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titan-fodder · 3 years

Text

The Warrior Experience; ft. the Marley Warriors

Rating: Explicit; mdni

Pairing: Zeke, Reiner, Porco, Pieck x fem!reader

Word Count: ~5.3K

Warnings: mildly dubious consent (reader isn’t exactly there of her own free will but is still dtf), multiple partners, voyeurism, virgin Colt, rough blowjob, rough sex, unprotected sex, mentions of unpleasant contraceptives, lots of cum, clear bias toward Reiner

A/N: I don’t know what happened today. I just got possessed by the horny ghost. Enjoy~

It’s always Magath who retrieves you, the sour-faced General swinging open the door to your small room without any type of knock or warning.

On most nights, he takes a look at you, frowns, then grunts the name of whoever is actually calling for you—requesting your “presence”. This evening, however, he remains silent, leaving it a mystery that keeps you curious as you make yourself slightly more presentable, pulling on a skirt, running a comb through your hair, just enough to look a little more human.

You walk in silence down the hallways, your hands clasped behind your back as the older man struts in his usual militaristic fashion. As you near the Warrior quarters, you do your best to prepare yourself, but without an idea of who you’re meeting, it’s difficult.

Because they’re all so different. Galliard, for instance, usually starts the nights off aggressively. He particularly likes slamming you into various surfaces, pinning you down with a bruising grip, but his demeanor changes as soon as he’s inside you. The once careless young man turns to jelly underneath you, gasping and groaning as his adrenaline wanes and he unravels.

Always tired and slightly unstable, Reiner is soft. Even when his thrusts are deep and harsh, his hands remain gentle, calluses feather light as they dance up and down your ribs, over your breasts. His stamina varies. Sometimes, when he’s a little more out of his head, a little more haunted, he ruts into you for what feels like an eternity. Most of those instances, he doesn’t even come. You’re just there for a distraction— “A nice one,” he tells you quietly, gratefully, but you still know where you stand with him.

There are nights when he’s desperate for release, however, taking you with quick, sloppy thrusts, spilling inside you within minutes then rubbing your clit until you squeeze him back to full hardness so that he can do it all over again.

Zeke is the hardest to predict, on far ends of one, sadistic spectrum: he either wants you to do all the work while he smirks up at you with a cigarette between his lips, occasionally blowing smoke into your face, or he wants to dominate you entirely. When he falls into the latter category, you’re in his bed for hours, sniffling or sobbing, biting your lip to keep yourself from begging him to stop—one, because he won’t listen, but also because it isn’t your place.

The Warriors are honorary Marleyans which means they’re much more important and valuable than you are. Your opinion never matters, least of all in the bedroom.

You’re more or less a toy for them to use, an Eldian plucked from Liberio and brought to the military base with no real say in it. The Warriors are all young and virile, after all. They have needs like anyone else, but despite their honorary status, they’re forbidden from sleeping with Marleyan women.

So, you live here, at their beck and call with one purpose and one purpose only.

To your surprise, Magath stops before you can get to the sleeping quarters you are very familiar with at this point. You stand outside of a closed door, raise an eyebrow at the General but don’t dare question him.

“They’re in there,” he grumbles, nodding to the door before turning around and walking away.

They…

Raising a suddenly very heavy hand, you knock lightly then shift awkwardly until the door opens and reveals Galliard. His perpetual scowl is in place, but he nods his head in acknowledgment then moves to the side to let you in.

Galliard isn’t the only one in the room—what looks like some kind of conference area with a sizable wooden table surrounded by chairs, a window on the far end displaying the night sky and twinkling stars. Nearly all of those chairs are full, one scooted back from the table that you can easily assume belongs to the redhead standing behind you.

Zeke is lounging comfortably, feet kicked up on the table as he puffs on a cigarette. Reiner is sitting in his chair backwards, slumped forward to rest his head on the wooden backing, though he lifts it to look at you with bloodshot eyes. Pieck, who you do not see often at all, is slouched with her arms pillowing her face, offering you a lazy smile that’s laced with something you cannot place.

There’s one more person in the room, the vaguely familiar face of Colt Grice, Warrior Candidate slated to inherit the Beast Titan in a few years. You’ve seen him around the base, usually trailing closely behind Zeke, but haven’t gotten the chance to speak with him yet.

You remain standing even as Galliard takes his seat again, nibbling on your bottom lip, waiting expectantly—nervously. The last time you were in a room with all of them at once was when you’d first been brought here, and that had just been for informal introductions. There had also been another Eldian with you at the time, a male to keep Pieck satisfied, but he’s… No longer with you.

In true leader fashion, Zeke is the first to speak after taking a long drag from his cigarette, tilting his head back to blow it into the air and creating a haze over himself.

“Glad you could join us tonight, sweetheart,” he shows a short, unconvincing smile, and that paired with the condescending pet name leads you to believe he’s in one of his more controlling moods.

“I’m just glad to be able to service the Wa—”

“Yeah, yeah, you don’t need to do all that,” he waves you off. “I’ll cut to the chase.”

“Let her sit down first, Zeke, geeze,” Pieck murmurs before holding a small hand out for you, beckoning you to take the seat next to hers.

Never one to argue or disobey, you shuffle over to it and lower yourself, but you can’t relax, not with so many pairs of eyes on you.

Galliard is twitchy, bouncing his leg up and down, pushing his hair back too often. Reiner, unmoving, just blinks slowly at you, expression flat. Grabbing your hand, Pieck offers a nod that isn’t the slightest bit reassuring while Zeke pins you with an icy gaze.

“Colt here is gonna be a big boy Warrior pretty soon,” he says, motioning to the boyish blond in the corner who suddenly seems more interested in the floor than anything. “And, he hasn’t been given the chance to have the experiences he deserves. You follow?”

You nod, easily putting the pieces together. They want you to sleep with him, some sort of sexual initiation.

“As I’m sure you’ve picked up, Titan holders don’t have the longest lifespans, so I figure he needs to enjoy what life he has left.”

Another nod, then you start to stand only to be stopped by Galliard who asks, “What’re you doing? Sit back down.”

“Oh,” you plant yourself back in the chair, eyes growing as your stomach sinks. “I thought you wanted me to show Colt—”

Zeke laughs around his cigarette, adding even more smoke to the air around you, and shakes his head. “No, you misunderstand. You will be showing Colt a thing or two tonight, but in here where we can all watch and… Lend a helping hand if need be.”

Mouth going dry, you can’t stop yourself from frowning. Sleep with Colt… In front of all of them? You don’t fancy yourself much of a performer, doubt you’ll be able to put on any kind of good show under so much pressure.

But, you can’t protest. You can’t go against their wishes or complain. You should consider yourself lucky, being able to service the Warriors. It means you’re a half-step above the other Eldians—a devil but a halfway useful one.

“Um. Okay,” you consent.

Zeke claps his hands together. “Excellent,” then tells you. “Bathroom’s down the hall. Go rinse off, do whatever you need to do to get ready, then meet us back here.”

You don’t dawdle, doing exactly what you’re told. The restroom is obviously for multiple people, a few stalls with cheap curtains to block you from view. You make quick work of bathing so that you’ll have time to prepare yourself, starting the process of stretching yourself while under the spray. With no idea how large Colt might be, and taking into account that he might be completely clueless about female anatomy, you make sure to work three fingers into your cunt, moving them as best you can until you’re a little loosened up and wet.

When you return to the conference room, you’re just in a towel, folded clothes under your arm and placed in an empty chair.

“Easy access,” Galliard smirks. “Good call.” You squeak when he slaps your ass then sit on the edge of the table as you’re directed to.

Most of them have shed their boots and jackets, looking a little more casual now. It doesn’t put you at ease—if anything, it makes you think the others will get a little more involved than Zeke originally let on, and the thought alone is enough to overwhelm you.

It takes some prompting for Colt to muster the courage to approach you. The others scoot to the edges of the room, giving the two of you center stage. It's daunting, but you do your best to forget about them, to focus on the nervous blond in front of you.

Spreading your legs, you pull him by the shirt to stand between them then look up at him through your lashes and ask, "Am I allowed to kiss you?" You can never assume. Everyone has different rules.

When you're with Reiner, he has his mouth against yours more than he doesn't, Galliard will nip and suck against every part of you that isn't your mouth, and the closest Zeke gets to your mouth is prying it open to spit on your tongue.

Naturally, Colt looks to his War Chief for answers, but Zeke just shrugs. "Your choice, big guy. You're the one calling the shots."

Colt contemplates for a little while but eventually nods and swallows. "Uh, yeah. That's okay, I guess."

He seems to feel just as awkward as you do about this whole situation, would also probably prefer for it to happen in private, but you imagine he's doing everything in his power to show that he's worthy of inheriting Zeke's Titan. He's basically in the same boat as you.

Reaching up, you lace your fingers behind his neck and pull him to you, pressing your lips to his slowly, softly, trying not to spook him too much.

After gaining as much experience as you have over the last year or so, it's rare for you to feel shy when getting intimate. Three of the other people in that room have seen everything there is to see about you, your most private of body parts, your most visceral, primal reactions. You have nothing to hide any more.

Colt is stiff against you. His hands are still by his sides, lips firm but unmoving.

He has no idea what to do. It's almost disappointing, knowing you're about to spend the evening teaching this kid, fresh faced, twenty years old at most and completely clueless.

You're saved when a gruff voice makes you pull away: "Alright, this is hard to watch." Reiner sits up and rubs his eyes, then swings his leg over the chair to stand and walk over. "Grice, have you ever even seen anyone kiss before?"

Cheeks turning red, Colt moves out of the way, stuttering out "W-well yeah, but I never watch."

The taller man takes the vacant space between your legs, and you inhale sharply when he slides a large hand to the back of your head, tilting your face even further upward. Reiner kisses you in a way that makes your head spin. He has that desperate taste he always has, and even without opening your eyes, you can tell he's frowning. But his hand is cautious, careful not to tug your hair just like he's careful not to knock his teeth into yours when he parts your lips with his.

"There we go," Zeke laughs, clapping twice and cheering, "'Atta boy, Braun!"

Reiner's tongue dances with yours in a heated back and forth for a few seconds before he pulls back. He doesn't smile, but he does sigh in a thoughtful manner before turning to Colt and pointedly telling him, "That's how you kiss a woman."

Reiner softly scratches the back of your head in a fond gesture, then steps away and motions for Colt to try again.

He's slightly more confident this time around, starting off slowly at first but eventually pushing against you harder and harder until it's a little much, and you just barely push at his chest to get him to let up. He replaces pressure with tongue, probing and curious but not awful.

"Undo her towel, Grice. Get a move on," Galliard demands.

Colt reaches up with a shaky hand, breathing through his nose while keeping his lips attached to yours as he pulls at the loose knot just above your breasts. The material falls and pools around you on the table, and before he can be criticized again, you grab one of Colt's hands and place it on one of the perky mounds. You move your fingers over his, showing how you like to be massaged then guiding him to your nipple.

"Oh, this is very romantic," Zeke drawls, snapping his fingers to get someone's attention then addressing, "Pock," who grunts in response. "You're a tit man, right? Your turn to show him how it's done."

The sound of a chair scraping on the floor rings throughout the room, but instead of pushing Colt out of the way, Galliard stands on the other side of the table behind you, bends forward, then grabs you by the hair to pull you down. The breath is knocked out of you as your back hits the table, and you blink up at the redhead in surprise.

Upside down, your face is about level with his hips, maybe a foot away from his pelvis, but before you can dwell on it, Galliard's rough hands are on your tits, groping, massaging, then pinching your nipples so that you arch and moan.

"Know I probably shouldn't like it so much, but you sound so pretty, baby," he growls, flicking over the hardened buds then squeezing again.

"We're all devils here. You can like it as much as you want," Reiner gruffs.

"Justifying your own feelings?" Zeke snarks.

You aren't able to see or hear Reiner's response, too busy whining as Galliard starts to slap your tits over and over, making the flesh burn and sting.

Porco groans, "Mm, love that bounce," hitting them a few more times then stopping and allowing you to take a shuddering breath.

Your body is hot all over, especially your chest, and your pussy is starting to throb. After playing with yourself in the shower, the heated kiss you shared with Reiner, and now the abuse Galliard just showered on your tits, you're starting to get restless, ready to be filled with something.

"While I'm right here, m'gonna show you somethin' else, Grice."

Galliard grips your upper arms and slides you closer to him on the table, then undoes his pants and pulls his cock free. As soon as you feel the tap on your lips, you open up for him, relaxing just in time for him to shove his length over your tongue and into the tight sleeve of your throat.

And, pride actually wells up inside of you. That hardly ever happens.

There's no time to acclimate really, your only choice being to just lay and take it, so you do, choking and gagging around Galliard's cock as everyone else watches. Tears stream down the sides of your face, but you feel them get wiped away and open bleary eyes to find Pieck peering down at you, soft hands catching the drops as she coos, "You're doing so good, love."

You squirm on the table, start to rock your hips into nothing—no one—in desperate need of friction now.

"You want something stuffed in that pussy?" Zeke calls out.

The vibration of your responding whine makes Galliard curse and thrust into your throat until your forehead is pressed against his heavy balls. Strings of spit leak from the corners of your mouth. You try to slurp and suckle, but the steady pistoning of Galliard’s hips just keeps pushing more out.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Colt, you wanna go for it, or do you wanna watch first?” Zeke questions.

“Um, I—I’ll watch first, I think.”

“Good choice. See how it’s done before diving in.”

You’re barely aware of the conversation around you, mouth full of cock, gentle hands on your face. Pieck must not be fazed by being so close to her comrade’s privates because she just keeps stroking and praising you, like she thinks you might break or lose it.

There are fingers on your wet folds, spreading them apart, then the harsh sound of spitting before a glob of thick fluid lands in your pussy. Zeke smears his saliva over your clit, and you buck under his touch, moaning when two thick digits are pushed into your heat all at once. Your cunt spasms around the intrusion, getting used to it as he continues the job you’d started in the shower.

“I don’t always do this sort of thing just ‘cause I like the way she feels all tight and tense on my dick, but if you don’t want her to whine as much, I’d advise prepping her with your fingers or mouth.”

You squirm and writhe, the glide of his fingers getting easier with every thrust as your hole drools slick onto the table beneath you. Zeke’s palm grinds against your clit, pressure and friction where you want it most for half a second before it disappears—comes back, disappears—until you’re forcing yourself down on his hand.

He lets out one of his standoffish little chuckles as you slide up and down Galliard’s length and fuck yourself on Zeke’s fingers, but the delicious sensation disappears entirely when Zeke pulls out, probably to work himself out of his pants, then presses the blunt head of his cock against your clenching hole. He pushes the tip in only to pull it back out, tap it against the swollen bundle of nerves a few times, then finally pushes in all the way.

You’re a little too far up on the table now, and Zeke doesn’t bother warning you or Galliard as he tugs you back down to better situate you on his cock, causing the other man to slip out of your mouth.

“Fuck man, I was getting close!”

Without a care in the world, Zeke shrugs him off, tells him, “Come on her face or something then, I don’t give a fuck.”

Your voice comes out hoarse as you moan for all of them to hear, teary eyes cracking open to see Galliard step back and lean against the wall behind him. His fist is tight around his shaft, but he’s pumping himself slowly, like he’s suddenly pacing himself despite just having fucked your throat raw.

A rough pinch to your nipple brings your eyes to Zeke, blond hair hanging in his face, glasses slipping down his nose. The top few buttons of his shirt are undone, but other than that, he’s basically fully clothed. He’s flushed from his neck down to his chest, jaw barely hanging open as his eyebrows raise. He’s certainly enjoying himself, and you can’t say you aren’t because the drag of his thick cock in your pussy is incredible.

Your head lolls to one side and you find Colt staring at you with wide eyes, watching the way his superior sheathes himself in you over and over. It makes you blush, so you turn to the other side, see Reiner posted up in the corner, about half hard in his pants as he watches your face.

Mouth dropping open, you shut your eyes, trying to will away the skin-prickling sensation of being watched. You raise your arms above your head, hands dangling off the other end of the table, and Pieck takes them, squeezing once before lightly running nimble fingers over your sensitive skin.

You’ve never been with her, not that you’d be opposed. She’s very pretty and seems kind enough. But you had guessed you weren’t exactly her type. Now, though, you second guess yourself since she seems more than content with touching you.

The painful squeezes of Zeke’s fingers are batted away, replaced by the ghost of stimulation on your sore nipples. Pieck rubs over one so lightly you hardly register it, but it still shoots right to your pussy, makes you clench around Zeke.

He’s holding you by the hips now, pulling you onto his cock, and it goes like this for a while. At some point, the wet sound of Galliard jacking off fades, but you doubt he’s come; he’s typically quite vocal when he climaxes.

Zeke never lets up, fucking deep and fast and right over the spot that makes you leak until he suddenly pulls out and shoots strings of hot cum onto your thighs and the table between them.

“You don’t… Inside?” Colt speaks up.

Rubbing his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt, Zeke answers, “Never. That’s preference, though. I just don’t want any accidents to happen.”

You would remind him that you go to the medic after every encounter you have with the Warriors to get checked out, given an unpleasant medicine that leaves you sick for a few days, but it’s hard to think straight right now.

Before Colt can move toward you again or any more questions can be asked, Galliard is rounding the table, cock in hand once again, shouldering Zeke out of the way so that he can bury himself in your pussy. He’s a shorter length than the man who was in you just moments ago, but a little thicker. Veiny and curved upward, Galliard always feels good inside of you. Unfortunately for you, he’s basically been edging himself since you were pulled from him, so he doesn’t last long at all.

Unlike Zeke, Galliard has no qualms about coming inside of you. You feel his seed fill you, mixing with your own wet arousal and making you drip with it when he pulls out.

“Couldn’t help myself,” he grins before giving your pussy a slap, making you push more of his cum out.

You hear someone suck in a deep breath, and Colt slowly shuffles over to you. He stares at your throbbing cunt for a while, raising a timid hand to stroke over now messy folds, and you let out a mewl, a very soft, “Please…”

Pieck places a tender kiss at your hairline that makes your heart jump into your throat, such a kind gesture as she murmurs against you, “You’re doing so well for them.”

“Can I—” You blink up at her face, floating upside down over yours. “Can I do anything f-for you, Pieck?”

She shows another one of those smiles, the kind that’s hiding a little something, and she shakes her head, wavy, black hair flowing over her shoulders. “I’m just enjoying watching. You’re very pretty to look at.”

You bite your lip, unsure of how to respond, so you just let her keep touching you, keep cooing and doting. You’ll never say no to affection like this.

Colt doesn’t have any trouble finding your entrance, which is a relief. He lines himself up and pushes in painfully slowly, panting the entire time and letting out one very satisfying, “O-oh, shit.”

“Feels good, doesn’t she?” Zeke hums.

Colt nods, arms beginning to shake on the table. He seems to be holding himself back, whether it’s from coming or fucking into you is a mystery, but eventually he bottoms out and stays still save for his trembling. It isn’t uncomfortable, but you do feel very full, his hips flush against yours, cockhead nestled right up against your cervix. If he was any longer, you would definitely be in pain.

“Grice, you can move, you know,” Galliard jabs, but Colt just shakes his head.

“One second. Lemme just…” He shifts his hips some, not thrusting as much as grinding into you, and you cry out when he presses against that far wall.

You can feel Galliard’s cum leaking down the curvature of your ass, pooling with whatever of Zeke’s is left on the table. You’re so wet, noisy when Colt finally does start slowly pulling out and pushing in. The squelches echo in the conference room and make you cringe, but Zeke seems to appreciate it as he hums, “Listen to that sloppy pussy.”

“Like music to my fuckin’ ears,” Galliard adds.

Colt has trouble keeping an even pace, his hips stuttering often, but the ridge of his cock strokes over the sensitive spot inside you—the one that makes you drool and babble—almost every time. Your muscles clench around him, changing the sensation for both of you, and when that rhythm becomes even more erratic, you know he’s close.

“Fuck, fuck, I—”

“Just add to the mess. We’ll clean up later,” Zeke reassures him.

Colt’s eyes find yours for the first time since he started fucking you, searching for something like permission, so you nod and show a lazy grin.

“It’s okay, you can come in me.”

That sends him over, a strangled gasp ripping from his throat as he milks himself in your cunt. You can feel the pressure of building liquid inside you, pushing on your insides, but it wanes when Colt pulls out.

You feel swollen and used at this point, but your core is still hot with the desire to come. There’s a chance you won’t, especially now that Colt has finished, but you can always get yourself off in the privacy of your quarters if need be.

The freshly fucked blond receives a couple slaps on the back, some patronizing comments from his War Chief, and you take the time to just breathe and melt into the table, enjoying the way Pieck is stroking your hair now, smiling at the other Warriors.

Your eyes are just about to close when you see Reiner making his way over. He stands between your legs for a while, just looking over the damage, the slight discoloration of your chest, your raw nipples, mouth swollen from Galliard’s cock, then finally your used pussy.

His fingertips brush over sensitive skin, making you shudder, and you nearly cry when he asks, “You ready to get yours?”

You nod, sucking in an unsteady breath. Reiner mouths the word, “Okay,” then unbuckles his pants and pushes them down to his thighs, and the tears really do start to gather in your eyes now because Reiner is big, and you're already getting sore from three other cocks you've taken.

He rubs his hands up your thighs, tells you, “Wrap your legs around my waist,” which you somehow manage even though they’re weak with numbness.

Reiner doesn’t push in just yet, though you can feel his warm cock rubbing between your engorged lips. Instead, he slides his arms under your back and lifts you, turning so that he’s sitting on the table and you’re in his lap, ankles still crossed at his lower back.

“Just go at your own pace.” His voice is quiet, his mouth hovering just over yours, and here, like this, you almost forget about the others.

You lift yourself just enough to line his tip up with your leaking entrance then lower yourself onto his cock inch by inch. His girth stretches you, always burns just a little, even when you’re well prepared.

Your spongy walls make room for him, sucking him in even as you whine at his size. He waits for you to get settled, for you to start rocking, and only then does Reiner start moving. His cheeks are pink, light brown eyes nearly taken over by blown pupils, but the shift of his hips is slow and deliberate, hitting just where you need him to.

