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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 4 years

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you’re someone i just want around: IV

“I had a few, got drunk on you

And now I’m wasted

And when I sleep, I’m gonna dream of

How you tasted.”

— Medicine, Harry Styles

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

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

word count: 26.4k

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why, thank you!

My pleasure.

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

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

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

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

I wouldn’t want it any other way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It happens Thursday on two occasions.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re going to regret that.

Pinky promise?

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What...What are these?”

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

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

Then it all clicks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I just...it’s like…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, it fucking worked.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am, I can’t hold—”

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

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

“Do I make myself clear?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re pretty stubborn, aren’t you?”

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

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

“Mm-mm. What?”

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

He feels her heartbeat trip.

“And you know what I do to brats?”

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

“I fuck them until they break.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell me you want it.”

“I want it.”

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

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

“I...I want you to spank me.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yours.”

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

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

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

“Now beg me to let you cum.”

///

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

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

“You drool in your sleep.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Truly. His dad was hotter.”

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

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

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

“Couldn’t be me, either.”

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

She gladly delivers. “Exquisite taste.”

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

“Emmett was pretty hot, as well.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s definitely something.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How chivalrous.”

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

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

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

“I’m just making a point!”

“Yeah, a shitty one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey!”

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

“You’re a dick, you really are.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What—?”

“And it’s not even ten A.M. yet.”

“What do you—?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whatever.”

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

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

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

“Wow. I feel used.”

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

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

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

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

“We could UberEats some iHop.”

“Who’s gonna get the door?”

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

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

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

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

“You’re so dumb.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, like you’re any better?”

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uber for Y/N?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh...my God.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Exactly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You have no idea.

“You underestimated me, Holmes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her shrieking only makes him laugh harder and he nearly keels over, palm clutching his stomach as if to keep it from popping. “I’m sorry, I really am, but it’s just— your face when you— and how you tripped sideways— I—”

Y/N shoves him hard towards the corridor where his bedroom lies, but it’s hard to maintain an angry demeanor when the young man’s giggles sound like bells and when he looks so cute with his curls flopping across his forehead. “Dickhead.”

They’re almost at his bedroom door when Harry grabs onto her wrist, tugging her roughly so that she lurches forward into his chest. He plants a wet kiss onto the bridge of her nose, expression entertained. “Stop being such a bad sport. It was pretty funny.”

“Yeah, okay.” She huffs begrudgingly, glancing down impatiently at his plump lips as he walks backwards down the hallway with her in tow. “You can invalidate my rage once you have a near death experience yourself.”

The irony of it all.

Harry kicks the door open, ghosting his mouth over Y/N’s and watching her sight do a quick sweep around the area. “Welcome to my lair.”

The human likes his aesthetic. The room has different hues of the same color, so it all ties together nicely, and the hanging lights look like miniature versions of the two large ones downstairs. The bed is huge, which is a relief because for once, they won’t have to actively worry about accidentally rolling off the edge mid-fuck. “It’s nice. Very chic.”

“Thanks.” Harry reaches up and cups either side of her neck with his palms, dragging his damp lips over her chin and down the center of her jugular, smiling against her skin when he feels her shiver. “It doesn't have a bookshelf wall like yours, but I make due.”

“Yeah.” Y/N wisps out weakly, leaning her head back as he speckles his mouth across that sensitive point on her throat he discovered ages ago. “I bet.”

She feels Harry’s touch travel down her torso, cold fingers suddenly smearing across her love handles beneath her work shirt. His grip tightens at the hem with the intention of pulling the polo off, breath hot as it washes over her collarbones. “Wanna find out just how good I make it work?”

Y/N’s arms instinctively raise on command, her reply shaky and fragile. “Yes, please.”

Harry makes it work. He makes it work so fucking well. He doesn’t need crazy positions or any vibrating toys to make her feel good; he just knows her so thoroughly by now that he’s able to tend to every single one of her needs like it’s his sole purpose. The sex is missionary, with her splayed out across her back upon his mound of feathered pillows, her thighs clamped over his hips as he slams into her at a harsh, curt pace. Her calves are tied around the backs of his thighs, her nails are carving memories into the broad expanse of his shoulders, they’re both panting curse words and encouragement into each other’s mouths, and he’s cradling her to his chest as if he wants to absorb her heartbeat right through her ribs. If only obtaining one were that easy.

Y/N allows her head to fall back against the cushions, drawing away from the prolonged kiss only because she needs air to continue. Harry’s lips busy themselves elsewhere, running down the valley of her chest and toying with one of her pebbled nipples. Y/N’s back gives a sharp arch the second he brushes across the sensitive nub and the taunting coo he releases goes straight to her core.

“Liked that, darling? Like it when I kiss you there?”

The girl’s lashes have fallen shut, her eyes lulling around in their sockets as he maintains a steady rhythm between her thighs, ramming into her with so much force, the headboard is knocking into the wall. It’s loud and intense enough that Harry has to fit one of his palms between the railings, bracing the weight of the bed in order to prevent a hole from forming.

Y/N’s voice fills the dense atmosphere, so shattered and raw, she can hardly understand herself. “It feels so— so good, H.”

“I love it when you call me that. Sounds so pretty coming from your lips.” The vampire’s tongue flicks over her nipple a handful of times, dark veins momentarily webbing over the whites of his eyes at the cracked whimper she lets loose. “And of course it feels good. I always make you feel good, don’t I? Always make my girl cum so—fucking—hard.”

Y/N’s trembling fingers card into the curls along the nape of Harry’s neck as he thrusts to his words, twisting them around her knuckles and swimming in the throaty groan he pours over the clammy skin of her breasts. Her whisper sounds distant and dreamy. “Please...Please don’t stop.”

Harry gazes up at her through heavy lashes, lapping at her chest more fervently, accent thick and deep. “I won’t, baby. Not until I have you dripping all over my sheets.”

After a few more minutes of fractured moans bouncing around the panels of the room and the noise of wet skin slapping together, something catches Y/N’s bleary eyes. She wills past the blissful fog in her mind, focusing on the intriguing object hanging from one of the railings of Harry’s bedpost, swaying back and forth wildly due to his strong tempo.

“Are those...Are those handcuffs?”

Harry’s attention jumps to where hers is pinned, his powerful stride coming to a gradual stop. He’s heaving and shuddering above her, ringlets matted to his jaw and across his temples, cheeks flushed the prettiest shade of cherry red. His Adam’s Apple bobs once and he gives a short nod. “Y-Yeah. I’ve had them for a while...”

The hope dripping from his voice is practically palpable and Y/N interprets it easily. She glances down at him as he takes quivering inhales against her chest, his eyes bleeding lust. Her mumble is so quiet and soft, he wonders how it’s possible for her to make some of the preposterously loud sounds he’s used to hearing whenever he’s buried this deep. “Use them on me. Please?”

Harry bends to her request without hesitation. He locks her wrists into the restraints, sponging a kiss onto each before giving them one hard tug to check for security. He then regains his rough slams, but with more fervor than before.

The monster sits back onto his heels, groping her waist roughly and working her against his thighs, watching welts form on her flesh along the pads of his fingers. Y/N unconsciously begins circling her hips to match his speed and the fractured groan that rips out of him makes her walls tighten. He looks incredible looming in front of her, head toppled back between his shoulder blades, bouncing to his every ram. His throat flexes with the weight, jaw taut and inked pectorals glistening with sweat under the dim lights dangling from his ceiling. “That’s it, pet, just like that. Love the way you ride it. You’re so fucking tight and warm and...and just— Christ, just fuck me.”

She wishes she could frame this moment in time and drag it out forever.

Harry swings his head forward again, blinking the blurriness from his vision to take in the image before him. Y/N just looks so fucking gorgeous like that, tied down at his beck and call, her chest bouncing pertly as her fingers bunch around the chain link, thighs clinging to his waist as she chews her bottom lip raw in an attempt to control her noises.

The vampire ducks down, connecting their mouths in a sloppy kiss that cajoles her into spilling all the moans she had been withholding. He feels them trickle down his lungs and diffuse into his bones, flames lapping across his insides as their foreheads bump and noses smudge, ragged breaths intermingling. “Let it out for me, hm? Wanna know how I’m making you feel, don’t care who hears.”

As if that isn’t enough, there’s an instance where Harry’s animalistic senses suddenly enhance and he comes to the realization that the metal cuffs have made a tiny laceration along her skin.

A thin trail of blood travels down her suspended arm, but she doesn’t seem to notice, too lost in the pleasure Harry is pounding into the pit of her stomach. So he simply leans upwards and licks the sweet droplet clean, feeling heat spark across every fiber of his being. He laps up the entire stream and then presses a tender kiss to her palm for good measure, grunting out a gentle, “There’s a good girl.” when she whines at the affectionate gesture.

The release Harry is getting from between Y/N’s legs mixes with the ecstasy her blood brings, and it shoves him over the edge in a manner he hasn’t experienced since that first time they slept together all those weeks ago. Since the first time he tasted what lies in her veins, while also simultaneously getting to taste the indescribable relief her body so readily brings him.

After all is said and done that night, something peculiar happens. After they both milk their orgasms for everything it’s worth, and after Y/N gives into exhaustion in his arms with her wrists bruised and a content watery smile on her face, and after he gets a heftier drink from her neck and heals the two little puncture wounds with his own blood...The most bizarre, unexpected event occurs.

Harry falls asleep soundly for the first time in months, and all he dreams about is how Y/N tasted.

///

Y/N wakes up the next morning to her body covered in Harry’s Nike jumper, to an empty spot beside her in the messy duvet, to a familiar tune tinging her ears from a distance, and to a satisfying ache between her thighs.

As soon as she cracks the bedroom door open, the smell of pancakes wafts in through the chilled morning air. Specifically, lemon and blueberry pancakes. Her grandmother’s lemon and blueberry pancakes.

A shiver runs down Y/N’s spine the second she sets a toe along the cold glass panels of Harry’s staircase. She takes a deep breath, pulling the extra length of the sweater’s sleeves over her fists and tugging the hem of the article downwards as if she could convince it to cover more than just half her thighs. She carefully works her way down the steps, flinching at the iciness that travels up her legs with every motion. When she finally thunks down emptily onto the light-wash floorboards, her body has grown accustomed to the temperature. As she pads across the furry rug in Harry’s living room, she finds herself wondering why everything connected to him is always so unusually cold— colder than any normal person could withstand. His touch, his lips, the tip of his nose, his forehead, his chest, even his thighs; everything is always freezing, and she doesn’t understand how he can bear it. It’s such an odd affinity to have.

The human gradually wanders into the vampire’s kitchen, peeking inside the room from behind one of the archway’s walls. What she sees throws her for a loop.

Harry is cooking breakfast, as she expected from the sweet scent she’d awoken to, but he’s doing it in a manner she never really expected from him.

Music stems from a portable speaker he has situated at the center of the marble kitchen island, blaring loud enough to fill the entire giant home with high notes, guitar chords, and acapella riffs. The young man is dancing across his kitchen as he cooks, clad in nothing but a set of black Calvin Klein briefs and a pair of fuzzy magenta socks. Y/N rakes down his body, admiring the crimson and purple love bites she had left on his chest and the raspberry red scratches zig-zagging across his back, the marks flexing with the movements of his muscles. They’re strangely faint, for some reason. Practically barely there.

She chalks it up to the fact that maybe she hadn’t bruised him as much as she’d thought.

Y/N forces herself to keep her mind from straying onto anymore explicit topics; it’s probably not even ten A.M. yet. She needs to get herself under control.

Grooving while in the kitchen isn’t necessarily weird (she’s guilty of it herself), but Harry’s dancing techniques very much are. The only accurate depiction of it is that for a boy in his twenties, he dances like an old geezer in his eighties. His moves are choppy and old-schooled, almost like what you’d expect to see in a nineteen fifties disco hall, and watching him ebb and flow across the tiled ground to choreography similar to that of Dirty Dancing and Footloose... It would send anybody into a fit of laughter. Especially since Harry is so tall and lanky, so how he manages to move in such a way is beyond her understanding.

Aside from that, his choice of music is baffling, as well. Not only because she recognizes the soundtrack, but because she would have never expected someone like him— with his cocky behavior and overly-confident caliber— to be into these types of songs at all. She always pegged him for the seventies rock and roll type.

“You like Hamilton?”

Harry’s actions creak to a halt and he whips around towards where the disturbance had stemmed, spatula clutched in one hand and a marble plate stacked with pancakes in the other. His face breaks into a bright smile, voice slathered with dramatic friendliness. “Well, look who finally got up! I was starting to think you were dead, Sleeping Beauty.”

Y/N narrows her eyes at him mockingly, walking over to the kitchen counter and propping herself onto her elbows, chin in hand as she watches him set down the platter of food before her. She tips forward onto her toes, taking a deep inhale of the homey, sugary smell, letting it wash over her in flashes of childhood memories. “Are these like the ones I make?”

“Lemon and blueberry, yeah.” Harry bobs his head casually, turning around to place his metal spatula down into the sink, as well as to retrieve a glass bottle of maple syrup from one of his cupboards. “They’re pretty close, I think. I’ve never seen you use a recipe or measuring cups or anything when you make them, so I kinda eyeballed it to the best of my ability. Hope I did your nan justice.”

He pours a decently-sized glop of syrup over the mountain of treats and Y/N watches excitedly as it trickles down all the layers. He then pushes back from the table, pulling open a drawer and rummaging through, continuing to whistle along to the tune of Satisfied as he bops the cabinet closed with his hip and sets down an extra pair of forks and knives beside the plate.

Harry cuts a neat triangle out of the pancake at the top, pointing at her with his fork as he shrugs his brows nonchalantly. “And to answer your question from before: yes, I do like Hamilton.”

“Hm. Interesting.” Y/N murmurs, going cross-eyed as Harry offers her the forkful of food in his possession, poking at her mouth playfully and getting maple syrup all over her lips. She opens obediently, allowing him to feed her the piece. “You don’t really seem like the type of guy— oh, wow, these are actually really good!”

Harry bites into his lower lip with his two front teeth, a proud smile dimpling his cheeks as the light draft from the air vent ruffles a couple of his sex-mussed ringlets across his forehead. “Yeah? You mean it?”

The mortal nods her head vigorously as she finishes chewing and swallowing, wiping away some of the leftover syrup from her top lip with her middle finger and sucking it clean. “Yeah! You hit it spot on.”

“Aces. I should be on The Great British Bake Off.” Harry makes a small, celebratory fist bump next to his hip and the childish gesture makes Y/N snort softly.

“Like I was saying, you don’t really strike me as the type of guy who would be into musicals.” The girl comments, watching her friend cut another triangle out of the first pancake and pop it into his own mouth.

The vampire chews thoughtfully for a second, lifting one shoulder offhandedly and swallowing fully before talking. “I’m really not, to be honest. But this specific musical is pretty good. The songs are catchy.”

He nudges the other pair of utensils across the counter for emphasis, silently inviting her to dig into the dish along with him. She accepts, slicing down the other side of the stack as he leans forward onto his elbows, mimicking her stance. He gives her a curious glance. “What about you? Do you like musicals?”

Y/N shrugs, poking a few chunks of food onto her fork. “Not really, but I had a major Hamilton phase back in college. That’s why I recognized it.”

Harry hums in understanding, picking a blueberry off and chewing it slowly, a sly smirk beginning to tweak the corners of his mouth. “So were you, like, a nerd back then?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say a nerd, but I had decent grades and was pretty quiet.”

He swallows down audibly, blinking impassively. “That’s literally the definition of a nerd.”

Y/N returns his flat expression. “Fuck off.”

Harry throws his palms up in peaceful surrender, but he still has that shit-eating grin present. “Alright, fine, fine...It’s okay if you were, though. You were probably one of those cute ones, y’know? With the clunky glasses and innocent goody-goody face.”

“Shut up.”

“Oh, and with one of those short little plaid skirts?” He releases a pained groan, clutching his chest and closing his eyes for a second. She has no doubt he’s sketching some type of graphic image of her in his mind. “God, I bet you looked so good. Do you still have it? Can you wear it for me?”

“I said shut up!” Y/N reaches forward and stabs at his tummy lightly with her fork, ignoring the warmth crawling up her neck and across her cheeks. “Fucking perv.”

Harry smacks her utensil away with his own, giggling lightly as she tries to prick him again, continuing to fight her off. “I’m just asking a question! For science!”

Y/N twists her fork around his, trying to outmaneuver him into dropping it. “How could my fashion sense in college possibly contribute to science in any way?”

The vampire easily catches onto her play, slipping himself out of her grasp and trying to trap her makeshift sword down against the tabletop. He purses his lips into a simper, glimpsing up at her through his lashes and quirking his brows cheekily. “Biologically, of course. It contributes to my solo reproductive activities.”

“You are vile.”

“Really? ‘Cause you seemed pretty happy to help with said activities last night.”

Y/N drops her fork onto the brim of the platter, reaching up to massage at her temples and keep herself from swatting Harry’s eyeballs out of their sockets. “I’m finished.”

“Yeah,” the jade of his irises glimmers coyly as he sets down his utensil beside hers in a ceasefire, “you definitely finished.”

Harry chuckles boyishly as Y/N drags her palms down her face, trying to hide away how flustered he’s getting her. She decides to change the subject, not caring to steer the conversation smoothly at all, but rather jumping to another topic right away. “So does this mean you have all the lyrics memorized? Since you like them so much?”

“I do, yeah.” Harry taps his fingers against the marble counter to the beat of the song currently playing. “Do you?”

“I was obsessed, so of course I do.” Y/N reasons, her own digits following in tune with the immortal’s. “I think Non-Stop was probably my favorite to sing. It made for a good shower concert.”

“Well, it’s settled then.” Harry quips happily, reaching for his phone and tapping across the screen. “We’re duetting this. Right now. C’mon, Burr.”

Y/N’s motions stop, shyness creeping in from the back of her brain. “Oh, I don’t know, Harry. I never really—”

Her refusal is interrupted by the beginning of the arrangement mentioned, the notes blasting through the speaker as Harry purposefully turns up the volume to drown her out. He taps at his ear symbolically, mouthing, “Sorry, I can't hear you!” and he doesn’t even attempt to ward off the evil grin creeping across his face.

“Harry, I’m serious—”

But it’s already too late. Harry juts his hand out in front of him, pointing at his companion with a theatrical edge as he begins to serenade, picking up the slack of her part.

“After the war I went back to New York. A-After the war I went back to New York. I finished up my studies and I practiced law. I practiced law, Burr worked next door!”

He looks at her expectantly, urging her to jump into the next half as her assigned role. Y/N muscles down her hesitation and recites the lines timidly with her brows creased in hesitation, but at least she’s participating. “Even though we started at the very same time, Alexander Hamilton began to climb. How to account for his rise to the top?”

Harry joins her in the next stanza, grabbing her hand midair in encouragement, trying to shake her out of her rut. “Man, the man is non-stop!”

Y/N is surprised at how well they sound harmonizing together, and she can feel her discomfort slowly begin to melt. She watches as Harry freely boasts his solo with absolutely no remorse, making grand gestures as he slides down the side of the counter, his movements dragging her along.

“Gentlemen of the jury, I'm curious, bear with me. Are you aware that we're making history?” The boy taps at his chin to symbolize that he’s thinking, acting out the story the lyrics construct. “This is the first murder trial of our brand-new nation, the liberty behind deliberation.”

He points at Y/N once again and she does the supporting vocals, gradually beginning to gain more confidence. “Non-stop!”

“I intend to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt, with my assistant counsel—”

Harry doesn’t even have to cue Y/N this time around; she picks up her half immediately, falling into line with him flawlessly as if they’ve done this a million times before. “Co-counsel. Hamilton, sit down. Our client Levi Weeks is innocent, call your first witness.”

Harry quickly rounds the corner of the kitchen island, giving her body a grand spin as he draws closer, coming to stand right before her. She gives him a fake exasperated look to match the attitude her character depicts, shaking her head in disapproval. “That's all you had to say.”

“Okay…” The creature yanks Y/N forward into his bare chest, leaning down and flirting his lips right over hers tauntingly, eyes half-lidded in amusement. “One more thing—”

“Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room? Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room?” The girl rolls her eyes dramatically, shoving past Harry’s shoulder and she finds it humorous how these lines fit so well, almost as if they were actually directed at him, calling him out on the arrogance he always seems to dote. “Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room? Soon that attitude may be your doom.”

Harry swivels on his heel, following her as she scurries outside the kitchen entrance, running into the living room.

“Why do you write like you're running out of time?” Y/N grabs onto one of the couch cushions, pretending to scribble over it with a fake pen. “Write day and night, like you're running out of time? Everyday you fight, like you're running out of time.”

Harry swipes at her from across the couch, trying to grasp onto the jumper she’s wearing. “Keep on fighting in the meantime.”

Y/N ducks out of the path of his grabbing hand, chucking the pillow forward and it bonks him square in the face. She sticks her tongue out at him as Harry scowls dully, climbing onto his sofa and scuttling towards her on his hand and knees.

She jumps just out of reach, diving across the other end of the furniture. The vampire throws his weight to try and tackle her to the sofa, but she just barely escapes. He ends up toppling over the backrest due to his over-abundant momentum.

“Non-stop!” Y/N waves her middle up at him triumphantly as he pushes himself up off the ground, giving her a challenging look as he takes off after her once again.

The pair continue to sing back and forth, with Harry chasing Y/N around the living room and kitchen as he belts out his part of the song, Y/N always somehow managing to slip from his grasp as soon as her turn hits. They’re a mess of giggles, silly faces, and boisterous actions as they reenact the play and neither can recall a time they had ever had more fun. There’s never been an instance when they felt so comfortable with another soul that they are willing to run around half-naked, screaming lyrics at each other in their underwear, not caring who sees or overhears. It just feels so second-nature.

A section of the song comes up where a woman is singing and Harry immediately takes up the part, placing his hand on his bare hip and standing in the most feminine fashion he can possibly muster, fanning at his face. “I am sailing off to London, I am accompanied by someone who always pays.”

The exaggeration makes Y/N bend over laughing and her distraction allows Harry to nab her. He pulls her into his embrace by her forearms, cackling through the following stanza as she wriggles and squirms to try and get free. “I have found a wealthy husband who will keep me in comfort for all my days.”

Y/N finally gives up on trying to thrash herself free, going limp against his chest and glimpsing up at him with begrudged annoyance, but a fond smile is unmistakably buckling her cheeks. Harry leans down, singing right in her face just to flaunt his victory, their noses brushing. “He is not a lot of fun, but…”

And then, there’s a shift in the ambiance between them.

Harry gazes down at her as she giggles up at him from his arms, full of so much genuine warmth and excitement, she could power the entire city if she wanted. Her shoulders are heaving slightly as a result of all the running, there’s still faint traces of black mascara smeared under her waterline and down her cheeks from the previous evening’s exertions, she has some acne scarring littering her cheekbones that look fairly recent, and her hair looks like it could nest a family of at least ten birds. But despite these imperfections, Harry finds himself feeling oddly endeared by it all. These flaws are all things he’s gotten used to and has grown to treasure in Y/N. They make her who she is. They make her witty, and they make her clever. They make her fun, as well as trusting. They make her likeable, and energetic, and kind. They make her a good friend and a generous lover. They make her... her. Harry gets the feeling that if she didn’t have all of these traits— if even one was missing— this little arrangement they have going wouldn’t have flourished the way it did.

Yeah, maybe he would have slept with her once or twice more just to scratch an itch, but he most likely would have let it fizzle to an end after the fact. Her personality paired with these small details— albeit, not all entirely attractive— that make up her existence play a key role in the dynamic they share. And he wouldn’t trade them for anything else— wouldn't trade Y/N for anyone else. Not anytime soon.

