#this man decided to run through some soil and he’s so dirty

[wayfaringmuslimah]

Y’all I’m so scared to bathe my cat but it has to happen

#this man decided to run through some soil and he’s so dirty #he’s acc so big now and he hates baths #I’m gonna get my ass tore up I’m so scared keep me in your duaas bls

[curvykittyyssmutfics]

Dating Both Boys (NSFW Alphabet)

A = Aftercare: The boys are very aware they both leave your whole body soiled and brain fucked so stupid that it's only fair to run you a nice warm bubble bath, help wash away their cum and soothe your sore overworked limbs. Sometimes you put the pussy on em so good that Satoru falls into a dreamlesss slumber soon as he nuts, snorin in your ear with his softening length still lodged deep inside you. But Suguru ain't the one. Holds his nose till he gasps dramatically, ice blue eyes shootin open. "Wake up idiot. Go get the bath ready for her."

B = Body Part (fave): "Mouth!" Suguru's cheeks heat when his answer spills from his lips before you can get the question out. "Sorry. Just really love kissin you." "Aw, how sweet Sugu!" "And.. Seein your plump lips all glossed up, slidin up and down my dick.. Shit really does somethin to me.." "Sugu! Tsk. Can tell Toru's been a bad influence on you." Now Satoru comes up with a different response everytime, filthy ass gropin wherever he can reach each time you bring the topic up to get a direct answer. "Baby, how can I choose? You're so fuckin perfect. There's no part of you that can't make me nut till I drop." You shake your head at the horny fuck. "Maybe I should ask your dick instead since you only think with him, fuckin THOT." "Touchè, baby. Touchè.."

C = Cum: Since your white haired sorcerer is nothin short of an absolute terrorizing menace, he finds satisfaction in blanketing your face with his cum whenever you allow it. Will really jerk his cock off all in your grill and cum a second time if he doesn't deem the first load big enough. "Hmm.. Think that's enough. Can barely open your eyes now, pretty mama. Let's go show Sugu!" For Suguru it's a tie between stuffin your throat or cunt. Loves when you stick your tongue out to show him the mess before swallowin your reward. Sometimes he's nice enough to let you decide. "Tell me ma, should I feed this mouth up here? Or do your pretty brown lips below wanna taste this nut?"

D = Dirty Secret: You stumble upon the skeleton in their closet one bright sunny afternoon comin home from class. You'd stayed later to have a word with Yaga, declining the boys offer to wait up. You're just not expectin to catch a savage Satoru brutally mounting Suguru doggystyle inna way that makes you 100% sure this ain't the first time. You stare wide eyed through the cracked bedroom door, hand clamped over your mouth, thighs pressing together as your pussy flutters to the sight. Both men on the bed facin you, gruntin and growlin like hungry predators. Satoru feels your presence but pretends otherwise. Disgusting filth drippin from his lips as he speeds the pace, smackin Suguru's flesh and yankin on his dark locks so hard that he cries out like a whore. You watch intently, stunned but so fuckin turned on. Sure they've touched each other in front of you, handjobs and such, but it had always seemed like they only engaged cause it turned you into a supersoaker. You ain't never seen no orgasmic shit like this. Gotta slide your fingers into your panties for some well needed relief, mentally smackin yourself when a small moan slips out. "Well, well, well.. Looks like we got an audience Sugu." Satoru finally acknowledges you, not bothering to slow his hips as he tugs Suguru from the pillows by his tangled hair. His dark eyes meet yours, tinted cheeks flushin an even brighter red as shame fills his core. It was an interesting fuckin evening for sure.

E = Experience: Satoru of course was a man whore before he convinced you to give him a shot. You assume he'll be quite versed in the art of all things sexual and for the most part, he is. Skilled and so quick to get excited when he sees how good you're feelin. But sometimes you need to readjust his fingers or hips to the correct angle, remind him not to rush cause none of you aren't goin anywhere. "There, Toruuu.. Right there but not so fast. Got all night- right Sugu?" As far as your other boyfriend was concerned, you hit the fuckin jackpot cause he was a virgin when you guys started dating. It really is a holy experience to be able to corrupt thee Suguru Geto. Though you feel bad when Satoru teases him on you bein the only pussy he's ever gotten. "Shut up Toru. Or I'll tie you up, not let you cum while you watch me drain Sugu's fat balls." Satoru smacks his lips and the back of Suguru's head in irritation. "See woman? You be choosin.."

F = Favorite Position: Satoru's breath catches in his throat, a glowing brightness fraying the edges of his vision the first time he gets you on all fours, baring witness to that almost back breakin arch. You're a godess to him, especially in this position- perfect round ass jiggling widly, smackin his pelvis in thundering claps. Sticky strings of your shared arousal connecting you both every time he pulls his hips back. Don't get him started on your reactions. Your feral as shit in this position. "Fuck, could you be any louder? Hm? No really baby, can you? Let's test it out." Suguru doesn't agree with Satoru on much but your ass is definitely just as hypnotizing to him. Though he prefers you in reverse cowgirl, smackin both hands down your dimpled cheeks till they burn more than your strained thighs. Even spreads them, smilin when you get all shy and flabbergasted as he stares longingly at your winking holes. Doesn't ever forget to make sure a mirrors nearby so he doesn't miss your tits matchin the rythym of your voluptuous hips. "Good God, y/nnn.. Killin me baby- oh fuck! Bouta cum!" "Nooo, only b-been a few minutes Suguuu!"

G = Goofy: The three of you've been together so long, bond so deeply rooted, they absolutely feel free to be carelessly humorous with you. Even in vulnerable moments. Satoru especially, lovin to put his mean dom twist on it. Mocks your strangled pleas and breathless cries of his name as he grins and wreaks havoc on your clit. Suguru is more reserved when he's inside you. Mostly waits for you to initiate; usually a dirty joke bout how big he is. He offers a huffed chuckle and a quick quip as he takes you apart piece by piece. "All the better to fuck you with my dear."

H = Hair: The carpet absolutely matches the drapes on these gorgeous hunk of men. Does it really surprise a soul that Suguru keeps his shit as neat as the hair on his head? Both men trim, though Satoru may forget and need a reminder. Bonus: Your fresh out the bath, towel wrapped round your curvy body snugly, sittin on the edge of the tub. Your lookin for an escape route as Suguru stands by the sink pleading with you. "Please y/n? All you gotta do is lay back and spread for us." "Ew. Why Sugu? So freakin gross!" You whine back. "No it's not. Perfectly normal thing for couples to do. Right, Toru?" You both look to a chill Satoru leaned against the bathroom doorway. "Course it is. But even if it weren't, that wouldn't stop us sweetheart. You should know that by now." "But I always shave myself down there. Why do you want to?" "Cause it'll bring us closer baby, you'll see." You look at Satoru again but he shrugs, giftin you a dazzling smile. "Fine." You grumble. "Great! Toru go get the bowl of water and razor in the kitchen, you know where." "On it!" He whizzes from the room as you instantly realize this was prearranged. "Fuckin freaky plotters!"

I = I Love You: Even though Satoru's shallow ass confessed during sex, he meant it with all his heart. But neither you or Suguru had said it yet and rejection was an experience he wasn't fond of. Regardless, it slips one day when he's got you missionary. Fingers linked as he sensually makes love to you, nut just over the horizon. You're so needy, beggin him to tell you how good you're makin him feel; to tell you how much he needs you. "Oh fuck yes you're a good girl. No one can take me better baby. Mmm.. Please don't ever take my pussy away.. Ahhh- so good sweetheart! Love it so much. Looove this pussy.. Shiiit cummin, y/n! Love you so much, babygirl!" With Suguru it comes when you offer the perfect solution to the issue of the curses he swallows tastin like shit onna stick, although it takes a considerable amout of your cursed energy and temporarily weakens you severely. "Can't believe you did this for me. Thank you, princess. So so fuckin much. I appre- no y/n. I love you. Love you forever and a day, babe."

J = Jerking Off: It's all Suguru knew at one point so now that he's sampled sex with you, he's grown a serious disliking to makin himself cum. But he doesn't like to impose on you. You're a busy woman, as well as you put in a lot of time and energy into keepin both your men happy in any way you can. So when he gets an inkling that you need a break, he'll head to the bathroom to handle business. Makes sure to bring his cell, full of sexy pics and vids of his lovers. Satoru is a bit more selfish. Realistically, the man probably only jerks off alone 7-8 times a year. Makes sure that either of his partners lend a helping hand whenever he gets too pent up. Other than that if his hands on his dick it's aim or tease.

K = Kink: Suguru's into a lil role play, spit kink, edging, a smidge of voyeurism and a whole lotta breeding. Might actually die of embarrasment if you ever found out about the latter. Told Satoru they'd battle to the death if he ever snitched. Wants 10 babies that look just like his lovers. You're both so beautiful, can you blame him? And Satoru has too many kinks to count, we'd be here all day tryin to list em all. But some of his faves include light BDSM, Daddy kink sprinkled with some puppy play, and of course some somno. He wasn't sure how to introduce the last one into the fold though. How was he ever supposed to tell his princess, or even Suguru for that matter, that he drools daily fantasizing about slidin into your unconscious body. Wants to see if he can fuck that perfect pussy to an orgasm while you sleep, needs you to lay there all warm and pliant, oblivious to him usin you like a pocket pussy.

L = Location: Satoru is a connoisseur of public relations. Literally any fuckin where. The amount of joy he finds from you pullin out all the stops in effort to hold in your pitchy moans is fuckin sickening. From him feastin on your pulsing clit in the car in the movie theater parking lot to fingerin you in a booth at your fave restaurant. It's all the more worse when he taunts you with his soft pink mouth, kissin up and down your neck tenderly as you try to hide the way your eyes cross behind your menu. But Suguru beats Satoru in depravity this time. It's a whole new level of sick how much he delighted in fuckin you in your childhood bed when you take them to meet your parents. You thank God they ran to the store to grab a few items to for dinner. Satoru begrudgingly plays watch-out by the front door as Suguru fucked you so hard he splintered the headboard against the wall. He's been absolutely infatuated with doin it again since.

M = Motivation: It doesn't take much to get the boys ready for some action. You poke fun at them constantly bout how easy it is to make their dicks rise to the occasion. But they take it on the chin easily cause they know its 100% true. They'll never not be able to get hard for you at the drop of a dime, even after a couple rounds. Run your fingers through Suguru's black mane, nails scratching his scalp how he likes and now he's sittin in front of you, avoiding eye contact as he tries to hide the tent in his pants. "Not my fault Sugar- you know what that does to me!" It's even less work for Satoru, only havin to give him your signature bedroom eyes. He's immediately hard, trippin over his pants and underwear while he tries to take them off as he chases you to the bedroom. "Better come back- y/n! Bring my pussy back here, now!"

N = No: There just isn't many ways for you to gross your men out or turn them off. With that being said shit play and piss play isn't in the cards for you three. Like thanks, but no thanks! Well.. except that one time you told Satoru to stop as he bounced you on his dick, moaning out that you had to pee. He refused. Chalked it up to you gettin ready to squirt, like you were known to do from time to time. But Mr. Know It All was wrong and got wet the fuck up. His only response was to slam you down by your shoulders and creampie you with a loud pitiful whine. To this day he argues that you squirted. "Nice try. But not likely, sir." "Well.. Either way I'm fuckin." "You really are a fuckin freak, Toru."

O = Oral: Neither are stingy in the department. Both your boy's eyes light up like kids in a candy store when they get to eat you out. In part to satiate their own needs but also because of how much they know you enjoy it. Suguru waits with bated breath to hear yours catch when he holds your gaze and slowly sinks to his knees in front of you. Cums untouched the way you shudder as he nurses your nub, thick thighs squeezin his ears tight as hell. And Satoru's equally obsessed with the taste of you. The times you allow him to tie you up though.. It's a roll if the dice if he's gonna overstim you or not. Usin his mouth is his fave way to overwhelm you, big hands tuggin you back onto his swollen lips when you attempt to run from his talented tongue.

P = Pace: It's just depends on the mood. Chiiile.. Both of em are waaay too versatile to stick with a singular speed. One of the reasons why your guys sex life's so great is because of how spontaneous they are- in every way. Satoru especially, peepin your reactions; waitin till your nice and relaxed, gradually stroking in before pullin out, angling just right and fuckin in quicker than speedy gonzales. Drools how your fat jiggles from his sudden jarring thrusts. "Aww. Poor lil cry baby.. What's that, honey? Faster? Heh. Anything for you baby." Similarly Suguru will tease you too. Or just plain out ask you what your in the mood for. "So how you wanna doin this thang, mama? Want me to play nice or not? ... Oh yeah? Better cancel your plans then girl. Finna tear it up.."

Q = Quickie: Suguru's much better at em than Satoru. Makes sure you not to wrinkle your clothes if there's not enough time to strip you. And always asks where you want him to cum so it's not an inconvenience. "Ahhh fuck.. It's comin honey- where you want it? ... Inside? Ohhh thank fuck, here it is sweet girl. Take that shit.." But Satoru loves to ravish you so he turns his nose up at quickies. That's not to say his pussy whipped ass isn't gonna fuck but he always rolls his eyes and huffs in exasperation when you tell him to hurry up or becareful of your hair. "Fuckin hell, woman.. Would you shush up and lemme do my job while you do yours? Just sit pretty and take this dick like a good girl."

R = Risk: Satoru's always game to experiment when it comes to doin shit to you. A bit more reserved concerning you wantin to do somethin he considers to be 'psychotic'. "Oh come on Toru. Don't be a scaredy cat!" He stiffens, chiseled chest pokin out as he lays up all spread out on the bed with you in between his legs. "It's just a finger! You know you've done a lot worse to Sugu." Satoru sputters at you, arms crossin across his chest indignantly. "Whatever. I'm not saying no, I said go slow." "Ok, ok.. yeesh.. Big baby." You say the latter under your breath with a smirk. "Heard that shit, woman!" Now Suguru's just as cautious. And that's probably a good thing since you guys tend to test each others limitations. "Y/n, you can't be serious! You realize you're just gonna give the egomaniacal bastard another power trip, right?" He fumes at a silent grinning Satoru. "Please baby, it's for me. Forget he's even there. Focus on me, handsome." You advise him sweetly, gently pushin him to his knees. Finally givin Satoru the opportunity to force his dick between Suguru's dark blush lips. He does as you say, holding your adoring gaze, large palms settling on Satoru's narrow hips. "Thats it, just like that Sugu. Doin so well, don't even need any help." Satoru pants and groans, holdin the sides of Suguru's head as he eases in and out of his warm wet mouth, mentally noting the lack of a gag reflex. "Fuuuuck, she ain't lyin babe. You're a fuckin natural."

S = Stamina: You can get your men to cum multiple times during a session, both bein able to shoot about 3-4 nuts before the overstimulation is damn near crippling. Though on the norm, since you already have two big strong men to take care of, they let you off the hook with an orgasm each. Can't blame a girl for being good at doin the do! But to set the record straight, they can fuck way longer than you can take. You usually max out your stamina by the end of round 2. But neither ever mind. They just scoop you up and carry your fatigued frame to the shared bathroom. "My poor tired woman. Had to use the safe word.. Did so good for us though, mama. That right, Toru?" A nude half hard Satoru trails behind, feelin a smidge of guilt at your half conscience state. "Fuck yeah. You did 'mazin tonight, sweetheart. Don't worry, we'll take care of you now. ... And Sugu.. Maybe later.. You can finish takin care of me?" His tone pathetically hopeful. "For cryin out loud, horndog. Can we just get her cleaned up first? ... Then we'll, uh... We'll see what happens." The giddy bounce Satoru does in obvious anticipation as he runs your bath, lengthy cock now drippin and at full mass again, makes Suguru blush like a virgin.

T = Toys: Ofcourse y'all add a few toys to the mix every now and again. You prefer air pulsing vibrators instead of the extra intense devices that can be numbing. The boys love using em as foreplay, otherwise they're mainly for when you're alone. Satoru has a good size chest of shit- whips, nipple clamps, ball gags and even an unassembled sex swing. There's a bunch more and you haven't tried em all yet but can't wait. But you like to play and feign disinterest when he brings up his nasty lil box. They know better though. Suguru's not entirely experienced when it comes to this area but even he notices how much wetter you get when they use toys. And it's no problem when Satoru has to teach him how to use some of em on you cause he's a real quick learner. There's just somethin real naughty bout seein you cuffed to the spreader bar, sight never fails to get him impatient as hell. "Move Toru, needa fuck her first tonight." He breathes, rudely bumpin Satoru to the side with his shoulder. "Ok, ok. Geez, Sugu. Don't gott be a dick bout it. And try not to cum too quick this time." He chuckles at the blatant eagerness, but Suguru's not amused. "Quiet. Or I'll put you in the spreader and fuck you next." He's just talkin shit, already sinkin into your heat and forgetting bout Satoru's incessant taunting. So preoccupied with you that he misses the way Satoru's dick twitches as he gulps audibly, imagining Suguru's empty threat in his filthy mind.

U = Uncut: Satoru's circumcised with a lengthy cock. You often wonder if it's as long as his lanky body, how far it reaches inside, easily able to jam your poor gspot repeatedly if need be. He's got your throat trained real good without even tryin cause of how thick it is. But it just doesn't compare to the depth this man reaches inside you. He's got more veins than Suguru too. Your fave protrudes and twists round his base, beggin to be licked when he's fully hard. But Suguru's uncut, almost as extended as Satoru, though has a more girth to him. Takes him no time for his cock to rage red when he's been stiff for too long. Also spills alot more precum than Satoru. Loves when you pull the skin back and suck softly, effectively siphoning the clear fluid from his slit till he's nuttin a big fat load down your throat.

V = Volume: To this day you don't know why Suguru sometimes tries to bite his lips or fist to muffle the beautiful noises that slip out. His deep gruff grunts are so quiet, opting to tell you in words how good he feels or when he's bout to cum. It's something you work on, constantly reminding him there's no shame in voicing how good he feels. But when you put the pussy on him too good or he's too pent up, which is pretty often, he's less self conscious. Huffin and puffin against your moist mouth, lewd phrases tumbling from him nonstop. You're not even sure he knows what he's saying half the time. You're eventually inhaling his loud piteous moans into your mouth as he loses his mind in your lil puss. And of course we all know Satoru's a screamer. He never shuts the fuck anyway, so why would he do so in the bedroom? It's starts of with booming cries into your ear that eventually end up with wails of how good you feel echoing round the room. He's not doing it on purpose, but as soon as his mouth opens when he's in-between your thighs, you and your neighbors are definitely bout to hear an earful.

W = Wild Card: (Fucking to Music) It's something you initiated but Satoru was definitely wit it. Boys got more rythym in his hips than you and it should be fuckin illegal. You give him a list of your favorite love makin songs and he brings back a playlist, adding a few nasty songs of his own that got no business bein played anywhere but Functions. He's loves gettin you in missionary, rollin his hips into yours seductively as he matches the slow beat. An aroused sob rips from your chest out your mouth when he lessens the pace, singing the words quietly at your ear as he cages you to the bed. This is when Suguru's voyeurism kicks in, skin heatin up as lays in bed next to you guys; watchin your love making turn to frenzied fucking as the song changes, taking notes on how Satoru's tempo never strays from the flow of the music. Can't wait to show you what he can do next.

X = X-ray: Satoru likes to be ready for the pussy at drop of a dime so you're used to him goin commando most days but you are so not a fan.. Even when you tease him, tossin him a clean pair of Suguru's boxers and tellin him he's onna coochie restriction if he dont start wearin some damn drawers round here. "Fuck is that?" You scoff and put your hands on your shapely hips. "Means you aint gettin no pussy till you start wearin underwear, you lil hoe." He clutches his heart, feigning chest pains as you roll your eyes at his dramatics. "Don't play with me like that sweetheart. Guess you win.." You really don't though. The next time you yank down his bottoms, eyes wide before grippin your belly in hysterics at the fact that he's wearing a pair of your lacy panties. "Satoru!" You manage through your giggle fit but he only professes his innocence."What? I'm just doin what you told me to! Do I get the pussy now?" Suguru watches the reoccurring debacle in amusement, glad he has no issue with wearin his trusted snug black boxer briefs. You always make sure to give him extra big smooch when they're bout to leave the house, opting to ruffle Satoru's soft white hair instead as you try not grin at his pout. "What? Not my fault Sugu's a good boy that doesn't walk round in public slangin his dick print everywhere." Satoru huffs his disdain for Suguru's 'ass kissin', declaring him a teachers pet.

Y = Yearning: Between your two sex crazed men, their libido is very very high. It's to be expected since your guys attraction and chemistry has been on point since before you officially started dating. It really is like were made for one another. But if they're not specifically careful, they'll easily wear you out. It's unavoidable, you just turn them on too fuckin much. Suguru will even try to slake his desires by jerking off over your tired frame after they've fucked you into exhaustion. "Shit! 'S not enough, forgive me baby. Just need a lil more. Won't fuck you anymore, dont worry! Just need to feel you, my one and only girl." Rubs his cock all over your sweaty body cause his hand just doesn't compare to any part of your soft flawless mocha frame. Cums as he trace his dick across your stretch marks, moaning how pretty and perfect you are. "F-fuuuck.. So sorry, honey. Ahshit! Gonna let you rest, almost done. Just lemme- ohhh fuck, 'm cummin!" Satoru can't contain himself either, difference bein he doesn't even attempt to. Sometimes Suguru has to leave when he's still fuckin you, reminds Satoru that you might need a break soon on his way out but all he gets is a noncommitted hum. You try nudging at his abdomen, keening as he speeds his thrusts but Satoru only covers your mouth. Smile sinister as you scratch at his hand and push at his chest with wide eyes, muffled cries for Suguru goin unheard as your savior walks out the front door oblivious to your torture. Satoru fucks you even faster, fallin in love with your tight lil puss all over again. "Whose gonna save you now, y/n?"

Z = Zzz: Like previously mentioned, Satoru gets so drunk on your pussy it's written in the stars that he's driftin off soon as he nuts for the last time. Doesn't wanna squish his princess so will quickly turn you on your side or back, big dick still tucked deep inside as he drags you against his large warm body. "One sec.. Honey.. So tired, gonna.. get up inna.." Zzz. Suguru usually has to rectify the situation, pullin you from a whining Satoru or just plain smackin him. Loses all his patience if it's his turn to fuck. SLAP! "Ow! The fuck, Sugu?! What was that for?" He blinks rapidly, the nerve to actually be disoriented when he wasn't even supposed to be asleep! "Cause your in the way of my pussy, idiot. Don't pretend you ain't tackle me to the floor when it was your turn." Suguru replies, movin to smack him again. Now he of course he's just as tired as Satoru when he finishes. But only falls asleep right after if you decline aftercare. Snuggles up to the closest warm body and drifts into a peaceful slumber after a quick replay of the night's events in his weary mind.

#black reader #black fanfiction #black writer #all welcome #all readers #all women are beautiful #chubby reader #curvy girls #smut #dirty talk #creamp!e #cumontheface #dub con #somno k!nk #breeding k1nk #male on male #polyamory #jjk smut #satoru gojo x black reader #satoru gojo x black!reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #suguru geto x black y/n #suguru geto x black!reader #suguru geto x black reader #suguru geto x reader #suguru geto x you #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru x black!reader

[cheemscakecat]

Tf2 comic details I noticed

Heavy and Medic very much give me the vibe that they know each other better than the rest of the team knows either of them combined.

This is the first time Heavy is seeing Medic again after the team split, but he’s likely been briefed on the mission to rescue the others. So he’d know about Medic being with Classic team. I think he knows what game doktor is playing.

Medic warning his bestie that Classic has a gun as soon as he can breathe enough to get the words out.

And then heavy proceeded not to care about the immortality machine, because his friend died to a man with no honor.

2. Found some more pain again.

Scou no, hon-ey. [Cries]

3. Emesis Blue parallel/foil?

RED Sniper was locked out of the room, but he managed to get in through a window and saved Spy.

RED Spy tried to use stealth to defeat Classic Sniper, and it would have worked if the man wasn’t a dirty cheater with robo-eyes. He got shot in the leg.

Even if he’s grumpy and standoffish about it, Spy did in fact give his Sniper some credit. And a cigarette when he wanted one.

I’m assuming the suit argument comes from not wanting the man -who takes kidney enlarging pills to produce more pee- to use the drip like a diaper and lecture him about Classic’s soiled britches.

It’s actually BLU Soldier that wants RED Sniper to die slow this time. Maybe because he still believes in Archibald being a good man, and he’s angry about what happened to Scout.

Spy had a really good opportunity to shoot Butcher Pyro, but decided to try and threaten the man with a bigger, faster gun anyways. That’s crazy, talking about “Take off the mask” like he’s gonna be threatened.

He gets shot in the leg for it. Other side, but still near the knee.

Soldier has to run for cover [because powerful gun] and the door locks behind him. He isn’t able to open it after Butcher Pyro runs out of bullets, leaving BLU Spy on his own.

And then he does get tortured.

Also, it seems like BLU doesn’t know RED Sniper very well at all. Spy had to be reminded of his Sniping moral code, but he was still salty about the cheater and bleeding near the knee.

Sniper doesn’t monologue. He did talk to Pauling about his parent situation, but why would he talk to the enemy teammate who shot half his leg off and left him to bleed out? Doesn’t sound like him to me.

4. RED Medic brought Sniper back to life after 12 hours, and post-comics I feel like the BLU team found out. “I seen the other side”. And…

BLU Medic killed RED on sight. Either he assumed he was with the Bloody Engineers, or he knows that guy’s crazy and he’s not taking chances.

Also for all he knows, that’s undead RED Hoovy. Given the fact that RED Medic invented the ubercharge, and Heavy was the first teammate to demonstrate it. And this nightmare hoovy is against Builders League, so how would he know better?

#tf2 #emesis blue #character analysis #tf2 spy #tf2 medic #tf2 sniper #tf2 soldier

[callmewishful]

Man this took a totally different turn than I planned. Gautier Family Week day 3: Duties (ish? lol)

(There is hunting and the stuff that goes with it in this, just as a fair warning. Nothing graphic though!)

.—.

Miklan watched from the side of the bed as his second mother gently brushed back a mess of flaming red hair. The baby had been born many hours ago, but this was the first time Miklan got to see him.

“What do you think, Miklan?” His mother asked. Miklan had already been forewarned that this was a trick question.

Truthfully, Miklan wasn’t sure what to think. The baby was a weird shade of red and kind of boring. That brought the little bundle in his mother’s arms into a negative light. He had been told that having a little sibling would be fun. If all this baby did was sleep, how could he be any fun?

Still, no matter Miklan’s true feelings, he had been informed that he should give positive responses only. His mother had gone through many hours of pain and the least Miklan could do for her was be polite. “I dunno. He’s quiet.”

Miklan did think the baby was polite to be so silent. Nieve had said that the baby would cry and be loud. But the baby gained a little of Miklan’s good feelings by proving Nieve a liar. Since Miklan had been in the room, it hadn’t cried once.

“He’s very sleepy.” She told him, looking far more tired than the little baby. Even more tired than after the night her and Miklan had stayed up because he had been sick. He decided then that he didn’t want a baby.

When Sylvain got even older, Miklan found he was good at listening and asking questions to understand things. That was probably Miklan’s favorite. He liked teaching a little brother and showing him cool things. He liked when Sylvain stared up at him with big wondrous eyes. Syl was super curious and asked so many questions of Miklan, just like Mik used to do to their father. He wondered if Sylvain thought Miklan knew everything, just like Miklan thought Father knew everything. That was a cool thought.

To make things even better, Sylvain was kinda fun. He followed Miklan around and did what Miklan asked him to and never complained about getting dirty or having to be quiet while they snuck around like some of the other kids did. In fact, Sylvain seemed to like just about anything as long as he got to hang around Miklan. Mother and Nieve had been right. It was fun to have someone to play with all the time.

Miklan and Sylvain’s favorite thing to do was play spy. They’d tiptoe around the manor and listen to gain information. Father didn’t like it when they played the game with him, so they played with manor staff and Mother instead. They usually didn’t play for long because most older people talked about boring stuff like Lady Fraldarius having a baby, King Lambert enacting some new law, or Galatea soil not producing any crops. But every now and then, they’d hear something really good like the cook was baking cookies for dessert or a wild beast was on the loose in the woods.

Sylvain tugged hard on Miklan’s arm. “We gotta investi-bate!” Sylvain was only four, so he didn’t say things so good sometimes. He had the right sentiment though.

“Of course we do! We gotta protect Gautier from the beasts! Come on, Syl! We gotta grab our weapons and armor!”

Both boys took off running towards the armory. Even though they were small, they got to keep their weapons with the big knights. It made them feel just as important.

Miklan helped tuck a blanket into the back of Sylvain’s jacket so it fluttered like a cape. Sylvain wasn’t big enough to have armor yet so blanket padding would have to do it. Armor really just absorbed the hits anyway. Blankets would probably do the same thing.

Miklan put his armor on and grabbed his axe and a lance. Father taught him that it was important to have a backup weapon in case your first one broke. He handed Sylvain two small lances as well, warning him to be careful because it was sharp. They couldn’t fight beasts without real weapons.

Sylvain was good at memorizing routes, so Miklan let him lead the way west while Mik strategized their plan. The beast was probably pretty big so they had to account for that because they were small, especially Sylvain. Maybe Sylvain could provide long-distant support like an archer. Miklan wore heavy armor to be able to take hits up front. He could distract the beast while Sylvain snuck up on it! Sylvain was little and quiet. It would work perfectly!

They walked for a long time through the snow, Miklan sharing his master plan with Sylvain. Both boys agreed it would work wonderfully, and Sylvain was excited to get to help even though he was small.

After wading through heavier and deeper snow, Sylvain stopped, eyes bright while he tapped Miklan’s arm. “Look!” He pointed to their left. Miklan grinned.

It was the beast.

The animal was big and tall, meaty and mighty. Light brown fur coated its back and legs, though it had a little scruff of white on its neck. Sharp pointy horns sat upon its head. They’d have to watch out for those when attacking.

It didn’t notice them yet, so Miklan took this opportunity to rediscuss the plan. As soon as he stepped closer to kneel by Sylvain, the beast’s head snapped up. They’d have to be extra quiet if they wanted to catch this.

Miklan placed his finger to his lips. He pulled out his lance and showed Sylvain how to position it to throw. They’d never be able to sneak up on it with the beast being this jumpy, which meant they’d both have to go for a long range attack. Miklan held up his left hand to count them off. One…two…three!

They both threw their lances as hard as they could. And they stuck! Both lances got the beast in the back leg; Miklan’s in the upper, Sylvain’s in the lower. The beast took off running, hobbling a bit with its injury.

“CHARGE!” Sylvain shouted, pointing after the beast. His little legs took off as fast as he could go, which wasn’t that quick. Miklan hoisted Syl up over his shoulder so they could go fast. He didn’t want to miss the monster!

With the beast’s slowness and the little trickle of blood to help them, the boys tracked the monster to its next stopping point. It was harder to keep quiet with his heavy breathing, but Miklan silently took Sylvain’s final lance to make one last attack. He knew that hearts were closer to the front of most beasts, so that’s exactly where he aimed.

Back on the ground, Sylvain’s little hands were gripped into tight fists, teeth clenched in anticipation of the strike. Miklan slowly brought the lance forward over his shoulder, practicing the throw before lunging it forward. Direct hit!

The mighty beast fell hard and Sylvain screamed a great cheer! They had done it!

Sylvain jumped up and down following behind Miklan to check out their triumphant victory. Miklan took out the lances and cleaned them against the wet snow while Sylvain admired the pointy horns of the animal.

“We did good.” He announced with an emphasizing nod. Miklan agreed.

Together, one boy on each set of horns, they pulled the mighty beast back to the manor. It was getting dark out, though thanks to Sylvain’s memory and Miklan’s directional skills, they were still able to find the right path home back home. As they got closer and closer, they could hear shouting but couldn’t make out what was being said.

“Another beastie!” Sylvain determined, dropping his half of the animal to run forward. His little blanket flapped behind him as he went, partially covered in red blood.

As he got closer, he realized that people weren’t shouting over a beast. They were shouting for him and Miklan. He listened closer and thought he could hear Mother and Father among the voices.

“Momma!” He shouted, running ahead again. The thought of his mother and father being attacked pushed energy through him.

Phelan heard him coming, she always did, and he collapsed into her safe arms.

“Oh Goddess.” The woman inspected him, eyes wide. “Matthias! Matthias, bring a healer!”

Sylvain didn’t understand the urgency. He was fine. A little tired and heavily breathing from the running, but fine.

His father ran up to them, crouching down so he could inspect Sylvain for himself. He grabbed Syl from his mother’s grip and started taking his coat off. “Where are you hurt, Sylvain? Where’s Miklan?”

Phelan looked past their younger son then, trying to spot Miklan from where Sylvain had come from.

“M’not hurt.” Sylvain told them. “Miklan has the beast!”

Both parents stopped then, staring at Sylvain with frowns and worried expressions.

“The beast?” Matthias asked.

“It has horns!” Sylvain exclaimed excitedly. “But we got it. Miklan ran fast!”

The adults shared a confused look between them. Sylvain wasn’t sure why. Him and Miklan saw a beast and saved the town! What was hard about that?

“Where is Miklan?” Matthias asked again. He did this often when he couldn’t understand what Sylvain was saying. Miklan was better at explaining things because he knew more stuff.

“Back there with the beast.” Sylvain pointed in the direction he’d come from. His father told his mother to take Sylvain inside before running off in the direction Sylvain pointed in.

Phelan scooped up the little boy and started to bring him towards the manor. They had just met up with the healer when his father started shouting for his mother again. She shared a look Sylvain couldn’t read with the healer and turned back.

Breaking the clearing was his father and brother, Matthias holding the beast up with one hand by the horns. Sylvain marveled at his father’s strength. The beast had been heavy for Sylvain, even with Miklan’s help.

Phelan looked from Matthias to Sylvain, lips pressed together in a thin line. She looked like she wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure what. It took her until Matthias and Miklan were only a few feet away but she finally asked, “What the hell is going on?”

Matthias sighed, looking from the animal back to her again. “Apparently I need to take my sons hunting more often.”

#these kids!! #I love them so so much #we need more good sibling content #miklan anschutz gautier #also #Matthias teaching Miklan to carry two weapons because Matthias’s broke when trying to save rodrigue #yes #gautierfamilyweek #sylvain jose gautier #matthias raoul gautier #oc: Phelan Mirela Gautier

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

Church (Choi San) Rated

Pairing: Choi San × Reader (Female)

Genre: Smut, Angst, Fluff, College AU, Friends to Enemies(?), Enemies to Lovers (?)

Summary: He used to be her best friend until he abandoned not only his childhood beliefs, but her in the process. One night, he decides to show her a glimpse of what she's been missing out on. Inspired by Chase Atlantic's Church .

Word Count: 6.3+K

Warnings: Mentions of religious beliefs, brazen college parties, allusions to alcohol/nicotine intake, body insecurity (reader has small breasts), oral (female receiving), fingering, nipple play, body worship/praise, slight cumplay, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (always use protection), slight corruption kink, inexperienced reader, experienced San. (Probably forgot something)

Taglist: @little-precious-baby @yunhoiseyecandy @yunhofingers @galaxteez @brie02 @deja-vux @a-soft-hornytiny @multidreams-and-desires @couchpotatoaniki @daniblogs164 @yunsangoveryonder @minhyukmyluv @nanamarkie

╬╬═════════════╬╬

The infamous rebel let out a pernicious snicker when he saw the serene and usually proper former acquaintance walk in his direction.

"Are my eyes deceiving me or is that really the pastor's prissy little daughter out past her bedtime in a college party?" He found the situation much too amusing that he just had to point it out.

"I have a name you know." The female he was referring to halted in her steps to turn her head and give him an unkind and unfriendly look.

"You have several, actually. There's goody two shoes, priss, prude, prig-"

"Oh shut the fuck up Choi San." She scoffed as she began walking away from him, already feeling annoyed by his presence.

The man trailed after her, his face donning a shocked expression as he flailed his arms around in a dramatic way.

"Guys it's happening! The apocalypse is really here if L/N Y/N has not only attended a wild party full of debauchery, but her mouth has actually uttered out cursed words!" He shouted out, the other attendants either joining in laughing at her or ignoring him in favor of the bottles or sticks in their fingers.

"I'm surprised you even know what that word means." She turned to look at him with a mocking smile, arms crossed over her chest.

"Please, I know a lot more than you have ever pretended to know." He clicked his tongue, elbow coming up to rest on the wall next to him.

