of fireworks. Her eyes widened as more lit up the sky, the sound of the explosions barely reaching your ears as she watched the show. Vibrant colors danced across the night sky as she continued to stare, “Beautiful.”

Your eyes had left the sky long ago as your gaze was focused solely on Dahyun, a wistful look on your face, “More than.”

It didn’t take the brunette long to have the feeling she was being stared at as she looked away from the fireworks. She quirked an eyebrow as she took in your expression, “You okay, Y/N-ah?” You shook your head as you blinked, clearing your throat as you quickly turned to look back to the sky, looking at the moon as you remembered a saying yours and Dahyun’s friend Sana had once said, “The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?” At the sudden Japanese leaving your mouth it Dahyun took a moment to decipher what you had just said, when the saying clicked as you looked back at her.

A small smile forming on her lips as she understood what you were telling her before she answered you back in Japanese, “I can die happy.”

In that moment it felt as though the whole world was silent, the sound of your heartbeat in your ears was the only noise that seemed to exist as you and Dahyun stared at each other. A mutual feeling seemed to pass between the both of you as you moved in closer, her hand reaching out to cup your cheek ever so gently as you leaned in slowly. Your hands finding her hips as you pulled her forward slightly as she met you halfway, your lips meeting hers in a soft kiss as your eyes fluttered close. Your heart did a somersault in your chest as the world seemed to resume around you again as the sound of the grand finale of the firework show exploded behind the two of you.

A light laugh leaving your lips as you pulled away to breathe, your foreheads resting against each other as you held your girlfriend(?) closer. A cocky smile on your face as you rubbed your thumb along her cheek, “So. Was this the best Valentine’s date of your life?”

The Korean girl couldn’t help but laugh at your question as she shrugged, “Eh, it was okay.” You felt your smile quickly fade as the brunette giggled at the look on your face, “Maybe you’ll do better for me next year...Jagiya.”

#fortwice #twice #twice imagines #twice prompts #twice one shot #twice fluff #non idol au #kim dahyun #kim dahyun x reader #happy valentine's day 2021 #anonymous #twiceinadream

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smallblip · 3 years

Note

so what if erwin, mike, and nanaba devise a plan to get levi to confess that he is in love with hange, where they all try to openly flirt and be very touchy with hange. Hange is oblivious to this and obviously reciprocates these gestures because she just loves hugging her friends, and levi gets frustrated real quick lol

YES. Definitely happened. The vets enjoy riling Levi up. It’s their pastime. Erwin definitely pulls rank to watch it happen. Help him someone. Man needs healthy hobbies. I also love imagining Nanaba and Hanji linking arms and being best pals!

Playboy shit

Nanaba lets out an indulgent sigh, “Levi’s at it again...”

Erwin and Mike turn their heads to where Nanaba’s gaze is fixed.

Hanji is sitting with their squad at another table. Hanji is talking animatedly as usual, and they have their arm around Moblit’s shoulder, dragging him along for the ride as they throw their head back to laugh. What is also usual, is Levi glaring daggers at Moblit from a table away.

Erwin spoons some stew into his mouth and misses, completely mesmerised by the scene playing out in front of him. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen his scowl quite so frightening...” he wipes at his cheek with a napkin.

Mike grunts a reply, “it’s like every time we think he can’t get any angrier... he just... does...”

“And Hanji?” Erwin asks. Nanaba knows the question is directed to her even though Erwin doesn’t tear his gaze from Levi. Erwin has always exploited the fact that she and Hanji are friends.

“Clueless as ever...”

“The other week our boy made progress though... When Hanji was reading in the library Levi made tea for them and just sat... No complains... For the entire day...” Mike chimes in.

“Aww!” Nanaba says, genuinely moved. Maybe being surrounded by weirdos for an extended amount of time has really done a number on her. The only person who remains unimpressed by Levi’s little development-

“It’s not good enough!” Erwin says with conviction, “at the rate he’s going, by the time Levi confesses his undying love for Hanji we would all be dead.”

