#like imagine he throws on a pair of black slacks and a dress shirt over all that

[brain-rot-central]

Astarions waist tight laced in a corset. Mmhmm

We had a discussion about this on discord last night and it included him wearing thigh-high stockings and lace panties with his hair still undone and I. Really wish I could draw.

[ktsumu]

DONT START W FRAT HUSBAND IWA I WILL LITERALLY COLLAPSENOSNXOANDOSNDLANSKNXKSNZN

HI THANKS FOR UNLOCKING PANDORA'S BOX YOU JUST GOT BAITED INTO MY ASKBOX

frat husband iwa under the cut deadass

frat guy iwa who you meet in your sophomore year at UCLA — you spent your entire freshman year letting it set in that you're attending UCLA, and now that you're adjusted; it's party time!

you're in this crazy frat and iwaizumi isn't even in the frat himself, his roommate is, but he somehow gets roped along to these outrageous parties they throw.

the first time you meet iwaizumi, there's an trap remix blaring through the shaking living room, and you're both dressed up as some indiana jones-esque explorers.

you lock eyes for a minute, laughing at how stupid the safari theme makes you both look with your khaki shorts and satchels, but he's yanked away into the middle of the homemade mosh pit before you can even make your way over.

( the second time you meet iwaizumi, it's junior year, and he gets to you before his friends get to him. )

you never imagined yourself to meet your boyfriend by getting lifted onto a bathroom counter while you listen to the walls buzz, kissing blindly and going blue in the face before you dare stop, but hey! life's a ride and you wear a seatbelt!

the rest is history; you're hajime's girl, everyone knows it. in fact, hajime wasn't even the one who mentioned the frat wedding, it was the others who were like 'yeah, she's a keeper, let's have a wedding!'

they sing a stupid bruno mars song while iwaizumi (though red in the face and laughing uncontrollably) drops to one knee at sunset on campus, proposing to you with a costume ring you're pretty sure they had in a closet from an old party theme.

( whatever, you say yes regardless. )

so, in the same place you met, in that dumbass frat house that is once again full of people, now all dressed like they're headed to a black tie event, iwaizumi holds your hands in his 'suit'

( it's a pair of black slacks and a white button down, but the shirt is left loose at the collar )

and you stand in your 'dress'

( it's a thrifted white mini and a veil — just as beautiful as the real deal, if iwaizumi had to give his opinion )

his roommate stands there, screaming his officiations over the music, hajime iwaizumi, my guy, do you take this gem as your wife?

( he laughs as he says i do, squeezing your hands tighter )

and do you take this fella to be your husband?

( you nod, shrugging. iwaizumi gasps in offense before you laugh and say i do )

well, by the power invested in me and my brothers, you guys are married! kiss her, man!

and god, does he fucking kiss you — he swirls you into a dip, grinning against your lips as the house gets so loud you think your eardrums pop.

but, you know, he isn't a bad husband. it's good practice for when you actually say i do — for real, this time ;3

[kndrules]

What fashion types would Sector V have? Going beyond "core" type stuff. What would they feel most comfortable wearing? Bonus if it's for both causal and "going out"/fancy.

I definitely have thought about this a lot let's see

Nigel- Well, Nigel is weird because his canon clothing choices are baffling. But you gotta respect it. Shorts in the winter?? Sure. I think Nigel always leans towards looking "put together". Even his most casual outfits will have a clean, sharp quality to them. I definitely subscribe to the idea that he wears leather jackets as a teenager, but as he gets older his style becomes more like "library employee". Sweater vests and always an ironed pair of slacks. Cozy but classy sweaters.

Here's some examples from raverly cuz this is how my brain works now I guess

Another important point about what Nigel wears is that he converts to Judaism as an adult when he marries Lizzie. So throw in some cute fair-isle kippahs.

I always imagined Nigel prefers muted colors, of course leaning towards warmer palettes.

Nigel's formal and casual outfits definitely overlap, but we see in the show that he enjoys dressing black tie given the opportunity (though, notably with a bowtie, not a necktie haha). So in a very formal setting, he's breaking out the James Bond style suits.

Hoagie- I had to rethink the way I make Hoagie dress after my gender headcanons changed for her rather dramatically. But in high school, it's the same because she's not fully out yet. She relies on button down shirts with fun patterns and ironic graphic tees so that she doesn't have to spend much time thinking about what she's wearing, and during this time in particular, I imagine she had a somewhat emo-lite style going on (a lot of black in that waredrobe).

After she starts dressing in a way that's more comfortable for her, I like to draw her in loose, comfortable blouses. I think she still prefers pants over skirts so that she can move freely. And a comfortable pair of sneakers or loafers with added support is important.

This is again a circumstance where casual and formal outfits can overlap. I could see Hoagie not being very good with dressing very formal, preferring to be comfortable. I need to play around with all these ideas for her though.

Kuki- Big, oversized, comfy!!!!!! and CUTE!!!! She loves skirts and tights, not a huge fan of pants but will wear shorts if she has to (shorts with thick leggings underneath if it's cold out). She likes her clothes to be roomy for sensory reasons, and she loves to flap her long sleeves. Another sensory thing is texture- the clothes that touch her skin gotta be soft. I project a lot of my sensory particularities onto her, so she hates denim and any thin, plasticy feeling material. She won't wear something if it's not cute. Bright colors are preferred.

She loves dressing up as a teenager. Knee-length prom-style dresses with frills and glitter are fun!

As she grows up, she has to dress more refined. She still doesn't wear pants, preferring dress suits instead. She doesn't actually like wearing dress suits, but she has to for work. The second she gets home, the comfy clothes come on. There's always a little trace of her personality still on her work and formal clothes as an adult- a little hint of color or something.

Wally- This kid barely gets any new clothes through his adolescence. His sweatshirts and pants are all old, worn out, dirty and gross. This is partially because his parents can't afford much, but he's also resistant to change like that. He likes the clothes he has, they're comfortable and worn-in. He doesn't like the idea of new stuff. Wally likes oversized clothes, too. Baggy sweatshirts and baggy blue jeans. His jeans either have to be hemmed shorter by his mom or they get all muddy and ripped up at the bottom, because they're too long for him. He doesn't care about looking "good", he only cares about looking "like a boy" (based on his own definition of what that means).

Don't bother asking him to dress nice for a formal event. He's just gonna show up in one of these:

In med school and as a doctor, he has to conform to some degree. I've always had this ridiculous headcanon that in med school he starts wearing polo shirts with popped collars, like a classic douchebag. He starts caring about his clothes getting ruined, because clothes have become a status symbol thing to him, and also because he's not used to the idea of "just buying new ones". His clothes still stay comfortable as much as possible, though. He will wear jeans and a t-shirt any time he can. And of course, scrubs are a must. As an adult, he can get through a formal event, but only just barely. He will never know what he's doing in that regard.

Abby- She's a stud, this is so important to my version of her. Her style is kind of "butch-athletic", with relaxed jeans, big t-shirts, jerseys and jackets. And nice sneakers.

(images from pintrest)

(Note that unlike these images, Abby doesn't wear makeup)

A good real life style reference for Abby is the musician Syd

Abby also prefers to keep her hair in protective styles as much as possible, for ease. Since she can't keep her hair like that all the time, in-between styles she still keeps it gently out of the way.

Her style is always pretty casual, but it's easy to dress it up with smart blazers! As an adult, she leans towards casual-ish pants suits. Blazers with regular undershirts and relaxed slacks.

[loveshotzz]

Your Steve phonesex one shot omg 🥵 don’t know if you’re still doing prompt requests but could I request this Steve one if you’re still writing?

“I want to fuck you against the glass so everyone can see how good you take it”

Modern!Steve Harrington x fem!reader

After Hours.

Part two to this request by @steves-babysitter but could be read as a stand alone :)

Summary: Steve’s running late for your date so you decide to surprise him at work after business hours.

Warnings: smut with minimal plot (minors it’s a no-no.) oral (female receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it up!), multiple orgasms, cream pie, semi public sex.

Word count: 2.8k

A/N: I combined this request for part two with @superbcoffeedrinkersubparwriter ‘s request for part two. I hope you both enjoy!

Comments, likes, and reblogs are always appreciated 💘

It had been almost three weeks since the accidental nude incident with Steve and the two of you hadn’t been able to keep your hands off each other since. Like two teenagers who just discovered sex the two of you took every opportunity that presented itself to fuck. Even going as far as picking you up on your thirty minute lunch breaks at work because he just couldn’t wait till you got off. Steve had wanted you from the moment he met you. Now that it was actually a reality he was more insatiable then he could’ve ever imagined and you hated admitting that you were too.

You weren’t expecting Steve’s office to be so big when the elevator drops you off on the 80th floor. It was impressive even in it’s empty form, well past business hours the cubicles are only lit by the leaking moonlight through the giant glass windows. Growing too impatient waiting for him to wrap up you decided to surprise him. A part of you always curious about his big boy job he always talked about and maybe a small part had to do with a dream you had of him bending you over his desk.

You see Steve before he sees you hazel eyes trained on the white glow of his laptop, his thin rimmed glasses sit perched half way down the slender bridge of his nose. Thick brows furrowed in concentration you watch him lean back into the leather of his chair, running long fingers through his hair in an irritated tick. The top two buttons of his white dress shirt sit undone giving you a peek of the beginnings of the smattering of chest hair beneath it. Mouth drying at the sight your fingers twitch, desperate to rack your nails through it like you’d done last night riding him in the back seat of his bmw.

Knocking on the hard wood of his open office door you finally decide to let your presence be known. The look of confusion slowly leaves his face when his eyes meet yours before roaming the length of your body stare turning hungry when he sees the tight black dress wrapped around you. Promising to take you to a nice dinner you’d dressed up for him, even throwing on a pair of black stiletto heels you swore you’d never wear again.

“Well, isn’t this a nice surprise.” His voice comes out like silk through the silence, the tension already thick enough to fill the giant space of the room.

“I was getting tired of waiting for you, thought I’d come see the place that’s been keeping you from me.” Running your tongue over your teeth you catch the way he already has to palm the bulge in his dress slacks as you start walking around the room.

“I’m surprised the doorman let you in after hours.” Sucking his bottom lip between his teeth he watches you make your way to one of the windows that took up two of the four walls of his office. Red finger nails tapping the thick glass before turning around to face him.

“I just said I was Mr. Harrington’s girl.” Voice coming out in practically a purr you hear his breath hitch in his throat at the title.

“Did you now? Using my name to get what you want huh?” Playing into your game he pushes his chair out from under the desk giving you the perfect view of his erection pressing tightly to the seam of his slacks.

“Is that bad of me baby?” Jutting your bottom lip out for good measure you sway your hips with a little more exaggeration as you make your way to the plush chair sat in front of his desk loving the way his eyes greedily take you in.

“I guess it depends on what you’re trying to get pretty girl.” Standing up as you sit down, you can feel the power dynamic shift.

Long legs make their way from behind his work station, the expensive wood at the bottom of his dress shoes make low thumps against the carpet with each step and you swear the air turns electric. Stopping once in front of you, he leans back against his desk with crossed arms. The muscles underneath the soft material threatening to burst at the seams.

“I think you know what I’m trying to get Steve.” Drawing out his name you look at him from underneath your lashes. Crossing one leg over the other you let your dress ride up to the top of your thigh loving the way you can see his cock twitch in response.

“Baby.” His tone is sing song in a warning when the pet name leaves his mouth. “You know better then to give me that kind of look.” His eyes flick down to your exposed legs “Especially when you’re dressed like this.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Lips twitching up in a smirk enjoying the way messy wisps of hair fall in his face when he shakes his head at you.

“I’m sure you don’t, such an innocent girl huh?” His tone is mocking when he smiles at you.

The question goes straight to the already wet lace between your legs, the thought of him on the way here was already enough to have you soaking through them.

“I’m just trying to go to dinner, I’m only here because someone was running late.” Uncrossing your legs you expose just how aroused he had you. The darkened patch on your white lace taunting him just like your words.

The cerulean and moss specks in his eyes turn into a black abyss when they come in contact with your underwear, a low groan rumbling from his chest.

“I think you know exactly what you’re doing.” Not expecting him to drop to his knees, he starts crawling toward you like an animal stalking it’s prey. His gaze holding nothing but want inside his darkened pupils.

Sticking out a heeled foot to stop him his big hands catch it before you can push him away, rocking back on his knees his grip on your ankle tightens before he roughly pulls you closer. Squealing at his sudden aggressiveness your ass hangs off the edge of the chair before he perches your leg over the top of his shoulder. The back of your heel slowly slipping off falling with a loud thud to the floor behind him. The new position had what you’d been teasing him with right in front of his face. His hot breath fanning over your swollen covered nub sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

“I think my dinner is right here, what do you think baby?” Peppering sloppy open mouth kisses down the smooth skin of your calf he nips at the curve of your kneecap making you gasp.

“Steve.” His name is a breathy whine as your hips rock forward on their own searching desperately for friction.

“You gonna give me what I want? You came all the way down here just to do that didn’t you?” All you do is nod dumbly when his fingers loop around the sides of your panties. “Such a good girl for me, I don’t know how I got so lucky.” A pliable wet mess above him, Steve loved how quickly he could get you this way.

“You’re fucking soaked, shit.” Long fingers run through your folds collecting your slick that was starting to drip on the chair beneath you, loving the way the contact makes your body shudder.

“I need to take my shirt off baby, you’re going to get me so messy. My needy sweet girl.” Pressing a kiss on your mound his tongue darts out to taste you before he pulls away leaving you whimpering for more.

Looking down at him from between the valley of your breasts, his eyes stay trained on your leaking hole as he unbuttons the rest of his shirt. You can’t fight the moan that escapes past your mouth when his chest is finally exposed, the thick patch of hair making you flutter around nothing. Licking his lips he can still taste your arousal on him on making him hungry for more, tossing his shirt to the side he re-grips your legs with more force than you were expecting his cock twitching at the yelp he gets. Giving you no warning he wraps your thighs around his head before he buries himself deep into your eager cunt. The tip of his nose pressing firmly against your bundle of nerves while his tongue laps your hole loving the feeling of your fluttering walls around his muscle.

You can feel the cool metal of his gasses against your puffy lips as his face presses deeper into you. Eyes rolling in the back of your head, your neck goes slack Steve’s expert tongue quickly overwhelming you. Moving his face from side to side the tip of his nose hits your clit in a way that already has your legs starting to shake your vision slowly going white when he hums in satisfaction against you.

“Steve I’m gonna cum.” Fingers finding their way into his hair you pull him even closer shamelessly riding his face, his grip on your thighs so tight you could see the whites of his hand prints.

Moving his face to match with your thrusts your mouth opens in a a silent scream when you feel yourself gush around his tongue. Legs clamping tight around his head your fingers pull at his hair needing something to keep you grounded, mind going blank as greedily lapped up everything you gave him.

Giving his hair a small yank you try to get him off of you, the kitten licks becoming too much for your overstimulated clit. Eyes catching the way he was palming himself through his slacks you’re sure you’d see a wet patch if they weren’t black. When your finally able to pull him away a string of saliva mixed with your arousal still connects you, his glasses all smudged up, a fucked out needy expression taking over his face.

“You wanna fuck me baby?” Wiping his bottom lip with the pad of your thumb you suck it in your mouth the sweetness of your cum coating your tongue.

The blunt tips of his nails dig into the doughy flesh of your thighs, a low growl erupting from his chest at your actions.

“I want to fuck you against the glass so every can see how good you take it.” Steve’s voice is almost unrecognizable when finally speaks laced with the kind of want that was almost animalistic the look in his eyes enough to feel the beginnings of a fresh wave of arousal.

Wobbly legs leave their home on the tops of his shoulders before he pulls off your other shoe, standing up you don’t think you’ve ever seen him this hard your mouth watering at the sight. Eager hands work at the front button of his pants. Stopping you once you get it undone he pulls you up to your feet, nimble fingers finding the side zipper of your dress.

“As much as I love your mouth sweetheart, I’m not going to last long and I need to feel you wrapped around me.” Tilting your chin up he presses a searing kiss to your lips, your tongue swiping over his bottom lip begging for more which he gladly grants you with a low hum in the back of his throat.

Pulling yourself closer to him by the grip in his hair, you only let go when you feel the short sleeves of your dress slide over your shoulders. The black material pools at your feet leaving you in nothing but the matching bra to your half missing set. The underwear long gone stuffed in Steve’s pocket for safe keeping.

Bending down he breaks the kiss to scoop you up in one solid motion, your legs wrapping around his waist before collecting his lips again as he walks you to the giant window over looking the city. It’s cold when it comes in contact with the bare skin of your back, but when he rips down the cup of your bra to suck one of you pert nipples in his mouth you can’t seem to care.

“I want this whole city to see that you’re mine. You want that baby? You want them to see how I fuck you, how only I can fuck you?” Pussy drunk words fall feverishly from his lips as his open mouth covers your chest with the heat of his tongue.

“Uh-huh” being the only words you could muster when he starts to suck a small bruise near the dip of your collar bone. Marking you.

Dropping you to your feet his big hands grip your hips turning you around to face the glass, palms flat your eyes catch the flashing lights of the city below. The other buildings that towered as high in front of you sit just as dark as the one you were in, a few lights left on in offices making the idea of someone seeing you still a very real possibility. The realization only turning you on more, this was better then your dream.

Kicking your feet apart you hear his pants drop to the floor behind you before he’s crowding your space. One hand guiding himself into your weeping hole the other gripping your hip so hard you know they’ll be a hand shaped bruise in the morning. Burying his face in the crook of your neck you feel his leaking head swipe through your folds his body shuddering against you at the sensation.

“God you’re always so ready for me baby.” Nipping at your earlobe he doesn’t waste anymore time before sinking into you. The stretch of your walls making you both moan out in unison, your head leaning forward as you try to adjust.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day Steve.” You huff pushing yourself back needing him deeper.

“I know you have, so desperate for me huh?.” Pulling himself almost all the way out he relishes in the way your walls clamp down around him in a tight vice grip before he pushes himself back in deep enough to hit that spot inside he’s gotten so good at finding.

“Fuck, right there.” Your voice is high pitched almost like a porn star when he starts his brutal assault of your g-spot.

“Taking me so good baby, taking me so fucking good.” Fingers leaving their spot on your hip they find their way to your clit rubbing harsh circle eights around the swollen nub. “I need them to see you fall apart on me. I know you have another one in you, I know you do sweetheart, always so good for me.”

His praises mixed with the way his fingers were working you had you already dangerously close to the edge. A flicker of light catches the corner of your eye, looking down a few floors in the building across from you a cleaning crew had started their night. Close enough that all it would take was for one of them to look in this direction and they’d get a perfect view of Steve having his way with you. Tits pressed hard against the glass he pulls out before pushing back in at a slightly different angle hitting a new spot deep inside.

The thrill of getting caught and the way Steve was grunting with his face buried in your neck, the coil inside of you finally snaps in a white hot explosion behind your closed eyes.

“Oh fuck, you’re cumming aren’t you? Shit baby, she’s sucking me in, I can’t - I can’t hold off anymore.” Biting down on your pulse point Steve’s body presses you even harder into the glass as the intensity of his orgasms rips through his body. White hot spurts of cum paint your fluttering insides, warming you against the chilled glass.

The two of you stand there spent acting as if you weren’t on display for the world to see, breathing each other in hands wandering desperate to touch skin. Dragging his lips across the bruised skin he left in his wake, his hands settle back down on your hips, thumbs rubbing slow circles in the dips.

“I think you’re going to have to start meeting me at work more often.” Feeling his smile pressed against your skin you manage to huff out a laugh.

“We might be able to get something arranged. I’m still fully expecting dinner you know, I didn’t wear those heels for nothing.” Turning your head slightly your able to catch his lips in a sweet kiss, thankful that it was him you sent those pictures to and not the guy they were actually intended for.

[nateezfics]

ATEEZ headcanon: giving them a lap dance

A/N: got inspired earlier when I watched a video on YouTube. The video is under the influence choreography by Nicole Kirkland. Do watch that if you want before or after reading this!

Seonghwa

He would be so caught off guard when you suggest giving him a lap dance

But mostly aroused

He’s more than willing to let you try it out on him, because how in the world can he turn down a lap dance

You’re not brave enough at first and it takes so long for you to build up the courage that he forgets you ever even suggested it

You decide to give him a dance for like an anniversary or something because a special occasion would be a good enough time to do it

You’re nervous as hell, all dressed up in your best lingerie

He’s made it himself comfy on the couch, still in his nice attire from your date night

He looks a sight — black slacks, shirt unbuttoned at the top, legs spread wide

He’s so hot and your resolve wavers a bit, but you turn on the music and walk over to him

He watches you so intently, every move, every little sway of your hips

He doesn’t even fight the urge to touch you

He’s bringing you into his lap right away and you just wing it and decide to grind on him to the beat of the music

Looking in his eyes and seeing the desire in them gives you a confidence boost

So does the tent in his pants, but you really want to finish the dance, so you try not to focus too much on that

You’re all over him — your hands on his chest and teasing the opening of his shirt, lips on his ear, and crotch grazing just above where he needs you most

It’s all so exhilarating and you both get so caught up that you don’t notice when the music finishes

Absolutely will flip you over and fuck you senseless right there

He’s breathing so hard, breath loud in your ear as he kisses up and down your jaw

“Fuck, baby. You’re so damn hot,” he’ll say as he dry humps you just so you can really feel how hard he is

He will return the favor tenfold and will go down on you until you’re both breathless

He just wants to show you how grateful he is for tonight’s little treat

Doesn’t want to mess up your pretty lingerie, so he’ll just pull your panties aside and fuck you while enjoying how delectable you look

Hongjoong

You don’t even tell him that you want to give him a lap dance

You want it to be spontaneous, so you’re waiting for the right moment

There’s so many moments you want to do it, because damn it, this man is fucking fine

Your perfect opportunity comes when he’s away at the studio and texts you saying he’ll be late again tonight

He’s been visiting the studio a ton lately, more so than usual, and you can literally imagine how tired and worn he looks at the moment

He’s been stressed and you think that this would be the perfect stress reliever

You get yourself ready and pick out a nice bra and panty set just before throwing on some sweats and heading to the studio

He’s hunched over his desk, face in the computer when you walk in

He turns to look at you with wide yet sleepy eyes, but smiles when he sees you

It takes a little bit of coaxing to get him to take some time away from what he’s working on

You turn him away from his desk and put some space between you before turning on some music and beginning the dance

His eyes, once bleary and tired, turn sharp and pointed as he watches you slip off your sweats to reveal what lies beneath

He’s polite and allows you to do your dance without interruption, leaving his hands at his sides even as you began to dance over his lap

Eventually it all gets too much and he buries his face in your neck as his hands grip your hips to bring them down against his hard on

The song hasn’t quite finished yet, but he’s already peeling off your panties so he can stuff his fingers into you

Has you like this for a bit, working you up like you have him, saying things like

“You’re going to give me a heart attack doing things like this without warning” and “You’re so damn good to me, baby.”

Slips his cock into you and let’s you ride him in his chair all while he gropes your ass and whispers dirty things in your ear

Yunho

He thinks you’re joking when you tell him you want to give him a lap dance

Laughs you off which only makes you want to do it even more just to spite him

You pick a random evening, one where he’s actually home at a decent time

He’s in the kitchen looking for something to eat when you walk up from behind and start feeling him up

He whirls around, mouth dropping open at the sight of you in lingerie

He doesn’t even have time to ask what’s going on because you’re pulling to him to the living room, pushing him into the couch

He just falls into the cushions, looking up at you with wide, curious eyes

Kind of like a lost puppy

He’s so confused when the music starts as he’s still trying to process everything

He curses when you start to dance provocatively, body looking so divine in the lingerie

He swallows hard when you hop on the couch and straddle his lap, grinding and moving over him, hands all over him

He’s very touchy

Hands all over your form — hips, ass, waist, chest, arms

You have to admit, you almost get side tracked when his erection grazes against your core, but you’re determined

He’s trying so hard to pull you all the way down on his lap, but you’re resisting to give in

You tease him with feather light touches and judging by the low groan from him, he’s getting a little fed up

You don’t care and turn yourself around to shake your ass against him, biting back a moan as he grips your ass with both hands

He finally reaches a breaking point and pushes you forward until you’re on the floor on your hands and knees

There’s the sound of pants being undone and soon you feel his cock prodding against your clothed core

“You know I don’t like to be teased, darling,” is all he says before pushing aside your panties and thrusting into you

Yeosang

You’re dancing around the house being silly

Yeosang is on the couch playing on his phone, but every now and then watches you as you dance around the living room to the beat of the music coming from your speaker

It’s all just shenanigans until a certain song comes on

Your whole mood changes instantly because this song is that kind of song

You begin to sway sensually to the slow beat

At first you’re just feeling yourself, not caring about your boyfriend sitting on the couch, but then

An idea hatches in your brain

You saunter over to him, bending down over him while your hands run up his thighs

He looks away from his phone and at you

He’s looking at you like ma’am wtf are you doing

You wedge yourself onto his lap, rolling your hips in time with the music

You hold his chin with your hand and keep your eyes locked with his as you mouth the words of the song

They’re some filthy lyrics

And at first Yeosang blushes a little because this just so random of you

But he relaxes and gives you all his attention, even widening his legs more so you can sit more comfortably

You look a mess

You’re in a pair of gym shorts and one of his hoodies

But you’re still turning him on immensely, cock hardening in his sweats

He interrupts your little performance by running his hands up your waist, slipping them under the sweatshirt

You moan as his hands massage your breasts and you sit on his lap fully, moaning again when you feel his erection press into you

Your movements stop as you bask in the feeling of his hands on you

He smirks

“Don’t stop, baby. Keep going. You were doing so well.”

You try to keep going, but his hands keep touching you all over and soon you’re pleading with him to fuck you

San

He’s the one who asked you to do it

And of course you agree

It’s something you have yet to do and you’re both excited to try something new in the bedroom

You get ready, dolling yourself up

Hair, make up, a sexy lingerie set, and some heels

You look stunning

He pulls you close, kissing down your neck while his hands roam over you

You have to push him away because you can’t do this yet

Not before you do your dance at least

He surprises you when he gets a camera ready

He says he wants to video the whole thing so he can save it for later ;)

You’re a tad nervous to be recorded, but once the music starts and you watch him as he reclines into his seat, your nerves fade away

You’ve got a whole floor routine put together, and you grow in confidence when you notice how he watches your every move intently

You crawl to him, rising between his thighs as your hands climb his torso to tease at the buttons on his shirt

He smirks and beckons you closer

You hop into his lap and straddle him, hips circling over his groin

He chuckles smugly when you stutter when you feel his erection

He reaches behind you and pulls your hair and you arch backwards

His free hand runs up your body from your tummy to your neck

You manage to gracefully roll off his lap and back into the floor

You go back to your earlier place and begin to undo his pants

His hand goes to your cheek, thumb stroking it sweetly as he watches you

You free him from his pants and stroke him

He groans and his head falls backwards when you take him in your mouth

“Ah, fuck, baby. You’re so damn hot.”

Mingi

You tell him you have a gift for him

When he asks you why you got him a gift, you tell him it’s because you just want to cherish him

He’s a little confused when you ask him to sit on the edge of the bed before running into your closet

He just waits for you there

So cute

He quirks an eyebrow at you when you come out of the closet in a silk robe

He asks you what this gift is exactly

He still hasn’t caught on

Until it dawns on him

He blushes as his eyes rake over your form

You walk to him, hand threading through his hair

He looks up at you, so beautiful and so amazing

You bend down and kiss him before telling him to sit back and enjoy

You discard the robe and he swallows as it falls off your frame to reveal your lingerie

He just kind of sits still as you dance

Until you throw one leg up on the bed over him, rolling your body so sensually it has his mind reeling

He grips your thigh firmly as he looks up at you, eyes now dark

A moment later he leans forward and begins to leave kisses on your thigh while his hand runs along your skin

You grip his hair and shudder at the feel of his lips

You dance on him some more before you push him backwards into the mattress

He falls onto his back, hands at your waist as you crawl on top of him

You grind down into his hard erection and you both groan out in bliss

The friction is euphoria

“You’re the best, did you know that?” he asks you after you’re impaled on his cock

You giggle and lean down to kiss him as you roll your hips

Wooyoung

Kind of like Yunho, he sort of plays it off as a joke

But with a twist

He says that you can give him a lap dance if you let him give you one

So that way you can see who’s better at being sexy

Of course he has to come through with the shenanigans

But you’re down for the competition and hey

It’s still going to be fun for you both ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

You’re both in your apartment

Neither of you are really dressed sexy at all

Unless you consider sweats sexy

But you give him the dance first, sitting him down on the couch and putting on a sensual song

You just freestyle it, winging your way through the motions

You make sure to keep your eyes on his as you dance

He’s unwavering until you began to strip down to your underwear

You crawl into his lap, hands tugging at his hair and pulling his head back

You kiss up and down his jaw and neck as you roll your hips to the tempo of the song

You whisper filth into his ear and smirk at the way he squirms under you

You sit up straight and continue with some slow movements over him, hand sliding down to grope his clothed hard on

He moans just as his eyes lock with yours and fuck

You feel your panties grow damp

He must’ve noticed a change in you because he glides the pad of his finger over your panties, grinning at the wetness

He dips his finger past the fabric to plunge into your hole

You moan, body freezing from the sudden pleasure

He gloats

“That’s cheating,” you say in a pout

He laughs as he begins to finger you, now adding another finger

“Don’t worry, feel free to get me back when it’s my turn to dance”

He winks at you

Jongho

You’ve been taking this dance class recently

And normally you’d show your boyfriend all the choreo you learn when you get home

But lately you’ve refrained from showing him any of the new moves

He doesn’t really think much of it

Until you tell him how complex this new choreo is

And how sensual it is

Naturally he perks up at the word sensual

You decide to keep the new dance a secret until you’ve fully mastered it

You get yourself all dolled up one night and decide that’s the best time to show him

You sit him down in a chair and he asks you if this is the “sensual” dance you had mentioned before

You say yes and tell him you wanted to master it before showing him

He sits back in the chair as he watches you turn on the music from your phone

He’s pleasantly surprised as soon as you start dancing

The choreo is hot and he can’t help but blush a little at the sight of you moving so beautifully

He gets so into it, leaning forward to watch you closely

He gasses you up and cheers you on, telling you how amazing you are

Finally you began to dance on him, and he just laughs as he grabs your hips

He adores you and you’re so beautiful it has him straining in his pants

He sings along to the song so

He raises his hips to meet yours and smirks at the noise you make

He lets you finish your routine before he lifts you in his arms and carries you to the bedroom

He lays you on the bed and as he kisses down your stomach, he praises you endlessly

“You did so good, baby. You were wonderful. My gorgeous, talented, and sexy little girl. Now let me reward you.”