"Is that why you turnt corrupt and abandoned everything you believe in?" She couldn't help but spat back at him.

"Hey at least I was honest and didn't hide it like you people who lead double lives. Preaching one thing but living the total opposite. You're all nothing but a bunch of hypocrites." The venom in his voice was unmistakable, nose scrunching up in disgust as he remembered gross sins he had more often than not had witnessed from people who claimed to be pure and holy.

"I do not lead a double life." She remarked.

"Oh really? Then why the hell are you here in a college party? Full of alcohol, drugs and walking STDs? Riddle me that princess." His foot tapped against the floor, patiently awaiting an answer from her.

Y/N swallowed the non existent lump in her throat and turned her gaze to the floor in embarrassment.

"I just wanted to see what it was like. Just once." She admitted begrudgingly, the man in front of her chuckling lowly.

"Well you sure are going to have a lot to confess on Sunday to your dad. Silly girl, walking into the lion's pit like this." He jeered at her.

"Don't get ahead of yourself. Just because I came here doesn't mean I've done anything morally wrong." She counteracted his words to which he only snorted.

"Yet."

Tired of his overly obnoxious attitude, Y/N spun on her heel to get away from him, but she spun so carelessly and fast that she ended up bumping into another classmate who unfortunately was holding a full cup of beer that ended up being doused all over her white blouse.

"Oops! Sorry, my bad." He excused himself, looking completely unapologetic about the situation.

Meanwhile Y/N looked absolutely horrified as she took in the drenched state of her shirt that now had the stench of alcohol on it. The fact San was bursting out in giggles only served to make her even more mad.

"Now tell me how do you plan on explaining that to dear old-"

"Can it San or I swear I'll gauge your eyes out." She threatened him as she stormed out the building, not caring that she bumped into a few figures on her way out.

Feeling just a bit of empathy for his old friend, San sighed softly before following after her. Upon catching up to her, he took hold of her wrist and started dragging her in the opposite direction.

"Hey! Get your filthy hands off me! I will not hesitate to scream!" She tried tugging her arm away.

"Calm down I'm not planning on kidnapping or anything like that sweetheart. I'm taking you back to my car."

She let out a dry laugh at that.

"But that's not kidnapping?" She raised an eyebrow at him.

"I have a spare shirt in the backseat that you can change into. Unless you wanna go home smelling like PBR." He looked back to see the mess one more time, lips curling up into a smirk.

Against her better judgment, she allowed him to take her all the way where his car was parked, standing there quietly as San rummaged through the backseat before taking out a clean plain white tshirt and held it out to her.

"Here. Put it on."

She looked at him with a face that asked if he was stupid.

"Well what?" He asked.

"Oh yes..I'm totally going to strip in a middle of the street and let anyone passing by see." She rolled her eyes at him.

"Oh for fuck's sake, there's nobody here, nobody is going to see and frankly I don't think anyone cares about seeing your non existent boobs." He scorned at her as he gestured to her chest.

"Ok rude and uncalled for." She felt slightly hurt by his comment, having always been somewhat insecure about the size of her chest.

"Don't look." She warned him.

"Not like I want to." He jeered at her as he turned away to not only give her privacy, but to also serve as a lookout for anyone that might accidentally show up and see the scene. He could hear her behind him tearing off her clothes and then slipping it back on.

"Ok there. I'm done." Y/N announced as she stuffed the soiled shirt into her bag.

"Not even a thank you?" San pouted slightly, to which Y/N gave a feigned smile.

"Thanks."

With that said and done, she brushed past him and started walking away, absolutely done with the night.

"Careful not to get caught sneaking back inside your house." She heard San say from behind.

"For your information I'm not living with them anymore. I moved into the dorms 2 months ago." She stated in a matter of factly, a proud look on her face.

"Well in that case....want to ride back with me?" He offered.

"Yeah no, I'd rather take my chances at being kidnapped and then butchered up. Besides, I wouldn't want to cut your wild night short." She declined the offer.

"Stop being so negative Nancy and accept my generosity. Geez."

Running over to her, he quickly snatched her up and threw her over his shoulder, ignoring her shocked exclaims and protests.

"Now this is really kidnapping!" She declared.

"Yeah I know, now shut up before I duct tape that bratty mouth of yours." San grinned mischievously as he tossed her into the backseat and shut the door before striding over to get on the driver's seat.

"Oh come on. Stop looking at me like I'm a criminal. Just because I indulge in a few sins every now and then, doesn't make me into a bad person." He stated when he saw the dirty look she gave him.

"Whatever." She muttered as she locked in her seatbelt.

San opted for just driving back to the dorms and get Y/N tucked in her bed since it was clear to him she needed it.

╬╬═════════════╬╬

"You're lucky my roommate is on vacation, otherwise I would have left your ass back there." Y/N spewed out as she threw her keys onto her dresser.

"Thanks Y/N, I always said you were the nicest and most giving person in the planet." San complimented her as he felt he should given she was letting him stay the night in her dorm after a little tiny incident with his keys dropping inside one of the manholes surrounding the university. And the administration office wouldn't be open til the morning, meaning he was screwed unless his roommate showed up to let him in, but that was a definite no since San knew Seonghwa would definitely end up in someone else's bed and come back til the next day, hickeys plastered all over his neck and chest.

"No, you always said I was the most stuck up-"

San shushed her by pressing a hand over her mouth.

"You dwell so much on the present image of me you drew up in your head that you completely erased the friend you had all those years ago." He slid his hand off her mouth, shoulders slumping down as he turned away from her to crouch on the floor.

"That friend doesn't exist anymore, that is if he even existed in the first place. If I recall, my friend wasn't into parties, booze, vaping, tattoos, piercings and fucking around with every whore in the school."

San didn't say anything as he heard her ramble, he just let her talk away as she started pulling out spare blankets and pillows for him to use.

"My Sannie was sweet, cute, adorable, always ready to lend people help and respectful to others." She reminisced with a sad look. Pulling her expression straight, she laid out the blankets and started arranging them neatly on the floor.

"I still am."

San's voice was so quiet that she barely registered that he even opened his mouth in the first place, but she heard him.

"Maybe if you weren't so puffed up with pride and didn't cut me off after I cut ties with the church, you'd see that I'm still the way I was. You think I changed completely because of ink and metal on my body? Because I wanted to try certain substances and yes, satisfy some perfectly normal and humane needs?"

Y/N averted her gaze from him and continued the task she was in. San let out a despondent scoff.

"Of course you do. And yet didn't I just demonstrate to you back there that I haven't changed? Giving you my shirt, giving you a ride, yeah I know, it's not much and no big deal, but wasn't those the types of things I'd do even back then?"

Y/N's tongue poked against her cheek as she knew she couldn't deny that was San said was absolutely true. He did nothing different back at the party as he used to do years ago. Helping old ladies with grocery bags, giving away some of his clothes to less fortunate kids, he was always known as being such a giving and kind person.....

No wonder so many were devastated when it was announced he had resigned as a member of the church. Y/N herself was hurt and even indignated by his decision. And after that she adamantly refused to see him or talk to him, and of course San respected her decision and avoided contacting her so as to not make her uncomfortable. He understood that their friendship was broken and he wasn't going to overstep boundaries just to try and fix it when the other party didn't want it. So he just decided to live his life as he thought was right without his conscience bothering him. And he was much happier now, he felt free, something that he had never felt before. Perhaps he was so chained down by formality, discipline, strict regulations and even fear that he didn't realize that he was miserable all that time until his eyes were fully open and he found he didn't like what he saw, especially after seeing the dark and ugly side of what was supposed to be a safe and pure sanctuary. He was let down severely and he suffered in the process. But now that was behind him and he had no regrets......

Except Y/N. He truly missed her and her company. As he laid on the makeshift bed on the floor, he found himself unable to sleep as he recalled all those fond times spent with her. The trips to the lake, hiking, first day of school, their first accident after he had gotten his driver's license. He let out an involuntary smile at that memory. Unbeknownst to him, the girl on her bed was equally reminiscing on the old days filled with her best friend. She had been so alone ever since she distanced herself from him, the world now feeling empty and cold without him. Shifting around in her bed, she whined into her pillow as she desperate tried to sleep.

"What's the worst thing you've ever done?" Her question startled San momentarily.

"Are you that sleep deprived that you're suddenly asking me to confess my worst sins?" He chuckled amusedly.

"Maybe it'll help me get actual sleep, I don't know. And.... I'm just curious." She clutched one of her plushies and started messing around with it.

"Curiosity killed the cat and I don't think your virgin mind will be able to handle my confession." He asserted confidently.

"I'm not a virgin, but oh well. Just tell me, what's the worst?" Her casual response made San flip out. He sat upright and kneeled at the front of her bed with an incredulous look.

"What do you mean you're not a virgin? When did you-?" He was so flabbergasted he wouldn't even finish his sentence.

Rolling over to where he was, Y/N smirked at him.

"Uh uh. I asked you a question first and you have to answer it before I can answer any you want."

Knowing he had no alternative, San placed his chin on the top of her mattress.

"Had a threesome with 2 of our professors." He laughed when he saw how shocked Y/N looked.

"What?! No way!" She refused to believe him.

"It's true. I won't tell you who they were since you won't be able to look at them the same way if I did...... I'll just dish this: they both got really huge tits and it's a shame they're married." He admitted with a smug expression.

"I can't believe you." She fanned her face which she was sure was now a deep crimson color.

"Ok now your turn. When did this happen? Who was it with?"

Y/N didn't even mind that San got up and crawled into her bed to lay down next to her. His face was rested on his hands as he looked at her with intense inquisitiveness. Knowing she'd have to talk about it sooner or later, she thought it would be best if San was the one to know since he would never tell anyone else and he'd understand since he was tainted as well.

"Remember when that group of missionaries came to stay over at our city for a while back in high school?"

San nodded, vividly remembering everything. Y/N blushed and smiled shyly.

"Do you remember that there was a family with a son our age? Chase?"

San widened his eyes and flopped over on his back as his hands came to hide his face.

"Oh dear lord, please don't tell me it was that Canadian boy." He groaned in pain.

"Yeah....yeah it was."

San couldn't stop cringing at the thought of his friend doing such a thing.

"How even did that happen?" He was so lost.

"I don't know! It just did ok? It happened while we were out in that camping trip. Somewhere there, we were left alone and we started talking about everything and nothing til it spiraled into talking about sex and us being virgins decided to see what was the big deal....." She bit her lower lip as the memory flashed in her mind. Looking over at San, she knew he was judging her as she expected. A tiny snort escaped his lips.

"That must have been the worst 45 seconds of your life." He joked, earning him a slap on his chest by Y/N's hand.

"It was not 45 seconds!............. it was 2 minutes."

San only laughed harder at that, nearly crying from how funny it was to him. He composed himself though when he saw how embarrassed Y/N looked about it. Feeling bad for laughing at her expense, he cleared his throat and patted her head.

"It's ok. First times are always awkward and uncomfortable. The problem was you weren't prepared and you were both inexperienced. He just didn't know how to please you."

Y/N couldn't help herself as she asked:

"And I suppose you can?"

Flipping onto his stomach, San cupped her chin with his hand and ran his thumb across her lower lip.

"Don't tread on dangerous territory little angel lest you want an evil demon to corrupt you." He warned her, and although he wouldn't actually follow through on it, he did want to tease her a little. But he wasn't expecting for Y/N to play along to his teasing, only she was not joking at all as she brought her face closer to his.

"Maybe I want you to corrupt me, show me what I've been missing out on." She brushed her lips against his, tongue daring to poke out and press on his slit briefly, leaving him stunned.

"You have no idea what you're asking for princess." San mused as he held himself back from touching her.

"I know what I'm asking for Choi San and what I'm asking for....is you." She responded with confidence.

Escaping from underneath the blanket that covered her, Y/N reclined back on the mattress, her head laying on her soft pillow as she gestured for San to come over to her, which he promptly did. Parting her legs so he could fit his body between them, he smirked softly down at her eagerness, fingers brushing against the soft skin on her thighs.

"You're serious about this?" He wanted to make sure it wouldn't be something she'd regret.

"I already messed up once, what's one more time gonna do?" She pulled him down against her, not caring when he lost balance and accidentally crushed her under him with his muscular body.

"Besides...." Wanting to further entice him, Y/N brushed her lips against his ear.

"Look at me and tell me you don't want to fuck me. That you don't want to stuff that hard cock of yours into my tight and inexperienced pussy. Bet you're itching to tear into me until I'm crying under you. Don't you want that?"

San let out a moan at hearing such filthy and depraved talk from her. It only fueled his appetite and hunger for indulging in carnal desires.

"Yes... I want that.... I want you."

Closing space between them, San molded his lips over hers, encasing them in a sloppy and wet kiss. Y/N could faintly make out the leftover scent of alcohol and nicotine as she let him taste her mouth, but she didn't mind or felt grossed out by it. She just kept her lips parted and allowed him to move his tongue freely inside her. Cupping her cheeks, San continued to roll his tongue over hers, massaging it gently with both deep yet gentle strokes. When he pulled away, he made sure to tuck her bottom lip between his teeth, pulling it towards him as Y/N let out a moan that was like music to his ears. Pausing briefly, their lips were barely touching as they breathed in each other's air. San was the first one to break into a smile, the one that had Y/N melting since it displayed his dimples to the fullest.

"Never thought I'd hear that sound come out of your pretty mouth." He teased her.

"S-shut up." She frowned, hand reaching up to smack his chest.

"It's not a bad thing. I like it. Now let's see if I can make sure you keep them up."

Stuffing his face into her neck, San ghosted his lips across her skin, tongue subtly poking out solely to hear her breath hitch slightly. Dipping his tongue into her collarbone, his lips opened up so they could firmly latch and spread wet kisses across her neck. Y/N gasped when she felt teeth sink down, head tilting back to give San more room which he took advantage of. Focusing on particular spots that he knew she was sensitive in, he sucked her skin into his mouth. Each time he pulled away, he reveled when he saw the finished mark that was now painted on her skin.

"I would love to see your parent's reaction to my love bites." He brushed a fingers across the newest spot he just embedded in her body, hand then reaching up to suddenly clasp around her neck. Y/N shuddered when his grip got tighter, her oxygen intake getting cut and making her feel hazy, but it was nonetheless enjoyable. Snaking a hand under her shirt, or more like his shirt, San swiped his tongue over his bottom lip as he started to pull the material up.

"How about I make some matching ones all across your pretty chest?"

Before he could lift the shirt any further, Y/N's hand clasped around his wrist, preventing him from moving any further.

"Don't." She begged him.

San retracted his hands away from her, fearing he made her uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry." He immediately apologized and began to move away from her, but Y/N's hands raked against his thighs to keep him in place.

"No, it's not you. It's just..... if we're going to do this, can I keep the shirt on? I don't...." She took a deep breath and closed her eyes as she admitted an insecurity of hers.

"I don't like my chest. My boobs are too small, it's unflattering and I'd rather you not see them." She slowly opened her eyes to see his reaction. San had a sad look on his face, bottom lip poking out as his fingers came up to brush against her cheek. Remembering what he had previously said back in the parking loyal, he felt terrible for saying that ill intended joke about her body. He probably hurt her and he didn't realize it.

"Y/N don't say that. Your chest size doesn't matter. You're beautiful the way you are and I bet underneath that layer is clothing there is the cutest and most adorable set of boobs in the world." She let out an involuntary giggle at his words, letting him run his hand down her clothed sternum.

"But if that's what you want, I'll respect it. Either way, my tshirt looks amazing on you." He acknowledged rather cockily.

Shifting further back, San took hold of the top of her shorts, making sure to look at her.

"Are you ok with these coming off?"

Y/N resisted the temptation to slap the top of his head.

"If you don't take them off, how are you going to fuck me genius?" She retorted.

"You'd be surprised at what I've learned." He uttered, mostly to himself than at her.

Like an expert, he practically tore her shorts down her legs, panties falling to the floor along with them. Y/N let out a soft squeal when he took hold of her thighs and brought her down so his face was at eye level with her most intimate part. San took a few seconds to admire her bare mound, lips parted and threatening to start drooling all over her thighs. Pressing both thumbs against each one is her lips, San pried her folds open, staring intently as he now clearly saw all of her.

"Oh fuck. I'm gonna need to prep you real good. I can tell you're going to be really tight."

She wanted to ask him what he meant by prep, but her words got caught in her throat when she felt his tongue delve into her core. She had never felt someone's mouth anywhere near her folds and she regretted not having experienced it before. Her eyes shut tight as she marveled at the sensation of San's tongue lapping at her bud, his lips making sure to enclose all around the flesh surrounding it before giving it gentle suckles. Shaky breaths blew out from her mouth, her legs wanting to close themselves around San's head but his firm grip on her thighs kept it from happening. He kept her knees pinned to the bed as his mouth continued to ravish at her taste, sloppily consuming her heat fervently. Her mind was so occupied in what he was doing that she didn't register the hand that slowly crept away from her thigh until she felt something poke at her entrance.

"Oh-" She gasped, opening her eyes to see what was going on.

"Relax princess. It's just my finger.....for now." He momentarily pulled off her heat to let her know what was happening before diving back in to continue his task of eating her out.

His finger inside her felt a little weird at first, sliding in slowly before pulling out only to plunge itself back into her. During one of those times where she expected him to slide back in, she was surprised when she felt herself being stretched out as San curled a second finger inside her. Keeping them lodged there, he began scissoring them alternatively so he could further spread her walls apart. During one of those movements, his fingertips brushed along her hood, making her hips slightly jolt up into San's face, who smiled against her folds as he now knew exactly where to angle his hips for later. Using this new knowledge, that was probably unbeknownst to Y/N, he slipped his fingers deeper into her, knuckles deep as he moved his tips rhythmically on the the spot he found. Y/N's mouth fell wide open into an 'O' as whiny gasps and airy moans poured out of it. San's mouth latched to her clit and his fingers working deep in her hole was producing a stirring in the lower pit of her stomach that she couldn't quite make out. But it felt good, especially since it continued to grow more and more, almost as if it was a cord about to snap.

"San- wait. I feel, I feel-" She couldn't finish her sentence as her body trembled slightly, a flood of overwhelming pleasure washing over her that was prolonged by San drinking up the juices that spilled forth out of her body. He didn't pull away until he made sure to swallow every drop she had to give.

"Aren't you grossed out?" She asked him, always having wondered about that.

"Nope. I love licking girl's pussies, especially if they're as sweet as yours." He affirmed while pulling his shirt off his body.

Y/N turned her flustered face away from him, keeping her gaze locked on the wall to her right, which was decorated with several polaroids of her with her family, friends and members of her church, some of them even had San in them, back when they were inseparable. Before she could become nostalgic, a strong set of hands clutched her chin and teared her gaze away from the pictures, forcing her to stare at the now naked man in front of her.

"Forget about that for now. Right now I want your full attention on me and what we're about to do. After we're done, that image of a good girl you have will gone." His words seemed to almost taunt her.

Although she tried not to look, Y/N's eyes fell in between San's legs, filled with astonishment when she glimpsed for the very first time at her former friend's member, fully erect and leaking at the tip as it awaited to be hugged by her warm walls.

"Like it? Maybe later I'll let you play with it." San giggled when her eyes shot up at him in surprise.

Placing himself to hover above her, he hummed lowly as he slowly stuffed himself inside her, working her open until he was fully nestled inside her warmth. Although she felt a light burn scraping against her inner walls, it wasn't unpleasant or painful like her first time. She could tell San knew exactly what he was doing as he began rolling his hips. Perfectly recalling exactly where to aim at, he made sure to angle his thrusts accordingly so each time he pushed back in, he'd hit her pleasure spot.

"Oh God-" Y/N exclaimed when he continued to brushed against the hood of her core.

"Really think it's a good idea to call out the good lord's name when I'm balls deep inside your pussy?" He asked with a malicious smirk plastered across his face.

"No baby. Tonight your only lord is me."

Pinning her wrists above her head, San continued pushing his cock deeper into her. The harsh pounding of his hips against hers was becoming louder, their bodies starting to get heated and producing sweat. Y/N couldn't do anything but whimper and wrap her legs around San's waist, keeping him firmly locked to her body. She closed her eyes once more as she felt the same familiar feeling from before start piling up, only it felt more intense and stronger probably due to the fact that she was getting railed to her bed by her ex best friend, whom she still cared about deeply. She was definitely not planning on making up with him this way, but holy hell, she couldn't deny that he was making her feel so many emotions at once. Pleasure, lust, satisfaction, happiness, euphoria, love? Perhaps that last one was definitely a stretch, but she blamed her confused thoughts on how well his cock was abusing her hole. She felt unable to focus on anything except him.

"Clenching so hard around me babygirl. Are you gonna cum all over my cock?"

Slipping one hand in between their bodies, San pressed his thumb against her clit, rubbing it back and forth so it would serve as an extra push to tip her over the edge. Y/N splayed her hands on San's lower back, nails raking against his skin, causing him to hiss.

"Fuck- am I seriously making you feel that good babygirl?" He knew for a fact he was feeling absolutely amazing, her tight warmth gripping along his shaft, making it hard for him to hold back much longer.

"Mmm yeah." She shamelessly moaned.

"Am I better than your first?" Although he already knew the answer, he still wanted to feed his ego and hear her say it.

"So much better! It feels so fucking good." She inhaled sharply when that she began to feel the sensation from before. With even louder cries from before, her body shook underneath San's, blood rushing to her head as an even greater orgasm coursed through her body. She was left speechless, a full on panting mess even after San had pulled out of her after helping her ride out her high.

"Oh geez. Shit." San's voice rasped out as he jerked himself off, his cum painting her thighs white, not stopping until he had finished coating them with everything he had to give.

Looking down at the mess, Y/N couldn't suppress a tiny giggle, one of her hands clasping over her mouth while the other picked up some of his cum and spread it between her fingers.

"Having fun there?" San grinned, finding her fascinated gaze to be completely adorable to him.

"Yeah.." She said as sat up to get a better look at the cum around her thighs.

"Well I was going to clean it off you, but seeing as you're so entertained by it, I'll just leave you with it."

Not forgetting that he was merely a guest, San slid himself off her bed and plopped his tired body onto the blankets on the floor. Closing his eyes, he was thinking he would finally be able to sleep, but he found his plans thwarted when he felt a pair of hands graze across his chest. Looking up, he found Y/N straddling his lap, biting down on her lower lip as she grinded her wet folds along his softened dick which was now becoming hard again thanks to her.

"What in the world are you doing you crazy girl?" He sucked in a breath, not expecting her to suddenly pounce on him.

"I wanna try that again." She pleaded, grinding her hips harder on him.

"Oh my- did I accidentally turn you into a nymphomaniac?" She chuckled at his joke and although he groaned as if he was frustrated, he obliged to her wishes and sat up.

Clasping her waist with his hands, he lifted her up and guided her so she could easily sink herself down on his length. Not letting go, he slowly rolled his hips up, burying himself deep in her body once more. Since they were both still riled up from their previous session, it didn't take long for both of them to start spewing out a clutter of moans and grunts as they once again get lost in a mist of lust that clouded their minds. San drunk up every expression on Y/N's face. Every twitch of her facial muscles, every shuddering breath she exhaled, each time her eyelids shut close, he marveled at seeing her enjoy the experience. He loved seeing her indulge in such an intimate practice with him, more so given how special she was to him, one of the most important people in his life aside from his family. Looking down at her torso, his fingers brushed along the hem of her shirt.

"Please...." His urging caught her attention.

"Please let me see all of you. I want to admire every inch of you and your beautiful body. I promise I won't laugh or judge. I just want to worship you."

Y/N hesitated briefly, still afraid to let him see what was hidden under the shirt.

"It's ok if you don't want to. I won't force you." He shot a kind smile at her as he focused back on making sure to drive his cock up into her.

Feeling safe and knowing she could trust her lifelong friend whom she thought of as a soulmate at one point, Y/N reached for the bottom of her shirt and peeled it off her body. Coming face to face with her bare chest, San groaned in ecstasy as he slid his hands up her body.

"Just as I predicted, you have very cute breasts."

Pulling her chest to his face, he opened his mouth and took one of her nipples in it, swirling his tongue around it before sucking on it. Y/N's fingers raked themselves through his hair, harshly tugging them when she felt his teeth sink themselves into her flesh.

"Aren't they too small?" She inquired.

Letting go of her breast with an audible pop, San cupped her chin.

"No baby, they're absolutely perfect. They're gorgeous, just like every other part of your body. You're gorgeous, absolutely stunning and holy fuck, you're driving me insane honestly." He confessed, his mouth diving into her other breast so it wouldn't feel left out from being tenderly kissed and sucked on.

His words sunk deep in Y/N's heart. He really did found her beautiful, attractive and it spurred something in her. Feeling a newfound passion, Y/N unconsciously began taking over their movements. Pushing against his thrusts, she began to set her own pace, rutting herself on top of his dick. San of course took notice and was happy about it.

"Oh wanna take over now baby? Well go ahead."

Laying back down on the floor, his eyes stared up at her with lust.

"Fuck yourself on me darling."

Encouraged by him, Y/N began bouncing herself on his cock. Finding an angle that she liked, she sunk down on his length over and over, her head thrown back as she used his body to push her down another spiral of immense pleasure. San just relaxed and admired the way she lost herself and gave into her deepest desires. He loved the way she rode his cock, and he loved feeling her walls tighten once more around his shaft.

"Oh shit- Sannie." She cried out his name as she quivered on top of him, her juices spilling out onto his cock once more.

Knowing fully well she was probably aching between her thighs, San gripped her hips and helped her ride out her climax so the feeling she was going through wouldn't go away just yet. He made sure to be gentle, easing her up and down his cock with absolute tenderness. Once he knew she was satisfied, he pulled her of him and set her down on the floor before sitting up above her body. Just like before, he took hold of his cock and began pumping his cum out of his body, plastering it all across her inner thighs and even splattering some on her stomach. Looking up, Y/N had the same giggly expression as before.

"Does my cum really make you burst into a fit of giggles?" He questioned her.

"I can't help it. It's just... I don't know. Maybe it's the fact it's so dirty and wrong, and then to have you spread it all over my body." She explained, which made San chuckle.

"Maybe I should baptize your thighs with my cum more often." Although he was joking, Y/N was more than willing to take him up on that offer.

"Will you?" She looked up at him with puppy eyes.

San studied her for a moment, before a wicked idea popped in his brain.

"How about you let me baptize and stain that pretty face of yours?"

Getting a hint of what he meant, Y/N got up on her knees while San stood up right in front of her, cock in hand as he brought it up to her lips.

"I hope you weren't planning on going to morning services tomorrow because I'm going to keep you up til morning until your knees hurt."

#ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez reactions #ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #ateez smut #ateez imagines #ateez fluff #ateez angst #ateez san #ateez college au #ateez san angst #ateez san fanfic #ateez san scenarios #ateez san smut #ateez san imagines #ateez san fluff #ateez san fanfiction #choi san #choi san fanfic #choi san scenarios #choi san imagines #choi san fanfiction #choi san angst #choi san smut #choi san fluff

[magpie-to-the-morning]

Sundress Season

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 3.5k

Tags: Fluff, Domestic af, Hurt/Comfort, Nothing major the Reader got some scratches gardening and Frankie is Concerned, p in v sex, wrap it before you tap it, Size Kink, Sort Of, Exhibitionism, If You Squint, A little, Dirty Talk, mostly just tooth-rotting fluff (plus a little loving smut),Triple Frontier, Frankie “Catfish” Morales, Domestic, Gardening, Outdoor Sex, No Beta

Summary: You and Frankie have just moved into a farmhouse fixer upper and are enjoying the first warm day of spring. A lazy afternoon nap turns into something... more.

Read on Ao3

Leaning the shovel against the white picket fence, you stand back to take an appraising look at your handiwork, squinting against the midday sun. You’ve taken advantage of one of the first truly warm days of spring to plant some blackberry bushes along the boundary of your new home. Sweat slides down your spine and you can already feel a dull ache spreading through your calves and along your forearms, but you toss aside your leather work gloves with a grin, proud of your morning’s work. You brush your hair away from your face with the back of an arm, leaving a trace of dirt along your forehead. “Frankie, come look.”

“One sec.” His answer is muffled, even considering it’s coming from inside the old farmhouse the two of you have just moved into, and you realize he must still be working on the kitchen sink.

You enter the house, surprisingly cool and dim after the sunny warmth outside, and walk to the kitchen. Frankie’s legs jut out from beneath the sink, and all you can see of him are his work boots, khaki pants, and a glimpse of his soft stomach where the rusty red t-shirt he’s wearing has ridden up. You lean against a nearby counter, the smooth stone lip pressing into your lower back, and smile down fondly at him. “How’s the sink coming?”

The house is a dream come true for both of you, but it’s also needed a ton of work both inside and out. You’ve already sanded floors, patched up creaking stairs, painted most of the rooms, and ripped out overgrown hedges that had threatened to take over the yard. Once you’d cleared them out, the yard and gardens became an invitingly open canvas, just waiting for you to make your own.

The two of you had spent several late winter evenings curled up in front of the stone hearth, seed catalogs and plant nursery order slips laid out in front of you, arguing pleasantly over how to cram in every plant both of you want. You’re determined to line the yard with fruit trees and shrubs, while Frankie is surprisingly invested in the beds where he plans to cultivate tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, and a variety of herbs. At least you both agreed to leave the large, well-established lilac trees bookending the house, and you’re currently waiting to see who will win the bet about what color the sprawling, thorn-covered rose bushes will be. You’re hoping for a buttery yellow to complement the lilacs, while Frankie is holding out hope that they’ll be the same pale pink as the roses he’d brought you for one of your first dates.

This morning, just when the two of you had made plans to tackle some of the new plantings, the kitchen drain had backed up. You’d decided that job would be better handled by Frankie and headed out to start the landscaping yourself. “Almost there, I just need to…” Frankie’s deep in concentration, and you swear you can almost see him sticking the tip of his tongue out as he focuses. There’s a final sound of metal scraping against metal, followed by a victorious “ha! Try it now.”

“You sure? I don’t want to soak you.”

A muted huff echoes from the space below the sink. “What, you don’t trust me?”

“Ok,” you shrug. “Just don’t blame me if you get a faceful of water.” You turn the tap on slowly and watch as the water spirals easily down the drain. “Hey, you did it!”

Frankie braces a hand along the top of the cabinet and pulls himself to his feet. “Don’t sound so surprised,” he teases. “Told you I could do it.”

“My hero,” you say lightly, crossing the floor to kiss his smiling cheek. His scruff scrapes lightly against your face, and you find yourself lingering, especially when he captures your lips for a proper kiss. “Now I can wash some of this dirt off- I feel like I brought half the yard in.” After the hours you spent planting various shrubs and a few small fruit trees, your arms are streaked with dry soil.

“Here, let me help you.”

Frankie steps behind you, his broad form leaning against yours as you stand at the newly repaired sink. His thighs press lightly against your own as his arms encircle your waist. He leans his chin on your shoulder and his messy curls brush against your ear while he begins to run soap over your forearms. You laugh, his efforts mostly just splashing dirty water around, but the cool water is a welcome relief. “Frankie! I can do it myself.”

You can feel him smiling against your neck. “I know, I just- oh.” His voice turns suddenly soft, with a note of worry.

“What is it?”

“Baby, you hurt yourself.” He steps alongside you, examining the delicate skin of your inner arm with a concerned frown. “What happened?”

“What?” You look down and see a few thin, angry red lines streaking the length of your forearms. “Oh, it’s nothing. The blackberry branches were thorny, that’s all.” You’d been wearing one of Frankie’s flannels for a little extra protection, but it had grown too hot and you’d stripped down to just your t-shirt. “It’s fine, they’ll heal fast.”

Despite your reassurance, Frankie ducks into the bathroom while you pat your arms dry with a clean dish towel and comes back holding some ointment. “They’ll heal better with this.” He flips open the cap and looks up, seeking permission.

You nod, unwilling to deny him anything, especially with that melting brown gaze trained on you. It’s not necessary, but you have to admit- you love that he takes such good care of you. Frankie takes his time, gently stroking a dab of ointment over each small scratch. His light touch quickly takes the sting out of your small hurts, and when he’s finished you catch his hands, bring them up to your lips for a grateful kiss. You adore his hands- so much bigger than your own, strong and capable but still so deft. He ducks his head and smiles and your heart clenches with love for this quiet, loving man.

------- After changing out of your dirt-streaked jeans and into a clean sundress (which, of course, Frankie also offered to help with), you head back to the kitchen to grab a drink from the fridge. The cold glass bottle begins beading almost at once, and you hold it against your slightly sunburnt neck. “I was going to go read in the yard for a bit, care to join me?”

“I’ve got a couple more things to finish up here, you go ahead.” Frankie drops a kiss to your temple as you pass, on your way to get a book and an old quilt to spread out on.

“Ok, see you in a bit.” The old screen door swings shut behind you, bouncing slightly before it catches the latch. A project for another day, you think. The two of you have already done plenty, and for now you just want to enjoy the rest of the sunny afternoon.

You spread your quilt out under a flowering magnolia tree which offers just the right amount of shade and lay down on your back. A light breeze stirs the green grass around you and sets the flowering tree branches swaying, a few pale pink petals raining down. Sunlight dapples your face as you relax, enjoying the surroundings of the garden you and Frankie are making together. The book is good, but you find yourself distracted, listening to nearby birdsong and watching billowing clouds scud across the bright blue sky. With the sun warm on your face, it’s not long before your eyelids are drooping.

-------

When you wake up, shadows are lengthening across the yard and Frankie is sprawled out next to you, having come out and dozed off at some point after you did. You lean into his shoulder, still warm from the heat of the sun, and smile against him. There’s a patch of skin just below his hairline and above his collar, and you lean in to kiss him just there. He tastes faintly of clean sweat and you press your tongue against him, seeking the slight taste of salt.

Frankie stirs and sleepily cracks one eye open. “Can I help you?” Try as he might to sound long-suffering, you suspect he enjoys your touch.

“Nope, I’m good.” You toss your book aside and drape yourself over his back, enjoying the slight movement below you as he shifts to accommodate you. It’s getting a little cooler now as the sun slips towards the horizon, but Frankie’s warm, solid presence grounds you. He tenses a little when you lean your head on his shoulder and you pull back at once. “Is your shoulder still bugging you?” He’d pulled it while you were moving and as hard as you try, you don’t always manage to wrest the heavier chores away from him, so it’s been a slow recovery process.

His answer rumbles quietly from below you. “A little. Working on the sink probably didn’t do it any favors.” You lean up at once, straddling his waist so you can massage his neck and shoulders. “Poor thing, you are tight here.”

He hums in agreement, though you can feel the tension begin to leak out of him as you knead his tense muscles. You work a stubborn knot, fingers digging into the meat of his shoulder, and as he sighs you can feel him relax further.

You lean down once more, careful to put your weight on your hands, braced against the ground,  and drag your mouth lazily over his neck. Your seeking licks turning to more intent kisses and when your teeth close over his pulse point, Frankie lets out a low groan and bucks his hips. You feel the movement all through him, especially where you’re seated against his ass.

“You want me to stop?” You ask teasingly, getting the expected shake of his head in response. You grind slightly against him before returning to nose at his neck. By the time you trace the shell of his ear with your tongue and nip gently at the cartilage, Frankie has had enough.

He rolls the two of you over with a smooth motion that ends with you flat on your back, and him smiling above you. “Oh, are we done fooling around?” You look up playfully. “I can show you the blackberry bushes before-”

He stops your mouth with a kiss, nipping at your lower lip before licking his way into your mouth. Delight shivers through you and you deepen the kiss, your tongues tangling languidly. You run your hand through his tangled curls, scraping your nails against his scalp. This pulls a soft noise from low in Frankie’s throat as he leans into your touch. His nose brushes yours and he nudges your cheek, trails kisses down your jaw.

Heat is pooling low in your belly and you spread your legs to invite him closer. Frankie takes the hint, canting his hips to drag the growing bulge in his pants against your core while you push back into him. “We should head inside,” you gasp as he moves lower, sucking at the delicate skin of your neck.

“We can if you want, but who’s gonna see?” His large hands cup your breasts and he dips his head to brush kisses over their swells. You arch your back, desperate for his touch even as you look around cautiously. He has a point; there’s no neighbor on this side of the house, just a patch of woods, and you’re well back from the road.