He keeps one hand at your back to help you balance, but his other moves down to press on the puffy flesh at the apex of your cunt. It forces your clit to rub against the coarse hairs on his pelvis, and you throw your head back as you finally, finally get that friction you were craving.

Reiner lowers his face to your chest, warm tongue laving over one nipple in a soothing manner as it pebbles against the muscle. He moves to the other and does the same, suckles on it softly so that you dig your nails into his back.

You leak with every shallow thrust, various fluids getting pushed from your wet pussy, and the closer you get to your orgasm, the worse it gets. You squirt first, a juice thinner than your slick arousal dribbling from you and coating Reiner’s thighs.

“Fucking—” He cuts himself off by kissing you, obviously uncaring of the fact that you had someone else’s cock in your mouth maybe half an hour ago. He licks into you, holding your body tight against his as your muscles tense, thighs rigid around his waist. You climb and climb, gut hotter and hotter until you reach your peak and moan into his mouth.

Your hips start moving on their own accord, a little faster as you squeeze the thick cock inside of you until your body grows tired enough to stop. Reiner keeps the same, slow pace, rumbles, “Just keep squeezing me, and I’ll come soon.”

So, you do, clenching around him and trembling the more overstimulated you become because you’re so sensitive and so swollen and so full. Every part of you aches. Every shift of his cock makes you whimper, but when Reiner finally spills inside of you, holding you down on his spurting cock, you sigh and slump against him.

You breathe heavily, and so does Reiner, his chest, now damp with sweat, rising and falling against yours. His shirt chafes against your nipples, making you hiss, but you’re too exhausted to move.

“Is that what sex is always like with you two?” Galliard scoffs. “That was some soft shit. I’m a little disgusted.”

If you were a little more lucid, you’d consider calling him out and announcing to the room how wanton he gets alone in the bedroom, but your brain is functioning at minimal capacity right now.

“Oh, leave them alone, Pock,” Pieck chides, and you glance across the table at her with tired eyes to find another one of those smiles on her face. “Everyone deserves some softness, especially this little angel after the way you guys treated her.”

“Didn’t treat her any differently than I normally do,” Zeke says, voice slightly muffled as he speaks around a new cigarette.

“In that case, I offer my condolences,” Pieck tells you, pulling a little snort from you.

“S’fine,” you slur. “I’m just happy to service the Warriors.”

Galliard rolls his eyes. Pieck hums thoughtfully. Zeke smirks. Reiner lets his head fall to your shoulder.

And, Colt croaks out a honestly endearing, “Well, I, uh, appreciate the service,” which makes you and all of his superiors laugh.

It’s not an easy job, this one you've been given. You try to be grateful for the opportunity, but most days end with you struggling to find your own self worth.

Tonight is different, though. It’s rare that you feel genuinely appreciated, but right now, sitting in Reiner’s lap with Colt looking at you in both embarrassment and gratefulness, you feel that maybe you're worth something.

#aot x reader #aot fanfic #attack on titan fanfic #attack on titan fanfiction #snk fanfic

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koolkat9 · 3 years

Text

FrUk Week 2021: Day2

@hetaliashipsweek

Prompt: Childhood/Old Age

Paring: FrUk

Word Count: 2012

The Luckiest Man Alive

They had been married for fifty years. It still was hard for Arthur to believe. It wasn’t that he wasn’t grateful, but at the back of his mind, there had always been that lingering thought that Francis would finally notice all his shortcomings and leave him. At least over the years, that voice had quieted immensely and Arthur learned to allow himself to be happy without worrying that it would be taken away from him.

If someone had told five-year-old Arthur that the annoying little French boy in his class would eventually become his lover, he would have kicked them in the shins. No way he could ever like someone as snobbish as Francis. The boy never failed to insult Arthur’s ‘fashion sense’ or steal his pencils. Then again it probably didn’t help that Arthur had the tendency to pull Francis’ hair and steal his books. By the first grade, things had escalated to the point the two physically and verbally fought on the daily. There were a lot of punches, bruises, and meetings with the principal during those elementary school years, but for some reason, they always kept coming back to each other.

Middle school rolled around and life got complicated. During the final years of elementary school, Arthur’s mother had been diagnosed with a serious illness. What that illness was was never revealed to Arthur even after her death, but that didn’t stop it from tearing the family apart. He had never gotten along with his brothers, but with their mother being in and out of the hospital and pressure being added onto all of them, especially Alister, they began taking out their stress on each other. They fought every day with some confrontations turning physical (on both ends). After a particularly bad fight, Arthur showed up to school with a black eye. At lunch Francis inquired about it, pushing him until he snapped and shoved Francis against the locker, hissing, “My mom’s sick and my brothers hate my guts so shut up or you’re going to be my punching bag.”

For once, Francis was shocked, and instead of shoving Arthur back, his gaze softened as he said, “I’m so sorry to hear that Arthur.” Before he could do anything else, Arthur pulled away and took off down the hall. It wouldn’t be the last argument that ended with secrets being revealed. At least both had enough respect not to bring them up again.

By the time high school rolled around, the few friends Arthur had made over his childhood years had moved away or went to the other high school in town. The only person he knew going in was Francis and once more the two of them gravitated towards each other, but this time it wasn’t for a fight. Arthur was tired. His mother had passed away a month before school had started and the feeling of home left with her. The Brit had become a shell of his former self, often isolating himself in the school library during his free time and throwing himself into his school work. He didn’t socialize unless he had to for class and began avoiding Francis like the plague. It began to worry Francis and around Christmas of their first year, Francis cornered Arthur in the library, ready to get to the bottom of whatever was eating at his enemy. Surprisingly it was easier than he thought as the Brit quickly broke down and through tears began explaining everything. The fact his mom died, that he was sick and tired of arguing with his brothers and has been couch hopping for a couple of weeks because he didn’t want to go home, and every other minor inconvenience that had been building up in his life.

Francis was stunned into silence, but before Arthur could run away like he always did when things got too personal, the French boy pulled him into a tight embrace. And Arthur let him, too tired for any struggle or to push his emotions deep down again. Francis had invited him to stay over that night and Arthur had accepted though he was hesitant. There were no arguments or fighting for once and instead they talked about other things, interests, classes, other normal teen stuff. It was nice and for the first time in the past three years, Arthur felt safe and comfortable.

After that fateful day, fights between them grew few and far between. They still bickered and argued, but it was now a more friendly matter. Francis introduced Arthur to his new friends Antonio and Gilbert and the four would remain friends well into adulthood and even old age. They were annoying just like Francis, but they also cared about him and were there for him when he needed it. But he could really do without the constant jab that Francis and he were like ‘an old married couple.’

College is when Arthur’s feelings of friendship started becoming feelings of romantic love. Francis had found a cheap apartment not far from their school and the two decided to rent it together to save money. They fell into quite a domestic routine. Francis cooked for him since Arthur could never make anything not burnt while Arthur did the dishes. Francis did laundry while Arthur folded and put the clothes away. Arthur would go out to the small garden on their balcony and Francis would join him a few minutes later with water or juice and a little snack for them. Francis had a lot of morning classes so Arthur would wake him up with a cup of coffee or tea. Arthur finally felt at home and he realized he wanted to live with Francis for the rest of his life. He tried to deny it at first, but each time Francis smiled Arthur felt his insides melt and whenever he called his name in the soft moments of the evening, he imagined being called to cuddle with him. He loved Francis, but he was too scared of possibly losing him if his feelings became known. After all, their relationship had already been turbulent, why shake it up even more?

Although they may have been getting along better than they ever had, they were still Francis and Arthur, prideful through and through and unable to go too long without some form of argument. Things were starting to build up on Arthur again with school and his growing feelings and he was starting to become more snappy than normal. They had had a few of their friendly arguments before, but eventually, everything became too much and Arthur went off at Francis when the Frenchman pushed a little too hard. “I thought we told each other everything,” Francis screamed.

“Shut up!”

“No. Not until you get it through your thick skull that pushing things down until they boil over is not healthy. I don’t even know why I bother? You’ve never listen-”

Next thing either of them knew, Arthur had Francis pinned against the wall, silencing him with a heated, angry kiss. As soon as Arthur noticed what he was doing, he pulled away, but not enough to let Francis go. The Frenchman looked at him, cheeks red, hair a mess, and eyes wide. Without a word they leaned in once more, connecting their lips in a slow, sensual kiss.

The following morning, Arthur awoke, wrapped up in Francis’ arms in Francis’ bed, clothes strewn around the room. For a moment, he allowed himself to admire the sleeping man next to him. Even with bedhead, Francis’ hair still looked beautiful and soft. His lips were slightly parted, his eyes closed, bare shoulder slightly exposed. He looked so peaceful and content which made Arthur’s heart flutter.

“Like what you see?” Francis asked, his eyes opening halfway and a soft smile spreading across his face.

“Sh-Shut up.”

“Make me.”

And Arthur did, leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss on Francis’ lips. When he retreated back, embarrassment and doubt began setting. What did this mean now? Were they lovers? What if things didn’t end up well? He couldn’t bear to lose this man after everything they had been through. Maybe it was best to just forget what had happened and go back to being friends.

“I-I don’t know if I can do this,” Arthur stuttered out. He pulled the covers up defensively, trying to avoid that kind loving gaze.

Francis was quiet for a moment and when Arthur stole a glance at him, he almost looked disappointed. “You know?” Francis began, his smile quickly returning, “We don’t have to call it anything you don’t want to. You liked what happened last night right?”

“I-I suppose…”

“I did too. Would you want to do more than just that? Like cuddle, kiss, and all that?”

Arthur was silent as he thought it over, his cheeks turning a deep shade of red. “If it makes it easier,” Francis continued, “I wouldn’t mind doing that kind of stuff, but if you don’t want to...I won’t push.”

Francis really was perfect. Attentive, loving, respectful when it mattered. What did he see in Arthur who just seemed to be a ball of anger and pent-up feelings? But the knowledge they wouldn’t be making this an official thing (at least not yet), put Arthur at ease and he decided to accept it.

A couple months later, Arthur had worked up the courage to accept Francis’ offer of a date, and of course, being the thoughtful lover the man was, Francis provided him with the ideal date. They had gone to the park for a picnic lunch before heading to the theatre for a show. At night they cuddled up in Francis’ bed and fell asleep. It had been a pretty good day, but Arthur’s competitiveness had been sparked. Next date, he was planning it and he was going to impress Francis.

He got a reservation at the new French restaurant in town. Francis seemed to have enjoyed the food, but he said he could have always made such a meal at home. Arthur only rolled his eyes telling him that he was doing something nice for him so be grateful. Francis had giggled, making Arthur realize just how deep he was. It was exhilarating and a little nerve-wracking. After dinner, they headed out back to a garden area where a wishing well stood. “Do you have a coin?” Francis asked, peering into the well.

“You’re lucky, here.”

Francis pulled the coin to his chest closing his eyes before tossing it into the well with a plop.

“What did you wish for?” Arthur asked, peering down into the well.

Francis brought a finger to his lips with a wink. “I can’t tell you or it won’t come true.”

Arthur’s nostalgia trip was interrupted by a pair of arms snaking around his waist and a firm kiss being pressed into his neck.

“What are you doing mon amour?” Francis asked in a low voice.

“Just...reminiscing.” Arthur lifted his hand, admiring the silver band on his finger. “Who would have thought we’d be here, like this, all those years ago.”

Francis chuckled. “Mhm. At least my wish came true.”

Arthur twisted his head to get a better look at the man behind him“Are you talking about that one you made on our second date?”

“Oui.”

“And what was it?”

“I would marry and spend the rest of my life with you.”

“You big sap.”

“Peut-être, but you love me for it.”

“What gave you that idea?”

“Oh, you wound me,” Francis exclaimed, clutching his chest.

The two lovers erupted into a fit of laughter before going in for a kiss. It was sweet and quick, matching the playful moment. I couldn’t last forever as Arthur noticed the time. “We better go pick up the boys from the airport,” he suggested, “they’ll be landing soon.”

Francis planted one more kiss on his forehead, before taking Arthur’s hand and pulling him out the door. Truly, Arthur was the luckiest man in the world and he had over fifty years' worth of evidence to prove it.

#frukweek2021 #frukweek #hetalia #hws #fruk #ukfr #human au #hws france #hws england #fluff #angst #fanfiction #hetalia fanfiction #old age #childhood #nostaligia

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 4 years

Text

you’re someone i just want around: III

“You can have me tonight or never

I thought you understood

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

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

—Wrong, Zayn and Kehlani

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

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

word count: 24.2k

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

///

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

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

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

Harry still hates clubs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Very satisfied, yeah. Your help was greatly appreciated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is that so?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The name’s Styles. Harry Styles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not going.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lock the door on your way out!”

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

That is, until she met Harry seven days ago.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The first thing he notices is the dress.

Fuck, the dress.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nice to see you again, Disco Ball.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Far from it, love.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I like your dress.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve been thinking about you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck off.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It felt really nice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wouldn’t mind it, either.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, y-yes.”

“Want me to keep going?”

“Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We do make quite the team, don’t we?

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

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

Alright, Watson. What time will you be home?

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

I’m off at 6:45. Should be home by 7.

I’ll see you there, then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fan came in. Wanna come check it out?

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

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

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

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

Sounds good to me, Sherlock.

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

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

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I— I can’t. I’m—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, yes— it’s so good, Harry. You’re incredible.”

“Such a proper little whore.” He has to actively hold back from digging into her throat with his fangs, his eyes screwing shut in concentration as his orgasm begins to burn through his veins. “Begging me to fuck you like one, over and over. You’ve never had it this good, have you?”

“N-No. You’re the only one who makes me feel like this.”

“Hands off.”

“W-What?”

“Hands off.”

Y/N obeys, throwing her arms above her head and letting them hang off the edge of the bed as he’d instructed. It’s not like he wants her to stop scratching down his back, but he knows that if she continues, he’s going to black out. He’s already teetering, obvious in the black webs he can feel materializing over the whites of his eyes.

“Ask for permission.”

The mortal unclamps her teeth from his bruised shoulder and swallows heavily, her words sputtering out from how hard she’s jerking against the bed. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please—can I—can I cum?”

“‘May I cum.’” The boy corrects, half because he wants to be a cocky ass, and half because it’s automatic. He was raised during an era where intellectual accuracy was of utmost value in society. It’s hard to leave those lessons behind.

Y/N hiccups another mewl, hands curling into loose fists above her head as he continues to fuck her deliberately into the duvet. She repeats his phrase shakily. “May I cum? Please?”

Harry’s lashes flutter open and as soon as he sees her, all doe-eyed, covered in his love marks, with her bottom lip trembling...It’s like a switch flips. When he speaks, it’s soft and encouraging; a drastic contrast from his mood a few seconds ago. “Yeah...Yeah, baby, go ahead. Cum for me.”

That night, as Harry lays there awake staring at that awful popcorn roof with the taste of her blood fresh on his tongue and her steady heartbeat throbbing in his heightened ears, he catches himself smiling in the dark. It doesn't have to do with emotions or feelings or any of that complicated bullshit. It just has to do with the fact that he found some consistency in his life, as unattached and materialistic as it may be. They don’t have a complex bond or a deeper meaning. They simply just coexist. They provide some common stability to each others’ lives and it helps keep an important balance. Stability is so rare to find, especially for an immortal who is condemned to witness the world constantly evolve around them while they remain frozen in time. Society will change, people change, appearances change, alliances change, and though it can be exhilarating, at times, Harry never truly has a say in it. He’s always just strung along for the ride.

This is different. It’s static, and that’s all he really needs it to be. Sex can be so emotionally messy if lines aren’t drawn and boundaries aren’t set. But with Y/N, it’s like they have a silent understanding— an unspoken agreement signed by both parties. It’s a notion that could have spared Harry his life in the past, and it’s an ideal that— even in death— took him centuries to learn:

Some people are meant to be loved, while others are just meant to be naked.

///

The third week is when things escalate for the better.

Specifically, Tuesday night. That’s when the sexting starts.

It’s a pretty calm evening and Harry finds himself with nothing to do. Mitch is out with Sarah, who had come into town two days ago due to the band she’s touring with being on a three week break. She’d said she wasn’t staying for long— maybe a week, because she has plans to visit some other bloodsucker friends in Canada. Even though Mitch tries to hide it, Harry can tell he’s bummed about Sarah’s short visit. The older vampire is good at hiding his emotions, but Harry’s known him for so long that he could read Mitch’s mood even if he was blindfolded and gagged.

The jade-eyed boy had been honest with his best friend, asking him what the point was in continuing to see someone whose depth of interest in the relationship wasn’t as developed as his own. Mitch had simply shrugged one shoulder and told Harry that he wouldn’t understand. He mentioned something about how eventually, the freshblood high would wear off and Sarah would find herself wanting to settle down somewhere with someone she could trust for the rest of eternity. Mitch explained that he cared for her enough to wait until then.

His best mate had been wrong. Harry does understand. He understands the concept of chasing after someone who, in the end, didn’t want anything to do with him. He understands it a little too well, sadly. He figures that’s the same fate Mitch is bound to suffer, just on a less extreme level.

But then again, Harry’s perception of love is majorly skewed, so who is he to judge?

With Mitch tied up with Sarah (probably literally, though Harry doesn’t dwell on that; it’s none of his business), his options dwindle to the rest of the crew. Niall and Xander had invited him to a concert they were attending, but Harry politely declined the offer. The musicians were some wannabe indie band and Harry would rather swallow a nicotine addict’s blood than listen to a couple of morons sing in cursive. Adam had suggested he tag along with him, Ny-Oh, and Charlotte to a new art exhibit that had opened up in the next town over. It was a thirty minute drive, so it wasn’t that bad, but Harry declined that invitation, as well. He loves art, if the giant collection on his wall has anything to say about it, but he doesn’t get on well with Ny or Charlotte. They say he’s “too much of an arrogant dickhead” to be around for an extended period of time. They’re right, of course, but it still hurts. Plus, Ny has a mullet and Harry knows he wouldn’t be able to withhold from making a Billy Ray joke. It’s best he stay away, lest she end up with an achy-breaky heart.

So that leaves him here, all alone at eight P.M. on a Tuesday, plopped on his couch in nothing but a pair of maroon plaid boxers as Hamilton plays on the ninety inch flatscreen mounted on his glass wall. He had left the curtains open, not really caring that he’s practically naked. The sun’s already set and it’s almost pitch black outside; plus, he lives on the twenty-fourth floor of the condominium complex. The only living being risking an eyeful is a peepy pigeon. Even then, Harry’s more than happy to put on a show. He’s confident enough in himself that nudity is practically second nature. His friends can attest to that.

Harry lays across his leather sofa with a large checkered throw cushion snuggled into his side, one of his hands slung across the backrest of the couch as the other remains submerged wrist-deep in a bag of Veggie Straws. His socked feet are propped up on his round marble coffee table, ankles crossed and posture anything but eloquent. The apartment is silent, except for the musical streaming through the speakers of his television set and the gentle pattering of rain just outside his glorified window pane, accompanied by the faint flickering of the city lights below. The atmosphere of the room is relaxed and cozy and it lulls his soul in a manner he can’t put into words.

Harry has always liked the rain. Ever since he was a child, he would sit by the small round window of the attic room he shared with his older sister, watching it fall from the sky in sheets of glittering sapphires, soaking into the dry ground and turning it into a slush of dirt he would later sneak out to play in. When he got older, he would prop his shoulder against the doorframe at the back of his father’s blacksmith shop and gaze at it, mesmerized by how it would trickle down the streets of the public market, washing away all the grime that came with a bustling city’s reputation. Sometimes he would stand in it, feeling its cool touch run down his arms and soak into the back of his sot-covered work shirt. He enjoyed how it would cleanse the sticky sweat from his face and neck, its gentle nature leaving him feeling like he could float through air. Then his father would call him back into the store and playfully scold him for allowing himself to get drenched, warning that his mother would kill him if he caught a cold.

Harry’s changed a lot since then, he knows that, but it comforts him that his love for rain is the one aspect of his personality that two hundred years of Hell had failed to take from him.

The melodies swimming out of his TV reign him back in from memory lane.

Harry’s not really one to enjoy musicals, but back when Hamilton had first hit Broadway, he’d used his persuasive supernatural abilities to sneak into one of the first showings. He’d been curious as to what all the hype was about, and the play did not disappoint. The songs were catchy, the acting was good, and the characters were brought to life through raw emotion and comedy. He respected that. And the plot of the story itself resonated with him deeply, as well. A protagonist that rose from nothing, fell in love with the wrong woman, and made terrible life choices that seemed correct at the time, which would all eventually lead to his death. It hit a bit too close to home.

If he had a dollar for every time he’s seen it since it had come out on Disney+, he could probably pay rent himself instead of compelling others to do it for him.

The play is halfway through one of its most famous ballads when the monster’s phone dings with a familiar tune. A smirk is already etching itself across his face before he even unlocks his device.

I need interior design advice.

I’m still a little sore from our last help session. How’d you bounce back so quick?

Funny, but I need ACTUAL interior design advice this time.

Harry’s brows furrow in mild confusion and slight disappointment. He draws his hand from the junk food container, dusting off the crumbs. Oh.

Genuinely?

Yup!

He guesses he’ll give it a go. He does have pretty exquisite taste; the modern gothic aesthetic of his condo proves that. It’s not like he has anything better to do.

Alright, shoot.

Y/N releases the breath she’d been holding in. Thank God he’s agreed to help. As much as she’s ashamed to admit it, Harry’s really the only person in LA that she deems relatively close to a friend. She hasn’t managed to mesh well with her coworkers much, despite the fact that she’s been trying extremely hard. She just doesn’t wanna force herself into unfulfilling fake friendships for the sake of having people to flaunt. It’s not right and she knows she’d grow to resent it.

So instead, she’d reached out to the one California resident who doesn’t make her skin crawl.

Whew, okay, thanks in advance! So I went out yesterday and got a new bedspread and I wanted some help choosing a new accessory to go with it, which is going on my wall.

Harry’s ears perk up and his back straightens at her statement. Could she finally, by the grace of fucking God, be getting rid of that shitty tapestry?

Well, let me see it, then. Don’t keep a man waiting, I’m dying to play Property Brothers over here.