A warm surge travels through his chest, filling his veins like kerosine, heating him from the heels of his socked feet to the tips of his ice cold fingers. An unorthodox swelling sensation twists inside his ribs, right where his heart used to beat, and he finds himself reciting the next line in a soft voice packed with more emotion than he’s shown or felt in the last two centuries.

“There’s no one who can match you, for turn of phrase…”

Y/N seems oblivious to all of the unsettling experiences he’s undergoing, her amused expression not changing in the slightest. Harry allows the rest of the song lyrics to pass by, the lump in his throat too heavy to fight. Instead, he just keeps staring down at Y/N with brows frowning in confusion, his breathing coming out bated and shaky, and that knot in his chest continuing to tighten until it becomes painful. He gets the sudden urge to kiss her— to feel her lips press to his and feel her give into him the way she always does. The way she has for the last four weeks. He doesn’t want it to be sloppy or desperate or sexual; he wants it to be intimate, soft, and caring. He wants it to be special. Something they share. Something only they share.

Then, that moment passes. That flicker of weakness that had leaked through vanishes and Harry feels like he can breathe properly again.

He breaks their locked eyes, releasing Y/N from his hold and taking a swift step back, coughing awkwardly to try and rid the tickling sensation in the back of his throat. He scratches at the nape of his neck nervously, fiddling with his baby curls and attempting to piece himself back together after that unexpected and unwelcome intrusion of his innermost feelings. Though, he doesn’t know if that spectacle even files under the category of emotions; from what he remembers, they aren’t supposed to tangibly attack you in such a manner. It felt more like a violation— like someone had gone in and started poking and prodding at his subconscious with a metal skewer.

“Harry…?” Y/N inches closer to him, concern prevalent in her voice and across her features as she stretches her hand out caringly. “Are you okay? You look like you’re about to be sick.”

“I-I’m—” His voice comes out higher than usual and quivering, so he coughs once again to get it under control, taking another step back. He's scared that if she touches him, that horrible burning sensation will come back. “I’m fine. Just...Just forgot the lyrics.”

“Oh, okay…” The girl doesn’t sound convinced with the answer, but she lets the subject falter anyways, her hand dropping back down beside her thigh. “Just checking.”

“Yeah, I got that. Uh, thanks. But I’m all good now.” He holds up a clenched first and juts out his pinky, wiggling it for significance. “Promise”

Y/N scoffs gently at his playful deed. “Alright, then.”

Harry eyes her attentively as she returns to her previous spot in front of the plate of pancakes, retrieving her fork and starting to pick at them like before, as if nothing had happened. As if Harry hadn’t just almost had a cardiac arrest, despite the fact that the organ responsible had crumbled to dust ages ago.

“Are you gonna eat anymore?” Y/N signals down at the stack of pastries before her questioningly. “Because if you don’t get some now, I’ll eat them all myself. Don’t think I won’t. They’re better than the ones I make and—”

The vampire suddenly feels like bile is rising up his throat and his words spew out before he can think to stop them, though he’s not so sure he would.

“Do you want to stay over the rest of the weekend?”

2K notes · View notes

dimensionwriter · 4 years

Text

Stick To Me

Male! Merman/Octoperson x GN! Reader

Warning: Talking of ocean

Word Count: 3028

Part Two

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Blue. Everything around you was this nice calming blue. The waves gently brushed against your boat before pardoning itself around it. The air held a slight salty scent to it that helped create this relaxing atmosphere.

For the last few weeks, you have been traveling around the world to see some of its natural beauty. Your boss sent you on this trip in order for you to write a story about the importance of connecting to untouched beauty of the world. In reality, you just took it as 'You are going on a paid vacation'.

The plan was to find hidden gems on land, but you couldn't help spending a few days in the water. It was something about the soft sounds of the waves and sometimes seeing a sea creature swim by that just enraptured you.

Lifting your hand, you spread the paint against the canvas. You weren't the best at painting, but you felt so inspired to at least attempt to. You were trying to paint how the ocean looked at sunset, but you doubt you could do it justice.

You put the paintbrush in the paint water. As you were painting, something kept catching your eye. A flash of orange kept appearing.

Maybe it was a fish. Maybe not. However, your curiosity was getting the best of you.

The thing was that when you were focused on the painting, the creature would appear. Then as soon as you lifted your head, all you would see was blue waves.

Quickly, you dropped to the ground and scooted away from your seat. The walls should cover you enough so that whatever sea creature it was, wouldn't see you.

Five minutes passed by and you were starting to think what you were doing was stupid. That was until the left side of the boat lightly tipped over. Water splashed against you, slightly soaking you

You looked up to see a mass of orange tentacles coming from over the edge. An octopus? How did an octopus manage to get this high up?

"Stupid humans."

The mass of tentacles dropped on the floor in front of you before sliding towards the area you were at before. Your eyes drifted up from the orange tentacles to the shift into a more human torso. Attached to the torso were a pair of long skinny arms. You couldn't see the face of the creature since you only saw it's backside. However, you could see a bunch of tiny tentacles curled near their shoulder.

"The human is marking the spot." Their voice was a lot deeper and grumblier than anything you've heard on land. The best way you could describe it was the roaring of waves during a storm. "They won't get away with this anymore."

You weren't dumb. You knew what you were looking at wasn't man nor fish. They seem to be a hybrid.

"Um, hi," you croaked out. It was inevitable that the creature would find you. Your feet were barely a foot away from them. You would hate for them to discover you while you looked like you were hiding. It's best to seem friendly.

The tentacles curled around themselves as the poor creatures jumped. They turned around quickly with a hand draw up in defense.

The face was that similar to a human, except there was no nose. Most of his face were large black eyes and the other half was a thin black line connecting to his thin dark orange lips.

"Nice to meet you," you spoke softly. You lifted your hands up to grab the railing and pull yourself up. The creature didn't say anything and only just squinted his eyes at you. "Can I ask why you came abroad?"

He glanced at your painting then back at you. "To protect my people from your kind. I'm tired of you attacking and harming us."

You froze up at the accusations. You haven't done any fishing or hunting in this area at all. You've been eating the food that you stocked up on from the other places.

"I think you may have the wrong person, buddy. I just got here a few days ago and I've been eating the food on my boat. I haven't hurt any merm… octopus people?" Could you consider him to be a merman? You didn't want to judge, but didn't they usually have one tail?

"Your kind constantly comes through with big boat like this and pull out guns and other horrific land weapons. You have the big boat like them," he growled out. The tentacles curled and began to tuck themselves underneath him, making him rise in height. Oh, he was definitely trying to intimidate you. Lucky for him, it was working.

"I'm not a hunter, I swear," lifting your hands, you tried to appear more innocent," I'm just a simple traveler trying to enjoy mother nature's beauty." You really feel like a traveler from the medieval time who just got stopped by a gang or something. Hopefully, you can make it out of this without getting attacked from this octopus man.

"You're marking the land on this weird paper," he stated while grabbing your canvas and presenting it to you as if he caught you red handed. "Do not try to lie to me, human."

You glanced at the painting of the sunset ocean and then back to the cold angry eyes of the man. "The sunset looks pretty on the water. So I painted it."

His eyes narrowed at you and you swore slits appeared on his neck. They flared out for a second before sliding back into the skin. His light orange skin was slowly starting to turn blue.

His tentacles were curling and uncurling, making his form seem a little unstable. He was beginning to shake the longer he stood there. The blue was slowly spreading down his thin face.

"I'll.. see about…that." The slits on his necks were wide open now. His mouth even parted as he attempted to breath. However, it seems the more he inhaled, the worse his condition got.

"Get back into the water," you yelled as you finally connected the dots. You ran over to him, mindful of his twitching limbs, and wrapped an arm around his waist.

Instantly, most of his weight was dropped on you. From how close you were, you could hear him struggling to breath through those slits.

You pulled quickly to the edge. Before you could warn him, you shove him off the boat. You'll have to apologize later for it. Although you would rather him be mad at you for throwing him then for him to suffocate on air.

A loud splash came from below. A few droplets of water got onto your face, but you could care less. The only thing on your mind was 'Is that octoman okay?'

A few agonizing seconds, nothing happened. He didn't pop up on the surface and you didn't see him swimming away. What if you killed him? It was only an 8 feet drop. Did he land in the water wrong?

Light blue. The water where he dropped in was changed to a light blue. Then, it shifted to a dark red colour. The red covered most of the area he went through.

You killed a octoperson. First, you try to convince him that you aren't like the other humans who harm him and then you kill him by throwing you off the boat. The guilt was already starting to overwhelm you.

"Human." You can still hear his grumbly voice. Is this what people mean when they say they feel their sins crawling down their back?

"Human!" Oh, his voice is getting louder. You can't even seek help for this. There's the one part of where people wouldn't believe you. Then there's the second one where humans would terrorize these creatures and probably do some traumatic research if you told anyone about this. That's not what that poor creature would have wanted for his people.

Water sprayed against your face. You didn't even realize that you had put your head on the railing in your moment of panic.

Glancing down, your eyes were met with small orange tentacles curled around a light orange face. Around his cheeks were small little blotches of blue.

"You're okay," you yelled out in excitement. You threw the upper half of your body over to the railing to get a closer look at him. The water around him was still that uneasy red, but his face wasn't showing any visible pain.

He floated up a little more, allowing you to see his upper waist now. Something red and blue were smeared across his chest. How did that happen?

"I'm so sorry for throwing you off like that. Did anything get hurt?" His eyes stayed on the water as he just silently floated next to the boat. It looked like something was bothering him. "Do you need some help?"

"No, I'm fine, lander. It's just.." His skin started turning blue again as his eyes narrowed. The slits on his neck open again before closing. "I apologize."

He lifted his arms out of the water. Red and blue water trickled down the curves of his arms before running down his chest. His fingers were completely red and orange. Held within his fingers was your painting. Well, what was left of it. He must have never let go of it when he went overboard.

"It's okay. I could always make another one of those or ask someone better to make it," you spoke lightly. You felt a smidge of disappointment because you actually worked hard on it. But that's not what matters at the moment. "What matters the most is that you're okay."

For the first time, his eyes stared up at you without any hatred in them. In those black orbs shined nothing but awe. His peach lips parted slightly before closing.

He launched forward and dove under the water. A wiggling mass of bright orange tentacles was engulfed by the water. After a few seconds, the water began to calm.

For a split second, you had hope that maybe he would come back, but you knew it was foolish. That was probably a once in a lifetime interaction. It wasn't going to last forever.

He stated earlier that humans were attacking his kind, so he most likely still holds that fear. It's shameful that your species would do something like that to another beautiful creature. Maybe you guys' interaction could help his heart. You're just one person, but maybe he could see that all of humanity is not like that.

You won't admit to yourself on how long you stayed outside just in case he came back again. Or how much your heart sunk when it finally dawned on you that he truly wasn't coming back.

That night as you closed your eyes, you let your thoughts wander to those fierce black eyes and light orange skin.

Sunlight. Thunder. Rough waves. All of those things you were used to waking up to. However, the feeling of something wet and slimy sliding across your arm, wasn't it. In your sleep hazen mind, you wondered if maybe some water had slipped in.

Then it dawned on you that you're in a boat that's thousands of miles from land. The last thing you would want is water slipping in.

Your eyes shot open and the first thing you noticed was a figure hovering over you. In a panicked daze, your right arm scrambled to your bedside dresser in search of a weapon.

Light flooded the room as you accidently hit the light switch. The figure above you flinched and stumbled off your bed.

The thing about living on a boat is that the space is extremely small. The space between your bed and wall is barely enough for you to squeeze through while standing. So for the poor intruder who just went butt first, he didn't have any space to leave.

Reaching to your left, you grabbed a wooden bat you brought from the last place you went to. Who would have thought that your decoration would be used for it's intentional purpose?

"Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!" Your eyes looked over at the intruder. Orange tentacles and black eyes. His skin was still dripping water making that orangish glow pop.

"You scared me," you whispered, dropping the bat onto the bed. You waddled across the bed to where he was. His tentacles were stuck between trying to grab onto your comforter and failing or pushing against the wall, but not having enough space to.

"I didn't mean for your slumber to stop. I wanted to gift back the fancy land paper while you slumber," he grumbled. That's when you noticed in his arm was what looked to be your canvas.

Instead of the smeared paint from the water, all of it was washed away. However, he found a way to replace it. The blue water was made with blue pearls and some sort of purple plant. The red skies were shimmering scales. The setting sun was made of something you couldn't name, but it held a slight glow to it.

"Woah, did you make this?" His hand reached towards the bed again to pull himself up, but the fabric just slipped through him. He dropped more into the hole.

Okay, slow down. Free him first, then ask questions later. You reached out for his hand, but stopped for a split second. You didn't want to seem like all you do is haul people around.

His eyes flickered from your awaiting hand to your face. A frown slowly came onto his face. "Again."

His hand was extremely cold and wet when it wrapped around yours. His black eyes blinked slowly as if he was shocked for a second. Whatever surprised him wasn't enough to stop him from pulling on your arm to free himself from the hole.

Orange appendages spread around your bed as he slides up onto it with you. Since the poor man was so tall, he had to slouch down to avoid hitting his head on your low ceiling. It didn't bother you much due to the fact you had an inch or two before your head hit it.

"I didn't know humans were so hot," he grumbled. He ball his fist up before letting the tension slowly dissipate. "I am in a position to give you gratitude. May the sea goddess know of your good deeds and send blessings your way."

You weren't a hundred percent sure what he meant. Maybe it was the octo-people way of saying thank you. It was adorable in it's own way.

"Apologies too for swimming into your pod without permission. I have tidals of faith in the water goddess for gifting you, however-" He trailed off as his fingers rub across the edges of the canvas.

"Did you create this?" You couldn't help admiring the painting again. It looked a million times better than anything you could have created. It took you days to make that painting and he made something like this in a few hours.

"No. I am not the best in this craft. I received help from someone within my shoal. I don't comprehend the pleasantry of seeing this. Do you find this pleasing?"

He extended the canvas towards you. A small brush of blue appeared on top of his cheek. He wasn't wheezing like last time, so why was he turning blue?

"Of course it's beautiful. I haven't seen most of these gems in real life. It's so much more vibrant than anything I could get with some paint." You couldn't help the smile that appeared onto your face. The canvas held within your hand seems to be glowing with beauty.

It's almost like he was inflated at your compliment. His shoulder squared up more and the corners of his orange lips quirked up more.

"Good. Good. I may not understand, but I know humans best out of my shoal." A tiny smile slipped onto his face. With his lips parted, it revealed a row of pointed teeth. That's kind of unexpected.

"Trust me when I say I really love this. Thank you-" You mouth stayed open as you realized you never got his name. Is it too late to ask? "I never caught your name."

His lips closed and his black eyes squinted at you. "I am Loire from the middle realm of the East Ocean Kingdom."

It was kind of surprising how seriously he said that. Maybe that's something about this new found world. You wouldn't mind seeing more of it.

"Well, Loire. I truly thank you for the art work. I will cherish it forever." You gave him a grateful smile as you hugged the canvas. It was slightly wet, but that didn't matter. It was the thought that counted and he truly proved that.

Loire didn't move a single inch. His black eyes just unwaveringly stared at you. You were expecting him to maybe leave after that. He gave you this beautiful gift. Maybe there was something else?

"Um, is there something else, Loire?" You asked, looking up at him with a patient smile. A small blue blush coated his cheeks as he called out your name.

"I stand with you until our actions are equal," he whispered. He slowly slithered forward until he was barely an inch away. His face was so close to yours.

Being this close to him, you could see small blue freckles scattered across his skin. His hair, well more like tiny tentacles, was slowly moving to stay out of his face.

"Our actions?" You don't know why you were whispering too, but with him so close, you couldn't help but feel meek.

His hand brushed against your arm as he made his way up. Softly, his hand landed against your cheek. He was so cold to the touch.

"You saved my life. Our actions need to be equal. I have to save your life." He leaned closer to you. His eyes scan you before looking back into your eyes. "Or, I stay with you…for eternity."

"Oh."

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

This is the closest I will get to doing something for Mermay. I've always wanted to do something, but I miss it, but not this time. I actually like Loire as a character. (Still have room in my heart for Kai though).

Now for the question to answer if you've made it this far. What's one thing you would love to do with Loire if you found yourself in this situation?

942 notes · View notes

kjhmyg · 4 years

Text

rough edges pt. 5 (m)

pairing: jungkook | (f) reader genre: college!au, badboy!jk warnings: mentions of drugs, implied sex, cursing, violence, alcohol, drinking word count: 10K

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / part 5 / 6

author’s note: hello everyone, i know there are lots of things going on in the world right now. i hope that my writing can provide, for those of you who need it, some form of temporary escapism. at the same time i have reblogged posts with info on how you can help if you wish to. anyway, i hope you enjoy this chapter i’m sorry for taking so long heh. love u guys!

Students bustle about the lawn, heading in different directions towards the booths that line the footpath. You’ve spent most of your day manning the track and field booth, handing out flyers to freshmen. Up until ten minutes ago, it wasn’t too bad. But as morning classes end, the area starts to fill up with the second years and above, probably with the excitement of having freshmen around. You try your best not to get pushed around as you scan the area for your boyfriend.

“He’s all the way on the other side.” Sunhee says, having observed you for a while. “You know, where all the other frats are.”

“Oh.” You sigh. “Do you think I could slip away for a while? You have enough people here.”

Sunhee looks around and thinks about it. Along with the two of you, other members are present as well, making sure all areas of the booth are covered. “But I wanna come with.” She pouts, knowing full well she can’t leave the booth, being in charge for today’s event.

“Please?”

“Ugh. Fine. But don’t be long.” She gives in, handing you a stack of flyers. “Pass these out while you’re there.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“I’m coming with!” Hana chimes in, standing from where she was seated on the grass. She grabs you by the wrist and makes a run for it before Sunhee can object and you slow down to a stop when you’re far enough, giggling as you catch your breath.

You scan the area again, keeping a lookout for familiar faces. Hana shakes her head. “You look like a kid about to meet her favourite rockstar at a concert.”

“Shut up. I miss him.” You mutter, shoving flyers carelessly to people as you pass them by.

“You saw each other this morning. And last night.” She adds. You pause and look at her from the corner of your eye. “I heard you.”

“You did?” She waves her hand, dismissing the apology that’s about to come out of your mouth. “I’m so sorry. We’ll keep it down next time.”

“There’s no going back.” She sighs. “You’re whipped.”

“Am not.”

“Right.” She nodded, a smirk on her face.

“Just because I miss him all the time doesn’t mean I’m whipped.” You defend yourself, though you realise how that doesn’t help your case.

“Alright, alright.” She resigns. She takes on a more serious tone right after. “Listen, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”

“Sounds serious. What is it?” When you stop in your tracks, she urges you to carry on walking, checking her surroundings before speaking.

“So I’ve been hearing lots of rumours recently...something about a faculty member involved with drugs.”

“What?” You stop again and she pulls you along.

“I’m not sure who started the rumour or how true it is.” She looks at the ground as she speaks. “But I thought you’d wanna know. You know, cause…”

“Jungkook.”

“Yeah.” She gives you a sympathetic smile. “I mean, there’s a chance it could be false.”

“Could be.” You get lost in your thoughts. If the rumour is true, why would Jungkook risk dealing with a staff member?

“Anyway,” Hana flings her arm over your shoulder. “Let’s just find him so you can exchange saliva and then we can get back to the booth before the other members realise we’re gone.” You pinch her side at the subtle remark she thought you would miss.

Soon you reach the area where guys and girls are on separate sides, making the most noise to attract future pledges. You try to ignore the obnoxious yelling, walking past the booths until you find the one with faces you recognise. A big grin appears on your face when you see him.

You squeeze past groups of people in your way to get to him. He stands by his booth with a couple of girls from Eta Iota. They laugh at whatever he says and he revels in the attention he’s getting, as apparent from his big smile and creased eyes. But their conversation is cut short when he looks up and notices you, body suddenly on autopilot as he excuses himself and walks away from the girls, over to you instead.

He engulfs you in a big hug. You ignore looks from the girls as they disperse. “I was just walking around. Thought I would drop by your booth.”

“Huh.” Hana interjects. “She practically begged to be able to leave so she could come see you.”

“Shut up.” She bolts off before you can try and reach for her.

Jungkook lifts your chin towards him and presses his lips onto yours in a slow, gentle kiss. The fabric of his shirt bunches up in your fists. He tastes so sweet. You just can’t get enough of each other. You almost lose yourself in the kiss till the sound of someone clearing their throat brings you back.

“Keep it PG guys, we’re still on campus.” Jimin says, arms folded with a look of disgust on his face.

Jungkook’s lips glisten with saliva and you lick your own lips at the sight of it. So pretty and tempting. But heat creeps up your cheeks when you remember where you’re in the middle of an event with hundreds of students around you.

“Hey Jimin.” You greet him properly when you finally remove yourself from Jungkook. His hand remains on your waist. But Jimin’s eyes are no longer on you. A group of girls huddled around the sorority booth behind you has his attention for now.

“Did you come all the way here just for me?” You turn your attention back to Jungkook. Of course you did and he knows it.

“No.” You avoid his eyes. “I was just walking by and I saw you.”

“What a coincidence then.” He taps the tip of your nose and your lips form a tiny pout.

“Hey,” Hana appears next to you again, holding a little gift bag with a cookie inside and the Eta Iota logo plastered in the middle. “Maybe we should pledge. They seem kinda cool.”

Jungkook snorts, earning questioning looks from the two of you. “What? You guys aren’t really the sorority type.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask.

“Well you know,” he fidgets. “Sororities do a lot socialising. And fun things. Not that you guys aren’t fun or anything. You are⎯ But you’re different⎯ You’re cool⎯”

“Smooth.” Jimin comments. “Anyway, I fully support this. If you join them, we'll get to spend more time together. We’re close with Etas."

"Oh. I'm out then." Hana says with a playful smile and Jungkook notes the way Jimin’s falter.

“In case you change your mind, next week is rush week. So we’ll probably be hosting some parties.” Jimin says. “You guys should come. Get a feel of the greek life.”

Jungkook’s phone vibrates just then and he pulls away from you after checking the screen. “I gotta take this.” He says, walking some steps away.

“Speaking of which, are you guys coming tonight?” Jimin asks, turning your attention back to him.

“For what?”

“Jungkook didn’t tell you?”

You look over at him, back turned to you. “Nope. You guys having a party tonight?”

Jimin calls out to Taehyung. He jogs over from where he’s standing and looks as happy to see you as he always is. “Hello!” He hugs you first and nods towards Hana, then goes back to Jimin’s side. “What’s up?”

“You didn’t invite them for tonight?”

“Oh of course you guys are invited!” He grins. “It’s my birthday party. We’re gonna head to the club that just opened downtown and have some drinks. Join us!”

“Your birthday?” You squint. “Wasn’t your birthday four months ago?”

“Yeah but I didn’t get to celebrate it with you guys.” He shrugs. “Come out and have fun with us okay?”

“Sure.”

Taehyung beams, the excitement on his face apparent. Jungkook comes back shoving his phone away quickly. With a hand on your elbow, he pulls you aside. “I gotta go, I’ll call you later okay?” He pinches your cheek when you frown.

“You’re leaving?”

“There’s something I gotta take care of.” He grabs his bag, stored under the table at their booth. Surely, he isn’t going to work? You think it’s better if you don’t ask. “Love you.” He says, pressing his lips to your forehead before going on his way.

“Where the hell are you going?” Jimin yells, when he realises this.

Jungkook turns, walking backwards with a smile on his face. “Something came up, sorry!” His apology gets lost among the sea of people he disappears into, and you only manage to catch a glimpse of him running across the lawn as he goes. Jimin groans, walking off to complain to the others.