“Assuring words from the commander...” Nanaba mutters under her breath.

“What do you propose then?” Mike says, and he almost regrets asking. Erwin always has a plan. And his plans mostly end with someone dying, or worse, naked in a ditch one sip away from alcohol poisoning. Karaoke nights hosted by Erwin Smith are not to be trifled with.

Erwin grins.

“Mike should go... Hanji and I hold hands all the time, it wouldn’t work.” Nanaba suggests and Mike huffs. Levi already took his position as humanity’s strongest. And now his dignity is on the line as well. But orders are orders.

“What are they saying?” Erwin asks, peeking from outside the stables. Nanaba shushes him gently. Hanji and Mike are talking, and halfway through, Mike pulls them in for a hug. Hanji reciprocates with equal enthusiasm. After all it’s Hanji. Someone who obviously has lived their entire life with no concept of personal space.

“Oh he exceeded my expectations...” Erwin smiles. Levi is staring at the pair from where he’s brushing his horse, “oi! Mike! Four eyes! Don’t you have saddles to polish?” Levi nags. And Erwin watches as Hanji bounds over to Levi. Erwin’s initial pride dissipating as he shoots Mike a disappointed look.

A week has gone and there’s still no confession. Erwin has made an effort to spend more time with Hanji to get a reaction out of Levi to no avail. Nothing more than a little snide “you’re more of a weirdo than usual” from Levi. It’s massively affecting Erwin’s confidence. Just when he thinks all hope is lost, Nanaba caves.

“You know if you want to get a reaction out of Levi... You should just use Moblit...” she sighs, because there’s a dark cloud hanging atop Erwin and what had at first been worrying is now plain annoying.

There’s a spark that re-ignites in Erwin’s eyes and he heads off to find Moblit immediately.

“Moblit Berner.”

The man, made even more jittery by Erwin’s presence spins around and salutes. Erwin waves him off. There’s no time for formality.

“I need you to do something. It involves Hanji.”

“But...” Moblit is not one to complain, but dealing with Hanji and their experiments had been a 24/7 job and he needs this, he deserves this, “but it’s our day off.”

Erwin promises it won’t take long. If Nanaba’s estimates are accurate, it wouldn’t take any time at all. Erwin sends Moblit off with a pat on his shoulder, and the man is very confused as to why Mike and Nanaba are there too, let alone why this is in any sense, official business.

Moblit the Brave walks over to where Hanji and Levi are talking over tea and stale short bread.

He salutes the both of them, “what is it Moblit?” Levi asks. On any normal occasion, Moblit knows Levi to be kind, he can almost confidently say he likes Levi. Except when it comes to certain things. And he’s about to poke a stick into a nest of stinging hornets. They all have Levi’s face. All the hornets. It’s terrifying. But Erwin’s eager face is equally terrifying. And Moblit isn’t one to disappoint.

“I was just wondering if um... Squad Leader would like to have dinner with me... In town...” Moblit takes a deep breath for strength. Somewhere in the distance he can feel the his three comrades bracing themselves, “... alone...” he cringes. Oh god. He’s sure he deserves all the karmic points. He’s going to live forever now.

Levi’s eyes widen momentarily, his face then settles into a scowl. Before Hanji can answer, Levi barks a “Hanji’s busy.”

“Eh? It’s my day off Levi... I’m not busy!” Hanji says. Nanaba winces. Oh god were they oblivious.

“You are. I’m taking you out to dinner.” Levi says, deadpan.

“Awww... Are you jealous Levi?” Hanji nudges at Levi’s side and Moblit turns to look at the trio for permission to leave because this is getting unbearable. Mike gestures for him to reconvene. He turns on his feet to leave. It’s not like the pair will notice him gone, not with Hanji teasing Levi about their date and Levi going absolutely red.

