#very tiny because the show had been over nearly ten years by that point

[hussyknee]

Not denying that the current state of discourse has taken new and distressing trends, but having been in online fandoms going on twenty years now, seeing people being like "I hate how fandoms are no longer places of fun but stress and toxicity" has me like??!!!? Bitch, fandoms have always been a few months of fun engagement and then fighting for your fucking life. Just because Web 2.0 has exacerbated some of the problems doesn't mean you get to be ahistorical about it, like an Elf yearning for the Gray Havens

[ourlife-loves]

"I like you" (DAY6) - Cove Holden

Song - "I like you" by Day6 (Everyday6: Moonrise)

Our Life, Step 3 - Charity

Word Count: 1,096

You two stood in your bedroom, staring at each other. It went silent a moment ago, and all you could do was think. The man before you, Cove James Holden. Your best friend of ten years now, who has been with you through thick and thin. You knew exactly how you felt about him, how you had always felt about him.

The days that go as my will, there weren't many.

Throughout those years, there were many fights. That time you caught Cove trying to run away, and he proclaimed he would “never tell you anything again!” when you decided to go and tell your moms. But then, upon finding out about your birth parents, Cove was the very first person you went to. He knew just how to comfort you, just like he always had, even when you were distant and kept trying to push him away.

Actually, many didn’t go the way I’d like.

And let’s not forget the time you told him about the deal you were offered. Despite the fact that you pretty much told him right away, and that you didn’t take that twenty dollar bill, he wouldn’t let you near him. But it was understandable, what eight year old wouldn’t be upset? You stuck yourself right by his side regardless, and it was by some sort of miracle the Mr. Holden showed up when he did to resolve the issue.

It feels like today might be one of them.

Things went so well today. You had no real struggle with your outfit, and the event was amazing. You and Cove had worked so hard for it, but you knew it would be great as long as Cove was there.

It’s concerning me.

Cove. Lost in your mind, you nearly forgot you were still standing there, staring at him. When you looked at his face again, lit up by the tiny firefly, you could see it on his face. The silent question, slowly turning into concern as you realized you had been frowning. Great, that’s exactly the last expression you wanted on your face at that moment.

After I say this, I’m not sure if we can face each other again, smiling.

“Cove…”

I don’t know if we can go back to what we were.

You looked directly at him once again, smiling as you took his hand. If you were going to say it, you had to be clear, of course. You could do this, you know you can. How could he not feel the same, after all these years? You knew the way he looked at you was different, and you can’t pretend you haven’t noticed the way his cheeks always flushed when he talked to you. He wasn’t like that with Derek. Not Terri or Miranda, either. Only with you. Moms, Lee, and Liz had constantly teased you two over the years, so maybe, just maybe he felt the same?

But still, I have to say this.

A solid deep breath in. “Cove… I like you.”

There, you did it. You started, and now there’s no turning back. “It’s just, I tried to hold it down, but I can’t do this anymore.”

As you started your confession, your eyes slowly drifted to the ground. It was hard to face him, but you could see that the light of the firefly was gone. At that, you slowly lifted your head once more.

Your eyes are shaking, they’re shaking my heart also.

Knowing Cove for as long as you have, you could tell that he was about to cry. His eyes were wide, and he was staring at you in shock. For a split second you thought maybe he didn’t hear you, but it’s more like he needed the time to process your words. And then, the tears started to spill over.

When this passes, I don’t know if we can go back to when we were casual.

At this point in time, for perhaps the first time since you met, you couldn’t discern Cove’s feelings from his expression. Maybe he felt the same as you, and he was crying because he got emotional. You knew him well enough that this was a very likely scenario. But you also knew it could be because he didn’t and perhaps he felt bad for you. Your heart sunk at the notion, and you wanted so badly to ignore it.

“I’ve been crushing on you like this for a long time, Cove.”

You slowly took his hands in yours. If he wasn’t going to talk, you needed to at least sort it out. Even if you left heartbroken, it would only be that much worse if he blamed himself for it. He doesn’t need to feel bad about not returning your feelings.

“If you don’t feel the same, you can just tell me ‘I’m sorry.’ I’ll be fine, I promise.”

At those words, Cove froze. All the tears that had been pouring like waterfalls left, as if they never existed in the first place.

“Never.”

At that, you froze.

“It took me a long time to say this. I was afraid that you wouldn’t feel the same way. But you’ve never given me any reason to be afraid.”