A picture comes through of the two new accessories Y/N is referring to and the way Harry’s face drops instantly is almost comical.

Which tapestry fits better? I’m thinking the Van Gogh style painting of a lighthouse. The blue goes well with the dark turquoise of the comforter. But then again, the forest canopy has those pretty exotic flowers that compliment the coral stitching. I can’t decide.

The vampire’s face pinches in disgusted horror as he blinks down numbly at the image on his screen. He’s going to be sick. Those Veggie Straws are about to make a hideous comeback.

…two new tapestries? Did the other one rip or…?

What? No!! I just saw these down at the thrift store and thought they were cute. Why? Are they really that bad??

They’re not just bad, they’re worse. He’s going to ask her to blindfold him next time he visits.

They’re…kinda immature, dove. I just thought you’d go for something cooler this time, like a vintage painting or a couple vinyls to mount on the wall.

Immature?

Oops. He should have picked his words more carefully. Now he’s gone and offended her and she’ll probably bite down the next time he puts his—

Another message interrupts his spiraling negative conclusions.

I know you didn’t just call ME immature when you compared me to a cream-filled donut, Harry.

The playful tone in the text delivers a wave of relief that is almost as pleasurable as what lies between Y/N’s legs.

Can I speak freely for a second? Full disclosure, no consequences?

That preface makes me think you’re about to chew me out.

I’ll be gentle, I promise. I know it’s not our usual dynamic, but I’ll give it a go.

Y/N ignores the bristling across her cheeks.

Alright, go head.

I just think tapestries are kinda stupid. They scream “confused teenager trying to find myself.” But that’s just my opinion. I’m only telling you so you know that I’m probably not the best bloke to go to with tapestry inquiries.

Harry watches as a read receipt stares up at him for a few seconds. Just when he thinks he might have truly upset her this time, her message bubble pops up.

So...the one I’ve had hanging in my room the last three times you’ve been over…

I had to actively restrain the urge to strangle myself with it.

Y/N breaks out into laughter. The image of waking up to Harry laying facedown on her bedroom floor, balls naked and mummified within a sunrise tapestry...It’s sending her.

Well, you know what? That’s not fair! You can’t judge my house when I haven’t even had the chance to judge yours.

Harry nods once to himself in surrender, reaching up to finger-comb a few rebellious curls out of his eyes. She makes a valid play.

Fair enough. You’ll have to come over and give me your opinion sometime.

I’d be honored to. Now, would you be so kind as to put your own personal bias aside this once and help me choose which one to put up. I promise I’ll spare you any more tapestry-related problems in the future. I’ll remove it from my customer contract.

Harry sighs defeatedly. He can’t believe he’s giving up his integrity for sex.

Fine. Send me a picture of both of them up on the wall. It’ll give some perspective.

Y/N giddily obliges, deciding to send a video instead. That way, she can get all of the angles in one go rather than having to send multiple pictures.

Harry waits patiently, shoving another handful of chips into his mouth as he taps his foot against the coffee table to the tune of Wait for It, which is playing in the film that has now become the backdrop of his night. When Y/N’s next message comes through, he’s mildly surprised to find it’s a video. He clicks play, watching intently as she circles the two pinned tapestries slowly, making sure to get a proper view from all sides. By the time the thirty second clip is coming to an end, Harry’s leaning more towards the tropical canopy painting. It’s not as loud and she was right about the flowers matching the stitching on the duvet.

He’s about to tap back “the forest one” when something flashes across the screen that makes him choke on his snack, launching him into a coughing fit.

It’s within the last three seconds of the video and if he had cut it off in order to text back, he would have missed it. But he hadn’t, and now it’s burned into the back of his eyelids, causing a buzzing sensation to string right to the area between his thighs.

The last few frames of the video, Y/N had lowered her phone from the position she’d been suspending it, probably thinking she had already stopped filming. She hadn’t. And because of that, Harry gets a full frontal view of her body, covered in nothing except a pair of lace panties and a mid-thigh oversized Avengers t-shirt. The entire screen fills with bare, silky skin and raunchy lace and he can feel his fangs poke into his tongue.

Harry’s not a pre-teen; he’s not going to drool over seeing a pair of legs. What really gets to him is the fact that it appears Y/N still has a few hickies across the inner area of her thighs, which have failed to fade as quickly as the others. They should be gone, given that anytime Harry feeds (like he had the last time they’d slept together), he always gives her a bit of his blood to heal. Meaning, normal bruises like that should be gone. Maybe he just hadn’t given her a high enough dosage, or maybe he’d marked her more than he remembers, but either way, the stains are there.

The vampire ogles at the paused image with a dry throat and wide eyes. Just seeing her like that, dressed in comfy yet effortlessly sensual attire with no bottoms on whatsoever, freely flaunting his love bites around her apartment, probably looking at them in her mirror, thinking about how his teeth had felt grazing her skin…

It’s enough to pop a stiffy into his briefs.

Harry glimpses over the top of his phone, swallowing thickly at the large bulge beginning to tent his boxers. His socked toes curl as he feels a longing throb begin to swell at the pit of his clenching stomach. Great. This is just fucking perfect.

He attempts to tap back a reply, but his hands have started quivering slightly, clumsy thumbs ruining his message to the point where he has to retype it three times.

The forest one. I agree with what you said about the stitching.

Okay, thank you so much! Your input is highly appreciated, as always.

The immortal finds himself gnawing at the inside of his cheek, weighing on whether he should mention the little softcore porn moment she’d unknowingly shot, or if he should just let it slide and go take care of the issue that is literally weighing on him— he can feel it getting heavy against his thigh.

His fingers seem to take on a mind of their own, printing out a quick sentence and hitting the send button before he can rethink his motives.

Did you watch your video before you sent it?

Uh no...It looked pretty okay to me while I took it. Why, do you need a different one? Was the lighting too dark?

The fact that she sent it by accident only adds to the appeal. She’s such a good girl. So fucking innocent and sweet, she could practically give him a toothache.

Do me a quick favor and rewatch it all the way to the end. I think you’ll be surprised with what you find.

Y/N leans back against her bookshelf wall, chewing on her bottom lip as a sly grin ticks the corners. She doesn’t have to rewatch the video. She’s fully aware of what she had done, which had been completely on purpose. She’s only playing dumb to see his reaction, getting off on how flustered he seems to have become. Yes, her intentions for contacting him had originally been purely for his opinion on decor. But when she saw the chance, she decided to jump headfirst and take it. What are friends with benefits for if not for times like these, when you’re too lazy to come over but need a bit of relief?

The human allows a full thirty seconds to pass, simulating that she’s watching the video, and then thoughtfully taps out her response.

Oh, whoops. Sorry for the indecent exposure.

Harry shifts in exasperation against his sofa, the radiating in his abdomen crawling up to his chest and down to his knees. He needs to take care of himself now.

It’s fine, babe. You just might wanna be more careful, cause this time around you got lucky that it was me and it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Could go south if it were someone else.

Y/N rolls her eyes lightly at his scolding, but continues to play the clueless act, curious to see where it’ll take her.

You’re absolutely right, I’m so sorry.

Harry clears his throat, flinching as he feels a soft twitch run up the length of his cock. He exhales tightly, trying to steer the conversation into a lighter mood. He doesn’t want her to feel bad; it’s not like he’s angry about this. He’s hot and bothered and needy, but not mad.

I just think it’s funny you exposed the fact that you go around your house without pants.

Oh, fuck off! No one ever wears pants around their own house, especially if they’re alone. It’s one of the laws of physics. No human resistance, no pants.

Harry glances down at his body symbolically, where he’s clad in only his underwear, as well.

Touché.

Exactly.

A pause befalls the conversation as both parties fish for something new to say. The situation’s become less lively and more intense now and neither are sure how to navigate without crossing a line. In a surge of courage, Y/N decides to just directly communicate her intentions, praying that he doesn’t take it the wrong way.

I have an idea, just hear me out. For the sake of evening the playing field, I think that since you saw me pantsless, it’s only fair that I see you the same way. It balances out, right?

Harry’s jaw drops in an open-mouthed simper, impressed by her blatant suggestion, but also by how smoothly she had delivered it. He mumbles his next words to himself, voice amused and somewhat awed at how she had managed to spin this to her benefit. “You clever little minx. Bet it wasn’t even an accident.”

You did it on purpose, didn’t you?

Y/N purses her lips, shrugging her brows cheekily.

Maybe.

The vampire scoffs, taken aback not only at the ploy she’d pulled off, but at how unapologetic she is about the whole thing. It’s hot.

Alright, l’ll bite. Tick for tack.

The photo that comes through makes Y/N choke on her spit. It’s not anything too revealing, but it packs a lot. Literally.

It’s a pretty casual picture, and she gets the feeling he took it as so just to be a tease. In the frame, all she sees is a snapshot of Harry’s lap, thighs straining against the flimsy material of a pair of crimson tartan boxers, the large tigerhead tattoo he totes somehow prominent in the low lightning. Of course it stands out, though. That’s to be expected; his thighs are thick in the most satisfying fashion and they’re one of his most defining features. She can also see the bottom half of his lean tummy, the cutoff being the crest of his belly button. His fern inkings are peeking out of from below the waistband of the Calvin Kleins, dark and matte on his lightly bronzed skin, and she spots the nonchalant position of his crossed ankles in the background.

As appetizing as every little detail is, the centerpiece of the portrait is the obvious bulge pressing into the fabric of his briefs. The outline is so prominent, the picture borderlines on graphic. His cock looks pretty as ever, even when it’s covered; the thin underwear leaves very little to the imagination.

Y/N has to bite down on her tongue to keep from making an embarrassing sound.

Wow, okay, well...Your picture was much more explicit than my video. That’s not fair at all. Throws off the equilibrium we were trying to establish.

Harry chuckles aloud, shaking his head in amazement at how well she can bend the game to her will. Three weeks ago, when he’d first laid eyes on that shy girl at the club, he would have never expected her to be so bold. Now, she has him wrapped around her pinky like a string.

You’re absolutely right. My apologies. Maybe you should send one similar so we can even out the stakes.

You read my mind.

Y/N’s next picture causes a hiss to stream through the cracks of Harry’s teeth, eyes glinting red.

It’s a picture taken on top of her bed, the angle set from above. She’s laying on her side, her torso twisted so that her backside is in the shot, her huge tee pulled tight against her waist so it creates an enticing cinching effect. Her thighs are clasped together, the collar of her shirt pulled away just enough that he can see where the valley of her chest begins to curve, and the cheeky lace panties are working utter wonders for her ass. He can’t stop staring. He physically can’t pull himself away, his eyes bouncing across every pixel, attempting to commit the picture to memory to keep it locked in the back of his brain forever.

Y/N awaits anxiously for his reaction, biting into the pad of her thumb as the seconds list by, wondering if he had enjoyed the nude or if he was just sitting there judging all her flaws. It’s been so long since she’s sent a risky photo like that, she can’t help but stress. Sharing your body with someone digitally is almost as intimate as real sex and it comes with similar worries and insecurities. Was the angle good? Are her stretch marks unattractive? Are the dimples along her backside gross? Is he second-guessing their arrangement? Is he wishing they hadn’t met?

She practically drops her phone when it vibrates.

God, you look stunning. Like a proper fucking dream.

All of her concerns immediately disintegrate, replaced by an odd sense of pride. She’s happy that he enjoyed it, and she’s thankful for the caliber of his response. Most men don’t care to comment that nicely, if they comment at all, and Harry’s enthusiasm only excites her further. She wants to keep going.

You look pretty fucking good yourself. Wish I could just kneel between your thighs, take you into my mouth, and make you feel good for hours.

Harry struggles to get saliva down his parched throat, her words bouncing around the inside of his skull, sending a current of bliss directly to where he needs it.

Hours? You want me down your throat for hours?

For hours, Harry. I’d literally just sit between your legs and let you fuck my face again. Let you use me to make yourself cum.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Harry’s broken whine echoes off the tall walls of his home, one of his big hands finding a path to his curls and tugging in desperation. He needs to keep composure.

Harry’s next snapshot comes through and Y/N has to screw her eyes shut for a second to brace the bolt of electricity that zips down to her core.

The boy’s thighs have parted wider, his feet now down from the table, knees hanging off the edge of the sofa. His free hand has delved below his briefs, pulling them up just enough to show a tad of the neatly trimmed area beneath. His fingers are cupped over his cock, hiding it from plain view, but the imprint of his knuckles on the fabric suggest he’s gripping it tightly. The longer she looks, the more she notices— specifically, a dark damp patch spreading at the middle of his boxers and she knows damn well what it is. The fact that she’d got him riled up enough that he’s leaking through like that...She can hardly breathe right.

Shit, you look so good. How do you always look that fucking good? I just want to feel you stretch me out while you moan into my mouth.

Harry slowly starts pumping his palm up and down his cock as he rereads her words, catching his lower lip between his teeth, his naked and flushed chest stuttering. He doesn’t want to be the douche that tells her to send another picture, but he really needs her to. He wants to see what she’s doing, how she’s fairing. Wants to know if he has her as fucked as she has him right now.

It’s almost like they share a telepathic link because not even five seconds later, another beautifully filthy photo is decorating his screen.

This time around, Y/N has decided to fully lay on her back, spreading her legs open and drawing her knees up slightly so that her thighs are not only flexing, but displaying all the love bites he’d left only a few days prior. They’re all different shades of purple and brown, scattered over the satin suppleness of her skin, painting a canvas of the heated night they’d shared. It’s art at its most prestigious, if he’s ever seen it. And she has her hand ducked below her panties, the outline of her fingers situated right over her clit.

Harry’s own hand instinctively tightens around his length, pulling a weak groan from his parted lips. He throws his head back against the backrest of the couch, bucking into his palm and teasing his forefinger over his bubbling tip. He spreads the precum all over the sensitive head, whimpering when the draft from the air conditioning caresses it and sends a quiver toppling over his shoulders.

Fuck, she’s driving him mental. There’s only one way to take care of this effectively, despite their distance.

I’m going to call you.

Y/N gulps heavily, licking over her chapped lips and feeling her pulse jump at the realization that she’ll be getting to hear his throaty voice coax her through an orgasm. Not only that, but she’ll get to hear him cum, too. She’ll get to hear every shattered gasp and needy mewl, almost as if he were pouring all those sounds of pleasure right into her ears in person.

The mortal’s heart hiccups when his contact pops up on the Caller ID, phone vibrating insistently. After a deep breath taken to ground herself, she slides her shaky thumb over the glass, slowly bringing the device up to her ear. Her voice is soft and timid as ever, a tremble running through its undertone. “H-Hello?”

Harry’s words come through the crackling speaker as dark and smoky as whiskey, pouring into her mind and intoxicating her as easily as the real liquor would.

“Flip onto your stomach and take off the lace. Now.”

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siriushxney · 3 years

Text

⊱┊ searing light | chapter one

— pairing ; darkling!dream x sun summoner!reader

— au ; shadow and bone

— wordcount ; 1.7k

— warnings ; cursing, talks of war, no dream yet but he will appear somewhere in the next few parts!

series masterlist | next

the fold was scarier then you could've ever imagined — it stretched for miles upon miles, casting a shadow down upon where it stood. down onto the land of ravka. for centuries the blackness of it stood tall — no way to get through, under, or over safely. but despite the risks and dangers, with war raging on both sides of the country — you had no choice to go through for resources.

climbing out of the back of the truck, you could feel the rocks digging into the soles of your feet as you walked alongside the rest of your squadron — the cheap leather boots that were supplied to you and the rest of the first army, doing nothing to shield your feet from the rough and jagged ground. but despite the aching state that the boots left your feet in at the end of the day, you reminded yourself daily that it could've been worse. you could have been on the next skiff to enter the fold — the chance of coming back being slim to none.

anything was better than going into the fold.

“Y/L/N, why don’t you keep the move on?” another cartographer bumped their shoulder into your own, knocking you out of your tense state, and urging you to continue moving down towards your new camp.

everyone in ravka knew what the fold looked like — it was hard not to when it stood at unreachable heights and stretched the length of the country. but despite this, you had never been this close. no one ever spoke of the coldness it radiated, bringing a chill and goosebumps to anyone that dared to near it. and the thing that no one could have prepared you for at all was the sounds.

the sounds of the creatures that lived inside of the black barrier, screeching at deafening volumes and with such ferocity that it could send even the bravest of man or woman running for the hills.

with a deep breath and encouragement for yourself running through your head like a mantra, you pushed forward, closer and closer to the fold.

“Y/N!” you stopped in your tracks — the other cartographers passing you with quick feet and watchful eyes. turning, you caught a glimpse of a boy that you knew all too well — wilbur. while he was also in the first army, he was named a tracker due to his brilliant mind and tracking skills — skills that proved to be beneficial numerous times, making him one of, if not the best tracker in all of ravka. “you know, for a little mapmaker like yourself, you sure do have quick feet,” wilbur threw his arms around your shoulders, pulling you to continue walking beside him.

“you know, for an amazing tracker like yourself, you do stick out like a sore thumb — what if you're on enemy territory? they're gonna spot you from miles away, you tree.”

“I’ll have you know that despite my large stature, I’m quite good at blending into my surroundings — that and I don’t wear bright colours like them,” wilbur halted, standing awkwardly as he watched the group clothed in bright purple, blue, and red observed and trained with eagle like eyes — their hands drawn to grasp in front of their body as they waited their turn to strike the dummy.

them — the grisha.

grisha were people, much like you and wilbur, who were gifted with abilities like no other — abilities that could either take, or save a man's life. there were three orders of the grisha — the corporalki, the order of the living and the dead, who had people known as heartrenders, healers, and tailors; the materialki, the order of fabrikator’s who had people known as durasts and alkemi; and then there was etherealki, the order of the summoners, who had people known as squallers, inferni, and tidemakers.

but there was one being that you had heard about — someone they named the darkling. a grisha who did not possess an ability like any other — instead, he had the ability to summon and control darkness itself. a walking horror story with the ability to wipe out dozens if he wished.

he came from a line of them — a line consisting of only his families blood.

“I can feel their ego wafting onto us from here,” wilbur whispered slightly, not wanting any of them to hear due to their nature to lash out at people they considered ‘lower’ than themselves.

“no kidding,” you looked around the area in wonder, before looking down to your hands — a map that the head cartographer had handed each and every one of you before you arrived at the camp, displayed your tent being directly where the grisha now stood. “wait… this is where my tent is supposed to be, is it not?” you spun slightly as if it would magically appear.

wilbur stopped your spinning, and guided you towards a different area of the base. “they moved our tents this way, in order for the grisha to have more room — as if the entire upper region of the base wasn’t enough for them,” he couldn't help but grumble out now that he was farther away from the gifted individuals, throwing one more glare before looking ahead once more.

you casted one more look over your shoulder as you followed beside him — one grisha catching your eye for a moment before she turned away. the purple of her uniform — something that they called a kefta, catching your eye instantly alongside the grey embroidering on it. she was a durast — someone who could manipulate things such as steel and glass.

as much as grisha were dangerous and cold — they had a knack for looking their best at every waking moment, with a style that could kill. quite literally.

—

many of the first army stood shoulder to shoulder as they were awaiting orders — the general standing overhead with a paper in hand that no doubt held the list of names of the unfortunate people that would be ushered onto the skiff that would cross the fold.

wringing your hands nervously, you waited for your name or wilburs to be called, hoping and praying to any saint that would bother to listen. wilbur dug his elbow into your shoulder lightly, drawing your attention to him. “we’re among the youngest batch of the first army — we’re in the clear,” he spoke his words with such certainty. but as much as you wanted to believe him, you couldn't.

“I don’t know… I have a weird feeling, wil,” you gave him a serious look, only to be brushed off with a roll of his eyes. “I’m serious — somethings not right.”

wilbur brought a hand to your forehead, feeling for any sign of heat that could indicate sickness, before lowering it slowly and leaning it. “maybe you should rest — I think all those waffles you’ve eaten are making you fall ill,” while his joke was lighthearted, you couldn't help but sigh.

sigh over the fact that he didn’t believe you in the slightest, and sighing at the fact that you haven’t had a full meal, let alone waffles, in over five years — merely table scraps left over from the grisha’s wonderful and elegant meals they were served daily.

“attention soldiers! tomorrow is the first journey through the fold of this season, and we are taking volunteers!” the room laughed at that, the general included — no one sought out to enter the fold — you were selected and that was final. “knowing that none of you will volunteer however, I have taken it upon myself to select a group of you that will accompany the second army across the fold.”

the first army was full of people like you and wilbur — mapmakers, trackers, and ordinary soldiers that could barely hold their own in a fight. mere children when they entered the army, chosen based on how healthy they were. if you could walk, talk, and breathe normally — you were selected.

the second army however, is what the battles were one with — with grisha only ranks, they dominated against the fjerdans and the shu, two nations that had it out for ravka.

no one could bring themselves to laugh this time around — all too weary and nervous to crack a joke.

“entering the fold tomorrow will be… malyen oretsev, atlas cooper, wilbur soot...” you turned to wilbur in horror. “please come to the docks at 1600 for deployment. that will be all soldiers,” the general stepped down from the stage, leaving a room full of shocked, scared, and relieved soldiers.

he tried to put on a strong face for you, but you could see through it as if it were glass. the man that he was today had retreated into the scared and small boy who could never fight for himself. “wil…” you could only whisper tearfully, knowing full well that this moment could be the last time you’d ever see him.

wilbur slapped on the best smile he could in the situation, and pulled your into a hug. “I’m going to be okay, you hear me? if not you can kick my ass,” he laughed lightly in your ear, not able to hide the way his voice shook.

“I can’t kick your ass if you're hurt,” your mind searched for some way that you could fix this — perhaps it was a mistake? or maybe he could get out of it through faking an injury or a sickness. “what if I shot you in the foot?”

“you have a terrible aim.”

“if it means you stay, wouldn’t you take the chance?”

“I have to go.”

“wil-”

“Y/N,” he gave you a look — a look that you had given him minutes before. “I have to go — I have orders to, you know that.”

an order was an order. there was no way out. no amount of arguing, begging, or offering could buy your way out of doing something no matter what your case was, or what the order was. wilbur swore to follow orders at the beginning of his first army career, much like you had.