He ravishes you all night, high off of you

[sukirichi]

— hands to myself (nanami kento x reader)

pov: you miss nanami too much that you can’t keep your hands to yourself

content/warnings: nsfw, voyeurism, masturbation, spanking, multiple orgasms, daddy kink, sugar daddy nanami, unedited fic

inspo: hands to myself by selena gomez

note: i can’t get sugar daddy nanami out of my head my brain goes brr brr PLEASE SEND ME THIRSTY ASKS ABOUT NANAMI 

@unabashednightmarepizza​ and @noritoshiikamo​ asdgjkl here we goooo i guess 

masterlist !

the penthouse felt so lonely without nanami.

he’s been working so hard, staying overtime and coming home just as you’re already buried in the sheets. nanami would slither in as quietly as he could, not wanting to disturb the peaceful slumber of his baby girl, but what he doesn’t know is that you don’t mind waking up, just to see and feel him before he leaves for work again the next morning.

right before the sun rises, nanami’s already left. in your dazed state, you’re sure you felt him kissing your forehead before the doors close with a soft click, leaving you alone all over again.

you know he doesn’t mean it, you know he doesn’t want to leave you – but nanami is a hero and he has a duty to the people of this world to exorcise curses to bring a safer environment for everyone. truly, you admire him for this, sometimes a little too much that you might even fall in love with the rigid and stoic man who doesn’t smile.

still, you can’t help but to miss him.

ever since you became his baby girl, life has been easy. even though nanami wasn’t around all the time, he made it up by leaving his credit card to you, assuring you that you were free to get what you wanted. out of boredom, you’d go to the upstate and use his car to drive around the hills, arms heavy with shopping bags.

you’re not selfish, of course, you always make sure to bring him a little gift too. whether it came in the form of buying a new necktie for him – which he always wore to work proudly – or donning your body in lacy, white lingerie that has nanami losing control and worshipping your body until you’re screaming his name with a dried throat, you never forget to leave a little something for him.

sometimes you wish you could tell him you don’t really want the money. you’re thankful he’s more than generous to help you pay for college fees in return of you being his sweet baby girl, but you don’t need the Gucci or prada if he’s not going to be around.

you wanted nanami more than anything else, missed him more than anyone else.

your room feels so empty without him. his scent still lingers in your sheets because he’d rather sleep with you than stay in his own room, only using said room for showering and getting ready for work.

a lightbulb shines above your head. throwing your iphone to the side, you run to his room and open the cabinets one by one. nanami was as organized with his surroundings as he was with himself. his closet is an impressive collection of dark blue button-ups, nude slacks, and his iconic nude suit jacket. they’re all of the same brand and size, and you laugh because only nanami would buy the same thing over and over again.

at the end though, your gaze lands on a rare collection of white button ups, neckties neatly rolled and tucked at the glossy marbled drawers in front of the closet. already, you feel your heartbeat picking up as your hands touched the soft cotton material, nose slowly rubbing and burying into his shirt.

it even smells like him.

your movements are swift. previous shirt discarded on the floor, your arms loop inside the sleeves, tying up just until the undersides of your breasts before you pick out your favourite tie for him, a satin black one that always made him look delectable for dinner parties.

nanami rarely wore those, but when he did, he knew you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands to yourself. the last time he brought you with him for a birthday ball of his friend, nanami wore this exact black tie paired with the traditional fitted, three piece suit. you remember how needy you were for him that night, little fists clenched at his dress shirt and nanami lowly scolding you to behave.

but you were so desperate to touch him – how could you not when he was so damn irresistible – that he felt bad for his baby girl. long story short, you and nanami left early for the party, with your pussy bouncing up and down his thick pole while nanami glared at the limousine driver to keep his eyes on the road, large, calloused hands possessively gripping the flesh of your ass.

you missed him so much you might go crazy.

grabbing the nearest bottle of his perfume, you spritz it into the air, leaning forwards so that you’d get his scent all over you. it somehow felt as if you were coating yourself in his name, claiming and branding yourself as his even without him in the vicinity.

that’s how much you wanted him, and you don’t stop rubbing his perfume along the pads of your wrist until you can’t smell yourself anymore. your legs are accentuated by the black suede pumps you strutted around the penthouse with, lips tainted red from the wine he kept in his precious little cellar – which was also a spot in the house you both fucked at during that time nanami wanted to taste you on his lips.

he pushed you next to the glass borders then, spreading your legs open until you’re absolutely bare of him. the memory of nanami burying his warm tongue in you has you rubbing your thighs together, your black lace panties already damp with arousal.

you won’t touch yourself, though. that’s one of the rules nanami placed the moment he agreed to be your sugar daddy: you couldn’t, under any circumstance, touch yourself without his permission.

sighing, you trudged back to his bedroom again and sat your ass on his silver desk, legs swinging below you as you stared out into the night city.

nanami likes his room dark, that even though he’s got a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, he almost never opens it. only the bright light from the opened closet is what illuminates your silhouette as you watch the skyscrapers twinkle from afar, the people bustling on the streets looking like ants from this height. it was perfect – the night looked so beautiful and the ambience so romantic with soft, classical music playing from the AI speakers – but nanami isn’t here.

he wouldn’t come home early either. you could already tell how stressed he’d be because gojo satoru always makes him work overtime.

for now, you just had to enjoy your own presence, replacing nanami’s heat and love with his perfume and clothes. his shirt is absolutely baggy on you, the ends of it falling on top of your thighs. your breasts nearly swells out from the tight cups of your bra and the fat of your thighs clumped underneath the straps of your stockings.

you’ve sighed for what seems like the hundredth time that day. it sounds selfish, but you wished that nanami would come home early and pay attention to you. surely, gojo satoru would be more than fine handling the curses himself for just today.

unable to help it, your head fell back on the transparent glass windows of his room, fingers snaking under his shirt. instinctively, your legs opened, a breathy sigh falling from your glossy red lips as you slipped a finger in. it’s not as big or as thick as nanami’s, and your hands are way too soft compared to the scraping sensation his calloused fingers gave whenever he fingered your pretty little pussy.

it’s nothing compared to what nanami can make you feel, but it should be enough, for now.

your head falls back as your heel lands on his desk, nearly grazing the precious smooth top of his table. you have a feeling nanami is going to punish you once he sees the slight scrapes of your stiletto against it, but who cares? at this point, you’re willing to pull off the stupidest things just to get his attention, just to get him to fuck you.

“nanami,” you moan around the second finger, your other hand spreading your legs open. you’re so horny that you don’t bother taking your panties off anymore, the material flushed with the slick of your own arousal that it’s heavily damp. “daddy, i miss you,” eyes shut tight, you fondle with the sensitive nub of your clit, pumping yourself slowly as you imagine that it’s nanami making you feel good this time.

you know you’re being a bad girl, that you’re being an absolute brat. not only did you break the rule that you’re not allowed to touch yourself exactly after you convinced yourself you wouldn’t, but you’re leaking right at his desk, heels grazing into the smooth material.

if nanami were to see, he wouldn’t forgive you.

he would break you.

if it was a punishment, then why do you enjoy the idea of it? why are you so enticed, so excited, so eager to have your daddy use you like a fucktoy? your lashes flutter against your cheeks, hips bucking into your cupped palm as your belly begins to tighten. “b-break me, daddy, please, nanami-”

“what do you think you’re doing?”

you freeze.

tentatively, you crack an eye open, swallowing audibly when nanami stands at the edge of his door, his glasses already removed. now that his beautiful blue eyes aren’t obscured by anything, you’re met with the intense heat of his gaze, nearly burning like wild fire. you glance down at your fingers buried in your pussy and gulp, pulling them out with a loud shlick. you were so wet at just the thought of him, so stupid to even want to be punished, but now your spine freezes when nanami struts to your way.

his hand tilts your chin up, forcing you to look at him. “i asked you a question,” his low, baritone voice has you clenching around nothing, throat tight out of nervousness. “i said, what do you think you’re doing?”

“i-i’m sorry, daddy,” you duck your head down, lips red and trembling. “i just missed you so much and i got so horny-”

“so you thought it was okay to touch yourself? even after i’ve made it clear i don’t want you doing that?”

“i’m so sorry-”

nanami doesn’t give you a chance to speak before his lips crash into yours, his tongue effortlessly slipping inside to swipe over your teeth. you gasp in his mouth when his large hands cup your ass and haul your weight off the desk, legs wrapped around his waist. nanami slaps it, making the flesh bounce and gripping it tightly with a firm squeeze. you’re pretty sure you’d turn completely red and marked by the end of this, but you don’t care, fuck, you don’t fucking care – nanami’s here and that’s all you care about.

you kiss him back just as eagerly, arms around his neck as he carries you like you weigh nothing. nanami groans when your teeth nibble on his lips, eager and needy hands unbuttoning his shirt. his hard pecs and abs greet you like a present you couldn’t wait to unwrap, and you’re both breathing hard by the time you pull away.

“are those my clothes?” he snaps the strap of your bra under his shirt, eyes narrowed over the way you look terrifyingly small in his shirt. you nod, breasts rising up and down, tempting him to reach over and squeeze it. your back arches at his touch, his ministrations missed and needed. no, you craved it. he’s been gone too long you’re not sure you could take it anymore, and you hiss when nanami buries his sharp nose in the juncture of your neck, the front of his pants damp and coated with your exposed wet cunt. “and you’re wearing my perfume too.”

“y-yes.”

“tell me, baby,” nanami sets you down on your feet. your legs are a little wobbly from the heels and with desire burning in your stomach. he steadies you by placing a hand under your armpit, and you lean forward to kiss him one more time. nanami tsks and shoves you backwards, cheek sliding across the glass. “why did you go to my room without my permission? why did you touch yourself when i told you not to? do you want to be punished?”

your cheek stings from the impact of your skin hitting the glass, but your mind is too clouded with lust you can’t really focus on his words. wiggling your ass to press against his erection, you beg for him, hands looking for the comfort of his skin.

nanami slaps your ass and hand away to shut you up, and you fall forwards with a muffled cry. “answer me when i ask you a question, baby girl. i’m not always going to be this nice.”

“daddy, i-i just missed you so much, i couldn’t help it.”

“you missed me?” you hear his belt unbuckling behind you, your ass perking up in excitement. fuck, you just wanted him to pound into you already. but nanami’s always too patient, always controlled in everything he does, that you’re laying there shaking with your pussy dripping for him. finally, fucking finally, you feel his cock enter you inch by delicious inch, and you moan at the same time nanami groans at burying himself deep within you. “my stupid silly baby can never keep her hands to herself, huh?”

“no, daddy, i want you too much, i just miss you so bad.”

“you do?” he teases, rolling his hips languidly. his pace is so slow and teasing that you’re whining for him to go faster, but nanami only shakes his head. before you could fathom the way nanami’s eyes darken, he leans forward, hitting deeper than he did before. your moans are so breathy that you start fogging up the glass, and nanami rubs your swollen clit before using his hands to squish your cheeks. he forces you to follow his gaze, voice low and almost growling. “if you miss daddy so much, then show it to them. show them how good i’m making you feel. come on, baby girl, i know you can do it. you’ll do it for me won’t you?”

realization dawns you the moment nanami pushes your body further in the glass, your breasts squished and flattened against the cool surface. “d-daddy,” you gasp, tightening around him once you see that the overtime workers from the office parallel to his penthouse are now witnessing the way nanami rams his cock into you like a wild animal. “they’re, ah, watching.”

“i know, baby, i know,” nanami loosens his necktie around your neck, snatching it and tying it around your wrists instead. “let these people know you’re mine – that you’re my baby girl and no one else’s okay?”

hands bound behind your back and nanami’s thick cock thrusting roughly into you, you’re unable to move or even think straight. you just nod mindlessly as nanami keeps fucking into you, hands gently pressing down your throat. his dick keeps rubbing against your most sensitive spots and you’re shaking underneath him, your arousal heightened when you saw several of the office workers have already pulled out their cocks and stroked it at the sight of you dripping onto nanami’s black marble floors.

nanami doesn’t stop praising on how much you’re a good girl for him. now that his cock is buried within you, he’s already forgotten that you’ve broken his precious rule.

you don’t complain, though. how could you when he has you screaming his name, your makeup and sweat leaving a figure the shape of body plastered on his glass walls? you’re sure his housekeeper is going to be so angry at the both of you for leaving cum stains everywhere, but you and nanami have forgotten all about it.

it seems he misses you just as much because nanami doesn’t stop fucking you until you’re full of his cum, breasts swollen and aching from being pressed into the wall for so long.

an hour passed – maybe two – you’ve lost count from the amount of times nanami has made you cum. your legs are giving out beneath you and your latest lingerie set is broken, comforted only by the promise that he’s going to get you good one. you’re absolutely lost in the pleasure of nanami driving his cock impossible deep into you all the way until morning, body spent and shaking from all the orgasms.

fucked out and whining, nanami litters kisses all over your body to soothe you a little bit, but he doesn’t stop. and the truth is, you don’t want him to, either. legs wrapped around his waist and heels digging into his ass, nanami finally tangles his hands into yours as he pistons his cock in and out of your squelching pussy.

he’s giving you his all, and you can’t keep your hands to yourself no matter how hard you’re trying to, not when nanami is prowling into you as you’re spread underneath him before he goes gentle, almost as if making love to you.

well, you could, but why would you want to?

[celestial-kit]

When He Sees Me

Pairing: Kirishima x f!reader

Warning: NSFW, Minors DNI, Oral (Male and Female Receiving), Penetration, Just general sex I guess

As a waitress in a diner, it wasn’t uncommon to have regular patrons. You often saw a group of nurses come in for mimosas and pancakes after finishing a night shift, a pair of retired old men who set up a small, mobile tv to watch old movies while slowly eating their lunch, and a gaggle of grumpy middle aged women who always tip you with spare change and life advice. One regular that you always look forward to seeing is Pro-Hero Red Riot. He started coming by the diner a few months ago, looking for a quick meal after finishing a long patrol and, even though you could tell he was tired, he greeted you with a big, toothy grin and introduced himself as Kirishima.

Since that first night, he started regularly eating dinner at the diner every Monday, always sitting at the same table in the back of the restaurant and always looking so happy to see you. He took the time to ask how you were doing, he was patient and kind when you were having a particularly busy shift, and he always tipped very well. He was, undoubtedly, your favorite customer.

This Monday, you were surprised to see that Kirishima wasn’t alone when he walked into the diner. Standing next to him was Pro-Hero Dynamight, wearing his signature scowl as he looked at you with annoyance. You had to admit, you were a little frightened to see him in person. He was rather intimidating and it was a stark contrast to Kirishima’s disarming nature. 

Kirishima saw you freeze as his best friend gave you a death glare. He rubbed the back of his neck as he leaned down and gave you a sympathetic smile, “Don’t mind him, he gets hangry. Can we have my normal table?” 

“Sure!” You squeak nervously. You grab two menus for the large men and quickly walk them back to their table. After they’ve taken their seats, you whip out your notepad and pen. “Can I start you with something to drink?” 

Kirishima gives you a smile as he looks up into your eyes. “I’ll just have water. How’s your night been?” 

You can feel your cheeks warming up at his attention. He was always so genuine when he spoke to you, with his head resting on his fist and looking at you like you’re the only person in the room. You meet his eye contact and tuck some hair behind your ear as you reply. “It’s been good. A little slow, but that just means I have more time to read between tables.”

His eyebrows rise at that. “Oh? What are you reading?” You open your mouth to respond, but you’re interrupted by a cough next to you. You turn your head and see Dynamight with his arms crossed and his death glare now focused on Kirishima. You quickly realize that you never took his drink order. 

“I’m so sorry! What can I get you to drink?” You respond hastily. Without looking at you, he grumbled a low “Water” and you left to get their drinks. As you came back, you could see them both leaning over the table and whispering about something.

“Just tell her, idiot,” Dynamight whispered loudly to Kirishima as you set their water on the table. 

“Tell me what?” You ask, innocently looking at Kirishima. His face went almost as red as his hair as he waved his hands in front of him. 

“Nothing! Don’t worry about it,” he laughed as he looked pointedly at his blonde friend. Dynamite groaned at this, clearly annoyed with this interaction.

“If you don’t tell her, I will. I’m sick of you talking about it all the time,” he crossed his arms again and looked at Kirishima with an eyebrow raised, daring him to take on his challenge. Kirishima looked horrified for a split second before he looked at you and ultimately looked away, a soft blush painting his cheeks as he started to speak.

“I have a little crush on you,” he admits, making Dynamight snort. Kirishima frowned at his friend before he continued, “Ok, it’s not little. I think you’re beautiful and you’re all I can think about. Can I take you out sometime?” He finally looked up at you, hopeful and nervous after his confession. You stared at him with your mouth agape as your face started burning up. You were shocked that he felt this way, but you weren’t displeased. You always thought that Kirishima was handsome and you loved the brief amount of time you got to spend with him each Monday. 

As you tried to wrap your mind around the situation, you could see Kirishima’s face fall. You realize that it had been a minute and you still hadn’t responded to his question. “Yes! Of course, I’d love to! Are you free Friday?” 

Kirishima’s face brightens at this, excitedly saying, “Really? Yeah, let’s do Friday!” He stands up with a big grin on his face, raising his hand to high-five his friend, and starts to walk out of the diner, with Dynamight following closely behind. You gawk at them as they push the door open to walk out onto the sidewalk. 

“Wait! Aren’t you forgetting something?” You giggle as the redhead turns around, looking as if he had an epiphany and starts walking back to where you're rooted at his table.

“Oh, yeah,” he laughs sheepishly as he pulls out a large bill from his wallet and places it on the table, presumably to pay for the water that neither of them drank. 

You blink before you push the bill back into his hand and say, “No, don’t you need my phone number?” 

Kirishima blinks back at you and nods, pulling his phone from his pocket and handing it to you as a fresh blush paints his cheeks. You giggle again as you input your number, acutely aware of Kirishima staring over your shoulder, his large frame invading your space. You hand his phone back to him with a dizzy smile, his hand brushing yours as he takes it from you. 

Kirishima meets your eyes and flashes you another smile, “I’ll text you!” And then he was out the door, meeting up with his scowling friend and walking away from the diner.

_

Kirishima did, in fact, text you. During the days leading up to your date, you spent every spare moment you could texting each other, updating each other throughout the day of what you were doing and texting late into the night, getting to know each other. You also swapped photos back and forth, nothing raunchy, just little snapshots of your day. You would send photos of you curled up with your cat, cooking dinner, drinking wine. He would send photos of himself at the gym, walking with Dynamight, and showing himself looking bored as he filled out paperwork. 

One picture in particular had your mouth going dry and your stomach doing flips. Around midday on Wednesday he sent you a picture of him sitting on top of a criminal, pinning him to the ground with one hand on the back of his head, the selfie taken at an angle above Kirishima’s head and showed off the sweat stuck to his brow as he grinned proudly at the camera. You zoomed in on the picture, admiring his pectoral muscles and chiseled abs, imagining how it might feel to have him pin you down like that. You texted back a simple “Be careful!” before rushing to the restroom in the diner to splash cold water on your face. 

When Friday came, you were eager to see Kirishima. It had been a while since you had been on a date, so you took your time getting ready, sipping on a chilled glass of wine to calm your nerves. The restaurant you agreed to meet at was close to your apartment, so you knew you could walk there and didn’t need to worry about driving. When you arrived, you could see Kirishima already at a table, wearing a simple white button down tucked into black slacks. A few buttons were undone at the top of his shirt, showing off his pecs and some of the black hair that littered his chest.

When he saw you walking up, he broke out in a massive grin, standing up and wrapping you in a warm hug, landing a quick kiss on your cheek. He pulled away, still grinning, to pull out your chair for you to sit down. Your cheeks were burning red from the affection as you sat down and said, “Thank you.”

Kirishima sat across from you and took the time to look you up and down as you started perusing the menu. His gaze swept across the gentle features of your face, admiring the curve of your lips which was accentuated with your lipgloss, and continued to move his gaze down past your exposed neck to land on your cleavage. Your dress loosely fits your curves, and he can’t help but stare. 

The rest of your evening seemed like a blur, you and Kirishima falling into a rhythm of talking, laughing, and drinking. Together you share a bottle of wine, various appetizers, and, at one point, shots of tequila. You were feeling warm and giggly from the booze and the company, it felt nice. Under the table, Kirishima had kicked out his long legs and intertwined them with yours, playing footsie as he looked at you dreamily. The waiter eventually interrupts you to ask if you would like dessert. You and Kirishima share a look before he declines the waiter's offer. As Kirishima pays the bill, you reach across the table to graze your fingers over his knuckles, gently asking, “Want to have dessert at my place?” 

Kirishima’s hungry, red eyes meet yours at your suggestion and he simply nods before throwing some money on the bill and grabbing your hand to pull you out of the restaurant. You lead the way down the street, walking swiftly with Kirishima’s hand on your back, keeping you close. When you get into your apartment elevator, Kirishima doesn’t hesitate to grab your face and crash his lips to yours. It feels as if the events of the week have been leading up to this moment, and the release of tension between the two of you has you moaning into his lips. 

The elevator ride is short, and you’re pulling away from him before you really want to to lead you both to your apartment door. You fumble with your keys as Kirishima holds onto your hips, pressing his chest to your back and laying soft, wet kisses to your neck. When your door finally swings open, Kirishima is quick to turn you around, wrapping his arms around your waist and holding you as close as he can while he bullies his tongue into your mouth. He blindly kicks your door shut and starts walking you backwards into your apartment, practically lifting you off the ground to keep your mouth glued to his. When he pulls back for air, he can’t help but groan when he sees your disheveled state. You hair is a mess from his hands wandering in it in the elevator, you dress is pulled down dangerously low, exposing more of your cleavage with one strap falling off your shoulder, and your bruised lips are agape as you look at him with glassy eyes.

“You know, I think I changed my mind. I do want dessert,” he states simply before lifting you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and walking through your apartment, searching for your bedroom. You take this opportunity to attack his neck, doing your best to leave your mark on him while your hands fist in his hair. 

Before you can do too much damage, you are dropped unceremoniously on your bed, startling your cat who was sleeping peacefully on your pillow. “Sorry buddy,” Kirishima mumbles without looking at the animal, too focused on running his hot hands up your thighs and under your dress. He wraps his strong fingers around the edges of your underwear, pushing his thumb into the fabric at your crotch and feeling how you’re already soaking through your underwear and wetting his thumb. He brings his hand back to examine the glistening digit briefly before sticking it in his mouth and sucking your essence off it, his eyes meeting yours as you gasp his name. 

He frowns at the use of his surname. “Call me Eijiro,” he says gruffly.

His tone and intense stare warm you up, turning your cheeks red and filling your stomach with butterflies. “Eijiro,” you moan, as he goes back to rubbing you through your underwear. 

“Good girl,” he smirks at you. Then you hear a ripping noise and you realize that your underwear is now just a limp piece of fabric being tossed behind Kirishima’s shoulder.

“Eijiro!” You exclaim, shocked that your favorite pair of panties are completely destroyed.  Kirishima just laughs at you.

“Don’t worry, precious. I’ll buy you a new pair.” Then he was leaning in and swiping his tongue across your wet heat, making you gasp at the contact. He uses his big hands to push your dress up past your hips and bury his tongue inside your pussy, thrusting in and out and drinking your essence as you moan his name and grab fistfuls of his hair. 

His hot tongue works its way up to your clit, circling it as he moans against you, before wrapping his lips around it and sucking. He brings one hand down from your hips and slowly works a finger inside you while you hiss at the stretch. His hands are so big, like everything else about him, and if you weren’t so wet then the intrusion might have hurt. He starts working this finger inside you, thrusting in and out at a steady pace and curling to hit that spongy spot inside you each time. His attention on your clit persists, making you whimper, and soon you can hear the loud squelching noises of his finger moving inside you while you sucks and licks at your clit. 

When he pushes a second finger in, you let out a loud moan, throwing your head back and doing your best to buck your hips up to meet his thrusts. He groans against you and uses his one hand on your hip to halt your movements, holding you in place while he starts pistoning his fingers into you. You feel tears beading at your eyes as you start heading towards a familiar cliff.

“Oh god, Eijiro!” you gasp as you near your peak.

Kirishima pulls back briefly, “Cum for me, honey. You can do it. Cum on my fingers.” His fingers don’t relent and his mouth goes back to abusing your clit as you let out a pitiful sob, gushing around his fingers and clamping down on him. He works you through your orgasm, your quiet cries spurring him on as he continues to slowly push his fingers into you. 

Eventually, he pulls away, kissing up your body and dragging your dress with him until it is over your head and on the floor. He leans down to place a kiss on your lips while he grabs your breasts and flicks your hardening nipples with his thumbs. You moan when you taste yourself on his tongue and then your pushing at his shoulders so that he’s hovering over you. Before he can say anything, you grab at the edges of his shirt and pull to try to pop the buttons off his shirt. It doesn’t work, so you try again, but still fail. 

You pout at his indestructible shirt and he laughs at you again. Then, he sits up and grabs the edges where you had and rips the buttons open himself. You gasp as he shucks the ruined material from his shoulders with a cocky smirk and you reach up to run your hands over his newly exposed chest, admiring the way black hair is scattered across his chest and leads down his abs to below his belt. Your mouth starts to water at the idea of what his pants might be hiding, so you sit up with him to start laying kissing on chest and stomach while your hands work his belt open. 

When he’s finally free from his confines, you can’t help but gasp at his size, your eyes widening as you take him in. 

He’s thick and long, the weight of him causing his length to fall despite him being fully hard. The black hair that you admired on his torso is neatly trimmed around the base of his cock, which sits directly atop his full, round balls. You clench your thighs together at the idea of him filling you up. Part of you doesn’t think he’ll fit, but another, more excited, part of you is eager to try.

You tentatively wrap a hand around the base of his cock, looking up at him through your tear stained lashes for approval. His hand reaches down to fist your hair, nodding and pulling your face closer to him. You bring your other hand up to wrap around him as well and you poke your tongue out to give him kitten licks around his head. He groans and tightens his hand in your hair, thrusting his hips a little, wiping his head and smearing precum along your cheek. You sit up on your knees for better leverage and bend down to wrap your lips around his head, feeling his fist tighten again as he starts dragging your mouth along his cock. 

Kirishima knows he’s big, he doesn’t want to hurt you, so he’s gentle as he fucks your face. When he starts hitting the back of your throat and tears start spilling down your cheeks, his other hand comes up and he uses his thumbs to wipe them from your face and cradle your cheek, feeling the way his length fills your cheeks. 

His moans are loud, he wants you to know how good you’re making him feel. He tells you things like You’re doing so good, baby and You’re taking my cock so well. When his moans get louder, you think he’s going to cum, so you twist one hand at the base of him and use your other hand to hold and squeeze his balls. Right when you expect him to finish down your throat, he’s using your hair to pull you back, looking down at your tear stained face while his chest heaves up and down from the effort of holding off his orgasm.

“Don’t want to cum yet. I wanna fuck you,” he says, pushing your shoulders until your back hits the bed. You nod your head like a woman possessed while he kicks his pants off and pulls a condom out of his pocket. You want to tell him not to worry about it, you’re on birth control, but you understand that as a Pro-Hero he may want to take certain precautions. Next time you think to yourself as he rolls the latex down his length and lines himself up with your leaking hole. 

When he pushes in, you gasp at the burn of it, and new tears start rolling down your cheeks as he continues to push his monster length inside you. Kirishima knows it probably hurts, but he ignores your weak cries of Wait, you’re too big because he knows that the best way for the pain to stop is to just push through it. When he’s fully seated inside you, he just sits there, leaning down to kiss the tears from your face as you sob weakly. You want him to fuck you, but the stretch of him is making you clamp down so hard that he’s unable to move from his spot inside you.

“Relax, baby. You gotta stop clenching,” Kirishima says through gritted teeth. He looks as if he’s in pain, too.

“I can’t,” you say. “You’re too big, Eiji. I can’t do it.” You let out another broken sob, wishing your body would listen to what you wanted. Kirishima didn’t say anything, he just leaned down to kiss you, shoving his tongue in your mouth again and making out with you to distract you from the pressure of his length inside you. His lips moving against yours have you warming up again, and you can feel yourself flutter around his length, your wetness giving him enough lubricant to slowly pull out and push back in at a shallow pace. 

When you start moaning at this action, Kirishima takes this as a cue that you’re feeling good, you want more. He leans back from kissing you and grabs the backs of your thighs, pushing your legs up and close to your chest, and starts fucking you faster and harder. You cry out at the new angle, watching him as he watches his cock disappear inside of you, his mouth hanging open as he releases long, loud moans. When he looks at your face, he smirks.

“Does that feel good, sweetheart?” He asks, continuing his brutal pace. You nod your head, holding his eye contact and reaching up to play with your breasts, tugging on your nipples and moaning out his name. He grunts at your display, pushing himself harder into you and reaching down to swipe fast circles around your clit. 

You can feel that coil tightening again in your stomach, nearing your second orgasm of the night as Kirishima’s hips increase in speed. You start to feel delirious from the pleasure, drooling and babbling about how good he feels, how he’s so big, how you’re so close to cumming again.

“Yeah, baby? You want to cum again?” Kirishima asks lowly, trying to contain himself as you writhe beneath him.

“Yes, yes! Please Eijiro, I want to cum!” Your head is thrown back and you know you won’t last as the head of his cock hits your g-spot over and over and over.

“Cum for me, angel. Cum on my cock, I want to feel you.” Kirishima encourages you, and you listen to him. You arch your back and let out a wail you didn’t know you were capable of as you cum all over his cock, clamping down on him again and holding him in place as he groans at your tight walls. As you’re coming down from your high, Kirishima pushes your legs closer to your chest and fucks you faster and harder than he had all night, chasing his own high. You gasp and watch him as he grunts and groans and moans your name unashamedly, drowning in pleasure. 

You moan at the feeling of him dragging inside your wet walls, and you tell him how bad you want him to cum. You tell him you wish he could cum inside you, you want him to fill you up until your dripping cum. It’s too much for Kirishima as he hastily pulls out with a loud groan, ripping the condom off his fat cock and fisting himself until he’s cumming all over your breasts and stomach. 

You gaze up at the man above you, his head thrown back as he tries to catch his breath, his length softening in his hand, and you think that he’s beautiful. He looks down at you, sees you covered in his seed, and gives you a shy smile. “Sorry, I got carried away.”

You giggle a little, “It’s ok, I like it.” You smile up at him and rub your hand through his cum on your stomach. He groans again and then leans down to give you a long, wet kiss before leaving the bed to look for a towel. After cleaning up, it doesn’t take long before you’re climbing under the covers, cuddling against Kirishima’s chest as his soft snores lull you to sleep. 

[dragonmuse]

leda house question! how do the characters dress when not in drag? this question brought to you by my realization that, except when specifically mentioned (like john's green caftan) I always imagine john, frenchie, and pete in less grubby versions of their show costumes.

oooh fun! I do have some ideas about this. Including the kings.