This time, it was your turn to be shocked. You’re sure that your expression mirrors the one Cove had just a moment ago.

“MC, you’re great. Everything you do is wonderful and fantastic. Which is why I… I like you.”

You suddenly understand why Cove started crying, because the tears poured out of you with much of the same sentiment. It wasn’t because he felt bad, but because he felt amazing. The fact that neither of you were one hundred percent sure that you felt the same, it was like you were carrying around a few tons on your shoulders every day.

But there was no reason to fear that any longer, because he liked you and you liked him. As if to seal the deal, you both leaned in at once. This was it, your very first kiss with Cove. It was like fireworks, brilliant flashes of color crossing your mind as your lips met. You knew deep within your heart that this feeling was much deeper than anticipated. 

As you continued you only felt more and more giddy, the two of you clumsily bumping into each other. Many of your habits you started to share over the years, and this much continued to be true as the two of you started your incoherent, happy mumbling into each other.

“I want to love you.”

[pippytmi]

Supercorp + Hogwarts AU + meet messy + "is that the best you can do?"

“Hey, do you guys want to see a muggle magic trick?”

Kara doesn’t have to look up to know Alex and Kelly are exchanging glances over Nia’s head. Nia is the best witch in the fifth year hands-down, but her grasp of muggle illusions leave a lot to be desired.

“Sure…” Kelly agrees, politely but unsurely, while Alex shakes her head.

“If this is that stupid coin trick again, Nia—” she starts, but Nia is already squeezing between them on the grass, unfolding a pack of muggle playing cards.

“It is not,” Nia says. “Prepare to be amazed! Yvette says I’m really good at this one.”

“Oh, joy,” Alex mutters under her breath, which turns into a pained yelp when Kelly elbows her in the ribs.

Kara finally raises her gaze from the newspaper she’s been half-reading, fully prepared to commit to Nia’s trick, but then she catches a glimpse of dark hair and a brisk pace. It’s Lena Luthor, notorious loner, actually sitting outside by the black lake with her books.

It’s odd—Lena never sits outside. People talk; Lena doesn’t have many friends (someone even started a rumor that Lillian Luthor pays Jess, another sixth year, to hang out with Lena). In fact, the only time anyone really sees Lena is in class, or in the Slytherin common room when Jess is also there. Kara sees her even less (only when Slytherin and Gryffindor share classrooms), but that doesn’t make the hopeless crush she’s fostered on her since they were eleven any less potent.

Kelly starts clapping suddenly, reluctantly dragging Kara’s eyes from Lena (who is reading a book; Kara is wondering just what kind of book it is). “Aw, Nia, that was good!” she says. “Do it again!”

Even Alex is curiously lifting up the cards one by one, as if trying to determine the trick herself. “Did you use actual magic for this?” she asks.

“I’m just that good,” Nia brags, though the way she tries to expertly shuffle the cards right back into their box suggests otherwise; half of them spill onto the grass. “Oh man!”

“I’ve got this,” Kara says, absentmindedly reaching for her wand. “Accio—”

“Kara, no!”

Oh, that’s right, Kara thinks belatedly. My wand is broken. It had been an unfortunate event on the Quidditch pitch involving an overzealous Hufflepuff seeker (Winn is still very apologetic about it, but it can’t be helped now). Unfortunately, Kara never seems to quite remember that magic is off-limits until it can be fixed.

And even more unfortunate is the fact that her mind and her words have begun to converge; she’s thinking about the book Lena is reading while glancing at the cards, and her mouth is forming silent words, and really it’s not a surprise at all when said book rockets out of Lena’s hands and aims right for Nia’s head.

No one dies, though, nor do they have to make the unpleasant trudge to the infirmary—Kelly is far quicker than any of Kara’s botched magic, and the book explodes into nothing when she mutters a firm, “Evanesco.”

“Kelly!” Kara forgets, for a second, about the whole Nia-about-to-break-her-face thing; her heart drops to the pit of her stomach at the thought that something of Lena Luthor’s has been reduced to figurative dust. What if that book was personal? What if it was special? What if it was—

“Excuse me,” says a quiet, sudden voice, and Kara just about falls over in the grass at the sight of Lena Luthor standing there. “I think you summoned my book.”