“I promise you I’ll come back to you.”

“you better,” your head lowered to his chest once more, basking in the warmth one more time before you had to let him go.

if there was really anything as saints, you prayed for them to watch over him.

he had to come back.

because you didn’t know what you would do if he didn’t.

— word bank

grisha [gree - shah] — unique individuals who have abilities

ravka — a country in the books of shadow and bone

corporalki [core - pour - ral - kee] — an order in the grisha

materialki [mat - eire - al - kee] — an order in the grisha

etherialki [ether - ree - al - kee] — an order in the grisha

fjerdan [fee - yair - den] — the ethnicity of fjerda residents

shu [shoo] — the ethnicity of shu-han residents

#searing light #dream smp x reader #dream smp imagine #mcyt x reader #mcyt imagine #::dreamwastaken #dream x reader #dream imagine #grishaverse au #shadow and bone au

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tsumtsumland · 4 years

Text

“bittersweet”| m.osamu x reader

genre: smut, enemies to lovers

warnings: public sexy time, blowjob, you know...smut... (as you can tell, I’m really bad at this lol)

author’s note: I’m so sorry that this installment is bit late, I’ve had quite a trying week and my motivation has been super low, anyway, I hope you guys enjoy!

As a confectioner, high quality cocoa is an absolute must, especially around this time of year, one day until Valentine’s. The problem with that is: almost everyone is looking for high quality cocoa around this time of year. Which is how you find yourself in another part of Hyogo Prefecture, in a little-known gourmet store, which, unfortunately for you, is also full to the brim with people.

You manage to push your way through the crowd just enough to find a spot in the baking goods aisle. Your eyes frantically read through all the labels of items trying to come upon what you need. At last, when you do zero in on your precious cocoa, there’s only one left and you dash towards it.

Eyes on the prize. That’s the only thought in your head right now.

Just as you’re about to grab the tin of cocoa, another hand reaches for it. You lunge forward and grasp on at the same time. Both you and the other person’s grips are tight on the lone tin, and you refuse to budge.

“It’s mine!” you growl under your breath, not looking away from your coveted ingredient.

“I grabbed it first,” comes the low rumble of a man’s voice. Wait…a man???

That has your head snapping up, and what you don’t expect to meet is the apathetic gaze of a tall, (and you begrudgingly admit) handsome, man. He blinks at you with the same expression, as you flounder for a comeback.

“Yeah, well, well I NEED it!” you groan on the inside at your pathetic attempt at a rebuttal.

“I don’t care,” he responds, in the same tone, which only serves to rile you up more.

Both of your grips loosen on the tin, and it’s then you see it, it’s almost imperceptible, but there’s a challenging fire in his grey eyes. Not one for giving in, you match it with a glare of your own, refusing to back down even though his strangely dominant look has you wanting to retreat.

While both of you are caught up in your stare down, you completely miss the other hand that snakes behind you both and snatches the cocoa off the shelf.

“Listen, I don’t have time for this, I have chocolates to make!” you grit out at him, glancing at your watch.

“With what?” is his response as he raises a questioning eyebrow.

“Wha-?” you follow his gaze as he nods toward the empty shelf behind you.

All the colour drains from your face, and an almost inaudible squeak escapes your mouth at the barren shelf.

He snorts quietly, “Looks like someone got the one up on us both,” he shrugs.

The nonchalant way he moves makes your blood pressure skyrocket, and you quite literally want to dive at him and clobber his stupidly handsome face.

“This is all your fault,” you mumble under your breath, begrudgingly, letting your shoulders drop in defeat.

“What was that?” he stops, and turns to look at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Nothing,” you hiss and push past him, making sure your shoulder nails him in the chest as you do.

You miss the amused smile on his face as you go.

It had been a while since Osamu met someone that piqued his interest. You had done what Suna and Atsumu like to call “the impossible.”

_____________________________________

The atmosphere in the club is hazy, and the heavy bass pounding through the speakers makes everything vibrate. You don’t want to be at this club right now, you’d rather be anywhere than here on Valentine’s in fact. Being the only single one out of all your friends, you’d somehow managed to get dragged here. Now you were stuck sitting by yourself at the bar glancing around hoping for an early escape.

The bartender places your glass of vodka cranberry on the counter, and you almost sigh in relief. At least the alcohol was making this disaster of a night, bearable. When you reach out for it, another hand does as well, gripping the glass at the same time you do.

“That’s mine,” you both say in unison.

The feeling of deja vu almost makes you choke on air. That all too familiar voice is closer to your ear this time, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. It washes over your skin like velvet and makes you shiver.

Osamu doesn’t miss the way your grip on the glass tightens when he moves a little closer.

“We meet again,” he smirks, enjoying the way you bite your lip at his voice.

“I wish I could say it was a pleasure,” you snap, eyes narrowing at him, still bitter over your cocoa. You had to make do with regular, cheap, cocoa, for your Valentine’s truffles, and you hated it.

“It could be,” he mumbles into your ear, sending sparks shooting up your spine, “I’m Osamu, nice to meet you…again.”

You scoff and roll your eyes, “Y/n…and I wish I could say the same,” you brush your hair over your shoulder and try to turn away from him.

“Don’t tell me you’re here alone, dressed like that, on Valentine’s Day,” he adds, giving you a once over in your strappy black mini dress. He was hoping you were. It was sheer dumb luck that he ended up running into you at this club his brother dragged him to, on Valentine’s Day nonetheless.

Your mouth feels dry all of a sudden when you meet his gaze, his eyes are smouldering, and they have you clenching your thighs together.

You think maybe that’s how you ended up here...crammed into a tiny, rather fancy, bathroom stall, on your knees with his cock stuffed down your throat.

Osamu’s got one of his hands gripping on to the door of the stall, and the other is tangled in your hair guiding your head back and forth

You moan in the back of your throat and the vibration on his cock makes him grip your hair even tighter. He’s biting his lip to hold back his own noises when you take him even deeper. You pull back until only the tip is in your mouth, and swirl your tongue around it, then take him back halfway in, flattening your tongue against the sensitive underside of his meaty cock. Something akin to a growl is heard from the sinfully handsome man above you, making you look up at him from under your lashes.

The top three buttons of his fitted, black dress shirt are undone, and there’s a light sheen of sweat on his exposed chest. The red lighting from the club extends to even the restrooms, and it makes him look even more delicious…like something out of a movie (what kind of movie is up to you). He’s breathing heavily and looking down at you with that dark, but fiery gaze again. You rub your thighs together, trying to give yourself some friction.

Osamu smirks devilishly when he notices your movements, “You want to cum too, baby girl?”

You can only whine with his cock stuffed in your mouth. He yanks your head back by your hair and meets your eyes.

“Answer me when I talk to you,” the tenor of his voice is low but commanding.

“Y-yes,” you gasp out, taking the time to wipe a stray tear from the side of your face.

Osamu’s thumb grazes over the tear track almost gently, before he pushes your head back towards his cock.

“I’ll give you what you want, don’t worry,” he promises.

That fuels your need to get him off even more, you want to see this calm and collected man fall apart in your mouth.

It doesn’t take long either, a few more thrusts into your mouth that have you gagging on his length, and spurts of hot cum are flowing onto your tongue, you swallow eagerly. He pulls back when you claw at his thighs when it becomes too much. He lets the rest paint your face and exposed cleavage.

When his orgasm fades, he fixes his clothes and helps you off the floor, making sure you’re steady before letting go. He grabs some of the toilet paper, cleaning up your face and chest as much as he could.

“Well, that was…” you begin awkwardly, taking the tissue from him and tossing it in the bin.

“Fucking amazing,” he finishes unabashedly, making a blush crawl up your neck and cheeks.

He tiptoes and looks over the stall to make sure the coast is clear. It isn’t, but it’s less people than there usually is. He drags you out with him despite your squeaks of protest.

You apologize to the few women scattered around the sink and quickly wash your hands and mouth and try to look presentable again. It didn’t exactly work, but hey, at least there weren’t any tell-tale signs of cum on your black dress.

He chuckles when you drag him out of the restroom quickly, trying to lose yourself in the throngs of people. You don’t get far before he pulls you back against him, pressing your ass flush against his prominent erection.

“I owe you an orgasm,” he mumbles against your ear, as if it’s the most normal thing to be saying.

One of his hands snakes over the front of your thighs and up under your dress, ghosting over your embarrassingly soaked panties.

“For me?” he hums lowly, his pointer and middle finger tracing the slit between your legs.

You can’t help the moan that falls from your lips, grateful that the room is so loud and crowded that no one notices, your head nodding involuntarily. You gasp and swat his hand away when you feel his finger dip in between your folds.

“Not here!” you hiss, regaining control of your brain momentarily.

Just as he’s about to respond, someone calls his name and he looks up, removing his hand swiftly and pulling you to his side.

Your eyes widen to the size of saucers when you see an identical copy of the man standing next to you, in front of you, the only difference is his hair colour.

“What do you want Tsumu?” Osamu drawls.

“Ya! Where’d you go?!” Atsumu asks. “Oh hello,” he flashes you a grin and slides closer to you, only stopping when his brother puts a firm hand on his shoulder and shoves him back.

“Back off!” Osamu glowers at him.

Atsumu smirks knowingly at the both of you, though you’re nothing but confused by this entire encounter.

“Go on then,” he tells you both and turns to lose himself in the crowd of squealing girls behind him.

Osamu rolls his eyes and shakes his head. He grabs your hand and follows a different pathway to the exit.

“Where are we going?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

“Home, I’m hungry,” is his reply, and it makes you clench around nothing in anticipation.

Taglist: @kiyoo-omi @vs-redemption @mitzuya

#miya osamu #osamu miya #miya osamu scenarios #miya osamu imagines #miya osamu x you #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu x y/n #haikyuu osamu #osamu x you #osamu x y/n #osamu x reader #osamu smut #miya osamu smut #haikyuu smut #haikyuu valentine's #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fic

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lexiwright · 4 years

Text

Night out

Benny watts x reader

I'm so so so sorry this to so long to come out. I had planned it to be out for new year and then I kept changing my mind so it may not seem like it makes sense apologizes, I'm also promptly moving tomorrow. I literally was told my parents couldn't handle me and my mental health anymore and am not getting kicked out just ( space for everyone ) so yea I'm feeling very low and just so no one wonders why the next one will probably take so long. I'll be living with my real mum who has her own issues too so we will see

Trigger warning - slight alcohol miss use. Slight drunken abuse (not from benny he would never.)

Some cuddles and fluff

Prompt - ”Can you please come and get me ”

--------

It had been a less than successful night. Your sure others wouldn't agree but you sat next to a gutter at the side of a very quiet road in front of a building of which merely hours ago you had been drinking aside friends in had drunk adults spilling from the door as everyone came and went.

Your arms wrapped tightly around yourself, you glanced around and spotted a payphone a little down the street. Pulling yourself off the ground and reaching for your bag you stumble your way away from the slow rumbling music that clung around the door from inside. It got distant and you fell into the booth.

You thought about how the night had started. The party had been on everyones mind for days. You were going with cleo and the boys. Beth was even gonna meet you guys there. Who was in New York for a few days, staying in a hotel a few blocks from the party. Although she didn't stay long, trying to keep sober.

You guys had got there around 11. In time for the beginning of shots being pasted around. Which you off course accepted. Kick starting the night with some vodka.

All went well for a few hours, by about 2 you'd put back your fair share of drink. And that's when it started to hit you. You weren't a stranger to the results of alcohol tho and kept going like it was nothing.

But apparently your uneven walking had caught the attention of some...less than pleasant individuals. They had tried talking to you before and you just ignored them. They had a look in their eyes that you weren't comfortable with so you didn't dwell on them.

But they had dwelled on you it seemed. They noticed as your balance had started to wobble. Quite possibly noticing when your words all slurred together. And definitely when you stumbled in front of them as you had unsuccessfully attempted to step past one of them. But there was no call for the man to grab you. And not in a way to help you balance. You told him to let go. But his hands had other ideas. You tried to pull his hands off of you and your not sure what happened next but he slapped you.

You probably did something wrong you thought. You always screw things up.

Some words were exchanged and you rushed out. Not after kneeling him in a not so nice place. he tried to grab you. Ripping the shoulder of your one straps. It was a cheap dress but now you had to make sure you help up the strap just in case.

You felt humiliated and your face hurt.

You found some money in your bag, next to some mint gum that you decided was a higher priority.

Benny hadn't come to the party. He thought it sounded stupid. And when you had stepped out of your room into the middle of the apartment he looked at you and snorted.

” what do you expect to get in that get up?” he asked suggestively.

You didn't think anything of it and giggled at him. But now you thought maybe it truly was your fault an that you seemed like you were asking for it.

Shaking your head to clear it of such thoughts. Which made the small booth spin a little but you stuck with it. Putting in the coins and trying to remember the right numbers for the house. You felt sick as you listened for the click of the phone being a answered and a harsh voice on the other end speaking.

”hello?”

It was Benny. Hopefully you hadn't woke him.

” Benny?” you whispered out. Realising you had to speak

” Y/N?” he questioned. Voice softening a little.

You twirled the cable as you stared at your shaking hand.

Your throat seemed to close up as you looked for the words. To explain how drunk you had got. To explain what the men tried to do to you. Why you hadn't come home yet even though it was now 3.

” Y/N what's the matter” he asked sternly.

Your eyes pricked with sudden tears and with a slight choke you sobbed out.

”Can you please come and get me ”

”what happened where are the others?” he seemed startled

” I don't know. I'm sorry. Please Benny.”

There was a split second of silence and then

” I'm coming to get you stay right where you are. ” and then another click.

You waited. Felt like a life time. You thought about a lot of things. Part of you was worried Benny wouldn't come. That he would leave you here. You struggled to keep your self balanced so you went over to a step and sat down. Put your head in your hands with your elbows resting on your thighs.

You sighed. Maybe you should find your own way. You sat up and ran your fingers through your hair.

It wasn't to long before a taxi pulled up in front of you and outstepped a slightly frustrated looking Benny.

His hair askew and a loose black shirt, he took a few long strides to reach you.

Looking up you giggled at how tall he looked. Sighing at your antics he held out a hand and began to pull you too your feet.

Wobbling considerably you made it to an upright position and with a long arm around your waist you stumbled your way to the taxi.

You some how got in. A testament to what a person would do to get away from a party.

You could tell he hadn't noticed your strap or face yet, you had concealed it well. Somehow.

Time didn’t work for you so you’ve no idea how long it took to get home. But when you did benny got out first to open the door for you and pay the driver.

Thanking the man. He shut the car door and watched for a second as it pulled away before turning his attention to the more presssing matter of the drunking idiot before him. Giggling at a joke he obviously missed.

He noticed your face. You saw the moment he did and he stepped closer. Enough to see the outline of a hand.

This was when Benny realised there was a little more to this story of you just getting blitzed as he, for the first time took in your appearance, clocking the strap you were holding up with your arms folded.

A hint of rage passed through him before he calmed and took your hand to get you inside. You were barely three steps into the building befor you asked

“How am I supposed to get down the stairs”

Slurring lightly.

He sighed. Not for the last time and leaned down to hoist you into his arms and proceeded with caution as he walked with you. You giggled some more as you wrapped your arms around his neck, hugging into him.

You were drained. And you wanted to sleep. Leaning your face into his neck you've never felt safer.

When he reached the bottom he placed you down gently and unlocked the door to let you both in. This time just holding you round the waist as you wobbled down the small set of stairs. He then pulled you to the sofa and sat you down.

After doing the usually after drinks things like water and getting you a jumper and some shorts of his he then sat next to you and spoke for the first time since you's had got in.

”are you going to tell me what happened?” he gently pushed. Not wanting to push you over the limit but he was concerned.

Your face fell and you nodded a little and told him very roughly but enough that he understood what had happened. He was angry, to say the least, but knew there was nothing he could do about the disrespectful toad roaming the streets. So he settled to offer you an open arm for you to cuddle into him. You of course jumped at the offer and snuggled into the warm man.

You didn't want to go to bed and Benny knew that. Knowing you'd not have the effort to get up and both being quite comfortable where you both remained.

You spotted a book on the coffee table and looked up at Benny with puppy dog eye that you knew he couldn't refuse.

” will you read to me?” you pleaded.

He chuckled and lent forward to retrieve the book. It happened to be the hobbit. ( I know it's not for everyone but I know it's written before Benny time so apologies please roll with it)

As he started to read chapter one an unexpected party and began describing the hobbit hole. You felt yourself begin to doze off to the soothing tones and his other hand rubbing soft circles on your upper arm.

It wasn't how the night had supposed to go but you were with him now and you felt protected. Knowing he came to your aid.

(with regards to the slap Yes I know this is a little unrealistic it lasting that long but I once got one that lasted a few hours ( I’m not being hit just to clarify it was a joke with some pals who one of them was telling me about a slap match to see how much he could take and the other we were with friend had really went for it and it was actually shockingly sore and my drunk ass went I can take it and he was reluctant at first and then went to go and did it before stating that was hadn’t been hard enough and went again even harder and it left quite a mark and we all laughed so ya. ) but just pretend if you don’t think it would )

#benny watts oneshot #benny watts x oc #benny watts fanfiction #benny watts imagine #benny #benny watts x reader #benny watts #queens gambit #thomas brodie sangster

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youngbloodlisk · 4 years

Text

Two Dresses // Ten

- Ten in a maid outfit

- female reader, also in a dress (hence the name)

- dom/sub themes

- a bit of sub ten but more dom ten

- oral, male rec

- mirror sex

- some hair pulling

- pull-out method (be smarter than a fanfiction and practice safe sex plz)

- some aftercare

@kxnkxmoon 😚

"Hey... is it too late to maybe... change our group costume plan?"

"Nooooo..." Sarcasm laces my roommate's voice "No, Halloween is just two days away and all of us have our costumes already except who? You."

"I'm sorry! It's surprisingly hard to find a maid costume. With maid costumes being trendy all of a sudden, they're sold out everywhere."

"Check a resale sight. Surely someone is trying to get rid of one... Oh, and filter by local pickup! You don't have time for shipping anymore."

"Fine..."

After a few hours of on-and-off searching through different sites, it's a page reload around 5pm that I finally find a listing.

Posted one hour ago, cheap, pickup in my area... but horrible photos. Bad angles, bad lighting, you can barely tell what the damn thing is. No description either. If the title didn't say "Maid Costume with Garters and Collar (Good Condition)", I wouldn't know that it was exactly what I was looking for.

But, that being said... it is exactly what I'm looking for... and it's here and available.

I message the seller to ease my nerves about the product before buying it.

"hey, do you have any other photos of the maid outfit?"

It's around thirty minutes later before I get a response from Mr. 1_0LeeCha.

"i can take some but i won't be home until tomorrow. work until late and im staying at a friend's house tonight to help him with something. i have a few from when i wore it at a work Halloween party last year that i can send in the meantime?"

"that would be awesome, thanks"

"sure one sec"

I wait a few minutes as the three typing dots remain on the screen, telling me that he's scrolling through his photos to send one.

My phone vibrates and I look back at my screen to see... something I did not expect to see.

A slender, fit body in a loose maid dress. The boy is on his knees in front of a mirror with his legs spread apart. The dress is pulled up to fully reveal the black lace garters on his thighs. The hand that isn't holding a phone is holding his dick through the fabric of the dress skirt. His face isn't visible in the photo, but his neck is stretched to the left to show off the black choker.

"OH NO no no no no no i'm so sorry i did not mean to send that one"

"lol it's okay, mistakes happen. to be fair it's still a pretty good photo of the dress. btw is that a wayv album behind you?? signed?? my roommate is a fan lol how did you get that?"

"it's a long story. im kinda close with Ten."

"my roommate says that's cool lol"

"haha yeah i guess. do you want the costume or do you still need more pics of it?"

"are the other pics gonna look like that one?"

"no!! fuck no i swear i wouldn't do that to you on purpose lol. btw i deep cleaned it after i took those photos dw"

"lol no worries i was just playing. i'll take it. pickup and pay in cash tomorrow?"

He agrees and sends me the address, telling me that any time works for him as it's his day off.

I get off work around 5pm the next day and set off straight from the diner towards his address, having no need to go home first.

It's a chilly, but thankfully short, walk in my classic blue waitress uniform.

I check the address about five times before I knock on the door, to make sure I don't show up at the wrong person's door asking for a maid costume...

That would be less than ideal.

I hear someone say, "No, no! I've got it! It's for me!" behind the door before it swings open.

"Hi! Maid costume?" The slender boy, with a body I recognize a bit too well now, cocks an eyebrow.

"That's me."

"You must be freezing out here. Come on in, it's up in my room. You can just follow me."

I nod and comply, following him inside. He closes the door and leads me down the hall to the correct room.

I recognize the dresser and window from the photo, as well as the angle of the mirror leaning against the wall by his door.

He notices the way I lightly chuckle upon recognizing the scene.

"Uh- yeah..." He laughs nervously, picking up the bag with the costume in it. "That's... embarrassing..."

"Why were you taking them anyway? Personal enjoyment?"

"Uh... long story... Listen, I'm really sorry about that-"

"I'm not."

His breath hitches and he hesitates to respond, seemingly wondering if I really just said what he thinks he heard.

"H-Huh?"

"I'm not sorry you sent it. It was pretty... and pretty hot." I take the bag out of his hand.

"Oh, really?" His head cocks to the side, his confidence returning.

Suddenly, it feels as if you could cut the sexual tension with a knife.

"Really. I wouldn't have minded if you HAD sent more, in fact."

"Oh? You liked it? You liked seeing me in that costume?" He boldly locks his hands behind my neck.

"I did..." I take the dress out of the bag, dropping the bag to the floor. I straighten the dress and hold it up to his body. "Do you wanna wear it one last time before saying goodbye to it? For me?"

He leans in, only an inch away from my face.

"You're still gonna buy it when we're done with whatever we're about to do, right?"

"Does it really matter?" I meet his lips for a moment.

When I pull away, he takes the dress out of my hands. He reaches down to pick up the bag which still holds the garters and choker, presses a finger to his lips playfully, and disappears into the connected bathroom.

I look around the room while I wait.