Stede - He's usually one level of formal up from everyone else. Even at his most casual, usually it's a polo, khakis and loafers. Day to day wear is usually embroidered shirts in many varieties, slacks, nice shoes and definitely accessories. Man loves a pastel. He always wore a pinky ring and its now joined with his wedding ring. Obnoxious watch always.

Eddy- Her outfits get described the most often, but it's always comfortable with tight inner layers (bike shorts, sports bras etc) and then loose flowy over layers (robes, cardigans, shawls, silky jumpsuits). Usually in jewel tones. And of course, moto jackets in a rainbow of colors. Boots usually, but generally heeled. If they're going to be tall, they're going to be fuck-you-tall.

Jim- Always in the hat, usually also in the jacket or leather vest. Loose shirts, jeans or sweatpants depending on how relaxed they are in the environment. Neutral palette.

Oluwande- His palette is neutrals with pops of bright colors (opposite of Teal, basically). He has a tan romper with a pattern of butterflies on it that he wears throughout the warm months, that's a favorite. Jim likes it a lot too. He pays attention to trends, mostly so he can ignore them flagrantly.

Pete- Loves old clothes, doesn't throw away t-shirts or jeans until they're on death's door. Likes a loud pattern, owns many many Hawaiian shirts. Wears his Dad's old baseball cap out a lot of the time to keep his scalp from burning. Tennis shoes, in good condition, because you have to be kind to your feet.

Frenchie- Loves a gender ambiguous moment, gravitates towards light colors, and lighter fabrics like linen. Has never said no to a crocheted top. Lots of fringe and movement. In the winter, just layers on shawls and jackets, does not change the under layers. Wears heeled boots, but usually brown suede ones.

John- At home, is all about that loungewear and has more than several caftans. Those stay at home though. Out and about these days, he likes a t-shirt with a short-sleeved button down in the same color story over it to match. He has a pair of black and white lace up wingtips that are his current favorite shoes.

Roach- All clothes are acceptable, sometimes all at once. He wears a lot of skirts and dresses, sometimes over pants, sometimes not. He franken-creates shirts out of several ancient ones. His accessories are rubber bracelets, one of Frenchie's discarded lace chokers always, and a silver ring Audra gave him that he wears on his right middle finger. He wears a range of shoes, but he can run in all of them and that's all that matters.

Read- Basically lives in a series of hoodies, breathable shorts or yoga pants, weather depending. No accessories, except for her cartilage piercing which is a simple silver bar.

[the-iceni-bitch]

A Christmas Crush

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Fem-Reader

Words: 6693 (yikes)

Summary: Bucky has been infatuated with you for months. Will the Christmas Spirit finally help him make his move?

Warnings: Explicit language, explicit sexual content (just all of it), fluff(I don’t know y’all, I have trouble qualifying this one), slightly dom partner, overprotective partner, SMUT (like over 3700 words of it y’all!), 18+

A/N: Sooo, this was supposed to be like 2500 words guys but I got a bit carried away. Made it in right under the wire for day 3 of my birthday week. This is also an entry for the Merry Hoemas challenge that is being hosted by @amythedvdhoarder​ @chrissquares​ @drabblewithfrannybarnes​ @pumpkin-and-pine​ and @starlightcrystalline​. I chose the dialogue prompt “I’m not going to fall in love with you. I promise.” (from The Holiday). Please enjoy!!

“You better be wearing something nice, Barnes! No cargo pants!” you yelled out to the living area as you finished applying your makeup in the bathroom.

“Yes, boss!” He yelled back at you as he adjusted himself in the dress pants he borrowed from Sam. They weren’t uncomfortable, just tighter than he was used to.

“Dude, leave your crotch alone!” Wilson chuckled at him.

Bucky scowled at him and did his best to focus on anything else. “I can’t believe I let the two of you talk me into this.”

“You know how the boss-lady is, once she gets an idea in her head, there’s no stopping her.” Sam gave him a grin as he lounged on the sofa, sipping a glass of scotch. “Would you relax? We’re going to a club, you literally fought of a group of five assassins on your own last week. This is nothing!”

“I’m used to fighting, I haven’t been dancing since….”

“Oh god, have you not gone out since World War II!” Sam threw back his head and gave a laugh from deep in his chest. “Hoo, boy this should be entertaining!”

The three of you had been on a surveillance assignment for the past three months, and a replacement team had finally arrived to take over for you. Your flight back to the states wasn’t until tomorrow, and you had insisted that all of you find something to do to get over the stir craziness that had taken over. When you found a flyer for a hip hop Christmas party at one of the fancier downtown clubs, you ran back to the suite and insisted that you all head out. Sam was of course down immediately, but it took you a while to convince Bucky it would be a good time.

It was hard for him to not feel like the third wheel sometimes with the two of you. You and Sam loved your hip hop, and Bucky still remembered the first time he walked into one of your sparring sessions while Wu Tang was playing and had to immediately turn around and leave, ears turning red as you and Sam shouted mirth-filled apologies after him. He was slowly warming up to the aggressive music style, but still occasionally pined for the days of the Andrews Sisters and Bing Crosby.

He squirmed in the dress pants again; when did they start making suits so tight? He rolled the sleeves of his deep green shirt up over his forearms, trying to get more comfortable as the lights glinted off his metal hand, when you finally came out of the bathroom.

“You two boys ready to go?”

Fuck me, he thought.

You were wearing a bright red dress that was covered in sequins. It was in a wrap style that was wide open across your chest, exposing the valley between your breasts almost down to your navel. A thin gold chain with a dark green stone dangled around your neck and nestled in your cleavage, drawing the eye as is twinkled in the dying light through the windows. The skirt portion of the dress was short enough that it was almost obscene, and the apex of the wrap was almost up to your hip. You topped off the look with a pair of thigh high black velvet boots.

“Damn, mama, you look good!” Sam whistled at you as he stood up and spun you around with one hand.

“You’re not too bad yourself Wilson. Barnes, you clean up real nice!”

He couldn’t speak. He was suddenly extremely aware of just how tight his slacks were, and he strode over to grab all your coats from the rack and hold his in front of his crotch as he handed Sam the other two, hoping it wasn’t obvious what he was trying to hide as he slipped it over his shoulders.

“Ok, then, let’s head out!” You said, giving Sam a look as he helped you slide into your wool coat. He just shrugged at you before donning his, and the three of you got on your way.

Sam and you walked arm in arm on the way to the club, chatting idly and laughing at the occasional quip. You tried to engage Bucky in the conversation, but he just marched behind you scowling, collar pulled up against the chill in the air.

He couldn’t deny he had developed a bit of a crush on you over the course of your assignment. You always tried to keep morale up in the surveillance house, brightening the air with your laughter as you baked some sort of treat for everyone, or broke out an obscene amount of liquor when two of you had a shared shift off. He still remembered the time you had indulged in the gin just a little too much during a game of poker and passed out with your head in his lap. He hadn’t slept or moved from that position the entire night until he had to relieve Sam in the morning, reluctantly removing your face from where it had nestled during your rest.

He did his best to move past his crush, trying to convince himself it was just an infatuation that needed to wear itself out.

Then he saw you fight for the first time.

Sure, he had seen you sparring with Sam, and may have even done a session with you himself he hadn’t been concerned about how his body would react in such close proximity to you. But when that group of thugs attacked the house last week, he really saw you in action.

You moved like water. Dodging every blow that was thrown at you and landing flurries of strikes of your own that seemed like they shouldn’t have caused any damage but would reduce your opponents to puddles. Bucky almost got knocked out when you had pulled out your knives to spin them through your expert fingers like they were extensions of your will. He’d had to lock himself in the bathroom after the fight to jerk himself off, imagining it was your hands wrapped around him.

Now he watched your ass swaying back and forth in front of him as you arrived at the club, wearing those boots and that dress that made you look like walking sex. His mood soured as he handed his coat to the check girl and shoved his call ticket into his pocket, so he headed to the bar to get himself a drink.

He felt a light touch on his shoulder and gave a wince as he turned to face you.

“C’mon, Barnes, it’s Christmas!” You were giving him a heartachingly beautiful smile. “Wipe that frown off your face and come dance!”

He softened as you looked into his eyes. It wasn’t your fault he felt like a pervert everytime he stood next to you.

“I think I’m going to go grab us a table for our drinks, you go have fun with Sam. Maybe I’ll join you in a bit.”

“If you’re sure?” You cocked an eyebrow at him and bit your lip, and he felt his gut clench and his cock twitch at that look.

“I’m sure. Enjoy yourself.”

You gave his arm a squeeze before ordering yourself a shot of vodka that you immediately tossed back before heading to join Sam on the dance floor.

Bucky took his double scotch to one of the tables scattered around the floor and perched himself on a tall stool. His gaze scanned the dance floor before finding you and he let out a groan.

If he thought your fighting was beautiful, it was nothing compared to your dancing. You looked ethereal and free as you tossed your hair, rolling your hips as your arms raised above your head and followed the motion in your torso before they sank back down and rolled along your sides, highlighting the curves of your body. Sam suddenly grabbed you by the waist and spun you, causing you to throw your head back with a beautiful lilting laugh.

Bucky tossed back his scotch and flagged down a waitress, handing her his card and instructing her to keep the drinks coming. Maybe if he drank enough it would relieve the unbelievable ache he was feeling in his chest.

You and Sam joined him at the table after a few songs. You were breathless and flushed and all he wanted to do was kiss you then take you to an alley out back and fuck you stupid.

“Barnes, you are being a bit of a Scrooge here.” You grinned at him as you nibbled on a pretzel. Sam had headed to the bathroom, and you flagged down a waitress and ordered yourself a vodka cranberry before turning back to him. “I’ll order you to have fun if I need to.”

He grinned in spite of himself when you gave him a wink. “Sorry, Y/L/N, this isn’t really my type of party.”

“Aww, Bucky,” he took in a sharp breath, you’d never used his first name before. “You just need to loosen up. I can lend you a hand with that if you need it.” You reached a hand over and wrapped it around his wrist, giving it a light squeeze.

He almost said something then, but the waitress arrived back at the table at that moment with your drink and you turned to give her a smile and thanks. Sam arrived back from the bathroom then with a bourbon in his hand, accompanied by a beautiful woman with a bright smile.

“Bucky, Y/N, this is Marta, she’s a model!”

“Well hi there Marta, you going to steal my dance partner?” You were giving the girl a massive grin as you teased Sam.

“Yeah, Marta doesn’t really speak English.” Sam grinned.

“Oh, sorry.” You asked her the same question in Swedish.

Marta’s smile grew even bigger as the two of you started babbling away at each other while Bucky and Sam just shook their heads. Marta grabbed your hand suddenly and started to drag you away from the table.

“Be right back boys!” You said over your shoulder as you and your new friend headed off to the bathroom. Bucky watched you walk away and gave a deep sigh.

“Jesus Christ, man, you need to make your move already!” Sam said, exasperated.

Bucky almost choked on his scotch. “Dunno what you’re talking about.” He mumbled, wiping his chin with a napkin.

“Bruh, you’ve been staring at Y/N non-stop this whole night. Not to mention the fact that you were moping around the surveillance house for the past few months like a kicked puppy.” Sam shook his head as he tossed back the rest of his drink. “Oh, and if you thought you were sneaky about your little post-fight bathroom session last week, you are very mistaken.”

Bucky snapped his jaw shut and felt a flush creeping up his neck as he imagined your reaction to the discovery he had been touching himself to thoughts of your body underneath him.

Sam waved a hand at him. “Don’t worry, Y/N didn’t notice. I sprayed the fuck out of that bathroom with Febreze after you left. I am never doing anything like that for you again, though.”

Bucky’s heart rate went back down in relief. “We work together Sam. Even if that wasn’t the case, what am I supposed to say to her?”

“Geez, man, just fucking kiss her!”

“Fuck, Sam, we haven’t even been on a date! Don’t women usually want that sort of preamble?”

“Some women, sure. But don’t treat them like a monolith. Y/N appreciates directness and the worst thing that could possibly happen is she tells you to back off.”

“She could stab me.”

Sam guffawed. “Don’t look so turned on at the thought, dude. She’s noticed how weird you’ve been acting. She thinks you don’t like her. One of the main reasons she made us all go out tonight was to hopefully get you to warm up some.”

Bucky sighed, he hadn’t meant to push you away. “I dunno, Sam. She’s super fucking intimidating.”

“Get over it, Barnes. If you don’t make a move, someone else definitely will.”

“Oh my god, Sam, get your ass out here! It’s Christmas in Hollis!” You and Marta were back on the dance floor now and you were bouncing up and down, waving your hand excitedly at Sam.

“Aw, shit, that’s my jam!” Sam was backing onto the floor now, trying to get Bucky to follow him before giving up and turning to you and his date.

An unsteady woman sank into the seat Sam had just vacated and gave Bucky a lecherous grin before she started talking to him in slurred Swedish.

“Sorry, I can’t understand you.” He shouted at her.

“Oh, American man.” The woman purred at him in what he assumed was supposed to be a sexy voice. “You, me, fuck in bathroom.”

Bucky didn’t hear her. A giant blonde man who looked like a knockoff Thor was dancing behind you now, trying to put his hands on your hips and grind his crotch into your ass.

Bucky watched you turn and place a hand on the intruder’s chest, giving him a polite smile as you stopped your dancing, saying something to him that Bucky couldn’t make out over the music.

The guy didn’t take the hint and put his hands on your waist, pulling you flush against his front and putting a thigh between your legs, edging the hem of your skirt upwards.

Bucky didn’t realize he had been gripping the back of one of the chairs with his metal hand until he heard a crunch and looked down to see he had bent the frame when he clenched his fist.

“Knulla.” The suddenly sober woman said, standing up abruptly and scurrying away from the table.

Bucky found himself striding towards the dance floor, fists clenching and a low growl emanating from his chest.

That dirty fucker was still trying to hump you as you gave him a firm shove, trying to turn back to Sam and Marta. He wrapped a hand around your upper arm and jerked you back. Sam stopped dancing and tried to step in, but the son of a bitch slapped him in the face before turning back to you and smashing his mouth into yours, shoving his free hand up the front of your skirt to try to get at your pussy.

Bucky arrived just as you pulled back from the cocksucker and drew the offensive hand back so sharply, a snap resounded across the floor and he let out a scream.

Bucky punched him in the face before grabbing him by his collar and tossing him away from you as three security guards came rushing to the scene, too late to offer any sort of assistance. Marta managed to intercept them and started screaming at them in Swedish as you and Sam moved between Bucky and the giant Swede who was now a blubbering mess on the floor.

“It’s good Barnes, you can relax.” Sam said.

“Bucky, it’s ok. He isn’t worth it.” You were as close to Bucky as you had ever been. He could feel the heat radiating off you as you put a hand on his chest.

You had never seen Bucky so angry. His jaw was clenched so tight, you were worried the tendons in his neck were going to snap. He was breathing deeply through his nose, nostrils flaring as he glared murderously at the man who had touched you.

“Baby, you can let it go. I’m ok.” You murmured low enough that only he could hear you.

He looked into your eyes and relaxed, taking a deep breath through his mouth and nodding as the security guards dragged your assailant out of the club.

“Good boy, now you owe me a dance.”

Bucky’s look instantly changed to confusion as you dragged him onto the dance floor, giving him a breathless laugh as you started dancing again.

He had no idea what to do with himself. You saw his look of utter helplessness and turned to face him. You placed his hands on your hips and your hands around his neck and looked into his eyes. You’re hips started rolling to the rhythm as the rest of your body swayed in time with the music. Bucky was too aware of his feet and broke eye contact to stare at them, trying to figure out how he was supposed to move.

He felt your hand lift his chin and you shook your head at him before bringing the front of your body flush against his. You lined up your hips to his and started rolling them, your legs on either side of his massive thigh as you gyrated against him. He let out a moan and screwed his eyes closed.

You brought your face against his neck and whispered in his ear. “Just relax honey.”

You dipped your hips slightly and he followed you, nuzzling into your neck and inhaling your scent as his brain finally stopped overanalyzing what he was doing.

You felt the muscles underneath his shirt tightening and releasing as he rolled his body against you and your pussy clenched over his thigh. You gave a soft gasp and hoped the rush of arousal hadn’t soaked through your panties and onto his pants. His hands were pressing into the soft skin of your hips, and you knew you would have light bruises there tomorrow.

You pulled away suddenly and Bucky groaned at the loss of you before you flipped your hair forward and dropped your ass, separating your thighs slightly as you slowly drew your back up Bucky’s front before nestling your ass into the dip in his pelvis that seemed made to fit you.

Bucky growled into your hair and nipped at the soft skin behind your ear before starting to grind himself into your ass. He brought his metal arm to press against your abdomen and push you further into him, while his other wandered up between your breasts, giving one of them a soft squeeze before loosely wrapping his fingers around your throat

You felt him harden against you and let out a small gasp, starting to pull away before his metal arm locked you in place.

“Don’t you fucking move.” He growled in your ear, nipping gently at the lobe with his teeth.

His hips were moving at their own rhythm now, the music forgotten. Neither of you noticed Sam making an exit with Marta, grinning back at you before shrugging his coat over his shoulders and heading out into the snow.

Your breath was hitching softly as Bucky rutted himself against your ass, and the sound was driving him crazy. You could feel your cunt throbbing as it became slick, your arousal soaking your panties and threatening to start leaking down the insides of your thighs. He suddenly stuttered his hips and let out a hiss before stilling.

“Shit.”

He had come in his pants like a teenager, filling his boxer briefs and leaving a small wet spot on the front of his slacks. His arms released you as he stood up straight, leaning his forehead against the back of your head and screwing his eyes shut. He’d never been so embarrassed.

You shuffled the edge of your skirt down before turning around and pressing your lips against his softly. He groaned against your mouth as he brought his hands to either side of your face, tangling them in your hair. You discretely untucked his shirt as you kissed him, covering the evidence of his orgasm graciously. You pulled away before he could really lean into the kiss, and he let out a dissatisfied sigh.

You looked at him through heavy lids, biting at your kiss swollen lips before taking his hand and dragging him to the exit. “We’re going back to the hotel”

You tossed the coat tickets at the girl at the counter, breathing heavily as you tapped your nails impatiently. You snatched the coats from her without a word and tossed Bucky’s to him before charging out the door.

Bucky almost slipped several times back to the hotel as you set a brutal pace. He couldn’t get a read on you now and was worried he’d ruined things already.

You rode the elevator up to your floor in silence, one hip cocked to the side as you clicked the opposite heel against the floor rapidly. As soon as the doors opened, you strode down the hallway like you were possessed and Bucky hurried after you, concern written all over his face.

You arrived at the room first and wrenched the door open, leaving it open behind you as you stepped inside. Bucky was a few steps behind you but stopped at the entrance. He was certain you were going to lay into him as soon as he entered and wanted to take a moment to collect himself. He was running his metal fingers through his hair when your arm suddenly shot out, your fingers wrapping around the collar of his shirt and hauling him inside as he let out an uncharacteristic yelp.

You slammed the door behind him and pressed him up against it, shoving your fingers under his collar and wrapping them around his neck before you smashed your mouth to his violently, clashing your teeth against his before shoving your tongue down his throat.

Bucky overcame his surprise quickly and grinned against your lips as he slid his coat off his shoulders before cupping your ass and giving it a squeeze.

Your lips left his suddenly, leaving him breathless. You gave him a small smirk before sinking to your knees and starting to undo his belt.

“You’ve been keeping this pretty cock from me baby. My pussy’s been gushing thinking about your hot length in my mouth.” You were kissing around the bulge in his pants as you slipped his loosened belt out of the loops and undid the buttons. He leaned his head back against the door and hissed through his teeth. He’d never had a woman speak to him like this before and it was making his cock ache. He jutted his hips forward and you rubbed your face against his cloth covered erection before drawing his slacks and boxer briefs down his legs swiftly, freeing his dick to bounce back up against his abs.

You spat in your hand and wrapped it around him, drawing a groan from his chest. You started peppering soft kisses along his shaft as you ran your hand up and down slowly. “God Bucky, you’re so fucking big, I can’t wait to feel this in my pussy. I need to taste your sweet cum first though honey.”

You softly ran one finger up the underside of his shaft, tracing the vein that ran from root to tip before dragging your tongue in a heavy stripe over the same path.

He wrapped your hair around his hand and let out a hiss. “Fuck, Y/N, who taught you to talk like that?”

 “Mmm, you like it sweetie?” You asked him wickedly as you ran your tongue over the sensitive slit along his tip, lapping up the pre-cum that was starting to collect there.

“God, yes.” He couldn’t believe how much the filthy praises you were giving turned him on.

“I’ll give you as much as I can honey, but I’m worried this cock is going to fuck out my throat.” You took him in your mouth then, relaxing your throat as you drew in his entire length, feeling his balls hit your chin as you swallowed around him.

“Shit!” he thought you were going to go slower and he almost came immediately when you hollowed your cheeks around him and pulled him out slightly before taking him in again, bringing a hand up to fondle his balls.

He braced his metal arm against the door as he started to thrust his hips, fucking into your face as you choked around him, tears streaming down your cheeks and drool leaking from the corners of your mouth.

“God baby, you’re taking my cock so good. That mouth of yours is fucking amazing.” His hips picked up speed and he gazed down at you. You looked sinful, a flush in your cheeks and over your chest as you gazed up at him through thick lashes. You moaned around his cock as his praise caused a fresh rush of arousal to leak from your cunt.

“You gonna take my cum down like a good girl?” His hips were starting to stutter and you felt his cock twitch at the back of your mouth. You let out a tiny whine and tried to nod as he shoved himself all the way in, stilling himself as you felt his release run down your throat.

He pulled his softening cock out of your mouth and wiped the drool from you chin before softly cupping your cheek.

“Stay right there for a second pretty girl.”

“Yes, sir.” You whispered at him, your voice husky now that your throat was raw.

He unbuttoned his shirt and rolled it off over his shoulders, then removed his undershirt and tossed it aside too until he was standing in front of you naked.

You let out a low moan at the sight. His muscles were sculpted beautifully, his chest dusted with dark hair that tapered to a happy trail that led down to his thick cock. The skin around his metal arm was scarred and puckered, and other faint scars were visible elsewhere on his body, giving him an air of danger and menace. Your cunt clenched as you took in the sight, biting your lips as you ached to run your hands over his body.

“Stand up.” He ordered you. He didn’t know what had come over him. He had spent months wanting to beg you for some sign of affection, but now that you were there kneeling in front of him, he just wanted to take it from you. And you were willing to give him whatever he required.

You drew yourself up slowly and he picked you up with one hand and wrapped your legs around his waist. He brought your mouth down to his and teased your lips open with his tongue as he carried you to the bedroom.

He knelt on the bed with you straddling him and started to trail rough kisses down your neck, sucking occasionally to draw a bruise against your skin.

As he reached your shoulders, he wrapped his metal hand through the chain around your neck and gave it a yank, snapping it off you. He drew the shoulders of your dress down, exposing your tits as you arched your back up to meet him.

“God Bucky, please” You whined as nuzzled his face into the valley between your breasts, his stubble scratching the skin there.

“You want something, baby?” he asked you wickedly, kissing slowly up the slope of your breast until he almost reached your nipple, then moved his mouth away again.

You groaned and wound your fingers into his hair. “Need your tongue on me, please baby.”

“Where did you want it sweet girl?” he asked innocently before cupping one breast in his hand and rubbing the nipple with his nose. “Did you want me to lick you here?”

“Yes, yes, fuck!!” His tongue swirled slowly around your nipple, drawing it to a sensitive peak. “God Bucky, that’s so good!”

He brought up his metal hand to palm your other breast and you gasped at the contrast of the cool metal against your warm flesh. He tweaked the other nipple and you groaned. “You want my tongue on this one too, honey?”

“Pleasepleaseplease….” You whispered breathlessly, whining when he moved his mouth where you asked him. You started grinding yourself into his thigh, desperate for release as your pussy quivered and wept.

“No.” He ordered, grabbing your hip with his metal hand and holding you still. “You don’t get to come unless it’s on my cock sweetheart.”

You let out a thin keen as tears leaked down your cheeks.

Bucky brought his face back up to yours, holding your chin with his other hand and kissing you hungrily. You cried into his mouth in desperation.

“You want this cock, pretty girl?”

“God, yes. Please, Bucky!”

“You asked me so nicely, honey. I’m gonna give you what you want.”

He gripped your dress in his metal hand where it had gathered at your waist, gave it a twist, and ripped it off you, sequins and beads flying off the bed and across the floor. He grabbed your panties next and shredded them, bringing their ruins up to his face and inhaling your scent deeply before tossing them aside and giving you a wicked grin. You bent one leg up to start to remove your boots when he slapped your hand away.

“Leave those on.” He growled at you.

He took a moment to pause and look at you, memorizing every slope and curve of your body. He spread your legs wide and gave a low moan when he got a look at your pussy, coated in slick and swollen with desire. He drew two metal fingers softly up the inside of your thigh before running them over your sex, coating them in your arousal and making you moan. He brought his fingers up to his mouth and sucked them clean.

“You taste so good baby girl. Maybe once I’ve fucked you stupid with my cock I’ll eat you out.”

“Unnhh, Bucky, give it to me.” You begged him.

“You need something baby? You gotta be specific.”

“God, need you inside me. I fucking need your cock. Bucky, please.”

“Alright sweetheart. You better have at least five orgasms on my cock sweet girl. Otherwise I might have to spank you.”

He lifted your right leg and looped your knee over his elbow, opening you wide as he brought himself up to your entrance. He slowly drew his length through the slick gathered there as you whimpered, then he slammed into you, bottoming out right away and knocking the air out of you.

“FUCK!!!” you screamed as you came immediately, clenching and fluttering around him as you went rigid and started to tremble.

“That’s one, baby.” He grinned as he started to fuck into you, not bothering to wait for you to come down from your orgasm. “Shit, this pussy was fucking ready for me. Look at you gripping me so good, like you’re fucking made for my cock.”

“God, Bucky!” you whined. “You’re so big, keep moving baby. Fuck that’s so good!”

Lewd squelching noises filled the room, combining with the slap of flesh against flesh as he drove into you hard.

“Mmm, you’re squeezing me so tight, honey. You gonna come on my cock again?” Bucky slipped a hand underneath your ass and tilted your hips just a bit and felt you clench around him.

“Shit, right there. God, I’m coming again. Don’t fucking stop.” Your face screwed up as your second orgasm ripped through you, curling your toes in your boots as your legs quivered with the strain.

“Good girl.” He praised you as you fluttered around him, your release soaking your thighs as it seeped out around his cock. “I’m gonna move you now, sweetheart, get ready.”

His hand moved under your waist and he wrenched you up until you were flush against his chest. The coarse hair there scratched against your sensitive nipples and you gave a soft whine at the change in position.

Bucky stared into your eyes. Your face was a mess. Lipstick smeared all over your mouth and chin. Mascara and tears running in streaks down your flushed cheeks. Mouth open and panting with need and pupils blown wide as you gazed at him through your thick eyelashes.

You looked like the perfect mixture of sin and sex. He had never seen anything so beautiful.

He wrapped both his arms behind your shoulders and buried his hands in your hair, pressing your face to his and forcing his tongue between your lips and teeth, running it everywhere it could reach inside your velvety mouth, growling into you.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and opened yourself up to him, whining as he increased his pace even more and you felt the tension gather in your core again.

“Give me another one, baby. My good girl. Show me how good that pussy is for me.”

You buried your face in his neck and groaned as you felt every muscle below your waist go rigid and another orgasm wracked you. You didn’t know if you could handle two more.

“God, sweetheart, you feel so fucking good. This pussy is making a mess everywhere.”

He pulled out of you suddenly and you gasped, hoping for a reprieve. But he just flipped you so you were on all fours and slammed back into you, making you scream.

“Just two more pretty girl. Then I’ll fill this pretty cunt with my cum.”

You didn’t know how he could last this long as he pounded into you relentlessly. He drew you up straight suddenly so your back was against his chest and you gave a small whimper. Your throat was raw from him fucking it and from your screaming, and the only sound you managed to make now was a stream of unintelligible mewls.

You leaned your head back against Bucky’s shoulder as he brought a hand up to palm at your breast. His metal fingers moved to the apex of your thighs and started drawing rough circles against your clit. You felt tears leaking down your cheeks as your pleasure began to gather. He drove them into you suddenly and you let out a thin wail as your entire body went stiff before vibrating with your release.

Bucky guided your fall forward gently until your face was resting against the blankets. Your arms couldn’t hold you up anymore so they laid limply next to your face as Bucky gripped both of your hips and drew them back to him over and over. You felt drool leaking from your open mouth as you blinked slowly. You were absolutely cock drunk. The sheer number and intensity of your orgasms had made your brain short circuit. He really had fucked you stupid.

Bucky slapped your ass suddenly and you gave a sharp gasp as you came one last time, fisting your hands into the blankets to try to keep from passing out.

“Good girl.” Bucky murmured at you. You could feel the smile in his voice and you felt your cunt clench around him at the praise. His hips started to stutter and you felt his cock twitching inside you.

“You ready for me sweetheart? This pussy treated me so good, I’m gonna fill you up.”

You managed to moan out a single word through your hoarse throat. “Please…”

The wantonness in your voice pushed him over the edge and you felt his hips still suddenly as he released inside of you. The feel of his hot cum coating your velvety walls made you moan like a whore.

“Fuck, baby. That was so good.” He gently lowered himself on top of you and you felt him soften inside of you. He peppered gentle kisses along your shoulders and the back of your neck as he pulled out of you slowly. You gave a contented sigh as he rolled off you and headed to the bathroom. You’d never been fucked so well in your life.

You heard the water running and you managed to lift your head to watch Bucky return, holding a damp washcloth. His abdomen, thighs, and cock were coated in your release, glistening in the soft light of the bedroom as he walked back towards you and sat down on the edge of the bed. The sight of his naked form filled you with a renewed sense of desire.

Bucky rotated you carefully until you were lying on your back and brought his face down to yours and gave you a soft kiss before moving himself between your legs. You heard him suck in his breath sharply when he got a good look at you, drawing your knees apart to get a good look at your pussy.

“Fuck honey, you’re beautiful.”

The skin of your mound and thighs was flushed red where he had thrusted into you repeatedly and it was all coated in the evidence of your multiple orgasms. Your cunt was swollen and pulsing as his cum slowly leaked out of you, collecting in a small puddle on the sheets.

Bucky gently cleaned your thighs and mound with the cloth, being careful to not irritate your already sensitive skin. Then he worked your folds apart with his metal fingers and drew the damp fabric over your slit slowly, collecting his release from your entrance. You gave a groan and pressed yourself into the cloth when he tried to pull it away.

“Jesus, sweetheart, already?”

You propped yourself up on your elbows and stared at him. “Bucky, you promised.”

He shook his head and tutted his tongue at you. “No, I said I might eat you out after I fucked you stupid. No promises were made.”

“Bucky, please?” You begged him, your voice husky with lust.

He gave you a look then moved to kneel between your legs. “Can’t say no to you, pretty girl. Not after this pussy treated me so good.”