Kelly winces. “Oh, actually—”

“I destroyed it,” Kara blurts out, because really, this is her fault and Nia still has a face so the least Kara can do is take a fall for a friend. “I’m sorry. My wand is broken, and I was trying to summon some cards, but I was looking at you and thinking about your book and it just…I’m sorry. Again. I can pay for it?” She immediately begins digging into the pockets of her robes, but all she manages to scrounge up is a broken sugar quill and a drawing on a torn sheet of paper that depicts Professor Grant as a dragon.

For a moment, all Lena does is stare down at Kara in a peculiarly quizzical way. She doesn’t seem mad or anything, just perplexed. A second later she says, “You were thinking about ‘Voyages with Vampires’ strongly enough to summon it? I don’t really enjoy Gilderoy Lockhart books myself.”

“To be fair,” Kara’s quick to defend herself, “I couldn’t read the title from this far.”

“Right. You decided you wanted to snatch my book from me because it was mine.” And just like that, the curious expression on Lena’s face drops entirely, twists into something resigned and exhausted. “Is that the best you can do? Petty little child games?”

“What? No, I would never—”

“Because last week Eve Tessmacher hit me with a furnunculus curse that was far more clever than this,” Lena all but sneers. “It’s always the pig-headed Gryffindors that aim out of their league.”

“You wanna say that again?” Alex is jumping up, her wand brandished out, and Lena glances from her to Kara to Kelly to Nia, as if just realizing how potentially outnumbered she could be.

Except, well, that’s so not the issue. Kara hastens to stand between Alex’s wand and Lena’s body, nearly knocking her sister over in the process. “No! No, I didn’t do that as a prank, I—” She pauses, feels her cheeks go hot, and then rushes out, “Ijustthinkyou’rereallypretty!”

Alex lowers her wand; Kara can tell, because Alex uses it to jab her in the ribs. “Oh, bloody hell,” Alex grumbles, and she nudges Kelly to join her. “I think that’s our cue. I’d rather study for Potions than watch this.”

Kelly obligingly drags Nia along, who looks like she wants to protest, but eventually Nia caves in—though not without trying to wink conspiringly at Kara, which doesn’t work because Nia “winks” with both eyes.

“But—” Kara watches as her friends scatter, and then she is left with the heavy, accusatory gaze of Lena Luthor. She tries to smile, but imagines her attempt is more of a wince than anything. “Did I mention that I’m sorry?”

Lena takes a step forward. She raises her chin in the air, no less guarded, but her eyes convey a tiny bit of that earlier curiosity all the same. “You’ve already had your fun, Kara Danvers,” she says. “But I will give you credit, no one has played the ‘I have a crush on you’ prank yet.”

Kara frowns. “Do people really play pranks on you so much?”

“I am the weird little sister of a boy who tried to blow up Hogwarts,” Lena all but deadpans. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re way more than Lex Luthor’s sister, and that’s just...really mean,” Kara says, words bursting out before she even pauses to rein them in. “I mean, you are so smart! Last year you saved a bunch of first years who wandered into the Forbidden Forest. A-and you never tried out for Quidditch, but sometimes you fly with Jess on the pitch and you’re so fast you could easily run circles around anyone on the Slytherin team. You’re the coolest person ever. Even when you were eleven, you—” Finally, her brain starts to catch up with her mouth, and Kara flushes hotter than she ever thought possible. “Oh, gosh. I’m sorry. I swear, I didn’t mean for that to sound…stalker-y. I only know about the first year thing because Professor Grant’s son was new that year and I was supposed to be babysitting him. And then the flying, well, sometimes I go to the pitch with Winn whenever he wants to practice—”

“Kara. You can breathe any time you want,” Lena prompts, and Kara pauses to do exactly that.

“Sorry,” Kara adds, again, after she’s let her lungs rest a bit. Her whole body feels shivery from head to toe, like she is seconds away from fainting, and honestly? She just might. “Anyway. Um. I can replace that book if you want. Or I can give you the money and you can pick out a better one, since you said you weren’t a fan? Whatever you want.”

Lena is quiet for a beat. “What were you going to say before? About when I was eleven?”

Kara bites her lip so hard she knows she will inevitably have to ask Kelly to heal it later. “Oh, that,” she says evasively. “I meant, when you were eleven, and I walked face-first into the wrong wall trying to get to platform nine and three quarters, and you didn’t even laugh at me. You just...helped me up, and promised you would walk with me to the train until I found my family again.”

“I remember,” Lena says, and her voice is softening, as is her expression. “You somehow got lost between platforms seven and eight. Your sister was furious when she caught up with us.”