This guy has a lot more WayV albums, as well as NCT albums, all of which I recognize from my roommate's shelf.

He has a lot of books that look worn. No telling if he reads a lot or if he just bought them used...

I spot a framed photo on one of the dressers. It looks to be him and his friends (all male) in princess/similar costumes. All of them are smiling or making a funny face.

The guy I recognize looks to be in an Alice in Wonderland costume, which makes me wonder where that costume could be.

The bathroom door opens, calling my attention and making me turn around.

There he is, in that maid dress, leaning against the doorframe. He tosses the clothes he was previously wearing into the corner of the room.

I can't help but notice the orange and gray striped underwear in the pile of clothes.

"You look even prettier in person, especially now that I can see your face. I didn't expect a boy so pretty."

"Well I didn't expect you to be so pretty either... much less wearing a 50's diner waitress outfit. That's for work, right? Or did you get all dressed up to come see me?" He playfully saunters over to me and places his hands behind my neck again, in the same way they were before he changed clothes.

"Cute. And what do you do for a living?"

"Long story." He begins to close the gap between us again.

"You seem to be full of those."

"Maybe I'll explain them all next time."

"Are you implying you already want there to be a next time? We haven't even done anything yet, tiger. Are you really that needy?"

"Are you gonna keep running your mouth or are you gonna kiss me?"

Instead of responding either way, I grab his waist and turn us both around. I push him gently, but hard enough to make him fall back onto his bed.

I quickly crawl on top of him, hungrily attaching my lips to his and straddling him.

His hands run up my thighs and under my dress, resting on my hips.

Things escalate quickly as he presses his hips up, the maid skirt falling to expose his hardening cock, and he grinds against my underwear.

"So desperate, aren't you?" I quickly comment before returning to his lips.

He hums as an agreeing response.

I grind down onto him to create more friction which causes him to moan into my mouth.

I move from his lips to his jaw and slowly down his neck to his collarbone, all while still grinding roughly against his hard dick.

Soft moans leave the boy and his breathing gets progressively faster.

His shaking hand starts tugging my underwear down, and I stop and sit up to take them off for him.

Once the blue underwear are tossed into the corner with his clothes, I resume my previous action of grinding into him. This time, however, his cock is running through my folds, making me moan.

"Oh, it feels so... so good..." He chokes out, breathlessly, grabbing onto the sheets with both hands. "Please..."

He begins to rapidly buck his hips up, matching my grinding perfectly, until his body begins to shudder and his movements become jerky.

"I'm c-cl- I'm gonna-"

"Cum for me, sweetheart." I brush his hair out of his eyes, which gloss over as a sticky substance covers our respective dresses.

He catches his breath for a moment, but his energy returns fairly quickly. Good stamina, I assume.

I slow my movement on him, but continue to seek the friction his shaft was giving me, until he firmly grasps my hips and holds me still.

I can usually keep my cool, but this action definitely shocks me... especially when I look into his dark eyes.

"And w-what do you think you're doing?"

"I sub for my own benefit, not yours."

"That's actually not very subby of you."

"Your voice is shaking. That's actually not very dominant of you... but it makes sense. Did you think telling me to put on a maid costume meant you were gonna take full control?" He scoffs, swiftly flipping us over and pinning me under him. His bare knee slides between my thighs, pushing against my wet pussy, and he holds my wrists against the mattress on either side of my head. He leans down, his lips brushing against my ear as he whispers... "You're dreaming, honey."

His knee slowly rubs against me and I can feel the garter which is falling down his leg.

The lace brushes my clit as he moves, sending a shiver down my back.

He doesn't let me enjoy it for very long, however.

He gets off of me and stands up, telling me to get up as well.

I stand slightly confused, and extremely sexually frustrated, next to the bed as I watch him pull his white desk into the center of the room.

He pulls off the falling garter, and starts to take off the other one until I quickly tell him to stop.

I bend down on my knees in front of him and carefully take the lace between my teeth.

Looking up at him, he's practically drooling watching me slowly drag the garter down his leg with my teeth.

Once it reaches his ankle, I let go and he kicks it off to the side.

Before he can even speak, I lift up his dress and wrap my lips around his tip. His knees buckle for a moment at the sudden sensation.

He leans back, grabbing onto the edge of the desk behind him for support.

I take as much of him in my mouth as I can, almost on the verge of gagging, and try to handle the last part with my hand.

I can tell he's trying to resist the urge to grab me and fuck my mouth, so I try to make it worth it with the way I suck and lick and stroke him.

When I look up at him with innocent eyes, he shudders and pulls me off of him, also pulling me to my feet in the process.

"If you keep that up, I'll cum again... and I'm not cumming again unless it's because of your wet little pussy. So, bend over the desk."

As I follow his instruction, I realize what he did.

He placed the desk in front of the mirror. The same mirror from the photo which started all of this.

He positions himself behind me, flipping my skirt up and running a slender finger over my pussy.

"So wet..." He sticks that finger in his mouth and licks it clean. "And so delicious too."

He runs his finger through my folds a few more times and sucks them clean as he lines up and pushes into me.

The stretch burns in the best way possible.

I grip the edge of the table as he starts to rock his hips.

My back arches and my eyes shut tightly, but he tells to look in the mirror.

The way the mirror is angled, I'm able to see under the table and watch him fuck me. I watch him disappear inside of me and come back out, which only makes me realize more just how big he is and how deep he's reaching.

He places one hand on my hip and the other on my shoulder before he picks up his pace and starts to fuck me harder and faster.

I can't hold back my moans, feeling him so deep and watching it all happen in that mirror.

I notice his cocky smile.

He removes his hand from my shoulder and reaches down to rub my clit, causing my legs to start shaking. My orgasm starts to approach.

"Look at you..." He smirks at me, locking eyes with me in the mirror. "So pretty and getting ruined by a boy in a maid dress. I'm sure you expected this to go differently, didn't you?"

I let out a loud guttural moan and avert my eyes to the desk right under me, my head facing down.

"Baby, I can feel you clenching. Are you getting close?"

I shakily nod my head and feel his hand leave my clit for a moment as he takes a hold of hair at the root and pulls my head up to look at the mirror again.

"Watch it. Watch yourself cum all over my pretty cock."

He lets go of my hair, clearly expecting me to remain looking in the mirror, and he starts playing with my clit again.

My toes curl and I have a hard time keeping my head up as my orgasm finally rushes through my body. I clench around his dick and he helps me ride out my high before pulling out and jerking himself until he cums on the back of my uniform.

I feel almost limp as I lay across the table. My eyes are heavy, so I simply close them. I can't see anything that happens, but I can hear and feel that he goes to the bathroom and brings back a towel to wipe the cum off my clothes.

"Can you stand?" He asks gently.

I can, and better with someone to lean on, but my legs are a little shaky.

He uses the dampened part of the towel he got to wipe at the cum on the front of my clothes, before carefully having me sit on the edge of the bed.

He helps me pull the dress off of my sweaty body, tossing it to the pile of clothes.

"Wait here." He instructs, going into his closet.

He comes back with some comfortable looking sweats and hands them to me to wear.

I slowly dress myself and watch as he quickly changes his own clothes and then takes all the soiled clothes in his arms and leaves the room.

When he returns, the clothes in his hands have been replaced with a few bottles of water.

"Here, hydrate." He smiles, handing me one of the bottles. "I tossed the clothes in the wash. I hope you can stay for a bit, but if you can't then I can come bring you your clothes once they're dry-"

I don't miss the shining glint in his eye when I cut him off with:

"No, it's okay. I can stay for a while."

We both chug a couple bottles of water each before cuddling up in his bed to talk... which quickly turns into napping.

I wake up to a darker window than when I fell asleep, and I carefully pull myself away from the man to check the clock on the nightstand.

9:00PM.

I've been here for almost four hours, and asleep for almost three of them.

Quickly, a lot of thoughts come to mind.

One of us needs to put our clothes in the dryer.

I need to go home, I can't stay the night here.

Should I wake him?

As I watch his sleeping face, calmly breathing and mouth slightly open, I can't help but smile at how adorable he looks.

Before we cuddled up together, I placed my phone on the nightstand. I slowly and quietly pick it up, opening the camera and snapping a little photo of him.

I'll ask him when he wakes up if it's okay for me to keep it.

I brush a tuft of hair out of his face, which makes me remember when I did that same thing a few hours ago.

I feel my face heat up as I think back to what we did...

Around a half hour later, he's rudely woken up by his phone ringing.

Sleepily, he answers the call from a phone contact named "YangX2".

"What do you want?... Well, now I am... I don't know, uh-" He turns to me. "Are you planning to stay over?"

I shake my head, trying to be as polite as I can.

"She isn't... Yeah, I know... Obviously... Oh, thanks dude... Hey, that's mine!... I don't care that you found it, it was in my pants... Fine, if you've already spent it then-... Whatever... Yeah, thanks... Bye."

He hangs up and looks at me again.

"Good news and bad news. Good news, YangYang put the clothes in the dryer for us when the washing finished, so they're dry now. Bad news, he found money in my pants and bought him and Xiaojun some snacks at the convenience store."

I laugh with him about his stolen cash, which evolves into an awkward silence.

"Well, um... I should get going. My roommate hates being alone in our apartment at night."

"Oh! Yeah, yeah, sure. I'll go get all your clothes for you." He gets up out of the bed and rubs his eyes as he leaves the room.

I make sure I have my phone and my bag, as well as everything that's supposed to be in the bag, while I wait.

Far too soon, he's hugging me goodbye next to the taxi he called for me.

My load is lighter by a couple monetary bills and heavier by a (clean) maid costume.

"Oh! I almost forgot..." I take out my phone and pull up the photo I took of him sleeping. "You just looked so peaceful and cute... is that okay?"

A smile lights up his face, as if somebody taking a photo of him asleep is the cutest thing anyone's ever done in his eyes.

"Yeah, absolutely."

"Good. I'll... I'll see you around..." I trail off, realizing he never even told me his name.

"Yeah, I'll see you around..." He also trails off, probably realizing that I never gave him my name either.

We share a look, however.

A look that says that some things are better left a mystery.

I get in the cab and close the door, giving the driver the address of an apartment building just a couple blocks from where I actually live.

The moment I open the door to my apartment, I'm attacked.

"Where did you go? What happened? Are you okay? I thought you just had work until 5 and then picking up the costume. So, why didn't you get home until 10pm?!"

I explain everything.

Well, not everything of course... but the general things.

"Oh my goodness... was he cute? You said he stans NCT, of course he's cute. Do you have a photo of him?"

"Yeah, actually..." I pull up the adorable sleeping boy on my phone and show her.

Her eyes about pop out.

"TEN?!"

"Huh?"

"That's Ten! That's a member of WayV!"

"Wait- what?"

I suddenly remember what he said when I asked about the signed album in the photo.

"Kinda close with Ten" my ass...

#ciiikbwork #nct ten smut #wayv ten smut #superm ten smut #nct smut #wayv smut #superm smut

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nautiscarader · 3 years

Note

Prompt for “the clock’s ticking”, Multimouse trying to finish a quickie in time for Aspik to be able to reset and relive it a couple times

On one hand, I SO wanted to write a Ladrien quickie fic... on the other, the original prompt was SOOO good... and then I realised... hang on! I can unify them :)

So, have a delightful Ladrien-Aspik-Multibug lemon.

(Ao3)

============

- We only have thirty minutes... - That will be more than enough...

Marinette's voice reassured Adrien, as the couple crashed onto Adrien's bed, his needy hands on Ladybug's ass. Half an hour - that's all they'll have for the next two weeks, until Adrien would return from his trip. If only he learned about it earlier, he would leave Ladybug with just a kiss last night.

Marinette knew as well that the quick moment of peace would be gone in a flash, even if his kisses and caresses made her forget about the passage of time, as her mind slowly became blank, when he reached her neck.

Time...

Marinette opened her eyes in a sudden moment of realisation, as a devious and dangerous idea appeared in her mind.

- Ladybug?

Adrien noticed her half-petrified, half-excited expression, as she pondered her decision. It was so wrong, and yet, so tempting...

She turned her head and looked at her boyfriend, his shirt unbuttoned, and she felt the need burning between her loins, being cooled down with an icy-cold voice that sounded very much like Tikki's, and her own, from time to time...

- Adrien - she started, biting her lip - I-I have an idea how to make this moment last longer... Would you like to? - Y-yes! Obviously, but how-

She reached for her yo-yo, opened it, and with Adrien's permission and with a flash of light, she reached into the miraculous box, bringing a shiny piece of jewellery.

- You remember how does this one work, right, Aspik?

Adrien's eyes widened.

- Oh, Ladybug... That's... - Abusing my power as a Guardian? - she finished for him - Yeah, probably. But for you, I am willing to take the risk... - Er, no, I was going to say that it's really, really sexy.

Words got caught in Marinette's throat, as Adrien addressed her, making her cheeks match the colour of her red costume.

Adrien slipped on the malachite-coloured bracelet, releasing the adder-like Kwami.

- Greetingssss... - Sass hissed, and took a quick look at the situation he was summoned to: Ladybug, sitting in Adrien's laps - I sssee what'sss going on...

- Hey, don't judge - Adrien countered - If you could rewind time to spend it with your girlfriend, you'd do it. Scales slither!

A bright, green flash enveloped the blonde model, and when Ladybug opened her eyes, she saw his, matching ones, against her face, as the superhero pressed his sleek body against her, pushing her into the bedsheets.

- T-Take me... As many times as you want - she whispered, and relaxed her body, rendering herself defenceless. - But what about you? - he suddenly asked - I'm going to be reliving the same moment over and over again, but you... - Oh, Adrien... - she cupped his cheeks and kissed him - You are so considerate... But, I...

She shied away for a moment, as a second, even more difficult idea came to her mind. And as her lips coiled into a smirk, Adrien knew he won't be the only one stretching this moment into infinity.

Marinette dipped her hand once more into the Miraculous void and brought a, pinkish-grey necklace she quickly put around her neck.

A mouse-like Kwami appeared between the two, equally perplexed by the heated position of the two young adults.

- Oh, oh dear - Mullo squeaked - Am-Am I interrupting you two? - Au contraire - Ladybug answered - I need your power. Unify!

With one more bright flash, the superheroine lying underneath Adrien transformed again, the red of her costume turning grey.

Her hand sneaked between their bodies, undoing a few scales around his crotch, freeing his cock that only looked more imposing, and slipped a condom onto him, a moment before their urges overtook them.

- So, Aspik... - she spoke, her voice dripping with desire - Yes, uh, Multibug? - As I've said... take me... Take *us*, as many times as you want...

She used her newly gained power and a second, slightly smaller Multibug appeared next to her, taking her place in Adrien's arms. The two exchanged knowing looks, strengthened by years of Ladybug explaining her complicated plans to him with a single word, and Adrien knew exactly what was going to happen.

Their lips met, and with only twenty minutes to spare, Adrien put his mouth, hands and hip to work. The sheer thought of Ladybug using her powers for such earthly, low, dirty needs drove him insane as he tore her and outfit apart, revealing their naked, hormone-filled bodies.

Adrien grabbed her thighs and unceremoniously rammed himself inside her, listening to her high-pitched voice, crying his name, as his hips pushed her deeper into his mattress, while his tongue slithered around her nipples, giving her the modicum of foreplay he could offer her.

With each minute on the clock, he pushed himself deeper inside her, feeling her hips replying to his frantic, erratic bucking. Next to them, the original Multibug masturbated, watching herself and her boyfriend engage in a heated mating session between a predator and prey.

- Adrien... Adrien...! I love you!

Multibug moaned her proclamation as Adrien felt her body shuddered and she came, pulling her lover with him, as he flooded the rubber with several hefty spurts of his seed.

Panting, he saw the clock on his wall strike the full hour, and just as Nathalie knocked on his door, he gently pushed his lover to his side, and called his power.

- Second chance!

With a bright flash, time was rewound, back to when Multibug called for her double. But now, she did it again, while the first copy lied, tired, and sweaty next to them.

- Round two.

Adrien spoke to his new lover, and feeling his virility come back, he rolled his hips to hear his lady scream his name again.

Four times they did it the regular, and satisfying, if not slightly boring way, before Adrien decided to put a spin on his lover - literally flipping her around to ram himself in her ass, much to hers and the original Multibug's surprise.

Next Multibug offered to blow him, closing her lips around his cock, and giving him the longest and most sensual blowjob she could, receiving a mouthfull of his seed in return.

The next one was face-fucked, as Aspik used her mouth as if it was her pussy, indulging in a fetish only his new powers could provide.

Eight one grabbed the condom and slid it off, declaring she wants to know how does it feel to be mated, and Adrien stood up to the challenge admirably, supplying her with hefty, thick spurts of his seed.

That only encouraged Adrien, and two more were fucked raw as well, after Adrien folded them in half, and put them in a mate press, eager to flood their wombs with his virility.

Five next Multibugs received a stellar oral treatment, as Aspik gallantly decided he's had enough, eager to see how many times he can make her come with only his mouth. Being able to rewind time, he explored her body thoroughly, so that he could make her come in seconds, knowing just where to kiss and press his fingers.

Sex with sixteenth went on so long, he missed the deadline, and refused Nathalie inside, giving her a rather loud and lewd presentation of what he was doing to his lover.

Ten more times Adrien Agreste claimed his lady, who sang loud praises to his body as she surrendered herself to him, living through orgasm after orgasm, without having to rewind time.

And when Adrien did it the final time, he was greeted to the sight of pure bliss. Three dozens of Multibugs, one from each of the timelines lied around him, all naked, most leaking, or wearing his cum, all satisfied beyond belief after having been totally dominated.

It looked even more bizarre to Marinette, who only speculated how the combination of their powers could look like. One moment she was watching her copy scream in agony, and next second the room was full of them, all serving as a proof of his powers and needs.

But there was one last thing to do, and when Marinette called her doubles back, she realised there was no way she could have prepared herself for this.

The feeling of dozens of orgasm, all happening at once flooded her mind, body and soul. For a moment she thought she was gonna choke, as the after-feelings of several blowjobs tested her gag reflex, resulting in her imagining sucking off ten or so Adriens and tasting their combined cum.

She also felt the same unmistakable feeling of warmth spreading inside her, as she realised that at some point Adrien decided to ditch the condoms. She pondered the consequences of letting his combined releases fill her right now, and she shuddered with pleasure at the very thought of it...

She felt his mouth and kisses all over her body, her breasts, her lips, her *lips*, her ass... there was no place of her body, inside or outside left unmarked by Adrien Agreste and his love for her.

In the end, Marinette did not know how many times has she climaxed, spilling his name from her lips, but when her body finally stopped collecting memories of all her doubles, she felt as if they spent half a day making love, something reserved only for cheap romance novels or on-line fanfics... And she wouldn;t be surprised if it was true.

She opened her eyes, and was greeted with sight of Adrien Agreste in his travel suit, handing her the green bracelet back.

- Thank you, Ladybug. - he spoke with his unmistakable charming smile, as he kissed her palm - That was... unforgettable. - I... I should thank you...

Marinette spoke, still looking all over her body. She was so glad she didn't have to take hour-long shower from the cum she would have been painted with. She realised she has just invented the cleanest way of making love possible.

- I think that should satisfy you...

She stood up and kissed him.

- And if not... just call me, and I will use the horse miraculous to portal myself to wherever you are.

#miraculust #lemon #ladrien #day 15 #smutember #aged-up characters and all that #mlnsfw #nautiscaraderfics #smutember 2021 #smutember2021

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autumnleaves1991-blog · 4 years

Text

The Next One’s on You

A/N: This came out of nowhere and now it’s my first mini series. A series of moments in the life of Maxwell Lord and reader around drinks. Let me know if you would like to be added to a tag-list. Thank you to @thisisthe-wayson for listening to me ramble about this! :D This will be five chapters total!

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x F! Reader

Warning: 18 + for language and smut in later chapters.

Taglist: @josepedropascal @heythere-mel @mrschiltoncat @oldstuffnewstuff @justanotherblonde23 @yespolkadotkitty My Masterlist

Chapter 1: Triple Espresso.

“Triple espresso, hot, scalding hot,” you look up from where you are crouched under the counter putting away the extra milk to see a hand smack down, the golden ring on his pinky glittering under the cheap fluorescents.

“I’ll be with you in just a moment sir,” you finish your task and hear the obvious displeasure as he sighs, his ring impatiently tapping on the counter.

You brush yourself off, and go wash your hands quickly before grabbing your pen and turning to take the order. When you look at the customer you stop. Holy shit, Maxwell Lord is standing before you. His blonde hair gleams not a single strand out of place, sunglasses resting on the edge of his distinctive nose, and his broad shoulders enveloped in an expensive suit. The whole outfit probably cost more than your rent for the next three months.

You shake your head and smile, “I’m sorry about the wait sir, what can I get you this beautiful morning?”

“Triple espresso, scalding hot,” he pushes a ten across the counter and walks away. Sitting down at one of the single seater tables he grabs the business section of the paper and cracks it open. The sound echoes off the walls of the empty shop, the morning rush long over.

You put the grounds into the machine and turn it on to the hottest setting, staring intently at him as it brews. He never removes the sunglasses, his knee crossed over shows off a pair of black and pink polka dot socks, his coat unbuttoned revealing a solid colored vest and brightly patterned tie beneath it. Lips turned down into a frown as he reads something he doesn’t like snapping the paper shut. He gazes over at you, eyes running up and down your body, “See something you like?”

You jump and pull the brew from the machine and into the paper cup, bringing it over to him. Palms sweaty you brush them against your pants before ringing them together, “Is there anything else I can get you?”

“Yes,” he finally removes the sunglasses and gazes up at you, “What do I have to do to fuck you?”

Your jaw drops, eyes blinking rapidly, “excuse me?” you stutter.

“It’s been awhile and you’re beautiful so what’s the price? Diamonds? Money?” he folds the newspaper and leans back in the chair taking the paper cup.

You snap your jaw closed, and lean back crossing your arms scoffing, “You can’t be fucking serious?”

“I am serious,” you watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. The strong neck clenching as he smiles catching you watching. You take a step back, “I am not some cheap whore you can just buy for a few hours of pleasure. Who the hell do you think you are?”