“Good point.” You reach down to tug at the hem of his shirt. Grinning, he sits up for a moment to help you. As soon as he’s shirtless he gets straight back to the task at hand. Frankie’s fingers make quick work of the buttons running the length of your sundress and he pulls the fabric aside, exposing the creamy lace of your bra. Your stomach flips at the sweet, eager look on his face. You’ve been together so many times, but he always makes you feel special, cherished. Despite being outside, potentially exposed, you feel completely at ease in his arms.  

With a quick glance up to check that you’re ok with it, Frankie unclasps your bra and helps you shrug out of it. The air is slightly cooler now, but his warm, broad palms encompass your breasts before the chill can even register. You sigh as his thumb brushes your nipple, and downright shudder when he wraps his plush lips around the stiffening peak. Your legs are writhing almost of their own accord now as you grow desperate for more. “Frankie,” you groan, tugging at his hair.

You feel his lips curve into a smile and his tongue darts out to flick against you. It glides along your swollen bud and your pussy aches for more so you hitch your leg over his hip. Frankie grabs your thigh to hold you close and rolls his hips sinfully against you, drawing a desperate noise from deep in your throat. “You like that, baby?”

You nod frantically. “You know I do. You know it drives me crazy when you put your mouth on me.”

Frankie chuckles and sucks your nipple into his mouth, pulling much of your breast along with it. The tugging sensation sends a bolt of desire straight to your cunt and you whine. You seize his jaw and glare, your eyes blown with lust. “If you don’t touch me soon Francisco I swear I will go inside without you and finish the job myself.”

You’re all talk and Frankie knows it. “I am touching you, sweetheart,” he says innocently.

You give an irritated huff and seize his hand, directing him where you want it. His composure slips when his fingers brush the crotch of your panties, already soaked with your need. His gaze flicks to yours, a lovestruck look in his eyes as he asks softly, “is this all for me?”

Biting your lip you nod. “Yes. I need you Frankie, please .”

“Shh, I’ve got you baby.” Frankie hooks a finger in the waistband of your panties and drags them over your legs. You kick them off, nearly sobbing in relief as he drags a single finger through your glistening folds.

Frankie closes his eyes reverently. “Shit honey, you weren’t kidding.” His finger comes away coated in your juices and he sucks it slowly before replacing the digit. He adds another finger, the pads slipping just inside your entrance to collect more of your slick before circling your clit. You tip your head back, grasping his shoulders as he gently fingers your slit. Just when you can’t take it, when you’re ready to beg for more, he pushes those fingers into you, stretching you out perfectly. Mewling, you buck your hips, chasing the feeling of him fucking you open.

“Mm, that feels so good. Don’t stop.”

“Never. Think you can take another?”

“Yeah.” Your answer comes as a breathless whine.

“Good girl.” Frankie adds a third finger and you swear it makes you see stars. He curls his fingers to stroke that spot deep inside and you find yourself skating the edge of your release. You’re so close, could so easily tip right over that edge, but it’s not until you hear Frankie murmur “come for me, beautiful” that you actually do. All that gorgeous tension he’s been winding up unspools in a rush of pleasure, your legs shaking and your hips bucking as he works you through it.

You’ve scarcely begun to come down before Frankie’s blazing a trail of kisses down your belly, his hands gently parting your thighs wider to settle between them, keen concentration suffusing his handsome face.

“Wait,” you breathe, catching his jaw with a deft hand.

Frankie draws back at once, concern creasing a furrow between his brows as he gazes up from between your legs. “Everything ok?”

You sit up, already nodding to reassure him as you draw him forward and kiss him deeply. “Everything’s perfect. I just want to come on your cock this time.”

Frankie looks down at you in amazement before pulling you into a crushing embrace. He tilts your chin up to give you a searing kiss, his arm wrapped around your waist. He leans his forehead against yours, his breath tickling your lips as he rasps “You’re perfect, you know that, right?”

You giggle, moved by the awestruck look on his face, and drop your hands to unbuckle his pants. He’s already barefoot, making it easier to push his pants down, followed by his boxers. You glance around again, reassuring yourself that the coast is clear. Clocking what you’re doing, Frankie chuckles. “Don’t worry, baby, we’re good.”

Smiling a little sheepishly, you nod. “I know. Just protecting your honor.”

Frankie begins to laugh softly but the sound is cut off by a hiss as you lick your palm and wrap it around his shaft. “F-fuck.” His eyes roll back in his head as you tighten your grip, working his cock. You brush your thumb over his weeping slit, collecting the pearly bead of precum glistening at the tip. “Now who’s being a t-tease?”

You look up at him innocently through your lashes. “I don’t know what you mean, Frankie.”

“Sure you don’t,” he huffs, his breathing already picking up. “C’mere, baby.” He pulls at your waist, encouraging you up into his lap.

You’re happy to oblige. With a few quick movements, you’re settled above him, his cock lined up with your entrance. Throwing your arms around his neck, you lower yourself slowly, taking him inch by inch. Frankie buries his face in the crook of your neck and meets you halfway, thrusting up to seat himself fully inside you. He always seems even bigger when you’re on top, and he gives you a moment to adjust to being so well-filled.

“You good?”

“You have no idea.”

He smiles at that, clearly pleased. “Then tell me,” he urges, kissing you just below your ear. “Tell me how much you like me stretching you out on this big dick.”

Your eyes flutter closed at this. He knows what dirty talk does to you, knows exactly when it will be the most devastating. “It feels so fucking good, baby,” you assure him. “You’re so thick and you hit so deep. I can’t get enough, want you even deeper. Please, Frankie.”

He sucks hard at your pulse point, his tongue laving your neck as he begins to thrust up into you. “Anything, baby. I will give you anything you ask for. You know that, right?”

Gasping, you nod quickly. “I know, love. I know.”

His fingers tangle in your hair, his strong arms bracing you as he fucks up into you. You match each thrust, grinding yourself on the base of his cock. The two of you find your rhythm and you lean back, allowing him to hit at an even deeper angle. Frankie leans forward, able to reach your breasts now. He sucks a nipple into his mouth, all wet heat and slick tongue moving against you. You whimper and arch your back, trusting him to support you.

He does.

Frankie’s eyes are screwed shut as he pounds into you, determined to take care of you before finding his own release. Your whimpering cries plateau and he can tell you’re not quite there yet. He rests his forehead against yours without missing a beat, opening his eyes to gaze into yours. “What do you need, baby?” He asks it softly, reverently, his large hands cradling your face as if you’re something holy. With him looking at you like this, you almost feel that way.

“Talk to me, Frankie,” you gasp. “Want to hear how much you like this.”

Your want pulls an answering moan from him. “God, you know I fucking love this. You’re so tight, and you take me so well, baby. I could pound this pretty pussy all day.” He snaps his hips, driving himself deeper inside you as if to prove his point.

Your breathing comes faster, your cunt clenching around him as his words drive you closer to your edge. “Fuck, yes, just like that. I’m so close, baby,” you whine.

Frankie cants his hips, hitting that devastating spot deep inside you. His voice is even huskier as he urges you onward. “You have no idea what hearing that does to me, sweet thing,” he pants, sweat dampening his hairline. He runs the back of his hand distractedly over his forehead. He’s not about to let go before you do and he leans in close, his warm breath ghosting against your ear. “ Come for me. I know you want to. I can feel you clenching around me so be my good girl and come for me, sweetheart . ”

And just like that, a wave of sweet pleasure rolls through you. You clutch his shoulders as the two of you ride it together, Frankie moaning against your lips as he finds his own release.

Your head drops to his shoulder, your limbs quivering as little aftershocks zip through them. Frankie holds your limp form easily, dropping lazy kisses over your face and hair while you drift back to the present. Finally, you draw back, a dazed smile tugging at your lips. You blow out a breath along with a tired, please laugh. “That was-”

Frankie chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners, pleased to have pleased you. “I know, baby.” His kisses are easy, unhurried, and still make you feel nearly drunk with happiness as the two of you linger lazily in your afterglow.

By now, the sun is truly setting, the horizon taking on a purple hue as the first evening stars begin to appear. Even in Frankie’s arms, you start to shiver as the breeze whispers over your rapidly cooling skin. In a deft move, he tugs at the edge of the old quilt, rolling the two of you into it, creating a cocoon of private warmth. As the sky darkens and more stars appear, the two of you stay wrapped up in each other, making plans for your future in the peaceful space you’re creating together.

#Frankie Morales x Reader #Frankie Morales x F!Reader #Frankie Morales x You #Francisco Morales x F!Reader #Francisco Morales #Triple Frontier #Pedro Pascal #Fic #My fic #Reblogging to add to masterlist properly #Sundress Season

[crowfootwrites]

Los Guardianes | Part V [Nestor Oceteva x Fem!Reader]

Ok, I promise there's a comedown from all the adrenaline after this! And very soon we will see characters other than Cristóbal lol.

Warnings: mentions of blood, drugs, and domestic violence; police interactions; language | Words: 1,900+

Taglist: @chibsytelford @megapeacelovemusic-blog @broiderie @est1887 @mveggieburger

Part IV of Los Guardianes

As you thundered down the alley, you glanced over at a wailing Cristóbal, splashes of crimson quickly drying across his arms and t-shirt from where you had carried him.

“It’s gonna be ok, Cristóbal, alright? I promise. Just hang tight,” you shouted over the strained whining of the engine. He quieted, shaking violently in his seat, but you turned your attention back towards the road, quickly reaching the end of the alley. You made a sharp right, having no idea where to go, but hoping to find a main street quickly.

Luck appeared to be on your side. You kept your eye on the rearview, but you didn’t see anyone behind you yet. You came up on a main street, mostly empty of traffic, and made a sharp left, immediately flooring the accelerator again. Your eyes flickered to passing signs, looking for anything you recognized.

“Fuck!” you growled, squeezing the steering wheel as you passed a sign for the Sun Bowl, panic rising in your chest as you realized you were in El Paso, Texas. You had no idea how you were going to get all the way back to California without getting caught, either by your kidnappers or by police, although at this point, you would have preferred the police. But you also had plenty of experience with dirty cops, and if your kidnappers had brought you here, of all places, it seemed likely that the police would be in their pockets.

You whipped past a sign for I-10 northbound and made for the onramp, revving the engine to merge into traffic. You darted immediately into the fast lane. Traffic was relatively light, but you hadn’t yet decided if that was good or bad. Your eyes flicked keenly between the road in front of you, your odometer, and the traffic behind you, watching for signs of a tail. It seemed like you were clear for the time being, but you hesitated to get too comfortable. It wouldn’t be long before the shattered back window drew some kind of attention.

Taking stock of your surroundings, you realized you had an almost full tank of gas. You wouldn’t be able to make it all the way back to Santo Padre on one tank, and you had no idea how you were going to pay for another. But you relegated that to the back of your mind, a concern for later. There was a balled-up hoodie in the backseat, and you stared blankly at the rosary swinging from the rearview. The glove compartment was empty.

Your eyes tracked the nearest freeway sign, realizing I-10 would take you into New Mexico. From there, you could head towards Phoenix. You didn’t love the idea of staying on a major freeway for so long, but it was the quickest way to get where you were going. From just south of Phoenix, you could take smaller highways towards home, and that suited you better. But the feeling of being chased propelled you forward; you were constantly pushing the odometer and scanning of your surroundings.

You reached New Mexico without a problem, but without a solid plan in place, you sped through it. As you careened down the highway towards an empty desert horizon, you heard Cristóbal’s breathing begin to calm. There was no chance of your pulse slowing or your body settling; you sat on the edge of the driver's seat, your thighs and core constantly clenched, ready for hell when it came.

Around two hours after you left El Paso, you were rapidly approaching Deming, New Mexico, and by then your brain was shouting at you to stop. You wanted to try to find a gas station to get yourself and Cristóbal cleaned up, in case you did get pulled over. You also wanted to check the trunk. While you had certainly been making good time, a sneaking suspicion nagged at you, one that questioned why no one had come after you or appeared to have reported the car stolen.

On the far edge of Deming, once you had passed through the center of the city, you followed signs for a gas station that looked, from the highway, to be mostly empty, in the middle of an empty stretch of commercial buildings and vacant lots. You guided the car towards the back of the gas station lot, behind the building, where you breathed a sigh of relief that there were bathrooms on the exterior of the building. You pulled into a parking space and only once you had scanned your surroundings did you get out. You went around to the passenger side door and guided Cristóbal out, grabbing the hoodie from the backseat.

The lock on the bathroom door was broken, so you pushed your way in, gagging a little at the stench. The sink was filthy, but the water ran clear, and you quickly rinsed your skin, watching the pink-tinged water swirl down the drain. Flashes of the man you killed flickered behind your eyes whenever you closed them, bile rising in your throat. The gnawing in your stomach reminded you that you hadn’t eaten in almost 24 hours. The adrenaline had kept the hunger at bay, but suddenly you were so hungry you felt nauseous. You helped Cristóbal wash his face and hands, then pulled the hoodie over your soiled shirt, zipping it all the way up.

Back at the car, you popped the trunk and your mouth fell open.

“Oh, fuck,” you groaned. Six bricks of cocaine were packed into the back of the small trunk, along with a duffel bag. You supposed that was why no one had reported the car stolen. It made you feel a little better that the cops wouldn’t necessarily be looking for you, but if you did get pulled over, you’d be fucked. You dug through the duffel bag, finding it full of clothes, and your heart lifted when your fingers skimmed smooth leather. You pulled out a black leather wallet, flipping it over in your hands. There was no ID, but there was a singular twenty dollar bill in it, and that would have to do.

Cash in hand, you tugged Cristóbal into the gas station store with you, grabbing a couple of protein bars and a large bottle of water, wanting to hang on to enough money for gas down the road.

You planned to dispose of the cocaine out in the middle of the desert, so you hightailed it out of Deming. A little less than an hour later, you took a tiny offramp and followed a deserted road past a dilapidated gas station out into the barren desert. You pulled the car off into the dirt, sending a cloud of dust up around you.

“Wait in the car,” you told Cristóbal gently, who nodded at you with wide eyes.

Pulling the sleeves of the hoodie over your hands, you dumped the clothes out of the duffel bag and packed the drugs into it, zipping it up. Careful not to touch anything with your bare hands, you slung it over your shoulder and hauled it towards a thick patch of scrub brush several yards from the road. Dropping the bag behind a clump of brush and prickly pear cacti, you booked it back towards the car, heading immediately back towards the highway.

You were approaching Gila Bend in Arizona as dusk gathered over the skyline. You had already gotten off of I-10 and onto the smaller highway that would take you to Yuma. From there it would be an easy drive to Santo Padre, one you had even made before. You had every intention of driving through the night, desperation fluttering in your heart at the thought of home. You were hungry again, and you could hear Cristóbal’s stomach grumbling from the passenger seat, but you were dangerously low on gas.

Pulling into a small gas station in Gila Bend, you went inside the store to pay, bringing Cristóbal with you. When you came back out, your breath hitched in your throat and you froze. A police officer was standing beside the car, inspecting the shattered back window. Flashbacks flooded your brain and you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to force them out. Through the rapid swirling in your mind, you felt Cristóbal squeezing your hand hard, the touch pulling you out of your trance. Immediately, your mind went into overdrive, laying out a plan.

You approached the car, schooling your features into a timid expression.

The burly, dark-haired officer looked up curiously at your approach, and you caught the slightest softening in his eyes as he studied you and the child clinging to you. He looked young and green, fresh on the job, and you wanted to use that to your favor.

“Good evening, ma’am,” he said, hands authoritative on his hips.

“Evening,” you murmured, dropping your gaze meekly.

“You know it’s illegal to drive with a busted window?” he asked sternly.

You let all of the stress of the last couple of days pour into your brain, breaking the dam behind your eyes. Tears tumbled freely over your cheeks as you looked back up at him and he startled slightly at the sight.

“I’m so sorry, officer,” you sniffled. “My son and I, w–we came from El Paso, trying to get away from my husband. He smashed it as we were leaving. I’m just trying to get us to California so we can stay with my brother.” Your voice caught on a sob, cracking on the last syllable.

The officer’s stance softened and your heart lifted just slightly. His inexperience was showing.

“Who is this car registered to?” he asked.

Your chest tightened as you prayed he wouldn’t run plates or ask to see documentation. “It’s mine, sir,” you whispered, meeting his eyes with your most sorrowful look. “He just didn’t like that we were leaving.” You hoped that you looked wretched enough to prevent him from asking too many questions.

The officer pursed his lips, his thumb lightly tapping his utility belt. “Where you headed to in California, ma’am?” he asked.

“Palm Desert,” you lied smoothly, letting your lower lip tremble for good measure. “I have family there, sir.”

The officer hesitated as he considered what to do next. “And you’ll be safe there?” he asked. “Does your husband know where you’re headed?”

“Probably, sir. Th–they’re the only family I have. But they’re going to help me file a protective order against him. And... start the divorce process,” you mumbled, shuffling your feet in the dirt. You felt a quick pang in your heart as you said the words, ones that weren’t too far from true in another time.

Perhaps sensing that it was a good time to lay it on thick, Cristóbal tugged on your hand. As you glanced down at him, he reached his arms up and you pulled his weary form into your arms, depositing him on your hip.

The officer studied the pair of you intently, then sighed. “Alright. I’m not going to write you a ticket, but once you get to Palm Desert, you need to get that window fixed, do you understand me?”

You nodded fervently. “Thank you – officer, thank you so much,” you stammered, hugging Cristóbal tight. The officer tipped his hat and turned on his heel, making his way towards his police cruiser. Your body felt limp as the rush wore off yet again. Your mind reeled, pushing the limits of what you could handle without sleep. You needed to get home, and soon.

You slid into the driver’s side seat and slid Cristóbal over, helping him buckle his seatbelt.

Praying for an uneventful last leg of your journey, you pulled away from the fluorescent lights of the gas station, headed yet again towards the moonlit horizon.

Part VI of Los Guardianes

#mayans fx #mayans mc #mayansmc #nestor oceteva #nestor oceteva imagine #nestor oceteva x reader #mayans mc imagine #mayans fanfic #mayans mc x reader

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: IV

“I had a few, got drunk on you

And now I’m wasted

And when I sleep, I’m gonna dream of 

How you tasted.”

— Medicine, Harry Styles

A/N: if i said i’m apologizing for the way i left off ch3, yes i did ❤️ no i didn’t ❤️ it was fun ❤️ as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!! and if you enjoy the piece, please reblog it!!! it keeps content creators motivated!! without further delay, hope you enjoy what’s in store for Sherlock and Watson this chapter cause it’s uhhhh quite a bit of uhhhh ~stuff~ 😌

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

word count: 26.4k

content/warnings: a mild addiction to sexting, some pretty sparkly lingerie, a very interesting photo, a strange but satisfying gift, rough sex and degradation, pillow talk about the validity of the men in Twilight, the satisfying gift being put to even more good use, Y/N going over to Harry’s apartment for the first time, mild mentions of blood, and an impromptu Hamilton re-enactment amidst more lemon blueberry pancakes

///

For the next three days, the sexting grows more frequent. 

Harry feels somewhat humiliated by it, really. He’s an adult— a full-grown, two hundred and nine year old man— and trading nudes with a simple girl shouldn’t be getting him as worked up as it does. He should know how to handle his hormones better, and the thing is, he usually does. But no one in the last few centuries has made him feel as desperate as Y/N does; he hasn’t felt this helpless for someone since he was alive. The vampire just wasn’t prepared to handle the needy responses she so easily yields from his body and he’s horribly rusty on how to skate this thin sheet of metaphorical ice. It’s like he can feel it cracking and crunching beneath his feet, but he has absolutely no power over how to stop it. Any minute, it’s bound to take him under, and he has no choice but to allow himself to drown in it. 

The following seventy two hours are full of so many dirty promises and explicit images, his phone might as well be a porno hard drive.

After coaxing Y/N into a few orgasms through the phone and receiving just as many in return, a dangerous game is set into motion that Harry knows is probably unhealthy not only for his self-worth, but for the sensitivity of his anatomy. He can only get off so many times before his joints are begging for a break. 

He wakes up Wednesday morning with a stiff ache running along his inner thighs and ebbing across the underside of his balls, but there’s an undeniable contentment stewing behind it. He doesn’t truly mind the throb, comforted by the fact that Y/N is probably facing similar issues at the moment. He finds himself smiling coyly as he flips an omelette onto one of his marble-print platters, recalling the events from the night before. 

According to what he’d heard on the other end of the phone, present throughout the array of shaky gasps, cracked whimpers, and wet sounds of pleasure that had echoed from the speaker, Harry had made Y/N squirt. 

That was a tremendous stroke to his already huge ego. The idea that he’d been able to make her cum so hard that she’d soiled her brand new sheets had been circling around his head for the last couple of hours, fluffing his confidence. It’s a milestone achievement, to be honest. He’d done something that very few men have the skill to achieve in person, meanwhile he’d done it just by using his voice and extensive imagination. The arrogance he’s sporting right now is more than justified. His cheeks are starting to ache from how hard he’s grinning.

The vampire is so lost in his recollections that he nearly misses the chime of his phone, the unique ringtone that beeps out being as welcomed as ever. 

Harry scoops up his device while spooning a piece of his green pepper and mushroom egg dish into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully as he swipes into Y/N’s text conversation. He smoothers the giddiness fluttering in his stomach; he’s not a child. 

As it turns out, he’d killed those butterflies for no solid reason because the instant her message pops up, they come right back to life. 

Morning! Thought I’d show you what I’m planning on wearing to work today. 

Harry roughly swallows down his breakfast at the attachment following the caption, a shiver coiling down his spine. “Fucking hell.”

The photo is a mirror shot, taken in her tiny bathroom. It’s a full body image where she’s clad in a matching set of bra and panties, the material sparkly bright red lace. The bottoms are high-waisted, hugging her tummy and hips in a way he deems perfect, the lace decorating her skin beautifully. The bra is see-through, so he has an unrestrained view of her chest and he doesn’t know why, but he thinks he might love the way her breasts look in lingerie more than without it. Make no mistake, he’ll willingly drool over her no matter what, but there’s just such a refined beauty in seeing her figure in such an elegant piece. She’s like a present set out for him to unwrap, preferably with his teeth. 

Then he notices the garters and the next forkful of food lodges in his throat. They hug around her legs deliciously, the bands settled midway down her thighs as the straps run up the sides and clip onto the hem of her panties. Yeah, he would definitely use his teeth. 

After gawking at the artwork for a minute, Harry finally gathers himself enough to type back a decent reaction.

I’m pretty sure that outfit doesn’t apply to the workspace dress code. 

Y/N shakes her head in amusement at his response, giggling softly as she finishes shimmying into her black skinny jeans, buttoning them over the skimpy lace. 

I’ll cover up for the sake of the customers. But it’s just such a nice set, I figured someone else should get to appreciate it with me.  

Harry sets his utensil down on top of his plate, omelet only half eaten. His appetite has molded into a very different type of hunger. He pads out of the kitchen, feeling the ten AM sunlight filter through the glass wall of his living room and warm his bare chest and back. He heads for the bathroom that branches out of the entrance corridor, coming to a stop right in front of its mirror. He begins to clean up his appearance, combing his bed head into a presentable state (he hadn’t slept, per usual, but rolling around his pillows last night while he indulged fantasies about Y/N had done his curls in something fierce), fixing his royal blue briefs along his hips and dragging the waistband down to show off the dip of his prominent pelvic bones.

Once the immortal is done, he taps back with eager strokes of his thumbs. 

I can’t believe you’ve never worn that for me. That’s a criminal offense. Literally worth capital punishment. 

Oh, really? Capital punishment? And who are you to decide my verdict?

I’m the executioner, obviously. I’m in charge of dispensing the verdict and I promise you, I’ll see to it that you get what you deserve. It’s my civic duty.

Y/N scoffs at his quip, tugging her navy polo shirt over her torso and quickly running a brush through her hair. She puts it up into a neat ponytail, sighing lightly as she stares at her tired reflection. She wishes she could ditch work for the day and entertain more conversation with Harry, but she literally can’t afford to.

Well, you’re gonna have to wait while I go perform my own type of civic duty. Making the world a better place, one grilled panini at a time. 

Harry’s lips jolt. She’s so clever and witty, he doesn’t know how she could possibly be from such a dull, monochrome town. 

I understand. Justice calls. But before you go, can I send you a picture of what I’M wearing today? Could use a few style tips. 

That’s pretty ironic coming from someone whose last name is literally ‘Styles.’

I know, I know. But even fashion icons have their insecurities sometimes. 

Fair point, nobody’s perfect. Lemme see your OOTD, then.

The outfit of the day appears to be no outfit at all, according to Harry’s picture. It’s taken on a mirror, like her own, and it depicts him standing with one hand holding his phone in front of his face while the other seems to be doing jazz hands down his body playfully. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of deep blue briefs (probably because he’d completely ruined the maroon pair he was wearing last night, if his broken moans and heavy panting had been any indication) and they hug his frame flawlessly. The fabric is bunched around his lean thighs, tiger head tattoo peeking out to accompany the rest of the collection, which includes all the inkings running the length of his left arm as well as the butterfly and swallows across his torso. His v-line is evident as ever, dipping below the elastic band teasingly. His chest is broad and his biceps are taut, despite the fact that he’s not even flexing. He looks like a Greek statue and Y/N is positive the higher powers designed Harry with that specific thought in mind.

Y/N doesn’t realize drool is gathering in her mouth until it tickles the inside of her bottom lip. She snaps her jaw closed, clearing her throat sheepishly. Over a minute has passed of her just ogling and she can feel heat layering across her cheeks. She knows Harry probably has the cockiest expression on his face at the moment, obvious in the tone of the next comment he delivers. 

Damn, it’s that bad, huh? Guess I’ll have to change. 

No, it’s perfect. Simple, but effective. Very professional. 

Why, thank you! 

My pleasure.

Here, take this as a token of my appreciation. Hopefully it can help get you through the day. 

This specific photo is taken from an above point of view, as if Y/N were looking down at Harry’s body along with him. His pectorals and stomach muscles appear more defined, tattoos darker and skin more evidently sunkissed. Lower down, there’s the obvious outline of what lies within his boxers, snuggled up against his thick thigh and tempting her to let out a soft whine. Then, resting casually against his abdomen is his free hand, sporting a thumbs-up that gives a purposefully goofy vibe to the risky image. He’s such an idiot. 

The mortal’s answer is just as silly and lighthearted as his gesture. 

Thank you, I’ll keep it locked in my heart forever. 

I wouldn’t want it any other way. 

That’s the first interaction of many that further opens the door to their virtual sex life. Things hardly stay that innocent. 

That night when Y/N gets home from work, they undergo another round of phone sex. It starts off the same: cheeky banter that leads to cheeky pictures that eventually leads to utter filth. 

And that’s how they spend the next few days— taking care of each other’s needs digitally until Friday rolls around. There’s plenty of those encounters, but there’s definitely favorites. 

A session during one of Harry’s self-care baths, when he puts her on speaker and she talks him through tugging one out while the scent of lavender salts— which he’d chosen because they smell like her— leave his heated skin feeling soft and supple. Another instance where he makes her orgasm while she has gotten bored watching a scary movie marathon on her couch, the screams of the horror film mere background noise compared to all the sweet nothings Harry huskily mumbles into her ear, his dominant voice filtering through her headphone and instructing her on how to make herself feel good.

Harry messages her at three A.M. at one point, wide awake as ever, all of his thoughts occupied by the concept of Y/N laying on her tummy between his thighs and sucking him off at a slow pace. He can practically see her small hands wrapped around his girth, stroking up to meet her pretty lips, her tongue lapping at his tip eagerly as she whines around a full mouth. She’s always just so eager. Even at the crack of dawn, she’s awake by some miracle, and happily willing to delve into that fantasy with him. Her soft, timid tone drifts across the shells of his ears, explicitly sketching out how she’d take him all the way down her throat until she gags, and how she’d kiss all over the head of his prick just to smear his precum over her lips to then lick it off, and how she’d rock against his lap fast and hard while he takes her nipples between his teeth. How she wouldn’t stop until he’s dripping down her thighs and groaning into her throat. How she’d let him fuck her as many times as it takes to tire himself out. 

Harry obviously repays her, and it comes in the form of him painting out a scenario where she’s gotten home from a long day at the café. He tells her about how he’d be there waiting for her in nothing but his underwear, sitting back on his elbows in her bed, touching himself over his briefs just at the thought of pleasuring her. About how he’d lay her out and taste every inch of her body with his tongue, and how he’d run his teeth across her inner thighs tenderly while his fingers play with her clit, and how he’d have her ride his face deep and sloppy until she’s shaking and sensitive. How he’d tie her to the bed and toss her legs over his shoulders while he pounds her into the mattress, marking bruises across her neck as she sucks on his fingers and tightens around his cock like “the snug little thing you are.”

They even take their fun out of the confines of their houses and into public settings, just to give it an adrenaline high. Those situations are foreplay; it’s how they prep each other throughout the day for when they’re both finally alone and can truly help one another to the fullest. 

It happens Thursday on two occasions. 

First, to Y/N, who is sitting in the backroom on her lunch break, though she’s barely touched her food. She’s much more interested in what Harry has to say. Much more interested in how he says he wishes he could be there with her right now. That she could sneak him in through the back door of the restaurant and they could lock themselves in that tiny supply room, making sure no one would disturb what he’s about to do to her. That he would drop to his knees and drag her jeans down her legs, pressing damp kisses in the denim’s wake, biting hickies in the areas he knows she loves to receive them. He would mount her knees over his shoulders and bury his face between her thighs, looking up at her through heavy lashes as he licks into her desperately. He would have her grab onto his curls and guide his tongue just the way she likes it, and she’d have to bite into her cheek to keep from getting caught. 

He talks about how he’d take her against the supply shelves, one hand clamped over her mouth while he pants praise into her ear, her body jolting roughly upwards against the surface as she clings to his back. How he’d hold her up with the other arm and slam her down onto his cock, cooing things like, “Gotta keep quiet for me, sweetheart. Can’t make you cum if we get caught.” and “Such a filthy girl, sneaking me in here just to fuck you. Baby just wants to walk around the rest of the day full of me, doesn’t she?” 

That fantasy leaves her in a bothered haze the rest of the work day. It’s bad enough that she almost drops her tray three different times and has to ask multiple customers to repeat their orders. 

Y/N gets back at Harry, though. That revenge is the second occasion. 

The vampire had mentioned that he would be going out with his friends that evening to a bar and she takes full advantage of that. When the picture comes through, Harry nearly spits out his Manhattan drink. 

He’s sitting in a booth surrounded by his entire group and he’d been talking shit with Niall about golf. The vampire doesn’t care for the sport, but Niall loves it, and Harry loves getting on Niall’s nerves, therefore it’s all pretty self-explanatory. Mitch and Adam join in, with Mitch obviously supporting Harry, when he randomly decides to check his notifications. Even in the shrunken little banner, Harry can immediately tell the photo is graphic. Xander asks if he’s alright, telling him he looks freakishly pale and to get his eyes under control because they're in public. Harry blinks the red from his irises, hurriedly excusing himself and clambering up from his seat, jetting across the restaurant towards the restrooms. It’s occupied, much to his luck, so he settles for simply pressing his back against the wall of the corridor, leaning his head against the bricks and taking deep breaths to calm the raging in his stomach. He gingerly opens the message and his knees nearly give out. 

The image is taken from the back, probably using a timer. Y/N is wearing one of her big tees and another pair of cheeky lace panties, but this time around, they’re pastel peach and crotchless. She’s bent over with her ass up and spine arched, knees parted for balance, her shirt bunching downwards due to the angle. Her arms are pulled behind her back and her chest is flushed to the bed, wrists crossed submissively as she gazes at the camera over her shoulder. There’s an unmistakable sparkle in her eyes and he can tell she had sent this now on purpose just to fuck with him, knowing good and well that he was out and occupied.

The shot is more than he can handle and he has to swallow down the urge to stomp out of the bar, get into his car, race to her flat, and make her rethink her decision. Preferably, in the form of harsh spanks and overstimulation. He can see everything— the intentional rip at the crotch of the panties are meant for that sole reason. The closer he looks, he comes to realize that she’s wet, which in turn means she had been touching herself. She’d set this up perfectly, knowing that he’d easily be able to deduce that fact and that it would haunt him for the rest of the night. 

The monster releases a quivering exhale, typing back slowly and carefully, sight bleary. 

You’re going to regret that. 

Pinky promise?

///

When Harry arrives at Y/N’s apartment the next night, as he has for the last three Fridays, he doesn’t saunter up to her door and bang on it angrily. He doesn’t grab her by her hair and drag her into her room, how he’d intended. He doesn’t even have a single cinch in his sculpted brows. 

Instead, he raps softly on the door with one jeweled knuckle and waits calmly. 

The human goes to answer, her stomach twisting in excitement at all the possibilities of what punishment she might face for her antics. A small, sly smile buckles the corners of her lips at the thought, her fingers trembling as they wrap around her cold doorknob. She expects to find a furrow-browed, intense-eyed, red-faced Harry behind the threshold, who would shove past her, nab her by the arm, and throw her onto her bed. She expects him to yank his belt from around his hips while a distinct darkness swallows his emerald irises, his mouth curling into a sinister grin. She expects him to roughly command she get on her hands and knees, his palm finding the back of her head to shove her face-first into the sheets while he rips her panties down her legs and drags the cool leather of his accessory over her backside tauntingly.

What she gets is something— and someone— completely the opposite. 

When her door swings open, Harry is standing standing there, sure. But instead of looming over her with flaring nostrils and cruel intent, he’s decided to lean against the door frame with his arms folded casually. His body is completely empty of tension, his ankles are crossed offhandedly, and a small, bright red paper bag full of sparkly black tissue paper is hanging off his wrist. His expression is a relaxed facade of indifference, lips set into his usual signature smirk, no explosive emotions present whatsoever. 

That startles Y/N. This has to be an act; it feels like the calm before a violent storm and it has her shifting in her socked feet. Did he...Did he forget what she did? 

There’s no way he forgot. It was too brazen a move to dismiss.

Harry steps forward into her home, comfortable enough that he no longer has to wait for an invitation. Y/N moves to the side to let him through, hesitantly closing the entrance behind him, contemplating the man as if he were a ticking bomb. She does a quick sweep of his physique, looking for some other clue as to what he could be plotting, aside from the mysterious gift bag in his hand. He’s wearing a pair of flared denim jeans, a white tee with a royal blue cartoon bee printed in the center along with the words Enjoy health! Eat your honey! surrounding it, his white Vans, and an oversized colorful patch-work cardigan. The outfit is surprisingly domestic compared to his usual taste, but she finds it’s easily one of her favorite fits on him. He just looks so boyish adorable. 

The human comes up with nothing suspicious, glancing back up to lock eyes with her guest. Harry beams at her innocently and she knows for sure he’s planning something, but she can’t place what. 

“I got you this.” The vampire speaks up first, holding out the paper bag towards Y/N with his index finger, bouncing it encouragingly. “Take a peek.” 

The girl accepts the gift gingerly, giving him one more hard look before breaking away to investigate what lies beneath the tissue paper. She pulls out a small cardboard box, her eyes squinting slightly as she reads its print and surveys the label. The image on the surface appears to be of five silicone finger gloves, each about the size of a thumbtack, tiny metal plates embedded into the pads. She’s voicing her curiosity before she’s even finished studying the container. 

“What...What are these?”

Harry rolls his eyes jokingly, tapping the object for emphasis. “Read the fine print, love.” 

Y/N focuses on the region he’d pointed out, reciting aloud. “‘Vibrating silicone finger gloves. For the use of personal pleasure or with partners.’”

Then it all clicks. 

“Oh my God, you got me— what?!” Y/N’s head snaps up in shock, mouth parted and brows creased. “Harry, what?”

The young man laughs airily, gently opening the seal of the box in her hands, which she is now holding as if it were a weapon of mass destruction. It’s such a weird present to give in general, moreso all out of the blue, so she can’t be blamed for her reaction.

He uncaps the packaging, rummaging through its contents and pulling out two of the tiny rubbery gloves. They’re transparent and ribbed, obviously meant to deliver as many sensations as possible, and they’re about two inches in length. He slips them onto his index and middle finger, making scissoring motions for the purpose of symbolism, but mainly just to watch Y/N fidget. “I remember how you said you don’t have sex toys because you’d never really thought about buying any, so I went and picked these up down at my favorite shop. Jessi said they’re good for beginners.”

“Jessi?” Y/N’s voice is tight. She’s not sure how to respond to this; she’s never been in this situation before. No one has ever just given her a sex toy as if a were a candy bar. “Who’s Jessi and why do they need to know about my sex life?”