“Yeah.” And Kara finds herself smiling at that memory; this time it’s a real smile, and she couldn’t stop it if she tried. “That was really nice.” She wants to mention more—how even when Lillian Luthor scowled at Kara’s hand-me-downs, Lena complimented her right away on the shirt that had once been Alex’s—but all Kara does right now is step back. “I’ve bothered you enough, I think. Will you…let me know? About the book?”

“I don’t care about the book,” Lena says, and she swallows, loud enough that Kara can hear it. “Do you mean it?”

“That you’re...nice?”

“Yes.” Lena’s cheeks are a faint pink color, and Kara’s entire mouth goes dry.

“Well, yeah,” Kara says, and in that moment—with Lena blushing, and Kara’s chest tightening—they both know that she’s confessing to so much more than thinking Lena is nice. “So. Um.” She squares her shoulders, and prepares to be brave enough to live up to the Gryffindor name: “Can I buy you something that’s not a book? Sometime? Maybe on our next trip to Hogsmeade?”

“Like a date?” Lena asks, so impossibly soft, and Kara nods.

“Exactly like a date,” Kara says, and honestly, she should demand ten points to Gryffindor herself because her voice does not waver once.

And Lena Luthor smiles, just cautious enough to show how unsure she is, but still warm enough that Kara’s heart skips a beat. “Okay,” she says. “But on one condition: I’ll handle any magic until then.”

“Deal,” Kara agrees, and it’s official; breaking her wand might have been the best thing that has ever happened to her, ever.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Looking for a Place to Happen

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), age gap, general stupidity.

This is dark!biker!Sam Wilson x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: There’s lots happening in Birch and you find it all too amusing.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown, When the Weight Comes Down, Little Bones, and Fully Completely

Note: We’re starting Sam’s installment but this weekend I’ll probably only be catching up on my headcanons and drabbles because I’ve been a lazy bitch and I’m sorry to those who have been waiting.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 1: I've got a job, I explore

💀💀💀

The sleepy town of Birch was awake. 

In those last weeks, the arrival of outsiders had roused the attention of many once passive residents of the timeless territory. Those brick buildings unchanged by the tick of the clock inlaid into the old tower above the library that chimed every hour on the hour. They still stood with only chips in the mortar but the air tasted different. The frost was more bitter and the sky more grim. An omen of something no one could predict.

It was the perfect setting for a screenplay. The isolated town with its unsavoury secrets and the visitors who threatened to bring them to the surface. It was inspiring to you, to imagine what was hidden behind the stern wrinkled faces of the town elders and under the jackets of those men who wore the cut of the local club. The bikers ruled the town covertly but everyone knew that Bucky Barnes’ palm was lined with the map of Birch.

As a bystander, an unnoticed observer, just another ant in the hill, you watched from the side and amused yourself with the drama of others. It was like a soap opera or another HBO hype machine. Those things you aspired to when you could be free of this ho-hum town.

The snows added to the natural gloom of the place. The deep heaps smothered the noise and harkened back to those days of colonial settlement. Forgotten, desolate, fearful. 

You ventured down in your heavy boots that stretched to your knees and pushed your chin down into your scarf. As a child, you ran and jumped in those piles, now you were out of breath just trying to walk past them.

You stopped in the bakery that doubled as the only café, a place where the owner, Babs, tried to to intimidate the last caffeinated trends. She was always a few seasons behind but you didn’t mind so much. 

You ordered the salted caramel mocha and waited patiently as the quiet woman fought with the steaming machines. She was older than you but you’d work with her for one summer during high school, only five years ago. She had the eyes of a child still, but there was something worn in her. As if she’d been exposed to far too much in her three or so decades in that place. She was a harbinger of what you didn’t want to become.

You thanked her for your drink and set out once more into the billowing winds. Birch winters were never kind but this one was crueler than most. Your teeth chattered as you blew the steam away from the lid and hugged it with your mittened hands.

You stopped short as you heard the familiar ding of the diner door across the street. You recognised the mechanic who kept to herself and once growled at you in the grocery store. She stormed across the street, followed closely and quickly by a black-haired man you’d only seen once before. He was one of those outsiders who came to deal with the club men.

You sped up as you sensed chaos brewing and pulled out your phone as you balanced your paper cup in your other hand. You flicked your camera on just as you got to the front of the shop and the man grabbed the mechanic. You let out an ‘oop’ as she turned on him and you aimed the lens at the couple as they fell into the snow, the man’s shoes giving little traction to his steps. 