“Is Jungkook coming tonight?” You ask Taehyung, walking back to him.

“Dunno. He knows about it. Not sure if he’d come though.” Taehyung shrugs, then walks back to his booth as he waves to the two of you. “See you later!”

“See you.” You say. Your shoulders slump as you let out a sigh. When you turn to Hana, she gives you a comforting smile and hooks her arm over your shoulder again, offering you her cookie.

𝄖𝄖

You: you coming to celebrate Tae’s birthday tonight?

Jungkook: nah.

You: I’ll be there

You: don’t you wanna see me :(

Jungkook: i’ll pick you up after?

You: [IMG_0394.jpg]

Jungkook: what the fuck

Jungkook: is that what you’re wearing

You: idk how to act in this dress. You better be there to make sure I behave.

Jungkook: are you doing this on purpose

You: yes

You: so i’ll see you there?

Your last message was sent five hours ago. Read, yet not replied. Sitting in the car you’re sharing with Jimin and the others, you check the chat once again just in case. “Bet you two shots of tequila he won’t show up,” Jimin whispers, leaning in close. You narrow your eyes at him. Hana called shotgun and is in the passenger’s seat while Taehyung drives. Unfortunately, you’re stuck at the back, in the middle seat no less because the middle seat makes me dizzy, said Jimin back at the house.

“You trying to get drunk quick huh?”

“No, I’m trying to get you drunk.”

“He’ll be there.” The confidence you attempt to display only has half its effect as Jimin rolls his eyes and looks away.

Your attention turns back to your screen, waiting till the screen goes black. Turning to your left, where Hoseok is, you realise he’s already staring. You only manage a small, pressed smile before looking elsewhere, wondering if he had seen your messages too.

𝄖𝄖

“Has he said anything yet?” Suga asks directly into Jungkook’s ear.

Jungkook maintains his composure. Judging by the smile on Mr. Kim’s face, it’s not so bad. At least he hopes so. “Well, he hasn’t said anything bad.” They exchange glances then turn back to their boss, sitting in the VIP section of the club on the second floor, designed for a little privacy or whatever the booths and translucent curtains can offer.

They stand by the glass barrier which overlooks the dancefloor. It’s a good spot which allows them to keep an eye on the club while staying at a distance. Much less people up here too, which means more room to breathe. Suga rests his hands on the railing, looking down at the mass of people below.

Jungkook taps his side urgently. Kim is getting ready to leave, gathering up his things and shaking the hands of his guests. A couple of ladies show them the way, down the stairs and out the back exit while their boss stays behind. Hands behind his back, he walks towards them with a satisfied smile on his face.

“Pretty good.” He says. Jungkook and Suga nod respectfully.

“The crowd should start to pick up soon.”

“Oh I bet.” Kim chuckles. “If things go well, you can start bringing in the drugs earlier than planned.”

He surveys the area for a while, walking to one end of the parapet and back to them. The wheels in his head seem to be turning but he doesn’t say much. Only a smile, before giving a rough pat on their shoulders. “I’ll be in touch.” His men walk in front as he follows along down the stairs and out the same exit as the others earlier.

“I think that went well.” Suga grins and Jungkook snorts at the glee on his face.

“You really got me all worried when you called.” Jungkook sighs, watching waiters and waitresses clear the empty booth. He joins Suga, resting his forearm on the barrier, eyes roaming the place. “We’re clear now. He probably won’t be back anytime soon. He rarely does spot-checks in person.”

“Didn’t you see the look on his face?” Suga wets his bottom lip. “I think he’s planning something.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know but be ready for anything.” His words are unsettling but Jungkook leaves it for now. Suga ruffles the back of Jungkook’s head like he does to a kid. “You can go now. I’ll handle things tonight.”

With a twist of his face Jungkook shakes his head. “I’ll stay for a while.”

From the corner of his eye, Jungkook sees the slight surprise on Suga’s face. Usually, he’d jump at the chance to clock off early. Suga wonders if he’s finally going back to the old him. That is, until something, or someone, catches his eye.

“Oh. I see why you wanna stay.”

“Hm?”

He nods in the direction of the bar. A shimmery sky blue dress catches his eye. One that Jungkook recognises.

𝄖𝄖

“Oh this is nice,” your words insincere, “and loud.”

“It’s a club.” Jimin says, looking at you unbelievably. It’s been a while since you last stepped foot in one. Your hand is in his as he makes sure you don’t get separated from the group. Hana grabs on to your elbow as she follows behind.

Finally reaching the bar, you find an empty spot, pulling Hana along with you. Among the crowd, you spot some people you know and some you don't; all of them friends of Taehyung. He then rushes over and wraps his arms around the three of you. “Just have fun tonight guys! Hoseok’s the designated driver so don’t be shy, drink up!!” He cheers, running back to where his other friends are, already downing some shots.

“What’re you having?” Jimin asks.

“Ooh, I’ll have⎯”

“Not you.” He tilts his head to the side. “You.”

You look behind you. Hana stares back blankly but you notice the tiny smile on her lips. She’s never been one to take interest in men like Jimin. He’s much too loud for her.

“Oh my god.” You laugh. “I’ll stay out of this.” You remove yourself from your spot and switch places with Hana. She gladly entertains Jimin, whispering to you that it’s only for tonight.

You scan the shelves of bottles on display, hundreds of them, not making your choice any easier. You haven’t been to a club in a long time and the only way you would last the night in this atmosphere is if you had some alcohol in you.

Someone slips in next to you, body brushing against yours as they squeeze between others. When a hand appears on your lower back however, you tense up. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing all alone on a Friday night?” He says. Your grip his arm, wanting to push him away, until you spare him a glance.

Mirroring the silly smile on his face, you shove his hand away anyway. “I’m not alone, I’m with my friends.” You point your thumb in the direction of the others behind you.

“You look awfully lonely standing here while your friends are out there.” He gives you a once-over. “How about I keep you company?”

“No thanks.”

“Wanna go somewhere else? Somewhere with more privacy?”

“I don’t think my boyfriend would like that.”

He looks away to fight a smile forming. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“Tempting...” With his back against the bar, he makes room for you between his legs and pulls you in. Your hands rest on his arm while he holds you by the waist. “You do look like the type I’d go for.” He’s distracted by the choice of lip gloss you have on, which seems to have a magnetic effect on his lips.

“Wow, you actually showed up.” Jimin hits his shoulder a little too hard and he glares at Jimin for ruining the moment yet again. “I guess I’ll have those two shots now.” He shrugs.

“As if you weren’t going to have them anyway.” You roll your eyes as you watch him watch the bartender fix them up. He downs them in seconds, wincing as it burns but enjoying it nonetheless.

“If you hadn’t shown up, she would’ve taken the shots.” Jimin lifts the empty glass in his hand as a toast.

“Aw, that would’ve been fun.” Hana snickers. She turns to you. “I haven’t seen you drunk in a while. She’s a real gem when she’s drunk.” She directs the last part to Jungkook.

“Oh I’ve had the pleasure of meeting that special lady.” Jungkook winks.

“Hey, no judging.”

Hana raises her hands in surrender but she’s interrupted by Jimin’s hands snaking around her waist. You watch as they get into a squabble. The others have dispersed, most of them on the dance floor, Taehyung in the middle of it all. Watching him gets you stirred and you drag Jungkook with you through the dancing bodies.

You find a spot in the centre and start swaying your hips against Jungkook. He keeps his hands on you as if to make sure every other person there knows you’re taken. With your back pressed against him, he leans down and captures your lips, tongue fighting for dominance as your hips grind against him. He has half a mind to take you right here in the middle of the floor.

You turn abruptly to face him, disrupting his fantasy. “I know that look.” You say into his ear. “You pervert.” Those sultry eyes of his drops to your chest, openly ogling at your cleavage. Giggling, you push his face to the side and he laughs, kissing you again. You spend close to an hour dancing, or actually, grinding against him.

“I’m glad you’re here.” You say, back at the bar, thirsty from all the dancing. Your hands run up his chest. “I missed you.”

Jungkook shakes his head. “I’ve spent every day with you in the past week. Every night too.” He winks and you play with his collar. “You still miss me?” You nod and he holds you closer, bringing his lips to your neck where it tickles and your shoulders raise as a reflex.

“Well, look who’s here.”

It’s a voice you recognise. And one you weren’t expecting but also glad to hear. Jungkook lifts his head up from you. Suga nods in your direction, looking at Jungkook for just a second, then back to you.

“Hi.” You say. “You’re here too?” You look at Jungkook but his face is impossible to read. He doesn’t seem surprised nor does he look angry. He must have been with Suga before this.

Suga ignores your question but tells Jungkook he’s needed somewhere. “They’re asking for you.” Is all he says and you feel Jungkook’s chest rise and fall in a sigh under your touch.

“Be right back.” He says to you regretfully, kissing your cheek. Jungkook grabs Suga by the arm as he moves to take the place next to you. They share an awkward look before he says, “Keep an eye on her for me.”

“I’d be happy to.” He smiles playfully.

Jungkook slides between bodies till he disappears in the crowd. With an elbow resting on the bar, there’s a hint of amusement in the way Suga looks at you.

“What?” You ask.

“Nothing. I just didn’t think you’d be the clubbing type.”

You’re not offended, but the way he smiles makes you feel like you should be. The judgement that’s apparent on his face challenges you to prove him wrong. Even though of course, he’s right. He calls the bartender over and orders himself a vodka. The bartender’s hands get busy but she keeps her attention on you. “And for the pretty lady?” She asks.

“Oh my bad. Can I get you anything?” Suga asks. “We have iced tea.”

You ignore him and order a shot of tequila, much to his surprise. “Coming right up.” The bartender says, as she fixes up the drink. Suga watches as you down a single shot and immediately orders another.

“Is that all you’re having?” You nod to the vodka in front of him. You’re reaching for some cash in your purse when he stops you.

“It’s on the house.” He says, downing his drink. “And yes, I’m not trying to get drunk tonight. I have work to do.”

“On the house? Work?” Your face scrunches up. “You work here?”

“Work here?” Now he looks confused and slightly offended. “You don’t know? Jungkook and I run this place.”

It hits you like a slap in the face and you wish the alcohol would start to kick in already so you wouldn’t just be staring at him in surprise. “I definitely did not know that.”

“Oh. I’m sure there's a reason he didn’t tell you.”

Though his face remains void of any emotion, you can’t ignore the bitterness in his tone. You hesitate before asking. “You don’t like me very much, do you?”

“What makes you say that?” He looks elsewhere, suddenly finding interest in the people on the dance floor.

You think over your choice of words carefully. Getting close to Suga has been your game play from the start. But with Jungkook always keeping you at a distance from him, it set you back. Once Suga trusts you, it’ll only get easier from there. Since Jungkook won’t be letting you into the world of his secret life anytime soon, the only way in is through someone he trusts.

“We could be good friends you know.” You smile.

He waits for you to convince him, a doubtful look on his face. “Really? What could we possibly have in common?”

“Have a drink with me and maybe you’ll find out.”

You hold out a drink in front of him. Your cheerful demeanour makes it hard for him to say no, even though he thinks it might be the alcohol getting to you. Suga lets out an exasperated breath, and takes the glass from you.

𝄖𝄖

Jungkook groans, kicking the door shut behind him. He tosses the book in his hand on the table, knocking over a bunch of stationery. What he thought was going to be a short call, ended up being a trip back down to the HQ just to double check the inventory.

He’s just about to let his butt touch the seat when there’s a knock on the door. “Please don’t come in.” He begs.

It opens and he sighs. The music travels inside now that the door’s open and he massages the front of his head, feeling a headache coming in. “Hey. Someone wants to speak to the manager.” Suga says casually.

“What? Why?” Jungkook shakes his head and turns to face him. “You talk to them then, you’re the manager too.”

“No, she wants the other manager.”

Jungkook frowns. Suga keeps the door open with his foot and reaches over to the side. Jungkook watches as he struggles with the other person. They resist and pull away but Suga easily gains control. Jungkook sighs, preparing himself for what’s to come.

“Stop! I said, I only wanna speak to the other⎯” You stand by the door leaning against Suga while you try to maintain your balance. Your eyes go wide when you see Jungkook and he looks back at you, perplexed.

“The other manager.” Suga finishes your sentence.

“Oh hi.” You fix your hair and dress before making your way towards Jungkook, stumbling a few times until he meets you halfway.

“Um. Hi.” Jungkook says.

“She’s had a few drinks.” Suga informs him.

“A few?!” Jungkook guides you to his desk.

“Don’t look at me. It was her idea.” Yoongi raises his hands in a surrender and slowly backs off, closing the door before he leaves.

“Shh! I have a complaint!” You fail to stand on your own, needing Jungkook’s hands on your arms to keep you upright. He backs up, sitting on the edge of his desk, holding on to you while you rest your entire weight on him.

“Do you now?” He lets you lean on his chest. When you lift your head, he pushes away the stray hair. “What is it?”

“I’m upset! You left me.”

He laughs quietly. “I’m sorry. I had to go check on something.”

“And why didn’t you tell me about this club?” You say in a tiny voice, pouting. “Is it because I’m not cool enough? Cause that’s what the other manager thinks...”

“Suga?” Jungkook asks.

“Yeah him.” Your tired eyes focus on something behind him while you mumble, face a little swollen. “We’re friends now, you know?”

“That’s nice. But don’t listen to him okay? You are cool. The coolest girlfriend ever.” Jungkook kisses your forehead and you break into a giddy smile.

“Really?” He nods. “Then why didn’t you tell me about this club?”

“Because I didn’t know what you would think about it. What if you hated it?”

“Jeon Jungkook.” You stand up straight. Or try to, at least, holding on to his arms before your hands cup his face. “I would never. I will always support you. You got that?”

He chuckles, holding you tight against him. “You’re adorable.”

“Also!” You push away. Your eyes roam over his body and you drag your hand down his front. “It’s kinda sexy...you being a manager.”

“There she is.” Jungkook laughs, being reminded of the Valentine’s situation. “I knew you were in there somewhere.”

“She missed you.”

“Aw, I miss her too.” His hand finds the back of your neck to guide your lips onto his. The shaky sigh that comes from you as he grabs a fistful of your hair to tug on makes him smile. You hike your leg up on his thigh, trying to get whatever friction you can get. The tight dress makes it hard for him to slip his hand under, so he grabs your thigh instead, digging into your skin. “This damn dress.” He mutters, lips on yours.

“You don’t like it?” You ask innocently. “Maybe I should take it off⎯”

The door slams open and Suga comes back inside. You separate from Jungkook with a gasp but then groan when you realise it’s only him. It’s like the two of you are invisible as he moves around the table to collect his things from one of the drawers. “What?” He stops when he notices your stares.

“Do you mind?” Jungkook asks.

“Yes actually I do.” His eyebrows raise. “This is a shared table. I don’t want your nasty fluids all over.” He gathers his belongings, and puts on his jacket. Glancing at Jungkook, he nods to the door, “Come on, let’s go. The guys can handle things tonight.”

Jungkook turns to you. “I’ll send you home okay?”

“No! I wanna go with you.” You whine, hanging on to his neck for dear life.

“Y/N,” he tries to reason, prying your hand off him. You don’t budge, only clinging on to him tighter. “Fine but. We’re going to Suga’s apartment. Are you sure you wanna come?”

“Yes.” You say, muffled.

“Okay then. Let’s go tell the others you’ll be with me.”

𝄖𝄖

The unfamiliar setting doesn’t bother you much, thanks to the alcohol. Jungkook comes out of the shower to find you on the floor, between the couch and the coffee table, laughing at something your new best friend is saying. He sighs however, looking at the drink in your hand. He jumps over the back of the couch and picks it out of your hand.

“Hey!” You frown. “Give it back! We’re playing never have I ever.”

“Y/N, he’s not even drinking.” Jungkook speaks to you gently, hooking his hand under your arm to pull you up on the couch. “He’s just messing with you.”

You turn to Suga for confirmation. That’s probably why his glass has been full since the start. “Maybe he just has never ever all the never have I evers.”

“Stop it.” Jungkook holds back a laugh as he warns Suga who’s laughing quietly, finally taking a sip of his drink. He helps you up and you get comfortable next to him on the couch. He had left you with Suga and a glass of water to sober up, but came back to the glass still full and an opened bottle of whiskey on the table.

“You smell nice.” You mumble, rubbing your head against him like a cat. “Gimme kiss.”

He complies, leaning down for chaste kisses that has you breaking into giggles. But it’s not enough. You yank him by the neck and let yourself fall back onto the couch. With a hand on the cushion behind you, he pulls away and the sticky sound of your lips separating makes Suga wince. “What are you doing?” He mutters.

“Kissing.”

“Okay. Can we kiss inside?” Jungkook glances in Suga’s direction and you tilt your head back. His hands slide down your side to your hips, making sure your dress doesn’t ride up any further.

Suga smiles, sipping on his drink. “Just pretend I’m not here.”

You laugh but Jungkook sits back up, pulling you along with him. “I think I need a drink too.” He sighs, reaching for your glass of whiskey still sitting on the table.

“What’s wrong?” You cup his head and speak to him like he’s a child. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s been a long night.”

“Aw.” You embrace him, giving him soft pats. “I’m sorry Kookie.”

“Kookie.” Suga repeats, pressing his lips into a thin smile. Jungkook drops his face into his hand and groans. He can’t even be mad at you, not with how you’re looking at him lovingly with soft, glossy eyes and a tender smile.

“Hey Suga,” you look around the place, suddenly curious as the paint peeling off the walls distracts you. “Why is your place so...ugly.”

“See?” Jungkook snickers, licking his lips after a sip of the whiskey. “I’ve been telling you to at least get the walls fixed or something.”

“Look, why does it matter?” Suga sighs. “I’m only here to sleep, shower and sometimes eat. I’d rather save my money for something else.”

“Are you rich?” You ask, leaning your head against Jungkook’s arm. “Can you buy me a pony?”

Suga furrows his brows then glances at Jungkook. “Why would I buy you a pony?”

“Why not?” You say in a soft voice. “I’ve always wanted one. If you’re a real friend you’d get me a pony…”

Jungkook breaks into a laugh, shaking his head as he squeezes you, kissing the top of your head. “Sorry. She talks a lot when she’s drunk. She’s not normally like this though.”

“It’s cute.” Suga shrugs, looking at you.

“The last time you were drunk you wanted a navel piercing.” Jungkook says to you. “The next day you almost cried when I said I’d bring you to the piercing shop to get one.”

Jungkook sips more of the vodka. You think about what he said for a second. “I know...I actually have been thinking of getting nipple piercings instead.”

Jungkook chokes on his drink, coughing and clearing his throat as Suga whistles at your confession. You look at them confused. “Okay.” Jungkook sets the glass down and stands. “You’re done. It’s time for bed.”

“Bed? Oh, bed.” You wink dramatically, with a light tone to your voice. Suga shakes his head, feeling somewhat endeared by you. You are adorable, he'll give you that. He kinda prefers you drunk than sober though. Before you leave, you turn to him. “You’re not joining us?”

“What?” Jungkook hisses. “Of course he’s not joining us.”

“Are you inviting me for a three⎯”

“You wish.” Jungkook spits out, lifting you over his shoulder. Suga sighs, swinging his legs over the side of the armchair, muttering a soft “kinda do wish though” under his breath.

𝄖𝄖

The bed you’re sleeping on tonight isn’t any bigger than yours, but it is older and squeakier. It’s in a guest room which Jungkook has spent many nights in, although he prefers the couch. After a quick shower, Jungkook lets you wear one of his spare tees for you to go to bed in. The shower seemed to have calmed you down a little, though he can tell you’re still out of it. He lets you snuggle up in his arms.

“You’re cute when you’re drunk,” Jungkook says, patting your head. “But you really shouldn’t drink so much. I just know you’re gonna regret it tomorrow.”

“I just wanted Suga to like me.” You pout. “I thought it would help us bond.”

Jungkook chuckles. “He does like you. I know it.”

“Really?” You blink up at him.

“Yes baby.” Jungkook smiles reassuringly. “You did good.”

You giggle, very obviously proud of yourself. You wish to talk more, but your eyelids feel so heavy. Jungkook notices this and kisses you on the forehead while his hand runs up and down your back.

“You’re not gonna remember any of the shit you said tonight, are you?”

“Probably not.” You hum, “but I remember that I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You giggle and let out a sigh after a while. He thinks you’ve fallen asleep until you speak again. “My boyfriend would be very sad if he knew I said I love you to someone else.”

“He’ll be okay.”

“Will he?” Your voice goes soft. You clutch his shirt a little tighter, burying your face into him. “I hope so…”

Jungkook frowns. He figured you were messing around, but it seems like the alcohol and sleep has you sleep talking. “What do you mean?”

“Lots of trouble...lots..drugs.” Jungkook stiffens, feeling his heart leap in his chest. “...and like...the detective...mess.”

He remains silent for a while. It’s not like he thought you were unaware of it all. But what were you saying about a⎯ “Detective?”

“What detective?” You mumble, slowly drifting away.

Jungkook shakes his head and lets out a breath. “Must be the alcohol. Get some sleep, baby.” Stroking your head, he kisses you goodnight. He tries to sleep himself but he finds it difficult, mind going back to what you said. He reaches under his pillow, careful not to wake you, sleeping on his arm.

Jungkook: i think we have a problem.

𝄖𝄖

“Everything sucks when you have a hangover.” You groan, trying not to drool against the counter. Hana replaces the cold coffee in your cup with a fresh batch. She transfers a blueberry muffin from the glass display onto a plate and slides it over to you.

“Ugh.” You wince, lifting your head off the table from the sound.

“I told you it was a bad idea.” Hana says, wiping the counter. Thankfully, you don’t have a shift today. “Was it worth it though?”

“I think he trusts me now, kinda.” You take a small bite of the muffin. “He said bye to me when we left his apartment this morning.”

Hana gives you a displeased look. “What?”

“The point is that he stayed with me the entire night last night, let me stay over at his place and Jungkook isn’t trying to keep me away from him.”

“Okay so,” she gestures, “now what?”

“Now...we wait.” You take a sip of the coffee in front of you.

Hana eyes you down curiously. She steps away to attend to a customer, giving you some time to think. When she comes back, she leans against the other side of the counter and presses her lips together. “I don’t like that look on your face. You’ve thought of something.”

You check your surroundings. The usual customers are around, scattered across the cafe, absorbed in their own work. You speak softly. “I think I’m gonna try and join his crew.”

“Are you crazy?” Hana snaps at you. She keeps her voice hushed. “Y/N, these are dangerous people.”

“I know but Jungkook will be there to protect me.” You say it, but you don’t even believe it yourself. Sure, Jungkook’s there. And he would protect you, but to what extent can he do that?

“No. You’re not doing this.”

“Okay wait.” You breathe out, rubbing your aching temples. “Okay how about this, I’ll see if they’ll let me work at the club. As a bartender or something.”

“Dude no. You already have a bartending job.” She gestures around her. “Here.”

“Hana you’re making this difficult for me.”

“Me?!” She gasps. “You’re the one joining a syndicate when you’re supposed to be getting your boyfriend out of it.”

“This is how I’ll get him out!”

“How?” She folds her arms. “Tell me. How will joining them help you get Jungkook out?”

“Um…” You bite your lip and answer in a soft voice. “I haven’t thought of that yet.”

She shakes her head. You hate it when she does that. You sit quietly and sulk, a frown apparent on your face. “You’re getting yourself into trouble.”

“We all know Jungkook’s very sensitive when it comes to this. Maybe if I’m part of his circle, he’ll get more comfortable talking to me about it.” You convince yourself as you’re saying it. “And then it’ll be easier to convince him to leave.”