You gave a soft chuckle followed by a gasp as he flattened himself on the bed and drew your left leg over his shoulder, softly kissing and sucking down the inside of your thigh before he nuzzled himself into your folds.

He softly licked at your entrance, lapping up the renewed evidence of your arousal as he dragged his tongue up and down your slit before he wrapped his lips around your tiny bud and sucked softly.

“God, Bucky! More…please…” You moaned at him, winding your fingers into his hair and pressing him further into you.

He gently teased two metal finger around your entrance before inserting them slowly, grinning against you as he felt your pussy flutter around them.

He started fucking them into you steadily while he gently sucked at your clit, crooking his wrist to hit your sweet spot as he picked up speed.

“Fuck! Right there! Don’t you dare stop! So, so, good! Please baby!” You started babbling, the pitch of your voice getting higher as he edged you closer to your release.

He latched on and sucked hard at the same time he added a third finger, and you came apart around him, soaking his chin and stubble as your thighs tried to crush his head between them and your pussy clenched and twitched around his fingers.

Bucky crawled back up the bed and laid next to you, drawing you to his chest as he wrapped his arms around you. You nuzzled your face into him and let out a low humming noise to show how content you were.

“God, it took you long enough, Barnes.”

He laughed and kissed the top of your head, pulling the blankets over the two of you and flicking off the bedside lamp.

“You know, you could have made a move yourself.” He murmured against your hair.

“And offend your World War II sensibilities, grandpa? You would have run away screaming.”

“Grandpa?”

“Whatever, you were scared of me. I didn’t want to frighten you off before you took advantage of your crush.”

“Right, crush.”

“Mmm, if this is how you fuck on the first date, what are you going to do when you fall in love with me?” You teased against his chest, your breathing growing deeper as you drifted off to sleep.

“Don’t worry sweetheart. I’m not going to fall in love with you. I promise.” He lied as he dozed off.

The snow was falling heavy over the city. And Bucky was dreaming about marrying you.

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: III

“You can have me tonight or never

I thought you understood

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

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

—Wrong, Zayn and Kehlani

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

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

word count: 24.2k

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

///

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

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

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

Harry still hates clubs. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Very satisfied, yeah. Your help was greatly appreciated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is that so?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The name’s Styles. Harry Styles. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not going.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lock the door on your way out!” 

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

That is, until she met Harry seven days ago. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The first thing he notices is the dress. 

Fuck, the dress. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nice to see you again, Disco Ball.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Far from it, love.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I like your dress.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve been thinking about you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck off.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It felt really nice.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wouldn’t mind it, either.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, y-yes.”

“Want me to keep going?”

“Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We do make quite the team, don’t we?

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

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

Alright, Watson. What time will you be home?

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

I’m off at 6:45. Should be home by 7. 

I’ll see you there, then. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fan came in. Wanna come check it out?

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

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

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

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

Sounds good to me, Sherlock. 

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

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

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

“Shut up.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I— I can’t. I’m—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, yes— it’s so good, Harry. You’re incredible.”

“Such a proper little whore.” He has to actively hold back from digging into her throat with his fangs, his eyes screwing shut in concentration as his orgasm begins to burn through his veins. “Begging me to fuck you like one, over and over. You’ve never had it this good, have you?” 

“N-No. You’re the only one who makes me feel like this.”  

“Hands off.” 

“W-What?”

“Hands off.”

Y/N obeys, throwing her arms above her head and letting them hang off the edge of the bed as he’d instructed. It’s not like he wants her to stop scratching down his back, but he knows that if she continues, he’s going to black out. He’s already teetering, obvious in the black webs he can feel materializing over the whites of his eyes.

“Ask for permission.” 

The mortal unclamps her teeth from his bruised shoulder and swallows heavily, her words sputtering out from how hard she’s jerking against the bed. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please—can I—can I cum?”

“‘May I cum.’” The boy corrects, half because he wants to be a cocky ass, and half because it’s automatic. He was raised during an era where intellectual accuracy was of utmost value in society. It’s hard to leave those lessons behind. 

Y/N hiccups another mewl, hands curling into loose fists above her head as he continues to fuck her deliberately into the duvet. She repeats his phrase shakily. “May I cum? Please?”

Harry’s lashes flutter open and as soon as he sees her, all doe-eyed, covered in his love marks, with her bottom lip trembling...It’s like a switch flips. When he speaks, it’s soft and encouraging; a drastic contrast from his mood a few seconds ago. “Yeah...Yeah, baby, go ahead. Cum for me.” 

That night, as Harry lays there awake staring at that awful popcorn roof with the taste of her blood fresh on his tongue and her steady heartbeat throbbing in his heightened ears, he catches himself smiling in the dark. It doesn't have to do with emotions or feelings or any of that complicated bullshit. It just has to do with the fact that he found some consistency in his life, as unattached and materialistic as it may be. They don’t have a complex bond or a deeper meaning. They simply just coexist. They provide some common stability to each others’ lives and it helps keep an important balance. Stability is so rare to find, especially for an immortal who is condemned to witness the world constantly evolve around them while they remain frozen in time. Society will change, people change, appearances change, alliances change, and though it can be exhilarating, at times, Harry never truly has a say in it. He’s always just strung along for the ride.

This is different. It’s static, and that’s all he really needs it to be. Sex can be so emotionally messy if lines aren’t drawn and boundaries aren’t set. But with Y/N, it’s like they have a silent understanding— an unspoken agreement signed by both parties. It’s a notion that could have spared Harry his life in the past, and it’s an ideal that— even in death— took him centuries to learn:

Some people are meant to be loved, while others are just meant to be naked. 

///

The third week is when things escalate for the better. 

Specifically, Tuesday night. That’s when the sexting starts. 

It’s a pretty calm evening and Harry finds himself with nothing to do. Mitch is out with Sarah, who had come into town two days ago due to the band she’s touring with being on a three week break. She’d said she wasn’t staying for long— maybe a week, because she has plans to visit some other bloodsucker friends in Canada. Even though Mitch tries to hide it, Harry can tell he’s bummed about Sarah’s short visit. The older vampire is good at hiding his emotions, but Harry’s known him for so long that he could read Mitch’s mood even if he was blindfolded and gagged. 

The jade-eyed boy had been honest with his best friend, asking him what the point was in continuing to see someone whose depth of interest in the relationship wasn’t as developed as his own. Mitch had simply shrugged one shoulder and told Harry that he wouldn’t understand. He mentioned something about how eventually, the freshblood high would wear off and Sarah would find herself wanting to settle down somewhere with someone she could trust for the rest of eternity. Mitch explained that he cared for her enough to wait until then. 

His best mate had been wrong. Harry does understand. He understands the concept of chasing after someone who, in the end, didn’t want anything to do with him. He understands it a little too well, sadly. He figures that’s the same fate Mitch is bound to suffer, just on a less extreme level. 

But then again, Harry’s perception of love is majorly skewed, so who is he to judge?

With Mitch tied up with Sarah (probably literally, though Harry doesn’t dwell on that; it’s none of his business), his options dwindle to the rest of the crew. Niall and Xander had invited him to a concert they were attending, but Harry politely declined the offer. The musicians were some wannabe indie band and Harry would rather swallow a nicotine addict’s blood than listen to a couple of morons sing in cursive. Adam had suggested he tag along with him, Ny-Oh, and Charlotte to a new art exhibit that had opened up in the next town over. It was a thirty minute drive, so it wasn’t that bad, but Harry declined that invitation, as well. He loves art, if the giant collection on his wall has anything to say about it, but he doesn’t get on well with Ny or Charlotte. They say he’s “too much of an arrogant dickhead” to be around for an extended period of time. They’re right, of course, but it still hurts. Plus, Ny has a mullet and Harry knows he wouldn’t be able to withhold from making a Billy Ray joke. It’s best he stay away, lest she end up with an achy-breaky heart.

So that leaves him here, all alone at eight P.M. on a Tuesday, plopped on his couch in nothing but a pair of maroon plaid boxers as Hamilton plays on the ninety inch flatscreen mounted on his glass wall. He had left the curtains open, not really caring that he’s practically naked. The sun’s already set and it’s almost pitch black outside; plus, he lives on the twenty-fourth floor of the condominium complex. The only living being risking an eyeful is a peepy pigeon. Even then, Harry’s more than happy to put on a show. He’s confident enough in himself that nudity is practically second nature. His friends can attest to that. 

Harry lays across his leather sofa with a large checkered throw cushion snuggled into his side, one of his hands slung across the backrest of the couch as the other remains submerged wrist-deep in a bag of Veggie Straws. His socked feet are propped up on his round marble coffee table, ankles crossed and posture anything but eloquent. The apartment is silent, except for the musical streaming through the speakers of his television set and the gentle pattering of rain just outside his glorified window pane, accompanied by the faint flickering of the city lights below. The atmosphere of the room is relaxed and cozy and it lulls his soul in a manner he can’t put into words.

Harry has always liked the rain. Ever since he was a child, he would sit by the small round window of the attic room he shared with his older sister, watching it fall from the sky in sheets of glittering sapphires, soaking into the dry ground and turning it into a slush of dirt he would later sneak out to play in. When he got older, he would prop his shoulder against the doorframe at the back of his father’s blacksmith shop and gaze at it, mesmerized by how it would trickle down the streets of the public market, washing away all the grime that came with a bustling city’s reputation. Sometimes he would stand in it, feeling its cool touch run down his arms and soak into the back of his sot-covered work shirt. He enjoyed how it would cleanse the sticky sweat from his face and neck, its gentle nature leaving him feeling like he could float through air. Then his father would call him back into the store and playfully scold him for allowing himself to get drenched, warning that his mother would kill him if he caught a cold. 

Harry’s changed a lot since then, he knows that, but it comforts him that his love for rain is the one aspect of his personality that two hundred years of Hell had failed to take from him. 

The melodies swimming out of his TV reign him back in from memory lane. 

Harry’s not really one to enjoy musicals, but back when Hamilton had first hit Broadway, he’d used his persuasive supernatural abilities to sneak into one of the first showings. He’d been curious as to what all the hype was about, and the play did not disappoint. The songs were catchy, the acting was good, and the characters were brought to life through raw emotion and comedy. He respected that. And the plot of the story itself resonated with him deeply, as well. A protagonist that rose from nothing, fell in love with the wrong woman, and made terrible life choices that seemed correct at the time, which would all eventually lead to his death. It hit a bit too close to home. 

If he had a dollar for every time he’s seen it since it had come out on Disney+, he could probably pay rent himself instead of compelling others to do it for him. 

The play is halfway through one of its most famous ballads when the monster’s phone dings with a familiar tune. A smirk is already etching itself across his face before he even unlocks his device. 

I need interior design advice. 

I’m still a little sore from our last help session. How’d you bounce back so quick?

Funny, but I need ACTUAL interior design advice this time. 

Harry’s brows furrow in mild confusion and slight disappointment. He draws his hand from the junk food container, dusting off the crumbs. Oh. 

Genuinely? 

Yup!

He guesses he’ll give it a go. He does have pretty exquisite taste; the modern gothic aesthetic of his condo proves that. It’s not like he has anything better to do.

Alright, shoot. 

Y/N releases the breath she’d been holding in. Thank God he’s agreed to help. As much as she’s ashamed to admit it, Harry’s really the only person in LA that she deems relatively close to a friend. She hasn’t managed to mesh well with her coworkers much, despite the fact that she’s been trying extremely hard. She just doesn’t wanna force herself into unfulfilling fake friendships for the sake of having people to flaunt. It’s not right and she knows she’d grow to resent it. 

So instead, she’d reached out to the one California resident who doesn’t make her skin crawl. 

Whew, okay, thanks in advance! So I went out yesterday and got a new bedspread and I wanted some help choosing a new accessory to go with it, which is going on my wall. 

Harry’s ears perk up and his back straightens at her statement. Could she finally, by the grace of fucking God, be getting rid of that shitty tapestry? 

Well, let me see it, then. Don’t keep a man waiting, I’m dying to play Property Brothers over here.

A picture comes through of the two new accessories Y/N is referring to and the way Harry’s face drops instantly is almost comical.

Which tapestry fits better? I’m thinking the Van Gogh style painting of a lighthouse. The blue goes well with the dark turquoise of the comforter. But then again, the forest canopy has those pretty exotic flowers that compliment the coral stitching. I can’t decide. 

The vampire’s face pinches in disgusted horror as he blinks down numbly at the image on his screen. He’s going to be sick. Those Veggie Straws are about to make a hideous comeback. 

…two new tapestries? Did the other one rip or…?

What? No!! I just saw these down at the thrift store and thought they were cute. Why? Are they really that bad??

They’re not just bad, they’re worse. He’s going to ask her to blindfold him next time he visits. 

They’re…kinda immature, dove. I just thought you’d go for something cooler this time, like a vintage painting or a couple vinyls to mount on the wall. 

Immature? 

Oops. He should have picked his words more carefully. Now he’s gone and offended her and she’ll probably bite down the next time he puts his—

Another message interrupts his spiraling negative conclusions.

I know you didn’t just call ME immature when you compared me to a cream-filled donut, Harry. 

The playful tone in the text delivers a wave of relief that is almost as pleasurable as what lies between Y/N’s legs. 

Can I speak freely for a second? Full disclosure, no consequences?

That preface makes me think you’re about to chew me out.

I’ll be gentle, I promise. I know it’s not our usual dynamic, but I’ll give it a go.

Y/N ignores the bristling across her cheeks. 

Alright, go head.

I just think tapestries are kinda stupid. They scream “confused teenager trying to find myself.” But that’s just my opinion. I’m only telling you so you know that I’m probably not the best bloke to go to with tapestry inquiries. 

Harry watches as a read receipt stares up at him for a few seconds. Just when he thinks he might have truly upset her this time, her message bubble pops up. 

So...the one I’ve had hanging in my room the last three times you’ve been over…

I had to actively restrain the urge to strangle myself with it.

Y/N breaks out into laughter. The image of waking up to Harry laying facedown on her bedroom floor, balls naked and mummified within a sunrise tapestry...It’s sending her. 

Well, you know what? That’s not fair! You can’t judge my house when I haven’t even had the chance to judge yours. 

Harry nods once to himself in surrender, reaching up to finger-comb a few rebellious curls out of his eyes. She makes a valid play. 

Fair enough. You’ll have to come over and give me your opinion sometime.

I’d be honored to. Now, would you be so kind as to put your own personal bias aside this once and help me choose which one to put up. I promise I’ll spare you any more tapestry-related problems in the future. I’ll remove it from my customer contract.

Harry sighs defeatedly. He can’t believe he’s giving up his integrity for sex. 

Fine. Send me a picture of both of them up on the wall. It’ll give some perspective. 

Y/N giddily obliges, deciding to send a video instead. That way, she can get all of the angles in one go rather than having to send multiple pictures. 

Harry waits patiently, shoving another handful of chips into his mouth as he taps his foot against the coffee table to the tune of Wait for It, which is playing in the film that has now become the backdrop of his night. When Y/N’s next message comes through, he’s mildly surprised to find it’s a video. He clicks play, watching intently as she circles the two pinned tapestries slowly, making sure to get a proper view from all sides. By the time the thirty second clip is coming to an end, Harry’s leaning more towards the tropical canopy painting. It’s not as loud and she was right about the flowers matching the stitching on the duvet. 

He’s about to tap back “the forest one” when something flashes across the screen that makes him choke on his snack, launching him into a coughing fit.  

It’s within the last three seconds of the video and if he had cut it off in order to text back, he would have missed it. But he hadn’t, and now it’s burned into the back of his eyelids, causing a buzzing sensation to string right to the area between his thighs.  

The last few frames of the video, Y/N had lowered her phone from the position she’d been suspending it, probably thinking she had already stopped filming. She hadn’t. And because of that, Harry gets a full frontal view of her body, covered in nothing except a pair of lace panties and a mid-thigh oversized Avengers t-shirt. The entire screen fills with bare, silky skin and raunchy lace and he can feel his fangs poke into his tongue. 

Harry’s not a pre-teen; he’s not going to drool over seeing a pair of legs. What really gets to him is the fact that it appears Y/N still has a few hickies across the inner area of her thighs, which have failed to fade as quickly as the others. They should be gone, given that anytime Harry feeds (like he had the last time they’d slept together), he always gives her a bit of his blood to heal. Meaning, normal bruises like that should be gone. Maybe he just hadn’t given her a high enough dosage, or maybe he’d marked her more than he remembers, but either way, the stains are there.

The vampire ogles at the paused image with a dry throat and wide eyes. Just seeing her like that, dressed in comfy yet effortlessly sensual attire with no bottoms on whatsoever, freely flaunting his love bites around her apartment, probably looking at them in her mirror, thinking about how his teeth had felt grazing her skin…

It’s enough to pop a stiffy into his briefs. 

Harry glimpses over the top of his phone, swallowing thickly at the large bulge beginning to tent his boxers. His socked toes curl as he feels a longing throb begin to swell at the pit of his clenching stomach. Great. This is just fucking perfect. 

He attempts to tap back a reply, but his hands have started quivering slightly, clumsy thumbs ruining his message to the point where he has to retype it three times.

The forest one. I agree with what you said about the stitching. 

Okay, thank you so much! Your input is highly appreciated, as always.

The immortal finds himself gnawing at the inside of his cheek, weighing on whether he should mention the little softcore porn moment she’d unknowingly shot, or if he should just let it slide and go take care of the issue that is literally weighing on him— he can feel it getting heavy against his thigh. 

His fingers seem to take on a mind of their own, printing out a quick sentence and hitting the send button before he can rethink his motives. 

Did you watch your video before you sent it?

Uh no...It looked pretty okay to me while I took it. Why, do you need a different one? Was the lighting too dark? 

The fact that she sent it by accident only adds to the appeal. She’s such a good girl. So fucking innocent and sweet, she could practically give him a toothache. 

Do me a quick favor and rewatch it all the way to the end. I think you’ll be surprised with what you find.

Y/N leans back against her bookshelf wall, chewing on her bottom lip as a sly grin ticks the corners. She doesn’t have to rewatch the video. She’s fully aware of what she had done, which had been completely on purpose. She’s only playing dumb to see his reaction, getting off on how flustered he seems to have become. Yes, her intentions for contacting him had originally been purely for his opinion on decor. But when she saw the chance, she decided to jump headfirst and take it. What are friends with benefits for if not for times like these, when you’re too lazy to come over but need a bit of relief? 

The human allows a full thirty seconds to pass, simulating that she’s watching the video, and then thoughtfully taps out her response.

Oh, whoops. Sorry for the indecent exposure.

Harry shifts in exasperation against his sofa, the radiating in his abdomen crawling up to his chest and down to his knees. He needs to take care of himself now.

It’s fine, babe. You just might wanna be more careful, cause this time around you got lucky that it was me and it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Could go south if it were someone else. 

Y/N rolls her eyes lightly at his scolding, but continues to play the clueless act, curious to see where it’ll take her. 

You’re absolutely right, I’m so sorry. 

Harry clears his throat, flinching as he feels a soft twitch run up the length of his cock. He exhales tightly, trying to steer the conversation into a lighter mood. He doesn’t want her to feel bad; it’s not like he’s angry about this. He’s hot and bothered and needy, but not mad.

I just think it’s funny you exposed the fact that you go around your house without pants. 

Oh, fuck off! No one ever wears pants around their own house, especially if they’re alone. It’s one of the laws of physics. No human resistance, no pants. 

Harry glances down at his body symbolically, where he’s clad in only his underwear, as well.

Touché.

Exactly. 

A pause befalls the conversation as both parties fish for something new to say. The situation’s become less lively and more intense now and neither are sure how to navigate without crossing a line. In a surge of courage, Y/N decides to just directly communicate her intentions, praying that he doesn’t take it the wrong way. 

I have an idea, just hear me out. For the sake of evening the playing field, I think that since you saw me pantsless, it’s only fair that I see you the same way. It balances out, right?

Harry’s jaw drops in an open-mouthed simper, impressed by her blatant suggestion, but also by how smoothly she had delivered it. He mumbles his next words to himself, voice amused and somewhat awed at how she had managed to spin this to her benefit. “You clever little minx. Bet it wasn’t even an accident.”

You did it on purpose, didn’t you?

Y/N purses her lips, shrugging her brows cheekily.

Maybe.

The vampire scoffs, taken aback not only at the ploy she’d pulled off, but at how unapologetic she is about the whole thing. It’s hot. 

Alright, l’ll bite. Tick for tack. 

The photo that comes through makes Y/N choke on her spit. It’s not anything too revealing, but it packs a lot. Literally. 

It’s a pretty casual picture, and she gets the feeling he took it as so just to be a tease. In the frame, all she sees is a snapshot of Harry’s lap, thighs straining against the flimsy material of a pair of crimson tartan boxers, the large tigerhead tattoo he totes somehow prominent in the low lightning. Of course it stands out, though. That’s to be expected; his thighs are thick in the most satisfying fashion and they’re one of his most defining features. She can also see the bottom half of his lean tummy, the cutoff being the crest of his belly button. His fern inkings are peeking out of from below the waistband of the Calvin Kleins, dark and matte on his lightly bronzed skin, and she spots the nonchalant position of his crossed ankles in the background. 

As appetizing as every little detail is, the centerpiece of the portrait is the obvious bulge pressing into the fabric of his briefs. The outline is so prominent, the picture borderlines on graphic. His cock looks pretty as ever, even when it’s covered; the thin underwear leaves very little to the imagination. 

Y/N has to bite down on her tongue to keep from making an embarrassing sound.

Wow, okay, well...Your picture was much more explicit than my video. That’s not fair at all. Throws off the equilibrium we were trying to establish. 

Harry chuckles aloud, shaking his head in amazement at how well she can bend the game to her will. Three weeks ago, when he’d first laid eyes on that shy girl at the club, he would have never expected her to be so bold. Now, she has him wrapped around her pinky like a string.

You’re absolutely right. My apologies. Maybe you should send one similar so we can even out the stakes. 

You read my mind.

Y/N’s next picture causes a hiss to stream through the cracks of Harry’s teeth, eyes glinting red.

It’s a picture taken on top of her bed, the angle set from above. She’s laying on her side, her torso twisted so that her backside is in the shot, her huge tee pulled tight against her waist so it creates an enticing cinching effect. Her thighs are clasped together, the collar of her shirt pulled away just enough that he can see where the valley of her chest begins to curve, and the cheeky lace panties are working utter wonders for her ass. He can’t stop staring. He physically can’t pull himself away, his eyes bouncing across every pixel, attempting to commit the picture to memory to keep it locked in the back of his brain forever. 

Y/N awaits anxiously for his reaction, biting into the pad of her thumb as the seconds list by, wondering if he had enjoyed the nude or if he was just sitting there judging all her flaws. It’s been so long since she’s sent a risky photo like that, she can’t help but stress. Sharing your body with someone digitally is almost as intimate as real sex and it comes with similar worries and insecurities. Was the angle good? Are her stretch marks unattractive? Are the dimples along her backside gross? Is he second-guessing their arrangement? Is he wishing they hadn’t met?

She practically drops her phone when it vibrates.

God, you look stunning. Like a proper fucking dream.

All of her concerns immediately disintegrate, replaced by an odd sense of pride. She’s happy that he enjoyed it, and she’s thankful for the caliber of his response. Most men don’t care to comment that nicely, if they comment at all, and Harry’s enthusiasm only excites her further. She wants to keep going. 

You look pretty fucking good yourself. Wish I could just kneel between your thighs, take you into my mouth, and make you feel good for hours. 

Harry struggles to get saliva down his parched throat, her words bouncing around the inside of his skull, sending a current of bliss directly to where he needs it. 

Hours? You want me down your throat for hours?

For hours, Harry. I’d literally just sit between your legs and let you fuck my face again. Let you use me to make yourself cum.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Harry’s broken whine echoes off the tall walls of his home, one of his big hands finding a path to his curls and tugging in desperation. He needs to keep composure. 

Harry’s next snapshot comes through and Y/N has to screw her eyes shut for a second to brace the bolt of electricity that zips down to her core. 

The boy’s thighs have parted wider, his feet now down from the table, knees hanging off the edge of the sofa. His free hand has delved below his briefs, pulling them up just enough to show a tad of the neatly trimmed area beneath. His fingers are cupped over his cock, hiding it from plain view, but the imprint of his knuckles on the fabric suggest he’s gripping it tightly. The longer she looks, the more she notices— specifically, a dark damp patch spreading at the middle of his boxers and she knows damn well what it is. The fact that she’d got him riled up enough that he’s leaking through like that...She can hardly breathe right. 

Shit, you look so good. How do you always look that fucking good? I just want to feel you stretch me out while you moan into my mouth. 

Harry slowly starts pumping his palm up and down his cock as he rereads her words, catching his lower lip between his teeth, his naked and flushed chest stuttering. He doesn’t want to be the douche that tells her to send another picture, but he really needs her to. He wants to see what she’s doing, how she’s fairing. Wants to know if he has her as fucked as she has him right now. 

It’s almost like they share a telepathic link because not even five seconds later, another beautifully filthy photo is decorating his screen. 

This time around, Y/N has decided to fully lay on her back, spreading her legs open and drawing her knees up slightly so that her thighs are not only flexing, but displaying all the love bites he’d left only a few days prior. They’re all different shades of purple and brown, scattered over the satin suppleness of her skin, painting a canvas of the heated night they’d shared. It’s art at its most prestigious, if he’s ever seen it. And she has her hand ducked below her panties, the outline of her fingers situated right over her clit. 

Harry’s own hand instinctively tightens around his length, pulling a weak groan from his parted lips. He throws his head back against the backrest of the couch, bucking into his palm and teasing his forefinger over his bubbling tip. He spreads the precum all over the sensitive head, whimpering when the draft from the air conditioning caresses it and sends a quiver toppling over his shoulders. 

Fuck, she’s driving him mental. There’s only one way to take care of this effectively, despite their distance. 

I’m going to call you.

Y/N gulps heavily, licking over her chapped lips and feeling her pulse jump at the realization that she’ll be getting to hear his throaty voice coax her through an orgasm. Not only that, but she’ll get to hear him cum, too. She’ll get to hear every shattered gasp and needy mewl, almost as if he were pouring all those sounds of pleasure right into her ears in person. 

The mortal’s heart hiccups when his contact pops up on the Caller ID, phone vibrating insistently. After a deep breath taken to ground herself, she slides her shaky thumb over the glass, slowly bringing the device up to her ear. Her voice is soft and timid as ever, a tremble running through its undertone. “H-Hello?”

Harry’s words come through the crackling speaker as dark and smoky as whiskey, pouring into her mind and intoxicating her as easily as the real liquor would.

“Flip onto your stomach and take off the lace. Now.”

[avintagekiss24]

THE FALLEN || BUCKY BARNES

-- DEMON!AU -- ONE SHOT --

pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x black!reader || word count: 5,783 || warnings: smut, sex, vaginal fingering, demon possession, language, angels/demons || challenge: @wxntersoldiers​ 6k au challenge - demon!au || summary: heaven was above, hell was below - but now they’re both on earth, and you’re stuck in the middle. || author’s note: i stole a little from supernatural, a little from the bible (this is not a religious fic and I am in no way trying to push any religions/beliefs onto anyone!), and also took some liberties for this one! also, major thanks to @tropicalcap​ & @littleheavensangel2​ for helping me figure this fic out. love you two ladies!

just for reference, steve is archangel Michael, bucky is fallen angel Azazel, sam is archangel Uriel, rhodey (james) is archangel Gabriel.

line divider by @/writeyourmindaway!

You grip the shotgun tightly, your finger curled around the trigger as you stare down the long barrel. You keep your left hand cupped around the forearm as you press the tip of the gun into the rusty, old metal door, pushing it open with a loud creak. Your eyes dart around the abandoned warehouse as you move into the damp, dank room, the smell of sulfur hitting your nostrils.

Something shifts from somewhere deep in the warehouse - the familiar click of something metal hitting the floor. You whip in the direction of the noise, your eyesight aligning with the small sight at the end of the barrel, your breath going shallow. You stand stark still, just waiting for something - anything - to move, growl, or breathe, so you can blow it right back to the fiery pit of hell it came from. But nothing moves, nothing growls, nothing breathes - it’s just you and the silence of this new world.

You cut your eyes back into the center of the room and move forward, each step balanced and focused. You lower your weapon, very slightly, as you walk up on a small, burnt out fire. You kick at the old newspapers and napkins before you scan the room with your squinted eyes and kneel down beside it. You pick at the burnt rubble, lifting some to your nose to sniff at it before throwing it back into the burnt pile. Whoever was here is long gone. 

You close your eyes and bring your hand to your face, letting out a deep sigh. You rub your forehead and then your eyes before you grab the back of your neck. Sleep is pulling at you. Steve’s voice rings in the back of your mind - you can’t keep going like this. You’ve been through worse. All the survivors have. A few nights without sleep is considered a privilege these days. 

You take another deep breath but jolt back up on your feet, spinning around and hoisting your shotgun back up to your face. Sulfur fills your nostrils, stronger than when you first stepped into the warehouse. Then, there’s a soft sound of steps, one slowly after the other, circling you. You blink, but move with the noise, following it in a circle, training your eyes on the darkness.

“Come out.” You say firmly, adjusting your grip on your weapon, pressing your finger a little harder into the trigger.

It doesn’t answer. It just continues to circle you slowly, making sure to stay in the darkest parts of the empty warehouse, careful of the moonlight. 

It’s amazing how calm you are now in moments like this. A year ago, when the world first collapsed and heaven and hell was unleashed upon it - you prayed for death. You weren’t meant for this; you weren’t strong enough. You were a city girl. Starbucks in hand, AirPods in your ears, Christian Loubotins on your feet, a (huge) engagement ring on your finger. Your worst fear was someone parking their luxury vehicle in the spot that was reserved for your luxury vehicle.

Then it all went to shit.

Your Loubotins have been replaced with a pair of old, ripped Adidas that you took while out on a supply run. Your Birkin bag is now a high school boy's backpack, again, picked up while rummaging through an abandoned house. The only thing you have that reminds you of you, is that engagement ring, placed on a simple gold link chain and tucked underneath your tattered shirt. The weight of it, the feeling of it pressing against your chest keeps you grounded - it helps keep your memory of Bucky alive. 

Now, this shotgun, two hunting knives, and a katana are extensions of your body. Killing - demons or humans - is second nature to you. You are strong enough. 

“Come out,” you announce again, “Now.”

A deep chuckle rings out. You fire a round into the wall opposite you before pulling back on the forearm, the spent cartridge flying past your face and falling to the ground. You push the butt of the gun back into your shoulder and keep moving with the sound of the steps.

“Ooh,” a voice calls towards you, “Tough girl, huh?”

You fire another round, slamming the forearm back again to push another bullet into the chamber. The steps stop. Soft curse words float toward you as you finally spot a shadow doubled over. You smirk.

“Imagine if I were aiming for your face,” you shrug, “Bucky, come out.”