“She’s the manager.” Harry says matter-of-factly. He doesn’t seem to find anything strange about this encounter. “She helped me pick out my first pocket vag, so I trust her with my soul. Here, look. You just slip them on and—” He makes finger thrusting motions in the air, wiggling his digits playfully. “Big O. Not as good as what I can give you, obviously, but close enough.”

“Harry, you do realize this is a little…odd, right?”

The boy blinks at Y/N blankly. “What? Why? Sex is literally the basis of this whole thing.” He signals back and forth between them with his gloved forefinger. “It’s really not that weird at all, if y’think about it.”

“I just...it’s like…” 

Her argument fizzles to an end the longer she stares at him. He has the most wholesome expression painted across his handsome features, his eyes glossy with excitement. He looks genuinely elated about the present and she can’t find it in herself to question him any further. As unorthodox as this may be, it’s the first true act of kindness anyone has shown Y/N since she had moved to California. It’s the first time anyone has given the girl anything without her having to request it. She comes to the realization that Harry really is the only friend she has at the moment, and she refuses to pick and prod at that, lest he retract from her on the grounds that she’s ungrateful. Yes, this is a little atypical, but so is their whole dynamic. In his own twisted way, this is how Harry shows his friendship. 

The more she ponders on it, she starts to understand that this truly is something she should accept. He went out of his way to get her this gift, which solidifies their acquaintanceship. It’s sweet.

“You know what, never mind. Thank you! I love them.” 

The giddy smile that cracks his face melts her heart. “I’m glad to hear you say that.”

Harry then softly grasps her hand with his, tugging her down the entrance hallway, his intentions set on her bedroom. His voice takes on a deeper sultry twang, the corners of his mouth twitching suggestively. “Because on my way here, I was thinking, yeah? And I figured: who better to teach you how to use these than the person who picked them out.”

“Of fucking course.” Y/N huffs in amusement, shaking her head but allowing herself to be guided forward. “I should’ve known you had an ulterior motive.” 

“Heyyyyy!” Harry’s whine is offended, but the coy simper dimpling his cheeks ruins any defense he could possibly try to spin. “This isn’t an ulterior motive, it’s simply a supporting one.”

“Right.” Y/N states flatly, shuffling forward slowly as he backs down her corridor, momentarily glancing over his shoulder to orient himself. “Buying a fuck buddy a sex toy is totally selfless and mutually exclusive of the agreement.”

Harry takes a turn and crosses the threshold into her bedroom, releasing her arm and instead, he opts for wrapping his fist into the loose material of her large Transformers tee, twisting the fabric around his knuckles and giving it a sharp yank. She stumbles into his chest and almost drops the box. 

The vampire gazes down at her with half-lidded eyes, long lashes tempting and plush lips the color of roses. “I never said it was mutually exclusive. I just said it wasn’t meant to be evidently inclusive.” 

He takes the box from her grip, sliding it onto her nightstand so that any obstacles between them are eliminated. He beckons her closer with a flick of his wrist, feeling heat erupt across his chest as her palms slap down against it to steady herself. She’s always so warm, almost like a furnace. It’s a nice contrast to his ever-present coldness.

Harry’s cupped fingers nurse the slope of her jaw, tilting her chin up to level his, Cupid’s bow ghosting over her own teasingly as a grin threatens to betray him. His accent is thick, heavy with condescension. “Now do you want me to fuck you or not?”

Y/N gulps audibly, the sudden jump in her heart rate causing Harry’s cock to give a foreshadowing twitch in his designer jeans. Her eyes soften with a form of weepy desire, head nodding in his grasp. 

Harry’s top teeth catch on his lower lip as he appraises her from over the crest of his defined cheekbones. “I don’t think I heard you, pet. Must be the AC draft.”

The mortal’s eyes fall shut as she composes herself, a shaky sigh faltering past her nostrils. She tips forward onto her toes, connecting her itching mouth to his. Harry allows it, listing his head to the side to grant her more access, his free arm roping across the dip of her spine and pressing her front flushed to his. The kiss is soft and heated, full of drunken tongues and muffled whimpers. It’s tame compared to most of the others they’ve shared, but Harry likes it. It’s sloppy and intimate; only the beginning of what he knows will be a long night. 

Her words sting the ridges of his lips, hot and bated. “I want you to fuck me.” 

Harry speaks into her mouth, tone gentle but packing a punch. “Get my belt off for me, will you? I’m tying you to the bed tonight.”

He doesn’t have to ask twice, a dark chuckle vibrating across his tongue when her fingers immediately begin to fumble with his belt buckle. 

Once Harry has looped the leather tightly around Y/N’s wrists and has knotted them to one of the wooden railings of her headboard, he sits back on his heels to admire his work. Y/N is splayed out across her mattress with her arms suspended above her head, bare thighs clasped in anticipation as her t-shirt gathers around her waist. Her hands are curled into fists, nails digging into her palms as she watches Harry leisurely shrug off his cardigan, keeping eye contact with her the whole way through. His tattoos stand out against the buttery light of the single lamp on the table, tanned arms flexing sinfully. 

He shifts around, laying down onto his stomach and coasting his palms up her quivering legs, kissing over her kneecaps and along the crease of her inner thighs, bunching her shirt further up her body as he goes. As soon as he spots the first garter, he blacks out for a millisecond, vision washing red. 

“Fuck, wait— did you…?” His voice is strained and desperate as he shoves the rest of her clothes up her torso, pulling her shirt over her head and letting it rest at her elbows. He hums appreciatively when he’s met with the full cherry-colored lingerie set from a few days ago, garters and all. “God, you did.”

Y/N’s gaze falls timidly, a sheepish smile brushing over her face. “I thought you’d want to see it in person, since you seemed to like it so much.” 

“Mm...” Harry struggles to swallow, fingers hooking under the straps that clip to the hem of her underwear, pulling the fabric from her skin and letting them snap back into place. He revels in the tiny noise she lets slip, the pads of his digits now toying across the frilly bands encircling her upper legs. After a thoughtful heartbeat, Harry speaks up, wistful but vehement. “I’m going to make you soil your sheets again.” 

Y/N bucks a tad at his promise, wrists stressing against the leather belt, but Harry’s practiced enough bondage in his lifetime to know she won’t be getting out anytime soon. He parts her knees open with his palms, dragging his silicone-covered fingers down her clothed clit and tutting when she lets out a stuttery gasp. 

“Always so sensitive, aren’t you, angel?” The vampire pets at her core patiently, heat pooling at the base of his abdomen as he feels her panties damped with every stroke of his touch. “Christ, you’re already soaking through.”  

“Want more.” The girl’s plead is strangled as she actively forces herself to keep her legs wide open, knowing that if she were to allow them to snap shut, Harry would only pry them apart again. “I’ve been thinking about this all week. Please.”

“All week?” Harry drags tongue across the inside of her thigh, nipping at the flesh tauntingly, the amber specks in his eyes glittering amidst his lashes. He continues to rub through her underwear, drinking up all the little noises streaming from her throat. “Tread lightly, dove. You’re swelling my ego.”

“I just…” Her hips give another jerk when he wriggles two rubber-clad fingers into the crotch of her bottoms, spreading her open just a bit and grinning against her skin at how wet she’s become. “I just need it hard tonight, Harry. Need you to leave me sore.” 

“I always leave you sore.” The monster reasons mockingly, taking one of the garters between his teeth and tugging, releasing so it stings her like before. “You’re gonna have to be more specific.” 

Y/N trembles out an exhale, gathering herself enough to give him what he wants. “I need you to fuck me like you hate me.”

Harry grabs onto either sides of her panties, slowly peeling them down her legs and then scooting closer forward, planting an open-mouthed kiss right onto her bare clit. She mewls in return, her restraints creaking the bed. He continues pressing messy wet pecks to her cunt, feeling her tense up each time his soft lips suckle her fervently. 

“Is that why you sent that picture?” Harry wonders aloud, pausing his motions and raising one eyebrow at her. “Because you wanted me mad?”

The human nods, face wracked with guilt. It’s cute that she feels bad, especially because Harry had, in actuality, enjoyed her little stunt. Seeing her bent over like that, in a position that shows she couldn’t wait to please him— that she couldn’t wait until Friday came around so he could do to her whatever he deemed fit...It was the best form of edging he’s ever experienced. But for the sake of giving her what she wants, he’ll bite the bait. 

Harry rises up onto his knees, parting her thighs further as he fits himself between them, the pads of his gloved digits dancing across the thick of her damp clit. He bends down until his nose smudges over hers, the breath of his low words hot against her parted mouth. 

“Well, it fucking worked.”  

Harry taps his index and middle fingers against his palm in one quick flick and the tiny metal plates situated along the tips purr to life. He sinks knuckle-deep inside of Y/N, cold rings catching on her folds as he curls upwards to get at that special spot that resides along the pit of her tummy. The moan she releases it so raw and broken, it sends a zip of lightning through his veins. 

He fucks her like that for a while, with his strong chest poised against her heaving own as he marks love bites onto the cleavage spilling from her lace bra, his skilled fingers pumping into her at a harsh pace that has her legs shaking on either sides. He thumbs over her clit messily, the silicone molds sending waves of vibrations through her clenching walls as he relentlessly toys with her g-spot, her arms thrashing against his belt. Fragmented sounds of bliss freely stream from Y/N’s mouth without shame, his name intermingling amongst the whimpers as her head throws back against the headboard. Harry grips her throat in one hand, holding her to the sturdy surface as his other bobs between her thighs roughly, the bed groaning as a result of their intense actions. His wrist begins to ache from how hard he’s going, but the tears trickling out from the corners of Y/N’s eyes and the way she’s panting into his mouth are enough to keep him going.

“Look at me.” Harry squeezes her jugular tighter, garnering attention. She forces her eyelids open, inhales hiccuping when he braces his cool forehead to hers, his irises the color of a forest at midnight, pupils blown out of proportion. His teeth dig into her bottom lip just to feel it swell, a growl stirring the gravel in his chest. “Is this what you wanted?”

“Y-Yes.” Y/N boggles her head feverishly, glimpsing down over her sweaty cheeks to see the way his veins are chiseling along the forearm that is flexing between her drenched thighs. “Fuck, it’s so g-good.”

“Yeah? How about we go a little higher, hm?” Harry scrapes the pads of his fingers against that spongy place inside her, pressing the vibrators down and the motion clicks the toy into a higher level of intensity. 

Y/N writhes in his grasp, back arching off the headboard as deeper, more concentrated rumbles lap throughout her body. “Harry— I— that’s— God, just please!”

Harry takes ahold of her jaw as he continues finger-fucking her without remorse, his short breaths warm against her burning lips. “That’s my girl. Taking it hard and loving every second.” 

Y/N’s eyes lull back into her head. She doesn’t know why, but hearing Harry call her his girl satisfies her in a manner so deep, she didn’t know it existed. Just hearing him recognize her as his— as something he claims for himself, almost like an extension of who he is— stirs a foreign form of fulfillment in the back of her mind. 

“I’m—” The girl chokes on her sentence, finding it difficult to concentrate with so much pleasure coursing through her system, as well as with Harry painting hickies across the side of her strained neck. “I’m gonna cum.”

The immortal’s voice is stern and authoritative. “No, you’re not.” 

“I am, I can’t hold—”

“Yes,” Harry’s grip firms, pace sharpening into unapologetic slams, “you can. And you will. If you cum before I let you, you’re not getting anything else from me for the rest of the night. Do I make myself clear?”

Y/N’s cunt tightens around his fingers, warning him that she’s about to peak. “Harry, I’m sorry—but— but I—”

“Do I make myself clear?” 

Y/N has no hope that she can keep it in, but she adores the darkness swirling in Harry’s eyes at the moment and she’ll do anything if it means getting to witness it for a while longer. “Yes.” 

“Good.” She winces when she feels his teeth skim her earlobe, his whisper dripping with arrogant amusement. “I told you I’d make you regret it.” 

And he really does keep his oath. Minutes simulate hours as Harry continues to flirt her just along the seams of relief, pulling her back every time he sees her about to tip. Whenever he feels her begin to spasm around his slick fingers, he gives her a cautionary quirk of his brows accompanied by a testing, throaty, “Don’t you fucking dare.” or a simple, silent shake of his head. By some miracle, she manages to reign herself in every time, but each ruined orgasm makes it harder and harder to stifle the next. She doesn’t know how many times it happens; she stops counting after four. 

After what feels like decades of torture, Harry finally releases his hold around her jugular, allowing her to properly gulp air for the first time in a while. He sits back against his heels, pulling his hand from between her thighs with a sarcastic sympathetic hiss. “Poor thing.” 

He watches as a trail of her juices strings from his digits to her cunt, eventually snapping in the middle as he lifts his hand to study his work. Her release drips down his knuckles and palm, gleaming in the dim lighting. A mildly sadistic glint washes over Harry’s irises and for a split second, they look almost red, but Y/N dismisses it. Her brain is too fogged to trust right now. 

The boy’s sight flickers past his hand to where Y/N lies limply, wrists bruised from the bonds, arms quivering weakly, and legs trembling in overstimulation. He’s never seen her look more beautiful than now. 

He locks his bright eyes to her exhausted own, watching them shatter to pieces when he pushes his drenched fingers past his pillowy blushed lips. His lashes flutter as her taste washes across his tongue, sweet and decadent as always, a soft groan thrumming deep in his throat. God, he can only imagine how delectable her blood must be at the moment, honeyed by the plethora of endorphins he had repeatedly coaxed into her. He can't wait to feel its warmth fill his mouth later tonight.

Harry removes his fingers with a wet pop, licking across the back of his hand with finality and giving her a daring once-over. “Do you still want my cock? Or are you too sensitive for it, darling?”

He sounds so conceited and self-assured, it causes Y/N’s pride to flare. She wants to make him eat his stupid words.  

The mortal licks her chapped lips, wetting her dry throat and clearing it softly, wiping away the sweat on her forehead with her shoulder. “I still want it.” 

An impressed expression decorates Harry’s features. “You think you can take it?”

Y/N’s jaw clenches with dedication, her thighs spreading open a tad more and she wills herself not to flinch. Her chin cocks upwards. “I know I can.” 

Harry’s brows kink challengingly, a borderline evil smirk sewing onto his face. “Let’s see, then.” 

As it turns out, Y/N can take it. However, she knows for a fact she won’t be able to walk right for at least the next week.

Harry lowers his jeans and kicks them off, reaching into his navy briefs and tugging himself out, giving his length a few pumps for good measure as he shifts forward toward her. He flips the girl onto her belly as easily as he’d turn a sheet of paper, tying one arm around her hips and lifting them up as he slides a pillow below. He situates her accordingly onto the cushion, her ass slightly elevated to give him more range of depth. He pats at her backside lightly, telling her to part her knees and she does so obediently, gripping onto the leather strap around her wrists anxiously when she feels the bed shift with his weight. Harry lowers himself over her body, the tee covering his broad chest soaking up the thin sheet of sweat on her back. He moves all of her tangled hair to the side, burying his fingers into her roots and yanking her head back cheekily. He runs his nose across her damp cheekbone and chuckles when she jumps slightly at the feathery sensation. 

“You’re pretty stubborn, aren’t you?” 

Y/N gnaws on her bottom lip as she struggles to swallow, throat taut from the angle he’s put her in. Her voice carries a confident bite, despite her compromisable position. “I like to think I am, yeah.” 

“Well, you know what that makes you, right?” Harry murmurs as he lines himself up with her entrance. 

“Mm-mm. What?” 

The vampire presses a lingering kiss to the tittering pulse in her temple, feeling it thunder below his skin as he forms his next comment slowly with an ominous edge. “It makes you a brat.” 

He feels her heartbeat trip. 

“And you know what I do to brats?” 

Y/N shakes her head as much as his dominant grasp will allow, body tightening in suspense. 

“I fuck them until they break.” 

Y/N learns that he’s telling the truth. The first thrust Harry delivers is swift, hard, and unbelievably deep; it causes her to let out a choked scream that no one else has ever drawn from her before, except for him. It’s like he can tap into certain aspects of her body she was unaware of; parts of her waiting for the right person to come along and reveal them. She feels that stroke rip into her tummy, but the pain of his size is something she’s become accustomed to in the last three weeks. She hardly feels it anymore; it had molded from a sharp throb to a dull ache, due to how often she’s experienced it. 

Harry doesn’t waste any time, quickly picking up a sloppy, adamant pace that has her hips bouncing against the mattress. He twists her hair around his fist, mouth pressed to the side of her head as his hot pants of exertion send a prickling through her scalp. His other forearm keeps him anchored to the bed as he pounds into her with absolutely no hesitation, the sound of skin slapping, cracked whines, and raspy grunts filling the tense atmosphere of her chilly room. 

“Is this what you were hoping would happen when you sent that slutty picture?” Harry grits out, short nails digging into the comforter beneath. “Wanted to get me all riled up just so I’d do your back in?”

Y/N mewls weakly in response, hands clinging to each other within the makeshift cuffs. 

“If you wanted me to fuck you like I hate you, you could have just asked. I’m more than happy to give you whatever you want. You don’t have to tempt me.” The vampire gives a particularly deep slam, laughing breathily when the girl’s back instinctively arches forward, paired with a watery yelp of, “Oh!”

Harry’s tongue grazes across the shell of her ear, teeth catching the skin. “But since you did, I’ll give it to you just— like—that.” His thrusts match to each word, fingers coiling harder into her locks. “You deserve it. Especially when you had the nerve to act like such a spoiled little brat right to my face.” 

Y/N’s not sure what emboldens her to speak, but her snarky remark is already halfway down her numb tongue before she can stop it. “Don’t pretend you didn’t like it.”

Harry hums tauntingly, circling his hips in long strides that urge a series of fractured whimpers to scrape out of Y/N’s sore throat. “Say it again. Go ahead, say it. I want to see you try.”

She remains silent, spine shuddering as she bites down on her tongue to avoid making any more noises that might condemn her.  

Harry roughly cranes Y/N’s neck to the side, buttoning their lips together in a filthy kiss that has her cheeks boiling. “That’s what I thought. The only thing that sharp tongue is good for is licking down my cock.” 

She gasps against his mouth shakily, tears of sheer bliss gathering along her waterline. “You’re such a fucking asshole.” 

Harry can tell her comment holds no true malice behind it; she’s too sweet on him— too whipped on what he gives her— to ever mean it. She’d only said it to provoke him into a power dynamic struggle. But the thing is, Harry’s dealt with feeling powerless before, so he had spent years teaching himself how to win. How to always win. 

“Am I, now?” His next line dismantles her entire plan. “Would an asshole let you cum?”

And just like that, her whole demeanor crumbles. “I take it back. I’m s-sorry.”

Harry releases her hair and nips at her ear mockingly, beginning to withdraw himself. “Oh, I think it’s a bit too late for that, minx.”

“No, no! Harry, please. I’m sorry. Genuinely. I promise I won’t say it again. Just…” She tugs helplessly at the belt restraints, trying to twist around to look at him directly. Her voice is wringed out. “Just please.”

The boy pushes a few stringy curls out of his eyes, pressing his tongue into his cheek coyly as he glances down, suggestively smoothing one hand over her ass. He gives it a firm squeeze, lifting his palm teasingly and feeling her tense in anticipation. “Do you want it?”

Y/N glimpses at his bejeweled hand with hunger, then back at his eyes. “Yes.”

“Tell me you want it.”

“I want it.”

“Sorry, I seem to have forgotten what ‘it’ was, exactly. Jog my memory, will you? What is it you want?”

Her irises harden in spite at his shit-eating comment. He’s well aware of how shy she can be when it comes to admitting she wants a spanking, and he’s playing that to his advantage. He’s swimming in the way she squirms. 

“I...I want you to spank me.”

He tsks, shaking his head as he twists his HS rings around to face inwards. “You forgot something.” 

Y/N’s fingers tighten into begrudging fists. “I want you to spank me, please.”

“There’s a good girl.” His low, accented purr sends electricity through her nerves. “You’re so cute when you beg.”

Harry’s hand comes down swiftly, digits fanned out so that all of his rings print across her backside. It’s not hard enough to hurt, but strong enough to leave a satisfying sting. He loves the way she jolts forward with a hushed curse of surprise, and he adores seeing the shape of his initials marked across her clammy skin. It’s poetic, almost.

“So pretty.” His mumble is wistful as he massages deeply over the region he had just bruised, but it holds unyielding authority. “Whose is it, doll?”

“Yours.” 

“And don’t you fucking forget it.” The creature lifts one palm to do it again, pausing once more just to rev her further. He reaches forward with the other, shoving her face-first into the mattress to get her back to straighten out. “Look forward and don’t make a single sound.”

Y/N obeys, but manages to sneak a peek at his reflection through the waxy wooden surface of her aged bedframe. He looks so good perched behind her with bare heaving shoulders, looking down at her exposed figure over the crests of his sharp cheekbones, brows furrowed into a starved expression that gives away he’s enjoying this probably more than she is. Her voice comes out small and weak. “Yes, sir.”

Harry’s entire face tightens at the word and she feels him throb against her backside. 

“Now beg me to let you cum.”

///

The next morning when Y/N’s eyes flutter open to the grey light streaking in through her curtains, the first thing she senses is a pair of eyes staring at the side of her face. 

She turns her stiff body over toward where the sensation stems and sure enough, she’s met with a pair of sea glass irises filled to the brim with humor. Harry’s laying on his side with his hands tucked below one of her pillows, tousled ringlets sticking up in wild tuffs (thanks to the activities they’d engaged yesterday), he’s completely bare since he likes sleeping nude (though he’d had the decency to cover himself with sheets from the waist down), and his voice is slower and raspier than usual (a result of being dormant for the last eight or so hours). 

“You drool in your sleep.” 

Y/N tucks her hands against Harry’s cold pectorals, snuggling deeper into his chest and pinching at one of his nipples in playful revenge. “No, I don’t.” 

“Yes,” he reaches up and shoos her hand away, proceeding to wipe at the side of her mouth, where dried spit had accumulated. He makes a theatrical gagging face, cleaning his thumb off across the collar of her t-shirt. “You do.”

Y/N sighs in exasperation, making a bold leap to a different topic to avoid talking about her embarrassing sleep habits. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you staring at people while they sleep is weird? Like, serial killer weird?” 

Harry tucks a few matted strands of hair behind the human’s ear, thumbing over her cheekbone tenderly. He hardly ever indulges in such actions, simply because they’re typically reserved for actual couples, which he and Y/N are definitely not. But last night— after he had finally finished being a prick and allowed her cum along with him, and after she had fallen into the bed with exhaustion taking her under, and after he’d had his greedy fill of her blood for the week— he’d gotten bored of playing on his phone. He’d burned through three cold case documentaries on Netflix and played enough Mario Kart to memorize the race charts; it had grown old quickly, and he eventually just locked the device and placed it on her nightstand. He spent the next hour staring at her hideous ceiling, and the one after that fantasizing about taking down her tapestry and burning it in the oven. And finally, after hours of mindless daydreams and letting his eyes chase the city lights dancing across the walls of her room, he had settled onto his side and watched her sleep. 

Harry did it simply because he had nothing else to distract him. He figured it would eventually bore him enough that maybe— just maybe, if he was lucky— he would fall asleep alongside her. But he didn’t, so he just ended up gazing at her slumbering face until dawn. He had been surprised by how oddly beautiful Y/N looked sleeping— how relaxed and tranquil, with her features soft and skin seemingly made of flawless porcelain. That intrigue had bled into the moment they share now, resulting in his touch drifting down the curve of her jaw and across the faint dimple on her chin. He follows the slope of her neck and admires the smoothness of her flesh with the ridges of his fingertips, hearing her breathing stutter ever so slightly. His heightened senses make it feel as if he’s running his digits over velvet and the only concept he can compare it to is touching forbidden artwork at an exhibit. It’s exciting, but he knows that if he keeps going, he could end up getting himself into a crock of shit. 

When the pads of his fingers land on two prominent purple bruises he’d forgotten existed, he’s broken from his soft stupor. He retracts his touch as if she were made of iron, forcing himself to ignore the pout that automatically plumps her delicate lips. 

He clears his throat awkwardly, a tight chuckle stringing his vocal chords. “Staring at someone in their sleep seemed to work just fine for Edward Cullen, though.” 

Y/N snorts sharply, rolling her eyes up towards her headboard. When she sees his belt is still hanging off of it from the night prior, she hurriedly glances back down, pretending not to have seen it. 

“It’s funny you say that because as I recall, he literally admitted to being a murderer. I believe his exact words were,” she exaggerates her voice into an angsty cry, grasping at her chest dramatically, “‘This is the skin of a killer, Bella!’”

Harry bursts into boyish giggles, falling fully onto his back and swiping his palm up his face, fingers remaining perched over his closed eyes as he laughs. He sighs airily, shaking his head as an afterthought. “What a moron.” 

“Truly. His dad was hotter.” 

“Way hotter.” Harry agrees passionately, burying his hand into his messy curls, attempting to comb out some of the tangles. “And he was a doctor. What a man.” 

“Bella really fucked that one up. She had a midlife crisis over choosing between a sad vampire who looked like he had chronic constipation, and a yappy dog with a shirt phobia. All when Carlisle was right there. Brain damage, honestly.” 

“A moment of prayer for the mentally incapacitated. Couldn't be me!”

“Couldn’t be me, either.”   

“Fuck, yeah.” Harry throws his hand up, inviting Y/N to give him a high five. “To good taste.”

She gladly delivers. “Exquisite taste.”

An instance of comfortable silence suspends between the pair of lovers, filled with the soft thrum of the air vent and the distant chirping of birds outside Y/N’s windowpane. She traces her index nail over the wings of the swallow tattoos along Harry’s collarbones, seeming to be deep in thought. She then speaks up once again.

“Emmett was pretty hot, as well.” 

“You know what? I’m happy you mentioned that ‘cause— full disclosure here— I’d ride him like a fucking bull.” 

Now it’s Y/N’s turn to explode in a fit of giggles, nose scrunching and eyes crinkling shut as she loses herself at Harry’s graphic confession. 

“Why are you laughing?!” The fact that he sounds genuinely appalled only spurs her sounds of glee. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t take that chance if you got it. Like, okay, he’s an airhead, yeah? I’m aware. But fuck’s sake, look at his body. I’d happily let him beat me at arm wrestling if it means I get that celebratory dick afterwards.”

The mortal manages to calm down a handful of heartbeats later and Harry feels strangely proud of how he’d made her pulse spike. 

“You’re valid for that, don’t worry. I couldn’t have said it—” A single giggle interupts her sentence, but she reigns it in before it can spiral. “I couldn’t have said it better myself. Literally. There’s no way to express it better than exactly how you stated it.” 

Harry smirks softly up at the ceiling, folding his free arm behind his head as the other wraps securely down Y/N’s back, absentmindedly rubbing in gentle soothing circles. “My mind. It’s amazing, innit?”

“It’s definitely something.” 

Another span of cozy quietness fills the atmosphere of the room, longer than the last. Harry doesn’t mind. He finds it appeasing, and he continues to delight himself with running his touch up and down Y/N’s spine. He’s not sure how much time passes, but he’s aware that it’s probably a bit. His theory is supported by how he witnesses the beam of watery light that filters over the duvet gradually fade from silver to a sunflower yellow, indicating full daybreak. 

Even then, he doesn’t say a word, too caught up in this innocent bubble of domestic bliss to pop it so suddenly. He just lays there and listens. Listens to the birds harmonizing with each other across the branches of the tree outside. To the steady breaths that fill Y/N’s lungs with cool air, faltering past her nostrils in the same manner and fogging the metal of his cross necklace. To the faint sound of footsteps trotting down the staircase outside her apartment, and to the vague spritz of the sprinkler system going off at the front of the complex. To the distant honking of car horns in traffic, and to a random conversation between two friends as they walk past the pavement just under Y/N’s balcony. He hasn’t felt this at ease in eons. 

Harry just allows himself to grow in tune with the world around him— a world he’d been convinced was against him for the longest time. A world he was convinced stole his happiness and replaced it with the shackles of a blood-driven afterlife, for no other reason than because he’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time and met the wrong person. But now, he feels like he’s in the right place, at the right time, spending it with the right person— or at least a half-decent person— and he doesn’t want to let it slip between his fingers so soon. He wants to bask in it, even if he knows it’ll pass. 

And eventually, it does pass, and Y/N is the one who brings it to an end. 

The girl slowly peels away from Harry’s side, his lips dipping downwards slightly at the loss of the warmth she radiates. He thinks she’s about to get up to probably go use the bathroom or to make breakfast, but instead, she just bends her upper body over the edge of her bed to retrieve something from the floor. She comes back up with the box he’d brought her the evening before (which had ended up on the ground as a result of her bed rocking violently), setting it in the small space between their laps. She then returns to her place cuddled into his torso, looking up at him with an expression that Harry can only interpret as expecting. 

The vampire glances down at the container and then back up to Y/N’s face, raising his eyebrows curiously, voice tinged with comedy. “What did I say about bringing sex toys to the dinner table?”

Y/N stares up at him flatly for a second, fighting off a smile. “I just wanted to thank you again. It’s nice of you to bring me a present, even as strange as this one.” 

Harry sucks at his teeth, waving a hand dismissively, blinking down at her with slyness sparkling around his pupils. “What are friends for, if not for buying you vibrating finger gloves and then fucking you with them until you cry?”

Despite having been acquainted with Harry’s crude humor for three weeks now, it still manages to make Y/N’s cheeks sizzle. It could also be the fact that this is the first time Harry has openly accepted Y/N as a friend. It’s the first time he’s ever mentioned her name and that word in the same sentence, meaning that she can now shake a weight off her shoulders— a weight that had insisted he was only using her for sex, that he would eventually grow bored of her, and that he would throw her away once he was done. It’s good to know that’s not the case, and that the friendship aspect of their agreement is true to its name. 

“Right.” Y/N’s smile is full of so much genuine warmth, Harry feels like she could outshine the sun. “What are friends for, if not that. Thanks, Harry.” 

He wonders what she’s thinking, and he finds himself wishing that he had the one valid trait that idiot Edward Cullen possesses: mind-reading. But he doesn’t have it, so he simply returns her gesture and skates the conversation how he best deems fit. “You don’t have to call me ‘Harry’ all the time, you know?” 

Y/N’s brows cinch in entertained confusion. “What would I call you, then? Sherlock?” 

Harry scoffs lightly at the inside joke, shrugging one shoulder casually. “I mean, you could, if you want to. It might take some getting used to, but I think I can shoulder a full-time second identity. Just for you.” 

“How chivalrous.”

“You ain’t ever met a man like me, sweetheart.” He boasts in an over-the-top American southern accent, prying another round of laughter from Y/N, similar to the one before. “But you could also just call me ‘H.’ It’s what most of my other friends use.” 

“H.” Y/N repeats, getting a taste for the new nickname. It’s simple, unlike him, but it somehow fits. She then recalls something from a show she’d watched when she was younger and she can’t help but bring it up. “So, like, just your first initial? Like in Gossip Girl?”

Harry’s face immediately drops at the comparison she makes to the cringey teenage soap opera. “You know what, I take it back. You’re not allowed to use it. Illegal. Banned. By an official court. Gavel and all.”

“I’m just making a point!”

“Yeah, a shitty one.” 

“Oh, whatever. You’re just mad I debunked your little hipster alter ego. ‘That’s a secret I’ll never tell. Xoxo, H.’”

“Restraining order.” Harry pinches at one of her love handles, an evil grin dimpling his cheeks when she squeals. “Actually, nevermind. We’re going straight to the electric chair. Immediately.” 

“You don’t get to decide my punishment, remember?” Y/N slaps at his wrists, trying to ward off his attacks but failing miserably. “You’re just the—stop!— just the executioner.” 

“That’s right. I get to strap you to the chair.” Harry finally lets up on the tickling, his lighthearted grin taking on a slightly seductive hue as he momentarily glimpses upwards towards where his belt is hanging. “Though you’d probably like that, wouldn’t you?” 

“Fuck off.” Y/N smothers her palm against his face, breaking eye contact as she feels her ears bristle with heat.  

“Mm, exactly.” Harry gnashes at her hand playfully, but she manages to yank it away before he gets a bite in. “You can’t even admit you like being called a whore.” 

“Hey!”

“What?” The vampire gives her a cocky look, wagging his head knowingly and then mimicking her voice in a higher pitch. “‘I’m just making a point!’”

“You’re a dick, you really are.” 

“And yet you still ride mine, so who’s the one with the real issues here? Specifically, daddy issues.”

“I’m done with this conversation.” Y/N huffs, returning her attention to the box beside her thigh, muffling the twitching across her lips. 

She takes the cardboard into her hands, tracing over the small flap used to pry the top open. Harry watches her with interest, pondering as to what could possibly be scurrying around her skull that she seems so caught up with the context of the gift. He’d gotten it because he knew they would both benefit from it. It’s as simple as that. 

“You know,” she starts, but her gaze remains glued to the box, “I feel kinda bad ‘cause, like...You got me this gift, I have nothing to give you in return.” 

Harry’s face contorts into a silly frown for a moment, tone humorous. “It’s fine, Y/N. You don’t have to give me anything back. I got it ‘cause I knew we’d enjoy using it together, and because this way, you have something to play with when I’m not around. And you can send me videos of said instances. It’s truly a win-win. A double-ended gift.” 

“I suppose.” She mumbles softly, continuing to pick at the lip of cardboard sticking out. “But I feel like it’s only fair that you get to use it, too, don’t you think?”

And then the reason she’s insistent about this dawns on Harry. The way she’s avoiding looking at him directly, how her heart rate is slowly ebbing upwards, how she is gradually scooting closer to his body, how he can feel her thighs are clasped tightly below the comforter. How the scent of honey and lavender has intensified. How she keeps glancing towards where the sheets are crumpled messily around his hips in a haphazard attempt to remain civil. 

When the monster speaks, it carries all the arrogance brought forward by his discovery. “If you wanna give me a handjob with the toy on, just say so.” 

The human’s head snaps upwards, her expression one of utter alarm at his lewd comment, but he can see right through her act. It’s obvious that was her intention all along— the desire in her eyes is poorly masked. She looks so adorable, pretending not to know what he’s referring to, her palms gripping the box slightly tighter than before. 

Harry twirls a strand of her hair around his finger nonchalantly, giving it a jesting tug. “I just find it funny how much of a horny menace you can be.”

“What—?”

“And it’s not even ten A.M. yet.”

“What do you—?” 

“Y/N,” Harry sighs tiredly, giving her an omniscient look, “I’ve slept with you enough times to know when you want something. It’s written all over your body language and you’re pretty shit at hiding it in your eyes. Just admit you want to and I’ll let you.” 

The faux shock slowly melts off her face, replaced by sheepish humiliation at being so easily sussed out. She chews on her bottom lip pensively, struggling to sew together the appropriate words to communicate the very inappropriate activity she wants to engage in. Harry has to withhold from leaning down and taking a bite from her tempting mouth.  

She inhales a deep breath through her nose, puffing it out slowly and tapping her fingers across the box nervously. Her voice pipes up so softly, it’s almost inaudible. “I want to give you a handjob with the toy.”

Harry gently cards his fingers into the mussed roots along the back of her head, using that hold to guide her sight upwards until it meets his. He leans down, smearing his lips over her own, feeling static pass through the ridges of their skin. “That’s all you had to say, darling. Go ahead, then. Make me cum.” 

Y/N swallows thickly, lashes fluttering bashfully as she pastes her mouth to his in a soft kiss. It’s a simple action with just their lips and nothing else. No tongue, no teeth, no sucking, nothing sloppy or desperate— not yet, anyways. He can tell she does it as a way to ease herself into this. She wants to, that much is arousingly obvious, but for some crazy reason unbeknownst to him, she’s still shy about it. That’s what happens when you come from a conservative raising: you get intimacy issues. He of all people— with his Victorian era background— would know. 

The hand Harry has cupping the nape of her neck shifts over a smidge, ending up splayed across the side of her face. His palm rests on her cheekbone and his fingers in her locks, his wrist cradling the back of her skull as he patiently deepens the kiss. His chest begins to heave slightly, a familiar sensation already frothing at the trench of his stomach. Harry can feel Y/N’s clumsy movements as she unboxes the vibrators, digging through the packaging and trying to slip them on blindly, not wanting to break away from his embrace. The way he’s flirting his tongue along the inside of her top lip is just too consuming to leave. 

After a few seconds of grappling and a string of annoyed curse words, Harry giggles lightly into her mouth, nudging the tip of his nose across the bridge of hers. The jade tint in his irises is waltzing with amusement, all at her expense. “Sometime today, love.” 