Hana is silent, just watching you. She leans on her forearms against the counter, moving in closer to you. “I don’t know much about these kinds of groups but, I don’t think it’s that easy. You can’t just leave as an when you want to. Don’t bite off more than you can chew.”

You let her words sink in as she goes back to work. You have nothing to say because she’s probably right, it’s not going to be as easy as you make it out to be. There are many other factors to consider. It’s not a solid plan, but you stand by it, thinking it might be worth a shot once you figure things out. You just don’t know where to start.

An alarm goes off on your phone and your jump in your seat. You’d set one as a reminder to head to the campus library. The sound worsens your already throbbing head while you pack your things and take the last few bites of your muffin. You follow up with the coffee and groan softly, feeling your tummy protest. A small burp follows.

“Excuse me.” You say, glancing at the man standing nearby, waiting for his drink.

He smiles back and the first thing you notice are his dimples. “Hangover?” He asks.

“Yeah. Is it that obvious?”

“Not to be rude but,” he leans in closer to whisper, “you look like crap.” He winks after, so you know he’s kidding.

“You’re lucky I’m not on my shift today, otherwise you’d be getting something else with that coffee.” He raises a brow at your weak attack and you close your eyes, sighing. “Sorry. That was meant to be intimidating but...it sounded better in my head.”

“I get it.” He nods, smiling. “Hangover.”

“Right.” You stand from your seat and sling your backpack over your shoulder. Hana comes over and places the stranger’s coffee on the counter top before turning her attention to you. “I’m gonna go.” You say to her and she nods with a smile before going back to work.

“And I’ll see you around Mr….” You tilt your head slightly, focusing on the name scribbled on his cup. “Namjoon.”

He nods again with an amused smile as he watches you walk swiftly out the door.

𝄖𝄖

You check the time on your phone and slot the book in your hand back in its place. You’ve lost track of time in the Fiction section and Jungkook will be coming to get you in an hour. You speed walk over to the References section and start scanning for a specific book. The lack of sudden, loud noises in the library is pure bliss to you. You had taken an Aspirin a while back, still waiting for its effects to kick in.

“Y/N.”

You gasp a little too loudly and jump at the sudden intrusion of your space. Hoseok holds his hands out before him to show he means no harm. “What are you doing?” You hiss. “You scared me.”

“Sorry.” He scratches the back of his head. “What a coincidence, running into you here.”

A towel hangs over one shoulder and a duffel bag on the other. He’s dressed in jogger pants and a basketball tee. “Is it a coincidence?” You raise a brow, eyeing his outfit.

“Okay, I kinda just wanted to talk to you about something.” He admits. He recognised you from across the library where he was printing some documents.

“Is it about Jungkook again?” You ask.

“Kinda.” He shrugs. “I don’t know if you’ve heard but⎯”

“Something about a staff member?” You cut him off and watch his face twist.

“You knew?”

“I’ve heard.”

“And you’re not worried? Why would he do something so stupid?”

You tense up over his words and he notices this with the way your body changes. “He’s not stupid. Okay? And it might not even be him. The rumour might not even be true,”

“How would you know?”

“I don’t. And neither do you. We don’t know anything.” You roll your eyes and turn to walk away, having had enough of him. He grabs your wrist to stop you.

“You’re not gonna do anything?” He asks, making you even more annoyed.

“Hoseok, what are you doing about it?”

He watches you silently.

“Exactly. I said I’ll handle it so let me handle it.” You say. “Besides, my plan is working already.” That’s a lie considering you don’t have much of that plan.

“What plan? Getting drunk and flirting with his drug pusher friend?”

Does he mean Suga? You’re livid. Is he actually judging you for what happened the night before? Hoseok senses the change in your demeanour yet again. But it’s too late to take it back. His eyes soften though it doesn’t do much to calm you down. “Are we done here?”

You turn to leave and he calls for you once again. This time you only stand with your back to him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m really worried. For Jungkook...for you.”

“Me?” You turn back around. “You don’t have to worry about me. Jungkook would never let anything happen to me.”

The corners of his mouth twitch a little. “Fine. But I haven’t been able to reach my friend. I’m starting to think they got to him. I don’t even know if he’s still alive.”

“Don’t say that. I’m sure he’s fine.” You say softly, feeling sympathetic towards him. He must be really worried. “Why don’t you call his office or something.”

“I can’t because I’m not supposed to know about this investigation in the first place, remember?” Hoseok sighs, running his hand through his hair. “Look, just be careful okay? And let me know if you need anything.”

You nod. “I gotta go.”

He doesn’t stop you this time and you rush out of there without the book you came here for. You’d come back tomorrow perhaps. Just as you reach the exit, you hear a whisper of your name. Give it up Hoseok! You think to yourself. You pick up speed and consider running off. That is until a hand slaps onto your shoulder and tugs on it.

“Slow down.” Sunhee whispers. She notices the look of trouble on your face. “Calm down. It’s just me. Not Hoseok.”

Of course she would know. “You saw us?”

“Yeah. I saw you, Hoseok, and the tension between you two.” She looks back and Hoseok’s no longer there. “So what was that all about?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug, feigning ignorance. “He’s kinda weird.”

She narrows her eyes at you but doesn’t push you any further. You ask for her company, just in case he comes back, knowing he’d never talk about anything in front of someone else. As you walk around campus, you realise that almost everyone you come across along the way says hi to Sunhee. She really does know a lot of people. It’s no wonder she knows everyone’s business before they even know it themselves.

A guy dressed in a black tee and jeans walks in your direction and you make a bet with yourself that he’d know Sunhee too. He gets closer and you smile to yourself as he nods to Sunhee, greeting her. But then he greets you too. “Hey Sunhee. Y/N.”

“Oh. Hi.” Your reply comes late. It took you a while to register that he had just said your name. But you don’t know him. “Who was that?” You ask Sunhee.

“That guy? That’s Jae.” She says. You turn and watch his back as he walks down the hallway.

“I don’t think I know him.” You try to remember if you may have been introduced to each other before. “How does he know my name?”

“Pretty sure anyone who knows Jungkook would know your name.”

“Oh so he’s friends with Jungkook?”

“You could say that.” She presses her lips together in a thin smile.

“Sunhee…”

You slow down. “Fine. Everyone knows Jae gets his supplies from Jungkook.”

“Oh. It’s that kind of friendship…”

Sunhee leans in close, her wide eyes staring right at yours. “Rumour has it, he saw Jungkook selling some drugs to a faculty member.”

Your heart leaps in your chest at the thought of it being true. It’s one thing for it to be a rumour, but this person has actually seen Jungkook in the act. You grab Sunhee’s arm urgently. “I need to talk to him.”

Before she can utter a reply, you’re bolting off in the direction you came from, towards Jae. He hasn’t gone too far so it didn’t take long to catch up to him. Sunhee trails after you, calling out your name to get you to slow down. You only do so when you close up on him and with all the ruckus, he turns and stops, glancing at you with a confused look on his face.

“What’s going on?” He asks carefully, eyes darting to Sunhee finally reaching your side. She catches her breath and glares at you unbelievably.

“I need to ask you something.” You say gently. “It’s about Jungkook.”

The mention of Jungkook’s name changes the look on his face. His tall, confident posture turns fidgety and anxious. “I don’t really know Jungkook.” He spits out before turning away hurriedly, pulling his cap down to cover his eyes.

You move to stand in front of him. “You get your...prescriptions from him don’t you?” He gulps, looking around. The hallway is empty. But that doesn’t mean no one’s listening. “You’re not in trouble or anything. I just wanted to ask you about the rumour going around. Is it true?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t start it.” He huffs.

“That’s not what I heard.” Your eyes move to Sunhee who stands behind him. He follows your gaze.

Sunhee stares back blankly and shrugs, “What? That’s what I heard.”

Jae closes his eyes in defeat and sighs. “Let’s talk somewhere else.” He says, checking the empty hallway again. Then he leads you both down the hallway. He stops at a staircase just as the hallway ends, extending left and right into another one. As it just so happens, that’s where the staff rooms are. You would expect to more likely be in trouble if any faculty members overheard you, so why would he bring you here.

He climbs up a few steps and takes a seat, resting his arms on his knees. “I didn’t start that rumour.” Is all he says.

“Are you sure?”

“Look, all I said was that I get my supplies from Jungkook.” He starts. “The rumour had already spread by then, about a staff member.” He keeps his voice low and you look around the corner every now and then to make sure no one is coming. “The thing is, it’s not that this guy gets his supply from students. He’s the supplier.”

Sunhee’s jaw drops like you’ve just promised her everything she’s ever wanted. “Are you serious? Oh my god.” She bites her lip and quietens down when you give her a look.

“So where does Jungkook come in?”

“When the word spread about this guy, a few guys who usually deal with me came and asked if this other guy is legit. Of course I told them I don’t know anything about it. I’ve only ever dealt with Jungkook.” He shrugs. “As far as I know, Jungkook’s the only supplier. It’s kinda weird that this guy suddenly pops out of nowhere. And since Jungkook’s been kinda missing in action lately, I guess a lot of his buyers assume he might be the one supplying the new guy to replace him.”

“Jungkook’s been missing in action?”

“Well not completely.” Jae says. He gets up and brushes the back of his jeans. “He’s been kinda slow on the orders. Maybe he’s busy.”

“Right.” You nod, trying to put together everything you just found out.

“Speak of the devil. That’s him right there.” So that’s why he chose to speak to you here. Jae looks over your shoulder, and along the hallway lined with doors that are staff-only accessible, he struts down with a book in his hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

“No way.” You whisper to yourself as you watch him. He enters the admin room, tapping a card on a small machine next to the door which unlocks it. You keep your eyes on the door, blinking away, wondering if your eyes were playing tricks on you. “That’s him?”

“That’s him.” Jae confirms. He slips between the two of you. “I gotta go now. I won’t get in trouble with Jungkook, will I?”

“Of course not.” You reassure him, “I just wanted to know about the rumour and who started it.”

“Cool.” He nods. “You know, I’m loyal too. I never switched over cause I trust him.”

“Good to know.” You say with a hint of amusement in your voice. “I’ll be sure to let him know you’re a big fan.”

He only smiles before walking away, waving to the two of you. Before Sunhee can leave too, you grab on to her arm. “Keep whatever you heard today to yourself.”

A soft whine is her response and she looks at you with puppy-dog eyes, silently pleading. You stand your ground. “Not even one person?”

“Not even one person.” You hold out your pinky in front of her. “Promise.”

“Which part though, the Jungkook part or the new guy or⎯”

“All of it. No one has to know anything.”

“Disagree⎯”

“Sunhee!”

“Alright, alright.” She groans but hooks her pinky around yours and you tighten your grip. “I guess I won’t tell anyone. What’s this all about anyway?”

She raises a brow when you don’t reply. “It’s nothing. I can’t tell you.”

“You’re as mysterious as your boyfriend these days.” Can’t tell if it’s a compliment, seeing as how she’s narrowing her eyes as though she’d be able to read your mind if she tries hard enough. “Probably for the best, you know I can’t keep my mouth shut anyway.”

“If you can keep this quiet, we’ll go for rush parties together.” There’s a sudden sparkle in her eye. Who you go with is crucial in determining what kind of night you’ll have. Being seen entering with the right people, means you’ll probably be making lots of new friends. And being seen with you, a girlfriend of someone in the host house, will lead to lots of new socialising opportunities for Sunhee.

“Deal.” Is all she says, no further bargaining. Her body turns in the direction you were headed earlier before Jae, “You coming?”

“Um.” You look around the quiet hallway. “You know what, I'll just take this exit. Jungkook’s picking me up anyway.”

“Alright. See you next week.” She winks and heads off.

You text Jungkook, to let him know where you’d be waiting for him. While you wait, you scan the long board display between doors. Pictures of staff members everywhere along with their names and designated roles underneath each photo. By the end of the entire row, you hadn’t found him.

Past the glass display, full of trophies and medals from inter-college competitions, you find a board plastered with information on new extracurricular clubs. An acapella group, self-defense classes, poetry⎯ wait, self-defense classes. “Led by special instructor Kim Namjoon...”

You hadn’t realised when he appeared behind you but his low sounding voice makes you jump. “Interested?” He chuckles when you make a squeaking sound. “Sorry didn’t mean to scare you.”

“So you work here.” You say the obvious.

“Yeah.” Now he’s looking at the flyer on the board. “Not to brag but, I designed this myself.”

“It’s cute.” You nod. “Self-defense instructor and a flyer expert. Truly a jack of all trades.”

He laughs then looks down at his feet as his hands sink into his pockets. He wears a brown checkered v-neck vest over a light blue shirt. To think this is the guy everyone’s talking about. The one dealing drugs. “Are you waiting for someone?” He asks, looking around.

“Yes, yeah, I better go wait by the exit, he’ll be here any minute.” You check your phone.

“I’ll walk with you.” He offers. With his arm stretched forward, he gestures for you to walk with him. “Was on my way to get some fresh air anyway. How’s the hangover by the way?”

“Oh much better, thanks.” You’re reminded of the lame attempt at a comeback at the cafe earlier and wince. “So how long have you been working here?”

“Not long.” He faces forward as he walks. “The school only confirmed my classes like a month ago.”

“I see.”

“Will you sign up?”

“Oh I don’t know.” You shake your head and laugh dryly. “I have so much on my plate already.”

“Well if you ever wanna drop by one of the classes, just let me know.”

“That’s nice of you, thank you.” You smile and once again you’re distracted by his dimples. “How’s the response though?”

“It’s great! I might have to split the class into three and have them on different days of the week.”

“Wow, really?” You ask, surprised. “That good huh.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t expecting this either, honestly.”

He shrugs, still wearing that cute smile on his face. You actually wonder if Jae might have gotten it all wrong. Maybe it wasn’t Namjoon. Maybe it was someone else, someone other than this big, huggable guy beside you. “That’s great though, I’m happy for you.”

Late afternoon sun rays kiss your skin as you step out the doors. Down the steps, you see a familiar figure sitting on his bike. As it is, you get a text from Jungkook just then, telling you he’s here. “Is that your friend?”

“Yup. I better go.” You say, one foot already down the step. “I’ll see you around. Maybe I will drop by for one of your classes.”

“Please do.” He grins and looks so painfully handsome. “Oh and, I haven’t gotten your name.”

“Y/N.”

“See you y/n.”

You trot down the steps and towards Jungkook who watches your little exchange. He removes his helmet to give you a kiss before handing over yours. “Who’s that?” He asks as you swing your leg over the pillion seat. You wrap your arms securely around his torso.

“That’s Namjoon. We just met. He’s some self-defense instructor.”

Jungkook watches him not so subtly, hands on the handles but head twisted, burning holes in his direction. Namjoon doesn’t care too much for it. When you turn, he’s waving goodbye cheerfully. You wave back before turning to Jungkook. “What’s the matter? You know him?”

“Nope.”

𝄖𝄖

“So is it true?” A haughty voice fills the room as the door barges open with a kick. Jungkook keeps his back to its owner and continues sipping on his martini. Suga, sitting adjacent to him at the bar, turns in his chair. “Heard there’s a new guy in town. Have you finally lost your touch, Ace?”

Back at the headquarters in the early morning, the bar is empty save for the cleaners, picking up trash and wiping everything down. They had been called in by the lieutenant for a short meeting. Unfortunately, so had the other runners from another district. One who constantly makes it known that he hates them.

“Dude, why’re you so obsessed with him?” Suga asks calmly. They’re so used to Hongjun and his buddies running their mouths by now.

Hongjun scoffs and the two other guys behind him laugh. “Obsessed? You wish.” He sneers. “I’m just concerned.”

“Worry about yourself.” Jungkook spits out without even sparing him a glance.

“Are you kidding me?” Hongjun laughs dryly. “I’m so much better than you. Always have been.”

The stool scrapes against the floor as Jungkook gets to his feet. He steps up to Hongjun, getting all up in his face. “And yet, you’re not the one they call Ace.”

The scowl on Hongjun’s face says it all. His lips tremble with anger and he starts swinging Jungkook’s way. He lands a punch to Jungkook’s side and Jungkook retaliates with an uppercut to his nose. Staggering backwards into his friend, blood starts dripping down his nose. “You idiot! You⎯”

“What the fuck is going on.” Lieutenant Kyun appears, eyes moving from Suga to Jungkook, to Hongjun and his bloody nose, and back at Jungkook. Kyun is always calm. But dangerous. You never know what he’s thinking. “Explain.”

“I was returning the favour.”

“You’ll pay for that!” Hongjun yells again. One of his guys slips behind the bar to get some ice and a towel.

“Shut up.” His deep voice echoes through the empty room. “Stop acting like a bunch of kids. And you, stop whining, it's just a little blood.”

Hongjun sinks into one of the chairs and sulks, holding up the towel-wrapped ice to his nose. Jungkook moves back to his seat, giving Suga a fist bump that doesn’t go unnoticed by the other guys.

“First of all, you three.” He points to Hongjun and his friends. “You have a whole key of crack missing. Your numbers don’t tally, I don’t know how you guys missed this.”

“What no, that’s impossible.” One of them says.

“Either find it, or fix your numbers then.” Kyun says. “You know every little amount is evidence, if it lands in the wrong hands. Boss is not gonna be happy when he hears about this so I’m giving you guys three days to sort it out. Otherwise, it’s out of my hands.”

Jungkook looks in their direction and gives a thumbs up with a smile on his face. The most genuine smile he’s ever given them probably. He gets the finger from all of them.

“And you.” The focus is now on Jungkook. The smile is wiped from his face and he takes on his usual serious look. “What’s with the dip in your sales? You have a forty percent difference from previous months. This is ridiculous, honestly.”

Some faint snickering comes from the other guys. Jungkook stays silent. “Come on, you know he’s being watched.” Suga says in defense. “He’s just trying to be careful.”

“You can be careful and still do your job.”

Jungkook has nothing to say. Besides, he thinks it’ll only make things worse. It’s best to get his ass chewed now and get it over with. Kyun checks his phone and a while later the bouncer steps in through the front door, someone behind him. “Sir, this man says he’s here to see you.”

“Just in time.” He smiles for the first time that night. “Come, join us.”

All eyes are on him as he steps out from behind the shadows and into the light. Suga and Jungkook watch him closely, observing the slick jacket he’s wearing above a tight tee, with tapered pants and his hair slicked back. He looks like another one of those businessmen they deal with. He exchanges handshakes with the lieutenant and the dimple on his face stands out as he smiles.

“Guys, this is our new recruit. RM.” Kyun says. He looks at Suga and Jungkook. “He was dispatched to your district. We wanted to see if he has what it takes. And so far, he’s doing well, for a rookie. You sure you haven’t done this before?”

“No sir.” The new guy says with a smile. He has a deep voice that rivals Kyun’s.

Hongjun is the first to get acquainted with him, offering a handshake with his non-bloody hand. “About time we had some fresh blood. What with how lazy some people are.” He emphasises on the lazy bit, subtly nodding his head in Jungkook’s direction. RM looks at Jungkook who stares back.

“That’s enough.” Kyun says. “Go out back and double check your numbers. Talking about lazy when you lose a whole key...”

When the rest of the men are gone, Kyun turns to Suga and Jungkook. “He’ll be joining you from now on.”

“No offense but,” Suga chuckles. “We’re a duo. We don’t need an extra guy.”

“No offense but you do. He’s the only reason the numbers in your district, which is under your supervision, is still steady.” Kyun says, wiping the smile on Suga’s face. “Before I let you guys off, RM I need a word with you.”

“Sure.”

The two guys watch as he follows Kyun to a corner. They give each other a look of disapproval. Jungkook looks over at RM again, giving him a once over.

“Now listen here,” Kyun says, keeping his voice low. He knows the other two are watching, so he speaks carefully. “I want you to keep an eye on Ace for me.”

“The kid?” RM asks, raising a brow.

“He hasn’t been performing as well as of late. And he’s one of our best.” Kyun fakes a smile, pretending as if he’s saying something nice. “Just make sure there’s nothing we need to be worried about. He’s sharp, so don’t make it obvious. Update me weekly.”

“Done.” RM nods, returning the smile. Kyun gives him another handshake and a pat on the back.

“You okay?” Suga asks Jungkook, patting him reassuringly on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about him.”

Suga’s goes on saying some nasty things about RM but Jungkook tunes him out, only nodding as a response. He doesn’t tell Suga that he’s seen the new guy just earlier today. On those steps, with you.

#jungkook fics #networkbangtan #kwritersworldnet #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #jungkook scenarios #bts scenarios #rainworks #my fic

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ficsilike-reblogged · 4 years

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Sunshine City: Five

A/N: We have reached the end, my loves. Thank you for coming along on this little journey with me. Thank you for all the wonderful comments, likes, and reblogs. I owe you my heart.

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x F!Reader (No Y/N)

Word Count: 5.5k

Rating For This Chapter: NC-17 for Whiskey being Whiskey and putting his moustache to good use (female-receiving oral), penetrative unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, loves), just a whole bunch of mush because I love a sappy happy ending.

Catch up previous chapters here!

Perhaps learning that it was Agent Moonshine that had set them up shouldn’t have been a surprise. How many times had Jack “taught Moonshine a lesson” about manners—both in and out of the field? Moonshine had apparently been burning for some more-permanent payback and thought getting rid of Jack in the field would regain some of his honor.

Whatever.

Both Moonshine and Alice had disappeared into Statesmen’s holding cells about six months ago and Champ dealt with them. She didn’t ask what happened and she didn’t want to know. All she cared about was that Jack was okay and she knew what it felt like to have Jack’s arms wrapped around her without the confines of the mission and she knew that he liked to smile before he pressed his lips to hers.

She loved how he kissed. Loved how he held her tight like she was something—someone to be treasured. Loved how he always tried to make her smile even when they were thousands of miles apart or if he had managed to sequester her alone in some room of the Kingsman headquarters, or in her townhouse—or even that one time when he’d managed to get her alone in Champ’s office last week when she was needed stateside for a mission. He stole a kiss then, too, feeling like mischievous teenagers hiding from too-strict parents.

It was…good.

Better than good, actually. It was all much too sappy to say out loud but she felt happier than she had in a long time. Like she had shed some sort of heavy coat made of metal and wool and she could move and breathe without restraint. She would never tell Whiskey—his ego was already insatiable—and she had a feeling he might have an inkling he knew how she felt.

“I’ve never seen you smile like that, Sunshine. Do it again.” As she thought: insatiable. And it felt like they had readily settled into some idyllic relationship that a person could only dream of having. They spoke as often as they could, about anything and everything—Jack even told her about the discussions he had with his therapist and she spoke about the nightmares that sometimes plagued her in the dark. They bickered, of course—they were human, but it was usually few and far between and over trivial things (like which agency had the best tech or Bela’s favorite movie) and over before they really began. It was good. But at the moment, she had just finished a mission in Singapore and expected to hear her phone ring with Jack’s Skype call. They kept tabs on each other’s missions and always called one another when they came home. Bela zoomed down the staircase and leapt on his little legs into her outstretched arms. Her dog-sitter, a Kingsman technician, happily reported Bela behaved himself while she was away before saying goodnight. She pressed a few kisses to Bela’s fur and locked up the doors and windows before pulling her phone from her pocket, ignoring her suitcase for a bit longer. Bela settled on her lap as she pulled up the app and was just about to dial Jack’s number when Ginger’s face appeared on her screen with an incoming call. Ginger was back stateside to assist Statesmen with some sort of kidnapping ring and had been giving Sunny updates every few days. She answered it quickly. “Hey! I’m about to-” “Jack’s been shot.” “What-” “Let me finish,” Ginger said in her usual calming tone. “He’s going to be fine. But he wanted me to tell you that he’s sorry he couldn’t make your usual call.” Ginger’s lips picked up in a small smile, probably trying not to laugh at her fellow agent’s mortified expression. “For a pair of agents, you two are very bad at keeping your relationship a secret.” And then Ginger did laugh. “He’ll call when he’s cleared by medical. Okay?” She pushed out a breath and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” “He’s fine, Cap. I promise,” Ginger said, old moniker slipping by her lips. A few more words of encouragement were given, mission details were traded, and eventually they hung up. Her appetite gone, she eventually wandered upstairs to her bedroom and simply stared at the ceiling. Bela was asleep on her chest, giving her a little comfort. And she knew Statesmen had some of the best medical team and technology available. She knew Jack would be fine. But it still… hurt. Worry bit at her bones and pressed at her already-buzzing mind. There would be no sleep tonight.