He stands and towers over you taking a step closer, “Maxwell Lord the fourth,” he says it so confidently his eyes beaming, “And I never used the word cheap, you would be well compensated.”

“We’ll come back to the part where you didn’t deny you see me as a whore,” you spit out, “But let me tell you something Maxwell Lord the fourth, I don’t give a damn who you are. You can take your fancy suits, espresso, and sunglasses and get the hell out of here!” You point towards the door where you notice two guards in suits are planted outside.

He rolls his eyes, “I saw you watching me, you think I’m attractive why don’t we just go out to my car and you can suck my dick and then if you’re a good girl I’ll let you fuck me.” He smiles and gestures toward the door again.

You spin around grabbing the nearest item and chucking it at him. The cup explodes as it hits his chest and sprays his face in the leftover latte. He rubs at his eyes and then looks at you incredulously, “In your dreams,” you hiss going into the back room and slamming the door.

You lean against it and slide down putting your head in your hands, “Fuck,” you whisper, “I am so fired,” you knead your eyes. What a fucking prick. The tinkle from the bell at the door rings and you hustle to look through the small window in the door. Barely catching the tail end of him as he slides into the limo, peeling away from the curb with a squeal.

You grab the mop and bucket from the closet, and walk back out to the shop. The creamy sickly sweet drink drips off the edge of the table and onto the floor. You wipe down the remaining and mop up the rest. The rest of the day goes by uneventful and when you clock out you trudge home to your third floor walkup. Your other two roommates are gone for the evening, you have the place to yourself. Pouring a glass of white wine and plopping onto the couch, turning the TV on.

You groan as one of Maxwell Lord’s infomercials pops up and you watch for a few seconds before reaching for a pillow and tossing it at the TV. “Asshole,” you mumble, changing the channel. You drink a second glass of wine and try to forget but you can’t stop thinking about him. Getting up to refill your glass, you turn off the TV and walk into the small kitchen.

You bite your lip thinking about the way the three piece suit fit so snuggly on his broad shoulders. His lips pursed as he read the paper, and how his thick fingers tapped on the counter. How would those hands feel wrapped around you, a bruise where his ring digs into your thigh as those lips wrap around... whoa what the fuck!? You pour the rest of the wine down the sink and go take a cold shower.

The next morning you trudge into work fully expecting it to be your last day but the manager Giselle greets you with a smile and goes about the process of opening. The whole day you're on pins and needles waiting for him to make some dramatic entrance and ruin your life. But, when your shift ends and he still hasn’t shown you let out a relieved sigh.

“Oh uhm y/n,” Giselle calls and you freeze blood turning cold. “This was outside the door waiting for you,” she goes into the backroom and comes back out holding a large glass vase overflowing with white roses.

“Holy shit,” you mumble under your breath, taking it from her.

“There was also this card,” she passes it over to you and you quickly tear it open.

You read the note three times before you shiver looking at her, mumbling a thank you and leaving. The flowers are heavy and luckily your neighbor Mr. Warren holds the door open for you. Taking the stairs two at a time you put down the flowers on the kitchen counter and pull out the card again reading it a fourth time, hands trembling.

Next time the drinks are on you. M.L. IV

Oh fuck, what have you gotten yourself into now.

Chapter Two: Vodka Martini

#maxwell lord #Maxwell Lord x reader #ww84 #Wonder Woman 1984 #Pedro Pascal

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untaemedqueen · 4 years

Text

Lock Down (M)

Idol!Taehyung x Reader

Request: Can I request Tae accidentally finding out you like him (catches you watching a fancam or overhears you talking, I don't know lol) and then goes out of his way to make your life impossible (brushing up against you, lip bites, etc) until he knows you have no resistance left. As fluffy or smutty as you like 😇😈😘

WordCount: 6.6k

Genre: Fluff, Smut

Warnings: Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Multiple Orgasms, Unprotected Sex (Wrap It Then Tap It Fellas), Squirting, Cock Warming, (Slight) Ass Play, Degradation (Cock Slut)

A/N: I hope you like it!

You jump off of the sofa as the doorbell rings. Your best friend was coming to visit you after his promotions were over for their comeback. It was always a difficult time when BTS makes a comeback or goes on tour because then you're really left alone. Jimin was probably the only person you had since you moved to Korea.

Running into him randomly one night without any knowledge of who he was. You asked him how to get to a train station to find food and instead because he knew you didn't know who he was and his managers didn't know he left the dorm, he went with you. Since then you were practically inseparable. It's a great feeling to have someone like him so close. He even got you your first job in Korea. You were a translator for Big Hit's English website as well as a translator for their Youtube channel and Vlive videos. You run to your apartment door with a squeal before ripping the door open. Your happy face slowly falling as Jimin stands there with Taehyung behind him. He didn't tell you he was bringing Tae with him.

"My Y/N!" Jimin cheers happily, his long gray hair falling into his eyes as he jumps at you. You stare at Taehyung before hugging Jimin tightly.

"Hi." You whisper taking your eyes off of the handsome prince in front of you.

"Hey Y/N!" Taehyung cheers slinging his arm over your shoulder. Your whole body tenses and your knees begin to get weak as you smell his expensive cologne. He was dressed casually and still his sweatpants and his hoodie looked like they were the height of fashion. Jimin takes off his shoes and jean jacket before stepping into your apartment like he owns the place. You act like you own his when you go over so it isn't really a big deal. What is a big deal is he brought over this God of a man without consulting you and you look like a cheap homebody at the moment.

You can feel your face and your ears heating up as Taehyung presses you to his chest. The rigid structure of his body makes you feel lightheaded.

"You didn't tell me Tae was coming over." You tell your best friend pulling away from Taehyung and scurrying into the living room. Jimin smirks as he throws himself on to the couch and grabs the television remote with a groan.

"He was off today too. I just thought it would be fun." You sneer at Jimin earning a silent giggle. He knows the effect Taehyung has on you and it's astounding how comical it is for him. Taehyung walks past you and sits on your couch before smiling at you. His gorgeous smile has your stomach doing flips as you smile back.

"Let's watch a drama." Jimin says before patting the spot between him and Taehyung. You push yourself off of the door frame, only to fill the spot in between the both of them. Taehyung angles his body towards you and you angle your body towards Jimin with widening eyes as Taehyung presses his knee into your thigh casually. Jimin smirks as you grip at his arm secretly.

"Oh! Did you hear? The company made a new policy in lew of the virus." You hadn't checked your email all day since it was your day off. You shake your head as Jimin cards his fingers through his hair as he flicks through the channels on the television.

"Quarantine for all staff." You nod your head.

"Good thing I have my own apartment I can self quarantine." Taehyung shakes his head beside you.

"No we are quarantining in numbers. So you get to come hang out at the dorm. We have that extra room." Jimin explains and you sit up quickly.

"What?!" Taehyung points to your phone.

"Check your email." Jimin lands on a rerun of Sky Castle as you grab your phone off the coffee table. Taehyung leans in next to you as you enter in BTS’ debut date as your passcode.

"Aw. You love us!" He teases making you snort as you scroll through your messages. And, there it is. They weren't kidding.

Dear Big Hit Staff,

Due to the difficult position Korea has been left with. It is with a heavy heart to write this letter. All promotions will be stopped for our groups and quarantine will take place effective immediately. It is in our best interest that no one gets sick and we all continue to work hard throughout these terrible times. All groups will be in quarantine in their dorms. As for any team members alone it would be wise to find staff members who have space within their homes and who are healthy to take this time to house up with other staff. It will allow the company to know one hundred percent that everyone in Big Hit is healthy and safe. We look forward to welcoming you back to the Big Hit building with smiles and a go getter attitude.

Bang Si Hyuk

You look over at Jimin as he smiles. "Hi, roomie."

You roll your eyes at him before feeling Taehyung's hand on your back. You squeeze your eyes closed at the comfortable feeling. "The room next to mine is open."

Oh no, hell no. You can't be in the same house with Taehyung! You stand up quickly making Taehyung confused as he tilts his head.

"I'll go stay with Jayoung unnie." You say as your palms become sweaty. Jimin clicks his teeth before sighing.

"You're my best friend. You're coming to stay with us. Go pack a bag." The seriousness in his voice has you whining loudly as you stomp off towards your bedroom.

You enter the dorm only to be greeted with a sweaty Jeongguk. His hands on his naked hips as he works out in the living room. He throws himself onto the floor with a groan putting his hands over his face.

"Y/N's here!" Jimin cheers loudly taking off his shoes. Jeongguk sits up quickly, his sweaty hair sticking to his forehead.

"Noona!" Jeongguk cheers cutely making you laugh as he shakes his fists happily.

"Welcome to Quarantine Hell." Yoongi comments with a laugh as he passes the living room towards his bedroom. Jimin grabs your hand before pulling you into the living room. Taehyung is hot on your trail as he hauls your packed bags towards the room next to his.

"Fuck your computer stuff is heavy!" Taehyung curses walking away from the three of you. You needed to bring all of your work equipment, the email didn't say how long this quarantine would last.

"I would give you a hug but I'm sweaty." Jeongguk says looking down at you with a smile. You hum in agreement watching how his abs flex against his tan skin before turning to Jimin before peaking down the hallway to make sure Taehyung was gone.

"I fucking hate you." You tell him poking your finger into his chest. Jimin smiles widely, his teeth on display as he giggles.

"You love me." You roll your eyes as Jeongguk tilts his head.

"I'm missing something." Jimin leaves you both to walk towards the grandiose kitchen.

"Oh! Y/N wants to suck Taehyung's cock." Jimin says flippantly, your face burning as you turn to him.

"YAH!" You yell making Jeongguk laugh loudly. He was close to you, as well, nothing was awkward when Kookie was around.

"Ahhh, yeah. It's okay. Everyone knows noona, just not Taehyung hyung because he's an idiot." Jeongguk grabs his water bottle off the coffee table before ruffling your hair.

"I'm going to take a shower." Jimin pulls an instant ramen out of the cupboard as Jeongguk leaves you to your own devices.

"What do you mean everyone knows?!" You call to him making Jimin chuckle. "Y/N. Everyone knows you like Taehyung. It's not a fucking secret. He's handsome. We get it." You fold your arms before pouting.

"I'm trying really hard to not show it!" You whine shuffling over to the large island countertop and leaning on it. Jimin hums before turning on the water kettle.

"I know. I know." He leans over and puts his hand over yours as you look up at him with sad eyes. His chuckle resounds throughout the empty room before patting your hand. "Ramyeon?" You nod before putting your forehead to the counter.

Taehyung slings your heavy bags onto the guest bedroom bed with a groan. He was more than happy to help you carry your stuff, he did beg Jimin to take him with him this morning. He couldn't wait to see you again. You were a fresh breath of air for him, your smile making his heart feel lighter than a feather whenever he sees you. Taehyung opens the door quietly, dying to get back out to your presence.

"Oh. Y/N wants to suck Taehyung's cock." He hears Jimin say and Taehyung goes wide eyed. You do?! You like him?! Why hasn't he seen this before?! He has never gotten the notion that you like him.

"YAH!" Your screech makes Taehyung smile as he sits in the doorway craning his neck to listen to the situation.

"Ahhh, yeah. It's okay. Everyone knows noona, just not Taehyung hyung because he's an idiot." Taehyung scoffs before laying down on his back. His heart beginning to flutter. He's liked you for a while, a long while in fact.

"Amazing." He whispers as Jeongguk announces he's going to take a shower. Taehyung sits up fast before grabbing on to Jeongguk's ankle as he walks past. Jeongguk jumps scared before putting his hand on his heart and staring down at Taehyung. Taehyung pulls him into the room before shutting the door.

Jeongguk sits on the floor in front of Taehyung with a big bunny smile and a nose wrinkle.

"She likes me?" He whispers quietly to Guk. Jeongguk rolls his eyes with a laugh, "Hyung, she's liked you for years." Taehyung goes wide eyed before smiling.

"Really?!" Jeongguk nods with a laugh.

"Yeah! Since she met you probably."

"No fucking way." Jeongguk hums in agreement, "Do you like her too?" Of course he did, you were gorgeous to him. The smile he gives Guk gives him up right away. Jeongguk chuckles before clapping his hands.

"Quarantine is looking fun for you, then." Jeongguk stands back up before stretching. Taehyung puts his hand under his chin as Guk leaves him to his own thoughts. Taehyung couldn't just outright tell you he liked you, he has to make a plan. But, you would be his by the time this quarantine is over.

Taehyung walks down the hallway as you eat ramyeon with Jimin. You were laughing and talking, Taehyung's heart swelling as he watches you so happy.

"Y/N!" Taehyung calls to you, you tilt your head as he brushes his fingers along your back making you shiver.

"What?" You ask as he leans next to you.

"Feed me." He says putting his head close to you as he leans his body weight into you.

"Go make your own!" Jimin says with a laugh.

Taehyung hums in disagreement before pouting and opening his mouth. His face was so close to yours you could pass out. He is the most gorgeous person on the face of this Earth. You pick up some ramyeon before bringing it to his mouth. He slurps your noodles before winking at you. Is it hot in here or is it just you? Jimin watches Taehyung confused, he's never advanced at you in such a way. Jimin does in fact know that Taehyung likes you, he's known Tae for a long time and there were never secrets between these two best friends. Taehyung's fingers find the hem of your shirt before dipping his warm hand underneath the fabric. You sit up straighter in shock as his thumb rubs at your bare skin. Your teeth gnawing at the inside of your bottom lip as he chews the noodles.

"Thanks. I'm so hungry." Jimin nods to himself, he knows what this kid is doing. Taehyung is sneaky, he probably heard the conversation and Jimin is almost certain he would be hearing loud moans by the end of this quarantine week. With a snort he stands up throwing his chopsticks in the sink and the paper ramyeon cup in the garbage. You look over at Jimin quickly as he leaves you alone with Taehyung. Whining mentally as Taehyung stands back up towering over your figure.

"I have to...to go and set up my room...So." Taehyung hums in agreement rubbing at your skin.

"Don't let me stop you." You nod slowly before standing up quickly. He watches in amusement as you trip over your own two feet practically running to your room. He grabs the cup of ramyeon before smirking into the noodles.

"Oh, this. This is going to be fun." He bites his bottom lip as he watches your ass shake as you quickly open up the door to the room. Taehyung sits down on the stool you were on before sighing happily.

You were working on translating the newest episode of RUN BTS. After the earlier incident with Taehyung touching you, you could still feel his fingers on your back. His touch was so smooth and delicate, you could barely focus on the episode. You told Jimin you weren't feeling too well, you had indigestion from the ramyeon so you would just stay in your room for now. And, like always he didn't push you even though he knew you were lying. You mouse back over the footage shaking your head trying to pay attention as Taehyung comes up on screen. His laugh screeches throughout the room making you smile as he throws himself back onto the floor at a game. You put the pen in your hand in your mouth as you giggle at his ridiculousness.

"Hyung! Stop intentionally trying to make people laugh." You put your hand under your chin, forgetting your job and focusing on his handsome face as his open mouthed laugh makes you do so as well. Taehyung walks past your room before stopping as he hears his own laugh. He leans against the door frame watching you watch him with love in your eyes. It makes him smile, you were so enraptured with him how has he never noticed before?

"Silly." You mumble as the camera changes to Jeongguk and you pull the pen out of your mouth to write down what Taehyung has said. You liked him and only him and it makes his heart soar. You laugh loudly at the small comments Taehyung makes in the background writing them down. Taehyung puts his hand over his heart before pushing off of your door frame and knocking on the door. You giggle pausing the video before looking at him.

"What're you doing?" He asks with a smile. You smile back at him before pointing at the computer.

"Working." You tell him calming your fit of giggles. He chuckles walking into the room.

"Can I join you?" You nod as he sits on the bed. You play the video sitting back in the comfy desk chair as Jeongguk continues to try to win at the game. Taehyung begins to laugh recalling that day.

"That was so much fun. I felt like I was in middle school again." You look over at him taking in his gorgeous facial features before smiling. He cranes his neck to look at the screen before standing.

"Sit on my lap. I can't see very well." You look up nervously and he gives you a small smirk. You stand up letting him throw himself down in the chair as he wraps his arm around your waist pulling you into his lap. You go rigid with a gasp as you feel his toned thighs underneath you. He smiles to himself feeling your body on his, how comfortable this all is. And, all Taehyung can do is chide himself that he hasn't made any advances at you sooner. He looks over your shoulder at the English translations.

"Wah. You're so smart." He says rubbing your bare arm nonchalantly as he tries to read the English. You were uncomfortable but it was all on your part. You keep telling yourself to relax but the ever present rub of Taehyung's hand has your heart beating faster. He leans back in the chair watching a nervous sweat begins to build on the back of your neck. So he really does make you nervous. He smirks before watching you write something down. All you could do is try to focus on this episode. Taehyung bites his lip through the screen and you could feel lust encasing you. He was so sexy, it was almost unfair. Taehyung takes into account how you press your thighs together as you watch him on the screen. His cock stirring in his pants as he looks down at your ass on his lap. Fuck, if he could only grab it. You were the epitome of everything wanted, and he has wanted you for a long time. The lazy strokes of his hand on your arm make him clear his throat. Your skin was so soft, he wanted to feel your skin heating up underneath him.

"What do you want to eat for dinner? I'll order us some food." You look back at him as he bites his lip. To see him doing that so close to you, you feel as if the wind has been knocked out of you.

"Fried chicken? Jajjangmyeon? Galguksu?" With every word he rubs at your arm harder. You suppress a whimper as he brushes some hair over your shoulder. "Whatever you want I'll get it for you." He whispers sitting up letting his hard cock brush against the curve of your ass. You squeak audibly as you feel him so hard against you.

"I'll do whatever you want me to." He whispers leaning in closer to you pulling your legs so you were sitting on him sideways. His large hand gripping at your thigh as you begin to blush.

"Whatever you want." You mumble pausing the video. Taehyung hums before slowly licking his lips.

"I know what I want." He leans in, his lips inches away as he kneads the skin of your thigh. "Fried chicken." He whispers before leaning back and pulling out his phone.

You blink a few times, your brain trying to process the scene that just unraveled before your eyes. How could you stay in this house with him for a week or maybe more?! You could still feel his boner as you play the video. You try to turn back around but his grip on you tightens as he continues to scroll through his phone.

"I have to work." You whisper, you didn't even sound like you. Your voice was thick with lust and wanting and it makes Taehyung smirk.

"So work." He puts down his phone before biting his lip grabbing your chin with his thumb and index finger. You look at him, watching his teeth clasp his lip tightly. Your thighs pressing together to the point of pain as your knees dig into one another.

"I ordered the food." He whispers running his thumb over your bottom lip. "Okay." You mumble feeling your face flush pink.

Jimin walks by the room, glancing once before almost breaking his neck as he watches Taehyung grip you tighter to him. "Work." Taehyung says nodding his head to the computer.

"I can't see the screen like this." You sound feeble and it makes Jimin want to laugh. Never once in your life has he heard you so meek. Taehyung hums in agreement before letting your thigh go. You turn back around before clearing your throat and narrowing your eyes at the screen. Taehyung fixes his erection in his pants before pulling you back to him. And, now Jimin has seen too much as he scurries off to the living room with a knowing smile. You sigh almost too content as you feel his cock against your ass. Now, you know he likes you too. Or, he finds you sexy at least. How would you be able to cope? Taehyung sits up with a groan wrapping his arms around your waist.

"The food will be here soon." You nod to him as you write down something Namjoon is saying. Taehyung begins to hum behind you rubbing at your sides. His voice is so melodic and gentle as he lifts your shirt up slightly. You take in a deep breath as he slides his hands over your skin.

"Am I distracting you?" You shake your head before closing your eyes relishing his touch. "Good." His voice was even deeper as you find yourself bucking back against his hard cock making his eyebrows furrow together. Taehyung's eyes rake over your frame before gripping at your hips harder making you gasp. The sexual tension between you both so thick it could be cut with a butter knife.

"I'm so happy you came to stay with us." He whispers leaning in, his lips against the shell of your ear. "M-Me too." He hums before biting his lip.

"Fuck." He whispers against you and you want to faint. Honestly, just pass out on the floor and be left there. Jimin calls his name loudly and he rolls his eyes.

"Let me go get the food. Hmm?" You stand up on shaky legs as he stands up behind you pushing the chair back. His hard cock grazing your ass intentionally as he walks out of the room. You watch him leave without a glance before putting your hand over your face and throwing yourself on the floor.

You eye Taehyung carefully as he sits across from you talking to Seokjin. "Hello? I'm talking to you." Your best friend says for the second time waving his greasy hand in your face. You look over at Jimin as he munches on a chicken leg.

"Hmmm?" You mumble before looking at Taehyung as he takes his shirt off. His golden skin and toned body calling out to you as you tilt your head. He looks over before winking and biting his lip.

"I asked you if you wanted to watch a movie." Jimin says loudly, "I have work to do." You reply as Taehyung drinks his coke.

His Adam's apple bobbing as he hums in agreement with something Seokjin has said. You couldn't get over earlier, how hard he left underneath you. How tight his grasp was on your body. It makes your face flush just thinking about it.

"It's your day off." Jimin says pulling your face to look at him instead of Taehyung. "Yeah but still ARMY need content to get through quarantine." You tell him trying to push the image out of your mind.

"You're such a good person." He whines before hugging you. You look at Taehyung again as he stares at you biting his lip. Your thighs pressing together as he stands up gathering the garbage from the food.

You lay in bed, your phone in your hand as you watch a Taehyung focused fancam. The way he chews gum when he's feeling himself makes you bite your lip. He was so sexy, it was almost unreal. The constant thought of him rubbing against you is constantly on your mind. "Shit." You mumble dipping your fingers into your underwear.

Taehyung takes off his headphones only to hear muffled noise through the wall. He furrows his eyebrows before standing up off his bed and pressing his ear to the wall.

"Louder than bombs." He mumbles to himself before opening his door. It was four o'clock in the morning everyone was asleep aside from you and him. As Taehyung stands outside of your room, he can hear small moans and panting making him curious. What a naughty little girl you are, masturbating in the guest room. He can only wonder what you're watching to get you so excited. It better be something of him.