He chuckles again. He steps out into the moonlight, rolling his shoulders as he glances down at the bullet wound in his side, “I liked this shirt.” 

You peer at him over the barrel of your still raised gun, “Looks good on you.” 

He does indeed look good - like the old Bucky, the one you still dream of. He even keeps the simple silver chain that you gave him a few Christmas’ back around his neck. His hair is longer, and dare you say, you almost like it better than his tailored look from before. It’s pulled up into a bun - a bun! - a few loose tendrils falling around his face. The human Bucky never sported a beard, or even the smallest trace of stubble, but demon Bucky…. he’s, well, everything your Bucky was not.

Gone are the crisp, ironed, button down shirts, slacks, and designer loafers. Black combat boots, black jeans, black leather jacket now dress his muscular frame as he stands before you, his head cocked, a shit smirk on his face. 

His eyes are different, and that’s the most unsettling part. Those deep, ocean blue, often demonstrative eyes are just a memory now. Two yellow orbs stare back at you, devoid of any notion of who he once was - or the life you shared together. 

You blink, remaining steady as you watch him dig into his jacket pocket and pull out a loose cigarette; the gaping hole in his side closing up on it’s own. He places the thin stick between his lips before flicking his eyes back to you, and snaps his fingers. A bright fire starts to burn at the tips of them. He keeps his eyes on you and covers the end of the cigarette to shield it from any wind that escapes in from the broken window overhead, and lights it slowly. 

He inhales deeply, pulling his head back up straight as he pulls the cigarette from his lips and exhales a cloud of smoke in your direction. He winks at you, playing with you seemingly before he shakes out the fire on his fingertips.

“Why are you following me?” He asks after a few silent seconds, taking another drag of his cigarette.

You can’t tell him why, although, if you could, you’re not really sure that you would want to. You don’t know if you really believe what Steve is trying to get you to believe. You were always a pessimist - the glass is half empty kinda girl. Something in you keeps nagging at you, telling you that your Bucky is gone. 

You still remember the last time he was truly your Bucky. His frantic voice filled your ears as you lifted your phone to your ear, your eyes wide and full of tears  as you sat in shock while the television at your office played out the gruesome stories from all over the world. Building collapsed, people running for their lives, blood staining the streets. Deep, long cracks in the concrete as fire spewed up from below. 

“Listen to me, baby,” you barely heard him say, “Just get home, ok? Lock the doors, close the blinds, don’t let anybody inside. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Ok? Promise me, baby.” 

“Bucky,” you whimpered as hot tears streaked down your face, “I’m scared, I can’t. I can’t -  what is happening?” You sobbed.

“Hear my voice, baby,” He said firmly, “Just get home, okay? I’ll be there, I promise. I will keep you safe.”

That was the last time you heard his voice.

He never made it home.

It took months before you could even understand what could have happened to him, months more before you could actually confirm it. You were out on a run, alone, looking for supplies and a dry place to sleep. You ended up downtown - apartment buildings made for the best supply deposits. It was dark, the streetlights had long since burnt out, but you grew accustomed to moving around with only the moonlight as a guide. 

You rounded the corner and stopped dead in your tracks. There was a group of them, but naturally, you hesitated - not knowing if they were human or the possessed. Just when you were about to turn and head back from where you came, you heard it. His laugh. When you turned back, he was facing you and every ounce of air was sucked right out of your body. 

He was alive. 

It had been so long. 

Every rational thought drained from your mind. You just wanted to feel him - to hug him and kiss him and tell him how much you missed him. How you’d known all along that you’d find him again. Your feet were moving before you even knew it. Your eyes filled with tears as you crossed the street towards him. You just wanted to feel him. 

“Buc-”

Before you could get his name out of your mouth, you were grabbed from behind and yanked between two buildings. A hand clamped over your mouth, muffling your screams as a chest pushed into yours. The strange man peeked around the corner of the building before returning his attention to you, shaking his head slowly, “Possessed,” he whispered.

You’ve been with Steve - well, Michael, ever since. He explained it all to you - the centuries old war between heaven and hell - good and evil - that had finally spilled over onto earth. How he, Uriel, and Gabriel (Sam and James, respectively) decided to help, despite their instructions to never interfere. The information made you dizzy. You didn’t believe it at first, you thought he was crazy - until his wings spread out behind him. 

You kinda had to half believe him then.

He also explained how it happened - how you could be possessed. You had heard along the way that just looking at one of the creatures crawling up from the gaping holes in the streets could do it. Others said all that was needed was a touch from one. Maybe it was a bite, or a scratch - some even said the possessed had been chosen from birth - everyone had a theory. 

None of them were true, turns out.

“You have to give in.” Steve’s voice was soft, his eyes cast away from yours as you gasped in terror, “You have to offer your soul to them for the demon to take you.”

You want to know why. You want to know why the man you were about to marry, the solid, the strong, the happy Bucky Barnes you knew and loved, gave up his soul - and if what Steve says is true - you want him back.

“I’m not following you.” You lie.

He snorts, “So, it’s just a coincidence we keep running into each other?”

You shrug, blinking slowly, “Looks that way.”

He nods back at you, taking another puff of his cigarette before he expels the grey smoke again and flicks at the end to rid the ash. He drags his eyes along your frame as you stand in the middle of the room, your weapon still trained on him. He knows there’s a story that you aren’t telling.

He tilts his head again, his eyes dropping from your face quickly before they return, “You knew him?”

“Who?”

“Don’t play with me,” He scoffs, rolling his eyes before he gestures at himself, “This pretty face. This Bucky, you keep referring to.”

You don’t answer. You just blink at him, tightening your grip on your gun again as you keep his chest dead center of the barrel. He kicks at the debris on the ground before he gazes up at the tall ceiling, still sucking on that cigarette between his lips. 

“I can’t give him back, you know.” He says matter of factly, “He’s mine.”

“I understand.” You answer simply.

He smiles widely at your humor, “Why are you following me then? Hm? Why do you keep following me around, girl?” His voice deepens by the end of his question - menacing, trying to intimidate you.

You shrug again, “The same reason you don’t ever try to kill me once you realize I’m around.” You click your jaw, “His body may be yours, but I know Bucky is still in there. He won’t let you kill me.”

Your words stun him into silence. He smiles slowly after a few seconds and tilts his head back as he drops the stub of a cigarette to the ground. He cracks his neck and then rolls his shoulders, humming softly. 

He steps towards you but you’re quick, instantly taking a step back, and then another, and another, in rhythm with him, “You want to know how I got him?” He asks, “Hm? How I took your precious little Bucky?” He mocks, laughing at you as your eyes go wide. 

You swallow hard, blinking rapidly as you squeeze your finger against the trigger a little harder, “Stop. Back up.”

“He was damn near dead when I found him,” he continues, ignoring you completely, “I thought he was dead when I first saw him. Poor old Bucky here must have been in a hell of a hurry,” he smiles again, his eyes glowing as he recounts the details, “Flipped his car in all the melee. He was trapped in there for days.”

“Stop it.” You whisper, your chin starting to tremble. 

“Oh, he was gullible too.” He laughs again, “He believed every word that came out of my mouth. It’s people like him that make it so damn easy - he didn’t even put up a fight.”

“Shut up!” You shout as a single tear slips down your cheek, “I mean it, I will blow your fucking head off.”

He stops moving towards you, but laughs again, clapping his hands as the stench of your fear and anger fill his nostrils. He titters, “I know exactly who you are.” He whispers, his smile growing larger as your face clicks in his brain, “He had your picture, clutched in his bloody hand, pressed right up against his chest when I found him.” 

You let out a sob. 

“I used you against him.”

“Shut up!” You scream again.

“He begged me!” He shouts at you, making you stop in your tracks. He clasps his hands together as if he’s praying, “Please,” he starts, mocking Bucky’s pleas, “Please help me. I need to get home, please.”

You squeeze the trigger, firing a round straight at his head. He’s quick, but you knew that, the bullet just grazing the side of his face as he sidesteps it. You slam the forearm back and shoot again, and again, the empty shell casings falling to the concrete floor, soft clicks and tings sounding as they bounce. 

Bucky smirks at you again before he disappears from sight. You reach for the hunting knife strapped around your leg and pull it from its sheath, spinning around on your feet and bringing it down with all the force in your body. 

He catches your arm in mid air. He folds your arm behind your back and whips you around, crushing his chest to your back. 

“All I had to tell him was that I could help him get back to you so that he could keep you safe, and he fell for it - hook, line, and sinker.” He whispers in your ear, his hot breath washing over the side of your face as you struggle against him. He starts to laugh, the sound booming through the warehouse again, bouncing off of the walls, “Isn’t that hilarious? Men are so fucking weak, just the thought of you brought him to his knees.”

He closes his eyes again and starts to sway the two of you back and forth, taking a deep breath, filling his chest and lungs with your scent, “God, you smell good. I could taste you on his lips as soon as I took him. I could feel your skin in his hands - smell that sweet cunt of yours.”

He wraps his arm around your waist, squeezing you to him tightly as he digs his nose into your hair. You shiver at the feeling of his prickly stubble grazing across your cheek, still struggling and whimpering to get free of his grasp. The hand around your waist sneaks up into your shirt, skirting up your warm flesh, his fingers finding your breasts. You gasp when he squeezes them hard - pushing you back into him with his strength. 

His tongue slithers out from between his lips, licking from your jaw up to your temple before he presses the side of his face to yours. He chuckles as he fondles your breasts with his fingers, his hot skin searing yours, making you jump in pain. He cranes your head to the side with his before he rubs his cheek against yours. He nibbles on your ear as you start to struggle once more, then dips down to your neck where he nips at the exposed skin with his teeth.

Your nipples harden. A shiver runs up your spine. An ache starts to spread through your stomach and sex as heat blooms across your skin. Your stomach starts to churn as hatred and anger builds within you. Your mind knows that this isn’t Bucky - but your body doesn’t. It just knows that these hands, these lips, this tongue feels familiar; and it’s been so long.

You feel his dick start to push into your ass, pulling another laugh from the demonic creature, “Looks like my pal Bucky and I both have a weakness for pretty girls.” He mumbles against your ear. He slithers his hand from your breasts and down to your jeans, his index finger tracing the edge of the denim from hip to hip, “I haven’t even touched you yet and I can smell you from here.” 

You're paralyzed. Stuck between your screaming mind and your willful body. He lets go of the arm he has pinned behind your back and grabs your chin, pushing it upward so that you can see him. You blink furiously as he gazes along your face, his fingers gently caressing your jaw and cheek, his eyes roaming slowly.

Your breath is heavy and audible - small whimpers escaping with each exhale. His hand pushes into the front of your jeans and dives right for the apex, finding your folds and clit wet and hot. Your mouths both fall open in unison - yours from the touch you didn’t realize you had been waiting for, his from the delight of it all.

He hums as his fingers start to play with you, rubbing and circling, flicking at that sensitive little bud between your legs. He feels your body tighten and the soft rock of your hips as a gentle, soft, feminine moan escapes from your lips. He tilts his head as he watches your eyes flutter from the contact - the sight of you, your smell, your soft skin, your sounds - it all makes him wish he’d been human all along. 

He pushes his fingers inside of you suddenly, pulling a sharp gasp from your lips. You push your hips forward and let your mouth go slack again as your eyes close to slits. He pulls his fingers out slowly, then delves back inside of you, hooking them as he starts to stroke your slick muscles. 

Your body jerks gently as you grunt, your sounds husky and full. He keeps your chin in the palm of his hand, his fingers pressing into your cheeks as he stares down at you. He licks your mouth - over your chin and lips, up to the tip of your nose before he tongues the roof of your mouth, groaning as lust ripples through his body. 

He kisses you suddenly. Hard. Hungry. You moan into his mouth before breaking the kiss to hiss and groan from his pumping fingers. You roll your hips into his hand as your head falls forward, squeezing your muscles around him to add more pressure. 

He pulls out of you suddenly, whipping you back around and slamming you into the wall. You hold yourself up with your hands, spreading your fingers out on the wall as your chest heaves with anticipation. He pops your button and fly and pushes the thick material down to your knees as you push your ass back into him. You slide your hand to your clit, massaging yourself with the tips of your fingers as you hear him fumble with his own pants. 

His hands are back on your hips, his nails digging into your thick flesh as he slams into you. You jolt forward, moaning loudly as he starts to fuck into you hard - the sound of his skin slapping against your bouncing off the walls around you. You slam your eyes closed as you lunge forward with each thrust, your fingers still working your swollen clit. 

Bucky works your shirt up over your breasts before he pulls at the cups of your bra, freeing your bouncing tits. He cups them, then tweaks your thick, hard nipples before he wraps his large hand around your throat. He squeezes, tightening your airway as he rams into you from behind. Your fingers still push along your clit, slapping at the sensitive bud before you rub it as hard and fast as you can. 

He feels different - thicker than before. His cock seems to pulse while inside of you, filling up every inch of space your cunt has to offer. You can feel the blood coursing through the thick vein that runs the length of his cock - feel the thick, sticky cum bubbling from his slit. He pushes his cum deep; each thrust spilling more of his luxuriant seed into you. His sex is hot - the sheer heat radiating from every inch of him makes sweat pop along your skin. His fingers start to burn you again and you cry out in pain as burns mark your flesh.

You feel the pull in the pit of your stomach, the pressure starting to build as your body tightens intuitively. Bucky curls his fingers over your shoulders as he feels your pussy start to squeeze down on him and pulls you harder back into him. His eyes fall to your ass as your flesh jiggles with each thrust. 

You close your eyes again and let your head fall, bracing for the impending orgasm that threatens to consume your body. Small ripples of it flash through you, making you tense suddenly. Bucky’s fingers cover yours to help you massage your clit until you’re a shivering, shrieking mess. 

You cum all around his rigid cock. You’re loud - panting and moaning as you thrust back into him, releasing more waves of your long overdue release throughout your body. Your clit convulses, jumping with each contraction of your cunt, your muscles tensing and squeezing around him.

Bucky continues to slam into you, each stroke coming harder and faster than the last until a low, animalistic growl rumbles through his chest. Your wet muscles coax his orgasm right out of him, pulling more ribbons of cum from his slit as he ruts into you. He fills you up, so much so that he spills back out of you, making a mess of your already quivering, wet thighs. He grips your flesh so hard as he fucks into you, small bruises form instantly on your hips. 

He pumps into you one last time and holds still, wiggling his hips to push himself deeper into your sex as his cock continues to spit. You tighten your muscles, holding him in, feeling each spurt, each jump, each pulse of his cock until your orgasm recedes back into the depths of your body. 

You keep your eyes closed as your breath rushes, your heart racing. Bucky pulls out of you unceremoniously, slapping his dick against the inside of your thigh before he plunges his fingers back inside of you quickly. 

He then shoves them in his mouth, moaning as your familiar taste explodes on his taste buds, “Bucky has good taste.” He chuckles, slapping your ass before he tucks himself back into his jeans. 

You’re not sure what you feel right in this moment. Shame? Regret? Excitement? Relief? It’s a foreign feeling - whatever it is. One that maybe you used to know, but can’t really put your finger on now. Living through an apocalypse will do that to you. It humbles you. It breaks you down to the bare minimum of what you are; makes you shed everything unnecessary - like shame, regret, excitement, and relief. 

You pull your jeans back up over your hips and turn to face the demon in front of you. You lean against the wall and watch as he pulls another cigarette from his pocket and lights it with the fire he conjures at the tips of his fingers. 

“Feel better now?” He asks after a few minutes, “Maybe you can let me be.”

“I don’t believe you.” You say calmly, blinking at him.

He rolls his eyes as he expels a puff of smoke through his nostrils and lips, “What don’t you believe, darling?”

“You can give him back to me.”

He scoffs, walking right up to you again. He presses his forehead to yours, pushing until your head rests against the wall behind you. He taps on your temple with his index finger slowly, his yellow eyes bouncing between yours, “Your Bucky is gone. Get it through that thick skull of yours.”

“I don’t believe you.” You whisper, defying his every word. 

He leans back, smiling in pity of you, “Why not?”

“Because I told her so, Azazel.”

You both snap your heads toward the new voice. Bucky grabs you and pulls you in front of him as he backs his way into the center of the room. He peers over your shoulder at the tall, blonde man as he moves slowly into the room, the tips of his long, gloriously white wings dragging on the ground behind him. 

Your chest starts to heave again as Bucky grips your bicep hard as he continues to back up, his eyes squinted as he tries to make out the face of the unknown man. You can feel when it clicks for him. His grip lessens just slightly, he straightens up, he lets out a breath.

“Michael.”

The blonde man smiles gently, “It’s Steve down here.”

Bucky snarls as he keeps you pressed to his front, “These human names are ridiculous, aren’t they?”

“I don’t know,” Steve shrugs, “I kinda like Steve.”

“You would,” Bucky chuckles, “How are you, brother? It’s been a long time.”

Steve smiles again, his brilliant blue eyes sparkling underneath the moonlight spilling in from the broken windows, “I’m well. I miss you, we all do.”

“I miss you too, Michael.” Bucky answers earnestly, “I do, I mean that.”

“Then come home.” Bucky starts to speak, but Steve holds up his hand, “You can help us end this. Return her fiancé to her, and help us set this right.”

Bucky scoffs, “And ruin all the fun? I don’t think so. I quite like being bad.” He curls his fingers around your neck again, kissing your cheek as he starts to sway with you back and forth, “You should try it. It’s fun - freeing, if you will.”

“This isn’t fun, Azazel. People dying isn’t a game.”

Bucky groans as he rolls his eyes dramatically, “Can you fucking lighten up? Jesus.”

“Azazel,” Steve starts.

“It’s Bucky up here,” he mocks, wrapping his arm around your waist, “Isn’t it, sweet thing?”

Steve steps a little closer, “Talk to me, please. This isn’t about her.”

“This isn’t about her?” he laughs, “You used her, Michael, to get to me, and now it’s not about her?”

“I didn’t use her. You’re my brother, I can feel you, we all can.”

“We, we, we,” Bucky shouts, tightening his grip around you, “So, you’re all here, hm?”

“Yes.” Steve answers calmly, “Gabriel, Uriel - we all came to help.”

“Oh yes, because you love these repugnant creatures so fucking much, right?” Bucky shouts back, a sudden anger flashing through him as he gestures towards you, “Right?!”

Your heart rate quickens as you stare at Steve, watching as he stays as cool as a cucumber, “Yes.” Steve responds softly, “I do. I love them. We’re supposed to love them, Azazel.”

“They’re disgusting!” Bucky seethes behind you, “Humans lie, they cheat, they steal, they kill! They turn on each other like animals, they desecrate their bodies -” he grabs your chin and pushes it upward gruffy, causing you to hiss in pain, “This one just let me fuck her knowing exactly what I am,” he takes a long pause, “And you still believe they deserve our love?” He finishes, his voice barely above a whisper.

Steve dips his head, but smiles and lets out a small laugh, “I’m not saying they’re smart.”

He drops his hand from your chin and turns his head to the side, staring at the opposite wall. His body is tense, the heat of his anger radiating through every pore of his skin, “We gave him our undivided attention - unconditional love and devotion, and he chose them over us every single time. That doesn’t make you angry?” He hisses lowly, his voice wavering just slightly, “It doesn’t make you want to see them suffer? After everything he’s done for them, how much he loves them and for what? Just for them to turn their backs on him.”

“That’s not for us to decide, Azazel.” Steve says, his voice still gentle, still calm, not wanting to agitate him anymore, “You know what’s happening here is wrong. This is not our playground. If they destroy themselves, then so be it, but we can’t make that happen, especially out of spite.”

“Spite? Oh,” Bucky laughs again, shaking his head, “This isn’t spite, this is full on hatred. I loved him,” he spits, venom dripping from every word, “I loved him more than anything, more than anyone - and he cast me aside that I was nothing.”

“You were proud, Azazel.” Steve says firmly, taking a step towards him, “Too proud, too bold. You started to question him, he had no choice but to cast you out.”

“Bullshit!” Bucky shouts loudly, “He could have just loved me the way he loves these filthy humans.”

Steve closes his eyes, “You can still come home.”

“I don’t want to come home. I told you, I like it here.” He seethes, his voice low in your ear, licking your cheek with his hot tongue to antagonize Steve. 

“Bucky was a good man,” you say softly, your voice shaking as you try to reason with him, “You know that, you can feel it, I know you can. That’s why you don’t hurt me. You can’t - he’s too good, and you can’t control it.”

You feel his eyes on you and the anger still brimming underneath his surface. He drags his fingernails along your cheek before he cups your chin again, “Thanks for the swell time, baby girl.”

“Wait,” you say, trying to turn to face him, “Wait, please. Just listen to Steve, we’re not trying to-“

You blink, and he’s gone. You turn and let out a sigh as you stare into the dark warehouse. 

Steve moves up beside you, placing his hand on your shoulder and rubbing softly, “Are you alright?”

You blink again, a numbness coming over you, “Yeah.” You say after a minute or two.

“You…” his words fall away as he tries to make his question as delicate as possible, “You mated with him?”

Your mouth falls open, but you shut it after a few seconds tick by, not having any sort of come back, “Please don’t, Steve.”

“That wasn’t part of the plan.”

“I realize that,” you sigh again, “Thank you. I just got… caught up. It’s - you wouldn’t understand. It’s been awhile.”

He rolls his eyes, his wings swishing behind him, “For all that is in the world, the lust of the flesh and the lust of the eyes and the boastful pride of life, is not from the Father, but is from the world.” He quotes, shaking his head softly. 

You pinch the bridge of your nose and close your eyes, sighing lightly, “Not now, okay? Please.”

“For while we were in the flesh, the sinful passions, which were aroused by the Law, were at work in the members of our body to bear fruit for death.”

“Steve!” 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, bowing his head, spitting out a quick prayer for you before he centers himself, “Did you get it?”

You hold out your hand. In the center of your palm sits the silver chain that was once around Bucky’s neck and the discarded butt of his cigarette. The apocalypse teaches you all sorts of tricks - like slipping a chain off of a demon’s neck while he argues with an archangel. Steve grabs them from you, bringing them to his nose to sniff them quickly, “These will be perfect. Now come, you need to wash the sin off of you.” 

“God, you’re annoying.” You groan. Steve cuts his eyes toward you again as he presses his lips together in a hard line. You throw your hands up, “Sorry, sorry, sorry. Jes- I mean… fuck, sorry.” 

He sighs heavily, “You’re lucky I like you.”

You laugh a little as the two of you start to move back through the building, “I’m sorry, this is just,”

“It’s a lot, I know. But hey,” he grabs your wrist, stopping you so you’ll face him, “We’re gonna get your Bucky back. We just have to get this back to Gabriel and Uriel and we’ll have everything we need to summon Azazel to us and remove him from the vessel.” 

“He’s not a vessel,” you correct quickly, “He’s a person, he had a life. His name is Bucky.”

Steve notes the emotion in your voice, “I’m sorry. Bucky, we’ll remove him from Bucky. This will work, I promise you.”

You nod slowly as you let him pull you into a hug, “I believe you.” 

He knows deep down that you don’t - not really - not yet, anyway.

He’s determined to make a believer of you. 

[cxsmicmyeon]

SURPRISE! , kms

kim minseok x fem! reader

IN WHICH minseok wants to spend his 31st birthday at home with his wife and cat but you have other plans that may or may not involve a surprise birthday party. (based on the second prompt from this post by @creativepromptsforwriting​)

genre: married/domestic & non-idol au! fluff, humor word count: 3.0k warnings: swearing, light sexual references/jokes, implied sexual content (it gets a tad spicy at times but nothing explicit), chaos, minseok’s butt being The Bomb Dot Com™ (sorry not sorry)

author’s note: happy birthday to my ray of sunshine, kim minseok! i love you so so much darling, i hope your day is filled with so much happiness and celebration. hope this lil piece can help y’all celebrate min’s 31st with me <3 it’s not the 26th yet where i live lmao but it is in korea so yeah! once again have a happy happy birthday minseok, i love you endlessly and forever. <33 MOODBOARD MADE BY ME. I DON’T OWN THE IMAGES, I ONLY OWN MY EDITING. feedback and notes are greatly appreciated <3

One day.

One day until Minseok’s birthday, and you were scrambling from bakery to bakery to try and get the perfect cake for him. There were flaws in every place you’ve been: too expensive, the designs were not creative enough, blah blah blah. You wanted his day to be as perfect as possible, and what would be the point of that if the cake was nothing but?

Everything else was all ready. You invited all of yours and his closest friends to your house the night of Minseok’s birthday for a surprise party. You planned on keeping Minseok out of the house for the entire day as your friends decorated the house. 

He didn’t want a party. He made that abundantly clear to you as soon as March began. He incessantly told you that all he wanted was a day off from teaching so he could spend the whole day with you and your cat. All he wanted was a nice and relaxing day with his wife. You understood, obviously. But you also wanted to go all out and throw a surprise birthday bash for your husband celebrating his thirty-first year on Earth. Baekhyun, Chanyeol and Jongdae’s incessant whining and begging for an excuse to have a party only aided in your need to have a party.

You ended up settling with a simple Carvel ice cream cake from the frozen section of the grocery store. You made a mental note to ask Yixing to write out “Happy Birthday Minseok” the next day as you left the store.

You came home to your husband holding a feather toy over your cat, Tan’s head. She pawed at the red feather, always at the cusp of grabbing it before Minseok moved the line away from her. He cooed at the animal, making soft kissing sounds as he continued to play with her.

Realizing that he may see the cake, you tucked the grocery bag under your shirt in an attempt to hide it from him, shivering at the cold contact the frozen treat made with your skin. The rustling of the plastic bag caused Minseok to look up at you. He gave you a gummy smile as you walked past him and Tan.

“Well hello to you too, honey. What’s under your shirt?” Minseok asked playfully, wiggling his eyebrows as he made eye contact with your chest. You realized that hiding the bag did not do much to hide the cake, as the shape of the large box combined with the plastic grocery bag greatly protruded from the fabric of your shirt. 

“Nothing, it’s for tomorrow. Don’t wanna ruin the surprise, hm?” you mused, blowing him an air kiss before retreating to your office. He "caught” your kiss with a smile before going back to playing with Tan.

You entered your office and placed the plastic bag onto your desk. You ran to lock the door before opening the bag and taking the cake out, sighing in relief that the cake did not get ruined. You bent down to your mini-fridge and opened the small door of the freezer compartment and placed the cake inside, glad that it could fit inside. After locking the fridge, you exited your office and made your way downstairs to spend time with your loving husband.

You awoke the next day curled up in Minseok’s arms. You cuddled closer to him before jolting upwards in realization. Today was finally the day! You bent down and began showering your sleeping husband with excited kisses, trailing a hand down his bicep. He let out a sleepy groan as he stirred, wrapping his strong arms around your figure.

“Aah, what’s gotten into you baby?” he asked, his voice hoarse from just waking up. 

“Happy birthday, Min!” you beamed, pecking him on the lips. He grinned tiredly as he kissed you on the lips.

“Mmmh, thank you honey.” You grinned as you kissed him again. This kiss lasted longer than the previous ones and slowly yet surely grew more heated. You moved yourself so you were straddling him, not breaking the kiss. He hummed against your lips as you slid your hand underneath his shirt, fingertips grazing his toned stomach. He groaned as his hands made their way down to your ass, squeezing harshly. You bit back a moan as you slowly slid his shirt up his chest, breaking the kiss to ogle at his abs.

“Babe... don’t we need to get ready?” Minseok groaned as you pulled the shirt over his head. You latched your lips onto his neck and softly bit down, eliciting a raspy moan from your husband.

“Shh, let me give you your first gift.” you purred, moving your hands toward the waistband of his boxers.

The mall was packed to the brim with people from all different walks of life. Gossiping teenagers, sleep-deprived parents following their energetic kids around, old couples window shopping, you name it. You walked through the giant Macy’s and into the main hub of the mall hand in hand with Minseok. 

Since you started dating, it has been a tradition for you to buy each other’s gifts the day of your respected birthdays. You’d usually scour Amazon or websites of your favorite brands all day and end up splurging half your monthly paychecks on each other. But on occasion, today included, you’d take your shopping day to the local mall as a means to get out of your apartment and actually go out for once. 

After an... eventful... morning, you rushed to get dressed and usher your husband out of the house, since the boys were coming over at 11, and it was 10:55 by the time you got into the car and sped away toward the mall.

You pointed out a newly opened jewelry store and pulled Minseok inside with you. You looked at him lovingly as he browsed the display of a multitude of different rings. He’d softly mutter to himself as he picked up ring after ring: trying to see what would look best next to his wedding band, what the right price was, if the store even provided the correct size. You loved how organized he was.

Your silent admiring was interrupted by the familiar chime of your phone, indicating you got a text message. You let out a sigh as soon as you saw who the message was from.

operation minseok’s 31st🥳

jun-bug: (y/n) we have a problem (y/n): oh god what happened yee-xing: baekhyun dropped the cake (y/n): he did what bacon: cant u read (y/n) i dropped the fucking cake 11 minutes late: no need to be rude xoxo (y/n): yeah baek u don’t want me to leave my stunning husband inside the jewelry store, come home and mutilate you for dropping his cake and get arrested on his special day (: kyung-soup: oddly specific but i’m here for it jong-waeeee: off topic but the sign says “minseop” instead of “minseok” (y/n): jun, yixing and kyungsoo you better get this settled or else i’m gonna kill all of you nini bear: yes ma’am ofc ma’am we will do this correct chain-yeol: yeah i don’t wanna die today

“Everything okay?”

You quickly locked your phone and threw it inside your purse before making eye contact with Minseok. You nodded a bit too quickly, panic washing over you like a giant wave from the ocean.

“Yeah, everything’s dandy.” you sputtered. Oh, why did this have to happen right now? You silently prayed that everything was going to go well. It had to.

“You sure?”

“Positive. Did you choose something?” Minseok nodded as he handed you a box with a simple black titanium ring. You nodded in approval as he led you to the register.

Your next stop was at Express. You were dying to pick out some new work clothes for him to try on. You assured him (and yourself) that he needed these new pants and this was totally not an excuse for you to check him out.

“Okay, I’ve got three pairs of pants that I think would look absolutely amazing on you and I want you to go try ‘em on.” you said, handing Minseok three hangers. Each hanger had a pair of slacks in different colors hanging from them. He took them from you, shooting you a smirk before walking inside the fitting room stall.

Your eyes widened as Minseok opened the door of the stall. The pants fit absolutely perfectly. The way the fabric hugged his perfect thighs, the color complimenting his white undershirt (which you imagined to be one of his famous white button-downs), it left you practically swooning.

“What do you think?” 

You let out a hum in approval before motioning for him to turn around. “Lemme see the goods, hun.” He rolled his eyes before turning around. Your eyes landed on his butt, making you swoon for real. You covered your mouth to hide your obvious enjoyment of the sight before you. And it didn’t help when he gave his butt a mini shake. Still, you couldn’t help but squeal softly.