Whiskey did not like the smell of the medical wing. He did not like the bright white lights. He did not like the stupid paper gown they insisted he wear after sewing him back up. And he definitely didn’t like watching Champ settle into the chair next to his bed with a frown.

“Ain’t you supposed to be the one leadin’ the charge, Whiskey? Grenadine said you were distracted-”

“I was fine, Champ. I had it handled-”

“You’re in the medical wing. Did you forget that? Or did you hit your head, too?”

Whiskey felt his lip start to curl in a snarl. “My head’s fine and you know it.”

Champ’s frown deepened before he let out a sigh, pulling out a silver flask from his blazer jacket. He grabbed two of the small plastic cups from the bedside table, usually meant to hold medications, and poured two shots of amber-colored liquid. He slid one toward Jack before quickly downing his and putting away his flask. “You’re a good agent, Jack. A fine Statesman.”

Jack quickly grabbed the offered shot and drank it, knowing no conversation that started with compliments like that was ever good.

“But you want more than that.”

“Champ-”

“I’m old. Older than you and I’ve worked my entire life to save the world and the people in it—usually from themselves. And I got squat to show for it outside my big office and nice car. But you-” he pointed a finger, “-you have a chance at something real. Another chance. Those don’t come around every day. And you two have been tip-toein’ around each other for years.”

And, for a moment, Jack Daniels didn’t have a word to say. It was embarrassing to realize that everyone seemed to know they had moved past the fellow-agent relationship. But it was also strangely calming to know that people beside him and his Sunshine wanted them to be happy—together.

“You’ve saved the world enough. I know you’ve been thinkin’ about retiring anyway.”

“I-”

“Give it a little more thought. Visit your lady, yeah?” Champ said as he stood and patted his chest. “Take the next week off. I’ll have Grenadine handle the debrief.”

“Champ-”

But he was already out the door.

She wiped at her eyes, trying to press a bit of exhaustion out of her head with limited success. But Harry had accepted her debrief and then let her go for the rest of the day. “

Mordred, you’ve nearly fallen asleep twice just sitting here. Go home.”

Not her finest moment but she wasn’t going to say no to a nap. Maybe if she was asleep she could ignore that she still hadn’t heard from Jack. Ginger did say he would be fine but it still didn’t sit right with her and-

“Hey, Sunshine.”

She dropped her keys.

There he was, posted up against the side of her house, one foot kicked up behind him on the white-washed wall with his stupid Stetson pulled low over his eyes. She leapt at him and pulled him close, sagging into his grip as he wrapped his arms around her. He was so warm and wonderful and here. His familiar, expensive cologne touched her nose as she breathed him in, laughing at how he pressed his lips against her neck, mustache tickling her skin.

“You’re here,” she said as she pulled back.

He stole a quick kiss with another smile. “I am. Champ gave me some time off. I guess I should get shot more often.”

She quickly grabbed at his face. “No. That’s not funny-”

He kissed her again, smiling against her frowning mouth. “Are you going to invite me in or do I have to hang outside your door like a lost tomcat?” Jack bent and scooped up her keys and pressed them into her hand.

“You drive a hard bargain.” She slipped from his grasp and moved toward the door, undoing the three locks and stepping inside, Jack right on her heels. She closed the door behind him, only just noticing the small bag slung over his shoulder before he kissed her again. She would never get tired of kissing him.

But now was the first time in six months since she was alone with him—six months since Edinburgh. Six months of only stealing kisses and wandering hands when others were around and not having a moment truly to themselves. But work came first. Saving the world wouldn’t stop because she wanted to kiss him and hear his laugh.

And she really loved the sound of his laugh.

But then she yawned right in his face when he broke away from her lips to breathe.

“Now, Sunshine, you truly know how to cut a man to the quick.”

She laughed and leaned her forehead against his chest. “I’m so sorry. I got no sleep last night.”

Jack wound his arms around her and pulled her tight again, uncaring that they were still right beside her front door, barely a few steps inside. “And why not?”

“Ginger told me what happened and then you didn’t call. I was worried.” Her hands found purchase on his shoulders, thumbs rubbing against the buttery soft leather of his jacket. “Stupid in our line of work, right?” Her laugh was soft but sharp with self-deprecation. And she knew it was stupid. Knew that her line of work that nothing really was promised. That her time with Jack, no matter how much it made her smile, was never guaranteed.

“I never meant to-”

“It isn’t you, Jack. It is just… me, I guess. I think I worry too much.” She stepped back as she yawned again. “Sorry, jeez.”

But Jack just smiled. “Tell you what, Sunny. I’m here all week. I’ll let you worry about me all you want.”

“A week? Jack, you know I want to but I have to wor-”

Her phone chirped.

“Shit, sorry.” She pulled her phone from her pocket and frowned when she saw the message. It was from Roxy and it simply said;

Have fun! See you on Monday. ;)

It took a moment, but if finally dawned on her what it meant and she tossed her phone onto her couch with a smile. “It seems that I’m not expected back in the office until Monday.”

Jack let out a holler and all but started to drag her toward the staircase. She had to slap his hands away to lock her door before she let him grab at her sides and strong-arm her upstairs. Her laughter finally woke Bela from his mid-morning nap and he poked his head out of the guest room to let out an indignant huff at their noise before retreating again. Jack knew where her bedroom was, having been there for a total of ten minutes after Scotland, and he basically dragged her inside and plopped her onto her overstuffed mattress, rumpling the blankets immediately. And she happily let him crawl over her and pressed her down into the welcoming softness as he shucked his shoes and jacket. Hers soon followed with fumbling limbs and they both laughed as Jack continued to kiss her lips, her cheek, her nose, her neck—anywhere he could place his lips was quickly kissed.

She let him pull his shirt off and divest her of her own and they both scrambled with their jeans and trousers before falling back against the pillows in a pair of matching, tired huffs. Maybe she should have been a little more demure about this casual near-nakedness—it was the first time they’d bared this much skin with each other—but all she felt was comfort when he looked at her. Some beautiful, gentle warmth bloomed in her chest as she looked at him.

Jack leaned forward to press a slow kiss against her lips as one of his hands landed on her hip, thumb tracing the lacy edge of her panties.

And she might have let him continue—let herself finally know what it was like to be touched by him in that way—but she yawned again and her eyes caught the fresh scar on his shoulder. Her fingers brushed against it, feeling how the skin was raised and twisted, something even Statesmen’s tech couldn’t stop with some injuries.

Jack’s hand stilled on her hip. “I’m okay, Sunshine. I’m right here with you.” But then he touched the mark across her stomach, the one she’d gained from their time in Italy. His fingers trailed to the scar on her chest and then down to another zig-zagging twist of puckered skin on her side. She shivered at the contact, nerves alight. “And you’re with me, yeah?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m with you.”

“Good.” He smiled, soft and tired-eyed. “Let’s get some sleep.” He reached back and managed to pull her sheets and blankets down enough for them to slide underneath and then slid an arm under her shoulders so he could bring her to his side as she closed her eyes. And she fell asleep to the quiet beat of his heart.

She found Jack liked Hyde Park, free museums, and having tea. “It ain’t sweet tea, Sunshine. But it’ll do.”

And he never pressed her for more than a few heated kisses and she never swatted at his wandering hands, even when they seemed to always gravitate toward her ass when they were alone—he did have the sensibility to keep them above the waist when they were outside her house.

Again, she was struck with how easy and domestic it all ways. No one was shooting at them. No one was trying to poison them or use them for information. All they wanted from each other was each other.

It was just her and Jack and Bela and the occasional autumn rain sliding against the windows. And she let herself believe that her life could be like this—simple and fulfilling and quiet. They both had enough money in the bank to live very comfortably if they both wanted to leave—but she was definitely getting ahead of herself. In the grand scheme of things, she didn’t even know if Jack wanted that. What if he wanted to live out the rest of his life as a Statesmen, retirement be damned? Did she want to be in Kingsman for the rest of her life? Those thoughts didn’t stop her from realizing that her house finally felt like a home when he was inside it.

But when Jack’s lips found her neck as she finished drying the last pan from breakfast and his still-damp-from-the-washing hands wrapped around her waist, wetting her pajama shirt, all thoughts disappeared. All there was—was Jack.

“What are you up to?” She asked with a smile, turning in his grip to wrap her arms around his neck. His hair was still mussed from sleep and he had on only his boxers and a t-shirt, but he was handsome—so handsome in the low morning glow.

He didn’t answer but grabbed at his phone on the countertop and pulled up an app behind her back and soon Johnny Cash’s voice started to croon over the small speaker and flood the kitchen. She instantly recognized the tune and had to laugh. “Really, Jack?”

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,” he sang along, letting his fingers trail along until one of his hands was wrapped around her waist and the other was holding her hand against his chest.

She grasped his shoulder and let him lead her in a swaying, mellow version of a dance as the sunlight trickled through her kitchen window and painted everything in a hazy yellow while the air still smelled of sticky syrup and pancakes.

“You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you,” he sang, slightly off-key, the words muffled into her cheek, but they made her heart leap all the same. “Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

“This is a sad song, you know,” she said without making a move to change it.

“Yeah, I know,” he replied. And he sounded sad, too.

And that just about did her in. Well, that and the fact that he was set to be back in New York tomorrow. She pulled out of his grasp and grabbed at his phone, switching to another song with a forced smile. But the smile became real when he laughed at her choice, low and rumbling in his chest.

“Dolly and Kenny?”

“This song is a classic!” She argued, letting him pull her close again and she tried to follow him in an abbreviated two-step jaunt that had her laughing and pressing a kiss to his perfect, single dimple. But the song eventually ended, fading into another and then another. And their steps slowed too, once again simply swaying on her cool tile floor. “I don’t want you to be sad—not with me.”

His next breath was slow but his grip tightened. “I think you make me the happiest I’ve ever been, Sunshine.”

“You make me happy, too.” She turned, murmuring the words into his chest like a secret, like if she said it too loudly it would be used as a weapon. “We really wasted a lot of time, didn’t we?”

“But we turned up exactly where we’re supposed to be.” He turned to press a kiss to the top of her head. “You know I love you, right?”

And her heart sprouted wings in her chest while the smile splitting her face almost hurt. “Yeah.” She turned her head just enough to look up at him, seeing him already looking down at her. “I love you, too.”

Easy. It was so easy. And they continued to sway to the music even as he turned his head just enough to catch her lips again in a kiss that so sweetly stole the breath from her lungs. Her lips were slick and tender from his ministrations but it was an ache she would gladly live with, especially when he gently grasped her face in his hands to angle her face just-so, leading the kiss until she was unmoving in his hold. Her hands circled his wrists and she sighed against his mouth. A different kind of heat was starting to curl in her stomach like perfumed smoke that left her whining when Whiskey pulled back to breathe.

“You look so pretty like this, darlin’. I’ve never seen you look like this before.”

“Like what?” Her voice was hoarse.

“Like you want me to eat you alive.”

Her heart stuttered in her chest at the dark, hungry look in his eyes. Heat took root in her stomach, clenching her muscles and her hands unconsciously fisting the soft material of his shirt. “Oh.” She swallowed the dry lump in her throat. “You…you want to?”

And he laughed and kissed her again—god, she could never get enough of his lips. “You gonna let me?” His warm hands slid down to grab at her hips and he tugged her a little closer. “Huh? You gonna let Jack eat that pretty-”

Her hand pressed against his mouth as she bit back a laugh. “Don’t refer to yourself in the third person if you want to get anywhere near me.” And then she felt him smile against her fingers. “I mean it.” The words were stilted with her laugh which only grew when she felt his lips pucker so he could kiss her fingers.

He reached up to gently remove her hand, the hungry look in his eyes now sparkling with a bit of mischief. “You drive a hard bargain.” His fingers tangled with hers and started to tug her toward her staircase. “But I accept.”

The pair was quiet as they retreated to sun-soaked haven of her bedroom. Warm hands slipped beneath her shirt and dragged it up to just beneath her breasts but then stalled, a quiet question in his eyes that was quickly answered with a swift nod. He pulled her shirt up and over her head and tossed it aside—his shirt quickly followed. He moved to brush a kiss against the scar over her chest as his palm settled over the scar on her stomach, like he was trying to wipe it away. She reached out to cradle his face and pulled him up, smiling against his mouth as he sighed.

“I’m here,” she said as she stretched to brush against the faded scar at his temple. “We’re just fine.” Her skilled fingers curled under the elastic band of his boxers and shucked them down his legs before he shuffled her backward. Her knees hit her bed and he pushed her back to make her bounce on the mattress. It was then that she allowed herself to truly admire him—strong legs and chest, a little soft around the middle, but still very capable. She found herself licking her licks—a little unconsciously—as she eyed his cock as it curved up toward his stomach. “Are you just going to stare?”

“Well, you are such a pretty picture.” But he climbed over her anyway, mouth slanting over hers with a passion and curl of his tongue that had her moaning and delighting in how he almost shivered under her hands as they trailed down his chest. He pulled away from her mouth to let out a groan of his own when her warm hand encircled his hard cock and squeezed. “Don’t be cruel, Sunny. I want to get to the main event before I make a mess.” Jack shuffled back, pressing wet kisses against her throat, her chest, her stomach, before he huffed out a long breath against her sleep shorts and it was her turn to shiver. He slowly pulled them down her legs and he pressed a kiss against the lace of her underwear before he pulled those down, too, tossing them over his shoulder. “So pretty for me,” he murmured, mostly to himself as his hands around her legs to pull her open, exposing her to the warm air of the room and his greedy gaze.

She curled her fingers into his thick hair as he dragged his nose along her folds, breathing her in. He had barely begun and she already felt like she was floating, held down to the bed just by his strong hands on her thighs. His tongue finally—finally parted his beautiful lips and he licked, strong and firm.

And she keened, hips lifting from the bed only to be pulled back down by his unyielding grip. And the bastard had the audacity to laugh and glanced up at her, mustache wet and glistening in the low light.

“Be good, darlin’. I wanna treat you real nice.”

“If you don’t finish-” The next words stalled in her throat as he licked another firm stripe before sucking her clit between his smiling lips. “Fuck!”

And then he truly began—a ravenous mix of tongue and plush lips moving against her and stealing any sort of coherent thought she might have had. He didn’t stop when she thrashed in his grip with her first. Didn’t stop when she tugged on his hair with the second. Didn’t stop when she wailed and panted and pleaded for a bit of a reprieve as the third started to crest and the damp spot beneath her legs continued to grow. But he let it build, continued to let her writhe under his hands until he was drinking her down like ambrosia again.

“J-Jack, please! Enough,” she begged, tugging on his disheveled hair. Her sigh was a little broken in her throat when he finally raised his head, smile glistening. He was such a pretty sight, bracketed between her thighs. A shiver shot down her spine as he pressed a kiss to her hip. “You… are something else, Jack.”

He chuckled and pressed another sticky kiss to her other hip. “I’ve been wanting to know what you tasted like for years, Sunshine.”

She slid her hands down to frame his face, letting her thumb brush against the edge of his mustache letting just a bit of slick coat her thumb before bringing it up to her mouth and sucking. His mouth dropped and a guttural groan pushed passed his shining lips as he watched. The sharp tang of herself was lost to her as he suddenly reared back onto his knees and he climbed over her, legs pushing against hers to spread her wide and hands dropping to either side of her head on the rumpled blankets. The feel of him pressing against the crux of her thighs made her moan, soft and breathy as he loomed above.

“I never thought you’d be a tease.”

“I just wanted to know what the fuss was about,” she shot back, fighting a smile, but it bloomed just as Jack’s did and he laughed before pressing a kiss to her lips and she tasted herself again.

He dropped to his elbows so he could gently cradle her face. “You got one more in ya? Just about did me in like a teenager.”

She laughed and let her hands pull through his hair again. “I think I can try, for you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I wanna know what the fuss is about,” she repeated, smiling into his lips as he bent down to kiss her again with a laugh of his own.

“Be kind to me, darlin’. I’m half-cocked already, finger on the trigger.”

“Oh?” She wiggled her hips and tried to bite back a smile when his eyes fluttered shut as she let herself glide against him. “I think you’re more than half-cocked.”

His hands suddenly grasped at her cheeks and he stole the breath from her lung with a vicious sort of ease despite the smile she still felt him pressing against her mouth. “Mean, baby.”

One hand slipped down and her entire body jolted as she felt him push the tip of his cock up and down, up and down along her folds before catching against her opening. Then, in one slow, delicious push, he slid inside. Her entire body seemed to catch fire as he bottomed out, curls at the base of him scratching against her skin. The stretch burned but she didn’t care—she didn’t care because he was there. Her Jack. And she was so deliciously full. Her hands scrambled to grab at his shoulders again and she barely managed to sigh out a heated “move” before he slipped his arms around her back and was dragging in and out with a slow, harsh thrust that had her choking on every breath while he pinned her down. Every sense was Jack—touch, taste, sound, sight, smell. All of it was him.

And that was sending her careening toward another orgasm at an embarrassingly quick pace. To finally have Jack, the man she’d been in love with for years, made it all the more terrifyingly lovely and erotic.

“You feel like heaven,” he grunted. “Tight, beautiful heaven.”

“Oh please,” she breathed, shaking hands reaching down his back, feeling his muscles flex as he continued to thrust. “Please.”

“I wanna feel ya, Sunshine. Wanna feel ya gush for me. Can you do that?” His slow drag continued and he buried his face into her sweat-slick neck, tongue sliding against her pulse.

“I want to feel you too, Jack.” Somehow she managed to find the words she needed through her buzzing mind. “Give it to me. It’s okay.”

He pulled one of his arms from around her back and slipped it between their tightly bound bodies, finding her clit like he had done it thousands of times and rubbed quick, firm circles that had her crying out and turning her head to kiss him, catching his jaw with her lips. “You first, Sunshine.”

And she erupted, one more time, shaking and shuddering in his grasp as white light flashed behind her eyes. But then she heard Jack’s beautiful, broken groan as his hips stilled, flush against hers, and warmth flooded as he gave a few small thrusts, chasing the last bits of his high. Her lips pressed against his neck, his cheek, finally finding his panting mouth. Her fingers traced his spine as they both tried to catch their breaths, bodies still reeling from the aftershocks. The afterglow was quiet and warm and perfect—sticky, syrupy, sweet. When Jack went to pull away, she tightened her grip on his back the slightest bit, uncaring of the slick she felt trickling down to puddle beneath them. “Stay a little bit. I like how you feel.”

His breath was warm against her skin, smelling of syrup and mint. “I’ll stay as long as you want.”

“Call me when you land.”

“It’ll be late-”

“I’ll be awake. Just call.” She tried to press a smile to her lips but she was sure it looked withered. With all the years of subterfuge and espionage she had under her belt, it still seemed like she now couldn’t lie with him. Maybe her heart just couldn’t take it anymore. It refused to go back to pulling into frowns or impassivity.

Jack brushed his lips against hers with a sigh. “I’ll call. I promise.”

She sucked in a breath as her hands pressed against his chest, feeling his warmth and steady heartbeat. “I kinda got used to having you all to myself, Whiskey.”

And then he was quiet, face pulled tight, before he wrapped his arms around her. He pulled her close and pressed a kiss against her forehead. “Let me see what I can do, Sunshine.”

“Jack-”

“Because I got used to being able to kiss you whenever I wanted. I got used to saying I love you whenever I wanted—”

“We just started saying that yesterday,” she grumbled, half-pleased, half-despondent.

“I got used to being able to kiss you any time I felt like it.” And then he stole another kiss. “But I’ll be back soon.”

“Promise?” She whispered.

“I promise that I’m very hard to get rid of.”

She liked the sound of that.

Two years later:

“Bela! No!” The corgi had stolen a piece of toast from the counter—how did he even get up there?—and tried to scamper away with the large treat.

Jack had been planning for weeks. His Sunshine had taken an assignment in Prague alongside Ginger Percival and Lancelot and was due back home in just a handful of minutes. He wanted everything perfect. The perfect flowers, the perfect music, the perfect meal (breakfast for dinner was a favorite of hers).

Perfect—until the dog stole a piece of toast.

It had been a year and a half since he had stepped back from Statesman, becoming a consultant for more complicated missions and only stepping into the field for end-of-the-world scenarios. He had shown up on his Sunny’s doorstep with a bag in hand and she had welcomed him inside without blinking.

She was…she was everything. His love. His second chance. His Sunny, filling every part of his scarred heart with warmth like sunlight sparkling on a skyscraper, sending beams of light into every dark corner and alley.

And living with her? It was so easy. His own slice of paradise on this wretched earth. They were a family—him, her, the dog. But he had definitely wanted more and he knew she did, too—they’d talked about it during more than a handful late-night phone calls and when they were wrapped up in each other under her soft blankets. And maybe they could have that. Maybe they could have a little more of this beautiful paradise.

He heard the door open and Sunny greeted Bela. “Hi, baby. Where’d you get toast?” She walked into the kitchen, carrying the corgi who was still chewing on the pilfered toast with his tiny, sharp teeth. She smiled as she looked at him and quickly pressed a slow, soft kiss to his mouth. “Hi, handsome.”

“Welcome home, Sunshine.”

She bent to set Bela on the ground and then gave him another kiss before looking around at the kitchen, seeing the spread of food and the large bouquet of her favorite flowers. “I will never get tired of coming home to you.” She plucked a piece of toast from the plate and took a bite and he watched as she smiled with crumbs on her lips.

For a moment—just a moment—the small box tucked in his back pocket could wait. He wanted to look at her a little longer.

A/N: And that’s all she wrote, folks! Please let me know what you think! Thank you all for reading. I love you. Period. The end.

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @spookyold-saintjm @honestlystop @paryl @fioccodineveautunnale @lackofhonor @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @chibi-liz05 @huliabitch @iellaren-uodo-rian @roxypeanut @mrpascals @paintballkid711

#agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey imagine #kingsman imagine #jack daniels reader #jack daniels imagine #kingsman: the golden circle #kingsman

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lonelyreputation · 4 years

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Caught

A/N: Hello hello! Here’s some (more) fluff!! Who am I? But anyway, I wrote this from this sensory request and it was actually the first request I GOT ON THIS BLOG (!!!) so I'm so sorry that it’s coming so late!! But I’ll always remember this request bc it was the first🥺

Anywaayyyy thank you all so much for reading, sending me the nicest messages, reblog-ing, and requesting prompts!! I get so much motivation from you all it’s insane!! Thank you!! I appreciate every single one of you!!

PROMPT: Licking your fingers while eating Cheetos

Chat Chat Chat | MASTERLIST

Warnings: One (1) swear word & a bit of a heated make out session😶

Word Count: 3.9K

Being a twenty-year-old and playing sold out shows in stadiums around the world was abnormal. But what was more abnormal was that the twenty-year-old who spent most of his time on a tour bus than in his own apartment was your boyfriend. Not many people could say that their boyfriend was in Amsterdam one day and then Paris the next.