You moved closer, stunned by the scene, and kept your cell phone rolling as you found a better angle around the snowy walks. As she choked him on the ground he elbowed her and she coughed as she rolled away. She snarled as he clamoured to his feet, slipping and sliding as he marched away.

You killed the recording and watched the man cross the street again, nearly wiping out as he did and when you looked back to the mechanic, she was gone behind the clattering door. You chuckled to yourself and tucked away your cell. It was prime footage for TikTok; with a bit of editing, it would be comedy gold.

💀

You stomped up the steps of your grandmother’s house, this time through the front door as you heard her chair rocking in the front room. You usually took the stairs in the back as you paid her to live on the upper floor of the duplex. You checked in with her daily, she didn’t get out much more than the occasional trip to the grocery store when you couldn’t or you dragged her out to join you for a tea at Babs’.

“You’re late,” she grumbled as you set your cup down and unzipped your coat.

“For what?” you scoffed.

“It’s after noon and you don’t even come down to say hello? A ‘good morning, nan’,” she harrumphed.

You chuckled and hung your coat before shoving your boots over on the mat. You grabbed your mocha and leaned on the doorway as you watched her crocheting in her chair, reruns of some court show playing from the boxy television.

“I was working,” you said, “sent in some stuff for review. Hopefully not much work to be done.”

“I don’t know how you make money on that interweb,” she bemoaned, “I don’t trust it.”

“Maybe you’d trust it more if you used the Netflix subscription I got you,” you crossed your arms, “then you wouldn’t have to watch trash daytime TV.”

She shrugged and muttered under her breath. She could be crotchety but you liked her sense of humour. Your aunts and uncles never came around because they just took it as spite. You were the only one who knew how to handle the jaded old lady.

“Maybe you coulda looked out the window,” you snickered, “quite a show going on in town.”

“Hmm, what’s that?” she stilled her needles and reached for her tea stained cup.

“Just a fight. You wouldn’t believe it, that lady mechanic beat the shit--”

“Language,” she huffed.

“Anyway, she had this guy in a chokehold. It was awesome.”

“What guy?” she squinted at you over her glasses.

“I dunno. Some out of towner. Remember I told you about that burly dude hanging around the library?”

“There’s more?” she sucked on her teeth, “those bikers have never been good news and now they’re bringing in more.”

“Yeah, well, what’re you gonna do?” you sniffed as you took out your phone and rewatched the scuffle with the volume down. You shook your head and opened up your TikTok. 

“I don’t understand why you’re always on your dang phone,” your grandmother pestered.

“I’m not always on my phone,” you smiled at her smugly, “there are those time when I’m listening to you prattle on or you know, making you tea, oh, and cooking you dinner. What was it I did last week? Oh that’s right, I got Pippin out of the crawlspace.”

“I’m too old to be chasin’ that cat all around,” she huffed, “where is he anyway?”

“He’s your cat, I don’t know? Last time I saw him, I sent him back out the window for shredding my charger.”

“He knows you need to give it a rest,” she laughed to herself, “got your nose to that screen too much.”

“And what do you do, old lady? Crocheting doilies to put where exactly?”

She gave you that dry smile, the one that said watch it but carried a hint of humour still. You hit post and put your phone away as you waved off her irritation.

“Well, you know what, I sit all day at my computer, doing who knows what and you know what it got me?” you taunted, “a large mocha!” you sipped as you sat on the sofa and grabbed the remote, “and it’s paying my rent and putting bullet points on my resume.”

“Mhmm,” she scowled, “just remember, real life ain’t online. Those videos you’re always laughing at like hyena, that’s not reality. You forget it and it’ll come back and bit you. ‘Specially with those bikers.”

“Oh, nan, you know too well, don’t you? Didn’t you have a fling with one back in your hippie phase?”

“Two, actually,” she raised her brows, “I was young and stupid. Not like you, but still.”

“I love you too,” you chirped and sipped from your cup, flicking the station to Jerry Springer, “that’s more like it.”

💀

Your usual TikToks were sarcastic and dull complaints about your small town life. The response was less than pleasing but it gave you an outlet to vent. You liked to goof around and document the very specific type of weirdos that resided in Birch. But the video of the fight in the snow blew up your phone and made it difficult to ignore the buzzing as you went back up to your room to eke out the last of your captions for the ad agency.