Without warning he opens your bedroom door. Your hand stuffed into your panties as you watch your screen. You gasp loudly, throwing your phone as Taehyung enters pressing his finger to his lips. You burn red with embarrassment as Taehyung shuts the door.

"What're you watching that has you so excited?" He asks looking down at your phone on the floor. He hums impressed as you take your hand out of your underwear.

"A fancam?" He asks, picking your phone up watching as he bites his lip on screen. He chuckles locking the phone before kneeling on the bed above you.

"I'm right here. You could have just come next door and asked me to bite my lip for you." This was NOT happening. You are dying of embarrassment. Taehyung grabs your hand that was touching yourself before smiling.

"You have a crush on me don't you, Y/N?" Crush was not the word to describe your emotions for him. You could barely form a sentence, you want to cry from the embarrassment you feel. Taehyung brings your hand to his mouth before kissing your fingers.

"I have a crush on you." He notifies you before entering your fingers into his mouth. He moans at your taste before climbing on top of you. Your body begins to heat up under him as you whimper out.

"You do?" He hums taking in the sight of your practically naked body. "Fuck, yes I do."

This was new to you. He never made it known that he likes you!

"Didn't you feel how hard I was earlier? My cock is begging for you." You swallow thickly looking up at him. His dark brown eyes boring into yours as he bites his lip.

"I like you too." You don't know where the confidence came from to tell him but you were grateful as his lips pressed into yours. His cherry tasting lips full and flush against you as you widen your eyes at the kiss.

"You don't know what you do to me, baby." The pet name has you whimpering as his lips trail lazily to your neck. "I've liked you for years. You're so beautiful." You close your eyes as he suckles gently on your skin.

"I've wanted to make you mine for so long. Dying to feel you underneath me." You gasp as he nips at your skin. Your shaky hands grabbing at his naked biceps as he kisses down your clavicle.

"Tell me you want me too." Taehyung grabs at your legs wrapping them around his waist pressing his erection against you. "I want you too. So much." He smiles before leaning up and kissing you. Moaning into the kiss as both of your wishes begin to become reality.

"Fuck, you're so gorgeous." You head lulling back as he takes off your sleep shirt. Your breasts swaying as Taehyung takes in a sharp breath between his teeth.

"You don't know how many times I've wished to see these pretty little nipples." Your core beginning to weep for him as he encases your nipple between his lips. The tip of his tongue flicking against your areola as moans roll out of your mouth.

"Taehyung." He lifts his head up palming at your breast.

"Say my name again. I love when you call my name." His fingers pinching and rolling you nipples as you call his name once more. He groans in agreement before bending back down to lavish your unattended breast.

"Fuck!" Your hands gripping harder at his arms as he plucks at your nipples with his lips.

"I remember when I first went over your house and you had no bra on. Your titties were teasing me since then. Your nipples so hard pressing against the fabric of that lavender shirt." Taehyung palms his erection recalling the memory perfectly. You look up at him as he runs his hands down your sides.

"Will you let me take you tonight, baby? Let me make you mine?" You cannot believe this is happening. This was unreal, you never thought he would like you in the same way. "Yes." You whisper making him smile, he kisses you deeply.

His tongue grazing over yours as he presses his lower body into you harder. "Fuck, I'm so hard for you." He pulls off his boxers and you can't help but ogle his size. He was long and thick, the head precumming making your mouth water.

"I've been thinking about this for years. Shit." He whispers as you strip yourself of your panties. Taehyung backs up to take in your body. Your pussy dripping with arousal onto the bed sheets making him groan gently.

"So fucking wet for me." His arms snaking around your thighs as he buries his face between your legs. "Your pussy must taste so sweet." His tongue peaks out caressing your engorged clit making your thighs press against his head.

"Tae!" He groans in agreement as he flicks his tongue quicker against you. He was skilled with his tongue, that's for sure. Your body bowing off the bed as you grip at his black hair.

"Fuck, you taste so good." He mumbles before burying his face back into you. His chin and cheek coated in your arousal as the sound of his filthy slurping resounds throughout the quiet room. You press his head down harder with a whimper.

"Good girl." He mumbles before letting go of your thigh. His slender finger grazing against your entrance before entering. "Taehyung!"

"So tight, fuck. You're such a good little girl, aren't you? Such a tight little pussy for me." You can't take your eyes off of him as he eats you out like it's his job. You can feel your stomach clenching tighter, your orgasm approaching at a rapid pace. Taehyung enters another finger scissoring at your pussy so you'll be able to take him comfortably. His fingers stroking upwards at the rough patch within you making you sob for him.

"Cum on my face. I want you to cum for me, baby."

"I'm so close." With those three words he gets to work. Suckling on your clit, stroking your g-spot faster and even toying with the rim of your asshole.

"Fuck! Tae!" The clenching within you tightens so hard before releasing. You moan his name loudly gripping at his head. "Good girl." He praises before sitting up. He watches as you come down from your high with a smirk. He's always wondered what this would be like and now he's here experiencing it. He bends down once more to suckle on your nipple.

His hand leisurely stroking his cock as you watch precum weep down the long length. "Come suck on your boyfriends cock." He whispers sitting back against the wall. You smile as he calls himself yours before sitting up for him.

Your hand grips at his cock and his eyes flutter shut at the feeling. "Oh fuck." He whimpers as you begin to stroke him. Your tongue licking up his length gathering his salty precum on your tongue.

"Y/N." Taehyung moans and you feel yourself becoming wet for him all over again. Taehyung pushes open your legs as you swirl your tongue around the head before dipping your head down. A large gasp emitting throughout the room before biting his lip harshly. You fuck his cock into your mouth as he begins to play with your nipples. Pinching and rolling them in his fingers as you moan on him. The vibration making his cock shoot precum on to your tongue as his head lulls back against the wall.

"Look at me." Taehyung whispers caressing your cheek with his thumb as he lifts his head.

"You suck my cock so well. Fuck!" You give his tongue flat licks as you swallow him to the hilt. Your nose nestling against his bare public bone.

"Oh shit!" He moans loudly before dipping sitting up straighter. His fingers rubbing at your clit making you a moaning mess on his cock as your eyes begin to water.

"Fuck, you look so pretty stuffing my cock in your mouth." You can feel his cock begin to throb on your tongue. He quickens his circles as your stare at each other. Spit and precum rolling down his cock and balls as he moans your name.

"Such a good little cock slut you are for me." You moan against him feeling your second orgasm oncoming. His fingers on your clit constantly lubed with your arousal.

"So fucking wet, too. You love my big cock. Oh, baby!" He moans before gripping at your hair and thrusting his cock upwards. "I'm going to cum! Fuck! Let me cum in your mouth!" You whimper before orgasming as he lifts the hood of your clit. His abs pressing tightly to his stomach as he groans loudly. Your body sagging as you squirt on the bed.

"Oh fuck! You're so sexy! Jesus Christ!" His cock pumping into you roughly before stilling in your mouth as his warm cum spreads over your tongue and throat. Taehyung lets out a shaky sigh as you lift off of him.

He grabs your hips before throwing you down on the bed. "You squirted all over the bed, baby. I want you to squirt on my cock. Fuck." He whispers, running his fingers over the wet sheets before spreading your legs. You press your fingers to your swollen lips as Taehyung strokes himself back to being rock hard.

"Look how eager my girlfriend is to take my cock. Hmm?" He whispers before settling himself between your legs and kissing you deeply. You moan against his lips as he teases your swollen pussy with the head of his cock. He pulls back just to watch how nice his cock looks spreading your wet lips.

"Fucking gorgeous." He whispers before looking back up at you and smiling. You can't help but smile back before moaning as he rubs the head of his cock harshly against your overly sensitive clit.

"Tae!" Your hands fly into his hair as he aligns himself to you.

"Baby." Taehyung whispers before kissing you gently. His hips thrusting into you slowly as your mouths fall open in tandem. Taehyung's forehead rests against yours as he buries himself to the hilt. A wordless whimper emitting from him as he presses his whole weight into you. His face burying itself in your neck as he pulls out of you at a snails pace.

"Oh my God." He mutters in English before snapping his hips back in.

"You're so tight!" Your head falls back as he begins to piston himself inside you.

"Taehyung!" He groans in agreement before tucking his bottom lip between his teeth. He picks himself up to watch your breasts bounce with every thrust.

"You're so perfect. I've been dying to have you for so long I'm not going to last." His voice was deep and whiny as he pulls your legs up to your chest. You moan loudly at the new angle as his cock caresses your g-spot with every thrust. A sheen sweat building on him as he grips at your knees.

"Your pussy feels so fucking good. Nice and wet for my cock. Fuck!" You moan his name as he relentlessly pounds into you. The bed beginning to smack into the wall which only goads him on to fuck you properly. Taehyung spits on your pussy before rubbing at your clit.

"It's too much!" You whine out as your head swims in pleasure. "You can take it, baby. You can cum on my big cock. C'mon." He moans loudly putting his head back as you rake your hands over his chest and stomach. Taehyung can feel his balls tightening as you moan loudly for him. Your wet pussy being filled is like music to his ears as his mouth goes dry.

"Oh fuck! I'm so close to fucking you full of my cum!" You whimper out as you grip his arms. "Yes! Fuck! Tae, right there!" He drills into you harder, the pleasure of his cock meeting your cervix entrance has you orgasming for the third time within warnings. You cum on his cock as your ears ring.

"Oh Christ! You're so sexy! Squirting all over my cock!" He whimpers loudly as you open your eyes watching his legs and lower stomach get coated in your cum. You could feel his thrusts becoming sloppy as he whimpers your name with a soft voice. His cock throbbing harshly within you.

"Y/N! I'm cumming! Fuck!" Taehyung stills within you moaning loudly throwing his head back. His hips giving small thrusts as you feel his warm cum spray your walls. You moan out exhausted as Taehyung lays his whole weight on you.

"Oh fuck. That was amazing." He mumbles, his lips lazily running over your skin before pulling out of you.

He flips you on to your side before shoving his semi-erect cock back inside of you. "What're you doing?" You ask with a giggle, "I'm sleeping with my girlfriend." He mumbles before kissing your cheek and holding you tightly to him.

"With your dick inside me?" He hums in agreement as he buries his face in your hair.

"Your pussy feels so nice and warm. I love it. I never want to leave." You laugh quietly at his silliness making him smirk.

"I've wanted you for so long, baby. You don't even know." You close your eyes with a smile, "Me too." You turn your head to kiss him and he kisses back eagerly.

"Let's sleep now." He mumbles putting his face into your back as you both get comfortable with each other.

You stir from your sleep feeling fingers run up and down your side, the morning sun shrouding the room with bright light as you turn your head. "Morning, beautiful."

It was almost unreal to see Taehyung behind you. Yesterday was real! You smile at him as he kisses your cheek. "Good morning." He hums to you before pulling out of you and sitting up. He watches with a smirk as his cum gushes out of your pussy.

"Fuck, we made such a mess." He laughs running his fingers through his hair. You giggle sitting up as he pulls you to his chest. "Let's get cleaned up and we'll have something to eat." He mumbles before scooping you up bridal style and walking over to the bathroom.

You sit on the couch next to Tae, his arm over your shoulder as he buries his face in your hair. "Oh! Look! They came out of the room!" Jimin yells loudly as he walks down the hallway. You turn to him before narrowing your eyes as Taehyung smiles into your hair.

"At least quarantine is working out well for someone." Namjoon says entering the kitchen. Yoongi stomps down the hallway, his bed hair standing up straight making you laugh loudly as he points at the both of you.

"If you wake me up again at four forty in the morning. I'll kill you." You bow your head to him as he sneers.

"I'm sorry oppa." Taehyung gives a small chuckle pulling away from you as he looks at his members.

"Why don't we all just appreciate that we are healthy and don't have the virus." Jimin tilts his head sucking a breath in through his teeth while throwing a microwaveable rice in the microwave.

"You're infected though." He says before turning to the both of you leaning against the counter. You tilt your head confused.

"Infected? No, we aren't we passed the test." Jimin smiles, "You are infected. You got the love infection." Making Namjoon laugh loudly throwing his head back. Taehyung chuckles before kissing your temple.

"I am infected." He mumbles before squeezing you close to him. Quarantine really isn't so bad.

#taehyung x reader #bts smut #bts imagine #bts story #bts series #lock down #kim taehyung #v #bts taehyung #jimin #jeongguk #jungkook #seokjin #yoongi #hoseok

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tenspontaneite · 3 years

Text

The Ceracurist (Chapter 1/?)

Rayla has been at university for nearly three months, trying and failing to take care of her horn upkeep alone, before she admits defeat and goes to visit a professional horn salon.

It ends up being somewhat less of a terrible experience than she expects.

(“You’re human?” She blurted, unthinking, and the smile he’d been wearing went momentarily fixed. A little more professional than it was genuine. Then he huffed, an easy laugh, and she felt herself go red around the ears.

“What gave it away?” Her ceracurist asked, dry, his grin a little lopsided.

Rayla stared, taken off-guard, and gestured expansively at his entire body.)

(Chapter length: 6k. Ao3 link)

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Rayla pushed through the doors of the salon with a bearing that would have been better suited for heading into battle. Regrettably, there was no one she could legally fight here, so she slunk cautiously in, grimacing at what she saw. She might have hoped to find somewhere to lurk and get her bearings unnoticed, but there was no hiding in that open and well-lit reception area, and no disguising the way that the bell on the door chimed cheerfully at her passing. It was altogether a terrible start to what she fully expected would be a mortifying experience.

A Sunfire elf looked up from the desk and smiled. Their dark skin and hair was typical enough, but the horns caught her eye; she stared for a second before she could avert her gaze. Far from the usual plain gleam of Sunfire horns, these had been carved into elaborate patterns and dyed in an astonishing gradient of red and purple. She’d never seen anything like it outside of the mageskein, or maybe the cover of a magazine. “Welcome!” the elf chirped, friendly. “Do you have an appointment?” Beside them, on the desk, a potted melodaisy sang a tune that she vaguely recognised. It was weirdly anachronistic to find melodaisy music in a place as modern-looking as this.

Rayla stopped short, tension locking her joints. Her neck prickled with self-consciousness. “...Do I need one?” she asked, after a moment, with an edge to her voice. She eyed the door, already wanting desperately to escape. Shouldn’t have listened to Ethari, she thought morosely. This had been a bad idea from the start.

The receptionist inspected her, and in that moment Rayla was entirely certain that they knew exactly what she was about. It was unnerving, the calculating weight of that look. Then it passed, and they waved dismissively. “If you wanted something complex done, yes. But I’m guessing that’s not what you’re here for.”

She gave serious thought to the idea of just...walking out. She could do that, right? But then she’d have to explain the cowardice, such that it was, whenever she next called her family. And what a stupid thing this would be to lose her nerve over. “No.” She agreed grumpily.

“Touch up?” The receptionist questioned. “Basic buff and polish?”

Her shoulders hunched. “Just the filing and buffing,” she relented, in the end. “I’m not here for anything fancy.”

“Polishing is part of our standard service, I’m afraid. Nothing fancy about it, as far as we’re concerned.” The Sunfire elf smiled at her in a placating sort of way. It grated. “Why don’t you go take a seat and I’ll see who’s available?” they gestured at the row of seats, smartly upholstered, arrayed along the wall. Again, Rayla eyed the door. This was apparently noticed. “It’s alright, we’re used to first-timers,” they assured her, already receding from the desk and heading for the door into the salon proper. “It’s really not that scary. Just wait a minute, alright? I’ll be right back.”

They couldn’t have known it. Or maybe they did? But Rayla heard ‘scary’ and stiffened before she could help it, setting her jaw. Very stubbornly indeed, she stalked over to one of the chairs and planted herself in it, staring grimly at the assorted posters and advertisements on the walls. They were, of course, largely advertising different things one could have done to one’s horns. Because this was a horn salon. A horn salon that her entire family had suggested, implied, or outright stated she desperately needed the services of.

It wasn’t her fault that it was hard to get to the undersides of her horns on her own. Even using a complex set of mirrors, working on what you couldn’t see was decidedly challenging. She’d filed off the nasty parts, but apparently, that wasn’t good enough, and she looked unkempt, and undignified, and how do you ever expect to follow your parents into their line of work looking like that, Rayla-

“Ugh,” she muttered to herself, disgruntled, and folded her arms. She glared at a poster that implored her to, in very bold and cheerful lettering, ‘Ask about horn art today!’. Rayla had absolutely no intention of asking about horn art today.

While she was waiting, a Skywing elf emerged from the same door the receptionist had entered, and approached the desk curiously. He turned to her, and as he did, the light caught on his horns. “Did the receptionist leave?” He asked, and Rayla tried very hard not to stare. Not only did this elf have elaborate patterns carved into the horns, but there was – some sort of silvery metallic inlay in there, gleaming bright and almost liquid in the daylight filtering through the window. She hadn’t even known people did that. It was startlingly striking.

“Er,” she said, and “yeah, I think they’ll be back in a minute, though.” The unfamiliar elf accepted this agreeably enough, and stood by the desk to wait.

Sure enough, the receptionist returned in short order, pausing briefly in the doorway to do a double-take at the man waiting there. “Oh, so that’s why he was free,” they muttered to themself, just about loud enough for Rayla’s excellent ears to pick up. More loudly, they said “Tairas! You look fantastic! Glad you decided to try the metallics after all?”

The elf, evidently some sort of repeat customer, chuckled at them as they strode back up to the counter. “Yeah, I wasn’t sure at first, but-“ he waved expressively at his horns. “-wow, right? You’ve got some serious talent working here.”

“We’re very glad to have him, yes,” agreed the receptionist, and then conducted what ended up being a rapid exchange of a staggering amount of currency. Apparently, fancy horn-decorating did not come cheap. Rayla glanced uneasily at the price lists on the walls to reassure herself that what she was here for wouldn’t be so extortionate. Finally, the customer with the fancy metal-patterned horns left, and the receptionist approached her again. “Well, you’re in luck, Callum finished up with Tairas just in time for you,” they told her. “So I can take you through now.”

“Great.” Rayla said, unenthusiastically, and the receptionist snickered at her.

With a friendly pat on her shoulder, they said “It’ll be fine, trust me. And Callum’s one of our best ceracurists anyway, so you’ll be in good hands.”

The words didn’t soothe her. They’d be stranger’s hands, no matter their skill; that was what had unsettled her. Of course it was what had unsettled her. What else?

Still. She supposed if she had to have a stranger’s hands on her horns, at the very least it could be a stranger who knew what they were doing. Rayla sighed, resigned, and followed the receptionist through to the treatment area. She entered a long corridor with yet more doors arrayed along it; some further down its length marked ‘staff only’, others nearer and unadorned. The receptionist took her into the closest, revealing a large room lined with curtained-off booths. The sounds were precisely what she’d expected; the buzz of a half dozen electric buffers in operation, the hum of voices, the shuffling of feet. She could smell keratin dust and horn polish on the air. Horn oil, too.

It ought to have unsettled her further, and it did, a little. But the sight of the curtains had soothed her at once, with all their attendant implications of privacy. Somehow, she’d anticipated something far more open, where she had the sight to go with the sound of however-many elves having their horns groomed. She’d anticipated that others would be able to see her, sat beneath the ministrations of a ceracurist who she didn’t even know.

It had been a stupid expectation, in retrospect. For all that it was more common in the larger cities for elves to see a ceracurist when they needed to, they still had their dignity. Of course there’d be booths. Of course they wouldn’t be able to see each other. Of course.

Her relief at the realisation sustained her until she was led a little further down the room. Only one booth was open and empty, and within it she saw what she expected: a chair, a basin, a mirror. A table of tools. There was no one waiting there for her, but she tensed regardless.

“He’ll be here soon,” reassured the receptionist, as if mistaking the source of her anxiety. “He’s just changing. The metallurgy is careful work, you know.”

She didn’t know, in fact. She didn’t particularly care, either. “Right.” she said, terse, and eventually allowed herself to be prodded over to the waiting chair. Stiffly, she sat. And then the receptionist left her there to wait.

It didn’t take long. On-edge as she was, her ears twitched at the footsteps in the corridor long before anyone entered the room; she traced their approach, staring at the sight of her own terse expression in the mirror. Then, finally, the person drew near enough to pause at the edge of her booth. She could see the edge of their body in the mirror, wearing some sort of dark apron over a uniform.

“Hey there,” he said, friendly, and there was the sound of a curtain being drawn. “So you’re my surprise appointment, huh?”

“Suppose so,” Rayla muttered, eyes on her hands as they tightened in her lap. She still hadn’t looked. She didn’t really want to look at him. This was the person who’d be handling her horns. A stranger. She wasn’t quite ready to put a face to the voice yet. But, ready or not…he stepped into view.

Startled, she blinked up at him, and registered several things in rapid succession. The hair was a little surprising; brown, but smooth in a way you didn’t often get with Sunfire or Earthblood elves, and his skin was pale. Eyes a pleasant forest-green. Cute, Rayla’s mind supplied after a moment, as though to distract herself from the far more obvious conclusion of-

“You’re human?” She blurted, unthinking, and the smile he’d been wearing went momentarily fixed. A little more professional than it was genuine. Then he huffed, an easy laugh, and she felt herself go red around the ears.

“What gave it away?” Her ceracurist asked, dry, his grin a little lopsided.

Rayla stared, taken off-guard, and gestured expansively at his entire body. The lack of horns, the rounded ears, the – the five-finger hands, so strange in their shape that for a moment she couldn’t pull her eyes from them. It wasn’t as if she’d never seen humans before. But these circumstances were weird.

“Yeah, that’s fair.” He acknowledged. He stepped up to the table of assorted tools, inspecting them, and nodded before returning his eyes to her. Again that lopsided smile. “Don’t worry, though. I promise I’m good at my job, even if I don’t have my own horns to practice on.”

Her face burned, blood flushing hot in her veins at the sudden and abrupt reminder of what she was here for. Of what he was here for. “…Is that something people worry about?” She found herself asking, struck by how practiced those words had seemed, like he’d said them – or some variation of them – a great many times.

“Eh, sometimes.” He shrugged, then went over to pull the rest of the curtains closed. “It’s not something people expect, anyway. A human ceracurist, I mean.”