“Moblit Berner... You’ve done an incredible service to humanity. And for that we thank you.” Erwin says. Moblit wants to protest. He has a pretty impressive kill streak. Not to mention he has been considered for promotion on multiple occasions. He deserves all the karmic points.

“Do you think he’ll finally confess?” Mike asks, watching as Hanji torments Levi.

“I’m sure it got some cogs turning in Hanji’s head... Whether or not she’ll admit...” Nanaba answers.

Erwin counts this as a victory.

#levihan #inbox #anon #thank you anon #Nanaba #shippererwin #Erwin Smith #Mike Zacharius #moblit berner #vets #Drabble #sorry for any mistakes I wrote this on the train #mine

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slapshot-to-the-heart · 3 years

Text

deck the halls

Hi everyone, Merry Christmas if you’re celebrating! Here’s nothing but straight fluff for Petey, hope you all like it! Major props to @hockeyboysiguess for not only getting me to simp for him but also being so wonderful when I’ve needed someone to encourage me to finish, and for everyone else who’s let me bounce ideas off of them or yelled at me in my inbox to get it done. As always, please let me know what you think of it, I love hearing feedback - comments, reblogs (I always read the tags) and inboxes are so so welcomed!

word count: 3.9k+

You could tell something was wrong the minute that you walked through the door, into the living room of your boyfriend’s apartment. It was the first week of December, a time when most houses in the city — and the city itself, for that matter — decked the halls with tinsel, baubles, and cut-out paper snowflakes. You were no exception; really, your love for the season exceeded even the gaudy holiday displays in the windows of department stores, trying to entice passers-by to buy into their “annual-sale-that’s-not-even-a-sale-because-prices-are-so-inflated-anyways” sale. You lived and breathed Christmas as soon as it hit December 1st. Poorly but lovingly-decorated sugar cookies were delivered to your friends and neighbors, tinsel and ornaments hung from every surface imaginable in your apartment, Michael Bublé blasted 24/7. So, aside from those who didn’t celebrate, you expected everyone else to act accordingly. And if their version of Christmas didn’t include pounds of icing and a metric fuckton of ornaments, well then that just wouldn’t do.

So when you crossed the threshold into Elias’ living room, entirely bare and devoid of anything even remotely resembling Christmas cheer, you were more than a little shocked. You supposed you hadn’t quite been paying attention much last year, your first Christmas as a couple five or so months after you had gotten together. Probably still stuck in the honeymoon phase, you thought with a grin. Though, to be fair, you really still were in the honeymoon phase with Elias, after nearly a year and a half of dating. Which wasn’t to say you didn’t have your disagreements; you weren’t a perfect couple, of course you didn’t always see eye to eye on everything and got annoyed with each other on more than one occasion, but that same sense of wonder and unfeigned giddiness that came with a new relationship hadn’t left yet. And honestly, you weren’t sure it ever would. You certainly didn’t want it to. So when you looked in his living room and didn’t see any lights hanging, no tacky-but-heartwarming wreath of Christmas cards, no tree, you didn’t react with anything but sheer disbelief. You looked to the kitchen, but there was nothing. Dining room? Not a roll of wrapping paper to be found, no piney scent wafting through the air from some Glade plug-in you got on sale because the smell from the tree alone just wasn’t cutting it. How could someone live like this?

Elias walked into the room, his hair still damp from a post-practice shower, and flashed a smile at you, kissing you briefly before pulling back and looking at the dumbfounded expression still plastered on your face. “Everything okay?” he said, waving his hand in front of your eyes. “Did they mess up the order or something?” Oh, right, order. You had almost forgotten about the food in your hand, the entire reason you were coming over to his apartment in the first place. Lunch.

You quickly shook your head. “No, everything was fine. Your Pad Kee Mao, my green curry.”

He took the bag from you, placing it on the counter as he opened the cabinets and took out two plates. “You sure nothing’s up? You look like you saw a ghost.”

You gestured around the apartment. “There’s...nothing here?”

His brow furrowed. “What do you mean there’s nothing here?”