“I know, I’m sorry, I just— I can’t— they won’t—” The mortal releases an irritated growl into their kiss, reluctantly splitting away when it becomes clear she won’t be able to get the rubber gloves on without giving the task her full attention. “God, I’m such a...Sorry.” 

Harry rolls his eyes in mirth, pecking sweetly along the angry creases present over her forehead and between her brows. He thumbs over her cheek affectionately to soothe her nerves, his other hand scratching distractedly at the back of his neck. He filters curls through his fingers as he waits, bicep jolting in the process. “It’s fine, I’m just teasing. I’m not going anywhere, babe.”

“Thanks. Just give me—” The girl pauses her actions for a second, jutting her chin back up towards him and locking the vampire into another quick kiss, solely for the purpose of keeping him interested while she figures herself out. She breaks away again, returning to her mission. “Just give me a minute.” 

Now that she can see, Y/N successfully wriggles all five of her fingers into their designated molds. She prods at them gingerly, copying Harry’s actions from the night prior, using that experience as a manual. The mini-vibrators purr to life, a buzzing sensation trickling down her fingers. She glances back up at an awaiting Harry, who gives her such an easy, good-natured smile, she instantly reaches up and glues their mouths together again. 

“You’re so eager.” The boy grins into the kiss, jumping a bit when he feels her tittering fingers duck beneath the covers around his lower torso. “It’s hot.” 

“I just want to make you feel good.” Y/N mumbles, one palm braced to his strong shoulder as the other rides down his bare abdomen. She can feel his grip on her hair tightening the closer she gets to his cock. “That’s all.” 

“Guess I’m just the luckiest— shit.” Harry’s quip is interrupted when Y/N wraps her digits around his length, giving it one slow, testing pump. His jaw drops open and he begins panting into her mouth, the corners of his lips ticking upwards into a smirk as an intense pleasure swells between his thick thighs. “Jesus fucking Christ, that feels— fuck, that’s incredible, oh my God.”

“Yeah?” The human asks timidly, gazing up at him dreamily from below her lashes as his eyes lull back into his head. “Not too much?” 

Harry loves how attentive she is— how she’s checking to make sure he’s alright before continuing. If he had a heart, it would surely be glowing right now. 

Harry gulps down the lump in his throat, voice more strained and needy than she’s ever heard it. “No, I’m good, I’m good. Keep going.” 

Y/N gradually sinks her palm back down to his base, feeling his cock twitch desperately as the vibrators work their magic. She slowly slinks back up to his tip, thumbing over it carefully, pressing the toy on her thumb pad right over his slit. The garbled moan that emits from Harry is a sound her ears will never forget. It’s a sound she wishes she could record and listen to on a loop. 

“Fucking hell, don’t— please, just— oh—” Harry stutters through a plead, voice bleeding, naked chest now heaving wildly against her own. His hips buck forward into her hand, but she maintains a steady grip, keeping the vibrator pressed to the center of his cock’s head. 

“Don’t what?” She whispers into his mouth, suckling at his Cupid’s bow and reveling in the little broken noises he pours onto her tongue. 

Harry’s breaths are shallow and pained, the grip on her hair stronger than she thought possible as the fingers of his opposite hand yank at his own feverishly. He’s barely able to choke out his next sentence. “Don’t stop.”

“I won’t.” Y/N begins to fish for a solid rhythm, her strokes setting into medium pace and gauging the receiver's reaction. “How’s that?” 

Bright colors web across Harry’s eyelids and he feels like his soul is being torn from his body. “Y-Yeah, that’s perfect, baby. It’s so good— you’re so good.” 

“I am?” Y/N swipes her thumb over his tip again, and when he whimpers brokenly against her lips, she does it again. It urges the same exact reaction, but more shattered. So she does it again. And again, and again, and again. And each time it happens, his hips jerk more violently, chasing her intoxicating touch. She can feel Harry’s precum drip down his length and leak between the cracks of her fingers. 

“You are, you’re just so fucking good to me.” Harry’s spewing words at this point, brain half conscious, half floating in bliss. Whatever dam of common sense holds his mind together crumbles, all of his thoughts rushing out in the form of jumbled phrases and cracked whines. “You get me going like nothing else, pet. You get me going so easily, it’s embarrassing. You make me cum so hard, it feels like I’m touching h-heaven. And your mouth— God, y-your mouth. It’s the best I’ve ever had. It’s so soft and warm, and your lips are so pretty and silky. I could kiss you for hours. And your tongue— you know how to use it so well. You lick me once and I’m already on edge. And every time you get down on your knees, I think I’m gonna pass out.”

Y/N sighs shakily at Harry’s string of confessions, staring up at him with wide eyes as his own stay shut loosely, long lashes perched on his rosy cheekbones, handsome features slack with euphoria. She doesn’t halt her motions, continuing to pump him excitedly. The girl passes her thumb over his tip every time she gets to the top, and gives a hard squeeze every time she thunks down against his base, twisting her wrist as she glides back and forth between the two points of reference. That combination seems to work well, evident in the steady stream of vulgarities falling from Harry’s swollen lips as he thrusts upwards to match her pace. His groans splash across her tongue, traveling down her throat and burning into her stomach. She wants him to cum probably more than he does.

Y/N glimpses down, watching her sheets tent as she works Harry over, the outline of her knuckles pressing into the turquoise fabric. It’s such an erotic scene and she knows it’ll be branded across the front of her brain for years to come. She cranes her neck back up to look at the vampire, her breath catching in her lungs. He looks so pretty with his dark pink lips parted in pleasure, his damp ringlets matting along his sweaty hairline, his structured jaw ticking, and his usually sharp traits softened by ecstasy. She’ll do anything to make that image last.  

“Tell me more.” Y/N murmurs, swimming in the praise he is so willing to dish out. 

His eyes flicker for a heartbeat and in that instance, they look oddly darker than normal. Almost crimson, but she knows it’s due to the shadow of his lashes. The words that spill from his mouth next make her forget all about that occurrence, his voice melodic and dark, sticky against her wet lips. 

“Your hands are one of my favorite things about you, I think. They’re smaller than mine and I love how your fingers don’t touch when you wrap them around my cock. I love how they leave my back raw with scratches, and I love how they look tied to the bedpost. I love it when they press flat against my chest when you ride me, and how you lean back on them when I’m on my knees with my head between your thighs. I love how they yank at my hair when you’re about to cum, and how they grip my upper arms when we make-out. I love how your nails dig into my thighs when you're going down on me, and how they look fisting at the sheets when I’m taking you from behind. And I love how they feel tugging me off, like you’re doing now. I just love how perfect they are— how perfect you are.” 

Y/N is left speechless, Harry’s monologue ringing in her heated ears as he gazes at her intensely amidst heavy, barely-cracked eyelashes. His broad chest gasps for air and he takes it upon himself— despite his wrecked appearance— to smush their mouths deeper together, pooling moans across the roof of her own.  

“I’m—” His breathing throttles, voice coming out softer than she’s heard it in the last three weeks. “I’m gonna cum.”

Y/N nods her head numbly, strokes becoming lazy and fast, eager for him to finish. “I want you to. I want you to cum for me so bad. Please?” 

Harry’s hips writhe in a tell-tale sign that he’s about to tip. His whimper tastes sweet on her tongue, the meaning behind it pure syrup to her ego. “You’re the only one who makes me feel this good.”

The mortal whines gently in return, eyes falling shut as she feels him grow heavier in her palm. “You’re the only one I want to make feel this good.” 

The knot of white hot pleasure in his belly begins to unravel, his entire spine shuddering as a result, all strain beginning to wash out of his system in spurts if blissful electricity. He can feel his orgasm racing up his prick, pulling his composure along with it. He gives one last jerk against Y/N’s cupped fingers, feeling her press her vibrating thumb over his slit one more time for good measure. When the first milky ribbon spurts out, that’s when he feels it. 

Harry’s eyelids fly open in alarm as black veins protrude along the whites of his eyes, all his muscles contracting at once, defense mode activated. Y/N’s lips are on his neck. 

His first instinct is to do what he always does and guide her away from that sensitive, highly forbidden area. His fist tightens in her hair and he’s about to yank her back up to his mouth when suddenly, the icy tension present in his veins disappears. It’s replaced by a soothing warmth, which travels through every crevice in his body and kindles his climax, his impulsive hatred for being touched in that specific region funneling away completely. He can’t remember a time where this has happened before. 

Harry’s grip loosens hesitantly as he treads into this unexplored territory, allowing her to continue suckling along his throat. The sensation would usually garner a reaction similar to that of a molten metal brand being placed on his skin, but now— for some startling reason— he doesn’t feel any contempt. He just feels relaxed and cradled in the best way imaginable. The impact is pleasant this time around, and he finds himself wanting more of it. So, he lets her give him more. He lets this strange girl kiss and gasp and lick against his jugular while she finishes getting him off, his own desperate sounds of need bouncing around the brick walls of her bedroom. He lets her coax wave after wave of cum out of him, feeling it splatter against her bedspread and coat over her hand. He whines and grunts into the hair along the crown of her head, tears blearing his eyes as her scent of sugar and flowers clouds his mind. And when his release finally sputters to an end, he lets out an elongated groan so deep, it makes his chest ache.

“Fuck. You’re...You’re an absolute angel.”

Y/N draws her hand out from beneath the bed sheets, turning off the vibrating finger pads by pressing them against her palm. She looks down at the milky substance covering the toys and before Harry can make even a sound of encouragement, she’s already licking it off each individual piece. The girl looks up at the vampire as she cleans every trace of him off her fingers, swallowing it all down with a doe-like tint across her hazy gaze and murmuring a soft, “You taste good.” over a full mouth. Harry just watches silently, heavy breathing slowly starting to even out. God, she really is such a fucking godsend.

The next couple of minutes list by in a blur, all of his focus taken up by the feeling of unsettlement pricking at the back of his brain. Why had he let her touch him there? Why had he let her touch him in a place no one has since before his death?

Y/N puts the toys back in their box, putting them off to the side to thoroughly clean later. She reaches down, bunching up her bedspread in her hand and wiping Harry’s pelvis, thighs, and tummy down until he’s decently clean, as well as whatever is left on her hand. She then snuggles up to his side once again, laying her head into the crook between his arm and pectoral muscles, staring up at the ceiling thoughtfully along with him. The irritating red tint across Harry’s chest, stomach, and neck gradually fades away, and he barely flinches when he feels her sponge her lips against his Adam’s Apple. She lulls the tip of her middle finger up along the vein of his cock one more time for finality, smiling slyly when he hisses in sensitivity.

The immortal tilts his head down to appraise her, sniffling lightly and allowing a weak, watery smile across his raw lips. His tone is feathery and detached. “That was…Christ.”

Y/N giggles softly, nodding along to his unspoken opinion. “It was fun. Really fun. We should do it again sometime.” 

Harry splutters into a drunken laugh, mind still floating around the room. “I don’t think I could survive that again.”

Y/N grins up at him cheekily. “Pussy.” 

Her friend breaks into an expression of utter offense, cheeks still slightly rosy. He shoves her head roughly as vengeance. “Hey! Piss off. Don’t blame it on me, blame it on the male anatomy.” 

The girl shakes her head up at him, eyebrows shrugging mockingly. “Excuses, excuses.” 

“Whatever.” 

A moment passes, and then Y/N speaks up again, her index finger poking playfully into the center of his bare chest, right over the butterfly tattoo. “Also, you’re washing my sheets. Your mess, you clean it up.”

Harry grins against her forehead, scratching lightly at the back of her scalp. “Fair enough…Wait, is that why you wanted to do this? ‘Cause you knew I’d soil your sheets and you could force me to do your laundry?”

That hadn’t been her motive at all, and Harry knows that, but she plays along anyways for the hell of the joke. “Perhaps.” 

“Wow. I feel used.” 

“Too bad. Go do it. Now. Before it stains.”

Harry stares at her like she’s sprouted a second head. “I literally can’t walk right now! I can’t feel anything below my waist.”

Y/N lifts the comforter off her body, symbolically showing off the bruises his fingertips and rings had left the night before. “Well, neither can I!” 

Harry reaches down and touches the marks, chuckling to himself. “How unfortunate. Who’s gonna make breakfast, then, if neither of us can even stand?”

“We could UberEats some iHop.” 

“Who’s gonna get the door?”

“Well, I can’t solve everything on my own, now can I?!” Y/N slaps his hand away from her body. “Contribute! You’re the lead detective, after all.” 

“I am, aren’t I?” Harry cocks his head to the side in recollection, remembering his role in their imaginary dynamic duo scenario. “And because I’m the lead, I say…” He ropes his lean arms around the human and buries his face into her warm neck, pulling her close and intertwining their legs together, trapping her to the mattress along with him. “I say we just bum around for a bit longer. Just until one of us can actually muster up the strength to leave the bed.” 

Y/N makes an exasperated noise in the back of her throat, but makes no apparent attempt to leave his embrace. “Fine.” 

“Mystery solved, then! Elementary, my dear Watson.”

“You’re so dumb.” 

The pair stay cuddled for a bit, with Y/N’s hands loosely gripping Harry’s forearms, tracing across his mermaid tattoo absently. She wanders in her thoughts for a period of time, lost in the sensation of Harry’s warm breath fanning down her neck, his hot lips pressing small kisses behind her ear every once in a while. She likes their morning after routine; it’s innocent and fun and sharing moments like this makes it easy to forget her troubles. She wants more of this, and she finds herself trying to come up with ways to convince Harry to spend the night more often. This is only the fourth time he’s stayed until morning and she wants that number to grow. 

An idea dawns on her and she’s voicing it before her inhibitions can kill it off.

“Do you...Do you maybe wanna stay over the rest of the weekend?”

Harry draws his face from the alcove of her soft neck, eyebrows poised in curiosity. “The rest of the weekend?”

“Yeah!” Y/N shifts her gaze up to look at him, hope swirling around her pupils. “Like, spend the rest of today and tomorrow over, and then leave tomorrow night ‘cause I have work on Monday. Does that, like...Does that make sense?” 

“Yeah.” Harry says slowly, mulling over her offer, thinking back to his schedule. He doesn’t think he has any commitments this weekend that would require him being home— none he can’t cancel easily, anyways. He’d told Mitch he’d go see him play again at the pub later today, but it’s the same set as last time, so he doesn’t think his best friend would mind if he missed it just this once. Niall was planning a barbecue at his place on Sunday, but the Irish bloke does one almost every other week so it’s nothing Harry can’t make up. Plus, what type of idiot would pass up two day’s worth of amazing sex? The more, the merrier.

Y/N watches the vampire’s expression carefully, trying to interpret whether her request was out of their boundaries. She doesn’t want to make him feel like she’s trying to tie him down or suffocate him, she just wants to spend a bit more time in his presence, rather than through a phone screen. Her tone comes out dismissive, with just the tiniest hint of panic. “It’s okay if you can’t, though. Like, if you have other plans and stuff, I totally get it. Or if you just don’t want to, that’s fine, too! I just thought it’d be a fun little thing we can do since we already talk so much on the phone and everything, so I guess I just kinda figured you wouldn’t mind—”

“I get it, Y/N.” Harry interrupts Y/N’s unhinged word vomit, voice amused and nonchalant. “I think I’d like that, yeah.”

Y/N blinks in giddy surprise. “Really?” 

“Well, don’t sound so shocked.” Harry laughs lightly, fingers toying with the pearls laying across his clavicle. “The sex is pretty fucking good and I’m more than happy to have it at my disposal.” 

“Right.” Y/N gives him a deadpan look, shaking her head at his bluntness, reaching forward to fiddle with the chain of his cross necklace for the sake of having something to distract her from smiling like a fool. “Great, then. I have some old boxers that I know will probably fit you and an unopened pack of toothbrushes under the sink, so I think you’re set.” 

Harry’s lips purse at the mention of the men’s underwear, brows creasing a tad. “You just casually have men’s boxers laying around?” 

“They were my ex’s and I kept them out of spite. But don’t tell anyone, I don’t wanna get locked up for robbery.” 

The tightness in his chest— which he hadn’t even realized had formed— melts away. “My lips are sealed.”

“Good, or else I’d have to kill you.” The girl states darkly, a theatrical seriousness to her appearance. 

“Oh no.” Harry wails sarcastically, knotting a fist into her oversized tee and pulling her closer, connecting their lips and grinning into the kiss. “I’m shaking in fear.” 

Y/N gives in without much of a fight, hands still clinging to his forearms, a smile of her own creeping across her cheeks. “Asshole.”

“The only thing I’m relatively afraid of is my dick falling off. You have the sexual drive of a rabbit.” 

“Oh, like you’re any better?” 

“I’m innocent in all this! You’re usually the one instigating. I’m just a mere pawn— a poor, unsuspecting nun led astray.”

“God, I can’t believe I let you fuck me.” 

///

The following weekend, Harry officially invites Y/N over to his house. 

It had been talked about in passing a while back, and he figures it's only fair considering all the time they’ve ever spent together has been solely at her place. Plus, he could tell she was curious to see what his living situation is like, which is valid. You can tell a lot about people through their home, and when you’re sleeping with someone on the regular, you want to learn as much about them as possible. It’s important to know who you’re getting into bed with. Literally. 

Harry’s proud of his condo. He keeps it clean, he keeps it organized, and he keeps it styled in a manner that combines his Victorian gothic roots with modern day aesthetics. The floorboards of the apartment are made of waxed light-wash wood, most of the expanse of his living room covered in a furry dark grey rug. The lightness of the ground is contrasted by the matte mahogany walls, of which the largest is covered in Harry’s collection of first edition artwork. He had picked out every single piece himself throughout the span of the last two centuries, ranging from modern digital technique canvases to nineteenth century oil paintings, all arranged in neat alternating rows from oldest to newest. He can’t help that he’s such a stickler; his mom had raised him so. 

Though his art wall is his pride and joy, the glass wall that overlooks the city skyline comes in at a close second. Harry loves the city, despite the fact that he was born in a seemingly irrelevant town whose only redeeming quality was the bustling public market. Urban regions are just full of so much life, excitement, and potential, which are all concepts he never really got to explore before he transitioned. Cities represent everything he wanted as a young man, when he thought he had prosperous years ahead of him and an entire life left to build; they represent diversity, unique experiences, and endless possibilities. When that was stripped from him, he began to bounce around different countries and cities all over the world, seeking a place that would fill the hole his dreams had left behind. Los Angeles fit that space like a puzzle piece. 

That glorified window just means more to him than anyone could possibly know. Sometimes at night, he’ll just stand by it with his arms relaxed across his chest, watching the city gleam and glitter as individuals from all different backgrounds go about their business, blissfully ignorant to the beautiful concept that they all contribute to something much bigger— a concept that only centuries of wisdom could reveal. When he’s not wracked with jealousy and spite, looking out that window and witnessing the world change and evolve is therapeutic, in a way. It allows Harry to live vicariously through others who get to have what he never did. 

Aside from his art collection and the glass wall, the chandeliers that hang from his cavernous ceiling are third on his list of treasured possessions. They’re special and no one on this earth owns anything like them; Harry made sure of that. They were created by a Swedish interior designer Harry commissioned about ten years ago, so they are custom-made in every aspect of the term. They took months to construct and finalize, which is hardly difficult to believe, given their grandeur. Each chandelier is made of two extensive layers of delicate golden chains, all arranged around a wire center, connected by light bulbs at each peak. It gives his home a chic, avant-garde atmosphere that mirrors his personality down to the last chain link. 

The rest of his flat is tailored to compliment these three major determining factors. The wood paneling all around his apartment is carved with intricate, loopy designs, his two rounded coffee tables are made of the same marble that resides across his kitchen counters, and his kitchen sits directly under the second story ledge with elongated fluorescent poles embedded into the room’s ceiling, eloquently highlighting the creme walls and polished detailings of all his appliances. His sectional couches are made of an off-brown leather, covered in large rectangular couch cushions with a checkered print embroidered across the pillow cases, and weighted fleece blankets litter some areas of the elegant sofas. A wide staircase leads up to the second floor, made of grey glass steps and metal railings. 

The top story of his condo is less Victorian era, more modern composition. The ground is dark maroon carpeting, and the ledge leads to one singular corridor that splits into two seperate rooms at either ends. One is the master bedroom, and the other is an accompanying bedroom which he uses for storage. His room isn’t anything extravagant, per se. It’s big, but his decor is minimalistic, covered in all different muted shades of blacks and greys, from the comforter on his king-sized bed to the tall dresser. A fifty inch flat-screen is mounted on the wall, but he hardly uses it since the one in his living room is larger; it’s only really there as an ornament. Starburst lights hang from his ceiling— smaller, downplayed versions of his chandeliers— and his walk-in closet stands parallel to the entrance of his bathroom. 

The humongous bathroom was meant for two people, pretty obvious in the double-sink set up, but he doesn’t dwell on it much. He isn’t one for dating, and he’s just happy to have that luxury because it comes in handy the morning after one night stands. He has a jacuzzi-like bathtub, lined with water jets and all, and a big walk-in shower with a large overhead panel instead of a regular showerhead. The whole room is made of dark marble and porcelain, and he couldn’t possibly adore it more. Some of his best experiences had happened in this room, explicit and otherwise. 

In the end, Harry has every right to be arrogantly proud of his apartment. It had taken him months to decorate, years to fill with fond memories, and an immortal lifetime to find. He loves it with every trace of his soul, even when others disagree. Namely, Niall, who had mocked his sophisticated relics and old-timey architecture from the first time he’d set foot past the threshold; “You went the dark gothic route? Really? Way to feed into the stereotype, Dracula.” 

But no matter what anyone says, this is who he is, and he couldn’t be happier. After decades of migrating and aimlessly searching the globe, he’d finally found a place he could call home, and absolutely no one could take that from him. Especially not some Irish moron who doesn’t even know the definition of “foyer.”

How Harry manages to afford his flat is a whole other intriguing tale.

It had come up in a pillow talk conversation with Y/N once, and he had told her the story he feeds to any human who asks. He’s a regional manager for an offshore company and it’s mainly a lot of online work. Handling duties through business emails, videochat meetings, job portals, and things of the such. It paints a valid image as to why he’s home all the time. He also claims to be the company’s lone contact stationed in California, so he handles all of the responsibilities that would normally be bestowed upon three or four people. This paints a valid explanation as to how his imaginary position would tether such a high pay grade, which justifies his luxurious living arrangement.

That story is part of the truth. Harry does indeed have ties with corporate businesses. That is, ties to their CEOs’ pockets. It’s surprisingly easy to get past secretaries and security dressed in a nice suit and thousand dollar leather shoes, especially with the help of compulsion and Harry’s golden charisma. Thanks to those tools, he has managed to convince some of the biggest leaders in corporate California to quietly deposit generous sums of money into his bank account once a month. And with his persuasive supernatural abilities, he convinces them to write it off as regularly scheduled charity donations in their minds. That’s how he makes a living for himself— by scamming the rich. Xander likes to take the piss and call him a sugar baby, but Harry sees himself as more of a modern day Robin Hood, instead. 

Mitch says his charade is unlawful, but considering how corrupt the business world already is, the vampire feels next to no guilt. The one percent have always taken advantage of those poorer than them— that was obvious even back in Harry’s time— and he doesn’t see anything wrong with taking advantage of them right back, now that he has the means to. How’s that saying go? “Fuck the bourgeoisie” and all that. 

Everything taken into consideration, Harry’s pretty excited to show Y/N his condo. Watching people’s faces break into awe the second he turns the lights on always gives him such a deep surge of satisfaction. It makes all the hassle worth it.  

The immortal is currently sitting in his vintage car, flicking through his Spotify playlist to find something to entertain him while he waits for Y/N to finish her shift. He had offered to pick her up, knowing that it’s what any courteous host would do, and she had appreciatively accepted, telling him she’d be out by eight P.M. It’s seven fifty-three now and Harry had arrived around seven fifty, taking the slot right in front of the cafe’s entrance so she can spot him as soon as she walks out. These ten minutes are the longest he’s ever had to endure, which says a lot considering he’s endured tons of patience-testing moments in his two hundred years.

Harry swipes his thumb down the glass screen of his phone, sampling songs left and right to see what will stick. After listening to the first few chords of an array of forties dance music, seventies rock and roll, and twenty-first century bubblegum pop, he settles for Rodeo by Lil Nas X. Harry has a very intricate taste in music— it’s one of the traits he’s most proud of— and Mitch often tells him he’s too snotty when it comes to his preferences. He’ll admit it freely that, yes, he can be a piece of work musically, but just because he thinks the industry peaked in the seventies doesn’t mean he hates modern music. He likes most of it, including rap, and Lil Nas X happens to be one of his favorites, much to everyone’s surprise. Most of the artist’s songs are eccentric not only lyrically but also instrumentally, to the point where it’s almost comical— who names a song Panini, of all things?— but the music is catchy and Harry can let loose to it easily. 

The vampire also happened to meet the musician, on one occasion. He ran into him at a club and after a few drinks and some banter, somehow ended up getting invited over to a party at the celebrity’s Malibu mansion. That night is a blur, definitely due to the copious amounts of alcohol and psychedelics, but Harry remembers they had fun and that the guy was worth a listen. In fact, he was the genius that came up with the theme for the rapper’s Rodeo music video. 

A light knocking on the passenger’s seat window brings him out of his memories. Y/N stands outside, hugging her arms loosely over her tummy, decked in her usual work uniform of a navy polo and black skinny jeans. When the two lock eye contact, she gives him a soft wave and a tired smile. Harry lifts two fingers in greeting, returning her polite gesture and swiftly lowering the window. He leans forward across the center console, his grin taking on a playful hue, voice carrying the same effect. 

“Uber for Y/N?” 

The girl snorts and rolls her eyes, but plays along, reaching forward and jiggling the handle of his black Cadillac symbolically. “That’s me, yes. Open up.” 

“Eh, eh, eh.” Harry tuts, wagging a finger in her direction and then making a motion that tells her to back away. “I’m gonna have to see some ID. It’s one of our new safe driver policies. Gotta make sure you are who you say you are, miss.” 

Y/N’s expression drops flatly, eyes half-lidded as he smiles up at her brightly, batting his eyelashes innocently. “Open the door before you end up sucking your own dick tonight.” 

Harry’s shit-eating face falls so fast, it causes her to burst into laughter. A soft click vibrates through the handle below her fingers. “I’ll waive the background check. Just this once.”  

“Yeah, I figured as much.” Y/N taunts, yanking the door open and ducking into the shotgun seat, gently tugging it closed behind her. 

Once the human is situated in her spot, she releases a lengthy sigh, sinking down against the cushions as she grabs her seat belt and clicks it into place. 

Harry puts his cell phone down into the cubby hole below the stereo set, setting the car in reverse and slinging an arm behind her headrest to get a better view as he backs out of the parking space. His gaze momentarily flickers to her slumped form as the car retreats slowly, tone curious. “Long day?”

Y/N glimpses over, giving him a quick once-over and taking in his olive green Nike jumper, ripped denim boyfriend jeans, and pastel yellow Vans. He looks so boyishly cute, which is ironic given the premise of tonight’s rendezvous. The shoes (which he had worn the night they’d met all those weeks ago) and the position he’s in (perched above her with his sharp jaw and neck flexing as he cranes his torso to look for oncoming traffic) flashes her back to the first time she had been in his car. They had been way less acquainted, she had been much less relaxed, much more nervous, but the encounter very much carried the same exact intentions. That recollection makes her lips quirk a bit. The pair had grown so comfortable with each other since then, that Friday evening feels like it happened decades ago. 

“Yeah.” Y/N murmurs softly, gladly indulging a deep inhale of the vanilla and tobacco scent she had become familiar with, allowing it to soothe her nerves and wash away the stress of a hard day. “I’m just happy it’s over and that the weekend’s finally started. Wanna forget all about it.” 

“Well, that’s what I’m here for, love!” Harry plops back into his seat, shifting his car into drive and gifting her his famous brilliant smile, dimples winking to life as he taps his ringed fingers across his steering wheel humorously. “I’ve made you forget your name plenty of times before; I’m pretty sure I can erase one shitty work shift just fine.”

Y/N scoffs at his pompous claim, reaching up and prying the hair tie out of her locks, looping it over her wrist and shushing her stiff roots. She tucks strands behind her ears, the corners of her mouth twitching in endearment at the giddiness of his aura. “Just drive, Sherlock.” 

The mortal isn’t surprised to find that building in which the vampire lives is one of the tallest in the city, and that it’s basically smack in the center, as well. One look at Harry and anybody could immediately tell he thrives off being the center of attention, so of course his home is a direct reflection of that. Refined boy, refined personality, refined environment. It’s practically a law of science. 

Once Harry’s car is parked and the ignition rumbles to a smooth stop, Y/N unbuckles her seat belt and goes to unlock the passenger’s side door. Right as her hand is wrapping around the handle bar, the door swings open of its own accord and she just barely manages to stifle a blood-curdling scream full of shocked fear. When her eyes focus, Harry is standing there holding the door open for her, features painted with cocky amusement. 

“How did you—?” The girl whips around to look at the empty driver’s seat, eyebrows cinching in bewilderment as she turns back to face him. “How did you get around so fast?” 

Harry shrugs his shoulders offhandedly, reaching one bejeweled hand down to aid her out of the vehicle. “I did track when I was younger. Made me a fast walker.” 

Y/N hesitantly takes it, body language still slightly tense from the jump scare. With his help, she gradually climbs out, the door shutting behind her as she sweeps her sight around the parking garage in wonder. This is the first time Harry has ever invited her anywhere, let alone to where he spends most of his life. She doesn’t want to miss a thing. Even the simplest aspect can tell you a lot about a person. 

Y/N jerks a tad when she feels her friend’s cold fingers slipping down her palm, sifting between her own. She glances down at their intertwined hands for a second, a warm glow bursting through her chest. She’s always admired how his are so much bigger. 

Harry tugs her forward toward the elevator at the other end of the parking lot, bottom lip caught between his teeth in a sly smirk. “C’mon, Watson. Let me show you around.” 

Y/N stumbles after him, allowing the boy to guide her to where she needs to go as he weeds through cars effortlessly. She suddenly chimes up from behind, asking a random question to fill the leftover silence their footsteps spare. “That car next to yours had such a weird license plate. What the fuck does ‘craic’ mean?” 

Harry chuckles knowingly, perfectly aware of whose car she is referring to. “It’s this odd thing Irish people say. Utter rubbish, honestly.” 

A comfortable quietness fills the air of the elegant elevator as it shoots up towards the twenty-fourth floor of the skyscraper, the only other sound being the gentle lullaby of a nameless tune wafting through the speakers above their heads. Harry finds himself studying Y/N as she looks out at the city through the glass walls, the lights of the exterior buildings casting a beautiful buttery gleam across her relaxed characteristics, along with a radiant glint over the surface of her glossy eyes. Despite the slightly smeared mascara staining her waterline and the inherent frizziness her hair carries after being pulled into a tight ponytail all day, Harry finds that she looks nice. Pretty, even. 

The girl senses him staring, craning her head to return his gaze, the edges of her lips lilting upwards lightheartedly. He returns the gesture, peeling away to focus on something— anything— else. He deems the control panel a worthy replacement.

As the numbers on the dial drag by, Harry finds himself absentmindedly thumbing over Y/N’s knuckles. She doesn’t seem to notice or mind, so he continues doing it, massaging the crest of each bump and pressing down gently along the troughs. He enjoys the sensation of her silky warm skin heating his icy own, and he ponders whether she likes how cold his touch is, or if she hates it as much as he does. He expels that notion from his mind; he refuses to let such a stupid concept upset him. He just keeps caressing her hand, restraining his mind from ambling too far into its meaning. It’s just to pass the time. 

He keeps the movements going until their ride skates to a joltless halt with a sharp ding! and then he steps out, having to give his full attention to leading her down the long corridor to his flat. Y/N is so caught up in drinking up her surroundings, she almost bumps into the creature when he comes to an abrupt stop in front of the entrance of what she can only deduce is his home. Harry drops her hand, much to her disappointment, fishing into his back pocket for his keys. He patiently filters through his keychain, picking out the right one and working it into the lock, a soft click emitting from the mechanism. 

Harry pushes the door open with his palm, standing off to the side just outside the threshold and tilting his head towards it, posture bowing slightly. “Ladies first.” 

Y/N thanks him quietly, taking a cautious step forward into his hallway. She can’t help the way her heart skips a beat at his gentlemanly tendencies; she rarely meets anyone as respectful as Harry seems to be and she finds his old-timey attributes to be refreshing. Helping her out the car, taking her hand to guide her through the parking lot, rubbing at her knuckles innocently, holding the door open for her— it’s all such an archaic form of chivalry she wishes she’d see more often these days. She doesn’t know if it’s a British thing, if he had just been raised like that, or if he simply does it to get laid, but she’s thankful for it either way. 

With one last glance at her friend over her shoulder, she begins wandering down the dark narrow path unsurely. The sound of the door slinking shut behind her and Harry’s footsteps ease her. 

She stops once she senses the corridor open up into a larger space, which she guesses is his living room. A soft gasp escapes her at the sight before her. The whole area is washed in darkness, the only source of light stemming from the large glass pane that stretches from the floor of the apartment to its tall ceiling. Dozens of buildings and cars glimmer below, the breath-taking image of the lively city looking almost like a snapshot from a professional movie. It’s absolutely gorgeous and she feels like she could stare at it for eons. 

A chilly hand suddenly presses along the dip of her spine, ushering her forward an inch or two, Harry’s invisible voice and warm breath hitting the shell of her left ear. “S’cuse me, dove.”   

The boy reaches behind her for the light switch and the condo bursts into radiance with one simple flick of his wrist. 

“Oh...my God.”

Harry’s home is something straight out of a luxury catalogue. The light floorboards and the mahogany panels. The massive leather couches and hand-sewn cushions. The extravagant chandeliers and glass staircase. The marble kitchen and generously packed liquor shelves. The ginormous wall of priceless artwork, littered with pieces from all different eras of history. It feels like stepping into a decor wonderland.

“Not too bad, huh?” Harry pipes up playfully, anchoring her back into reality from the floaty stupor that had consumed her mind. 

“Not too—? Are you kidding?” Y/N sputters incredulously, whizzing her head to the side sharply. “You were keeping an entire Four Seasons royal suite from me?!”

Harry belts out a bundle of childish giggles, the edges of his eyes crinkling and the tip of his button nose twitching. “I never thought of it much, to be honest. I’d grown to like your place.” 

“Right. Because a creaky mattress and a kitchen the size of a broom closet is so much more satisfying than chandeliers and a fucking glass wall.”

The vampire glimpses around his flat indicatively. “Okay, I see your point.”

“Exactly.” 

Y/N drifts forward, running the tips of her fingers across the backrest of the aged leather sofa and along the corners of the throw pillow, doing a slow circle at the middle of his home, taking everything in a second time around to make sure it isn’t a mirage. “Fuck, this is incredible. Is your boss looking for any more regional managers, by any chance?”

Harry follows after her, tucking his hands into the back pockets of his boyfriend jeans, chewing along the inside of his cheek to suppress a proud smile— a result of her explosive reaction. “I’m afraid my position is the one and only, sorry.”

Y/N droops her shoulders in exaggerated contempt, presenting a shitty English accent to tease him. “Bollocks.”

It garners the designated feedback, her tummy somersaulting at Harry’s exorbitant laughter. 

The boy comes to stand before her, cocking his head to the side questioningly towards his kitchen. “Can I offer you a drink?”

Y/N glimpses over at his bar area, eyes dancing over his extensive array of fancy bottles. “Oh, please do.”

Despite only having known Y/N for a few weeks, Harry has gotten quite acquainted with her tastes, even outside of sexual matters. She doesn't like the taste of alcohol, but she likes its effects. And he likes them, too, if he’s being honest. Her blood always begins to smell more appetizing after just a few sips and the way her cheeks heat up so easily when she’s buzzed always makes his breathing trip. 

He works his extensive skills, pulling from his liquor cabinet and mixing flavored liquids and syrups until he comes up with something that he thinks the girl will enjoy. It’s fruity, with hints of peach, lime, and strawberry, but also warm and fulfilling, with a rich whiskey and a few dashes of bitters. He plunks in a couple of ice cubes and mixes it together with a bar spoon, tapping it against the rim with finality and swiping it over his tongue in a quick taste test. He’s pretty happy with his concoction. 