“You sure today’s not your birthday?” Minseok teased. You tutted as you stood from your spot and walked up to him, giving his butt a light pinch before wrapping your arms around his neck.

“With you, every day’s my birthday.” you answered, giving him a peck on the lips.

“Ugh, I think you ate too much of that egg and cheese for breakfast today.”

“You know you love me.”

“That I do, darling.” Minseok mused before closing the distance between you two. You tangled your hands in his silky black hair as you savored the heavenly taste of his lips. You felt his hands grab your ass as you deepened the kiss, tugging at his hair in response.

As you kissed, you heard your phone chime the same chime that indicated a text from the boys. You decided to ignore it and continue making out with your husband until the phone went off four more times. You scoffed as you broke the kiss, fishing inside of your purse to grab it.

“Is everything okay, hun?” Minseok asked.

“Yeah, fine. Just crap from, uh, ‘work,’” you lied, unlocking the phone. “Go try on the other pants.” Minseok nodded before walking back to the stall. Once the door was closed and locked, you looked down at your messages, worry washing over you once again. What the hell happened now?

operation minseok’s 31st🥳

yee-xing: oh christ yee-xing: (y/n) (y/n) (y/n) jun-bug: you gotta help us yee-xing: please kyung-soup: i am going to kill park chanyeol like my life depends on it (y/n): what the everloving shit happened this time chain-yeol: um i sneezed all over the cake kyung-soup: the custom one u got on wednesday btw (y/n): you. sneezed. on. the. CAKE????? chain-yeol: IM SORRY chain-yeol: I WAS TRYING TO STOP BAEKHYUN FROM KNOCKING IT OVER AND I SAVED IT BUT THEN I SNEEZED nini bear: ur so gross chain-yeol: you too (y/n): i spent 100 dollars on that cake and you fucking sneeze on it?? (y/n): jfc i’m here busy admiring my husband’s sweet sweet ass and u guys are telling me the cake’s ruined? i will murder u all i swear jong-waeeee: ew i don’t wanna hear about minseok’s ass (y/n): shut the fuck up sign ruiner jong-waeeee: I GOT A NEW ONE THOUGH jong-waeeee: YOU’RE SO MEAN bacon: WAIT bacon: (Y/N) WE’LL PAY FOR ANOTHER ONE  (y/n): baekhyun you sweet summer child (y/n): I HAD TO PRE-ORDER THAT CAKE 2 WEEKS IN ADVANCE YOU WALNUT bacon: oh bacon: my bad 11 minutes late: W8 W8 I GOT U 11 minutes late: WE CAN STILL EAT IT 11 minutes late: I’LL SPRAY SOME LYSOL ON IT jun-bug: SEHUN DON’T YOU DARE (y/n): sehun honey that just contaminates it even more (y/n): but thank you for trying 11 minutes late: xoxo i try my best yee-xing: how ‘bout we just buy more carvel cakes to match the one you got yesterday up to 100 dollars so it maxes out (y/n): yeah alright fine (y/n): thanks xing ur a life saver (y/n): but don’t throw away the ruined cake i wanna show min what he could have missed out on if CHANYEOL DIDN’T FUCKING SNEEZE ON IT (y/n): WHO SNEEZES ON A CAKE nini bear: only chanyeol (y/n): yep, only chanyeol chain-yeol: y’all are mean. kyung-soup: what u get for sneezing on the cake

You locked your phone, letting out an exasperated sigh. You swore if anything else happened today, you were going to march all the way back home and kill those men. You massaged your temples with your fingers as a means to alleviate your stress. All you wanted was for everything to be perfect for the party; Minseok deserved nothing less than that. 

The door of the stall opened, revealing Minseok wearing nothing but the new pair of navy slacks and a devilishly handsome smirk. His smile faded when he saw you with your hands over your face, taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm yourself down from your stress. He quickly pulled his undershirt on and rushed over to you, wrapping his arms around you comfortingly. With a sigh, you buried your face in his chest, your stress starting to wash away as he began stroking your hair.

You stayed like that for about ten minutes. You eventually calmed down, silently reassuring yourself that everything was going to be fine. You were glad that Minseok did not try to ask you anything since you were afraid you were going to let slip what was waiting for him when you arrive home later in the day. 

You let out a small sniffle as you pressed a small kiss on your husband’s exposed shoulder. “I’m so sorry I brought down your mood, Min. The p- ‘w-work,’ is just annoying right now. It’s your birthday, it’s supposed to be a good day.” you mumbled, looking down at your hands.

“Shh, don’t you worry your little head about it,” Minseok assured, kissing your forehead. He tilted your head up and pressed his lips against yours. “All I want is for my baby to be happy today.” You gave him a weak smile and wrapped your arms around his waist, feeling so lucky to have him in your life.

“C’mon, let’s go to the food court. All this stress made me hungry.” you joked, standing from your spot. 

“Good idea,” Minseok gave you another kiss before walking back into the changing stall to change back into his regular clothes. “Oh, by the way, buy the pants.” You pumped a fist into the air as you took the hanging articles of clothing into your hands.

You were lucky (and frankly surprised) that nothing else had managed to go wrong today. You were suspicious that you hadn’t gotten any panic-stricken texts from Yixing or Junmyeon, but you couldn’t complain about that. Just to be sure though, you quickly texted Kyungsoo to give you a final update on the state of your house. You sighed in relief when he responded with pictures of your living room, kitchen and backyard decorated just how you envisioned it to be. You sent Kyungsoo a text back thanking him and everyone else profusely for their help.

The clock struck 5, indicating that it was time for you and Minseok to go home. The two of you exited the mall, arms filled with different shopping bags from all the stores you went to during the day. After putting your bags into the backseat of your car, you opened the passenger side of the car and slid in.

“Hm, I was thinking of ordering from that ramen place we tried last week. It was really good, don’t you remember?” Minseok suggested, starting the car and pulling out of the parking lot.

“How ‘bout we wait ‘till we get home to... eat.” you responded, a shit-eating grin almost making its way onto your face.

Minseok hummed softly. “I just wanna spend the rest of the night with you and Tan at home, I hope no one’s planning a surprise party for me,” You tensed slightly at his words, looking out the window to avoid his gaze.

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that, hun.” You lied. He shrugged, intertwining his fingers with yours. 

When Minseok pulled into your driveway, you shot a quick text to the boys, telling them that you were home. You exited the car quickly, grabbing most of the shopping bags and taking Minseok by the arm, dragging him to the front door.

“Whoa, what’s gotten into you?” he chuckled as you struggled to get your keys out of your purse. Once you got them out and put the house key into the lock, you turned to Minseok and pressed your lips onto his.

“Happy birthday, Min. I love you so much. And I’m so sorry.” you unlocked the front door and pushed it open. You saw Minseok’s eyes widen at the sight of your home. It was filled to the brim with decorations and all of your closest friends holding gifts, balloons and tons of different ice cream cakes. 

“SURPRISE!” everyone exclaimed. Minseok’s jaw dropped as he fully took in everything that was happening. He looked over to you with a sly smile, to which you responded with a small shrug.

“I had to, come on.” You giggled, kissing him on the cheek. 

“It’s okay, hun. Let’s just enjoy ourselves.” Minseok cupped your face into his hands and pressed his lips onto yours.

“Gross, get a room!” you heard Baekhyun scream. You pulled away from Minseok to flip the younger off.

“Oh! I need to show you the cake I initially got for you but was unfortunately ruined because Chanyeol sneezed on it. Jun, is it in the fridge?” you pulled Minseok in the direction of the kitchen as Junmyeon confirmed the location of the cake.

“He... huh?”

“It was an accident!” Chanyeol whined. You laughed softly to yourself at his childish reaction.

Tonight was gonna be fun.

[justthehiddleswrites]

Follow My Lead | Tom Hiddleston x OFC | Chapter 4 | I don’t think you are supposed to giggle at Tolstoy.

A/N: This will update every Thursday.  There are 13 chapters.  There are all sorts of kinds of D/s relationships.  This is the one I choose to write this time.  

MASTERLIST HERE

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Vivian Swann)

Summary: Tom and Vivian have both been unlucky in love, searching for something outside of the bounds of a typical relationship.  When the two of them connect via a dating app, Tom is introduced to the idea of being submissive to Vivian.  Which is the one thing he never knew he needed.  Under the firm hand of Vivian, Tom learns what it means to submit and Vivian learns what it means to be in a loving dominant relationship.  But not everyone seems to understand what they have and the best intentions can destroy the strongest relationship.

Warnings for story: Dominant/submissive relationship (sub!Tom), lots of smut including but not limited to: vaginal sex, oral sex (male and female receiving), edging, denial, teasing, use of restraints, spanking, multiple orgasm, anal play, use of toys.

Tag Lists Are Open!  Let me know if you want to be added.  Thank you for reading!

-

Tom slept like a rock that night. The best night’s sleep in a long time. He dreamed of Vivian, kneeling on his chest, kissing him, teasing him, biting him. And he woke that morning with his cock hard and leaking. He stroked himself as he thought about Vivian. But not in the way he usually did. Instead of fantasizing of her touching him, sucking his cock, jerking him off, Tom closed his eyes and imagined his lips on Vivian’s folds and clit. Her hands in his hair tugging his head where she wants it. Vivian moaning in response to his touch, his tongue. As her pleasure increases, Tom’s motions in real life increased. Tom came with a soft gasp, spurting along his torso. He panted, trying to catch his breath. Once he regained his composure, he headed to the shower to clean himself up and go for a jog.

-

Vivian rapped her nails on the desk in her flat. Her email open on the screen. She was drafting the proposed protocols for Saturday to Tom, and she contemplated on how far to push him. So far, Tom exceeded all Vivian’s expectations. Which worried her. In the past, all men have been eager to please, at first. But once the shiny new wore off, and the men realized the relationship wasn’t about her fulfilling their fantasies of kinky sex and it was about surrendering to her authority, they ran. Sometimes without further word. It wasn’t the incompatibility that bothered Vivian, but the coldness in which they communicated it. As though she was without feeling or emotion. This caused her to assign the reading at the beginning, to move more cautiously. And she wasn’t sure if her heart could handle a rejection from Tom.

With a sigh, she typed out to Tom:

This is a date for the sole purpose of kissing. No food, no drink, no chitchat, no reading, no hanging out.

In short: Kissing, petting, stroking and all the things come along with that- yes. Talking, sex, orgasms- no.

Here is a list of what may happen, not what will happen. If anything bothers you or off limits, let me know.

- Kissing, obviously. Let me know of any spots that are off limits.

- Shirt off

- Pants off (underwear on)

-Nudity (you, not me)

- Kneeling

- Blindfold

- Light bondage (cuffs- both wrists and ankles, tied to the bed)

- Biting

-Bruises on your body (both in places normally covered by clothing and places it would be visible such as the neck)

- All over body touching (let me know of body parts off limits)

- All over body licking (same as above)

- Roles reversed (you touching/licking me)

- Hands around your throat (gentle not choking)

- Hair pulling

- Fingers in your mouth (not gagging)

- Body-slapping

- Pinching

And I think I covered everything. Wear a button-down (I like when you undo the top few buttons) and jeans or slacks. Send me a photo of what your current underwear options are. I will send you your address that morning. I expect you at 7.

Vivian

She smiled as she re-read the email. She buzzed with anticipation at the possibilities of Saturday night. Vivian was certain she would cuff and restrain Tom, and not just because he had the tendency to squirm underneath her. She suspected it would push a button and was eager to test her theory. She hit click and headed off to work.

-

Tom was eating breakfast, having finished his morning run when his phone dinged with a new email from Vivian. He read through her email and swallowed hard. The list was extensive. He re-read before finishing up breakfast and heading upstairs and digging through his underwear drawer. Tom had three options laid out on the bed. He snapped a photo of them laid out on the bed. He examined the photo, unhappy.

“Might as well.” he commented to himself as he stripped down and pulled on the first pair, navy boxers.

Tom stood in front of the full-length mirror in the closet and snapped a photo. He hated to admit he may have flexed a bit in the photo. He repeated the process with the white underwear briefs, and the black Calvin Klein boxer briefs. Pleased with the photos, Tom typed back to Vivian.

Wow, that is quite the comprehensive list. I appreciate the thoroughness and the bullet points. I am not scheduled for any meetings until Wednesday, so any marks will have faded by then. My feet are ticklish. Probably shouldn’t tell you that. ;) And I would rather not have my armpits or the inside of my ears licked. Otherwise, I am game for whatever you want.

I have attached photos of the underwear, per your request. And if there is anything else I can do to be of service, please let me know, ma’am.

Your sunshine boy,

Tom

He attached the photos and sent the email and then returned to dressing for the day, flopping on the bed to return the last two books on his list before starting his essay.

-

Vivian was pleased Tom modeled the underwear rather than just lay them out of the bed. She probably would have directed him to model them. She wrinkled her nose at the first pic and flicking through the rest.

Black boxer briefs. Burn or throw away the tighty whities. If I find a pair in your home, I will punish you. Let’s change our night time call to 9:00 p.m. from now on. I hate keeping you up so late.

She placed the phone down on her desk. It buzzed almost immediately.

Consider them burned. 9 p.m. works for me, although I don’t mind waiting up if it means I get to hear your voice. :) I shall wait with bated breath until Saturday.

-

The rest of the day seemed to fly by for both of them and before long, Tom was settled into bed with both his books of collected poetry and Anna Karenina. He called on time and Vivian asked for him to read more of Tolstoy. He started doing voices of the characters, in particular an exaggerated Russian accent for Levin and Vronsky.

“I don’t think you are supposed to giggle at Tolstoy.” Vivian commented after one particularly dramatic passage.

“I’m a full service entertainer. Comedy, drama, action, romance.” Tom teased back.

“What about erotica?” she teased right back, her voice low.

Tom paused. “For you? Without question.” She could hear the hesitation, fear, and excitement in his voice. She hoped it would remain.

Vivian sighed. “I think it is enough reading for tonight. I want you to get a good night’s rest for tomorrow.”

“Yes ma’am.” he responded.

“Goodnight, Tom, my sunshine.”

“Goodnight, Vivian.”

They ended the call, and both drifted off to sleep.

-

Vivian attended her weekly blowout appointment, not realizing Tom spent the day as a bundle of nerves. He ran ten miles hoping to burn off excess energy. It didn’t work. The only thing he did was finish the last of the books from Vivian’s list. The fastest ever read through anything in some time. He was too distracted to write his essay, thought swirling in his brain. Tom wants it to be perfect. He wants everything to be perfect for Vivian.

Tom must have tried on at least six different shirts, each discarded on the bed as unsuitable. He settles on a soft, well worn light blue shirt. One of his favorites. The collar is fraying at the corners, which is why he doesn’t wear out as much anymore, favoring instead newer but less comfortable shirts. He grabbed a pair of jeans only to notice a hole on the inside of the thigh and discarded them also on the bed, grabbing a different pair. Tom left the top two buttons undone, a calculated air of casual. A quick dab of cologne and then he waited, not wanting to arrive too early.

-

After her morning errands, Vivian ate a light lunch and set about preparing her flat for Tom. She made up the bed with fresh linens and double checked the restraint points on the posts. She hadn’t decided on a leg position, so Vivian placed straps on all the corners as well as the point in the middle. Vivian opened the nightstand and retrieved the cuffs, adjusting them and placing them prominently in the foyer on a table. Cuffing Tom would be among the first things she did that night. In addition, she laid out a blindfold on the nightstand and put a bottle of water there too. After bathing, she slipped into a simple silk tank and striped shorts. She wore the same wedges as before. Vivian enjoyed looking Tom in the eye while standing and kissing. A quick dab of perfume behind the ears and settled on the couch, watching some TV waiting for Tom.

He knocked on her door, ten minutes early. Acceptably early without fear of being so early that he disturbed preparations.

“I couldn’t wait any longer.” Tom commented.

Vivian giggled. His eagerness was endearing. “I’ll allow it. Come in.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He stepped into her flat, looking around in wonder. Vivian grabbed him by the chin and kissed him hard.

“Do you still remember your word, sunshine?”

“Yes.” Tom is already breathing hard. “Sushi.”

She smiled and slid her hand down around Tom’s neck. His Adam’s apple moving underneath her palm. His eyes widened in fear. Vivian kissed him again. He leaned forward when she stepped back. She walked around him, fingers tracing the planes of his body, his broad shoulders, defined pecs and abs. Vivian gave his ass a playful swat. Tom yelped and staggered forward.

“Such a nice ass, sunshine.” She growled in his ear, grabbing it with her nails.

“Thank you, ma’am.” his voice shook. He wasn’t used to being manhandled, and his cock appreciated the rough touch.

“Shirt and pants off.” She stepped back to watch him undressed.

Tom’s cheeks blushed. He had been nearly nude in a room of strangers before, but under Vivian’s glare, he never felt so exposed. Tom tugged his shirt over his head, not bothering to undo the buttons this time. He folded the shirt, placing it on the nearby table while he slipped his shoes and socks off, and slipping his jeans down his lean legs. Vivian licked her lips at Tom in his underwear. While the man appeared fit clothed, he was something carved from marble without the clothes. He flashed a lopsided smile as he placed his jeans on top of his shirt and folding his hands in front of him, obscuring his crotch.

“God, you are beautiful.” Vivian hissed as she stepped forward to kiss him again. Tom hummed back at the praise, his body growing warm. She nipped at his lower lip, nibbling rather than biting, sending shocks through his body. “Wrists, please.”

Vivian moved to the table. Tom’s arms shot out. She grabbed the leather cuffs and put them on. Tom jerked back his arms.

“What are those?” His brows furrowed.

“Cuffs. Wrists.” Her tone sharp. Tom hesitated, his mouth opening to protest. “Sunshine, wrists.” she snapped.

“Yes, ma’am.” He reluctantly held out his wrists. She tightened the cuffs, making sure they wouldn’t chafe.

Tom twisted his wrists back and forth, testing out the weight and listening to the rings thudding against the thick leather. Vivian kissed him again, hands sliding down his torso. His cock jumped. She grabbed the back of his neck and led him towards the bedroom. Tom gulped at the blindfold and straps.

“Ah…” he started before being cut off by Vivian’s lips on his neck. “Oh!” he moaned. She laved and sucked hard, removing her lips with a pop, satisfied at the dark mark already formed.

“On the bed, sunshine. On your back.” Tom scrambled onto the bed, lying flat on his back. As Vivian slipped the cuffs on Tom’s ankles, he jerked back. She raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry, ma’am.”

“Good boy.”

She slipped her shoes off and then hooked his ankle cuffs to the straps in the middle of the bed. As Vivian strolled to the head of the bed, she ran a nail up Tom’s leg. He jerked against the restraints. She grabbed his arm and clipped it onto the strap before crawling onto the bed, reaching over to clip in the other side, her breasts grazing Tom’s body. His hips bucked.

“So squirmy, sunshine. Best I did tie you up.” Vivian straddled his chest, pushing him into the mattress. “I can’t let you get away just yet.” She pressed against his lips softly, earning a sigh. Her teeth worried his lower lip.

“Ow.” he mock protested.

Nevertheless, Vivian let go of his lip and trailed down his neck. She licked the bruise from earlier before moving down to his collarbone. Vivian sucked and nipped, leaving the twin to the neck’s bruise there. She smiled at her handiwork. Tom struggled against the restraints.

“They have held stronger men than you, sunshine.” Vivian dragged her nails down his sides, leaving faint lines. As she settled by his hips, Tom’s cock pressed against her. Tom huffed and puffed as she kissed his Adonis belt, scraping her teeth along his skin from time to time. Her hands stroked along his thighs and he flexed under her touch.

She slid off of Tom’s body, and he whined at the lack of contact. Vivian rolled back on top of Tom, lying along his full body like a blanket. Tom sighed at the weight and contact. She pressed her cheek to his chest, listening to his heart race. She snaked a hand to the back of his head and jerked his head sideways before kissing him. Tom met her lips with hunger and he whimpered each time she pulled away, only to tug him towards her again. He strained against the restraints, desperate to touch her, to pull her tight against him and rut against her. His tongue slipped into her mouth, needy, exploring every inch. He moaned as Vivian’s grip tightened on his hair, hurting, but he wanted more.

Vivian could sense Tom coming close to overheating, making a mess and complicating the hell out of this. His cock strained, hard and weeping. She pulled away, holding his lower lip between her teeth as long as possible, stretching it.

“Ow.” Tom muttered.

Vivian slid down to press against Tom’s side. She cupped her cheek before gently kissing behind Tom’s ear. Tom moaned softly from the back of his throat. Her fingers twisted into his hair and she massaged his scalp. Tom’s shoulders relaxed and his hands loosened from the fists. As she scratched and petted him, he leaned into her touch, his breath slowing to a deep and even pace. He closed his eyes, enjoying the soft touch.

“You are so beautiful, my sunshine.” She cooed at him. Her other finger tracing his jaw and cheekbone. “So pretty.” She kissed his cheek and stroked his chest.

“Thank you, ma’am.” His voice breathy and floaty.

Vivian reached over and unhooked Tom’s wrist. She turned and unhooked his other wrist. Tom didn’t move. She stood to unhook his ankles.

“Legs up, please.” Tom lifted his legs into the air. Vivian undid the cuffs, rubbing the skin and massaging it. She kissed the top of his feet and Tom giggled and squirmed. “You weren’t joking about being ticklish.”

“No, ma’am.” He slowly floated back to reality.

“Sit up, please.” Tom rocked up, his hair a rumpled mess, and held out his wrists. Vivian smoothed out his hair and held the back of his neck while she kissed his cheek and lips a few more times. She released him and unbuckled the wrist cuffs, rubbing his wrists and kissing each one and placed them on the nightstand and grabbed the water bottle, handing it to Tom.

“Thank you.” He opened the bottle and took a large swig. Vivian smoothed his hair back one more time.

“Let’s go get dressed, sunshine.” He sighed, taking another swig of water before standing. Vivian slipped her wedges back on and walked beside Tom, rubbing his neck the entire time. “I was a bit rough on you. Are you okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.” His voice quiet while he grabbed his jeans and tugged them on before pulling on his shirt, tucking it and zipping up.

“How did it feel? I imagine you are used to being treated with kid gloves.”

Tom pulled on his socks and shoes, working on finding the right words.

“I don’t quite know how it felt.” Tom replied, a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. “But I know I didn’t want it to stop. I didn’t mind the pain. I wanted to touch you and make you feel as good as you made me feel.”

Vivian smiled and pulled him into a hug, squeezing him tight. “Sunshine, I feel good. I received great pleasure at teasing you.” She kissed him. “With my mouth. And watching you squirm and hearing you purr.” She petted the back of his head. “But I appreciate your desire to please me physically. And you will when the time comes.”

Tom stared at her with his endless blue eyes. “When will that be, ma’am?”

“When you’re ready, Sunshine.” She kissed his cheek. “You still haven’t finished your homework first.”

Tom’s hands fidgeted, twisting in front of him. “I finished all the books. I plan on starting the essay tomorrow.” He stared at the floor. “I want it to be perfect.”

“As long as it is from your heart it will be, my sunshine boy.” She grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “I don’t ask for perfection, just effort.”

Tom nodded and squeezed her hand back. “Yes, ma’am.”

She walked him to the door, kissing him one more time. “Call me in the morning when you wake up.”

Tom nodded. “Thank you for tonight.”

“You are welcome. The pleasure was mine.”

Tom smiled and kissed Vivian’s cheek and headed out. She clicked the door shut and set about cleaning up the place. Tom came home and ate a sandwich before turning in early that evening, his brain still fuzzy.

-

As requested, Tom called in the morning, still in bed, to check in with Vivian. It pleased her that outside of the marks on his neck and collarbone, Tom was no worse for wear. Tom left out the part of the dreams he had or the fact he woke up with a raging hard on which Tom took care of in the shower, skipping his run for thirty minutes on his long neglected rowing machine.

Tom lazed about for most of the morning, having something akin to a hangover without the benefit of being drunk beforehand. As he sat down at this computer to start his essay for Vivian, there was a knock on the door. He groaned as he trudged to see who would dare disturb his lazy Sunday.

A smiling Benedict greeted him at the door. When he saw Tom in workout gear, he frowned.

“You’re not dressed!” he complained.

“For what?” Tom blinked back at him. He didn’t recall making plans.

“Lunch!” Benedict stepped in the foyer. “We made plans weeks ago. I’ll wait for you to change.”

Tom was ready to protest, but Ben crossed his arms and it was clear he wasn’t leaving without Tom. With a huff, Tom discarded his clothes into the bedroom which now had a small pile of discarded and dirty clothes, and grabbed an old gray v neck t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Shoving his feet into a pair of boots, Tom stomped back to Ben, pushing past him.

“Let’s go.” Tom grumbled.

Tom’s mood improved once he ordered some food and got half a pint into his system. Benedict stared at him, squinting.

“What?” Tom asked, still irritated.

“What is that on your neck?” He pointed at Tom’s neck. Tom twisted it, and then Ben spied the second mark on his collarbone. “And your chest? Were you attacked?”

Tom touched his collarbone and remembered. He blushed. “It’s nothing. Forget it.” He gulped down the other half of his pint and stood. “Let me go get another round.”

Benedict held out his arm to stop Tom. “It’s like you were bitten by someth… Oh… OH!” The lightbulb went off. “Things going well with Vivian?”

Tom rolled his eyes. “Yes.” He sidestepped Ben’s arm and grabbed another pint before returning to the table.

“Care to share?” He prodded.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Moving on.” Tom grew more homicidal by the second.

Benedict clapped his hands together. “Remember how Sophie wrangled me into serving on the children’s hospital charity board?”

“Yes.” Tom saw the Cheshire Cat grin on Ben’s face. “No. No! I went last year and got cornered by that old lady who kept calling me ‘Henry’.”

“It was endearing.”

“It was ridiculous.”

“There’s an open bar.”

“Hard pass.”

“I have two tickets. You can bring Vivian.”

Tom stared at his friend. “I am not introducing you to Vivian.”

“Why not?”

“Because I like her and I’m afraid you will scare her off.”

Benedict scoffed. “I have never…” He clutched his chest in dramatic fashion. “… never scared anyone off.”

“Alice, Catherine, Eva…” Tom counted off on his fingers. “… I can go on.”

“None of them met my high standards. Please come.” he begged. “Sophie will kill me if you don’t come.”

“The thought of your death is tempting.”

The waiter set the food down.

“Tom…” Benedict dropped all pretense. “… please come. I promise I will be on my best behavior.”

Tom’s head dropped. “Give me the details. I will check with Vivian tonight when I call her.”

Benedict’s lips pursed. “Really? I can’t wait to meet her. Especially someone who leaves marks like that on you. Sounds like she is yours for the taking.”

“Yeah.” Tom mumbled as he took a bite of his food.

-

Tom called her at 9 p.m. like always.

“Sunshine, how was your Sunday?” she asked.

“Speaking of that…” Tom started, and she noticed the nerves in his voice. “What are you doing next Friday evening?”

She thought about it for a moment. “I believe I’m free. Do you have any ideas?”

Tom exhaled sharply. “I’ve been invited to a charity event by Benedict and I have two tickets, and I was wondering if you would like to come with me.” He blurted it all out in one big run-on sentence.

Vivian paused before laughing. “Wow, you were really nervous about that, weren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am. Everything is still so new and I don’t… I don’t want to mess this up.”

“You are just the sweetest, sunshine. You know that right? Beautiful and sweet. Yes, I will go with you.”

Tom beamed. “How would everything work?”

“Like any date would. We go, we drink, we dance and mingle.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know, darling. We can set some rules that work for both of us. okay?”

“Okay.”

“Now, read to me please.”

Tom grabbed the book.

-

Tom and Vivian agreed he would pick out three outfit options, but Vivian would come over ahead of time and make the final choice. They would not use pet names and instead would do what is natural. Tom asked that she still rub the back of his neck.

“It calms me down.” he commented.

“Of course, sunshine. I like when you are calm. You are more attentive that way.”

It was now the day of the event and Vivian sat on Tom’s bed, noticing the clutter. Tom was modeling the second outfit.

“I don’t like the tie. Let’s see the last one.”

Tom undid the tie and shirt and grabbed the last option. It was a double-breasted blue pinstripe suit with a blue shirt and navy tie. He did a little spin.

“That one.” Vivian stood and straightened his tie and petted his neck before squeezing his ass. “Your ass looks amazing in those trousers.”

Tom blushed again. “Thank you, ma’am.”

She kissed his cheek, wiping away her gloss. “Remember, no names, now let’s go.”

-

Tom was more at ease with Vivian by his side. Her reassuring touch at the back of his neck or even his shoulder grounded him. Not to mention, she dazzled everyone she met. Now for the big test.

“Benedict, Sophie, meet Vivian Swann. Vivian meet Benedict Cumberbatch, notorious troublemaker, and his queen of a wife, Sophie Hunter.”

Vivian shook each of their hands, holding tight to Tom’s but leaning in for a kiss on the cheek by Ben. Tom tightened his grip. She suppressed a giggle.

“Charmed. Thank you so much for inviting me. I have been looking into getting the firm involved in more charity work and the children’s ward is an enticing option.”

“Firm?” Sophie questioned.

“Watkins, Price, and Forbes. I work in their corporate law division.”

Benedict let loose a low whistle.

“Tom, you didn’t tell me you were dating a pit bull.” Sophie commented. “Impressive.”

Vivian smiled. “I prefer the term ‘velvet hammer’ but pit bull works. “

“How did you and Tom meet?” Ben interjected.

Tom paled, but Vivian didn’t miss a beat.

“The Bloomsbury Club. We bonded over a shared loved for Macallan 18-year-old aged whisky.”

Tom cleared his throat. “Right. Why don’t we take a seat?” He gestured at their reserved table.

“Your feet must be killing you in those shoes, Vivian. After having kids, I just can’t stand wearing them, but if I want to see eye to eye with this one.” She gestured at Benedict.

“Guilty.” He shrugged. “Although not as tall as the Frost Giant over there.”

Tom paused as he pulled out Vivian’s chair for her.

“I don’t mind the heels.” Vivian responded. “It is all what you get used to. Besides, I enjoy towering over people.” she giggled.

“Champagne?” the waiter offered.

“No, it makes her sneeze.” Tom commented.

“Get me a glass of white wine, please?” Vivian gazed up at him.

Tom smiled down and kissed her cheek. “Yes, of course, darling.”

“Sophie?”

Benedict and Sophie blinked at the two of them.

“Uh… yes a white wine sounds fantastic. Thank you, Tom.”

Tom nodded and headed off to the bar. Sophie elbowed Benedict in the ribs. He shuffled to his feet.

“Tom, let me help you with that!” He called after his friend.

Sophie waited until both men were out of earshot.

“How did you… I don’t want to know. You’re not like Tom’s other girlfriends, Miss Vivian Swann.”

She smiled. “I’m not sure if that is a compliment or an insult. So I will say thank you.”

“Definitely a compliment. There is something different about Tom when he is around you. He seems…”

“… happy?”