Shawn had spent spring in Europe on a tourbus and hotel rooms, and his summer wasn’t much different, except for the fact that he was on his North American leg of the tour. He had convinced you to come traveling across America; it was more in your budget and convenient with your university schedule.

Every now and then, Shawn would have some down time, but it wasn’t very often. He kept apologizing whenever he was pulled away and promised to spend time with you more. But you didn’t mind. Shawn had given you a front seat to his career and everything it entails. And it was fascinating. You would be in one city and everyone would already be advancing for a show that was two weeks away. The precision and detail of obscure jobs that some crew had gone over your head in the past, but seeing all the mechanics of everything that goes on for the show to happen…it made you appreciate Shawn’s performances even more.

You had gotten fairly close with Shawn’s head of tour merchandiser, Dane, and often found yourself helping him set up the merchandise stands when Shawn was off at a meet and greet, sound check, or wherever Andrew had pulled him away to.

“Are you playing in the little soccer match they have going on later today?” You asked Dane as you carried over a large brown cardboard box.

He held up a finger to you as he finished up his count in of tour posters and typed it on a tour merchandise app on his phone, “Yeah, you?”

You shook your head as you used a key to tear through the sealed box. Once the tape that held the box together was ripped, you opened the four flaps and saw that you were counting in some sweatshirts. Silently, you counted ten sweatshirts, put them in a pile on the side with a sticky note on top with a number ten circled and then counted out another ten sweatshirts.

“I’ve never been good with hand eye coordination,” you didn’t look up at him as you continued to count ten sweatshirts, “I’ve always been better at cheering people on from the sides.”

“Oh, I’ve noticed.”

You had just finished circling a ten on a neon green sticky note as you capped the sharpie and looked at Dane, “You’ve noticed?”

Dane nodded with a smile on his face as he hung up a piece of paper with a blown up image of a keychain; he stuck a large sticker with the price of the keychain on the corner of the paper. He hung it up on the black tapestry so that way fans would be able to see it before they got up to the front of the merchandise line.

“You’re always there for Shawn when he walks on and off stage. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you go to the bathroom when he’s performing.”

You blushed as you finished counting the last of the sweatshirts in the box you carried in, “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“He loves it,” Dane took a t-shirt and clipped the sleeves of it to the top of the tapestry, “The week before you came he literally wouldn’t shut up––Y/n’s coming next week, did you know? I just love her so much! I miss her so much!”

You bunched up a t-shirt and threw it at Dane as he miserably failed at impersonating Shawn’s voice, “He didn’t say that.”

“Ask him yourself.”

“Oh, I––“

“Ask who yourself?”

You spun your head around and came face to face with your boyfriend. You smiled at him and threw another balled up shirt at Dane.

“Hey! That’s merchandise we’re selling tonight!”

You waved Dane off and rested your hands on your hips, “Before I came on tour were you non-stop going around telling people I was coming and saying how much you love me and saying how much you missed me?”

Shawn still had a slight smile on his face as he gazed at you. His facial expression hadn’t changed since he walked up behind you, so you thought you had proved Dane wrong, but that wasn’t the case when Shawn spoke up.

He shrugged his shoulders, “Yeah, why?” He spoke as if it that information was public knowledge.

Before you had the chance to say anything, you felt a soft material collide with the back of your head. Your head slightly jerked forward from the contact of the t-shirt that was just thrown at you. You quickly picked the shirt off the dusty ground and glared at Dane, “This is merchandise that you’re selling tonight.”

Dane barked out a laugh as he finished setting up the merchandise display. He stood back and admired his work for a few seconds before informing Shawn he was going to check on the other stands and make sure everyone else on the merchandise team had completed their count in. They did some sort of bro handshake, before telling one another that they’d see each other shortly for the soccer game.

Shawn walked up to your side and threw an arm over your shoulder. You leaned your head back on his shoulder and looked up at him, “Excited for the match?”

“Yeah, just wish you were playing.”

Your eyes closed as Shawn lightly traced circles on your upper arm with the tips of his fingers. Shivers ran down your spine as you closed your eyes, “You’ve seen me play.”

Shawn let out a laugh as he started walking, guiding you around the main floor of the arena, “Even though it is probably a good idea that you’re not playing, it still would’ve been fun to be on the same team.”

You let out a snort as you snaked a hand around his back to pinch his hip. Shawn lightly jerked away from you before he tickled your shoulder in retaliation, “I’d make sure we’d be on separate teams.”

“Is that so?”

You hummed in response and let the conversation die down. Whenever a crew member passed, you offered a smile and Shawn greeted them by name. Seeing the dynamic he had with his crew was heartwarming because you had read of horror stories of main acts being absolute divas to their crew members.

Shawn led you backstage as the two of you wandered into his dressing room. You sat on the couch as he went over to a little duffle bag he packed just for the soccer game. Carefully, you watched him as he bent over, staring at how his shoulder blades could be seen through his white t-shirt as he rummaged through the bag.

Swiftly, he tore his white shirt off and you were graced with a second of seeing your boyfriend’s muscles. The sight didn’t last long because Shawn threw his t-shirt at your face. You scrunched your nose up at the slightly sweaty smell mixed in with his signature scent.

“Hey!”

It only took you a second to throw the shirt off your face, but it was a second too long because Shawn was already in a vintage t-shirt and sliding on a pair of athletic shorts up past his thighs.

“That’s not fair,” you whined.

Shawn threw his head back in laughter as he picked up his sneakers. He walked over to where you sat on the couch, picked up your legs without any hesitation, and as he sat down on the couch, he rested your calves on his thighs.

He hunched over your legs as you watched him slide his sneakers on and tie them up. The position couldn’t have been comfortable, but he managed to get his sneakers on without complaining for you to move your legs. And you weren’t complaining about the physical contact your legs had with his thighs.

Once he was done tying his shoes, he sat up and stretched his back, a few pops emitted from his body and you flinched, not liking the sounds of bones cracking together.

Shawn rested his hands on your knees as he leaned his head on top of the couch cushion, eyes closed he said, “I don’t wanna play.”

A small chuckle left your lips, “That’s a lie.”

He turned his head slightly towards you and opened one eye, “Yeah, I do wanna play,” he let out a sigh, “but sitting here with you is so nice.”

A loud laugh escaped your lips as you looked over at him, both of his eyes now opened and intently staring at you with adoration.

“We’re literally doing nothing.”

“As long as I’m with you,” he lifted his shoulders up in a shrug, “I don’t care what we’re doing.”

Your heart skipped a beat and you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. Truth is, you loved doing nothing with him. You savored the days when all Shawn wanted to do was spend all day tangled in your bedsheets. You adored the days when you would sit on your couch reading a book––in a similar position to how you were sitting now––and Shawn would be hunched over scribbling lyrics down in a journal, using your legs as a writing surface.

You leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek, “Too sweet.”

“Uh huh,” Shawn grumbled as he pointed to his lips with his index finger, “I want a real kiss.”

You pretended to think about it for a moment before swinging a leg over his lap, adjusting your knees on either side as you straddled him. Shawn’s hands instantly moved with your body as they landed on your waist. Unlike your hands that were pressed flat on his chest, Shawn’s hands slowly rubbed your lower back and come back around to your waist.

The only thing more heavenly than his touch was the feeling of his kiss.

Shawn craned his neck up to reach your teasing smile and captured your lips in a sweet kiss. Your smile was slow to disappear; being in Shawn’s presence was a reason for you to smile in itself, but once he pinched your hips silently telling you to focus on kissing him, you thought that was a good enough reason to stop smiling.

Your hands trailed up Shawn’s chest until they rounded his neck. He hummed as he pulled you closer to his chest and your fingers began to play with the small curls on the nape of his neck. He tilted his head to deepen the kiss at the same time his hands tightly balled up the bottom of your shirt. He lifted your shirt at a painstakingly slow pace to the point where you wanted to rip it off yourself.

Shawn had the shirt bunched up right under your bra. Breaking the kiss, you leaned back, untangled your arms from around his neck and raised them over your head to aid Shawn in taking your shirt off. Once the shirt was off, he carelessly threw it somewhere behind you, and without any hesitation, Shawn reattached his lips to yours as you felt a magnetic pull bring you closer to him.

His calloused fingertips were hot on your bare skin as they danced around.

Just as you lowered your body to grind against his, a loud single knock, followed by a Shawn, caused both of your heads to snap toward the door. Shawn practically threw you off him as he looked for your shirt––for anything––to cover up your exposed chest.

You were leaning back against the arm rest of the couch, trying to calm down your erratic breathing, as you watched Shawn’s eyes widened as the door handle rattled. It looked as if Shawn threw every ounce of common sense out the window as he threw a pillow that hit you in the face.

You clutched the pillow in your hands as you briefly looked down at it, and then back to Shawn, realizing what he wanted you to do with it, “I’m not––“

“Use it, Y/n––“

“Shawn!”

Your harsh whispers were cut off when Dane walked carelessly into the room. The pillow was still limp in your hands; in shock that Dane came into the room with little announcement. Shawn took notice of your chest still out for Dane to see––if he hadn’t seen it already––and with panicked eyes, he flung himself from the other end of the couch to lay on top of you.

You let out an oof as you felt Shawn’s full body weight collapsed on you; the pillow nestled between your stomachs. You had never complained about Shawn being on top of you, but with this position, the arm of the couch was digging into your back and you and causing you to cramp up.

“Shawn,” Dane said his name again as he continued to walk further into the dressing room, “Are you gonna come and warm up? The game starts in–––Oh.”

You tried to peak over Shawn’s shoulder to gauge Dane’s facial expression, but with the way Shawn was pressed up against you, you couldn’t see him. But from the suggestive tone of his voice, you knew that teasing would be soon to follow.

“Am I interrupting something?”

You squeaked out a not at all as Shawn let out a frustrated of fucking course.

You smacked Shawn’s back with his hand at his crude response.

Dane let out a bellowing laugh, “How ya feeling down there, y/n?” You heard his footsteps come closer and your hands clutched the fabric of Shawn’s shirt out of nervousness, “This is pure gold. Andrew has said that he’s never caught you two in the middle of doing something––I, of course, called total bull on that––and I’m so happy to have caught you two.”

“Dane,” You said as you drug out the vowels in his name.

His laughter rumbled through the room. Even though Dane was the person you were closest to on Shawn’s crew, it was still embarrassing to have been caught in a compromising position with your boyfriend. It felt like you were fifteen.

“I’ll be out in ten,” Shawn answered.

Dane’s laughter died down as you heard his footsteps carry themselves back over towards the door, “I’ll put a timer on, Oh, and Y/n––“ you could hear the smirk on his lips, “––I hope to see you on the sidelines, preferably with a shirt on.”

You dug your head into the crook of Shawn’s neck as you felt all of the blood rush to your face. Your hands were still tightly hanging onto the back of Shawn’s shirt for the next few minutes as he stayed in his position on top of you.

“At least it was Dane?”

At his weak attempt of lightening up the mood, you pushed him off and sat up on the couch, “At least?! He saw me without a shirt!”

“I covered you up!”

You shot a glare toward his direction as you got up from the couch and searched for your shirt. It was crumpled up in a ball on the coffee table. You let out a deep sigh, of course your shirt was thrown somewhere that was obvious. Lifting the shirt up by the sleeves, you frowned as you examined all of the wrinkles.

“Here,” Shawn was already walking over to his duffle bag, “You can wear my shirt––“

“I’m––No,” you answered him as you tugged on your shirt, “I’d rather wear a wrinkled shirt than have Dane point out that I’m in one of your shirts.”

“But––“

“Let’s go,” you were a few steps away from the door as you held your hand out for him to take, “I want to pick a snack from the vending machine before the game.”

Shawn let out a sigh and grumbled something about how he loved seeing you in his shirts, but he still took ahold of your hand. The two of you walked out the dressing room as you pressed a kiss to his cheek. A small smile overtook his face.

The two of you walked toward the backstage part of the arena where the vending machines were held. You brought up a finger to your chin, debating on what snack to pick, as the vending machine lights illuminated your face. Once you decided what snack you wanted, you pressed a knuckle to the letter L and then to the number 3.

You watched with excitement as the circular black rings slowly pushed your snack forward. And then as it was finally tipping over the edge, you smiled as the bag fell with a soft fmmp as it reached the bottom of the machine. You let go of Shawn’s hand to retrieve your snack from under the plastic black flap.

“Cheetos?” Shawn questioned just as you stood up and opened up the bag with a loud crinkle, “If I’d known you’d want Cheetos, I could’ve like added it to my rider and it would’ve been in the dressing room for you.”

You shrugged your shoulders as you held out the bag, offering your Cheetos to Shawn. He dug his hand into the bag and took one out. He popped it into his mouth with a loud crunch as he closed his eyes, “God, it’s been forever since I’ve had these.”

Shawn led you out of the vending machine room as you continued to share your Cheetos with him, “I remember having them as a snack after soccer games,” you shared, “You know how parents would sign up to bring snacks after games? I feel like every parent would buy that big value size pack of like twenty-four different chips, and I––“ you licked your fingers that were covered in Cheeto dust, “––Always picked Cheetos.”

Shawn tilted his head back in laughter as he pushed open a back exit door and held it open for you to walk through, “I was always more of a Fritos guy.”

You scrunched your nose up, “Fritos?”

“They’re good!” Shawn defended himself as the people from the tour crew, who were playing in the soccer match, came into view, “Don’t knock ‘em ’til you try ‘em.”

You scoffed, “There are literally dozens of other chips you could chose from,” you stopped walking when you and Shawn came up to the sideline his ‘team’ was on, “Doritos, Lays, Chex Mix––“

“Hey, Y/n!” Your eyes widened as you heard Dane yell out your name. His feet hit the pavement hard as he ran over, “Glad you could make it––fully clothed.” While he was talking in a calm soft voice, not raising it to cause suspicion, it still made Andrew’s head perk up.

“You caught them?” Andrew looked up from tying his shoes at Dane.

You blushed as Shawn’s manager looked between the two of you and then back at Dane as you tried to defend yourself, “He didn’t really see anything––“

“See any of what?” Brian had jogged over and started to stretch, lunging on his left leg as he reached down to touch the toes on his right foot.

“It was nothing––“

“Just Shawn and Y/n going at it in the dressing room,” Dane shrugged as he gave you a wink, “Boyfriend, girlfriend stuff.”

Andrew’s shoulders slumped as he reached over to his bag and pulled out a ten dollar bill and handed it to Dane, “I’m his day-to-day,” Andrew grumbled, “Can’t believe it was the merchandise manager who caught you two first.”

You stood there dumfounded, hand frozen in your bag of Cheetos. You and Shawn kept your relationship as private as possible––private from the media, your social medias, and made sure to keep your PDA to a minimum when you visited him on tour. So it was a bit comical to see how intrigued Andrew and Dane were in catching the two of you.

Brian straightened up from his stretching and held a fist out toward Shawn, “Sweet, man––Just like Denver last tour?”

Your bag of Cheetos dropped to the ground, the little you had left of your snack spilled, covering the pavement with an artificial orange color. You felt the heat of your oncoming blush rise up to your cheeks. With Brian being Shawn’s best friend, you had an inclination that he knew some––if not most––of your sexual relationship with Shawn. Which you were fine with because you told your best friend almost everything.

But it was always a topic you never discussed between the two of you. It was mutually understood that while you talked to your best friend’s about each other, you would never talk about it directly to each other. Shawn talked to Brian about you; You talked to your best friend about Shawn. But never would your best friend bring it up in front of Shawn. And never––did you think––Brian would bring it up in front of you.

The same thought seemed to be stirring within Shawn’s head as his eyes widened for a second. He was only shocked for a split second more before he let out a chuckle and returned the fist bump to Brian and chose to ignore his comment about what happened Denver, “Thanks, man.”

“Thanks man?!” You turned to face Shawn who had an amused smirk on his face.

You weren’t mad at the display of masculinity in front of you, in fact, you saw the humor in it, but it was still embarrassing having your boyfriend be congratulated in front of you for hooking up.

The sound of a high pitch whistle echoed off the pavement. With the sound of the start whistle, and players heading toward the makeshift field, it took away any chance you had of laying into Shawn more.

Brian ran away laughing, escaping the choice words you had for him, which just left you with Shawn. You crossed your arms over your chest stubbornly and tore your head away from Shawn as he lifted a finger under your chin to try and get you to look at him.

“Good luck kiss?”

With a playful sigh, you leaned up on your tip toes to press a peck to Shawn’s smile. His eyes were still closed when you pulled away and his smile grew wider, “You love me.”

“Unfortunately,” you said as you couldn’t fight Shawn’s contagious smile, “I love you a lot.”

Shawn let out a laugh as a few people hollered at him to come over, “How unfortunate for me,” he pressed another quick kiss to your lips before he started to walk backwards toward the game that had started without him, “Are you free tonight?”

You leaned your weight on your left leg as you tapped a finger on your cheek, “Hm…I’m watching my boyfriend sing at a little show,” Shawn stopped walking backwards, his full attention on you, and showed all his teeth in a grin, “But I’m free after.”

“It’s a date,” Shawn said before he spun around and ran toward the soccer ball.

#woot!!#some fluff #and a bit of teasing #:)#all in good fun #come tell me what you thought of it!! I love hearing what you all have to say!!#your messages make my day/night/mid-afternoon/whole year #🤩 🥰#thanks a million!!!#(the next piece of writing I post will be ANGST)#((or it'll be the prologue to my coffee shop au))#(((the angst needs some MAJOR editing so I think the prologue will come first lmao)))#which one would you want to read first?? okay im rambling I'll stop #enjoy!#Shawn mendes #Shawn Peter raul mendes #Shawn Mendes writing #Shawn Mendes writings #Shawn Mendes writer #Shawn Mendes fanfiction #Shawn Mendes fan fiction #Shawn Mendes ff #Shawn Mendes fic #Shawn Mendes blurb #Shawn Mendes fluff #Shawn Mendes x y/n #Shawn Mendes x you #Shawn Mendes reader insert #Shawn Mendes oneshot #Shawn Mendes one shot

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the-darklings · 4 years

Text

—𝗖𝗢𝗔 𝗙𝗔𝗤;

Hello, everyone! So with COA being such a long-running series and new readers finding it constantly, I have come to realise that a lot of questions I get often repeat. So to keep everything easy and clear and friendly for everyone regardless of whether you started COA at the very beginning of the story or just recently found it, I have spent the day relaxing, eating junk food, and compiling this FAQ. Please read through it because chances are the answers are here somewhere. I have sectioned the guide into following: general, story, ships, original squad (OCs), AUS, OC!V and tips/advice. If the answer to your question is not here, please feel free to send me a message and have a wonderful day! <33 - kat.

GENERAL:

when does this story update?

I try to keep a bi-weekly schedule (now usually Sunday updates). But I always let you know when the chapter is done by making a final word count post (pre edits).

do you have a masterlist?

yes, you can find it here.

do you have a tag list?

not for COA. they’re very time consuming and I’m already really busy sorry :(

are your requests open?

I rarely open my inbox for requests. the only exception being the monthly blurb nights. then I reblog a prompt list and let people send some requests in for any fandom/ship. however, usually due to how many I get, it only happens every few months. that being said, you can still send me ideas/suggestions and if it inspires me, I will write it. that’s how the majority of the AUs have come about. but i’m also a very busy person so sorry if I can’t.

can I make X or Y for COA and tag you?

yes. yes. yes. please, please, feel free to create whatever for COA (no matter how small or silly) because I consider it a great honour that I’ve been able to inspire someone else. whatever it is, please tag me. I wanna see.

okay, I made a thing and tagged you but you didn’t respond :(

Tumblr is notorious for eating my notifs. whatever it is (art/post/etc) if I don’t respond to it in a day or two, please give me a nudge. you’re not being annoying, I promise. chances are I missed it/tumblr ate it.

I wanna scream/discuss/theorise about COA with others, is there any way for me to do that?

my amazing readers have set up this reddit page that is full of lovely people, theories, and memes etc. I check it often and interact on there, too, so feel free to drop by.

STORY:

how many chapters will COA be?

25. the last one being a very long epilogue.

have you decided on the ending yet?

yes. from as early as part 2. it's barely changed since.

will we ever see more of Prague/Naples? hoe, please say yes.

yes. I plan to write both as COA bonus stories after the main story-line concludes.

will there be a sequel?

depends. on two things: 1) if anyone will even care by that point 2) time. this story has consumed 5 months of my life entirely. i’ve been incredibly strict with myself when it comes to writing it (in a good way) but at best it won’t be finished till the end of august/beginning of september. so likely even if I do, there will be a break for a few months at least. I do have ideas though.

you promised us smut. where is it?

patience is a virtue. ;)

happy ending or tragedy? (please don’t say tragedy, you monster)

I would describe it more as “bittersweet” but whether it leans more towards bitter or sweet you’ll have to see.

SHIPS:

any endgame hints?

you know more about the ending than you probably realise

can v/s finally go to Paris? for the love of GOD? pLEASE?

hector + v? powerful. will there be more of them in the future?

agreed & yes. hector and v have their own arc to go on. it’s actually one of my favourites in this story. I don’t want to say more than that right now because I have plans for their dynamic so no spoilers. :)

please stop bullying john. give us some j/v content please?

i, for one, adore john. it’s team S that’s bullying him lol. but wait till parabellum. i’ve always referred to that portion of the story as the second coming of j/v.

does lucien actually have a thing for v or is it a creepy obsession?

it’s both.

I ship v with everyone :/ is that bad?

the sky is the limit. ship all the things proudly (but seriously, no, it isn’t. I ship all the ships, too, and that’s the fun of it)

v/elder tho? 👀

🔫🤡

j/v or s/v? be honest.

you fool,,,, you buffoon. ot3 j/v/s is where it’s really at. imagine their POWER.

ORIGINAL SQUAD:

what do the Elites/Lovers look like/how old are they?

please refer to this

will there be more step??

of course. he’s my baby. :)

will we see more of camorra/learn more about the elite’s and their backstories?

while I would love to take the time and flesh them all out with full backstories, only hector will be getting his backstory explored in the main canon because plot.

does lucien care for mika anymore or has he replaced her with v?

lucien is a messy hoe. mika is his subject of “affection” but v is his foil and equal. he recognises the same hurt in her that he has gone through himself so it’s more of a fixation. with time, lucien would likely destroy v so no bueno.

I ship our OCs.

I do, too.

can we write about your OCs/V?

so you would have to come to me and discuss this more in private but I’m fine with this sort of thing usually. in fact, a prequel hector story already exists so you’re likely good but please contact me first.

AUs:

when/how often do you update the vampire!au?

whenever I have time/inspo. mainly time. so this means you can get it daily or not get it for several weeks because COA is priority. I keep you all updated on when I have something cooking tho.

what is the actual pairing for vamp!au?

undecided as of yet. i’m leaning more towards ot3 right now but we shall see.

how often do you update flowing in me?

same as the above. whenever I have the time but I will keep you updated.

how many parts will flowing in me be?

I have 5 parts(ish) planned.

do you have a tag list for flowing in me?

I will. please leave a comment on the story if you want to be tagged in future parts!

will flowing in me feature other characters (john, winston etc.)?

this story is mainly camorra-centric but I do plan for John to appear at some point.

how did you come up with your lore in vamp!au?

to be completely honest....I just wrote a bunch of stuff down and used what stuck. mostly the ideas were pulled out of thin air while still trying to keep within the spirit of the canon material (the high priest, the holy church, the twelve priests, john being the boogeyman etc). camorra as the natural enemy seemed fitting and santino as a vampire prince even more so.

can we send you new au ideas/expand on old ones (manager!V etc)?

yes, always. I always try my hardest to reply but ofc I can’t promise I’ll be able to use them all but thank you in advance.