Harry glances up to where Y/N is leaning against the armrest of his couch, her legs crossed before her as she stares at one of the abstract paintings mounted on his wall. It’s an original, as are the rest of them, which he had purchased some odd seventy years ago from a barely known artist whose talent had gone to waste in the world. It’s a deconstructed sunflower, with the color palette inverted and the strokes of the brush uneven and jagged. Odd and complicated, but beautiful, nonetheless. Its complexity is what makes it significant. 

The vampire slowly wanders over from his kitchen, holding her drink in one hand and a cloth napkin in the other. He takes the spot beside her along the armrest, speaking wistfully as if recalling a fond memory. “It’s a flower.”

Y/N nods slowly in recognition, peeling her gaze away with the corners of her lips jilting. “Mmhm, a sunflower.”

Harry’s brows jump in shock. Barely anyone ever guesses the identity correctly. He’s found that as time passes and humanity becomes more reliant on technology rather than cognizant knowledge, society in general has reduced to a more pea-brained state than ever. As a result, the amount of people who can interpret and understand the meaning behind complex artwork has greatly diminished, unfortunately, so he’s pleasantly surprised to find that one of the few who still possesses that talent happens to be the girl he’s shagging. “Wow, that’s a first. It’s so unusual, no one ever really gets it.”

“I guess I just have an affinity for the unusual.” His guest quips, giving him a jesting shrug of her eyebrows and a suggestive grin. 

You have no idea.

“You underestimated me, Holmes.” 

“That I did. My sincerest apologies.” Harry returns her joking simper, proceeding to then dip an index finger inside the stout glass in his grasp, bringing it up before her face. “Taste.”

Without breaking eye contact, Y/N parts her lips and allows him to coax the wet digit in, the tangy flavor of the mixture making her taste buds tingle. She encloses her mouth around his finger, lulling her tongue along it slowly with a mischievous glint shining across her irises. 

Harry’s prominent jaw clenches as he watches the scene unfold, breath bated and a moan threatening to betray him. She truly wastes no time.

He gradually pulls his finger from her tongue, struggling to clear his throat, missing its texture already. “How is it? More syrup? More biters?”

Y/N gazes up at him drunkenly, though it’s definitely not from the liquor. Her lips quirk cheekily as a result of how visibly frazzled she’d gotten him. “It’s perfect. Better than anything I’ve had at a club, that’s for sure.” 

“Yeah?” Harry taps his opal ring against the bottom of the lowball glass, trying to reign in his previous composure. “Think I could be a bartender?” 

“You don’t hit me as the type of person who has the patience for it.” The girl remarks wittily, slinking her head to the side and biting back a giggle when Harry makes a face at her.

“You make a valid point, I suppose.” The vampire responds with an airy sigh, nodding in surrender. “The stupid blabbing from drunk morons and impending fear of being vomited on would be too much for me. I wouldn’t last a day.” 

“You wouldn’t last a single night, let alone a whole day.”

“Alright, pipe down!” Harry deadpans, bumping her shoulder with his vengefully. “You’re bruising my ego.”

“It’s humongous,” Y/N snorts, shoving him in return, “it can take a few hits.”

The pair sit there in silence for a suspended moment, just taking in the expanse of the art before them. Harry then turns his torso towards her once more, bringing the drink in his grip up to her mouth. “Here, have a proper sip. Put my all into it.” 

Y/N obliges, looking up at him with her signature doe-like air of trusting innocence, allowing him to tip the hem of the cup against her mouth. The cool beverage filters through her taste buds and down her throat, the sweet and sour mixture leaving an enjoyable tingle in its wake. A few streams of the liquid bead out of the corners of her lips and Harry impulsively gathers them with the side of his index finger, the napkin in his other hand completely forgotten. 

As he goes to pull back in order to clean up, Y/N leans forward and traps his digit between her lips like before. This time, there’s a more insistent sultry hint sparkling around her pupils. 

“Christ...” Harry pants, watching Y/N work her way down his forefinger with a silent groan hinging on his teeth. 

He doesn’t deny himself from indulging the dirty action this time around. Her mouth is as soft and warm as ever, sending chills racing down his spine despite the sweater hugging his body. His mind slips for a second, reminiscing in all the other ways he’s felt the inside of her mouth before, a faint red tinge splattering across his cheekbones. 

Y/N draws his finger out, kissing messily across its length and over the pad, looking up at him through tension-heavied lashes. She doesn't speak a word, but her intentions are clear in the electricity between them.

He can’t hold back any longer, his next comment coming out as a pained growl. “God, you’re such a filthy little thing.”  

She hums softly in the back of her throat at his explicit compliment, suckling at the center of her bottom lip needily. “I like being your filthy little thing.”

Harry swallows thickly in order to keep himself somewhat tame, fangs suddenly pricking his tongue in warning.

The mortal scoots closer to him, sifting her fingers between his around the drink and bringing it upwards, downing the last couple of inches in one go. She draws the cup from his grasp, reaching over to set it down carefully on the coffee table before turning back and snuggling deeper into his heaving chest. 

Harry scoffs in amusement, but he can feel a certain charring scratching at the back of his throat. “Drinks like that are meant to be savored, darling. You’re not supposed to just pound them.” 

Y/N stretches her neck upwards, taking his earlobe between her teeth, lips wet and cold from the alcohol. His lashes flutter when her warm breath hits his skin, contradicting the sensations from before. 

“Why don’t you let me worry about how I drink, and you can worry about a different kind of pounding.”

And that’s all it takes, really. That’s all it takes for Harry to completely drop any self-control he has left. 

The creature jars his face towards her, large hand shooting upwards to grip her jaw firmly, holding her in place as he crashes their mouths together. It’s all tongue and clacking teeth, desperate whines and stuttered gasps. Y/N’s hands fumble for something to tether to while Harry takes it upon himself to grasp at her opposite hip with his free hand, yanking her onto his lap. She buries her fists in the cotton fabric of his jumper, balancing her knees on either sides of his parted thighs. The boy’s fingers coast from her jaw down to her throat, tightening ever so slightly. The action is minimal, but it reveals that flare of dominance Y/N has become addicted to. 

“Do you want it here?” Harry rasps against her eager tongue, smirking into the kiss when he feels her start to rock along the bulge that is beginning to tent his denim pants. “Do you want me to bend you over the couch and fuck you, baby? With the chandelier making your skin glow? Where we can put on a show for the whole city to see?”

It’s a tempting offer and his words obviously have some form of impact, seen in the way Y/N’s grinding takes on a hungrier, deeper pace against his clothed cock. 

“I want…” Y/N finds it difficult to voice her desires, the responsible party being the manner in which Harry glues cracked mewls onto the roof of her mouth. “I want it in your bed.” 

She doesn’t know why, but she just wants him to take her some place where the moment they share is intimate, unseen by the prying eyes of others. She wants to christen his bed exactly how he had done hers; she craves that strange connection, for some reason. Y/N isn’t naive, she knows she’s not the only person Harry has had in his home and in his sheets. But she wants that experience, nonetheless, even if it doesn’t necessarily mean anything. She knows she’s not his only, but at least she’s one. 

Harry slowly breaks their kiss, brushing the tip of his nose across her own in a small comforting gesture. He blinks at her groggily, the copper specks in his eyes glitzing under the golden hue of the lighting. When he speaks, its soft and low, almost as if he doesn’t want to risk another soul overhearing. “Okay. Whatever you want, it’s yours.” 

Y/N almost doesn’t get anything she wants, given that she nearly kills herself on the trek up the stairs, courtesy of her weakened knees and wobbly ankles. Harry just barely manages to save her, but he finds the occurrence too hilarious to spare her the embarrassment. 

“Stop laughing, it’s not funny!” She exclaims indignantly as he helps her up the last few glass steps, clinging to him like a scared puppy, her hands still shaking with adrenaline. “I could have died!” 

Her shrieking only makes him laugh harder and he nearly keels over, palm clutching his stomach as if to keep it from popping. “I’m sorry, I really am, but it’s just— your face when you— and how you tripped sideways— I—”

Y/N shoves him hard towards the corridor where his bedroom lies, but it’s hard to maintain an angry demeanor when the young man’s giggles sound like bells and when he looks so cute with his curls flopping across his forehead. “Dickhead.” 

They’re almost at his bedroom door when Harry grabs onto her wrist, tugging her roughly so that she lurches forward into his chest. He plants a wet kiss onto the bridge of her nose, expression entertained. “Stop being such a bad sport. It was pretty funny.”

“Yeah, okay.” She huffs begrudgingly, glancing down impatiently at his plump lips as he walks backwards down the hallway with her in tow. “You can invalidate my rage once you have a near death experience yourself.”

The irony of it all. 

Harry kicks the door open, ghosting his mouth over Y/N’s and watching her sight do a quick sweep around the area. “Welcome to my lair.” 

The human likes his aesthetic. The room has different hues of the same color, so it all ties together nicely, and the hanging lights look like miniature versions of the two large ones downstairs. The bed is huge, which is a relief because for once, they won’t have to actively worry about accidentally rolling off the edge mid-fuck. “It’s nice. Very chic.” 

“Thanks.” Harry reaches up and cups either side of her neck with his palms, dragging his damp lips over her chin and down the center of her jugular, smiling against her skin when he feels her shiver. “It doesn't have a bookshelf wall like yours, but I make due.”

“Yeah.” Y/N wisps out weakly, leaning her head back as he speckles his mouth across that sensitive point on her throat he discovered ages ago. “I bet.”

She feels Harry’s touch travel down her torso, cold fingers suddenly smearing across her love handles beneath her work shirt. His grip tightens at the hem with the intention of pulling the polo off, breath hot as it washes over her collarbones. “Wanna find out just how good I make it work?”

Y/N’s arms instinctively raise on command, her reply shaky and fragile. “Yes, please.” 

Harry makes it work. He makes it work so fucking well. He doesn’t need crazy positions or any vibrating toys to make her feel good; he just knows her so thoroughly by now that he’s able to tend to every single one of her needs like it’s his sole purpose. The sex is missionary, with her splayed out across her back upon his mound of feathered pillows, her thighs clamped over his hips as he slams into her at a harsh, curt pace. Her calves are tied around the backs of his thighs, her nails are carving memories into the broad expanse of his shoulders, they’re both panting curse words and encouragement into each other’s mouths, and he’s cradling her to his chest as if he wants to absorb her heartbeat right through her ribs. If only obtaining one were that easy. 

Y/N allows her head to fall back against the cushions, drawing away from the prolonged kiss only because she needs air to continue. Harry’s lips busy themselves elsewhere, running down the valley of her chest and toying with one of her pebbled nipples. Y/N’s back gives a sharp arch the second he brushes across the sensitive nub and the taunting coo he releases goes straight to her core. 

“Liked that, darling? Like it when I kiss you there?”

The girl’s lashes have fallen shut, her eyes lulling around in their sockets as he maintains a steady rhythm between her thighs, ramming into her with so much force, the headboard is knocking into the wall. It’s loud and intense enough that Harry has to fit one of his palms between the railings, bracing the weight of the bed in order to prevent a hole from forming. 

Y/N’s voice fills the dense atmosphere, so shattered and raw, she can hardly understand herself. “It feels so— so good, H.” 

“I love it when you call me that. Sounds so pretty coming from your lips.” The vampire’s tongue flicks over her nipple a handful of times, dark veins momentarily webbing over the whites of his eyes at the cracked whimper she lets loose. “And of course it feels good. I always make you feel good, don’t I? Always make my girl cum so—fucking—hard.” 

Y/N’s trembling fingers card into the curls along the nape of Harry’s neck as he thrusts to his words, twisting them around her knuckles and swimming in the throaty groan he pours over the clammy skin of her breasts. Her whisper sounds distant and dreamy. “Please...Please don’t stop.”

Harry gazes up at her through heavy lashes, lapping at her chest more fervently, accent thick and deep. “I won’t, baby. Not until I have you dripping all over my sheets.”

After a few more minutes of fractured moans bouncing around the panels of the room and the noise of wet skin slapping together, something catches Y/N’s bleary eyes. She wills past the blissful fog in her mind, focusing on the intriguing object hanging from one of the railings of Harry’s bedpost, swaying back and forth wildly due to his strong tempo. 

“Are those...Are those handcuffs?” 

Harry’s attention jumps to where hers is pinned, his powerful stride coming to a gradual stop. He’s heaving and shuddering above her, ringlets matted to his jaw and across his temples, cheeks flushed the prettiest shade of cherry red. His Adam’s Apple bobs once and he gives a short nod. “Y-Yeah. I’ve had them for a while...”

The hope dripping from his voice is practically palpable and Y/N interprets it easily. She glances down at him as he takes quivering inhales against her chest, his eyes bleeding lust. Her mumble is so quiet and soft, he wonders how it’s possible for her to make some of the preposterously loud sounds he’s used to hearing whenever he’s buried this deep. “Use them on me. Please?”

Harry bends to her request without hesitation. He locks her wrists into the restraints, sponging a kiss onto each before giving them one hard tug to check for security. He then regains his rough slams, but with more fervor than before. 

The monster sits back onto his heels, groping her waist roughly and working her against his thighs, watching welts form on her flesh along the pads of his fingers. Y/N unconsciously begins circling her hips to match his speed and the fractured groan that rips out of him makes her walls tighten. He looks incredible looming in front of her, head toppled back between his shoulder blades, bouncing to his every ram. His throat flexes with the weight, jaw taut and inked pectorals glistening with sweat under the dim lights dangling from his ceiling. “That’s it, pet, just like that. Love the way you ride it. You’re so fucking tight and warm and...and just— Christ, just fuck me.”

She wishes she could frame this moment in time and drag it out forever.  

Harry swings his head forward again, blinking the blurriness from his vision to take in the image before him. Y/N just looks so fucking gorgeous like that, tied down at his beck and call, her chest bouncing pertly as her fingers bunch around the chain link, thighs clinging to his waist as she chews her bottom lip raw in an attempt to control her noises. 

The vampire ducks down, connecting their mouths in a sloppy kiss that cajoles her into spilling all the moans she had been withholding. He feels them trickle down his lungs and diffuse into his bones, flames lapping across his insides as their foreheads bump and noses smudge, ragged breaths intermingling. “Let it out for me, hm? Wanna know how I’m making you feel, don’t care who hears.”

As if that isn’t enough, there’s an instance where Harry’s animalistic senses suddenly enhance and he comes to the realization that the metal cuffs have made a tiny laceration along her skin. 

A thin trail of blood travels down her suspended arm, but she doesn’t seem to notice, too lost in the pleasure Harry is pounding into the pit of her stomach. So he simply leans upwards and licks the sweet droplet clean, feeling heat spark across every fiber of his being. He laps up the entire stream and then presses a tender kiss to her palm for good measure, grunting out a gentle, “There’s a good girl.” when she whines at the affectionate gesture. 

The release Harry is getting from between Y/N’s legs mixes with the ecstasy her blood brings, and it shoves him over the edge in a manner he hasn’t experienced since that first time they slept together all those weeks ago. Since the first time he tasted what lies in her veins, while also simultaneously getting to taste the indescribable relief her body so readily brings him.

After all is said and done that night, something peculiar happens. After they both milk their orgasms for everything it’s worth, and after Y/N gives into exhaustion in his arms with her wrists bruised and a content watery smile on her face, and after he gets a heftier drink from her neck and heals the two little puncture wounds with his own blood...The most bizarre, unexpected event occurs. 

Harry falls asleep soundly for the first time in months, and all he dreams about is how Y/N tasted. 

///

Y/N wakes up the next morning to her body covered in Harry’s Nike jumper, to an empty spot beside her in the messy duvet, to a familiar tune tinging her ears from a distance, and to a satisfying ache between her thighs. 

As soon as she cracks the bedroom door open, the smell of pancakes wafts in through the chilled morning air. Specifically, lemon and blueberry pancakes. Her grandmother’s lemon and blueberry pancakes.

A shiver runs down Y/N’s spine the second she sets a toe along the cold glass panels of Harry’s staircase. She takes a deep breath, pulling the extra length of the sweater’s sleeves over her fists and tugging the hem of the article downwards as if she could convince it to cover more than just half her thighs. She carefully works her way down the steps, flinching at the iciness that travels up her legs with every motion. When she finally thunks down emptily onto the light-wash floorboards, her body has grown accustomed to the temperature. As she pads across the furry rug in Harry’s living room, she finds herself wondering why everything connected to him is always so unusually cold— colder than any normal person could withstand. His touch, his lips, the tip of his nose, his forehead, his chest, even his thighs; everything is always freezing, and she doesn’t understand how he can bear it. It’s such an odd affinity to have. 

The human gradually wanders into the vampire’s kitchen, peeking inside the room from behind one of the archway’s walls. What she sees throws her for a loop. 

Harry is cooking breakfast, as she expected from the sweet scent she’d awoken to, but he’s doing it in a manner she never really expected from him. 

Music stems from a portable speaker he has situated at the center of the marble kitchen island, blaring loud enough to fill the entire giant home with high notes, guitar chords, and acapella riffs. The young man is dancing across his kitchen as he cooks, clad in nothing but a set of black Calvin Klein briefs and a pair of fuzzy magenta socks. Y/N rakes down his body, admiring the crimson and purple love bites she had left on his chest and the raspberry red scratches zig-zagging across his back, the marks flexing with the movements of his muscles. They’re strangely faint, for some reason. Practically barely there. 

She chalks it up to the fact that maybe she hadn’t bruised him as much as she’d thought. 

Y/N forces herself to keep her mind from straying onto anymore explicit topics; it’s probably not even ten A.M. yet. She needs to get herself under control.

Grooving while in the kitchen isn’t necessarily weird (she’s guilty of it herself), but Harry’s dancing techniques very much are. The only accurate depiction of it is that for a boy in his twenties, he dances like an old geezer in his eighties. His moves are choppy and old-schooled, almost like what you’d expect to see in a nineteen fifties disco hall, and watching him ebb and flow across the tiled ground to choreography similar to that of Dirty Dancing and Footloose... It would send anybody into a fit of laughter. Especially since Harry is so tall and lanky, so how he manages to move in such a way is beyond her understanding. 

Aside from that, his choice of music is baffling, as well. Not only because she recognizes the soundtrack, but because she would have never expected someone like him— with his cocky behavior and overly-confident caliber— to be into these types of songs at all. She always pegged him for the seventies rock and roll type. 

“You like Hamilton?” 

Harry’s actions creak to a halt and he whips around towards where the disturbance had stemmed, spatula clutched in one hand and a marble plate stacked with pancakes in the other. His face breaks into a bright smile, voice slathered with dramatic friendliness. “Well, look who finally got up! I was starting to think you were dead, Sleeping Beauty.”

Y/N narrows her eyes at him mockingly, walking over to the kitchen counter and propping herself onto her elbows, chin in hand as she watches him set down the platter of food before her. She tips forward onto her toes, taking a deep inhale of the homey, sugary smell, letting it wash over her in flashes of childhood memories. “Are these like the ones I make?”

“Lemon and blueberry, yeah.” Harry bobs his head casually, turning around to place his metal spatula down into the sink, as well as to retrieve a glass bottle of maple syrup from one of his cupboards. “They’re pretty close, I think. I’ve never seen you use a recipe or measuring cups or anything when you make them, so I kinda eyeballed it to the best of my ability. Hope I did your nan justice.”

He pours a decently-sized glop of syrup over the mountain of treats and Y/N watches excitedly as it trickles down all the layers. He then pushes back from the table, pulling open a drawer and rummaging through, continuing to whistle along to the tune of Satisfied as he bops the cabinet closed with his hip and sets down an extra pair of forks and knives beside the plate. 

Harry cuts a neat triangle out of the pancake at the top, pointing at her with his fork as he shrugs his brows nonchalantly. “And to answer your question from before: yes, I do like Hamilton.”

“Hm. Interesting.” Y/N murmurs, going cross-eyed as Harry offers her the forkful of food in his possession, poking at her mouth playfully and getting maple syrup all over her lips. She opens obediently, allowing him to feed her the piece. “You don’t really seem like the type of guy— oh, wow, these are actually really good!”

Harry bites into his lower lip with his two front teeth, a proud smile dimpling his cheeks as the light draft from the air vent ruffles a couple of his sex-mussed ringlets across his forehead. “Yeah? You mean it?”

The mortal nods her head vigorously as she finishes chewing and swallowing, wiping away some of the leftover syrup from her top lip with her middle finger and sucking it clean. “Yeah! You hit it spot on.”

“Aces. I should be on The Great British Bake Off.” Harry makes a small, celebratory fist bump next to his hip and the childish gesture makes Y/N snort softly. 

“Like I was saying, you don’t really strike me as the type of guy who would be into musicals.” The girl comments, watching her friend cut another triangle out of the first pancake and pop it into his own mouth. 

The vampire chews thoughtfully for a second, lifting one shoulder offhandedly and swallowing fully before talking. “I’m really not, to be honest. But this specific musical is pretty good. The songs are catchy.”

He nudges the other pair of utensils across the counter for emphasis, silently inviting her to dig into the dish along with him. She accepts, slicing down the other side of the stack as he leans forward onto his elbows, mimicking her stance. He gives her a curious glance. “What about you? Do you like musicals?” 

Y/N shrugs, poking a few chunks of food onto her fork. “Not really, but I had a major Hamilton phase back in college. That’s why I recognized it.” 

Harry hums in understanding, picking a blueberry off and chewing it slowly, a sly smirk beginning to tweak the corners of his mouth. “So were you, like, a nerd back then?” 

“Well, I wouldn’t say a nerd, but I had decent grades and was pretty quiet.”

He swallows down audibly, blinking impassively. “That’s literally the definition of a nerd.” 

Y/N returns his flat expression. “Fuck off.”

Harry throws his palms up in peaceful surrender, but he still has that shit-eating grin present. “Alright, fine, fine...It’s okay if you were, though. You were probably one of those cute ones, y’know? With the clunky glasses and innocent goody-goody face.” 

“Shut up.”

“Oh, and with one of those short little plaid skirts?” He releases a pained groan, clutching his chest and closing his eyes for a second. She has no doubt he’s sketching some type of graphic image of her in his mind. “God, I bet you looked so good. Do you still have it? Can you wear it for me?”

“I said shut up!” Y/N reaches forward and stabs at his tummy lightly with her fork, ignoring the warmth crawling up her neck and across her cheeks. “Fucking perv.”

Harry smacks her utensil away with his own, giggling lightly as she tries to prick him again, continuing to fight her off. “I’m just asking a question! For science!” 

Y/N twists her fork around his, trying to outmaneuver him into dropping it. “How could my fashion sense in college possibly contribute to science in any way?” 

The vampire easily catches onto her play, slipping himself out of her grasp and trying to trap her makeshift sword down against the tabletop. He purses his lips into a simper, glimpsing up at her through his lashes and quirking his brows cheekily. “Biologically, of course. It contributes to my solo reproductive activities.”

“You are vile.” 

“Really? ‘Cause you seemed pretty happy to help with said activities last night.” 

Y/N drops her fork onto the brim of the platter, reaching up to massage at her temples and keep herself from swatting Harry’s eyeballs out of their sockets. “I’m finished.” 

“Yeah,” the jade of his irises glimmers coyly as he sets down his utensil beside hers in a ceasefire, “you definitely finished.”

Harry chuckles boyishly as Y/N drags her palms down her face, trying to hide away how flustered he’s getting her. She decides to change the subject, not caring to steer the conversation smoothly at all, but rather jumping to another topic right away. “So does this mean you have all the lyrics memorized? Since you like them so much?” 

“I do, yeah.” Harry taps his fingers against the marble counter to the beat of the song currently playing. “Do you?” 

“I was obsessed, so of course I do.” Y/N reasons, her own digits following in tune with the immortal’s. “I think Non-Stop was probably my favorite to sing. It made for a good shower concert.”

“Well, it’s settled then.” Harry quips happily, reaching for his phone and tapping across the screen. “We’re duetting this. Right now. C’mon, Burr.”

Y/N’s motions stop, shyness creeping in from the back of her brain. “Oh, I don’t know, Harry. I never really—”

Her refusal is interrupted by the beginning of the arrangement mentioned, the notes blasting through the speaker as Harry purposefully turns up the volume to drown her out. He taps at his ear symbolically, mouthing, “Sorry, I can't hear you!” and he doesn’t even attempt to ward off the evil grin creeping across his face. 

“Harry, I’m serious—” 

But it’s already too late. Harry juts his hand out in front of him, pointing at his companion with a theatrical edge as he begins to serenade, picking up the slack of her part. 

“After the war I went back to New York. A-After the war I went back to New York. I finished up my studies and I practiced law. I practiced law, Burr worked next door!”

He looks at her expectantly, urging her to jump into the next half as her assigned role. Y/N muscles down her hesitation and recites the lines timidly with her brows creased in hesitation, but at least she’s participating. “Even though we started at the very same time, Alexander Hamilton began to climb. How to account for his rise to the top?”

Harry joins her in the next stanza, grabbing her hand midair in encouragement, trying to shake her out of her rut. “Man, the man is non-stop!”

Y/N is surprised at how well they sound harmonizing together, and she can feel her discomfort slowly begin to melt. She watches as Harry freely boasts his solo with absolutely no remorse, making grand gestures as he slides down the side of the counter, his movements dragging her along. 

“Gentlemen of the jury, I'm curious, bear with me. Are you aware that we're making history?” The boy taps at his chin to symbolize that he’s thinking, acting out the story the lyrics construct. “This is the first murder trial of our brand-new nation, the liberty behind deliberation.”

He points at Y/N once again and she does the supporting vocals, gradually beginning to gain more confidence. “Non-stop!”

“I intend to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt, with my assistant counsel—”

Harry doesn’t even have to cue Y/N this time around; she picks up her half immediately, falling into line with him flawlessly as if they’ve done this a million times before. “Co-counsel. Hamilton, sit down. Our client Levi Weeks is innocent, call your first witness.”

Harry quickly rounds the corner of the kitchen island, giving her body a grand spin as he draws closer, coming to stand right before her. She gives him a fake exasperated look to match the attitude her character depicts, shaking her head in disapproval. “That's all you had to say.”

“Okay…” The creature yanks Y/N forward into his bare chest, leaning down and flirting his lips right over hers tauntingly, eyes half-lidded in amusement. “One more thing—”

“Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room? Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room?” The girl rolls her eyes dramatically, shoving past Harry’s shoulder and she finds it humorous how these lines fit so well, almost as if they were actually directed at him, calling him out on the arrogance he always seems to dote. “Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room? Soon that attitude may be your doom.”

Harry swivels on his heel, following her as she scurries outside the kitchen entrance, running into the living room. 

“Why do you write like you're running out of time?” Y/N grabs onto one of the couch cushions, pretending to scribble over it with a fake pen. “Write day and night, like you're running out of time? Everyday you fight, like you're running out of time.”

Harry swipes at her from across the couch, trying to grasp onto the jumper she’s wearing. “Keep on fighting in the meantime.”

Y/N ducks out of the path of his grabbing hand, chucking the pillow forward and it bonks him square in the face. She sticks her tongue out at him as Harry scowls dully, climbing onto his sofa and scuttling towards her on his hand and knees.

She jumps just out of reach, diving across the other end of the furniture. The vampire throws his weight to try and tackle her to the sofa, but she just barely escapes. He ends up toppling over the backrest due to his over-abundant momentum. 

“Non-stop!” Y/N waves her middle up at him triumphantly as he pushes himself up off the ground, giving her a challenging look as he takes off after her once again. 

The pair continue to sing back and forth, with Harry chasing Y/N around the living room and kitchen as he belts out his part of the song, Y/N always somehow managing to slip from his grasp as soon as her turn hits. They’re a mess of giggles, silly faces, and boisterous actions as they reenact the play and neither can recall a time they had ever had more fun. There’s never been an instance when they felt so comfortable with another soul that they are willing to run around half-naked, screaming lyrics at each other in their underwear, not caring who sees or overhears. It just feels so second-nature.

A section of the song comes up where a woman is singing and Harry immediately takes up the part, placing his hand on his bare hip and standing in the most feminine fashion he can possibly muster, fanning at his face. “I am sailing off to London, I am accompanied by someone who always pays.” 

The exaggeration makes Y/N bend over laughing and her distraction allows Harry to nab her. He pulls her into his embrace by her forearms, cackling through the following stanza as she wriggles and squirms to try and get free. “I have found a wealthy husband who will keep me in comfort for all my days.” 

Y/N finally gives up on trying to thrash herself free, going limp against his chest and glimpsing up at him with begrudged annoyance, but a fond smile is unmistakably buckling her cheeks. Harry leans down, singing right in her face just to flaunt his victory, their noses brushing. “He is not a lot of fun, but…”

And then, there’s a shift in the ambiance between them. 

Harry gazes down at her as she giggles up at him from his arms, full of so much genuine warmth and excitement, she could power the entire city if she wanted. Her shoulders are heaving slightly as a result of all the running, there’s still faint traces of black mascara smeared under her waterline and down her cheeks from the previous evening’s exertions, she has some acne scarring littering her cheekbones that look fairly recent, and her hair looks like it could nest a family of at least ten birds. But despite these imperfections, Harry finds himself feeling oddly endeared by it all. These flaws are all things he’s gotten used to and has grown to treasure in Y/N. They make her who she is. They make her witty, and they make her clever. They make her fun, as well as trusting. They make her likeable, and energetic, and kind. They make her a good friend and a generous lover. They make her... her. Harry gets the feeling that if she didn’t have all of these traits— if even one was missing— this little arrangement they have going wouldn’t have flourished the way it did. 

Yeah, maybe he would have slept with her once or twice more just to scratch an itch, but he most likely would have let it fizzle to an end after the fact. Her personality paired with these small details— albeit, not all entirely attractive— that make up her existence play a key role in the dynamic they share. And he wouldn’t trade them for anything else— wouldn't trade Y/N for anyone else. Not anytime soon. 

A warm surge travels through his chest, filling his veins like kerosine, heating him from the heels of his socked feet to the tips of his ice cold fingers. An unorthodox swelling sensation twists inside his ribs, right where his heart used to beat, and he finds himself reciting the next line in a soft voice packed with more emotion than he’s shown or felt in the last two centuries.

“There’s no one who can match you, for turn of phrase…”

Y/N seems oblivious to all of the unsettling experiences he’s undergoing, her amused expression not changing in the slightest. Harry allows the rest of the song lyrics to pass by, the lump in his throat too heavy to fight. Instead, he just keeps staring down at Y/N with brows frowning in confusion, his breathing coming out bated and shaky, and that knot in his chest continuing to tighten until it becomes painful. He gets the sudden urge to kiss her— to feel her lips press to his and feel her give into him the way she always does. The way she has for the last four weeks. He doesn’t want it to be sloppy or desperate or sexual; he wants it to be intimate, soft, and caring. He wants it to be special. Something they share. Something only they share.

Then, that moment passes. That flicker of weakness that had leaked through vanishes and Harry feels like he can breathe properly again.

He breaks their locked eyes, releasing Y/N from his hold and taking a swift step back, coughing awkwardly to try and rid the tickling sensation in the back of his throat. He scratches at the nape of his neck nervously, fiddling with his baby curls and attempting to piece himself back together after that unexpected and unwelcome intrusion of his innermost feelings. Though, he doesn’t know if that spectacle even files under the category of emotions; from what he remembers, they aren’t supposed to tangibly attack you in such a manner. It felt more like a violation— like someone had gone in and started poking and prodding at his subconscious with a metal skewer. 

“Harry…?” Y/N inches closer to him, concern prevalent in her voice and across her features as she stretches her hand out caringly. “Are you okay? You look like you’re about to be sick.” 

“I-I’m—” His voice comes out higher than usual and quivering, so he coughs once again to get it under control, taking another step back. He's scared that if she touches him, that horrible burning sensation will come back. “I’m fine. Just...Just forgot the lyrics.” 

“Oh, okay…” The girl doesn’t sound convinced with the answer, but she lets the subject falter anyways, her hand dropping back down beside her thigh. “Just checking.” 

“Yeah, I got that. Uh, thanks. But I’m all good now.” He holds up a clenched first and juts out his pinky, wiggling it for significance. “Promise”

Y/N scoffs gently at his playful deed. “Alright, then.” 

Harry eyes her attentively as she returns to her previous spot in front of the plate of pancakes, retrieving her fork and starting to pick at them like before, as if nothing had happened. As if Harry hadn’t just almost had a cardiac arrest, despite the fact that the organ responsible had crumbled to dust ages ago.

“Are you gonna eat anymore?” Y/N signals down at the stack of pastries before her questioningly. “Because if you don’t get some now, I’ll eat them all myself. Don’t think I won’t. They’re better than the ones I make and—”

The vampire suddenly feels like bile is rising up his throat and his words spew out before he can think to stop them, though he’s not so sure he would. 

“Do you want to stay over the rest of the weekend?”

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles smut #smut #harry styles series #vampire!harry #harry styles #1d fanfiction #1d fic #one direction fanfiction #one direction smut #one direction fic #1d smut #ysijwa #harry styles one shot #harry styles dirty imagine #harry styles dirty one shot #harry styles dirty fanfiction #harry styles blurb #harry x y/n #harry x reader #harry x you #harry styles au #vampire au

[midnightmoonkiss]

All For You.

Villain! Midoriya Izuku X Reader

Summary: You didn’t ask for this, and yet he gave you the same sick gift again and again. You hated him.

WARNINGS!: blood, death mentioned, dark themes

Category: Angst

Word Count: 1.7k

Masterlist

A/N: Was listening to “If I killed Someone For You” and.. I think it fits Villain Deku perfectly.

Just To Clarify:

You’re both adults

Izuku has OFA

He is not necessarily a yandere

You live alone for a reason

Frigid water poured steadily from the faucet as he rinsed his pale hands, turning the water crimson as it washed down the rusted drain of the medical sink.

The room was dark, the only light being a flickering candle that dripped white wax onto the concrete floor below.

The handle creaked as he turned off the water, a soft sigh slipping past his chapped lips.

Stray droplets broke the silence of the room.

It would have driven anyone else insane.

Dull green eyes stared into a mirror, the dirty surface reflecting his disheveled appearance. 

Blood stained his clothes, smudging against his freckled cheek.

His green hair was a mess, once slicked back with gel now all over the place from his habit of running his fingers through his hair when frustrated.

It certainly wasn’t the look he was going for.

Two knocks sounded on the other side of the metal door closing the room off, the noise echoing in the nearly empty room.

Inhaling deeply, the man fixed his hair up with wet digits best he could, only after he finished did he notice his forest green tie had splotches of blood on it as well.

He giggled to himself as he fixed it, tightening it up to his neck. 

It looked festive.

Turning around on his black leather heels, he looked over at the bloodied corpse tied up in the corner, all life completely drained from its opened, bloodshot eyes that were once filled with curiosity.

“You know…”

He whispered to it, 

“If you hadn’t been so cruel to my beloved, you wouldn’t look so fucking disgusting right now.”

His dress shoes clicked against the floor as he made his way to the large door, knocking thrice in a particular pattern.

It unlocked with a loud clink, and he was out of the room that once held two very alive people.

He didn't like soiling his clothes or getting his hands dirty, but whenever it came to you, he was willing to do anything.

Midoriya Izuku was a dangerous man, and he wasn’t afraid to bare his teeth and leave a lifeless body behind him.

He’d done it before, he’d do it again.

Though he was exhausted, he didn’t let it show. The dark circles under his eyes have been there since he was a child, they didn’t give away how he felt anymore.

“I’ll be heading out.” 

He stated, voice low and challenging, daring any of his subordinates to object.

“It’s raining…” One brave soul spoke up from the back,

“I know.” He could smell the asphalt from here, as well as hear the thumping of raindrops on the metal roof five floors above the basement they were currently in.

He took his time climbing up the metal stairs, pulling his black leather glove from the pockets on his slacks and slipping them on.

They prevented fingerprints, and they were quite warm.

..

..

..

The rain was unexpected, leaving you completely soaked all the way down to your shoes as you fumbled with your keys. 

You just wanted to get inside, undress, relax in a bath, and go the fuck to sleep.

Today was far more stressful than it had to be, considering your bitch of a boss decided to skip work today without telling anyone - leaving you in charge during the most hectic time of the month.

You were freezing and both mentally and physically exhausted, and what was pissing you off even more was how this was the third time you dropped your damn keys.

Your fingers were numb as you shivered, hard to grip the slippery keys.

You felt like crying victoriously when you finally got the door unlocked.

Slipping your dirty heels and soaked pantyhose off, you dragged your feet through the house, making your way to your room without the use of a light switch. You were too tired to fumble around for it.

Inside your room, you shrugged off your coat and unbutton your white blouse, making your way to your dresser for a fresh pair of clothes.

It was a Saturday, and knowing you had the day off tomorrow was like a sweet kiss.