“Yes, but the word is content.” Sophie added. “Content, at peace. After that last nasty breakup, the man could use a little peace and quiet.”

“Hopefully not too quiet.” Vivian smirked.

“Are you two gossiping about us?” Benedict teased.

“I was just telling Vivian how happy and content our dear Thomas looks with her.” Sophie quipped.

Tom blushed as Vivian smiled and reached out to rub his neck. “I am. Thank you for noticing Sophie.”

-

The evening wound down. Tom for once enjoyed the event. Vivian won over Benedict and Sophie, so much so that Sophie invited her to go shopping tomorrow afternoon while she wrangled Benedict and Tom in tearing down a shed in Ben’s yard.

“Leave them to grunt work while we shop.”

“I would love to.” Vivian sipped at her wine.

The two couples said goodbye while waiting for the valet. Benedict hugged Vivian tight and kissed her cheek. While Sophie and her exchanged numbers. Benedict pulled Tom to the side.

“There’s something different about you, man.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about. I’m still me.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“No,” Ben folded his hands in front of his face. “there is definitely a change. And I think it has something to do with that enchanting woman over there, who I am sure is being tortured with baby pictures by my wife.”

“Perhaps.” Tom replied cryptically.

“Don’t fuck it up man. You will never find another girl…”

“Woman.” he corrected his friend.

“… Woman like her. You deserved a little happiness.”

“Tom?” Vivian placed her hand on his back. “The car’s here.”

“Of course. Ben.” He shook his friend’s hand and then hugged Sophie before opening the door for Vivian and then getting in and driving off.

-

“I’m going to head home.” Vivian stated when they got back to Tom’s home.

“Okay. I had a lot of fun tonight. It wasn’t nearly as dreadful with you there.”

“Your friends are a delight. They really do want the best for you, sunshine.”

Tom smiled at the name. “Yes, ma’am.” He fell back into the old pattern.

She grabbed the back of his head and tugged him into a kiss. Tom wrapped his arms around her and did his best to hold her tight. She pulled away, and he whined.

“I’m ready to take this to the next step, Vivian. I want to please you.” His hands ghosted over his shoulders. “In all ways.”

She smiled. “Send me the essay and we will talk. How about lunch tomorrow?”

“I will send it as soon as I step inside. I could cook you lunch here.”

“I would like that, sunshine.” She kissed him one more time. “Sleep well.”

“Yes, ma’am. You too.”

She smiled and walked to her car to head home. Tom stepped inside and rushed to his computer. He did a quick spell check on the essay he had been tweaking over the last week and clicked send.

“There.”

Vivian laughed as her phone beeped before she even left Tom’s driveway, knowing it was Tom’s homework.

“So eager. I like that.”

[sebthesnipe]

Together (My First Anxceit Fic)

Anxceit Fluff was requested... I attempted and failed. Well, kinda. It's a bit fluffy...

They really didn't want to cooperate.

Ship: Anxiety

For Mage_Ofthe_East on AO3 who is vastly supportive of my writing <3 I did my best. I'm sorry if its not as fluffy as it should be. <3 I think you'll still like it though.

Master List

AO3

TW: Alternate Ending has Major Character Death, Old Age, Children

“No! I don’t wanna go!” Virgil cried, pulling hard on his father’s hand, desperate to get away.

“Virgil! That is enough!” his father grumbled in frustration as he dragged him along towards the school’s double doors. “You have to go to school. All big boys do.”

“I don’t want to be a big-“

“What happened to your eye?” a small voice asked, cutting Virgil off and pulling his attention to the young boy waiting at the top of the steps.

Virgil sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve as his father pulled to a stop in front of the open doors.

A tall man in a dark blue polo and tie stood holding open the door and eyeing Virgil and his father evenly. Next to him stood the boy, only a few inches taller than Virgil, and certainly not that much older.

The side of the boy’s face was discolored with something that looked like an ‘angel kiss’, at least that was what Virgil’s father called it.

“What’s wrong with your face?” Virgil asked in return, the tears that had been running down his cheeks starting to dry up at the question.

“Virgil!” his father gasped.

“It’s quite alright,” the blue polo man reassured before turning back to the boy next to him. “Janus, why don’t you answer him? You did ask him a question first. It is only fair.”

The discolored boy eyed Virgil with a look far too similar to the blue polo man’s.

“It’s called Vitiligo,” he stated in a pompous tone. “It is a skin condition that causes its host to lose pig-eh-men-tation on certain parts of their bodies.”

“Very good,” the blue polo man praised.

“Thank you, Papa!” Janus chirped with a grin, glancing up at the man in question before sticking his tongue out at Virgil.

Virgil rolled his mismatched eyes. “Yeah, well, mine is… is… Heta… Heta-cha-o-nia-“

“Heterochromia, kiddo,” Virgil’s father offered affectionately.

“YEAH! That thing!” Virgil nodded.

“Pft,” Janus scoffed. “Whatever, I’m going to go play in the art room,” he informed his papa, striding into the school with his nose upturned.

Virgil stared after him. Virgil really liked art… And he supposed the other kid was interesting.

“You’re more than welcome to join him, Virgil,” Janus’ papa informed him.

Virgil looked up at his own father for reassurance, earning a slight nod before Virgil rushed after him.

“Wait for me!!!”

……………………………………………………………….

“What a nerd!” Janus' deep voice scoffed as he peered out the window.

Virgil glanced up from the magazine he had been flipping through, not that he was actually paying attention to it. His blue and green gaze landed on the two possible culprits of Janus’ current insult.

“Which one?” Virgil asked, with very little interest as he took in the Prince brothers.

Roman’s broad shoulders filled out his letterman jacket quite well, while Remus’ seemed a few sizes too big as he hung from a branch above his brother’s head. They seemed to be arguing about something.

“Does it matter?” Janus asked lazily, giving a shrug, his own letterman lifting and falling with the motion.

“Just curious as to whose heart you’re breaking next,” Virgil teased playfully.

“Shut it,” Janus laughed, shoving his friend out of his chair. “You’re just jealous! It’s not my fault no one wants to date a racoon!”

“Ouch, you hurt my feelings,” Virgil teased back, rubbing his newly bruised. “I’m serious though, I rather not have to avoid them both for the rest of our lives. They live next door to me you know?”

“The rest of our lives?” Janus asked with an arched brow.

“Well, yeah,” Virgil shrugged, climbing back into his seat. “Let’s face it, we’ve been friends this long… You’re kind of stuck with me for good now.” He tried not to flush as he spoke the sentimental words.

Janus stared at him for a long moment, making Virgil shift uncomfortably.

“Gross,” he hissed, though his Vitiligo stretched as he smiled affectionately.

“Your face!” Virgil retorted with a laugh.

“Yeah, well, your mom!” Janus spat back.

…………………………………………………

“You don’t get a say in it!” Janus spat at him angrily, throwing another perfectly folded shirt into his suitcase.

“I think I should!” Virgil snapped back. “I’m only your best friend !”

“You were my best friend!” Janus growled, moving to back another article of clothing.

“Don’t give me that crap, Janus! You’re just mad because you don’t want to hear reason!” Virgil argued, ignoring the sting of his words.

“Reason?! Ha!” Janus laughed mirthlessly. “The only reason I’m hearing from you is jealousy!”

“Me?! Jealous?! Of what?!”

Janus tossed in one more pair of slacks before slamming the case close and rounding on his friend.

“Would you like the list alphabetically or chronologically?” Janus offered sarcastically.

“Chronologically,” Virgil replied, calling him out.

Janus hesitated before giving a grimace. “How about that I’ve always been smarter than you! It’s not my fault you didn’t get accepted into a good college-“

“I didn’t apply!” Virgil argued, not willing to admit that he had been waiting to find out which college Janus was getting accepted to before following him.

“Or how about the fact that all your relationships end in disaster?” Janus added, turning to zip the case.

“I broke up with them!” Virgil reminded, ignoring the way his heart was pounding painfully.

“How about the fact that I am not content to stay in this tiny ass town, following tiny ass dead-end jobs and spend all my time wasting away with you !”

Silence fell between them.

Virgil’s gaze widened at that, chest feeling as if it had just been cracked open.

“I… See,” he mumbled, feeling his ribs heaving.

“Listen,” Janus sighed, realizing what he had said, his expression softening. “Remus is a good guy. We’ve been together a long time. I mean… he’s the reason I stayed as long as I have but… With Roman gone he’s willing to move and… I can’t miss this opportunity Virg… I’m sorry.” With that, Janus pulled his suitcase off the bed and headed for the door without a backwards glance, leaving Virgil to sink slowly to the floor, tears staining his cheeks as he watched his friend’s silhouette disappear around the corner.

………………………

“I know, right?” Virgil laughed, taking another long sip of his drink as he glanced over at his date.

It was a clear crisp night. Perfect for their walk back to his place. How long had they been dating now? Two months? Three?

“I thought he was going to choke! If you saw his face-“ Virgil’s voice cut off.

The silhouette of a man, dimly lit by the porch light, standing on Virgil’s doorstep caught his attention.

“Who is that?” his date’s voice echoed in his ear.

Virgil didn’t register the words.

His cup slid from his hand, hitting pavement and splattering his jeans.

“Virgil?” his date asked, still not receiving an answer.

Virgil paid them no mind, body seeming to turn on autopilot as he strode up the walkway, eyes glued to the outline of the man as if worried he might be a figment of his imagination.

It wouldn’t be the first time…

Virgil needed to know he was real…

Needed to know he was actually there...

“Hey-” Janus whispered, voice dripping with sadness, cut off as the breath was knocked out of him.

Virgil’s arms wrapped around Janus’ slender form, squeezing him so tight Janus felt as if he would break.

A moment later, Virgil pulled back, his multicolored gaze taking in the streaks that split the dirty smudges on his old friend’s cheeks, and the way his pleading eyes met his.

He had been crying? Janus? That certainly wasn’t the prideful image-driven man, Virgil remembered.

Years had passed since their falling out, neither willing to reach out to the other. Virgil had, of course, checked in other man from time to time through social media and family, but he was sure Janus had never known that.

“I assume this is a bad time?” Janus asked, peering past Virgil towards his date.

Virgil paid it no mind.

“What happened?” he demanded.

Janus tensed at the question, studying Virgil’s expression in turn before tears began to well up again.

Virgil didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around the taller man once more, pulling him close as Janus’ fingers curled into his hoodie, sobs raking his body.

…………………………………………………..

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Virgil asked, watching Janus examine himself in the mirror.

“It’s just one date, Virg,” Janus reminded with a smirk.

“Your first date,” Virgil countered. “First since-“

“It’s just one date, Virgil,” Janus insisted, cutting him off. “Now, how do I look?”

He turned to face the shorter man, straightening his tie as he did so.

“Like someone vomited yellow on your funeral suit,” Virgil grumbled, grimacing as he sat cross legged on the bed.

“Perfect,” Janus grinned in return. “I’ll be perfectly dressed for when I knock him dead.”

“Just don’t expect me to give the eulogy,” Virgil groaned.

“Like I’d trust you with anything more than handing out pamphlets,” Janus chuckled, picking up a pillow from the floor and tossing it at him.

“For the record, at your funeral, I’m bringing cake and icecream!” Virgil called after him as Janus headed for the door. “Throwing a block party!”

“Oh please! You need friends for that!” Janus called over his shoulder.

…………………………………………

Janus was exhausted.

A double shift with no lunch break. He was fairly certain that was illegal…

He stumbled into the house, tossing the keys onto the side table before calling out for his roommate.

“Virgil? I hope you left me some-“ He paused at the sight of the small to-go container sitting on the bar with his name scrawled on it in thick black messy lettering.

A smile played on his lips as he took the box and headed for the living room. Crappy food and some dull documentary sounded like the perfect end to such a long day.

He paused, Virgil’s snores drifting to him from the study.

Shifting directions, Janus peered into the room, catching sight of the cheap ‘Happy Birthday’ decorations strung across the bookcases and the small cake (which Virgil had obviously already began to enjoy) sitting on the table that read ‘Ha- Bir- Janus!’ in bright yellow, the words cut off by the large chunk missing from the sweet.

His eyes fell on Virgil’s sleeping form draped across the large arm chair, party hat covering one eye as he mouth hung open, crumb covered plate still resting atop his chest as it rose and fell.

Janus’ heart clenched and realization struck him as the walls seemed to shake with the sheer volume of Virgil’s breathing.

He was in love with Virgil Sanders!

…………………………………………………………………………….

“That’s not funny, Janus!” Virgil snapped, glaring at his friend.

“You’re right, it’s not,” Janus agreed simply.

“You’re fucking insane!” Virgil accused.

“I completely agree,” he nodded.

“Stop being so agreeable, damn it!” Virgil snapped.

“Only when you state something I can disagree with,” Janus countered.

“What will your dad say?!” Virgil asked.

“Papa will probably agree with me,” Janus offered calmly.

“But I never said that I-“ Virgil cut himself off, flabbergasted by the entire situation, throwing his hands up in frustration.

“You never had to Virgil,” Janus offered, sitting with his legs crossed in front of him as he watched his room mate frantically pace across the room. “I’ve always known.”

Virgil pinned him with a testy glare, his frustration only intensifying at the knowing smirk Janus offered.

“Then you are the one that’s lost their mind!” Virgil accused.

“Or found it, depending on your perspective,” Janus offered.

“No! Absolutely not!” Virgil answered, shaking his head.

“Why?” Janus asked simply.

“Well… Well… Because…” Virgil stammered.

“Because it wasn’t your idea?” Janus asked.

“What?! No! It was my idea!” Virgil paused as he realized what he had said and backtracked. “Well, originally… before… you know…”

“Good, then we’re in agreement.” Janus gave a curt nod, standing and straightening his coat.

“What?! But I never-“

“You did say it was your idea to get married originally,” Janus pointed out, “and I am agreeing with you now. Therefore it is set. October is a nice month to have a wedding, don’t you think?” he asked, already heading out of the room.

Virgil sank into the chair Janus had just vacated, utterly and completely confused… and yet happy beyond belief.

……………………………………………

“Are you sure?” Virgil whispered softly, peering over his husband’s shoulder.

“More than I have ever been in my life,” Janus nodded, bouncing the small child currently wrapped snugly in his arms.

Virgil didn’t need telling twice. “Alright then,” he nodded, turning to the desk next to them and signing his name.

“Logan Patton Dee, Fathers: Janus Alexander Dee and Virgil Edward Dee,” he whispered softly.

He slid the paper across the polished wood with a grin.

“It’s official,” the woman nodded with a kind smile, stamping the paper and moving to make copies. “Congratulations, to the three of you. There will be monthly check ins but I am certain everything will be as it should be.”

“Just as it should be,” Janus agreed with a nod, still peering dreamily down at their son’s face.

……………………………………………………

“I'm a serious Dad! You should have seen her!” Logan laughed, waving his hands in the air. “She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen!”

Virgil couldn’t help but smile at that, gray hair falling loosely into his face.

“You think Papa will like her?” Logan asked, finally glancing up at his father, brows furrowing in worry.

“She sounds like a very smart girl,” Virgil offered.

“Oh, she’s a genius Dad! Way smarter than me! Fiery too!” He went on. “She makes me the happiest man in the world.”

“Then I think he’ll adore her,” he reassured. “Is that right, love?” he asked, glancing over Logan’s shoulder at Janus as the man approached, his own salt and pepper locks groomed neatly down.

Logan started, turning quickly in his seat to stare up in surprise at the man in question.

“Hmph,” Janus huffed, with an upturn of his nose. “We’ll see.”

……………………………….

“Grandpa!” Valerie cried, climbing onto Virgil’s lap, his wheelchair rocking slightly with the force.

“Oof! Easy Val, if your Pawpaw sees you in my lap, he’ll have my head,” Virgil teased, tickling the little girls' sides playfully.

“That I will!” Janus teased, appearing at Virgil’s side and resting a hand on his shoulder. He looked happy to see the young girl, despite his threat.

“Pawpaw! Will you come watch me and Leo swim?” she asked excitedly, peering up pleadingly at Janus and causing his features to soften even more.

“In a bit, dear. I need to take Grandpa here back upstairs for a nap.”

“Who are you calling grandpa, old man?” Virgil growled at his husband playfully, helping Valerie climb off his lap. She gave him a big hug before hurrying off to play with her brother.

“You, grandpa,” Janus teased with a chuckle, “Come on, I’ll even lay down with you if you promise no to snore so loudly.”

“Ha!” Virgil barked. “Good luck with that. A forty year steak isn’t going to stop now!”

The End (of the fluff anyways)...

[[[This is the end of the fluff.

Continue at your own risk. Alternate NON-FLUFF ending in next chapter.

YOU WILL CRY!

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!]]]

Alternate Ending:

Janus brushed away the loose grass and dirt the marred the headstone, clearing the words

‘Virgil Edward Dee Loving husband, father, and grandfather’ etched in marble.

The dark stone of the plot next to him lay empty, waiting for Janus to join him in his eternal slumber, but the man paid it no mind as he emptied the vase of dead flowers and replaced them with the new ones he had brought.

“There,” Janus hummed proudly. “Much better. You always were a slob, you know,” he teased. “Though I suppose it comes with being part racoon.”

He laughed, the sound falling a bit flat as tears welled in his eyes.

“I miss you,” he whispered, voice cracking. “The kids do too. Logan promises he’ll visit but you know how those things go…”

…………………………………

“I miss you,” Logan mumbled, pulling out the dead flowers from the vase and replacing them with fresh ones. “Both of you…”

He peered down at the double plot.

‘Virgil Edward Dee Loving husband, father, and grandfather’

‘Janus Alexander Dee Loving husband, father, and grandfather’.

“The kids do too. Though, they’re still a bit young to really understand. You know how those things go…”

[hotpinkhoshi]

the pact | tied up (m)

pairing: jinyoung x reader (in the pact universe)

genre: this is basically pwp okay but a little fluff ofc

summary: jinyoung gives you a gift for your birthday that you’re sure to never forget.

warnings: uh.. bondage? sub!jinyoung (he’s not very good at it), some thigh riding action, oral, dirty talk, light choking/slapping, oh my god it’s really not that bad i swear

word count: 6k

a/n: hi ily all thank you for being so great. just wanted to let you know because i don’t really have anything else to say! onto the filth!

You hadn’t wanted much for your birthday this year. Just some relaxation and maybe a slice of cake. 

This year, your birthday fell on a Saturday, so you’d slept over at his place on Friday. Both of you fell into a peaceful slumber after a few drama episodes and some junk food. As far as Birthday Eves went, it was more than satisfactory. 

He let you sleep in while he made breakfast, a full out feast that you hadn’t been expecting. It was more than you’d ever gotten for your birthday from a boyfriend, and you hadn’t even been dating Jinyoung a year yet. 

The rest of the day was spent just how you’d wanted to; lounging around with some Netflix and snuggles before it was time for your birthday dinner with your friends. You went to a restaurant that Jackson recommended, which turned out to be a delicious Italian place. 

“Gross, you guys are so cute. I’m gonna throw up,” Sana said, the smile on her face contrasting with the disgust in her words. 

You laughed, one glass of wine deep while leaning into Jinyoung’s shoulder. You felt overly touchy tonight and it seemed as if Jinyoung was feeling the same way. His hand was planted comfortably on your thigh as he relaxed into the back of his chair, sipping on his own wine with a smirk. 

“Leave us alone, it’s my birthday.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell from the tiara,” Sana responded. You stuck your tongue out. 

“Hey! You got this for me,” you countered, bringing your hands up to adjust your plastic crown. 

As you went to take a sip from your newly refilled glass of wine, your boyfriend leaned in to whisper in your ear, his breath tickling your skin. 

“Don’t drink too much, I’ve got a present for you at home that you’ll need your energy for.” 

Your eyes widened and you desperately tried to keep a poker face. You’d already had a slow, lazy session this morning that you would have been perfectly satisfied with. But you wouldn’t say no to a second round before bed. 

“Is it a puppy?” you asked, turning your head towards him and batting your eyelashes innocently. 

Jinyoung chuckled, his fingers trailing further up your bare thigh until they slipped under the hem of your dress. With his other hand, he tucked your hair behind your ear. 

“Hmm, no. Not a puppy. Better.” 

“Do I have to take the crown off?” you asked, taking your lower lip between your teeth. Jinyoung’s eyes darkened as he looked at you, eyes flicking up to the tiara on your head, then down to your lips. 

“No, I think it will be quite fitting if you keep it on,” he replied. You bit harder onto your lip as his hand traveled further up your dress, his pinky finger grazing against your lace covered core. 

The rest of dinner was, to put it simply, torture. You couldn’t keep your thoughts straight and you found it damn near impossible to focus on the conversations going on around you. Now that you knew what was waiting for you at home, your mind was clouded with desire for the man sitting next to you. 

As soon as you got into the passenger’s seat of Jinyoung’s car, you were practically leaping over the center console to kiss him. You hadn’t wanted to be too affectionate in front of your friends because you didn’t want to make them feel awkward. But you needed his touch, not just the teasing brush of his fingers against your underwear. 

“Wh-whoa, hold on,” Jinyoung said against your lips, gently pulling away from you. “I said your present was at home. Not here.”

You pouted as you sat back, your hands resting on each side of his neck. “Baby, I need you. I don’t want to wait until we get home.” 

Jinyoung shot you a cocky smile as he trailed his fingers down the side of your face, dragging his thumb across your plump, wet lips. “You have no idea how badly I want to drag you into the backseat of this car and fuck you senseless. But it’s your birthday, and I have something special for you at home. Can you be a good girl and wait until then?” 

The truthful answer was no, but you were curious about what kind of present he’d prepared for you. Maybe some expensive lingerie. He did like to see you all dolled up for him in red lace, you’d learned that much very early on in your relationship. 

“I’ll try,” you answered, deflating back against your seat. Jinyoung brought your hand to his lips to kiss the back of it, causing your pout to turn into a smile. 

“That’s my girl,” he said, as he started the ignition. 

It was a test of your patience as Jinyoung drove you home, and even more so once you arrived back at his apartment. It was beginning to feel like home to you too. You spent more nights in his bed than your own. 

You kept control of yourself, no matter how difficult it was, as Jinyoung led you up to his apartment. You simply held onto his hand, perhaps a bit tighter than usual. 

Once you were in the silent space of his apartment, you slipped your shoes off and stared up at Jinyoung, fingers still laced through his. 

“Follow me,” he said, before you had a chance to ask. 

Of course, you obeyed. You still felt light and affectionate from the alcohol, but you had a clear enough mind to know what you wanted. Though it had crossed the line from want to need, very quickly. 

On Jinyoung’s bed was a black box, not wrapped, but with a fancy black bow on the top. You looked at him curiously, eyebrows raised. He simply motioned for you to find out for yourself. 

So you walked to the bed, Jinyoung not far behind you, and picked up the sleek, inconspicuous box. As you slid the lid open, your eyebrows furrowed. 

Silk ties.

When you saw the blindfold next to it, you turned to face Jinyoung. He was staring down at you, hungry. But there was something else there as well—an uncertainty behind his eyes that you hadn’t seen before. 

“You… want to tie me up?” you asked, your heart pounding. 

It wasn’t completely new to your relationship. Though he had never used legitimate restraints on you, he was a fan of pinning your hands behind your back or above your head. 

But Jinyoung shook his head. “No, baby. You get to tie me up.” 

You couldn’t help the small gasp that fell from your lips. the simple words were enough to send warmth through your limbs, your mind already racing with the mental image of Jinyoung laid on your bed, fighting against the silk restraints. 

“Oh…” you said, looking down at the box and then up at him. “And you’re okay with it? Really?”

He was the more dominant one between the two of you, by a long shot. And you loved it. It balanced you out perfectly, since you were more comfortable to leave the metaphorical reins in his hands. But it could be fun to switch things up for once. 

“It might take some getting used to, but…” he trailed his hand down your waist, over the curve of your hip until he was toying with the bottom hem of your dress. “I want to make tonight all about you.”

A slow smile spread on your lips. Your sex life was not boring in any way, but you could feel yourself getting excited and hot at the idea of trying something new. 

Jinyoung leaned down to mold his lips into yours, slipping his other hand into your hair as he held you there, kissing you deeply. You moaned into his mouth at the feeling of his tongue slipping past your lips. 

He stole your breath away with his lips for another moment longer before he pulled away. “Tell me how you want me… princess,” he said with a smirk, glancing up at your tiara. 

You bit back a giggle, then chewed your lip as you thought about it. “On the bed, but… first, I want this off.” You tugged at his crisp white button down. 

Jinyoung got the hint, bringing his hands up to his own shirt to slowly undo the buttons. You could feel the heat of his eyes on you as each inch of his chest was exposed to you, your mouth beginning to water when he moved lower and you could see the hard ridges of his abs. 

Finally, he shrugged his shirt off and you were met with the gorgeous sight of his naked torso. You didn’t think you would ever get used to the sight of him, how toned and perfect he was. And he’d just eaten carbs, for fuck’s sake. 

“On the bed,” you breathed, squeezing your thighs together. 

Jinyoung licked his lips and nodded, backing up until he sat back on the bed. “Here?”

You shook your head, tipping your chin towards the pillows. “No, lay down. I’m gonna tie you up now.” Just the phrase was enough to send a pulse of heat between your legs. Perhaps you’d wanted this for longer than you even knew. 

Jinyoung, so far, was quite obedient. You had a feeling it wouldn’t last, though. 

Once he was on the bed, shirtless, you crawled onto the mattress, still holding the box of ties. You straddled Jinyoung’s lap, pleased to find that he was already hardening beneath his slacks. You took one of the ties, smooth and cold in your fingers, and reached for Jinyoung’s hand. Bringing it up to the headboard, you tied his wrist to the metal there, glancing down at his face once you’d finished. 

“Is that okay?” 

Jinyoung looked… overwhelmed, to say the least. He kept looking between your breasts practically spilling out of your dress, now hovering just above his face, to the way you were tying his wrist to the bed. 

“Baby?” You asked again, after he didn’t answer. 

His eyes snapped back to you and he nodded. “Yeah. Yes.” 

“Okay. I’m gonna tie the other one now.” 

You hovered over him again to repeat the process, trailing your fingertips down his arm once you’d secured him to the headboard. Scooting down his lap a bit, you admired your handiwork. 

The image in your imagination was nothing compared to the real thing in front of you now. 

Setting the box to the side, you let your hands roam your boyfriend’s body. Rarely did he allow you to stare at him and completely indulge in the sight of him like this. You knew it was driving him insane already, and you’d only just begun. 

He shivered as your fingertips trailed from the center of his chest down the line between his abdominal muscles. You watched with fascination as his muscles contracted and relaxed, reacting to your feathery touch. 

“God,” Jinyoung whispered, his eyes falling shut. You felt him straining against his pants, his hips bucking up ever so slightly. 

You just smiled to yourself, your fingers continuing downward until they were trailing over the v-line curve of his hips. Unable to help yourself, you leaned down, pressing a wet kiss into his chest and nipping at his skin. Jinyoung exhaled and you heard the squeak of the headboard as he tugged at the silk. 

“Mm,” you hummed as you pulled away. “Baby, you’re going to have to control yourself. I’m only just getting started.” 

“Fuck, I-“ Jinyoung groaned, taking in a deep breath through his nose and out his mouth. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” you replied innocently. “But I think I’m going to need this,” you said, reaching into the box to the side of your bodies and grabbing the blindfold. 

Jinyoung’s eyes opened at your statement and immediately filled with anxiety. “No, fuck. Please don’t.” 

“Why not?” You asked, testing the feel of the blindfold in your fingers. It was black silk, like the ties, with elastic to go around Jinyoung’s head comfortably. 

Licking his lips, he shook his head. “I can’t. I need to see you,” he said, all while you reached forward and slipped the blindfold over his eyes. 

“I’m sorry, baby. But I need to teach you how to be good.” 

Every muscle in Jinyoung’s body looked tense from the combination of the loss of control and the loss of one of his senses. You, on the other hand, were greedy for more. 

“I love seeing you like this,” you told him as your hands resumed their journey along his body. One hand felt along the hard muscles of his chest while you trailed a finger down the curve of his jawline. “Powerless. Hard. Obedient.” 

Jinyoung whimpered. 

A sound you’d never heard before. It was foreign to your ears but you would now make it your personal goal to draw the noise out of him as much as you could tonight. 

“Stop pouting. I’m just turning the tables, right baby? All those times you had me under you, a slave to your every order.” You leaned down, brushing your lips against his earlobe. “Now you can see what it’s like.”

“Baby, I-“ Jinyoung breathed. “I need to see you.”

Although it was pointless, he was blindfolded, you shook your head. 

“Mm, not yet. I’m enjoying this,” you told him honestly. “But you can make it up to me.”

“How?” he asked without hesitation, eager to gain at least a shred of control. 

With a slight adjustment of your lower body, you maneuvered yourself until you were straddling his thigh. The thick, firm muscle pressed between your legs, your arousal already pooling in your underwear. 

“Let me use you. But you can’t move. I’ll get the other set of ties for your ankles if I have to,” you warned. 

“Shit,” Jinyoung sighed, and you wished you could have seen his eyes. It would be absolute torture for him and you knew it. “Okay. I won’t move.”

When you were sure he wasn’t moving a single muscle, you planted your hands on Jinyoung’s hips and began to rock your core against his thigh. You inhaled sharply, surprised at how good it felt already. 

“Oh,” you moaned as your eyes fell shut. “You feel so good. I think I’m already wet.”

“Fuck. I wish I could see you,” Jinyoung told you, just as he tensed his thigh muscle. 

You tipped your head back as you found your rhythm, keeping one hand on Jinyoung while the other trailed down your own neck, one fingertip tracing along the neckline of your dress. 

“Jinyoung,” you whispered, hips grinding deeper into him. “Do that again. Tense your- oh,” your words were cut off as Jinyoung immediately obeyed. 

“That’s it baby, ride my thigh. Shit,” he whispered, and you opened your eyes to find his jaw clenched and both of his hands curled into fists. “I bet you’re so wet right now. Just wanna taste you.”

His words spurred you on as you ground into his thigh with a quicker pace, the sight of him completely powerless in front of you just turning you on even more. 

Your hand groped your own breast over the fabric of your dress as shameless moans fell from your lips. With your other hand, you slipped your palm to cup his bulge, as hard as you’d ever felt it. 

“You’re hard as a rock, Jinyoung. Oh god.” Your eyes fell shut again as you squeezed him through his pants, which only made Jinyoung groan and buck his hips. 

The movement made you gasp as the ridge of his thigh bumped into your clit. You felt the telltale warmth spreading through your body as your rhythm became desperate, uncontrolled. 

“I’m gonna-“ you began, your heart pounding in your ears and your breath catching in your throat. “Gonna come, oh fuck, Jinyoung.”

The headboard squeaked and you were sure if you opened your eyes you’d see your boyfriend fighting against the ties, his only desire to touch your body. 

“Ah, shit, baby. I can feel you soaking through your underwear onto my thigh. Please. Come for me,” he said, his voice strained. 