“No decorations,” you explained. “No lights, no ornaments, no tinsel, no tree? It’s like you didn’t even know it’s Christmas, Elias.”

Elias rolled his eyes. “I forgot about your Christmas obsession.”

“Obsession?” you asked, one eyebrow perched in question.

“Love for Christmas?” Elias tried.

“Better.”

He shrugged. “I have a couple things in the closet, I’ll probably pull them out soon. There’s a string of lights, a little stuffed Santa Brock gave me last year, a tree that’s about this tall,” he gestured at his waist. “Christmas is a thing back home, obviously, but it’s not as...hyped up? Emphasized? As it is here.”

“Such are the pitfalls of capitalism,” you mused.

Elias nodded, digging through the drawers for forks. “And plus, we’ve got Saint Lucia’s Day, so that’s definitely where the more Swedish-specific traditions come out.”

You let out a groan. “I can’t get over the fact that you have a fake tree. It physically pains me.”

“It’s much more practical,” Elias said, trying to justify himself. “You don’t have to water it, it’s not going to drop needles, saves you money in the long run.”

Your eyes almost rolled into the back of your head. “Seriously? You sound like a grandpa, Lias. And it’s not like you’re exactly hurting for money.” You suddenly looked at Elias, your eyes so laser-focused that it startled him for a moment. “I’m going to make you love Christmas.”

He sputtered. “It’s not that I don’t like Christmas, I just have never much been into all of the extra stuff that goes along with it.”

“I won’t allow it,” you said, shaking your head. “Eat your Thai, we’re going to a tree lot.”

The tree

Thirty minutes later, you pulled into a tree lot in South Vancouver. You put the car into park, looking over at Elias. “I take my tree shopping very seriously, as you’re about to see. They’ve usually got some kind of chart or whatever at the front to show you the different kinds of trees you can get—“

Elias cut you off. “I’m going to stop you there. Different kinds? There’s not just, I don’t know, the generic Christmas trees, what are they...firs or whatever?”

You huffed, blowing a piece of hair that had escaped from under your Canucks beanie, one of the first gifts Elias had given to you when you had started dating. “Well, of course there are. But there’s noble firs versus douglas firs, versus blue spruces, versus white firs, versus white spruces, so if you don’t know what you’re looking for it can actually be pretty overwhelming.”

“I can see that,” Elias said dryly. “So what’s the difference between them?”

“Size and color, mostly,” you replied, “but also things like the shape of the branches, how much weight they can hold, even what they smell like. This place has a ton of different ones, so we can walk around and you can figure out what you like.”

Elias lasted about ten minutes before turning to you with a blank expression that caused you to break out in raucous laughter. “I don’t know what I want. I thought I did, but there’s hundreds of trees here,” he gestured wildly, “and they’re all wrapped up, so you can’t even really see them, and all I know is that I want a Christmas tree that looks like a Christmas tree.”

You smiled at your boyfriend. “That’s not nothing, Lias. I think we’re actually getting somewhere. So you want a more classic look, big and fluffy?” He nodded. “Okay, then we’re probably going to want to go with a noble fir or grand fir.”

“How did you learn all this?” Elias asked.

“Trial and error,” you said. “And as for the netting, I think I can fix that.” You pulled your Swiss army knife out of your pocket, wiggling it at him. “It’s the way my dad always taught me. You find one that looks good, give it a good rip and make sure it’s the right shape and that there’s not a crazy amount of space between the branches.”

“Because we wouldn’t want that.”

“You’re learning!” You said, laughing. “No, we wouldn’t. Because even if you’ve got a lot of ornaments, it can still look weird and throw off the whole vibe you’re going for.”

Elias ran his hands against the branches of one of the trees. “I don’t have that many ornaments. Some, yeah, but not a lot.”

“Don’t worry,” you said, squeezing his hand. “Lord knows I’ve got enough, we can stop by my place on our way back and grab what I’ve got left over.”