 “(Y/N)..” 

You froze, body no longer shaking just from the cold.

That voice.. It haunted you.

Once so sweet and kind.. now all you could associate it with was the stench of gunpowder and the coolness of a blade.

You could see his silhouette in the mirror, his tall, dark figure beside the window you hadn't noticed was opened.

Bile burned your throat, you didn’t want to be near this man ever again. 

You were foolish to think you had escaped his reach.

“I’ve missed you..” He drawled, sincerity threading itself through his words as he took a step towards you.

“Really?” You huffed, “I don’t miss you at all.”

“I know you do,” 

He was behind you before you could blink, the frightening sparks of his quirk sending chills down your spine as they lit the room in a green glow for just a moment.

You were trapped against the dresser, one hand pressed against the mahogany wood, and the other slithering dangerously around your throat like a snake that could strangle you at any moment.

You gulped, breath stuttering as you fought to stay calm.

His chest was pressed to your back, his figure towering over you.

He always made you feel so small and helpless.

“You reek of blood..” The scent burned your nostrils.

Soaked green locks brushed against your cheek as he pressed his nose into the crook of your neck, inhaling your perfume that drove him crazy.

He had purchased the same scent a while ago, his sheets were covered in it. He could never get enough

“And you smell delicious, my love.”

“Don't call me that-!” You spat through your teeth, venom in your voice only making him smile against your clammy flesh.

You reminded him of an angry mouse.

“And why’s that?” His voice was always so deep and dripping with authority. 

His thumb and forefinger gripped your chin, pulling your face to the side so that he could look into your mesmerizing (E/C) eyes. 

They were like a drug to him, heroin that he shot into his veins every time he had the pleasure of looking into them. 

Even if all they held was fear and disgust, they were still so beautiful to him.

You didn’t answer.

He sighed.

Looking down, you noticed the red blood on his collar, the sight making you gag. 

He no doubt had more on his person, and yet he was pressed against you. 

You wanted to throw up.

“Who was it.”

The question hung in the air, and he found himself not wanting to answer it.

“Midoriya, who was it.” Your voice shook, tears blurring your vision at the thought of him torturing another person because of you.

You tried so hard to keep away from people.

You cut contacts with all of your friends and moved cities to keep them safe - hell, you hadn’t even dated after what had happened with your last lover.

He ruined everything.

He stalked you like a predator, and you clearly had nowhere to run and hide.

You would forever be caged like a pet, and your own pathetic attempts to fight back only ever made him smile even wider.

That smile used to bring butterflies to your stomach, and now it just made you nauseous.

To him, it was a game. 

The game of seeing how long until you break and give into him.

He’d let you run ‘free,’ act as though you can fight against him.

He adored that spirit of yours, but he knew that it would break some day.

He couldn’t wait.

You’ll be completely his one day, not that you weren’t already.

Looking into his eyes, you somehow knew who it was.

Shame burned your veins.

Your boss..

Even if he was cruel to you, he had a family.

“Don’t cry, (Y/N)..” Izuku whispered, fingers falling from your chin to brush away your onslaught of tears, “I hate it when you cry..”

“You always make me cry, Izuku!” Sobbing out loud, you fought to get away from him, though it was useless you couldn't help yourself from trying.

“I hate you-! Mph!” 

Your outburst was silenced by his fingers, two digits knuckle deep in your mouth.

You choked around them, cringing at the taste of leather.

Sniffling, you breathed loudly through your snotty nose, tears stinging your cheeks.

“I don’t like it when you talk like that..” He muttered darkly, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

You were afraid of him. 

You always were.

 It was like there was an invisible knife pressed against your neck, slicing into your skin and daring you to try and speak again.

His forehead fell to your nape, and you stood there in silence for a while, the pitter patter of rain doing next to nothing to soothe your nerves.

It felt like time had stopped in the silence, like you were waiting for your own death.

“You’re soaked..” He commented, pulling away, saliva dripping down your chin as he finally pulled his fingers from your mouth.

“No..”

That made him chuckle, the sound making your skin prickle.

“You were going to take a bath, right?”

Despite being a murderous villain, Izuku still treated you with an ounce of respect, never once looking down at your exposed chest despite a large mirror allowing him to do so.

You hated how he was a gentleman despite everything he’s done and will continue to do.

“You should get out of these clothes.. You’re going to catch a cold.” 

And you hated how he fretted over you.

You hated everything about him.

The faint sound of sirens pierced the atmosphere, not too far away but getting louder and louder every second.

“I suppose I better take my leave, my love,”

“Don’t call me that..” You repeated meekly under your weak breath,

“I’ll see you again soon..” He turned around, pausing for a brief second, “but you won’t see me.”

He somehow always made your skin crawl without even having to touch you.

Biting your lip, you whipped around, ready to scream at him, only to see nothing.

He had already left.

And yet..

You knew he was never really gone.

You wished you never met him.

#deku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #villain deku x reader #villain deku #midoriya izuku x reader #midoriya izuku #deku x you #deku #izuku x reader #izuku #izuku midoriya #bnha x reader #mha x reader #midoriya x reader #my hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #x reader

[nordicpoppie]

BTS reaction to their S/O being obsessed with something

Oh man this took a while to do, i started it Tuesday but i kept getting stopped by stuff happening around me ughh.

I also got bitten by my cat last Sunday so had to visit the hospital and now I’m on 2 antibiotics the next 5 days sobs.

Only good thing about this is the many ideas i have gotten for reactions C:

Anyways, if you have criticism or ideas for reactions / imagines feel free to let me know!

Jin

Entering the kitchen you saw Jin standing surrounded by dirty pots and pans. Gasping you quickly tried to stand in front of them to shield them from his eyes, but it was too late. Jin gave you a small glare while he sighed, the amount of washing up you’d have to do. 

Jin didn’t necessarily hate what you were doing, he just hated the work that came after. Watching you cook and serve good food for him was a big joy. At the start of you living together, he had been the one cooking the most, so when he had to work longer hours he had gotten worried.

Maybe you couldn’t make your own food, so he had to make extra the night before so you’d have lunch and breakfast at the very least. However you surprised him when you whipped out your collection of cooking books and your apron. 

Stepping into the kitchen like you’d always been there to use it, he could only stare as he watched you whip out pans and pots like a professional. At the start you cooked relatively simple meals. But as you got more and more confident in the kitchen you started experimenting more and more.

Experimenting also meant using more utensils which meant more cleaning. Jin sighed lowly as he was washing the pans and pots while you stood next to him drying them. You knew he was a bit tired from work and you having forgotten to clean the pans and pots didn’t exactly help.

Making up your mind you grabbed his hand, dragged him away from the sink and towards the couch. You made him sit down and told him to wait while you made him some cocoa. While Jin rested on the couch you finished cleaning the kitchen.

Crawling up on the couch you snuggled up to him while you watched a movie and enjoyed the food you’d made earlier.

Namjoon

Exiting the car Namjoon looked to your side of the car to see you excitedly jumping up and down. You’d gone to the water park and swimming hall where you’d meet up with some of the other guys and their significant others. 

You had been trying to plan it out for weeks and after that was even more waiting time until the date arrived. You had been beyond excited as it had been ages since you’d last gone swimming. Namjoon knew you loved swimming and water parks as you hadn’t spoken of anything else the last few weeks.

Namjoon was very happy to see you so excited, but he was also a bit worried if you’d get hurt on some of the slides or sharp corners in the pools. You however entered the swimming hall with confidence, finally feeling in your right element. 

As the others in your group got tired and hungry, you were left alone with Namjoon, who insisted he’d keep an eye on you despite you telling him it was fine. He watched as you splashed around in the water, moving like a fish. 

Deciding it was a bit boring with Namjoon just watching you dove, swam towards him and jumped up splashing water all over him. At first Namjoon was surprised and didn't know how to react, but once he got his bearings he grinned and started running after you. 

You spent the rest of the time chasing each other and splashing water. When you got home you were both dead tired, and nearly fell asleep on the couch after having eaten dinner.

Yoongi

Walking into the apartment Yoongi was surprised to see dirt stains on the floor and hearing grunts coming from the living room. Thinking something bad had happened he dropped the groceries and rushed into the living room, only to see you balancing a heavy pot and a giant umbrella plant in each hand.

Yoongi continued to stare at you while you continued your grunting and finally placed the pot and the plant down on the floor. Finally making his presence known by clearing his throat you jumped a bit in surprise. Turning around you grinned sheepishly at him, you knew he’d be unhappy with the soil and dirt stains around the house even if you promised to clean them up.

Contrary to the complaints you thought you’d receive you heard another sigh, followed by Yoongi walking over and grabbing the pot and plant. Following after him as he started walking you watched curiously as he took them outside on the balcony and placed them down there.

He then turned to walk back inside, probably to start putting the groceries he’d dropped in his haste away. Before walking inside he stopped, and turned halfway, telling you to call him or wait for him so you didn’t have to carry the big pots and plants yourself.

After Yoongi disappeared inside, you continued replanting the plant, while giggling at his antics. He acted irritated only to offer you his help, typical of him. Later that day when you’d finished replanting and sorting out your plants, Yoongi returned to help you put them back.

What he didn’t notice was that you stopped helping halfway and started recording videos and taking pictures. Now you had proof that Yoongi was really a big softie and not an ice prince.

Hoseok

Hearing a ping going off from his phone he reached over to check the new message. He and the other guys were in the middle of a dance practice and his phone had been going off for the last hour with ping after ping.

Finally having a break from the dancing he could check who was sending him so many mentions and messages. As he unlocked his phone he saw your name pop up, followed by another ping.

Opening the messages he saw they were full of memes, including one of his favourite memes. Chuckling under his breath he scrolled through the memes and messages you’d sent him. Yoongi looked over when he accidentally let out a small laugh at one meme in particular.

Quickly shooting a small apology to Yoongi he got back to the messages. He looked through the memes he had saved himself, the ones he’d kept hidden for an occasion like this. He knew you’d asked for a meme war with the messages, and he was going to give you what you asked for.

At home you were waiting for Hoseok to answer your many messages back. Suddenly hearing a ping - ping - ping going off from your phone you rushed to grab it finding that Hoseok had accepted your meme war. You knew he had dance practice so you knew it’d be a short meme war, but it was better than sitting in silence waiting for him to come back.

A few hours later you heard the door open while you were sitting in front of the tv. You rushed out to welcome him and to tell him you thought you’d won the meme war. Hoseok obviously disapproved  thinking he’d won so you ended up having a tickle fight until you surrendered.

Jimin

Jimin entered the library as silently as he could. He was carrying a giant bag of books that he had to return after reading them. He glanced around the library searching for your eyes as you’d promised to look for new books with him.

When he didn’t see you he decided to just turn in the books and text you afterwards, you could be running late or you’d gotten stuck in your favourite corner of the library. While Jimin turned his books in, he didn’t notice the door opening again as you entered.

You sneaked over grabbing his shoulders, making him shout in surprise. You giggled while Jimin blushed as a librarian looked angrily at the both of you. Jimin in turn to your giggling also turned to stare at you trying to look angry despite his blushing.

As he finished turning his books in he grabbed your hand and dragged you off to a more secluded area to find new books. While you were browsing he turned around suddenly, making you stare surprised at him. In his hands he had a book that had been reserved for the last 4 months.

Whispering a woah you reached for the book however jimmin quickly pulled his hand back smiling victoriously at you. Grumbling lightly you knew you'd have to wait till he finished the book before you'd get to read it. 

Luckily for you both, you spent a lot of time reading, so he'd finish the book in a week tops. 

Taehyung

Taehyung entered the apartment and was surprised at how quiet it was. Usually you’d come running from whichever room you were in to greet him when he came home.

It wasn’t even late in the evening, so he suspected you’d either gone out without telling him, or fallen asleep on the couch. You had after all been very busy with assignments and had finally gotten a hard earned break from school.

As Taehyung ventured further into the apartment, stopping by the kitchen to grab a cup of cocoa, he heard low humming from his studio.

He’d thought you’d gone out as he didn’t see you on the couch or in the bedroom, but he didn’t think you’d be in his studio.

Lightly pushing the door open, he sneaked a peek at you. You were standing in front of a big canvas, filling it out with light colours. While Taehyung couldn’t see your face, he knew you’d be in deep concentration, especially considering you didn’t even notice him coming home.

He decided to leave you to yourself while he went to make some sandwiches for the both of you. He returned shortly after and lightly knocked the door, hearing a small gasp coming from inside. Moments later the door opened and you jumped out into his arms, thinking he’d only just gotten home.

So when he grabbed your hand and led you to the dining table you were surprised to see sandwiches ready for you. As you sat down Taehyung finally got a proper look at you. He saw you had paint on your hands and you’d somehow managed to get paint on your cheek. Reaching over he wiped it off with a wet towel piece while grinning at you.

He thought he was the only one who could be so captivated by painting to end up covered in it, but you’d proved him wrong. 

Jungkook

You entered Jungkook's room and immediately noticed how dark it was. The only light in there came from his huge monitor where he’d usually be sitting. His chair was however empty, which was very unusual.

Grabbing your chance you rushed to sit in the chair, grabbed the mouse and opened your favourite game. You knew Jungkook would be back soon, he’d only just gone out to take a call from Jin who was nagging him (according to Jungkook at least, everyone else knew it was for the best) to stop playing so many games. 

Hearing a small sound from the headphones that had been lying on the table your eyes focused back on the screen. The game was starting so you had to focus. You quickly grabbed the headphones, turned the sound down a notch and started playing.

What felt like 5 minutes later the door was thrown open and a seemingly angry Jungkook entered. He grabbed the headphones off your head, and started telling you how you were ruining his streak. Finally glancing at the screen Jungkook was surprised to see you had won almost all the rounds you’d played so far.

Turning to look at you with mixed emotions he grabbed you off the chair and pulled you to your feet. He then dragged you off to Taehyung's room, barging in like it was nothing. Taehyung looked surprised when Jungkook asked where his old computer was. 

Quickly grabbing the computer Jungkook dragged you back into his room, shutting the door and moving you to sit in a different chair. While he opened the computer and prepared the game for you, you could only stare in surprise. You’d thought he was angry, but he just wanted to play with you.

Many hours later you were still playing with him, much to Jins disappointment.

#kpop imagines #kpop #kpop reactions #kpop scenarios #bts reaction #bts #BTS jungkook #BTS jin #BTS jimin #bts suga #bts namjoon #bts hoesok #bts taehyung #bts scenarios #bts imagines

[yanderenightmare]

Oh master, plez, DRAGON WARRIOR BAKUGO, my lord! I was thinking, if you please, a darling who is like clairvoyant, and that's why King bakugo needs her??? can you make it dark ;3 like like like whatever means necessary dark, like like like ill murder anyone who gets in my way, also also also it being really grotesque, I want merciless bakugo, BUT also kinda sweet when it comes to darling?? I don't know what exactly I want, but I know whatever you write I'll prob enjoy, Master Nightmare :3

DRAGON ! WARRIOR ! KING BAKUGO KATSUKI x FEM ! READER

goodiebag WARNINGS: abuse, violence, genocide, kidnapping, abduction, death, blood, murder, ableism, classism, anxiety, arson, narcissistic personality disorder, slavery, trauma, war

so, a little foreword, the darling in this story has a quirk (ik, I’m breaking my beliefs thinking Bakugo should have a quirkless reader! The insanity!) but it’s because in this au not it’s quite special to have a quirk. Quirks are achieved and not given so to say. So Katsuki has earned his quirk and reader has earned her quirk, and so has everyone else who has a quirk. Also the song is called “If I Had a Heart” by Fever Ray, it’s the theme song to vikings ironically haha.

PART TWO

MUTE AND NUDE

The King was in her village.

Word from the south spread quickly, like any wildfire would, especially when riding the wings of a dragon. The Kingdom’s seer was dead, and the almighty bruise-knuckled King required a new one. They called it misfortune, but give a child a toy, and the toy is destined to break. Some might say that that’s what they’re made for. The old toy had apparently done something so distasteful that it cost her own tongue. Unfortunately, or perhaps ironically the only thing she was useful for: on her knees, mouth open, worshipping her king.

She counted the smoke rising to the sky near the horizon. Hers would be the thirteenth village they came to, lest their quest was done. She thought she might have seen him in the cloud-coverage. Eerie shadows resembling what bats she found in the caves, but the sun was bright and could easily be mistaken for him, or the other way around, as she’s heard his coat is golden.

She heard the rumbling tumbling of hooves and paws and claws riding up the mountain-side. They were coming.

Their houses were made of rock, sturdy as they should be when placed on a mountain-top with constant winds howling at them, and handled the fire well. But people aren’t made of stone. The smell of burning flesh is awful, and though she had nothing to puke, she barfed nonetheless. People were screaming and she probably would have too if she could, she was most certainly crying and bleeding and heaving for breath like those unlucky others that were still left alive.

High mountains are a bleak habitat for animal life, partially why they lived up there: to be spared of being hunted, to escape fangs and claws. And now: people running for their lives, the aching in her ankles, a body not built for running, and a mind not used to being hunted. Yet, it was strange but, it wasn’t really foreign at all.

She’d been dreaming of things lately, and as death as well as dust and ash and blood settled and seeped into the mud around her, she couldn’t help but feel as though she’d seen it all before. In fact, there came a point in the middle of the fray she was certain she was dreaming as she stopped to eye the great golden mass in front of her. Scales sharp and silvery like mica on the mountainside, ruby-red eyes as though soaked with blood. Teeth long and sturdy like the jagged rocks of the tunnels, dripping not with water as they did in the caves but with blood and guts and torn clothes. And the talons, curved and shiny, black as night, digging into the gravel by his feet, treating the soil as though it were as thin as the air. But the wings… the wings are what had her falling to her knees, skin bitten by gravel. Greater then roofs, sweeping the sky as though he could pluck each and every star from the welkin, stud himself with them if he so wanted to, or swallow them if only to breath the light onto earth. He could shred trees with those wings, he could slice oceans apart, he could probably part the mountain, head in the heavens and roots with hell, the bridge that had stood for thousands of years, singlehandedly torn open by that great monster conquering both sky and earth as though they gave him life.

Her arm was bleeding. It had dentures, no… puncture wounds it seemed the more she looked. A pretty crescent moon of red marking deep into the soft tissue of her meager muscles, dripping onto the dirt, creating streaks in the mud caking her bare feet. She looked up to see a wolf turn into a man, a large man with spikes for hair, red but not the same red she’d seen earlier in those eyes, red like poppies far away from the red flowing in her veins, from what was leaking out of her arm.

She looked forward and saw bodies… no, not bodies… mangled mockeries of the human form strewn about her as though they were trampled wildflowers on a field. She looked to her side and saw her reflection in the faces of those she’d grown up with but never truly knew. She looked behind her, not spotting what abomination of life she’d seen earlier, the one painting the sky, the one eclipsing the sun.

Every young, pretty thing was lined up on a row that stretched about ten meters long as they weren’t that many in her village, and she was surprised to be one of them. The auditions began in the early left side of the fray, boys and girl shaking on unsteady knees, holding onto broken arms and gushing wounds. Her bitemark was begging for a fist around it too, but she had not the focus to indulge the wish as her eyes caught sight of a blot of gold contrasting the otherwise grey figures, it being clear who he was despite having altered form. Although not the tallest in stature, one could see it as clear as day, he towered over the rest of the flock.

The tones ripped from their throats were scratchy, untuned; garbage. It would seem none of the kids in the village were gifted, but if the Gods were of mercy they would grant them the vocal cords to survive the night. She couldn’t blame them for allowing their fear to taint their song. Seeing how the drapes in which the hooded figures dressed were soaked in blood from past failures. Knowing well how their weapons would breach flesh and bone were they not of any use to them.

If she had a voice she would use it for speaking and not for singing. This would probably be her last night.

They rushed through the girls and boys rather quickly. Swiftly; as if they had done it countless times before, as if they could decide by the first utterance of their very first tone, that they were a disappointment, that they were as good as dead.

Caught in the middle of the small gathering; her turn came along. The man, standing in front, had purple hair and a nasty scar on his face, adorned with bladed eyes like a cat. Another blade, a steel blade, was held at her throat. Unnecessary, as the brutal scarring of his arms was intimidating enough for her to understand she could survive nothing compared to what he had already lived through. “Sing.” He commanded abruptly, an atmosphere of force settled on the word, as though compelling her, quite like how the wind shakes the trees in command to dance for them.

She did her hand gestures as smooth as she could under the pressure, lips remaining closed.

He threw his eyebrows up, scar shifting in its place like a serpent, the message had clearly gotten across. A condescending smile, a most sinister snicker and an unfortunate scoff was all the sympathy he allowed her. “No voice?” It wasn’t a question. “What a meaningless life.” He stated in a mutter, before moving onto the next girl.

The golden figure, who had followed discreetly, didn’t continue on with the scarred boy, he instead planted his clawedfeet in front of the girl, threatening to crush her barefooted toes, sinking into the red clay of the town square. “Sing.” His voice was fuller, and because of it she didn’t dare look up.

The scarred boy came to a halt, looking back to watch the girl repeat the hand gestures once again, she thinking that maybe the scarred boy had blocked the view the first time.

“No excuses.” His foot shifted in the mud, talons somehow growing longer as they impaled the ground, indicated he leant in closer. “Sing.” He said again, the sharpness of the demand sending a shiver to travel down her spine as it was accompanied with a growl too much like the sound of thunder to be called human. The girl furrowed her brows and looked up, her bottom lip visible quaking. Yet, what looked at her was no dragon, no… it was a man, a boy. And his skin was not golden like the rarity found in the mountain halls, but tan like sand, and his hair was only a shade lighter, nothing alike the mane of the sun. But those eyes had her quaking, those sharp slitted eyes that seemed to hold her soul in a chokehold, full of cultivated knowledge, merciless, red like wine, red like blood, red like hell. What’s a fate worse than death? She wondered and swallowed at the thought, her breathing picking up its pace. “Sing!” Spit flew to her face like venom with the roar, the tone reverberating through the ground, shaking in her knees.

She felt the itch in her throat, and she would be lying if she said she hadn’t been feeling it more and more lately, the feeling of dead born words somehow washing away. Her whimpers, absent of anything except for breathiness before, now carrying a somewhat lilt of tone. She stared a little deeper into those blood-soaked orbs of the man that looked like the onset of death before her.

“If I had heart.”

The wind roared as if it were as surprised as she was, or perhaps it rejoiced, or perhaps it mourned.

She was silent, the wind crashing and flailing, whipping the rags of her dress, letting the ripped fabric lick her dirty and bruised legs, pulling the disheveled locks of hair out from her face. Eyes; terror-wide, looking into a pair of sharp ones, who seemed to be looking beyond her disheveled state, into something far more divine than she had ever seen, ever known. “Continue.” The red-eyed boy commanded firmly, a detectable form of lust in his voice.

Startled, feeling the gravel dig into her soles. “I would love you... if I had a voice, I would sing.” The people on either side of her looked to be even more distressed now, crying and screaming, looking like wraiths in those charcoaled rags they wore, hands covering their ears as though to protect themselves, terrified as they looked to the sky expecting it to come falling down upon them.

However, their insolence and disrespect wasn’t what angered him, he could allow them that much before he took their lives. But the conflict found in her voice, that’s what truly boiled beneath his skin. He reached out his hand, quick like a viper, the pressure in his fingertips simmering on her skin, sizzling with heat, only for him to dig his fingernails into her throat as well. “Forget everything you know, except for that your life is in the palm of my hand.” He said, securing her gaze, lifting her up to her tippy-toes, though still nowhere near leveling his height.

Awakened by his words and frightened to her bones by the searing look of his eyes, she did as she was told and forgot who she was, forgot what she was and gave into simply doing exactly what needed to be done to keep her alive, to keep what beast in front of her subdued, or perhaps also to satiate what fire seemed to have burst to life inside of her, screaming to be heard. “After the night, when I wake up, I’ll see what tomorrow brings.” Eyes glazed over by some infernal light. She roared, a howl of some sorts, and the trees seemed to shiver and shake in the outmost reverence. “More, give me more, give me more.”

Somehow the leaves stopped rustling at the sound of her abrupt finish. Overwhelmed; all she could do was breath, all she could to was quake, the wind making the tears ever present on her face, the blood of her arm drying and awakened again as new blood came gushing out of her wounds.

The swirling dramatics in his eyes died down into a calm yet eerie content look. “Found you.” He stated, taking his time for the awakening to soak in, bask in the glorious feeling of triumph, before breaking focus from her. He let out a long, satisfied sigh. “Burn the village.” The statement left her blood turning cold. “There’s nothing left for us here. Dispose of the disappointments.” He was quick with his words as though they had been said many times before, and the actions performed by the ones in grey were just as swift, just as merciless. Humans turning into monsters murdering humans.

“No!” She wasn’t aware the voice belonged to her, so many years gone by without being able to voice anything; an opinion; nothing more than a foreigner, let alone an objection.

The people beside her dropped to the floor like rag dolls nonetheless, her voice just as insignificant as if she was still voiceless, drowning in their own bloodied throats. Her throat didn’t match theirs, but had strong, calloused fingers wrapped around it instead, coated with blood, the stench of it becoming so familiar yet far from friendly.

“Forget them, they don’t matter.” His voice still sheer, despite the screams around them both, overwhelming in fact. She felt her mind slip away from her then, as though her sentience was squeezed out from her by the deadlock fist wrapped around her neck, a conquering drowsiness following, seeping into her like the crawling of darkness when the sun settles on the horizon, her vision blurring everything except for those red, red eyes, who; from this point until her death, would never leave her.

PART TWO

#yandere #yandere bakugou #yandere bnha #yandere bakugo katsuki #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere bakugo #yandere katsuki #yandere katsuki bakugou #yandere katsuki x reader #yandere bakugo x reader #bakugo #bakugou #katsukibakugou #bakugou katsuki #Katsuki Bakugō #bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki #katsuki bnha #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo imagine #katsuki bakugo fanfiction #katsuki bakugo fic #bakugo katuski x reader #bakugo katsuki #mha bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n

[dead-dove-diner]

“Maybe I’m just fucking tired of your bullshit!”  👀

Remember how I said I'd write a tiny little thing?

I lied.

No warnings, only angst ~*~

“And just where do you think you're going?” Jaskier huffed, twisting to shoot his companion a withering glare from across the room where he stood unpacking their bags.

They'd been on the road for almost a month now with little real respite to actually rest and relax, and Jaskier was planning on taking full advantage of the inns rather gracious baths and laundresses to their full extent before trudging down to play for their supper, and part of that included scrubbing Geralt head to toe beforehand.

It had already cost extra to have those little luxuries added to the price of the room which meant the two were left sharing a bed for the next few nights, and there was no way in all seven hells that Jaskier was letting that man waltz off into the night before getting clean. Geralt had a horrible habit of coming back in the wee hours of the morning and crawling into bed without bathing and Jaskier was not having it.

He was not sharing a bed with a filthy Witcher that smelt like the unholy union of rancid monster bits and a half-dead polecat!

Geralt, who was idling by the door and working replacing his soiled armour with a shirt that only vaguely stunk of rot, grunted in reply.

“Out,”

“Oh-ho, no you don't,” Jaskier said, throwing his own shirt down to point a threatening finger at the man. “You-”

“I'm fine,” Geralt grunted, and then winced when the action of tugging his cuirass over his head pulled on what was no doubt a nasty bruise from the Wyvern they'd run into a few miles from town. It had only been a juvenile, Geralt said, only just left the nest, most likely, but its size made it quick and spry and it'd got a good swipe of its tail in and thrown Geralt into a tree before he'd managed dispatch it.

“Oh, yes,” Jaskier said dryly, as he watched the Witcher struggle, “I can tell,”

Geralt grunted again.

“In any case,” he continued, turning back to his bag and pulling yet another filthy outfit from its depths to add to the growing pile he was to hand off to the washerwomen, “You're not going anywhere tonight,”

“Jaskier,”

“A bath, Witcher. I paid for us both and you'll be having one should I have to drag you there myself. I refuse to share a bed with you smelling as you do,”

Geralt snorted unattractively and finally succeeded in throwing his leathers and filthy shirt to the ground. The entire left side of his chest was mottled purple and black and no doubt ached like a bastard, but the mess was already turning yellow at the edges as it healed and Jaskier couldn't see any blood, so there was nothing he could do to help. He might have offered some bruise balm had he not run out of the stuff a week back, but Geralt would have only grumbled and shook off the suggestion anyway like he always did.

“Not to worry, bard,” he said, reaching for the shirt he'd decided was least stained and in need of washing and pulling it over his head. “You'll be free of my stench for the night,”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” he huffed, “You'd best not go looking for a contract before you can lift your sword without wincing, or I'll-”

The Witcher snorted again, this time sounding almost amused.

“The sword I'll be lifting tonight isn't so heavy as to injure me,”

“Your sword weighs more than me,” Jaskier reminded him with a short look, but Geralt just sighed and started in on the leather around his thighs.

“My cock, bard.”

Heat was quick to warm its way over Jaskier's cheeks, and he spluttered, “Well!” he said, “What could that possibly have to do with-”

“The brothel,”

“The- oh,”

And well, of course Jaskier had noticed the brothel when they'd wandered into town, but he'd been more preoccupied with filling his belly and getting clean rather than seeing to his other needs. He'd assumed, perhaps rather stupidly, that Geralt was on the same mind and that they'd make use of the clean bed and their clean bodies together like they'd taken to doing on the path.

It was a recent development and they'd not gone further than a few hurried hand-jobs under the cover of night, and Jaskier wouldn't even go so far as to even call them lovers, but- well.. he'd figured they'd take the time they had at the inn to finally take the next step.

He didn't need exclusivity- a fools dream when faced with the life of a Witcher or a bard- but for Geralt to brush him off so easily? So callously?

He'd not even thought to ask if Jaskier would be open to getting him off! The bastard had just assumed Jaskier would be all fine and dandy with emptying his purse on a room and cleaning services and then go off and use his own coin to pay a whore to suck his dick?

Jaskier pushed down the swell of raging jealousy that bubbled in his chest, and very slowly, very carefully, took a long, deep, breath through his nose.

“You will bathe,”

He might not be the one on the receiving end of the Witchers stench for the night, but he couldn't in good conscience send him off to some poor girl smelling as he did.

“I'll bathe in the morning,”

“You will bathe now,”

Geralt, the absolute bastard, actually laughed.He glanced up from where he was working on the buckle of his cuisse for a moment and flashed his teeth in a grin.

“Afraid I'll insult the whores delicate sensibilities?” he asked, “I can't be the worst they've had in a town like this,”

The town was small and dirty, but it was on a well used trading route into Novigrad and no doubt seen many a road weary traveller looking for comfort and release- not to mention the doughy farmers that resided there and made use of the brothels ladies. Geralt was right that they'd probably had worse, but that wasn't the point of the matter.

“They are filling the bath for us as we speak,” Jaskier said, making an effort to keep his voice even and his hands relaxed as to keep from ruining the doublet he held in them.

“I'll reheat it when I need it,”

“Its a public wash-room, Geralt, it will be filthy!”

He shrugged, “I've bathed in worse,”

“Oh, for the love of-” he threw the doublet down into the pile beside him and snapped, “You will bathe!”

“What the hell has got into you!” Geralt snapped back, finally dropping the bundle of leather to the ground and actually looking at him. “Melitele's tits, I'll give you the coin for the bath if it means so much to you!”

Jaskier threw his hands up, “I don't want your coin!”

“Then what do you want!”

“I want you to bathe!”

“I'll bathe when I get back!”

Jaskier almost screamed, fisting his hands in his hair and pulling.

“Why must you fight me on everything!”

“Maybe I’m just fucking tired of your bullshit!” Geralt finally snarled.

Like the air had been sucked out of the room, Jaskier fell still and silent, shocked, and Geralt froze.

His hands slipped from his hair to hang limply at his sides as they stared at one another for a long moment before he cleared his throat and turned away.

“Right,” he said roughly, “Right,”

Gathering his bundle of filthy clothes, Jaskier made quick work to leave the room, but Geralt blocked him.

“Wait,” he said, “That's.. that's not what I-”

“No,” Jaskier interrupted, voice eerily steady even to his own ears, “it is.”

“It's not,” he said, “I-”

Jaskier wrenched himself from the Witcher's loose grip on his shoulder and pushed past him.

“I'm going to bathe,” he told him, as something hot and thick built in his throat, “You can do as you please,”

“Jaskier-”

“I hope you have enough coin to stay the night at the brothel,” he said, finally stepping from the room and heading down the hall to where the inn-keep had informed him the baths were. “I'll not share a bed with a filthy, stinking Witcher,”

He left without a single glance back, and Geralt let him.

end

#DDD Witcher #DDD Geralt/Jaskier #DDD prompt fill #almost 1.5k later

[persephonesinfernos]

ignoti nulla cupido | part twelve.

summary: natasha finds you once again to be able to keep her an tony’s promise to keep you safe, but how would they react when they’ll learn about the little dirty secret you have been keeping since you left bucky’s side?  

word count: 1185.

pairing: bucky barnes x reader.

warnings: just a bit of a cliffhnager.

author’s note: action starts now, be prepared! and btw, chace is back for all of those who fell in love with him!

ignoti nulla cupido series | taglist | masterlist.

The car came to an abrupt stop in the middle of nowhere, or at least that was all (Y/N) could see; a vast large open area with nothing, not even life was anywhere to be seen. It was a dessert, cracks were seen in the dry soil and she thought that HYDRA couldn’t place its base in a more proper place.

“This is the place according to my intel (Y/N),” Chace spoke softly looking at her eyes.

“Okay, lead the way,” she firmly said as she geared up, every possible weapon was now stuck in her combat suit. It’s been too long since she last wore it and she had hoped she would never have to wear it again but the circumstances never felt more right to do so.

With a nod and a grip to her shoulder, Chace started to move carefully around the field, gun pointed forward in case someone decided to make an appearance.

She followed him, the silence that had settled among them provided the calmness and safety she needed at the moment before the battle, because it was going to be one hell of a battle, she was sure of it.

They came to an arrangement or rocks, they were not out of place but for the training eye, they felt suspicious as if they were placed there carefully to keep some secret hidden, the entrance to a HYDRA base for example.

“This is it (Y/N), are you sure you want to do this?” Chace searched in her eyes for a signal that this was wrong, that maybe she wanted or needed the help of someone else to do it.

“Yes. This is it, we’re getting James back today,” her voice was firm and void, something he had never heard since the night she escaped from the Avengers.

Moving the rocks aside Chace let her get in first, he knew her like the palm of his hand and he could feel her eagerness to deal with it and go back to a normal life, he could feel her anger boiling as any mass of water around her would turn into vapour and he couldn’t help to start thinking that maybe this was a bad idea.

The halls were all silent and empty and both of them knew that this wasn’t something desirable, that it meant that the greater danger would be unified in a room in which many lives will be lost, probably theirs too.

Lights were flickering from the ceiling charging the aura around them with terror and hopelessness, metal doors were closed and other halls were blocked as if whatever was in there knew they were coming, as they were being led to the point of no return.

Finally, they reached heavy and big gates but before (Y/N) could reach them, she felt a presence in her shoulders and she knew it was Chace but this time it didn’t feel like a comforting gesture, this time it felt like a warning.

She sighed heavenly, she didn’t have time for this as James could be possible be dead or worse behind those doors.

“I know what you’re feeling (Y/N/N) but maybe we should call them, not he but the others. This doesn’t look or feel good and you know it too.”

Before she could reply, a piercing scream was cursing through her mind making her, reaching to her ears in hopes she could block the sound but it was to no avail.

“What it is? What it is (Y/N)?” Chace screamed to her as he kneeled down so he could be at the same level as her. But (Y/N) couldn’t respond, the sound in her head was making everything blurred – she didn’t notice she started crying or the thick liquid that was coating her hands, she only could hear that ripping scream in her mind that had started to make some sense.

Chace saw the panic in her eyes, saw how the blood was impregnating her hands and face and how she was fighting to utter some words but nothing came from her mouth, only whimpers.

When she felt she would pass out from the pain she deciphered the sound, she figured out what was that screaming; it was a crying for help, it was James crying for her to get him, to save him.

Suddenly everything went quiet again and (Y/N) was again aware of her surroundings, she became aware of the salt taste fixed in her lips and how the blood that came from her ears were now everywhere in her face.

Wasting no time she got up and charged for the gates as she whispered one name as a mantra, as a way to keep her grounded to reality, James.