“I definitely didn’t,” she muttered, not quite under her breath, and he snickered.

“It’s okay, I’m used to it.” He offered a smile, and then – to her surprise – a short polite bow, in the human style, fist clasped over his heart. She’d not seen anyone do that since she was a child. “I’m Callum, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

Thoughts suddenly muddled by some very old memories, she blinked, then nodded cautiously. “Rayla.” She hesitated. “Same?” Under the circumstances, she shouldn’t have found it nice to meet him. But, unaccountably, she did.

“Is it okay if we get started?” He asked then, nodding to his table of implements. “Don’t want to hurry you, but this does take a while.”

Whatever ease she’d managed to find in the brief conversation abruptly fled her, and she went still and wordless. She glanced at him, at his face, for all of a second before the mortification overcame her and she had to hide behind her hands. “Moon above,” she muttered, into her palms, shoulders hunching. “Ugh.”

There was a pause. “You alright there?” His voice was only half joking.

“…Yeah.” She said eventually, and forced her hands down. “Just…”

He sounded sympathetic. “Never had your horns done outside the family, huh?” She made some sort of affirmative noise, and he nodded understandingly. “It’s okay, we get a lot of that here. If it helps, just remember that it’s a professional setting, and doesn’t come with the normal implications, okay?”

She sighed. “I’ll do my best.” Despite that resolution, though, she still couldn’t help the embarrassed grumble when he draped a gown around her front and shoulders, ostensibly to shield her clothes from horn debris, and leaned the chair she was in back towards the basin.

“Do you prefer to have a hair-shield on, or to have your hair washed afterwards?” He asked, after a moment, and she balked. She hadn’t even realised that was an option. But – of course, otherwise people would have to leave the salon with their hair wet with horn-oil and full of disgusting keratin dust and flakes…

“Hair shield,” she opted, quickly, and he hummed his agreement.

“No problem.” He pulled something from the table with a rustling noise. “Does mean I won’t be able to get at the first centimetre or so of your horns, though, so keep that in mind.”

Worth it, she thought. It was something of a mercy, even. The horns themselves were just insensate keratin on the outsides…but the skin at the beds? That was sensitive. She’d be glad to avoid that particular intimacy.

Even as she thought it, the ceracurist lowered something over one of her horns, and then the other, perceptible by the light and gentle weight grazing over them. She went utterly still, and peered up to try to see in the mirror what he was doing. It was a kind of…hood, or shroud, with two horn-holes in it. And some sort of drawstring around both holes. She watched with a bizarre and anxious tension as he pressed the hood down and then tightened the drawstrings around the base of her horns until they were flush with the hornbeds.

Then, visible in the mirror, he paused and looked her horns over. His expression didn’t change much, but she could see the minute lift of his eyebrows. Her face burned. “Been a while,” she offered, by way of explanation for the state of them, and she saw his smile in the reflection.

“You’ve done a pretty good job by yourself, really.” He said generously, dipping something into the basin with a distinct watery splash. “The oversides are pretty neatly filed.” Briefly, there was the lightest sensation of weight on her right horn, like he’d touched a fingertip to it. A shiver of apprehension stiffened her shoulders. “You’ve done this ridge a bit flat, though. And the undersides…” He paused, like he couldn’t think of anything charitable to say on that moment’s notice.

Rayla closed her eyes, embarrassed and unnerved at once. “Ugh.”

“They’re hard to get to, I know,” he soothed, and then planted a wet soapy cloth on the horn in question. “It’s okay. I can fix it up.”

She sighed, neck prickling with tension. “Sure.”

The next few minutes she sat silently warring with her impulse to twitch at every touch on her horns. Given the ceracurist spent said minutes washing those horns, this was a considerable challenge. The sensation of heat from warm water radiating through the keratin wasn’t unfamiliar, and neither was the scrub of the brush – but she’d never experienced either outside the company of family before. It was unsettling. Reminding herself that it was professional didn’t help that, either – all it did was calm the flush in her cheeks a little.

“I’m guessing you moved here recently, then.” The ceracurist – Callum – said after a while. “Away from family.”

She startled a little, and glanced at his reflection in the mirror. As best she could, anyway, with her head tipped mostly backwards. Her nose obstructed most of her view from this angle. “…Yeah. Few months back.”

He paused. “You’re a student?” He guessed, and she supposed it wasn’t a difficult leap to make. She was the right age, this part of the city was packed with students, and the first term had started nearly three months ago in March. The conclusion was obvious. She offered a vague hum of agreement to confirm it, and he was silent for a while. “That’s actually kind of impressive,” he said at last. “Most of the other new students with tricky horns gave up trying to do it themselves after like, a month. Not three. You’ve been managing pretty well.”

Rayla snorted. “Tricky horns?” She repeated, ignoring the rest for now, and he huffed at her.

“Moonshadow, Skywing, you know. Tricky horns.” He elaborated. She could practically hear the smile in his voice. “The Sunfire elves manage pretty well, theirs are simple enough.”

“And meanwhile we have the most annoying kind of all,” Rayla muttered, of her own race. “Stupid ridges and all.”

“Well, if you’ve not seen a Skywing elf when they’re casting their shells, maybe hold off on making that call.” He sounded amused. “But yeah, you guys don’t exactly have it easy. We get a lot of Moonshadow elves coming in here for horn help.”

“Students?”

“Mostly. But there’s other elves around who don’t have anyone in their personal lives they’d trust enough, too. So they come here.” He removed the brush, wiped her horns off, and went for a distinctive tool on the table. An electric buffer. Considerably faster and more effective than doing it by hand, she knew, but they were expensive enough that a lot of elves didn’t have one. Her family had, though. They all shared the tools. So she knew what to expect.

The noise of it started up, and accordingly their conversation dwindled. She felt the buzz of the buffer against her right horn a moment later, angled carefully into one of the ridges there. As always, the sensation hummed straight through the keratin to the vaguely-sensitive skin beneath; it tingled. The next while passed like that, with the ceracurist occasionally sitting her up and coaxing her to move her head this way or that to get better angles on her horns, paying particular attention to the neglected undersides. She didn’t even want to think about how many keratin flakes must be littering the gown he’d put on her.

Her inner-horn had gone thoroughly numb from the vibrations by the time he switched the buffer off and set it aside to get the cloth again. “I’ll just wipe this down and go for a second run, then do the same on your other horn, alright?” He said, soothingly, probably seeing how she twitched at every motion, uncertain what he’d do next.

She tried to relax a little. It was uncomfortable, yes, but…this was his job, and it – that was all it was. Plenty of elves had their horns done by ceracurists. It was fine. “Right.” She muttered, and tried not to flinch when she felt the weight of the cloth on her horn again. More to distract herself than anything else, she asked “How long have you been doing this?” Except, once she’d actually asked, she was curious. How did a human even end up working in a horn salon? Why was he in an elven city in the first place?

The ceracurist huffed, and said, impishly, “This? Probably coming up to ten minutes, so far.” He tapped her horn cheerfully, as if to indicate it, and went back to wiping. Her cheeks heated instantly; she couldn’t exactly help it, with that very direct reminder that he was touching her horns.

She rolled her eyes anyway. “Ha-ha,” she said, dryly, and he snickered at her.

“About two years, now.” He relented after a moment. “I’m only in a few times a week, but, eh. It’s a hobby. And I get paid for it, so.” He shrugged, then went for the buffer again. Accordingly, there was no more talking for a while, but in that interim her interest grew. He looked around her age, or maybe even younger…and he’d been doing this for years?

She’d assumed, from his accent, that he came from one of the human countries. Possibly even Katolis, though she wasn’t great at telling the different West Xadia accents apart. But if he’d been living here for years…was he a resident? Long-term? That was rare. The curiosity nagged at her enough that she half-forgot the embarrassment of having her horns handled by a stranger, and when he put the buffer down again, she said “You don’t have a Gullcrest accent.”

“That’s probably one of the politest ways anyone’s tried to ask me where I’m from,” he mused, and for a second she felt like an absolute racist boor before he waved dismissively at her. He explained “It’s fine, people get curious, I don’t mind. I didn’t grow up here or anything, I just came for the university.”

Rayla startled. “You’re a student?”

He smiled, and this time he looked decidedly proud of himself. “Mastery student, even.” He agreed cheerfully, and she stopped short, turning her head over her shoulder to squint at him. “You know, it’s hard to work on your horns if you’re facing me,” he told her, very reasonably, but she was busy inspecting his face. He had to be around the same age as her, surely. And he was on a masters degree?

“How old are you?” She demanded, suddenly completely uncertain of her ability to judge human ages.

The ceracurist looked pleased at the question, as if he relished every chance to show off the absurdly young age at which he was pursuing a mastery in…whatever it was he studied. “Eighteen.” He said, and then gently nudged her into turning around again. She made an incredulous face at him, but obliged after a moment. “How about you?”

“Nineteen,” she answered, distractedly, trying to parse the mystery of her ceracurist’s unlikely academic circumstances. Generally people were only allowed to pursue a mastery when they’d done an apprenticeship or undergraduate degree already, and those were never less than three years long. An apprenticeship, then? She couldn’t imagine a fifteen-year-old being let into the university…

Unceremoniously, the buzz of the buffer interrupted her thoughts and the conversation, so they fell quiet again. It was him who spoke first when he was done with the first pass on her other horn. “What are you studying?”

However logical it was as a follow-up question, it still caught her off-guard. “Er.” She scrambled for the name, mind suddenly blank. A moment later she supplied “Professional Security. And Tactics.”

“Huh.” He sounded bemused. “I know someone on that course, actually. He’s second year now.”

Rayla snorted. “How’s he finding it?”

“Says there’s way more math than he thinks is fair. And he thinks Professor Sadris is evil.”

That neatly matched her observations thus far, at least. “Sounds about right.” After that, the second buffing run silenced them again, and she was left in thought. What would a human be studying at Gullcrest at a mastery level? How long had he lived here? She’d seen a handful of humans at the university, but…well, they stood out. There weren’t a lot of them. Had she seen him before, perhaps? There was something weirdly familiar about him…

She was all set to come out and ask one of the dozen questions on her mind when the buffer stopped, but he just said “I’m about done with this now, so it’s onto the polishing next. That won’t take as long, but there probably will be horn-polish splatter, so…brace yourself, I guess.”

“Isn’t that what the hair shield is for?” She asked, neatly distracted, and was surprised to realise that most of her nerves had disappeared, somewhere between her curiosity and the human ceracurist’s efficient work.

“And the apron,” he agreed. “But it does still get messy. You want any colours?”

“Colour?” She echoed, disconcerted, and he seemed to understand what she was asking.

“Horn polish can come in colours, with dyes in it. It’s a really easy way to add colour to horns. If you’re just here for basic care, though, that’s fine.”

“Er.” She thought for a moment on that startling gradient of colour on the receptionist’s horns. Was that how theirs had been done, or was there some other method needed for something that striking? Either way… “No, no colours. Thanks, though?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. You’ve got a nice base horn colour, anyway.” He said, as if making comments like that was the most normal thing in the world. For a ceracurist, it might well be; but her cheeks flushed an instant and virulent red regardless. “It’s a good clear dark purple. It’ll look great when it’s polished up.”

Rayla wondered, amid her embarrassment, when she’d last seen her horns polished. Her parents did the buffing, sure, but polishing…not so much. It was a lot of work without the special oils and tools. She thought maybe they’d done it once, when she was pretty young, for one particular formal occasion. Aside from that, though… “I don’t even know what my horns look like polished,” she admitted, flustered, and he paused for a moment.

“Huh.” He said, just a little surprised. “Well, the colour goes darker, and a lot shinier. Looks really nice, I think. You’ll see.” And, with that, he uncapped the horn polish, the smell hitting her like a slap to the face. Her nose wrinkled, and she wondered how many times she’d have to wash her hair to get the residual stink of it out. The hair shield probably wouldn’t be able to keep all of it off, after all.

Her ceracurist seemed entirely oblivious to how awful the smell was at close range, but she supposed he’d had practice withstanding it. Either that, or he’d burned out his sense of smell in the first week of his alleged two years. She closed her eyes a couple of minutes in, the acrid reek of the stuff making them water and sting. It felt like she was dousing her sinuses with acid every time she inhaled.

Callum chuckled at her, as if he knew precisely what she was thinking. “The stuff we use is a lot stronger than what you’re probably used to.” He said cheerfully. “Has a pretty interesting smell, right?”

“It feels like it’s burning my nose,” she complained, lifting a hand to rub at it with annoyance. “And it’s making my eyes water.” The sensation was rather alike being too close to the epicentre of a very enthusiastic onion-chopping endeavour.

“Yeah, we have spells on to keep it out of our eyes so we can actually see what we’re doing,” Callum said, uncapping the bottle again. It decanted a fresh wave of acrid reek into the surrounding air. “It’s not harmful, though, just sort of stings. Plus, I’m only using the full-strength stuff because your horns haven’t been done in a long time. It’s a lot weaker when it’s just a normal touch-up.” Though she couldn’t see his face, she could practically hear the grin. “Come back a little sooner next time, and it won’t smell this bad.”

Come back? “Ugh,” she said, en lieu of addressing that statement properly, and fell quiet to ruminate disconcertedly on what he’d said. Come back? She hadn’t thought about it, but – of course, she’d need to come back. She was going to be at university for years, and would barely be home for any of that. If she didn’t want her horns to get disgusting again, trips like this would have to be an ongoing thing.

“Every month, is usually a good bet,” Callum said, as if she’d actually spoken the question that was suddenly on her mind. “Usually between half-moon and new moon is the best time for you guys. You get a lot more active keratin growth around full moon, so if you wait till later, the work we do will usually stay put until the next month.”

Rayla frowned at the mirror. “Do humans have some kind of mind-reading power I don’t know about?” Her tone was dry, for all that she was a little off-put at how well he could apparently read her. It…well, it was useful information, though. She hadn’t known that keratin grew faster around Full Moon, for all that it made sense. She wondered if she should be bothered by learning something about how her own horns worked from a human.

He snorted, but took a few seconds to respond. “Not me, that’s for sure.” He said, lightly, and finally put the stinking polishing-stuff down. “Can’t speak for other humans, though. I think we probably don’t have secret mind-reading societies anywhere, but you never know. Weirder things have happened.”

She thought of the huge scandal of a few years back and made a face. “True enough,” she sighed, turning her neck to inspect what he was doing. “Are you done yet?”

Having moved enough to have eyes on him, she was able to watch as his lips turned up in a wry smile. “You’re that eager to escape, huh?”

Rayla rolled her eyes at him. “Escape the polishing? Yes. It stinks.”

He snickered, but nodded, and went for a more normal cleaning cloth that she was deeply glad to see. “Yeah, that part’s done. I’ll rinse off now and then put some oil on to dry, and that’ll be it.” He wrung the cloth over the basin and then coaxed her head around again, lifting his hands to her horns.

She blinked. “What, ‘it’ as in done?”

“Yep. I like to think I’m pretty speedy at the whole buff-and-polish thing by now.”

“…Huh.” Nonplussed, Rayla went quiet.

She could hear the smile in his voice. “Wasn’t as bad as you thought?” He guessed, as on-point as ever, and she felt her cheeks heat again. It was quite a question for someone to ask when their hands happened to be on your horns.

Rayla folded her arms under the protective gown. “….Maybe,” she admitted, begrudgingly, and sat there while the warmth of the water and his hands crept through her horns. The gentle slide of the cloth was easily perceptible, a shift of weight and echoing sensation in the living core. A stranger’s hands, and she was just…sitting there. She couldn’t quite get her head around it. But he was right. It wasn’t as bad as she’d thought it would be.

“Make an appointment for next month, when you’re on your way out,” he suggested, setting the cloth back and uncapping some other sort of oil. This one, in sharp contrast to the polish, let off a surprisingly pleasant smell. Faintly sweet, and reminiscent of the lighter oils Ethari used on some of his woodcraft. A pang of nostalgia, just shy of homesickness, stabbed through her gut. “That way it’ll be all sorted for next time.”

“Mm.” She shrugged lightly, noncommittal, a little perturbed at the little secretive thing unfurling in her chest that wanted to come back. Not for the mortifying ordeal of having her horns handled, certainly not, but…

With the finishing oil applied, Callum released the drawstrings from around her horns and pulled the hair-cover away. “All done. Take a look,” he invited, nudging her head up, and reached out to remove the gown while she automatically looked where he’d pointed her. For a moment, she was utterly stunned, wide-eyed at the unfamiliar sight of her horns gleaming darkly in the mirror, perfect to the every ridge. She was still silent when he spoke again, saying “See? Just like I told you. Your horns polish up really nicely.”

She looked up reflexively, expression unguarded, and could do nothing to stop the quicksilver flush that his words brought to her cheeks. He was smiling at her, wide and genuine and a little lopsided.

It took what felt like far too long for her to manage to speak. “I suppose?” She offered, averting her eyes to the mirror, where she watched herself schooling her face into something a little less transparent.

He patted her shoulder, friendly, then reached out a hand – five-fingered and alien – to help her up. She stared at it for a moment, then took it. His fingers were warm, and soft from horn-oil. She could feel a trace of it left on her skin when he let go. “It was good to meet you, Rayla,” he said, with that same smile. “Maybe I’ll see you next time.”

She averted her eyes for a moment. “…Maybe.” She agreed, finally, and managed to master herself enough to flash a tentative smile back at him. “Er. Thanks, Callum.”

Rayla was a little too busy trying not to look outwardly flustered to pay much attention to the next few minutes, but as she found herself escorted back to the reception area, she felt strangely disappointed to see the door close on her ceracurist. The receptionist was eyeing her appraisingly as she eventually summoned the presence of mind to go fishing for her money.

“Looks like he treated you well enough. You’re not all tense anymore.” They observed, looking pleased for some reason. “Good on you for not making a fuss, either.”

She blinked, drawn out of her reverie. “What would I make a fuss about?” She questioned, taken-aback.

“He’s human,” the receptionist said, like it was obvious. “People can be stupid about it sometimes. But you weren’t, which is nice, because otherwise we’d have had to throw you out with bad horns, and that would be embarrassing for everyone. I assume I’m booking you in for next month?”

Rayla was still trying to process the words and didn’t register the question for a moment. Distractedly, she said “Yes? I think?”

The receptionist eyed her. “Three weeks,” they decided. “We’ll book you in for waning crescent. Callum works weekends and Wednesday afternoons only, so if you want another time, you’ll need to go with a different ceracurist.” They looked at her expectantly. For a second Rayla was flustered by the implied suggestion, but then she realised that it was probably just standard practice for people to see the same ceracurist every time. Certainly it would be less uncomfortable that way. She couldn’t even imagine having to put her horns into the hands of a new stranger every month.

She cleared her throat, blinked, then tried to consult her mental schedule. “Three weeks…” she muttered to herself, thinking. “Er. Wednesday afternoon?”

They flipped through their papers, squinting. “Four-thirty? He’s pretty booked for the rest of that window.”

“That works,” she said, hoping her voice sounded normal and not-flustered, and supplied her name to have it written into the schedule. It was another weird anachronism; most people would have written it into a computer, but here this elf was using a notebook instead. It was set aside by the potted plant once closed; the plant in question broke off from its recitation of music to mimic the sound of the doorbell note-perfect. That was the problem with melodaisies. You could teach them all the music you liked, but as soon as they heard someone whistling, they might well just start imitating that instead.

“Thanks for coming,” the receptionist said, after shooting an exasperated glance at their plant. “We’ll see you next month.”

Rayla took the hint, and went at once for the door. She escaped with the ring of a bell, a palpable sense of relief, and considerably shinier horns than she’d gone in with.

---

End chapter.

Notes:

Welcome to the first meet-cute I’ve ever written! Also the first story whose entire purpose is essentially romance. Because it’s me, there is a broader potential plot thread at work, as well as cool worldbuilding, but given I have no idea how much of this I’m actually going to write, I’m not really worrying about that too much at this point.

Hope everyone had fun with this first chapter, and that everyone is curious about what the heck is up with Callum.

Story notes-

Setting:

I’d loosely describe the setting as canon spliced with piaj twisted by most of a millennium of alternate history and technological development. Essentially, it’s sort of a modern AU, but not really.

Because this story is for fun, I’m wiping real-world-modern vibes over it wherever I want to/think I can justify it, and same goes for my own personal university experience vibes.

Worldbuilding:

A great, great deal of the worldbuilding is taken from my primary project – Peace Is A Journey – and adapted for the alternate historical context that this setting involves. I have even borrowed several elf OCs (at least three) from piaj and its sequel. History in this setting diverges from canon some time after the banishment of humans from Eastern Xadia – though I’ve not narrowed the timeline down precisely, it’s likely that the first couple hundred years of history went very similarly to how I’ve ironed it out in piaj, though this isn’t likely to be hugely important.

However, despite the similarities, this AU’s broader global history and foundational metaphysics are completely different to piaj. Worldbuilding and metaphysical specifics that aren’t incompatible with this difference, which is most of them, remain.

I’ve involuntarily put a fair amount of thought into the setting’s worldbuilding, and a lot of it is pretty cool, but considering it is a for-fun project, I’m not too concerned about specifics or ‘balancing’, so to speak. This means that I will be trying not to put huge amounts of thought into why some technologies are advanced and some aren’t. I am trying to keep the Worldbuilding Complexity setting to a dull roar, pretty much, and only develop the stuff that matters.

Glossary:

Ceracurist: a professional horn-salonist; one who cares for horns. From Greek ‘keras’, horn (same root as keratin or polycerate), and Latin ‘cura’, care (same root as manicure or pedicure or even cure). Technically this sort of root-mixing is sometimes seen as bad form, but it works just fine in context.

Mageskein: magic internet, pretty much. This is used almost exclusively in Eastern Xadia.

Gullcrest: an elven city located along the southern coast of Eastern Xadia. The majority of the story will take place here. The base concept and location of Gullcrest was taken from piaj worldbuilding and heavily adapted for the Ceracurist setting.

Extras:

A picture demonstrating an unpolished and a polished bull horn from the same pair, to demonstrate how much of a difference it makes.

#rayllum #tdp fic #tdp rayla #tdp callum #meet cute #modern AU #sort of #College AU #also sort of #Alternate history AU

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