He dipped his head in agreement. “Sounds good.”

---

Three hours later and you were standing on a chair in Elias’ living room, tongue sticking out of your mouth in concentration as you tried to fix the star to the top of the tree. Elias’ hands were wrapped gently around your waist, looking nervously up at you. “You sure you don’t want me to get it?” he asked.

You shook your head, pumping your fist when you finally got it balanced on top, hopping down to the floor. “I’m good!” Elias had a few ornaments from team parties and events — nearly all of them branded with some form of the Canucks logo — and a handful from back home, the same popsicle stick, glue, and tempera paint creations that dotted your own preschool memories. You had picked up lights from your apartment, plugged them into the wall, figured out half of the bulbs were dead, fixed them, and then finally draped them across the tree branches, hanging a box of your own ornaments alongside your boyfriend’s.

Elias slipped one arm around your hips, pulling you into his side as the two of you stood back and admired your handiwork. “I like this,” he murmured.

“The tree actually did turn out pretty great,” you agreed.

“You sound like you had so little faith in us,” Elias said, a smile on his face. “The tree does look great, but I was thinking about this. Us, being together, decorating a Christmas tree. Starting traditions. It feels right.”

You nodded, resting your head on his shoulder, turning to kiss his neck. “It does.”

The baking

Christmas didn’t stop at a tree for you. Oh no, not even close. Elias’ tree was decorated, his living room and entryway hung with tasteful amounts of tinsel and only slightly cheesy wall hangings — he particularly liked the ‘Eat, Drink, and Be Merry’ — that you had dragged him out to the nearest Canadian Tire for. It was all nice to admire, but for you, the real fun started when you fired up the oven and flipped on the stand mixer.

Elias had been gone for a few days on a brief road trip through California, and you had gladly taken up that time to stock up on any and all possible ingredients you’d need for your annual Christmas baking haul. Elias had a nicer mixer than you did, and his oven had an extra shelf, so with his blessing you had all but set up shop in his kitchen. A good chunk of your time outside of work had been spent running out to Sobey’s, driving back to Elias’ apartment, realizing you’d forgotten something, and having to do it all over again.

But you loved it, you really did, even when his counters were covered in bags of flour, tubes of icing, and three types of sugar, and his fridge had somewhere north of five pounds of butter. You heard Elias’ key in the front door; it swung open and you heard the familiar thump of his duffel against the hardwood floor. “I’m hoooome,” he called out.

You let out a quick giggle, walking around the kitchen to greet him in the entryway. “Welcome back, babe. How was the trip?”

He shrugged, raising an eyebrow at the outfit you had on; you had put on your trusted old apron, the floral print slightly faded over the years and with more than one stubborn vanilla stain that just didn’t want to come out, but you loved it all the same. “I mean, you saw it. Two wins, one loss. Could have done better, I really don’t think we should have dropped that game against the Kings, but it happens. You started yet?”

“Just about to,” you said, squeezing his hand. “I’d love an assistant if you’ve got the time.”

“For you?” Elias said, kissing the top of your head, “Always.”

Elias creamed the butters and sugar while you sifted the flour, turning around to grab the eggs. You handed two to him. “This seems like a lot of sugar,” Elias noted, peering into the mixing bowl.

You shrugged. “It’s a double recipe. There’s got to be enough for us, plus the team — I’ll cry if they don’t eat them, so I’m not against you threatening bodily harm if that’s what it comes to — plus some extra for me to take into work this week. So,” you picked up the bottle of vanilla extract, “lots of cookies.”

It wasn’t just cookies, though; you made somewhere north of 60 sugar cookies, but Elias was once again dumbfounded as you heaved a cardboard box out of one of the many bags you had picked up earlier in the week. “What’s that one?” You spun the box around so he could read the label. “Gingerbread house? Isn’t that mostly for little kids?”