Chance understood what was going on and helped her in her task of opening the doors, finally being able to open them and to peer at what’s inside of the room, a little boy seated down and tied to a chair, gaze void of any emotion.

Before he could realize what was happening, before he could stop her, before anything he saw how (Y/N) made a run for him.

She was in front of his boy, trying to break him off of whatever spell he was under, untying him and holding tightly into her arms as she whispered soft words to him.

“I see you finally came and what a surprise this is it, Chace Turner,” a low voice spoke as a man came out of the shadows.

“What did you do to him?”

“Well, you see Turner. I don’t think that’s none of your business because you are not the father and as much I would like to stay I think it’s not gonna happen,” he moved slowly through the room, as a predator ready to jump for its prey and (Y/N) realized that it was the same man that took James away from him.

“I wouldn’t dare to move one more inch,” her voice was broken but it didn’t matter, James was there and she was going to kill that man.

He laughed, a devil laughed that made (Y/N)’s blood freeze. “Doll, doll, doll…. I was hoping daddy would come with you to this one but what can I say? He’ll come sooner or later so it’s not a big problem.”

A large group of men appeared behind Chace giving him no reaction time as they dragged him out, sounds of firing guns echoed through the room they were in and (Y/N) turned to James, grabbing his little hand and pulling him away so they could flee but the boy didn’t move and she started to panicked.

“James, c’mon little monkey. We need to go, we need to go back home” tears were blurring her sight as she shook his child hoping any reaction would follow.

He finally fixed his blue eyes in her, his hand reaching to her cheek and (Y/N) couldn’t help but lean to the touch but she noticed the void in his eyes as he spoke to her for the first time in weeks.

“Who is James? Who are you?”

forever taglist: @everythingisbeautifulposts | @rogersparkerbarnes | @saltywolfzombie | @millennial-teenybopper |

bucky barnes fics taglist: @cruelsummer-s |

ignoti nulla cupido taglist [THIS TAGLIST IS CLOSED]: @vicmc624 | @margaaaa30 | @gudenuph | @summb | @peaches-roses-sins | @pspice639 | @purplewcrld | @gloryekaterina | @krazykatkay456 | @fangirl-swagg | @austynparksandpizza | @4babez | @tanyaherondale | @droopingdatura | @loveyou5everr | @urimaginespimp | @nat-reads | @asherys-valyrion | @crimson-darling | @melrosaeparker | @uglyratlmao | @sugarpunch-princess | @5jacobm5 | @catchmeupimgettingoutofhere​ | @kaitieskidmore1​ |

#persephonesinfernosqueue #persephonesinfernoswriting #ignotinullacupidoseries #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes angst #bucky fanfic #bucky fanfiction #bucky fic #marvel fanfic #marvel series #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #the winter soldier fanfic #the winter soldier fic #the winter soldier fanfiction #bucky angst #bucky series #marvel angst #the winter soldier x you #the winter soldier x reader #the winter sodlier x y/n

[maxwell-grant]

Captain Fray: The Trash Superman

Look up in the sky! Is it a bird? A plane? No, it’s... an ugly, homeless bald man cackling evily while raining trash on the city with an army of sludge monsters, shortly before getting beaten up by a group of meddling kids. It’s just dumb old Captain Fray again getting foiled by Monica’s Gang, nevermind him. He does that every Tuesday. 

Monica’s Gang are arguably the most iconic of all Brazilian comic book characters, having maintained popularity for 60 years and with unmatched worldwide recognition. They’ve had cartoons, a cinematic universe of films both cartoon and live-action, plays, a long-running manga spin-off that turned them into teenagers, crossovers everywhere ranging from The Big Two’s superheroes to Osamu Tezuka’s properties (as Monica’s creator Mauricio and Tezuka were acquaintances), at least one theme park, and much, much more. Even past Brazil’s borders, where they are a cultural institution on a scale matched only by Disney, these are some of the world’s most popular characters, starring in just about any kind of adventure imaginable and then some. 

However, if you go into the world of Monica’s Gang, and look for a flying man with a chest logo, a cape and impossible superpowers, you’ll instead find their greatest arch-enemy: Captain Fray (actual name Capitão Feio, which translates to Captain Ugly), real name Feioso Araújo. Who will be happy to remind you time and time again of what a rotten, no-good scoundrel he is, even if he has to pick a fight with the Big Blue himself to prove it.

So let’s talk about perhaps the most iconic “caped superhero” of Brazilian comic books, even if he’s ultimately a long, long shot from being one.

Despite the long, worldwide spanning history of the superhero, the idea of the superhero as a cape-wearing uniformed superpowered do-gooder has remained a largely American concept, as different regions have their own unique icons. The titular 4 members of Monica’s Gang have on many occasions taken the role of superheroes, and they’ve built up a massive Rogues Gallery over decades, despite not looking like the usual idea of a superhero. Monica, Jimmy Five, Smudge and Maggy, for the most part, look and act like kids, with odd quirks. 

To briefly describe the 4: Monica is the pudgy, bucktoothed ruler of the group as well as the neighborhood, being super strong and more than willing to hit people who mock her with her stuffed rabbit “Samson”. Jimmy Five has a speech impediment, and he constantly schemes to take Monica’s role as leader, best described at times as a junior Lex Luthor to Monica’s Superman. Maggy is Monica’s friend with an uncontrollable appetite, and the witty and perpetually dirty Smudge is Jimmy Five’s friend and accomplice in schemes. Smudge is defined by his complete and total refusal to take a bath or even come into contact with water under any circumstances, and some stories play up Smudge’s dirtyness to the point of superpower.

It’s Smudge in particular who’s gonna be relevant to this post, because the first time Captain Fray was introduced, he was introduced as Smudge’s good-natured and humorous uncle, a comic book addict surrounded by piles of dusty comics, particularly those of Smudge’s favorite superhero, Captain Pitoco, a sort of Superman/Buzz Lightyear analogue. Eventually, Smudge’s uncle is surrounded by dust, and out of it, he transforms “back” into a former alter-ego, Captain Fray, a megalomaniac supervillain horrified at just how clean the world is, and who decides to sully it as much as possible, flying around the city spreading dirt rays and even transforming the population into pollution-fanatics. Eventually he’s defeated and transformed back into normal, only thinking he had a weird dream. 

Upon subsequent appearences, Fray would acquire things like sludge minions, underground lairs and ever increasing powers (like in the above sequence where he somehow destroys a rainbow and darkens the sky with a single gesture), although he would eventually gain a Kryptonite-esque weakness to water. Captain Fray would go on to become the most reocurring villain of Monica’s Gang for the next 40 years, as the former concept of him being Smudge’s uncle was dropped and he became instead the ruler of an underground race of sludge monsters created by him, who’d occasionally come on to the surface in order to engage in supervillain plots to take over the world and spread dirt and pollution everywhere, sometimes in stories with an environmental angle, and often when the story calls for superhero antics. 

Fray’s got a very standard Grinch/Captain Hook cartoon villain personality, all cackles and snarls and shaking fists at the meddling kids who ruin his plans everytime, proud of being evil and rotten, but never too rotten to the point he betrays the kid-friendly nature of the stories he’s in, nor too rotten that he can’t do something nice for a change like allow his monsters to celebrate Christmas even if it ruins his bad guy image, or begrudingly do a nice thing for Smudge. 

Although for the most part, the “mainline” comics have dropped the angle of Fray being Smudge’s uncle, the two having a particular dynamic has stayed consistent still. Sometimes, Smudge is portrayed as the only member of the Gang who’s got little to no problem with Fray, even welcoming the change of scenery he brings, although he will stick with his friends, as often he’s the only one who’s got no problem being hit by Fray’s dirt rays. While sometimes Fray singles out destroying Smudge so his claim as the dirtiest being in the universe can never be challenged, he is more often depicted as having a soft spot for Smudge, sometimes considering him a pupil or potential successor to inherit his powers, and plenty of times, Smudge has done just that, although inevitably it never sticks, partially because Fray gets jealous or misses his former life, and partially because Smudge gets bored of supervillainy and just wants to go play with his friends again. 

The dynamic between Smudge and Fray has led to a lot of adventures between the two, and it’s something that’s been played up in the aforementioned manga spin-off, Monica Adventures. In it, the cast’s all been aged up to teenagers, and the adventures they get into respectively have taken much more of a shonen manga edge, much darker and weirder than anything the original kid comics could get away with, although not necessarily to it’s benefit, because I could not begin to describe just how much grimdark nonsense is in those, let’s just call it the Monica’s Gang equivalent of Jorge Joestar in terms of lunacy and leave it at that (although, to be clear, even the original “mainline” comics could get very, very weird themselves). Captain Fray has been a mainstay of said manga from the start, going through a series of redesigns, including one where he turns into a bootleg Sephiroth, and one where he tries rebranding himself into a suit-wearing gangster named “Black Dust”, which nobody really takes seriously. 

It’s also granted Fray a backstory: As a kid, when he’d gone to the basement to read comics, his house was buried in a landslide. Afraid of death, he was met with a milipede claiming to serve “The Serpent” (the in-universe stand in for the devil, maybe, just bear with me here), claiming it would protec him so long as it returned the favor someday. He was afterwards transferred to an orphanage, teased by kids over his lack of hygiene and liking for superheroes and nicknamed “Captain Ugly” (again, his name, Fray is just the English translation), with rumors that his touch granted disease. After the orphanage closes, he’s adopted by a nurse and gains a step-brother in Smudge’s dad. 

Years down the line, and Feioso’s managed to acquire a house and make a decent living. He spends a lot of time with his nephew Smudge, teaching him how to build toys out of garbage (a habit of Smudge in the strips) and fly kites and so on. Until one day, in an update of his original story, he’s cleaning his house packed with dusty comics, and a shelf falls atop of him. The millipede from his childhood appears to recollect the debt:

"Your mission is to pollude the Earth...rot it's soil...change it's atmosphere...darken the skies with smoke...so that the sun's rays may never again hit the surface of this planet!

"No! No, please! I-I don't want to hurt anyone!"

"You think you can refuse? You think you have a choice? Do you think you can escape your destiny? Evil does not tolerate weak servants. If you don't fill your end of the bargain, if you don't pay your debt...it will be transferred to the person you love most."

"Smudge? NO!! H-How do you know about my nephew?"

"We know of all that happens. Our eyes...are everywhere."

"Smudge has nothing to do with this. Leave him alone, please...I-I'll do anything you guys want!"

"So be it...Filthy powers will corrode your soul...This is the day of your rebirth! How would you like to be rebaptized?

"The nickname I was given at the orphanage...it's perfect! Captain Ugly strikes again!"

How “canon” the events of Monica Adventures are is a question best left unspoken, since it ultimately doesn’t change anything about the original strips. But regardless of what made Fray who he is, he would spend the following decades in many, many attempts to complete his mission and defeat Monica’s Gang, to be foiled and stopped time and time again by his nephew and his friends, little more than a dumb, cartoon villain there to be smacked again and again, too dumb to quit and too mean to stop. So he was, and so he will always be.

But something interesting’s happened recently with him. As part of the Graphic MSP initiative that’s allowed creators to reinvent the many, many characters of Monica’s Gang for stand-alone graphic novels, Captain Fray’s received one in the form of Capitão Feio: Identidade, which isn’t so much an origin story as it tells the story of a homeless man with no knowledge of his past or where he acquired the superpowers that force him to be on the constant run from society, and it tells the story of how said man eventually became the infamous supervillain, despite his many attempts to be a superhero. 

The comic and it’s sequel, Tormenta, acted more of a proof of concept to test whether or not a serious reimagining of Captain Fray can work, and considering their reception and the newfound love that the Captain seems to have attained in recent years, I’d say they succedeed pretty damn well. He’s ostracized for his appearence, poverty, smell and bad manners, and there’s hardly anything he can do about it because his powers make him a toxic abomination by default. He spends portions of the book trying to create living beings with his powers, and once he succeeds in creating a Godzilla-esque monster to protect him from the authorities, he ends up having to put the monster down, before getting fed up with constant rejection and promptly announcing that, if he’s just gonna be known as an ugly monster by the people, even after he saves them, he’s gonna make it a point to be Captain Ugly Monster, the most rotten supervillain they’ve ever seen. 

The comic constantly grants upon Frey iconography of several of the biggest icons of comic books, from Batman and Superman to AKIRA, playing up not just Frey’s association with comic books but also the fact that he's been mired in that aesthetic from day one. He wanted to be a hero, he wanted to be like Captain Pitoco, and regardless of continuity, all that he ends up as is becoming a gross caricature of a superhero. And still, Frey owns it. He owns his grossness, his rage, his bitterness at everything that he understands to be the opposite of himself, everything clean and good and decent, and he tries time and time again to tear it down, even if he ultimately can never get far enough to accomplish his goals, or lose all of his humanity in the process.

I’ve remarked once that, to many in some regions of South America, the “traditional” superhero does not hold much appeal, and most of the more popular protagonists and icons tend to be outlaws far away from caped antics. Which is why it’s particularly interesting that, not only is the most famous caped superman of Brazilian comic books a villain, but also that, perhaps unintentionally, Fray has undergone the kind of development that most reocurring cartoon villains never get, and one that seems almost poised to last. In a current zeitgest of villain protagonists, it’s successes and failures, I could very easily see Captain Fray becoming the star of a popular film or series, one that takes a look not just at his personality and role, but also at Brazilian culture’s relationship with superheroes and supervillains. Maybe Fray as an anti-hero, trying to make the best of the horrendous powers he’s burdened with, could work.

So long as it’s not revealed that he likes dirt because his mom got pushed off a cliff by cleaning products, I could see it working very well.

#character profiles #comic books #captain fray #capitão feio #turma da monica #mauricio de souza #brazilian superheroes #brazilian supervillains #superman #monica's gang

[ubemango]

delicacies of the season (m)

part 3: days apart

note: hey!! What’s up!! first, I officially have named this series!! it’s right up there for ur viewing glory! ok anyway here’s something before I disappear for the next four weeks because I am drowning in school!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! also just a side thingie for this story: I’ve already established that oc isn’t on birth control but here I’m implying that they’re doing natural planning (i.e. fertility awareness where the person who menstruates keeps up with their cycle and thus only has sex when their cycles allows for it). PLEASE DO NOT DO THIS UNLESS YOU KNOW THE RISKS!!!!!!!! Oh Lord putting your impregnation chances up to God?! I couldn’t do it. But also this is fanfiction and nothing bad will happen to this couple so let’s all just... suspend disbelief for a second ok

PAIRING. taehyung/reader GENRE. romance, farmer au RATED. M WORD COUNT. 2.5k WARNINGS. kitchen sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, a good ol’ creampie bc wot is the ubemango experience without one :/ SUMMARY. Taehyung missed you.

Auntie Gaeul comes over when the rooster crows to tell you to check out the passion fruits today. They’re ripe not because she’s seen them but because she just knows. Call it the Elder Instinct for Ripened Foods. You tell her you’ll give her half the harvest, and she swats at you before she leaves.

“Stop being so polite, I’m not that old,” she spits in jest. “And make some of that honey iced tea your grandma makes. If there’s extra, then I’ll have some.”

Taehyung would probably like some, too; he chugs down anything with passion fruit like he’s about to go into hibernation. And when you come back home from the fields with a basket-full perched heavy on your back, you resolve to make some tea right away to bring over to his house to see if he’s there. You haven’t seen him in five days—his cousin had the stomach flu, and his aunt needed the extra help with tending to the livestock. Being the eldest nephew (and the only one who can drive a motorcycle) had him obligated right from the get-go.

“Grandma! Can you show me where you put the honey jars, I can’t remember where they are. And can you help me peel these—um. You’re not Grandma,” you stop.

Taehyung looks up from where he’s perched on the stairs of your awning, flicking bits of strawberries to the ground for Danbi to eat. Your little puppy scrounges it up so fast she nearly falls over on her fluffy bum.

“I told her to go play bingo with the rest of the granny crew, someone’s betting chicken feet,” he says. You smile wide when he trods over to you for a short kiss, slipping the strap of the basket off your shoulder to put on his. The hand he keeps low on your back is as warm as the ten AM sun. “Hi. I missed you.”

“I was just gonna go see if you were home,” you say. He smells like the wind. Something you’d scrunch your nose at but he makes it work. “When d’you come back? How’s Daeshim now?”

“An hour ago. And he’s better. He ate up all your ice cream, only thing he could keep down.”

You frown. “Poor baby.”

“I know. You gonna clean these now?” He nods his head toward the water basin, carved rock he’d installed for you on your third anniversary.

“Yeah. Can you start? I’ll just wash up quick,” you offer. Suddenly you’re aware you’ve got an ugly shirt with oil stains and holes in random places—nothing Taehyung minds, but the occasion probably deserves better.

“Got it, boss,” Taehyung says. He slaps your ass before you run to the bathroom. A familiar signal of his intentions but he’s too polite to bring it up so quickly.

“Hey!”

“Hurry up,” he calls. As if you’re going to take another five days to get back to him but you get it. You missed him, too; a little more than you’d like to let on. Your grandma is great company but she watches her TV too loud and she hates when you’re not there to sit with her because she might need your help switching channels. It’s a miracle you didn’t jump Taehyung the second your eyes landed on him.

You change into whatever shirt you’ve tossed on the floor that looks semi-presentable. It’s too early for your sweat to reek like it does under the afternoon heat, but you spritz some perfume on your neck anyway. Just for upkeep, because you’d be lying if you said you weren’t anticipating sex, a sloppy makeout session at the least. Danbi’s too hyper to be left alone, plus your grandma likes making surprise visits at your house because she’s a forgetful woman.

By the time you’ve come back from scrubbing the dirt and dead ant bits caked under your nails, Taehyung’s a third of the way through the basket, tossing the clean passion fruit into a bucket Danbi is trying so hard to climb into. She yelps when her fat paws slip at the edges.

“Danbi! Mama’s gonna be mad if you get hurt. I’ll give you some later.”

“Go play with your toy,” you call out to her. “Danbi! Go!”

Her ears perk up at your command, and she pants and pants till she decides to go in the complete opposite direction of the ball and into the patch where all the potatoes are. She hasn’t hit her teething phase so you’re safe from her snuffing anything out with her mouth. It’s her fur you worry about. She’s such a nice shade of white amongst the semi-wet dirt, it almost hurts seeing her get soiled.

“Like a little cotton ball,” Taehyung says. He points to the bucket. “This good?”

You nod—it’s enough to have extra for Auntie Gaeul. “Yeah. Wanna carry it to the kitchen like a good man?”

“As if I’m not one already,” he snorts, grabbing the handle. “Danbi, come!”

This is how it always goes. Taehyung ogles from over your shoulder (usually he’s off to the side but he’s a lot clingier, not that you mind) while you do your business because you don’t trust him with a knife. Not since the time you’d tasked him with chopping garlic and he’d nearly sliced his palm open when he tried crushing them first.

And now you’ve got a new addition to the routine: Danbi sniffs around the dried leaves for the fire, sneezing when she breathes the ash in too hard. You hear her collar jiggle as she explores the earthenware stacked on the side. You made sure Taehyung left the door open because she gets antsy fast.

“Can I just say that I have a thing for seeing you use a knife,” Taehyung says, hands stroking your tummy because he’s got nothing better to do.

“You’re really bad at hiding how turned on you are.”

“Who said I was trying to hide?”

You laugh. “What are you trying to get at, mister?”

“I’m saying I missed you,” he says simply.

“So that’s why you kicked Grandma out the house,” you tease. Taehyung splutters in your ear.

“No! They really are betting chicken feet. What do you think I am?”

“Horny.”

“Ugh.”

You turn your focus back to the chopping board. Taehyung lets the sound of the knife smooth down the goop of the insides fill the space.

“...Are you mad if I am?” He whispers tentatively.

“Oh my god. It’s ten in the morning.”

“You think my dick cares?”

“You think I care?” you joke.

Taehyung gasps. Like his heart just shattered from your vitriol, but all you want is to finish cutting up these damn fruits before you’ll allow his hands to touch you. “Wow. You—? Okay, fine.”

“Wha—”

“I appreciate your hard work,” he coos. He wraps himself around you even tighter, traces a slow kiss on your neck. “Really. But don’t pretend you didn’t miss me too.”

“I never said I didn’t.”

“You’ve got a fucking mouth on you.”

And that gets you to shut up. Taehyung only swears when he wants you to stop talking. Not for the sake of real anger but to show you he’s got something brewing, and you’re here to take whatever it is he’s about to give you.

“I just wanted to be a good fiance and visit the one I love the most after five days because I missed them so much.”

His teeth catch the lobe of your ear. Biting down softly because he’s still aware you’ve got the knife in your hand, but you’ve lost all motor skills the second he started his little bit. You drop the handle slowly. At the last second you push all the shit you’ve laid out on the counter to the farthest corner. Something tells you this space is being defiled this morning.

“Good. Are you wet?”

“N-No.”

“Then we’ll have to do something about that, huh.”

You watch his hands glide up, and you’re half-expecting him to fondle you gently, the way he teases you when you think he’s taking it slow. But instead he goes right for the kill: using those long fingers to pinch right at your tits just to get you to gasp into the feeling. You roll your eyes shut, let your head fall back on his shoulder.

“You like that?”

“Mhm,” you whine.

“Take your shirt off for me.”

You’ve never exposed yourself to kitchen utensils and rice wine on the pantry shelves before but Taehyung makes you want it. He shows his appreciation for your compliance with another hard grope of his hands, this time with his mouth sucking on your neck too. Craving your skin like he’s been absolutely deprived. The calluses on his fingertips rub your nipples raw.

“You smell good,” he croons. “Come here.”

You nearly tip over from how fast he spins you around, but he catches you easy, tongue on yours in the next second. The desperate tug of his lips on yours, the smack of your spit when he pulls you in deeper, all the intricacies of needing someone else to save your own sanity—it culminates here, and now your ass is up on the cold of the counter, Taehyung pulling back from one last kiss to drag that same heat down your body.

“Please let me eat you out here, holy shit.” He tugs at your pants, slides your underwear down with it. Mouthing hungry at your mound because you haven’t answered him yet, so you just groan a quick please, yes and he doesn’t even look at you before he presses his tongue inside you.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, the guilt of ruining this space with your (embarrassingly) uncontrolled libido is raging. But you could care less with the way Taehyung swipes his tongue around your clit, gets you clawing at his hair for brief respite. You’ve most definitely exceeded wet boundaries. His chin practically shines.

And he knows it’s because of him. Not just from his mouth but the knowledge that he wants you trembling towards a heady orgasm, the kind that consumes you whole. His laving gets bolder with every stroke, every moan you try to keep stifled but it’s useless. “Taehyung. Oh my g-od, fuck—no d-don’t use your fingers, I’ll come.”

He laughs, adjusts your thighs so you’re not cramping. “Think you’ll tap out?”

“I wanna come on your dick,” you pants.

“Oh my god,” he groans. “You’re perfect. Oh my god. I’m so fucking hard. Can I come inside you?”

“Yes yes yes yes, just get inside me already.”

Taehyung’s foot gets caught on his pants when he shoves them off, nearly crashing face first into your pussy again. And he laughs and you snort and when he’s naked waist-down he kisses you again, a little slower this time, a breather for just a moment.

“I know it’s only been five days but I missed you. A lot.”

You trap his hips with locked ankles on his back. “I know.”

“It’s just—I had to shovel so much horse shit—”

“Oh don’t say that!” You bat at his chest.

Taehyung snickers. “Sorry. Ahh, I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“You can stick your dick inside me and we can go from there,” you suggest.

“I like the way you think, missus.”

It’s almost laughable when he sinks right in. No resistance, just the slick of your arousal and his spit, an unholy mixture for this thick sacrilege. Taehyung’s eyes stay locked on the sight.

“Fuck yeah. Oh baby…”

If it’s got him uttering curses this early in the round then you’re definitely worse off. You’ve got one profanity for every inch he’s claimed inside you, all lined up behind your teeth but you don’t have the brain capacity to get them out. He fucks you straight to incoherence.

Your delirium keeps you mum. Taehyung will make up for it. He slots his hand up the back of your thighs, hits deeper when you arch through the pleasure. “Holy fuck that’s so good,” you whine. “Taehyung—oh god.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just pants hard with every moan you’ll give him, and you watch the sweat glow on his collarbone, the thick of his neck. Places you claim with your mouth when you lean forward because it’s too hard to keep balance without his gravity.

Taehyung breaks when you bite. “Sh-it. Oh fuck you’re so hot. ‘M not gonna last, shit.”

“You’ll fuck me when you come?” you plead, hold his gaze. He’s just as gone as you are. “You’ll fuck your cum inside me?”

“Yeah baby. I’ll give it to you. So fuckin’ good.”

He never lets up. Just keeps that steady fucking, stiff with every drive into your slick till he adjusts your knees with one push. Pussy open to the angle that gets you begging for his thumb on your clit because it’s right there. You fall back on your hands, no steady grip because Taehyung’s faltering too.

“Oh—!” You flutter your eyes shut to pending ecstasy. “Tae—please—harder—right there right there don’t stop!”

“You gonna come for me?”

It’s a rhetorical question. You know he sees the way your chest collapses, the rub of your clit in quick gestures for your high. He’s got you right in his hand.

“Fuck—ohhh yes!”

“Ugh,” he whines. It’s nearly lost to the ringing in your ears, the clench of your pussy from his pounding. You cream him so good when the orgasm’s strong enough, pulsing hot, the rough intensity. And that’s not lost on him when he cries: “God your pussy’s so wet. Holy shit.”

Usually you’re spent by the time your vision’s cleared to the sight of Taehyung fucking you through it. But he’s promised you something, and you’re greedy for it.

“Come inside me,” you urge, guiding a hand through his hair, pulling hard at his nape. He keeps his eyes on his dick priming you for those final strokes.

“I’ll fucking come,” he snaps. “You ready? I’ll come so good for you baby. Come so fucking—good—!”

He stiffens with a shout, grinds his teeth, lets his orgasm splash inside with so much heat you mewl. And he keeps minimal movement, thrust for soft thrust because it’s too much with the squeezing you tease him with.

“I.” Taehyung clears his throat, panting to a stop. “I… wow.”

Your ass is rubbed raw against the counter. But you’ll risk it again to see the glint in his eye when he pulls out and watches his cum drip down your hole, onto the floor for you to clean when your legs aren’t jelly.

“Wow,” you repeat.

“Do… Am I… Am I ovulating?” He looks genuinely confused. “I don’t… I’ve never been that horny before.”

You snort. “Five days felt like forever, huh.”

Taehyung kisses you slow. “If it means we get to fuck like that again then I’m going to the city for a month.”

“Hey!” You pinch his arm, using his bicep to stand up, tiptoeing around the mess on the floor. “God. Help me clean up here, please. And where’s the dog?”

(Danbi sleeps peacefully in the wicker basket, head lolled on one of the passion fruits. You make sure to bring her over to Auntie Gaeul’s for extra snacks.)

#bts smut #taehyung smut #v smut #bts scenarios #taehyung scenarios #v scenarios #ubemango fic #f: farmer!tae series #f: delicacies of the season

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

In the Weeds

Ransom + ‘reader likes to garden and neighbor likes to watch’ as requested by @siren-kitten-his​

Finally got this done and it’s just smut, y’all, dark and dirty smut.

Warnings: noncon, sabotage, Ransom being his asshole self. As usual, your consumption is your responsibility. If you read these warnings and proceed, that’s your decision and any asks on the matter will be summarily defeated. If you can read 2000 words, you can read a warning.

Anyways, enjoy this little drabbling and have a great day, boo bears.

For weeks you’d been coming to the large house hidden away behind the winding driveway, trees carefully lined its borders. Weeks and you had yet to met its owner. On your first day, instructions had been left in a letter beside a bottle of water. The list was typed out and terse. A roster of duties.

Every Sunday you drove up the carefully laid mosaic drive and lugged your bag with you, returning to your beat-up truck only to fetch the electric trimmers. Weeds, pruning, hedges, flowers… It was your typical work, the only difference was your still anonymous and unseen employer.

The same water bottle sat on the front step, the same list. You didn’t need to read it at this point. You began your work, your jeans soon filthy with soil and grass stains as you made your way around the exterior of the house. Then there were the bushes along the perimeter. That always took much longer.

You opted for a break before you went about the last half of the list. You sat on the step and drank from the glass bottle. You replaced the attached cork and stood, stretching as the sun reached its peak above you.

“The sunflowers are starting to droop,” The voice scared you and you spun in surprise to face the man who stood on the other side of the screen door. You hadn’t even heard it open. “My mother chose them, you see? I find them tacky. They stick out like a sore thumb.”

“Oh,” You blinked. He watched you dully as you set down the glass bottle. “I could… re-home them. As long as I can dig out the roots.”

“Burn ‘em for all I care,” He scoffed. His blue eyes looked you up and down. “You’re a lot more diligent than the last gardener.”

“Thank… you,” You said awkwardly. 

He leaned his elbow against the door frame as he peered through the screen. His dark blond hair was combed back neatly, his broad shoulders stretched the cotton henley. He looked like any trust funder you’d met. “I should get back to work.”

“Mmhmm,” He nodded and disappeared.

You turned slowly and grabbed your bag of tools. You wanted to look back but didn’t as you crossed to the hedges along the walkway. You knelt and began your careful pruning. You inched down the bushes, snip, snip, snip. The sun beat down as you reached the end and stood.

“She stole,” You winced as you were once more frightened by the man. “Can’t help but wonder why considering how much I’m paying to have leaves cut.”

“I’m sorry she did that,” You squinted as the sun seared your eyes. “Um…”

“Ransom Drysdale,” He introduced himself. “I have your card. I know your name.”

“Well, I was just about to do the back. I just need to… um, get there.” You bent and tucked your shears into your bag and lifted it.

“Looks good, so far,” He said as he followed you from the other side of the hedge. “I can get you some more water.”

“I’m almost done,” You assured him. “But thank you.”

“Alright,” He stopped and you carried on. 

You felt him watched you as you disappeared around the back of the house. As you set up, you fought to focus on the work. The rose bushes were always the most obstinate. You took out your pruners and set to detaching the dying buds and stray branches.

As you moved from the white petals to the reds, you sensed something. You glanced over. The man, Ransom, was sat in one of the lawn chairs on the patio outside the tall glass doors. He was far but not so far away that you couldn’t tell he watched you. Well, if his last gardener had sticky fingers, how could you blame him?

You finished up and looked around one last time. You buckled up your large bag and slid the folded paper out of the side pocket, running down the list just to make sure. As you stood, bag slung over your shoulder, you found that your employer had gone as swiftly as he’d appeared.

You hauled it back around the house. The water bottle was gone. You went to your truck and dumped your bag in the bed. You climbed in the front and turned the engine. It kicked up but as you shifted into reverse, then puttered and died. You tried again. Odd. You’d just had it in for an oil change and they said it was in good shape.

You got out and walked around the pick-up. You checked out every inch then opened the hood. You didn’t really know what you were looking for. A shadow came up behind you and two large hands settled on the truck’s nose, a pair of thick arms blocking you in.

“Problem?” Ransom’s warm breath tickled your scalp. You went rigid, unsure of what to do. You didn’t know what to do.

 “No.” You said. “Probably just overheated.”

You pushed against his arm but he didn’t move. You grabbed the other which proved just as immovable. You turned around in the tight space between him and the truck.

“What are you doing?”

“Just having a look,” He said coolly. “You think it’s the battery?”

“I don’t know.” You tried to sidestep him again but he still wouldn’t move. “Let me go.”

“You know, at first, I watched you because I was bored. Then it became almost a hobby. Something to look forward to.” He leaned in and you could smell his cologne. “Then I thought about you. After. And you just kept popping up in my head.”

“I don’t know you.” You said firmly. “Get away from me so I can call a tow.”

“It’ll take them at least an hour to get out here.” He said. “What are you supposed to do while you wait?”

“Stop.” You grabbed his arm and pushed. He chuckled at your pathetic attempt to move him. “What do you want?”

“I’m sure you can guess.” 

He reached up and grabbed the lip of the hood. His other hand went to your throat as he backed up just a little and drew you with him. He closed the hood with a bang and you flinched. You grasped his wrist and twisted. He barely seemed to notice as his fingers tightened. 

He leaned in and his chiseled features turned malicious. He grabbed your shoulder and spun you to face the truck. He pushed you against the hood and you caught yourself on the hot metal. He crushed you with his body and his hot breath glossed over your head.

“I lied.” He nuzzled your head. “The last gardener quit. He hated the commute.”

“Get off.” You tried to elbow him and he grabbed the back of your head. He slammed it down onto the truck and held you there. “Ow, stop!”

“And on top of finding a new gardener, the bitch I called a girlfriend decided she needed to follow her dreams or whatever shallow shit those spoiled princesses believe these days.” He growled and pushed his crotch into your ass. “And then you show up. Sweet little flower girl. Hard worker… and for what? A beat up Ford and dirt under your nails.”

“Let me go!”

“You know I pay well to have the flowers watered, how much do you think I’d pay for… personal services?”

“You’re disgusting.” You hissed.

“Well,” He laughed. “I guess I don’t have to pay.”

He pulled on the back of your jeans as you wriggled against the hood, the metal seared your cheek. His arm snaked around you as he picked your fly open and pushed his hand down the front of your panties. You gasped as he kicked your feet apart and force his fingers between your legs.

“You like to get dirty, flower girl?” He muttered in your ear. “Hmm.” He rubbed his fingers along your folds. “I think that’s my answer.”

You closed your eyes. You were wet. Sweat, mostly, from the day in the sun, but more. Adrenaline, fear… He shoved a finger inside you and you squeaked. Your feet slipped on the stone work below.

“Please… stop,” You begged and he pushed another finger in.

“Weird how you don’t sound like you mean it,” He drew his fingers in and out as he pressed the heel of his hand to your clit. “How it feels…” He paused as you trembled. “Like you want it.”

“Ransom, Ransom…” You said his name. “Please. This isn’t--”

He filled you to his knuckles and you whimpered.

“Shhh,” He breathed. “This is a respectable neighbourhood… not that anyone can hear you.”

He slid his fingers out of you and left a slick trail along your pelvis as he pulled back. He ripped down your jeans from behind. His hand moved to your neck and he squeezed painfully. He wrenched your panties down and pinched your bare ass. You whined and kicked helplessly.

You pushed on the hood, trying to force him off. You only ended up with your ass pressed against him.

“Oh, I like that,” He stepped back and slapped your ass. “You really think you can win.”

“Please--”

He slapped you again. You swallowed your protests and he shifted behind you. The smooth whisper of a zipper followed and had you tensed against the truck. Your sweaty hands slipped over the metal.

He prodded you with his tip as he stepped closer. He bent his knees against your legs. He guided his dick along your cunt, poking around until he found your entrance. You inhaled sharply as he inched inside. Your walls clenched around him as he sank into. You were taken off your feet as he rammed into you entirely. You cried out and slapped the hood.

“Ow, stop, stop.” You exclaimed.

His hand left your neck as he grabbed your hips instead. He slammed you into the truck as he thrust into you harshly. You lifted your head as your back arched. Your toes fought to find traction on the ground as you whimpered and reached to try to pull yourself away from him. He easily rocked you back into him as he rutted into you.

Your nerves buzzed as he fucked you harder, the hem of his shirt brushed against your ass each time. You panted as the heat gathered along your spine and stormed through your core. You were so close and the thought repulsed you. Your disgust quickly flitted away as his grunts permeated the air around you.

Your eyes rolled back and you dropped your head back to the hood. You smothered your moans in your arm but your body betrayed you with a violent spasm. You came and he barely seemed to notice as he sped up. 

He bent over you and pushed your legs together. Your walls grew even snugger around him and he groaned. He swore as he twitched and pulled out of you suddenly. He tugged on your jeans as he climaxed in a series of primal snarls. He released you and his shoes scraped against the stonework. He sighed over the metallic zip and you found your feet below you.

You turned, slowly. You looked down at your jeans, rolled below your thighs. Your panties were shiny with his cum as you stared at them dumbly. Your legs shook as your stomach turned.

“Pull those up, flower girl,” Ransom sneered. “It’s not professional to walk around with your ass out.”

You lifted your head and blindly grasped the waist of your jeans. You pulled them up and the wet fabric pressed against your cunt. You buttoned your fly as you watched him reach into his pocket. He pulled out a metal part and winked.

“Pretty sure I can just screw this back into place.” He smirked. “Next Sunday, same time.” He passed you lifted the hood. “I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

#dark!ransom drysdale x reader #dark ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x reader #dark!ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale #dark ransom drysdale #knives out #drabble #fic #one shot #dark fic #dark!fic #request #au