OC!V:

who is the face claim for OC!V?

weronika spyrka

what is her real name?

clara

how old is she at the beginning of the story and now?

23 beginning of chapter 1, 30 beginning of chapter 4 (current timeline)

will/would you ever write an original story about her?

I have considered creating something original out of COA itself or one of its sister series/concepts (like FIM). since I really started working on COA during last year’s NaNo, that might be the time I create something original this year.

TIPS & ADVICE:

how do you write so much, so quickly?

I don’t think that word count is really reflective of the quality work itself. I don’t think you should worry how much you write, either. 100 words can be just as valuable as 1k. most of them time I have a deadline breathing down my neck and I do work well under pressure so that inspires me to force the chapters out. I also do very long days because despite what it might look like I’m not a fast writer.

how can I improve my writing?

read and practice. I know it’s dumb and overused advice but it’s how I learned english and found my style (still a mess and WIP) but still this advice does help.

how do you keep motivated?

spite, your support, genuine adoration for these characters/word, a lot of spite.

do you plan? outline?

I have a vague story outline with specific scenes in mind as I go along (helps to set up foreshadowing, twists, and those ‘full circle’ moments). I also plan each chapter scene by scene and know what each chapter is meant to accomplish. So yeah in a sense.

#i will add more in the future if it comes to mind #with this future parts coming up i imagine more questions will repeat lol #faq post #fic: children of ares

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scapegrace74-blog · 4 years

Text

Saorsa, Chapter 27

A/N Here is the next installment of Saorsa. Jamie finally acknowledges what we knew all along, and Claire takes a bath.

Rather than link to all previously posted chapters, I’ll just direct those of you wanting to catch up on your Saorsa-reading to my AO3 page, where the fic is posted in its entirety.

Thank you to each of you liking and reblogging! It does my little fanfic writer’s heart good.

Shearing sheep hadn’t changed much in two hundred years, Jamie thought as he hefted another startled ewe from the shearing pen and pinned her to the ground with a well-placed knee. Murtagh mentioned that some of the larger farms used a mechanical trimmer, but they both preferred the time-honoured method of metal shears, sharp as daggers. Today was their third day. Jamie’s shoulders and arms were throbbing from the constant effort, but they were almost done.

“Tis good fortune we’re having a bonnie spring,” Murtagh commented as they broke for a drink of fresh water from the well.

“Aye. I need tae be on the road wi’in the week, if I’m tae be back a’fore the bairn arrives.”

“I’m surprised the mistress is allowin’ ye tae go at all, wi’ the way she fusses o’er ye like a wee whelp.”

Jamie’s mouth opened and closed, trying to find words to defend his masculine honour against the truth in the old man’s claim. He caught the twitch of Murtagh’s lips through his heavy beard. He cuffed him on the shoulder, laughing at himself.

“She’s lining ‘er nest, ye ken. I reckon she needs me tae practice upon, a’fore the we’un gets here,” he quipped.

“Oh, aye. I’m sure tha’s it.” Murtagh’s sarcasm was so thick, you could serve it on toast.

Jamie groaned as he lowered himself into the armchair in their bedchamber, trying to reach down to untie his laces and failing miserably.

“Here, let me,” Claire offered, before realizing she couldn’t bend over the growing bulk of her belly.

“We’re a fine pair. I’m too lame and ye’re too big a’bout the middle.”

“Speak for yourself,” his wife retorted as she carefully lowered herself to the floor. She gently eased off each boot, then proceeded to unbutton and draw his trews down as well. He sighed and cupped her jaw as she began to gently knead the bunched muscles of his thighs.

“Careful, Sassenach. Ye wouldna want tae start somethin’ ne’er of us is in fit condition tae finish,” he warned, feeling himself stir despite his bone-deep exhaustion.

“Wouldn’t I?” Warm eyes gleamed up at him. And then, more gently, “Lean back.”

Unsure what was being asked of him, he complied by letting his back fall against the cushions, his long legs stretched on either side of where Claire knelt on the floor. Having never accustomed himself to the modern notion of underclothing, he was naked from the waist down and hardening quickly below the flimsy hem of his linen top.

Leaning forward so that her moist breath seeped between the buttons of his shirt and over the fine hairs of his belly, Claire began to run her hands languorously up and down his legs, reaching higher with each pass.

“Sassenach,” he warned, and then more urgently, “Claire.”

“Shhhh,” she whispered, before her fingertips brushed against his baws.

“Christ!”

“I’ve never done this before,” she murmured, as though speaking to herself. “Tell me if… well… if it doesn’t feel good.”

And before he could wonder what she meant, she was lifting his shirt, exposing his very emphatic endorsement of whatever she was planning. A tentative moist swipe against the head, where it lay aching against his quivering belly, and then a sensation unlike anything he’d ever experienced. It was the humid welcome of her sex combined with the nimble manipulation of her fine-boned hand, and yet so much more than the sum of those parts. A lightning bolt of sensation shot up his spine, lighting the back of his eyeballs with colourful explosions. A senseless groan burst from his lungs.

Between the exertions of shearing and the elaborate logistics of making love to a woman almost eight months with child, it had been nearly a week since he’d last lain with his wife. A lifetime, in the bountiful feast that marked their newborn marriage. He wasn’t certain it would have made much difference, though. Anything that felt this absurdly good was certain to be over soon, lest it kill him with pleasure.

As it was, it was mere minutes after first feeling her mouth around him before he knew the end was nigh.

“A dhia. Sassenach. Mo nighean donn. Christ, please, ye must…”

Whatever pleas he was trying to utter were lost to the onrush of his release, racing from his body with the force of a gale, whipping around to slam his head backwards as he groaned in blissful agony.

When he was next able to focus, Claire was carefully unbuttoning his shirt. She extended her hands so that he could help her to her feet. He rose as well, naked and blushing to the tips of his ears. Whatever had just happened, he felt compelled to apologize, if only he could do so without alluding to the actual event.

“Sassenach…” he began.

“Let’s get you washed up, shall we? It’s been a long day.”

He was still new to the art of reading his wife’s unspoken wishes, but this one was plain enough. She did not want to discuss or debate the propriety of what they’d just done, probably a bit shy herself. They would leave it here in the murky shadows of their bedchamber, where it could visit with the other nameless wonders they’d released inside its walls. He followed her docilely from the room.

One modern amenity Jamie had absolutely no qualms about embracing was indoor plumbing, and the associated boon of having a bath whenever a bath was needed or desired. Claire lit thick-trunked tapers in the washroom, formerly a servant’s room adjacent to the laird’s quarters. Bent over the billows of steam that rose from the gushing copper pipes, she reminded him of a painting of a water nymph he’d seen as a boy, all translucent skin and bonnie curls.

He gingerly lifted his legs over the high-backed tub and grimaced as the water seared his skin.

“Too hot?”

“Nah. Jus’ right.” He extended his hand gallantly, as though assisting a lady from her carriage. “Join me?” he offered, before adding, “If ye dinna think it immoral.”

Something about the scene struck them both as a trifle ridiculous, and they snickered.

Claire slipped her nightgown over her shoulders, letting it puddle around her feet, before carefully stepping into the water, holding onto Jamie for balance.

“Now what?” she challenged, eyebrow raised.

“Now I hold onto ye. Ye and the little one.” They sunk together into the steaming water.

She found a resting spot between his legs, forehead tucked under his jaw. Jamie amused himself by scoping up palmfuls of water and letting them loose to roam across the hills and valleys of her torso. Time slowed, as did the vigilant beating of his heart. The water cooled and one by one the tapers guttered, and still they did not move. It was in those peaceful moments, with nothing but the silky stroke of water, the honey whiff of candle wax and the quiet stirrings of a new life beneath the taut skin of her belly, that he realized he loved her. Not in the demure, fitting way that a man was meant to love his wife. But in a pivotal, essential way that was as integral to him as breathing and as endless as the tides.

“Ye’ll watch o’er her? Make certain she is no’ rebuildin’ the castle nor tilling the fields by hand, or whate’er stubborn notion settles in her hard heid?”

Murtagh had heard this request, or others very similar, every day for the past fortnight. It spoke to his forbearance that he produced his standard response without a flicker of exasperation.

“Aye, lad. I canna promise ye she willna be stubborn, but I’ll see her safe.”

It was the best he could hope for, and the primary reason Murtagh was staying behind at Lallybroch rather than accompanying Jamie on his journey to Galashiels, much to Claire’s vocal displeasure. She only acquiesced when it was agreed that Rupert would join him as far as Edinburgh, ostensibly to visit relatives. Jamie had an opinion on the true reason for Rupert’s sudden interest in leaving the Highlands for the first time, but he wouldn’t be sharing it with Murtagh.

Fourteen bales of wool were loaded carefully into the estate’s hay wagon. Weighing over a tonne, it would take both Clydesdale plow horses to drag the load over two hundred miles to Galashiels, near the border with England. Rupert would drive the wagon while Jamie rode his favourite horse, Donas.

The smoothest, most direct route southward was available to them only after nightfall, when motorized traffic was forbidden on the roadways on account of the blackout. That meant they’d do most of their travelling by night, which posed its own challenges. In addition to a small bag of provisions and spare clothing, Jamie was also armed with a dirk and a pistol, though he longed for the familiar heft of his broad sword.

The whole trip should take two fortnights, a little less than a month. The plan was to leave immediately after Easter, so he could be home by late April with time to spare before the Duke of Sandringham’s visit and Claire’s confinement.

In the early morning hours the day before his departure, Jamie crept out of the castle while everyone was still abed and walked up the hill to his parents’ graves. He was pleased to note that the exertion no longer winded him; that he had regained his previous strength. He owed that to Claire; that and so much more. She had given him back his freedom when he thought he was trapped in amber. Offered him a place to stand when every other foothold was lost. She was his redemption. Saorsa.

He knelt beside the graves, now cleaned of moss with bluebells sprouting between the stones. Resting his forehead against the cool stone, he began to pray. That Claire might be safe. That the bairn be healthy. That his voyage be swift and without peril. And selfishly, that he be the kind of man his parents would be proud of in this strange new world.

#my writing #outlander

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lastbluetardis · 5 years

Text

Family of Six (5/14)

After James and Rose bring their newborn twins home, they work to find a balance between all four of their children, and each other. Ten x Rose AU, Soulmates AU.

This chapter:Teen, 7500 words

Ages of the Tyler-McCrimmons at the start of the chapter: James: 39, Rose: 33, Ainsley: 9, Sianin: (almost) 6, Twins: 3 weeks

If you like reading my stories, consider leaving me a tip? Or leave a reply on this post to tell me what you thought? And as always, reblogs are very much appreciated so more people can see this.

Chapters will be posted every other week → next update: September 3rd. (Notice that the chapter count went up... there’s going to be twelve chapters and an epilogue.)

Note: This chapter has some slight warnings for allusions to child abuse, as well as implying an underage relationship (between a 17- and 18-year-old).

AO3 | TSP | FF | Perfectly Matched Series

Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 | Ch10 | Ch11 | Ch12 | Ch13 | Ch14

Robert walked into the house, immediately spotting the almost-birthday girl.

“Happy Birthday, Sianin my darling,” he said, crouching down for a hug. She bolted into his open arms and he stood with her.

“It’s not actually my birthday yet, Grandad,” she said matter-of-factly.

“It’s not?” he asked, his jaw dropping.

Sianin giggled as she shook her head. “Nope! It’s not ‘til tomorrow.”

“Oh…” Robert glanced down at the small pile of packages in the bag he’d been carrying. “I guess I can’t give you your presents yet, then?”

“No, no,” Sianin said hastily, looking panicked. “The party’s my pretend birthday, so we’re still doing cake and presents and everything.”

Robert laughed and blew a raspberry into her neck, making her shriek and squirm in his arms. After giving her a final squeeze and a kiss, he set Sianin on her feet and turned to greet his other granddaughter. He couldn’t quite pick Ainsley up anymore, but he gave her a great big hug that lifted her off her toes for a few seconds.

“Mum’s in the kitchen,” she announced. “And Dad went out to get more ice cream.”

Robert stepped into the kitchen and saw Rose at the counter chopping vegetables.

“Hi Dad!” she said, grinning. “I’d give you a hug, but, well…” She brandished the knife in her hand.

“I’ll get one later,” he said. “Do you need some help?”

“Nah, I think I’ve got it covered.”

“Lookie what Elena and Juliette drew me!”

Sianin skipped into the kitchen, waving her right arm. He saw a bunch of little doodles, including a birthday cake with six candles and three stick figures in pointy party hats. He remembered the days when James would proudly show him and Vera the drawings Rose had made for him, especially on holidays.

“That’s lovely,” Rose said.

“I wish they could come to my party,” Sianin sighed, tracing her fingertip over the ink on her arm.

“Soon, darling,” Robert soothed.

“Nuh uh! I have to wait ‘til I’m eighteen, but that’s ages away!” Sianin whined, slumping dramatically across the table.

“It’ll be here before you know it,” Rose said sympathetically. “And it’ll be well worth the wait.”

“Your first meeting with your soulmates is going to be utterly magical and spectacular,” Robert chimed in. “It’ll be one of the best days of your life, and you’ll look back and realize that the wait wasn’t as long as you’d thought.”

Sianin made a small noise of disbelief. “What was your first meeting like, Grandad?”

“It was… incredible,” he said softly, his chest aching with a combination of sorrow, longing, and joy as the memory conjured itself in his mind.

“I’m leaving as soon as I’m eighteen. I can’t stand to be in this house a moment longer,” he’d written onto his arms one night. His father had, once again, taken Robert’s entire paycheck from his job at the butcher’s for not only rent, but more liquor too.

“I’m so sorry about your dad,” Vera replied. And after a beat, she wrote, “Where would you go?”

“I don’t care. Anywhere. I’ll hide out in the shop after it closes. I’ll go to a group home. I’ll live in a goddamned park if I have to.”

“Don’t do that! It’s January for God’s sake! You’d freeze to death!”

“I can’t stay in this house anymore, Vee.”

She was quiet for a long time. Long enough that Robert brushed his teeth and crawled into bed for the night. He kept his bedside lamp on for a few minutes longer, hoping she hadn’t fallen asleep already.

Finally, she wrote back. “Well… if you want… my house has got plenty of spare rooms. My parents said they wouldn’t mind (that’s where I was just now).”

Her words came slowly, as though she was nervous to say them.

His heart lifted, but he tried to quash the hope.

“We can’t meet yet, darling,” he said, wishing so badly they could. “You know that.”

“I know. But…” There was a long pause. “What difference would ten months make? No one would report you or anything. And if they did, they’d have me to reckon with. Just think about it? Please?”

Robert told her that he would, even though a larger piece of him told him it was probably impossible.

As his eighteenth birthday grew nearer and nearer, Robert started to seriously consider Vera’s offer. A recent winter snowstorm made him rethink some of his previous ideas. However, she hadn’t brought it up again, which made him nervous that she regretted her invitation.

Then one night his father gave him a split lip for not forking over the entirety of his latest paycheck. His father had hit him before, but mostly uncoordinated swats or a tightly-gripped arm. Never hard enough to draw blood or a bruise. Then again, Robert had never withheld money from his father before. Robert had begun working longer hours, squirreling away the extra money for when he could finally meet Vera. But his father had somehow found out and confronted him about it.

Robert had gone to bed without dinner and his money, near tears with anger, frustration, and helplessness.

“Hey, Vee?”

“Yeah, love?”

Her quick reply made his tears spill over. He wiped them away when they rolled into his raw lip.

“I was wondering…” He couldn’t bring himself to get the words out. He felt pathetic.

“Wondering?” she coaxed.

“What you said about your house having plenty of spare rooms. Is that… Could I…”

He started and crossed out several sentences before Vera said, “You are more than welcome to come stay with me and my mum and dad. More than welcome.” She underlined those words heavily. “You’re family. Have been for as long as we’ve been soulmated. My parents already consider you to be their son.”

His tears started up again in earnest, and all he managed to say was, “Thank you.”

Barely a week later, Robert found himself on the train headed to Scotland. He’d packed the barest of essentials: clothing, mostly, as well as a few books and all of the letters he and Vera had exchanged over the years. His entire life—the last eighteen years—fit in one medium-sized suitcase and a backpack. Looking at how little he had made Robert feel hollow inside.

The train ride took forever. He tried to distract himself with a book, but couldn’t silence his racing thoughts. His father had been furious when he realized his son was leaving. Robert had hoped to be out of the house before he had woken up. Alas, his father stumbled into the kitchen as Robert was writing a brief note telling him he was leaving and never returning.

His father had shouted at him and lunged for him, but was too hungover to properly do any damage. Robert grabbed his suitcase and used it to push his father to the side, then he left the house behind without ever looking back.

Robert knew his father’s fury wasn’t due to any emotional attachment; it was simply because a source of income was gone. Robert had learned ages ago not to expect an ounce of love or affection from his father. The only thing he did learn was what kind of father he himself wanted to be, if he and Vera were lucky enough to have children one day. He would be the sort of father his children could come to without hesitation, without fear, and know that they would be loved endlessly and eternally, no matter what.

Ignoring the lingering guilt of leaving his father behind, Robert had walked all the way to the train station. He’d bought a ticket with the small amount of money he’d managed to hide from his father. Finally free, Robert was now on his way to meet the woman he’d loved his whole life.

After the train ride, he hailed a taxi to Vera’s home. If his calculations were correct, the drive would use up the last of his money, leaving him penniless and homeless to meet his soulmate.

“A great start,” he scoffed to himself.

He gave the driver the address and slouched in the back seat as he was driven out of the city to a small neighboring town. Even then, they bypassed the town until they were in a wooded area. He grew nervous that maybe he’d gotten the address wrong. But he’d been sending letters to her for years, and she’d always gotten them.

The driver made an abrupt turn that had Robert clinging to the seat to keep from toppling. The car wound through trees on a narrow, bumpy road before turning onto a long dirt road. The dirt road was actually a driveway that opened up to a huge old manor house.

Robert’s eyes widened as he took in the beautiful home with the pristine white wrap-around porch and the wide expanse of grass around it. There was a tree line beyond the house, stretching out farther than Robert could see. His stomach lurched and his heart hammered. This was where Vera lived? It was like a castle.

Self-consciousness burned like acid in the back of his throat, and he was painfully aware of his tattered, ill-fitting clothes and unkempt hair and dusty shoes.

The taxi pulled to a stop. Robert fought against the impulse to tell the driver he’d gotten the wrong address and to take him back to the train station. But he couldn’t afford another taxi ride into the city. Or a new train ticket.

A flash of movement caught his eye, and Robert saw a girl with dark brown hair jump off the front porch, not bothering with the steps as she ran towards him. His stomach unknotted and he fumbled for the door handle.

“Robert! Robert!”

She had the most beautiful voice in the world. It made his knees tremble, and he was sure he was about to fall face-first into the frozen ground.

“Robert!” she shouted again. Her face was split into a wide grin. She was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

“Vera,” he breathed. He forced his legs to stay steady as he took a few steps towards her. His stride grew longer and longer until he was running too.

She flung her arms wide and he followed suit half a second before their bodies slammed together. The breath left his lungs in a gasp, and he heard her make a similar noise. Then he was being held and squeezed by the person he loved most in the world.

“You’re here!” she cried.

She pulled back from their embrace, tears streaming down her cheeks. It was an automatic response for him to lift his hands to cradle her cheeks, swiping at her tears with his thumbs. He didn’t realize he was crying too until she copied his movements.

“Hi!” she giggled, beaming at him.

“Hi,” he whispered, leaning forward to rest his forehead against hers. He caught a whiff of her shampoo. She smelled amazing.

“I can’t believe it’s you,” she said, running her fingers through his hair, then down his cheek, before resting her palm against his chest. “You’re here. Oh! Happy Birthday!”

She lifted onto her toes and pecked a kiss to his cheek, then rocked back onto her heels, her cheeks pink.

“This is the best birthday I’ve ever had,” he told her honestly, his eyes flickering across her face, memorizing every detail. She was more lovely than his imagination had been able to conjure; he didn’t think he would ever grow tired of looking at her.

Robert was then aware that the taxi was pulling off down the driveway.

“My things,” he protested, turning, but he saw a middle-aged man and woman holding his suitcase and backpack. “I… I didn’t pay him.”

“We’ve got it,” Vera’s mother said gently, stepping up to him. “Our birthday gift to you.”

She set his backpack on the ground and opened her arms in an invitation for a hug, one that he stepped in to. He held himself somewhat stiffly for a second—wasn’t it awkward to hug a virtual stranger?—but the hug felt so nice that he couldn’t help but relax into it.

“We’re so happy to see you,” she whispered into his ear, then she kissed his cheek.

She released him, and he turned to Vera’s father. Despite his enormous size—he stood at least half a foot taller than Robert’s six feet—his face was kind and there were laugh lines around his mouth and eyes.

Robert stuck out his hand to shake his, but was instead pulled into another hug, to his surprise.

“Welcome,” Vera’s father said, giving him a firm squeeze. He pulled away and ruffled Robert’s hair.

His cheeks burned with an odd mixture of pleasure and embarrassment.

Vera skipped up beside him and hugged his arm to her chest, then twined her fingers through his.

“Are you hungry?” Vera’s mother asked. “Nobody’s eaten lunch yet. Let’s go inside and out of this cold. C’mon my dears.”

Vera’s parents picked up his bags and began walking hand-in-hand towards the house. Before he could follow them, Vera gave his hand a squeeze and tugged at his arm. He looked down at her and couldn’t help but smile. He was finally with his soulmate. She returned the expression, then reached up and rested her palm on his cheek.

“I love you,” she said softly.

He thought his heart might collapse in on itself, and he was slightly mortified to feel tears welling in his throat. Swallowing them away, he covered her hand with his and turned his head to the side to press a long kiss to her palm. He took her hand off his face and brought her knuckles to his lips.

“I love you, too,” he murmured into her skin. “So very much.”

Her face was beautifully pink, and he couldn’t resist kissing her fingers again. He then tucked her small hand into his and followed the people that would become his new family into the house.

“Awww.” Sianin’s dreamy coo brought Robert out of his own head and back to the kitchen.

Of course, Robert had skimmed over the details of his father and had expanded upon the details of Vera, but he stayed as close to the truth as he could.

“That sounds lovely,” Rose breathed, misty-eyed. Robert realized with a start this was the first he’d told Rose about his first meeting with Vera.

“It was,” he said simply.

Robert stuck his hand into his pocket for his wallet. When he withdrew it, he opened it up and took a small faded photograph from within. The photo was of a lanky, messy-haired boy with his arm around a petite brown-haired girl. They were both beaming.

“Look at this,” Robert said, sliding the photo across the table so his granddaughter could see. “That’s the day we met.”

“Oh!” Rose clasped her hands to her chest and smiled down at the picture.

“You look like Daddy,” Sianin observed.

“No, your daddy looks like him,” Rose corrected. When Sianin frowned in confusion, she clarified, “A child looks like their parent, not the other way ‘round, since the parent made the child.”

Sianin ignored her mother and instead looked down at the photo again. “She’s very pretty. She looks like Ainsley.” Sianin then glanced sidelong at Rose. “Er… I mean, Ainsley looks like her.”

“She was the prettiest girl I’d ever met… apart from my beautiful little granddaughters.”

He lifted up Sianin’s party hat and ruffled his fingers through her hair. She squealed and ducked out of his touch, but he caught her around the waist and peppered kisses across her neck and cheeks just to hear her laugh again.

“I love you,” he whispered to her.

“Love you too, Grandad,” she said, breathless and beaming.

The front door then opened, and James called out, “I’m back! And some guests have arrived. Sian, your mate Emma is here.”

Sianin scurried out from Robert’s arms and darted to the front of the house. He watched her go with a fond smile.