You gasped in mock offense. “I can’t believe you would dare say such a thing, Elias. But yes, typically it is a kid thing. I love it, though. I’ve done one every year ever since I can remember, and they’re so much fun. Genuinely.” You tried, for one year and one year only, to make your own gingerbread; but, as much as you genuinely loved baking, it turned out to be nothing short of a spectacular mess. It wasn’t the Great British Bake Off, as you kept trying to remind yourself when the gingerbread puffed up too much and got too soft while simultaneously burning on the edges, but you had nonetheless been a little deflated as you ran to the grocery store to get a box kit. You tried to look on the bright side, though. One less thing to go wrong in the litany of the day’s bad possibilities. So, you no longer felt guilty about going out to the shop to get a build-your-own box. And besides, putting the house together and decorating it truly was 90% of the fun of the whole thing.

Elias held his hands up in surrender. “Didn’t mean to make you upset,” he said with a smile. “I do what the chef tells me.”

You pushed his hair back with one hand, the other handing him a tube of royal icing. “You, my love, have the honor of making sure this house doesn’t fall down.”

“I think I can do that,” he replied easily.

You really should have had more faith in your boyfriend, you thought as you looked at the completed gingerbread house. He had put just the right amount of icing on; not so little that the walls would simply fall down, but not so much that it would take forever to dry and still be too precarious to decorate. And decorate you did, mini M&Ms lining the roof to double as Christmas lights, a tree piped next to the front door, frosting and shredded coconut snow on the roof and floor. You stepped back to look at the finished product, curling into Elias’ side as he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. “We did pretty good, didn’t we?” you asked.

“We did.”

The morning

There were many reasons you were grateful that the NHL didn’t operate like other major league sports, with games on Christmas day. It gave a much-needed break after the incredibly fast-paced nature of the first few months of the season. It also gave some time to gain a sense of normalcy for the players and their families; as normal as it could be, you supposed. They could do the same last-minute shopping as other families did, set out milk and cookies with their kids on Christmas Eve. They could attend a service on Christmas Day, invite family over to spend the holiday — as Elias had done the year prior, with his parents flying in from Sweden — or sleep in the morning of. The latter of which you and Elias chose, his bare chest pressed up against your back as you lay in his bed, a well-worn Tre Kronor jersey draped across your body. You twisted over to press a soft kiss to his lips. “Guess what today is?” you asked cheekily. You knew he knew, it wasn’t as if you hadn’t spent the entire month counting down the days and making damn sure he was as informed as you were.

Elias let out a light laugh. “Merry Christmas, baby.” He threw back the sheets. “I’m going to go and get the coffee started, take your time.”

It was Christmas, though, and you were you. You weren’t about to take your time when it was December 25th. You made the bed somewhat haphazardly, padding out to the kitchen to wrap your arms around Elias’ waist as he set the coffee maker to brew. It didn’t take long, and you had just enough time to turn on the Christmas music and carefully curate the morning’s playlist before he was walking out to the living room, holding two steaming mugs of coffee. “Thanks, ‘Lias,” you said, taking your cup as the two of you sat on the floor with your stockings. “Dig in,” you said, gesturing to his while blowing on your coffee to cool it down. “No use waiting.”

He shook his head at you, the edges of his mouth curled in a smile that let you know that no matter how much good-natured ribbing he gave you about your love for the morning and, honestly, for all things Christmas and wintery, he loved that you had let him into a part of your life that you were so excited to share. You had taken a trip to the Swedish candy shop that Elias loved so much, the place was a little out of the way but you’d do anything to give the man you loved a little taste of home for the holidays. Elias laughed when he turned his stocking upside town and tipped it out, the sweets mixed in with some new stick tape and wax he had been mentioning he was running low on. “The team’s got some spare stuff, but I like it a certain way,” he had said earlier in the month, and with a little digging and a call to Brock, you had figured exactly which hole-in-the-wall hockey supply store to drive out to for his favorite kind, the only brand that would do for Elias Pettersson.