You threw your head back as you came, your orgasm crashing into you in hot, electrifying waves. You cried out, almost a sob as you rocked your clit into Jinyoung’s leg. Your body twitched and you had to slam both your hands down onto his stomach, curling your nails into his skin to keep yourself steady. 

As you came down from your high, your chest heaving and your hips slowing to a halt, you finally opened your eyes to look down at Jinyoung. His neck and chest both glistened with sweat from the effort of holding himself still, of not ripping his hands out of these god forsaken restraints to grab you. 

“Thank you,” you told him sweetly once you fully returned to earth. “You were so good for me. I think you deserve a reward, don’t you?” 

Jinyoung nodded eagerly. 

When you finally reached forward to slip the blindfold off of his eyes, you were met with an almost animalistic look on his face. His eyes were wild, filled with desperation and lust. He looked tortured, like he’d just been through some sort of battle. 

But you were only just getting started. He was in for quite a ride. 

“Baby…” he whispered. 

“You’re so good to me, Jinyoung. Letting me fuck myself on your thigh while you just lay there and take it.” 

Jinyoung swallowed thickly, his eyes roaming all over your body from your collarbone, shiny with sweat, down to the tops of your thighs, spread out still straddling his leg. Your dress had ridden up, treating him with the sight of your pretty lace panties, a dark patch of wetness right where your center met his thigh. 

“Please,” he breathed, trailing his eyes back up to your face. “Please untie me. I want to touch you.” 

You smiled down at him and shook your head, running your hands from his stomach up to his chest. “Oh, no. I can’t do that. We’re just getting started.” 

There was a storm of emotions on Jinyoung’s face. You knew him enough to identify each and every one of them - he was frustrated, turned on, and a little bit anxious. It reminded you of all the times he’d been the one in control and you were unable to lift a finger unless he said it was okay. You knew exactly how he felt. 

“I’m gonna make you feel good, baby. Don’t worry,” you told him in a soothing voice. He didn’t look comforted in the slightest. He tugged at the ties once more, letting out a frustrated huff. 

“I want-” He flexed his fingers, his eyes glued to yours. “I want to make you feel good. With my hands. My mouth.” 

Even in this position, where you’d hardly touched him, he was focused on your pleasure. It was actually quite sweet. In a general sense, he always cared so much more about your happiness than his own. It showed just how much you meant to him that he was willing to sacrifice and give up his power just to please you. 

You bent down to kiss Jinyoung delicately, your mouths molding together perfectly as they had a thousand, perhaps a million times by now. The way you kissed him contrasted with the less than innocent position you were in, but you were overwhelmed with the need to make sure he knew how much you loved him. 

When you pulled away, you leaned your forehead against Jinyoung’s. “You always make me feel good,” you whispered, trailing your hands from where they rested on his chest down his torso until they stopped at his belt. “Now it’s my turn.” 

Jinyoung simply watched as you sat up to undo his belt, then the button and zipper to his pants before you began tugging them down his legs. You pushed his pants off the bed once they were removed, leaving him in his underwear. The fabric stretched over his crotch, revealing just how hard and large he’d grown. 

You placed your hand over his erection, a smug smile on your face. Hard, pulsing, and leaking quite a bit of precum onto his briefs. And he was all yours. 

Jinyoung inhaled sharply as you began massaging your palm against him, feeling him grow even harder beneath your touch. “Oh, god.” 

After another moment of torture, basking in the way Jinyoung’s eyes fluttered closed and the quiet noises he made for you, you slipped your fingers beneath the waistband of his underwear and pulled them down. You licked your lips as soon as he was naked, hard cock resting against his stomach. 

Without another word, you leaned forward, lips pressing into the taut skin of his stomach. Then you started nipping, sucking at his flesh with the goal to mark him as yours. With each blemish from your lips, Jinyoung took a shuddering, tormented breath.

Your lips traveled down to his hips, leaving wet kisses and hickeys along his skin. All you wanted was for him to look in the mirror and see the marks you’d left and think of the bliss you’d brought him. 

By the time you’d reached his cock, he was hard as you’d ever felt him. You sat up straight now, wrapping your hand around the shaft. Jinyoung whispered your name, his eyes opening to watch you. 

“All mine,” you breathed, staring down at his erection in your hand with adoration. No matter how many times you’d had it inside of you, you still felt hot every time you got him in your hands. 

Jinyoung gulped and you lifted your eyes to his face. You had to admit, you were impressed with how well he was controlling himself. The ties weren’t so strong that he wouldn’t have been able to yank his hands free if he felt like it. 

“Y-yours, all yours, I swear to god,” he rushed out. 

“Are you ready for your reward?” you asked, maneuvering until you were settled on your knees between his legs. You dipped your head down, stopping just before the head of his cock touched your lips. 

Hardly a second passed. “Yes.”

Pleased, you opened your mouth, sticking your tongue out to lave at the head for a moment. He was completely at your mercy, and the thought made you want to drag it out as long as possible. 

You relished in the salty taste of him, your mouth working at him tenderly as you took more and more of him into the wetness of your mouth. Jinyoung remained the only man to make you love giving head, to the point that you’d begged for it in your more desperate moments.

“Fuck, angel,” Jinyoung moaned, and the only thing that could have made it better was the feeling of his fingers in your hair. You loved when he gripped onto the strands until your scalp burned. 

You closed your eyes as you began bobbing your head, an in-and-out motion that stretched your jaw and made Jinyoung jerk his hips up towards your face. You coughed as his cock hit the back of your throat, only caught off guard for a moment before you recovered. 

“Oh, god that’s good,” he told you, his voice tight. “Love your mouth. You’re so fucking good to me.” 

You pulled off of him and stared up at him as you opened your mouth wide, flattening your tongue to lick a long strip up the underside, hard veins pulsing against the wet muscle. 

Jinyoung never lasted as long in your mouth as he did inside of you, so it was no surprise that he was starting to show signs of approaching his climax. You wanted to drag this out as long as possible, not quite ready to give up the upper hand quite yet. 

You made a show of sucking at the head, closing your eyes and moaning, knowing the vibrations would drive him wild. Then you pulled off with an audible pop, Jinyoung’s hips chasing the warmth of your mouth as you did. 

“Jesus fucking-” he ground out, jaw clenched. “Please untie me. Please.” 

Wiping at your lips with the back of your hand, you shook your head. “Not yet. I’m having so much fun,” you told him with a wide smile. 

“I could make you feel so good,” he told you, his tongue running over his lower lip.

“Mm,” you considered, wrapping your hands around his shaft again and stroking lazily. “What would you do for me, baby?” 

“Anything,” Jinyoung answered quickly. “I’d eat you out until my jaw was numb if that’s what you wanted.” 

“What else?” you asked. 

“Fuck, I-I don’t know, anything.” 

It was an automatic response when your hand came down to slap his thigh. Jinyoung gasped, staring at you with wide eyes. Now he knew how you felt. And it appeared that he enjoyed it, judging by the way he bucked up into your hands.

“Tell me. I wanna know what you’d do to me right now, if I untied you.” 

He wet his lips, eyes flicking down to the way you stroked his cock up to your face again. “I… I’d spread you out, bury my face into your pussy and lick your clit until you were begging for me.” 

It was a scenario you’d found yourself in many times, but that didn’t mean you didn’t feel yourself growing wet at the thought. 

“It won’t take long, you’re so good with that mouth of yours. Always have me screaming for you,” you said, thumb swiping over the head of his cock. “You wanna make me come with just your tongue?” 

“Shit, babe, I’ll make you come with my tongue, then I’ll finger you until you’re dripping onto the sheets.” 

You pressed your thighs together for some friction, swallowing down a moan. It was tempting, you had to admit. There wasn’t much in the world you wouldn’t do to have Jinyoung between your thighs, spreading you with his thick fingers while you arched and writhed for him. 

“More,” you told him, switching to a one handed grasp on his cock while the other slipped between your own legs.

Jinyoung watched you with an intensity that only further encouraged you as you slid your hand into your panties, lifting up onto your knees for easier access. 

“Once you’re right on the edge, I’ll stop. Then I’ll bend you over, fuck you so deep while you’re crying out for me.” 

He painted a vivid picture in your head as you closed your eyes, focusing on the way your fingers rubbed your clit and stroked him with the same rhythm. You moaned, rolling your hips into the pressure. 

“That’s right baby, bet you’re so wet right now. Keep going, wanna see you come again.” 

You whimpered as you quickened your pace, both hands working to bring the two of you closer and closer to the edge. 

“Come for me, angel, come on.” 

Your eyes opened as he spoke, the words bringing you back to the present. Tearing your hand out of your underwear, you panted as you took your hand off his cock as well. Jinyoung whined for you, yet another sound you’d never heard from him. 

You clicked your tongue. “No, baby. You don’t get to tell me what to do tonight. Remember? It’s all about me.” 

“Fu-fuck, I’m sorry,” Jinyoung sputtered, a bead of sweat dripping down his temple.

He was close to his breaking point. You could see it in his eyes, the way those pupils were blown out, it even looked like they’d become glassy. While it was exhilarating to see a new side of Jinyoung, you knew he had limits. 

“It’s okay, baby. Lucky for you, the only thing I want right now is your cock inside of me,” you said.

With Jinyoung’s fiery gaze on you, you sat back and removed your soaked panties, tossing them off the bed. Just as you moved to climb back on top of him, Jinyoung stopped you. 

“Take off your dress. Please. Wanna see your pretty body.” 

No matter how many times he complimented you, you still blushed whenever sweet words fell from his lips. You licked your lips, twisting your arms around your back to unzip your dress, then lifted it up and over your hair. 

“God. Look at you, so fucking beautiful.” 

You dipped down to kiss him, needing just for a moment to show your affection towards him. After all, he was the man you were head over heels, ass backwards, out of your mind in love with. And you liked to remind him every chance you got. 

Forehead pressed against his, you maneuvered yourself over his hips until you felt the head of him nudging at your clit. You let him stay like that for just a moment to drag it out until you felt Jinyoung shift his hips uncomfortably. 

“Please,” he whispered once more, this time against your lips. 

With a feathery light kiss, you lifted your hips to hover over him, then let him fill you up on the way down. You sighed, finally satisfied. He was stiff inside of you after all of the build up and teasing and your walls were slick from your previous orgasm. 

“Fuck me,” you told him, keeping your hips steady as you pulled off of him until just the tip was inside. 

Jinyoung was quick to obey, planting his feet on the mattress as he thrusted up inside of you, not even giving you a warning. You gasped and gripped onto his shoulders, letting him fuck inside of you as hard as he wanted. He deserved it. 

His movements were wild, not particularly gentle or controlled. He was loud, moaning and grunting each time he bottomed out. He was muttering filthy phrases against your mouth through gritted teeth. 

“So tight. All mine, this is mine,” he said, nipping at your lip harshly. “Gonna fuck you til you’re crying once you untie me.” 

You mewled for him as he took his frustration out on you, the obscene sound of his skin slapping yours filling the room. In your haze, you didn’t need to think twice before you sat up, reaching for his wrist to untie the knot holding his arm there. 

As soon as one hand was freed, he was grabbing your hair in his fist, nearly knocking your tiara off of your head. But you couldn’t have given less of a shit, all you cared about was letting him pound you into next week. 

You struggled with the tie on his other hand and almost did cry in defeat before finally, the knot came free. It was only a split second before Jinyoung was wrapping his arms around your waist, tipping you over to lay underneath of him. 

How long had he been waiting to do that?

“Ready, princess?” he asked as he stilled, balls deep inside of you. 

“Please,” you breathed. It was shocking how quick the tables had turned - just a minute ago, you were greedy with power, loving the way you had control over his every move. Now, all you wanted was for him to destroy you and remind you who was in charge. 

One hand held your hip, pinning you down into the mattress as he began a brutal, bruising pace inside of you. His other hand came up to your throat, a gentle, but commanding grip that just let you know what he could do, if you asked. 

His name fell from your lips, almost intelligible, as you spread your legs for him, eyes squeezing shut. Your climax was quick approaching like a freight train, and you couldn’t find the words to warn him. He knew your body well enough now to identify the pulsing squeeze of your walls around him. 

“Do it,” he told you as your mouth opened and closed again, his name the only word you could get out. 

He didn’t let up, if anything he moved faster, harder. You were both panting now, sweat dripping down your necks and pooling in the spaces your bodies met. The tension built inside of you, beginning in your limbs as it always did before it spread to your belly. 

With a gasping breath, you felt the tension snap. Your toes curled and your nails dug into his back, no doubt leaving shining red marks in their wake. Your whole body felt numb and on fire at the same time. It was the loudest, most powerful orgasm you’d had in a while. 

When you came down, Jinyoung was still pounding inside of you, but he let go of your throat and instead was holding himself above you, his lips next to your ear. 

“So good,” he whispered, teeth nipping at the sensitive skin below your ear. “You thought you could be the boss, hm? It might have been fun while it lasted, but I can’t wait to make you pay.”

His last three words were punctuated with forceful thrusts, already building you up to another orgasm. You weren’t sure if he could get you there before he came, but you knew the night was far from over. 

“Baby,” you whimpered, twisting your hands up into his hair. “Want your cum. Wanna feel it inside me.” 

You knew it would be enough to send him there, to get him to empty inside of you, and you closed your eyes as he finally filled you up. A feeling you’d felt more times than you could count, yet you lived for it every time.

The rhythm of his hips faltered ever so slightly, and it felt like his climax was never ending. You’d teased him before, but never like this. There must have been something about it, about leaving the reins in your hands, that really did something for him. 

Jinyoung buried his head into your neck, overwhelmed with the sensation of finally coming after having to hold back for so long. You kissed the skin you could reach with your lips - his neck, his shoulder, the curve of his jaw. 

“I love you,” you told him softly, trailing your fingertips down the back of his neck. 

With a kiss to your collarbone, he pulled away and stared down at you. He looked spent, absolutely drained, but Jinyoung’s stamina was not one to be tested. He’d be ready to go for another round within five minutes, tops. 

“I love you,” he repeated, placing a kiss to your forehead. “Happy birthday.”

You laughed, your hands falling from his hair to cover your face. “Oh, god. I just remembered I slapped you - I can’t believe I did that.” 

Jinyoung chuckled and you felt his lips pressing into the backs of your hands. “Yeah, and I can’t believe I liked it.”

Your laughs turned into giggles as Jinyoung flopped next to you, splaying his arm over his eyes in embarrassment. You curled into him, leaning your chin into his chest. 

“It’s okay, baby. We can work our way up to spanking, if you wanna try something new.” 

Then Jinyoung was poking your side, simultaneously pulling you into him and tickling your hips. “Oh, you think you’re funny. Just you wait until I get my energy back.” 

You attempted to wriggle away from him as he blew a raspberry into your chest, letting out a squeal. “It’s okay, Jinyoung! For your birthday, I’m gonna get you a paddle and we can do this all over again!” 

Of course, Jinyoung made good on his word. It only took him a few more minutes of your taunting before he was flipping you over onto your stomach and tying your wrists together to the headboard. He made you pay for your teasing, over and over - with the tiara on. And you loved every second of it. 

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Come Over | Elijah Mikaelson

Hey Lovelies! This is my first post on this profile! If you're curious feel free to pop over to my other handle: @sweetpeasgirl where i write for riverdale! However this blog is for all fandoms! It's all very exciting and I am happy to take on a new project. Anyway this is my first time writing for Elijah/TVD/TO so I hope its good! Also my first smut oh no oh god. Lemme know what you think!

Description: Based on the song "Come Over" by Sam Hunt. Y/n finds out Elijah Mikaelson is a vampire in the worst way possible. She freaks out and runs. Elijah follows after. It comes to a crossroads at her apartment.

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x Fem!Reader

Warnings: THIS IS AN 18+ ONLY FIC!!! NSFW, Smut (oral female receiving), 18+ (I feel obligated to say it ;) )

Word count: 3413

Tags: fluff, some angst, SMUT

(Photos not mine but mood board is :) )

I turn the TV off, to turn it on again

Staring at the blades of the fan as it spins around

The clock on your nightstand reads 11:34. The remote control is heavy in your hand. Nothing on the TV is interesting to you even slightly right now. Your room is sweltering and dark. Your bed is a mess, the comforter crinkled and shoved to the foot. Messy beds are always more uncomfortable. Any day but today you would care.

You glance down at your phone, not surprised in the slightest to see another missed call. That makes 22. Almost a new record. Two more and he’ll start a new one. That’s just his type. Persistent. It’s why you fell in love with him. He didn’t give up. You sigh and block the call, placing the phone face down on the nightstand. Your whole body feels hot.

Clicking again on the remote, you come across a reality show. It's trashy, the accents are harsh, it screams “daddy’s money”. It’s perfect. Maybe it’ll be enough to take your mind off of the events of this evening. Off of him. The girl on the show runs into the arms of a handsome man. You turn the TV off almost as fast as you had turned it on.

You had been picturing tonight in your head for a week. The Mikaelson Ball. Dining and dancing and elegance. Nothing your usual life regularly allowed. It was supposed to be special. The invitation alone was magnificent enough to make you swoon. The dress had almost made you faint. The necklace did. It was all perfect. He was perfect. And then it wasn’t.

Your phone buzzes again on the nightstand. You forgot to turn it off. Or maybe you left it on purpose. Your head feels fuzzy, though, and you don’t want to think about it. You wish his face would get out of your mind. Your eyes drift to the fan above you and you try to count the blades as they go around and around. You lose track easily, and you don’t care. It doesn’t do anything to soothe your molten skin.

Counting every crack, the clock is wide awake

Talking to myself, anything to make a sound

You pick the phone up once more, ready to scream at it. Every part of you feels like it's on fire and seeing his name on the screen pushes you over the edge. You don’t know what you did to get tangled in all of this but you’re ready to claw your throat out. Instead, you throw the phone as hard as you can against the pile of comforters. It stops buzzing but your skin is still sticky. You feel sick to your stomach.

“Why did you pick me, why couldn’t it have been someone else,” your tone is harsh but it’s not like he can hear you, “it hurts Eli. Make it stop. Please!”

Your voice is barely a whisper and it turns to cries quickly as the anger dies out. All you can see, swirling around the depths of your mind, are his fangs. The way his brown eyes died to a blackness. The stark veins against his sculpted cheeks. He had looked every bit as beautiful as ever. Still elegant, still handsome. Still Elijah. But dark. Dangerous. That’s what scared you. Elijah was still Elijah when he was ripping a heart from a chest.

It felt like a blur when you saw it. One minute he had his hand on the small of your back. You had been taking a stroll in the garden. It was like nothing you had ever seen before. Beautiful hedge walls and roses of all different colours and a magnolia tree like you had only ever imagined. The moon wasn’t quite full over your heads. He was finally about to kiss you, something you had been silently pleading for for months now. Before his lips could touch yours, though, there was a hand around your throat. It had squeezed to the point of you almost passing out before Elijah had time to rip you away from your attacker. You didn’t see him move, you just saw his hand break through the mans sternum and rip his beating heart out of his chest. As soon as you saw his face, his eyes, you bolted.

“I’m scared, Eli. I miss you. I’m scared that I miss you and a thousand other things. I need you.”

You look at the dress hanging on the back of your door. At one point it was a delicate, pale pink number. It had off the shoulder straps that, really, had no point but were beautiful. There was satin cream ribbon to lace up the back and the sweetest of sweetheart necklines. Now it was splattered in blood, the satin ribbons stained. One of the sleeves had ripped when you ran. It was the most beautiful thing you had ever owned and it was ruined in less than an hour. Fairytales were supposed to end at midnight, not nine o'clock.

“I wish you would come over.” You mean it.

You just want him to explain. To show up and sweep you off your feet and tell you that he won’t hurt you. You shouldn't even need the reassurance. You know him. That's your Elijah. Somewhere deep down you know that. But it's not making you any less afraid right now. He had been protecting you, but no one has ever ripped out a heart for you before. You’re allowed to be afraid of new things. You’re allowed to be afraid of things that are frightening. That’s what being human is. You still feel like a traitor, though, when you feel afraid of Elijah.

Your voice is silent in the darkness, “I wish you could hear me. Come over, Elijah.”

Your phone beeped. You pick it up in time to read the screen. Call ended.

I told you I wouldn't call, I told you I wouldn't care

But baby climbing the walls gets me nowhere

Call ended. Call ended 12:43. Twelve minutes and forty-three seconds. Elijah had been on the phone with you for almost thirteen minutes. Crap.

You think about how far away the Mikaelson mansion is from your apartment. Twenty minutes tops, and that’s your driving. Elijah’s driving? Ten, if you’re lucky. You could try to reason with yourself. Maybe he hadn't heard you. Maybe he doesn't want to see you. Maybe he hung up because he got tired of hearing you whine. You can’t help the dry laugh that falls from your lips. It’s Elijah. You probably only have five minutes now.

You jump to your feet and begin making your bed, your pulse thumping loud once more in your ears. He’s been in your apartment before, but that was when he was just Elijah. Not the Elijah with fangs and black eyes. Now he’s different. Mysterious. Who knows what he’s seen. What he’s done. You never thought your apparent was shabby by any means but would he? You know your life can’t compare to the wonders he’s most definitely seen.

You move to the kitchen, which is, by default, the living room as well, and begin picking up mugs and newspapers and anything else out of order that you can see. You sneak a quick glance out your kitchen window, into the parking lot below, just in time to see a sleek black car speed into one of the only available spots left. You can hear the engine purr from your fourth floor apartment. You know exactly whose car that is and thus aren't surprised when Elijah Mikaelson steps out from the drivers side and slams the door shut, not even bothering to lock the door. You gasp at the bang the metal makes and his head whips up, his eyes locking with yours from the ground.

You close your eyes for just a second. There's no way he could have heard that. When you look back to the ground, he’s gone. Before you can sigh there's a knock at the door.

I don’t think that I can take this bed getting any colder

Come over, come over, come over, come over, come over

You move to the door but you don’t open it. You place your palm on the wood trim and try to picture the man on the other side. He’ll look like Elijah. He’ll smell like Elijah and probably talk like Elijah, too. But is he still the same Elijah?

“Y/n, I know you’re there, open the door. Please?” His voice sounds the same, his accent penetrating the barrier between you and tickling your ears.

“Elijah,” your voice is but a whisper and you know you should be the only one who can hear it, “I’m scared.”

“I know, love, that’s ok. I won’t hurt you, though, and I need you to open the door. I just- I need to see you,” his voice cracks, just barely but it’s there.

That’s all it takes for you to slide the lock and open the door. In front of you, for the second time tonight, is a man you don’t recognize. He doesn’t have fangs and his eyes are his usual deep brown but they look shattered. His hair, usually styled to perfection, is a mess, like he had been running his hands through it for the past few hours. His suit jacket is gone, leaving him in slacks and the dress shirt he had been wearing at the ball, only now it’s untucked and the sleeves are rolled haphazardly up his arms. Elijah Mikaleson looks disheveled and you’re terrified again because this Elijah, hurt and upset, looks further from himself than the Elijah from the garden.

“Eli-”

“I’m so sorry, Y/n. God, I’m so fucking sorry,” his voice shakes as he stands in your doorway, “please let me explain, baby.”

You swallow at his words. Baby. That's new.

“Eli, you know you can come in whenever you want,” your eyes look to the ground, feigning interest in the knots of your hardwood floor.

“I want to hear you say it,” you can feel his eyes burning into your lowered head, “I need to hear that you want me to come in, Y/n.”

This time it’s your voice that breaks, “of course I want you to come in Elijah.”

He sighs and steps over the threshold, standing mere feet away from you. You feel so small next to him in nothing but a pair of plaid sleep shorts and plain tank top. Your bare feet, for the first time since getting home, are cool against the floor.

He reaches to touch you and you flinch away, “baby, god, no. Please don’t be afraid.”

Your chest aches at the scared look in his eyes and all you want to do is run into his arms but you need answers.

“What happened back there, Elijah?” You feel pathetic at how quiet your voice still is.

“He wanted to hurt me, torture me. And he knew he couldn't. So he went for you, because he knew I would retaliate,” his eyes land on yours and you can see that he still wants to rip that man limb from limb, “he was a werewolf, Y/n. He wanted you dead, I had to do it.”

He sinks to his knees, his voice dropping lower and lower until the last words are just whispers. His words ring in your ears again. Werewolf. A werewolf wanted you dead. You felt faint.

“Why was a,” you say the word carefully, “werewolf trying to hurt you?”

“Because I'm a vampire, Y/n,” his voice breaks fully this time.

You don’t know what to do. Not with the rapid beating of your heart nor the new information you’ve just acquired and especially not with the crying Mikaelson on his knees in your hallway. Your Elijah, the man who pulls your chair out at restaurants and opens your doors and always has a hand on you when you’re around his brothers, is a vampire. You’re not even sure what that means, there are so many questions running through your mind. You want to ask each and every one of them but, seeing the man in front of you, somehow now doesn’t feel like the right time.

Your heart flutters looking at Elijah. His hands are in his hair again, pulling desperately on the strands. Your heart falls into a thousand tiny pieces at the sight. How can you be afraid of someone being so openly vulnerable to you. No man has ever gotten on his knees for you. No one has ever begged on their knees for you. It’s breathtaking, all you need to push yourself into him and wrap your arms around his neck.

“You should be terrified of me y/n,” he chokes into your chest, “I’m not good for you. I'm a monster, baby.”

His words shred at your heart. You run your fingers through his hair, smoothing the soft locks beneath your fingers.

“No you’re not. You're still my Elijah.”

His head lifts from your chest and he captures your eyes with his serious ones. He looks awestruck.

“Your Elijah?” His accent is even thicker with all the emotion.

You smile for the first time in many hours, “of course, Eli.”

He sweeps you up and into his arms so quickly you get dizzy. Before you know what’s happened, he has you sat on your kitchen island and he’s standing between your legs. Your arms are still clinging tight to his neck while his hands hang dangerously low on your hips.

“And you’re mine, Y/n.”

His words makes your body sing, “All yours.”

He closes his eyes, his hands tightening deliciously on your hips, “say it again. Please, baby.”

“I’m yours Elijah. I’ve always been yours.”

His lips crash hungrily onto yours. He wraps his arms around your lower back and you tangle your legs around his waist to avoid falling off the countertop. He kisses you like you’ve never been kissed before, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth and biting down harshly before soothing the sting with his tongue. You're enamoured with this side of Elijah. You’ve seen his gentleman side, it was magnificent, but this side of him? It was everything you didn't know you needed.

He pulls back, only putting a fraction of space between your bodies but it feels like too much, “please don’t run from me again.”

Your lips brush his when you speak, “Never, Eli.”

He pulls your mouth back to his, a hand tangled in your hair tugging gently at the roots. You can’t but moan against his lips and squeeze your legs around his waist. You grab blindly at his shirt, trying desperately to undo the buttons. Your fingers fumble and he chuckles into your mouth. He releases you to pull his shirt off, dropping it mindlessly on the floor, his lips never leaving yours.

His chest is sculpted like the finest marble and you can’t resist running your hands over his skin. He feels strong under your fingertips. He lets out a groan as you slide them back to his shoulders to the nape of his neck. His lips move over your jaw, down your neck, kissing and sucking a trail to your throat.

His hands grip the edge of your tank top bunching the material in his fists, “may I?”

Always the gentleman.

You nod your head before the words can leave your mouth, “please.”

He smirks, his eyes shining, as he begins pulling the tank top tantalizingly slow up your chest. You raise your arms over your head with his movements, lowering them back to his torso when he drops your shirt with his. His chocolate eyes meet yours again, seeking permission. You can’t fight the small smile as you nod. His smile that greets yours is breathtaking.

His eyes flick down, taking in your bare chest like a child in a candy store. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, much like he did to yours only moments ago. His hands slide up the curve of your waist, trailing a new kind of fire wherever he touches. His thumbs graze the sides of your breasts and you just barely stop the moan, closing your eyes to regain the little control you have left.

“I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again, you’re stunning Y/n. Absolutely beautiful.”

Before you can process it, his mouth is around your breast, pulling your nipple into his mouth and sucking gently. It sends a spark of electricity to the deepest part of your stomach, building an ache that you’ve felt before but stronger. Blinding. It’s white hot. You don’t try to stop the moans, you don’t want to. His tongue swirls around your breast, teasingly slow, making you feel every little movement. It’s dangerously addictive.

“Elijah,” you breath his name like oxygen.

His lips let you go, moving down your chest, trailing kisses down your abdomen, pulling praises from your lips as he goes. His eyes find yours when he sinks to his knees for the second time tonight. His hands grasp your shorts, covering your hips easily. You’re a wanton mess in front of him, practically fully undone from the simplest of touches.

“What do you want me to do, baby, you have to tell me what you want.” It's good to know he’s breathless too.

“Eli, I-” you moan as he presses a kiss to your inner thigh, sucking gently at the skin, his eyes still locked on yours, “I want you.”

He pulls his lips back, “you want me to do what, baby?”

You groan at the devilish smirk on his handsome face, “I want you to kiss me!”

“As you wish.”

He pulls your shorts off first, slowly dragging them down your legs, kissing all the way down and back up again. When you're left in nothing but your panties he presses the first kiss to you. It’s hot and sends shocks throughout your entire body.

“More, now. Please, Elijah.”

He chuckles but does as told, pulling the remaining material down your legs before hooking your legs over his muscular shoulders. He wastes no time attaching his lips to your sex, sucking delightfully. He swirls his tongue over your clit, stoking the fire building in your stomach. He drags his tongue down your slit for what feels like an eternity before he plunges into you. You throw your head back and close your eyes, mumbling praises into oblivion. You can feel his eyes on you, soaking up every inch of you.

Your hands find his hair again, not seeming to want to be apart from him, “god.”

“That's not my name, baby,” he mumbles against you, stopping his ministrations.

You open your eyes and lock them with his waiting ones, drawing his name out in your best attempt at being seductive, “Elijah.”

His eyes darken but this time you aren't scared. No, this time his eyes make him look dominant. Sexy. His tongue attacks your clit again only this time faster and hungrier. It makes the fire in your stomach white hot. He’s unrelenting, bringing you closer to the edge with every pass of his tongue. He's pouring everything he has into pleasuring you and you can feel it, literally. You squeeze your thighs around him tighter, ready to explode

“Come for me, baby.”

With that you fall into something you’ve heard about but never thought possible. All you can see, all you can feel, is Elijah. He consumes all of your senses as you fall apart, over and over again, under his touch. In the midst of falling apart you catch Elijah’s eyes and fall all over again. He looks like he’s in pure bliss watching you come undone because of him. You know in all your falling you murmur his name more than once. You know that he loves it.

As you come down from your high, you go to unwrap your legs from his neck, only to have him wrap you around his waist and pick you up. You can’t help but giggle at his determined look.

When he starts walking toward your bedroom you ask, “what’s on your mind, Eli?”

“Round two,” you giggle again when he kisses your forehead.

“I'm glad you came over, Elijah.”