He picked up the photograph of him and Vera and tucked it safely into his wallet behind James and Rose’s latest family Christmas photo. He made a mental note to ask Rose if she had any family photos that included the twins, and if he could get a copy.

“Meeting before she turned eighteen… how scandalous.” Rose stuck her tongue out of the corner of her mouth as she smirked at him.

Robert rolled his eyes. “You know how big the manor house is… I had my own bedroom, and she had hers.”

“And how long did it take before you started sharing?” Rose teased knowingly.

“Longer than it took you and James,” Robert replied sweetly, laughing at the deep blush staining her cheeks and neck. “You know, I never did thank you.”

Rose frowned. “For what?”

“Being there for James when he needed you the most. And me.”

“Dad…” Her voice was soft as she approached him. She rested her hands on his cheeks and said, “You will never need to thank me for that. For either of you. I love you and James so much. I didn’t hesitate. You both needed me, so I went.”

He smiled at her.

“I love you,” he said, taking her hands off his cheeks to kiss the backs of her knuckles.

“I love you, too.” After a beat, she said, “By the way, your dad was an absolute wanker and you deserved so much better.”

“Yeah, he was,” Robert agreed. He hadn’t spared his father a single thought over the last fifty years except the day he was notified his father had passed away. He didn’t bother going to the funeral, and Vera hadn’t pressed it. “But he doesn’t matter. He was my past. I found a new home, a new life, in Vera. Then also in James. And now with you and my granddaughters, too. My life is so full, and I wouldn’t change anything.”

“Not anything,” Rose mumbled, her eyes going sad.

A familiar ache wrapped itself around Robert’s heart.

“I still miss her,” Rose confessed.

“I do too, darling.” He took Rose into his arms and rocked her from side to side. “But I still wouldn’t change anything. Even if it meant having her back, I wouldn’t erase a second of the time I’ve had with you and my grandchildren.”

Rose squeezed him tightly, then let him go to return to the vegetable chopping.

The guests began arriving in a steady trickle, with James and Sianin greeting everyone while Rose finished up the work in the kitchen. When she was able to join the party, she saw everyone was split into groups. Sianin was playing on the floor with the five friends she’d been allowed to invite, while the adults—their family members, mostly—cooed at the two sleeping bundles in James and Jackie’s arms.

“Oh, Rose, they’re simply beautiful!”

“They’re adorable!”

“Wow, you’re looking amazing, Rose!”

Rose dutifully smiled and accepted everyone’s compliments, shooting James a wink whenever anyone congratulated her on their beautiful babies. It was a running joke between them that she got all of the praise for making their children, as though they’d magicked themselves into being rather than have any contribution from him.

Ainsley was the lone misfit of the party. She was too old to play with Sianin and her friends, but too young to be fully integrated in the adults’ conversations. As a result, she hopped between groups and often hovered by the twins, helping whoever happened to be holding them.

“No Sylvia today?”

Rose looked over at her husband’s voice, not realizing new guests had arrived.

Donna, Lee—who was holding little Joshua—and Wilf stepped into the foyer. Rose went over to greet them with a hug and kiss apiece, including a raspberry for Joshua.

“Mum was indisposed,” Donna said, giving Rose a meaningful look.

“Everyone’s in the living room,” Rose said. “The pizza should be here soon, but there are nibbles to pick at in the meantime. Drinks are in the kitchen; Donna, want to lend me a hand?”

Donna gladly followed Rose into the kitchen and away from prying ears.

“Indisposed, eh?” Rose asked when they were alone.

Donna went to a bottle of wine, pouring some into a paper cup.

“We sort of… had a falling out,” Donna admitted once she drained half the cup in one go. Rose stayed silent, letting Donna gather her thoughts and continue her story, if she wanted. “Lee and I decided we want another baby.”

“That’s exciting!”

“Thanks. Mum didn’t think so. Joshua’s a little bit… behind the other kids his age,” Donna admitted, her cheeks turning pink. “Developmentally. The doctors said it’s nothing to be too concerned about yet. But he’s nearly two and hasn’t started walking yet. And because he isn’t walking, we can’t even think about preparing to toilet train him.”

“He’ll get there,” Rose assured. “And toilet training is a long way off. He’s not even two yet.”

“That what I’ve been saying, but Mum thinks Lee and I are doing Joshua a disservice by trying to have another baby when we’re… what did she say?” Donna frowned and stared off into the distance while she tried to remember. “Oh! When we’re neglecting the child we already have.”

Rose gasped, a combination of sympathy and anger bubbling up within her. “Oh, Donna.”

“Yeah. So now of course I’m worrying that maybe Mum’s right, and that we should try to get Joshua the help he needs before our lives are thrown into chaos from a new baby.”

“But you said the doctors weren’t concerned, so what help does he need?” Rose asked, puzzled.

“Exactly! I dunno, Rose. This is all so hard. I’m terrified I’m not doing the right thing for my child. But what more can Lee or I do? We have him in nursery, so he gets socialized with other kids his age and is with professional childcare experts. And when we come home, it’s not like we ignore him or anything. We play with him, we read to him, we try and get him to want to walk, but he absolutely refuses. He screams his little head off and starts crying for us to pick him up. Or he just happily crawls everywhere.”

Donna sighed and scrubbed her fist into her forehead. Rose stepped up and wrapped Donna in a loose hug.

“I love Joshua so much,” Donna whispered. “God, I love him more than I’ve ever loved anyone. But I just… want another baby before I get too old.”

Rose nodded, understanding all too well what the other woman was going through.

“Needless to say, Mum and I had it out.” Donna shook her head in dismay. “I told her if she wasn’t going to accept and support her grandson as he was, then she wasn’t going to have the privilege of seeing him at all. I’m not going to let her stand around and talk down about him where he can hear her. He might only be a little boy, but I’m sure he can understand more than we realize.”

“Good for you,” Rose murmured, rubbing a hand up and down Donna’s back. “I’m sorry about your mum though.”

“And I feel awful for putting Gramps in the middle of it. I feel like I’ve made him choose between his daughter and his granddaughter.”

Rose gave her a comforting squeeze, and once Donna had composed herself, they joined the party.

Their house was loud, hectic, and full of people—the twins handled it well though, considering this was their first time around so many other people. Rose and James ran themselves ragged, making sure that not only were their babies satisfied, but that all of their guests were attended to, especially Sianin and her friends. They appeared to be content to stay as a group and play together.

The family all tripped over themselves to have a turn with the twins. Rose hadn’t needed to change a nappy or comfort a crying infant all afternoon. Her mother and James’s dad in particular seemed to self-appoint themselves as the babies’ caretakers, and were often disappearing into the nursery with one of the twins.

“Hey Dad? We’re doing the cake soon.” Rose leaned up against the door frame of the nursery and found her father-in-law sitting in the rocking chair, bottle-feeding one of the babies. Hannah, she thought, but she couldn’t quite see her daughter’s face well enough to distinguish.

“I hope you don’t mind?” he said sheepishly. “James gave me a bottle out of the fridge.”

“It’s fine,” Rose assured. Because she breastfed, it was rare for somebody other than her to feed the babies. She knew Robert enjoyed the task though.

The sight of her nursing daughter made her breasts become tender. She would have to sneak away and pump soon. “I was just saying, we were about ready to do the cake. Did you want us to wait for you?”

“Nah, it’s all right,” he said. “I’ll join you when she’s done.”

Rose nodded and moved back to the kitchen, where she found James sticking six candles into the chocolate cake before sampling a bit of the peanut butter icing.

“I’m sure it doesn’t taste that different from when you made it last night,” Rose drawled, smacking at his hand.

“Well, you never know,” he said innocently. “A good scientist always performs an experiment to test that his hypothesis is still valid.”

“Uh huh,” Rose said dubiously. “Last I checked, scientists weren’t supposed to go around licking the science.”

“Oh… well… ehm…” James floundered for a few moments before turning away from her for the matches. “Is Dad coming? I set him up with Hannah and a bottle a few minutes ago.”

“He said to go on without him,” Rose answered. “After this, I’m gonna need to go pump unless I want my tits to start leaking all over the place.”

“Just not on the cake,” James said, pulling it away from her.

She swatted him halfheartedly, then went into the living room to let everyone know the cake was coming out in a minute. When she returned to the kitchen, James was touching a lit match to the last candle. The flame had burnt close to his fingers, and he hissed as he quickly blew it out and dropped the smoking match into the sink.

“Ready?” she asked, grabbing her camera off the kitchen island.

“As I’ll ever be,” he said, picking up the pan.

Rose guided him out into the living room, flicking the lights off as she did so. Sianin looked up excitedly at her and James as they approached and began to sing. As they sang, Sianin looked around the room at her family and friends before she stared into the flickering candles on the cake that James set on the coffee table in front of her.

Rose loved getting this shot, when the candles reflected in her child’s eyes and cast shadows across her face. If it wasn’t such a hazard, she would love to have fire in all of the photoshoots she did.

She took as many photos as she could of Sianin’s face scrunching up as she thought of a wish, then of her cheeks puffing up as she blew out her candles. The room broke into applause as she extinguished them all in one breath.

Sianin carefully pulled the candles out of the cake and licked off the crumbs and icing clinging to the waxy surface.

“We’ll all get some cake and ice cream, then we’ll do presents,” Rose said, carrying the cake back into the kitchen.

“You can go pump, I’ve got this,” James said, making a shooing motion with his hands.

Rose skipped up to him and pecked a kiss to his cheek in thanks.

When she returned, her breasts feeling much more comfortable, Sianin ripped through the multitude of gifts everyone brought for her. As soon as all the gifts were opened, she and her friends took over half the toys out of the packaging and began playing with them.

Rose sat back on the couch with a piece of cake and her camera. She took shots of all of the family as everyone began to wind down from the excitement of the party. The parents of Sianin’s friends would be arriving soon to pick up their kids, and hopefully that would entice the rest of the family to leave too. Being a party host was utterly exhausting and Rose was ready to have her house to herself again.

“Rose! Rose, come look! Quick!”

Rose lowered the camera from where she was about to catch a photo of Sianin and Ainsley. She turned towards her husband. He was sitting on the sofa with Maddie lying in the cradle of his thighs.

“She smiled at me,” he said. “I swear it. She actually, properly smiled at me!”

“Oh, don’t be stupid,” Jackie scoffed, even as she walked towards him. “She’s too little to smile.”

Rose rolled her eyes at her mother and had to bite her tongue to keep from reprimanding her in front of the other guests. She instead snapped a quick photo of James holding Maddie before she went to stand behind him. She draped her arms around his shoulders and looked down at their three-week-old baby who, as much as she didn’t want to admit her mother was right, probably hadn’t actually smiled at James.

“Do you want to smile for Mummy? Do you want to smile for Mummy? Or are you gonna be shy? No need to be shy, my darling, not with those beautiful big dimple-wimples and those lovely pink wittle gummy-wummies. Want to flash Daddy your gummy-wummies? Eh?”

Rose smiled fondly at her husband as he dissolved into his rarely-used baby babble. But then, as James started talking about her “big blue eyesie-wisies”, the baby’s lips quirked up and her eyes scrunched as she grinned.

“Oh!”

“Look at that beautiful wittle smile!” James crooned. “Maddie-Waddie has a beautiful wittle smile-wile, doesn’t she?”

Rose brought her camera up and, heedless of trying to get the perfect shot, began snapping photos at random, hoping that at least one would turn out well.

“Anybody would smile at your daddy’s silly voice,” Rose cooed. “Wouldn’t they? He sounds so funny, doesn’t he?”

“Yes he does,” James sang. “Yes he does!”

A crowd had formed a semi-circle around them, hoping to get a glimpse of Maddie’s first smiles. Everyone began making silly faces and speaking gibberish to try to be the next person to make a three-week-old baby miraculously smile; all they managed to do, however, was overstimulate her and send her into a whimpering fit.

oOoOo

Once all the partygoers had departed for the evening, the James and Rose collapsed in an exhausted heap on the couch. Everyone and everything was quiet. The twins had fallen asleep, and Sianin disappeared into her room with Ainsley to play with her new toys.

“We should clean up,” James mumbled, even as he rested his head on the back of the couch and closed his eyes.

“Mhm,” Rose agreed, sitting in a similar position. “In a moment, though.”

“Maybe two moments,” James replied.

They each dozed for the next hour, and when they awoke, they were groggy but somewhat refreshed. They used their rejuvenated energy to clean up the worst of the mess from the party.

They weren’t particularly hungry when dinnertime rolled around, but knew they ought to eat something more substantial than the snacks and birthday cake they’d eaten that afternoon.

“Ainsley, Sianin, are you hungry?” James called out as he moved down the hall. “We’ve got some leftover pizza.”

He leaned against the door frame of Sianin’s room; his daughters were playing with the multi-tiered toy car ramp that Jackie had brought as a gift.

“Girls, are you hungry?”

“A little,” Ainsley said, looking up at him. Sianin continued playing with her toy.

“Well, food’s in the kitchen,” he said, thumbing behind him.

When he returned, Rose was sprinkling cheese on top of her salad as she nibbled on a slice of cold pizza. He scooped out his own salad and stole a bite of Rose’s pizza, earning him a smack on the shoulder.

A few minutes later, Ainsley skipped into the kitchen alone.

“Sianin not hungry?” Rose asked.

“She’s angry with you,” Ainsley said before putting a piece of pizza in the microwave.

James paused with his fork half way to his mouth; a bit of salad dressing dripped onto the table.

“What do you mean?” Rose asked.

“Sianin’s angry with you,” Ainsley repeated unhelpfully.

James looked over at Rose, who seemed just as puzzled as he was.

“Why is she angry?” Rose asked.

Ainsley shrugged. “Nobody paid attention to her at her party.”

“Sure they did,” James argued.

“Not according to her,” Ainsley replied, popping open the microwave door a second before it would have beeped.

James was utterly confused. Sianin looked like she’d had fun at her party; she played with her friends the entire afternoon.

He and Rose moved at the same time, setting down their forks and pushing away from the table to walk down the hall to Sianin’s bedroom. Their almost-six-year-old was sitting on the floor exactly how James had left her ten minutes ago.

The toy she was playing with had five car ramps that all circled around each other, and Sianin was using them to cause a massive pile-up in the center where all the ramps ended. James thought the various ramps were to race the cars against each other; leave it to his daughter to prefer making them all crash.

They knocked on her open bedroom door right as she made an explosion sound with her mouth.

Sianin looked up at them briefly, then returned her attention to her toy, resolutely ignoring them. For good measure, she even scooted further around, turning her back completely to them.

“What are you playing with, darling?” James asked softly.

“Cars,” she answered shortly.

“Looks like fun.”

“Yup.”

“Can Mummy and I join you?”

“No.”

James clenched his hands into fists, his nails biting into his palms. How had they not noticed before that Sianin was upset?

“Why not, love?” Rose asked, stepping into the room.

She crouched in front of Sianin while James sat on the bed behind his wife. Sianin shrugged.

“Are you angry with us?” James asked quietly.

Sianin shrugged again.

“What’s the matter, darling?”

Many long seconds passed before she grumbled, “I hate the babies. They’re stupid and take up all the attention. It was my birthday party but everyone only wanted to see them.”

James’s chest caved in on itself, snatching the air from his lungs. “This is the first anyone has seen the twins. It was exciting for them.”

Sianin continued on as if he hadn’t spoken. “And when I blew out my candles, Grandad wasn’t even there. Then everyone went to go see Maddie smile. How is smiling that big a deal anyway? Everyone smiles.”

“That was her first smile, love.” Rose’s voice shook slightly. “There’s only one first smile.”

“What about a sixth birthday party?” Sianin shouted. “I only turn six once but no one cares ‘cos the babies are here instead!”

“That’s not true…”

“It is true. Everyone wanted to be with the babies instead of me.”

“We’re sorry, darling. Truly. But your sisters are very little and…”

“You’re making excuses!” she screamed, angry tears beginning to leak down her cheeks. She swiped at her face and said, “I don’t want you here. Leave me alone!”

James froze on the bed, not knowing what to do. He wanted to stay and comfort his child, but he was the reason his child needed comforting.

“Sianin, we’re so sorry…”

“Go away,” she wailed. “Go away!”

Rose stood up and tugged James to his feet. Together they exited Sianin’s bedroom, and after they made it a few steps down the hall, they heard her door slam shut, making them both flinch.

“Shit,” Rose whimpered, digging the heels of her hands into her eyes. “Shit!”

“What a mess,” James agreed, rubbing his hand up and down Rose’s arm. “We’ll let her cool off, then talk to her again.”

When they walked back into the kitchen, Ainsley was just finishing up her pizza.

“Told you she was angry.”

“Yes, thank you Ainsley,” James snapped.

Ainsley held up her hands defensively, then pushed back from the table to put her plate in the full sink.

“Can you help me load the dishwasher?” James asked.

“Don’t you want to finish eating?” Ainsley asked.

“Not very hungry. I ate too much at the party,” he lied. In truth, his appetite had been obliterated upon seeing Sianin’s distress. He dumped his salad into the trash and together, he and Ainsley filled the dishwasher to capacity then hand-washed the rest.

The evening passed slowly, with Ainsley and Rose reading on the couch and James pretending to read while his brain whirred frantically to figure out how to fix things with Sianin. Sure, a lot of the family had spent time with the twins, but they’d also spent time with Sianin, hadn’t they? And besides, Sianin had been with her friends for most of the party.

Unless she’d been with her friends so much because everyone’s attention was elsewhere.

Bugger, he said to himself.

James got through nearly fifty pages of his book without absorbing a single word, but finally it was time to get the girls ready for bed. Sianin was still in her room but playing with a different toy when he went to summon her.

“Sianin, bath time.”

“No. I don’t want to,” she said.

“Well, you have to,” he countered. “Come on.”

“I’ll do it myself,” she said, grudgingly getting to her feet. “Without you.”

“You can’t be in the bathtub by yourself,” he said. “It’s not safe.”

Sianin huffed out an annoyed breath, pushed past him, and marched to the loo.

“I’m gonna do it!” she said when he turned on the water out of habit.

“Sorry,” he said, turning it off.

He gestured for her to go ahead and turn on the tap and adjust the temperature however she wanted it. It took her much, much longer than it would have taken him, and he cringed as she stuck her hand under the stream when she had the dial set all the way to hot.

She yelped and yanked her hand away, then turned the tap to make it cold.

In the end, the bathtub was filled with water that was only tepid at best, but Sianin didn’t say a word as she stripped and lowered herself into the tub.

It was one of the most torturous bath times James had ever been a part of. Sianin was utterly silent and efficient in her movements, and she snapped at him whenever he tried to assist her.

“I’m trying to help,” he said defensively, setting down the shampoo bottle he’d been trying to hand to her. “Don’t be angry with me for that.”

Finally, Sianin finished bathing herself and stood up out of the now-cold water and drained the tub. Goosebumps prickled across her skin and she began shivering lightly as she pulled a towel around her body. Rather than dry herself off, Sianin hugged her towel tighter, a frown etched into her face.

“A bit chilly?” he asked gently.

She didn’t say anything.

“Do you want a warm Daddy hug?” he asked, opening his arms.

Sianin sniffed. “I can do it myself.”

“Of course you can,” he said. “But there’s no harm in getting a bit of help, too. Daddy will always be here to help his little girl, no matter what.”

Sianin glowered at the floor for a long minute before she stepped into his open arms. Her body was damp, but he pulled her close anyway. As soon as she was ensconced in his embrace, a violent shudder rippled through her body.

“My bath was cold,” she muttered sadly.

“I know,” he said. “You’ll get better at figuring out the right temperature.”

He held her in his arms for a few minutes, trying to warm her up. When her shivering subsided, he let her step away to dry herself off then change into pajamas. After she brushed her teeth, he followed her to her bedroom and dried her hair, but when he grabbed a book off the shelf, Sianin shook her head.

“I don’t want a bedtime story tonight,” she said, tucking herself further into her blankets.

“No?” he asked, his heart falling.

“No.”

“Okay,” he sighed. “If you change your mind, or want to talk, Mummy and I are always here for you.” He set the books back and stepped up to her. He kissed her forehead and whispered, “I love you, Sianin.”

“G’night,” she said, and she turned away from him.

James exited the room, pulling the door shut behind him. With a heavy exhale, he walked to Ainsley’s ajar bedroom door, and saw her sitting up in bed, reading.

“Did Mum read aloud with you?” he asked wearily, digging his forefinger into his eyes.

“Yeah,” she said. “Only a couple pages though ‘cos Hannah started crying.”

James stepped into the room. “Let’s finish out the chapter, eh?”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to,” Ainsley said.

“I want to.” And he did. Bedtime stories were one of his favorite parts of the night, and it killed him that one of his children hadn’t wanted one that night.

Ainsley scooted to the far edge of her mattress, giving him plenty of space to sit beside her.

“Is Sianin okay?” Ainsley asked, feathering her fingers through the pages of the book.

“She will be. She’s just a little upset tonight,” he answered. “Can you do me a really big favor? If she comes to you and wants to talk, can you listen? Or if she wants to sleep with you, can you let her? Let me and Mum know if it becomes a problem, but at least for the next couple of nights?”

Ainsley nodded, and he flashed her a small smile. “Thank you. Now, what’s going on with Harry and his mates?”

He lounged with his eldest as she read about the trio’s adventures with the Polyjuice potion. When she finished, he tucked her in, kissed her forehead, then turned off the lights. He pulled her door shut behind him, then made his way back to the living room.

Rose was sitting with the twins on the couch.

“That was the worst bedtime in the history of bedtimes,” he announced dramatically as he plopped into the seat beside her.

Rose pursed her lips in sympathy. “Hopefully Sian’s in a better mood tomorrow.”

“Yeah. God, I’m knackered. The party was exhausting enough, now our kid hates us.”

“I don’t think she hates us, James,” Rose said. “She’s just… upset.”

He grunted in reply. “Have we done something wrong? Did we not prepare her enough for having baby siblings?”

“I don’t know,” Rose admitted. “Let’s try not to worry about it too much now. There’s nothing we can do. Tomorrow, we’ll talk to her and see how we can help her adjust better.”

“Yeah. I wish we could’ve ended the day on better terms. This was supposed to be her day, after all. It was supposed to be fun.”

Rose didn’t say anything. She instead rested her head on his shoulder.

James pressed a kiss to her hair and stroked his fingers absently up and down one of the twins’ backs.

“Want her?” Rose asked.

“Please.” He slipped his hands beneath his baby’s tiny body and took her into his arms.

While his heart still hurt for Sianin, holding another of his daughters helped soothe the ache. The feel of her warm, solid body released a cocktail of hormones that loosened his taut muscles and attenuated his anxiety.

He brushed his lips across the top of her head, inhaling her fresh baby scent as he did so.

“Love you loads, my darling girl,” he murmured, kissing her again. “Which one are you, eh? Daddy promises he’ll get better at determining it.”

“You’ve got Mads.”

“How do you do that so easily?” he huffed.

“Well, I was the one who changed them into new outfits, and I knew Maddie was in purple while Hannah was in black,” Rose teased, knocking her shoulder into his.

James stuck his tongue out at her, but pressed a kiss to her temple.

“I love you, Rose.”

“I love you, too. We’ll get through this, James. I promise. We’ll figure it out.”

He nuzzled his cheek into her hair, taking comfort from her presence as they both lapsed into silence.

If you’ve made it to the end, consider leaving a comment or reblogging? I’d love to hear your thoughts.

#ficandchips #doctorroseprompts #dwfic #doctor who #ten x rose #ten x rose au #soulmates #soulmates au #james x rose #kid fic #family fic #baby fic #my fic #soulmates verse #perfectly matched series #family of six

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