He had filled your stocking with your favorite kind of candy and a few boxes of film for your Polaroid. You laughed when a box of chapstick fell on top of the candy. “You’re always losing them,” Elias said, a poorly concealed grin on his face, “or leaving them somewhere, so I figured more couldn’t hurt.”

You could barely stop laughing. “It’s perfect,” you said in between giggles. “Seriously, though. I can never have too many, and it’s sweet that you noticed that.”

Like any kid, you had always loved getting to open presents on Christmas, and as you had gotten older, you’d learned to enjoy the experience of shopping for other people. But you and Elias had agreed that you didn’t want to make Christmas an incredibly elaborate or expensive affair; the more you had to buy, the more you had to stress over what to choose, the less you would enjoy the holiday itself. So Elias gifted you a book you’d been eyeing, then you gave him a leatherbound journal and a pen. You unwrapped some nice lotion and candles, handing him a navy blue wool scarf. Elias had recently gotten into puzzles — you’re not sure who introduced him, but you had a sneaking suspicion it was Brock — so you got him a 1000 piece puzzle of the snow capped mountains of Banff. “Figured it’d keep you busy for a while,” you said. He squeezed your hand in appreciation. You opened up your last present, sliding out a pair of tickets from an envelope. Two concert tickets to someone you’d been dying to see for years, but you’d never been able to snatch up in time. “How’d you pull this one off?” you asked, delicately holding the tickets in your hand, the envelope they came in long forgotten on the floor.

“I tried to get them online when they went on sale last month like everyone else, I stayed on my laptop for something like an hour but nothing showed up. So then it was plan B. I called someone who called someone who knows someone at Rogers, told them the situation and that I wanted to surprise my girlfriend, and they made it work. I try not to name drop too often, but if it’s for you, I’ll do it,” he explained.

You leaned over and kissed him, your hand resting against his jaw. “Thank you, babe. You really didn’t have to, but...It’s going to be amazing. We’re going to have so much fun.”

“You better,” he replied, reaching around the tree to pull out a tiny box from between the branches, one so small you wouldn’t have noticed it if you didn’t know there was something to be looking for. Your heart nearly stopped, and you looked up towards Elias with an expression that was equal parts overwhelmed, panicked, and nervous. “I’m not proposing,” he said quickly. “It’s not a ring.”

You let out a breath of relief. “Oh my God, good.” Now it was your turn to backtrack. “I wouldn’t have been upset if you were proposing, we know we both want that in the future, but it would have caught me a little off-guard.”

Elias nodded. “And I get that. I definitely don’t want to be giving you a heart attack when I’m trying to ask you to marry me.”

“That wouldn’t be good.”

“It wouldn’t. I’d definitely rather have an alive fiancée than a dead one. But,” Elias said, turning over the box in his hands, “I’ve thought a lot about this too, and I’m as sure of this decision as I am that I’m going to propose to you one day.” He finally handed it over to you, gesturing for you to open it. “It’s been nearly a year and a half since we’ve been together, so I figured it’s about time — past time, really — that we make it official, have you bring over the two pairs of pants or whatever that aren’t already on your side of the drawer, stop having to drive the twenty minutes home at midnight after we fall asleep together during a movie marathon. About time we move in together.”

You let out a soft gasp, holding the silver key delicately in your hands, in between two fingers as if it might shatter into a million pieces if you dared grip it any tighter. “And you’re sure about this, ‘Lias? I’d love to, but only if you’re sure too. I don’t want you to feel backed into a corner about anything just because it’s what everyone else is doing, or seems like the ‘next step’ for us as a couple, or —”

Elias cut you off with a kiss, closing your hand over the key. “I’m positive. And I’m not doing this for anyone else other than us.”

Even though you were sitting on the living room floor, you spoke your next words as if you were breathless. “When can we start?”

“We can start whenever you want, baby. The sooner the better,” he answered.

Your eyes met his. “One more question,” you asked. He nodded. “Did I do it? Did I make you love Christmas?”

“Mission accomplished, baby.”

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