When at last you could call your day hard-earned, you logged off and sent in your hours to the agency. Social media promotion was easy enough but the working gigs for a thousand different companies was tedious. You hoped you could build your portfolio enough to manage a single corporate page as you continued to chip away at your creative outlets.

You picked up your phone as you waited for Netflix to load on your tiny smart tv and flopped onto your bed, not two feet from your desk. You hit the icon in the upper panel of your phone and scrolled through the notifications, pausing to turn on another episode of the cable sitcom from ten years before. You snorted as you read each comment but the number under the video made your eyes round. The thing was bound to go viral.

As usual, you went down to help with supper. Pippin, the orange tabby, returned to cry at his dish and you fed him too. Your nan peered through her glasses at a crossword as she tasted the tangy pasta sauce. 

“More basil,” she snipped.

“Well, I asked if you wanted to help,” you muttered, “I think it’s good.”

“Hmmp, I need milk,” she jutted her chin out, “for my after-dinner tea.”

“You couldn’t say something like three hours ago?” you blinked.

“I could have but I didn’t,” she snickered. You rolled your eyes and she took another forkful of penne and filled in another line on her puzzle, “ah, no hurry, girlie, you know I’m patient.”

“Patient? You?” you chuckled as you took your plate and shoved it in the microwave to keep it warm. The ancient thing had a dial and the door stuck, “I’ll just go get it over with.”

“Don’t forget your mitts,” she called after you as you tramped into the front room, “it’s cold.”

You pulled on your knitted cap and matching mitts. You zipped up your parka and shoved your feet into the deep boots. You grabbed your wallet and buried it in the spacious pocket. You bounced out the front door and down the steps as the sky sent down another coat of powder for the night.

You went up White Forge Street and through the short path behind the diner that led to the main road. You glanced over at The Asp, the beacon of the dull town, and turned towards the grocer. Like anywhere in Birch, the store was outdated and stuffy. It felt like stepping into another time with the paper bags and chunky tills.

You went down the center aisle and stopped at the fridge to search through the frosted glass. Your nan only drank whole milk and the last time you carelessly grabbed skim, she whined that even Pippin wouldn’t drink it. She was particular but that was just her nature. You couldn’t say you were any less fussy in some instances.

You grabbed a jug and the door slapped closed against the worn rubber seal. You headed up the candy aisle and brushed your woolly thumb over your chin as you considered gummy bears or Reeses’ Pieces.

“Hard choice?” The deep voice jolted you.

You snatched the box of chocolate and looked over at the man in leather, his chin tucked down behind the collar as snow dusted his shoulders.

“Sure,” you said as you brushed past him.

The cut of the leather told you he was better not entertained. While you thought the men amusing, you weren’t stupid enough to engage with them. You rarely listened to your grandmother but she was wise in her own way. 

You knew a girl in highschool, she was fucking around with one of the club men in her junior year, she ended up with a baby and no support. You didn’t think he was into you that way but he could hardly have innocent intentions.

“How’s the old lady?” Clayton asked as he rung in your order at the end of the belt, you moved along with the groceries and pulled out your wallet.

“The usual, you know? She’s tryna quit again. Don’t know how long it’ll last.”

“Oh yeah? I’ll keep a carton aside for her,” he kidded as you felt your phone vibing in your back pocket.

“Don’t encourage her,” you swiped your card and punched in your pin, “although I don’t know what’s worse; the smoke or her sucking on those mints all the time.”

“Oh, it’s not the bitchin’?” he laughed.

“That, too,” you scooped up the paper bag and put your wallet away, “have a good one.”

As you came to the end of the first counter, you were nearly cut off by the club member as he swept around from till two. His own purchase of a car magazine and jerky was tucked under his arm.

“Ah, sorry,” he smiled, a sparkling smile, almost charming.

“No worries,” you continued on and he followed close behind.

“Those mitts look real warm. ‘Specially in this weather,” he said as you pushed open the door.

“Uh huh,” you kept on as your boots crunched out into the snow.

“You know where I can get a pair. Leather isn’t exactly thermal, you know?”

“These? My nan made ‘em. I’m sure Clayton got some hung up back there,” you looked across the street as you stepped up onto the ledge of snow between the sidewalk and the road.

“Am I bothering you?” he asked.

You looked at him dumbly and almost laughed in his face. You glanced back across the street then down towards The Asp.

“Sorta,” you answered.

“Make you a deal. Leave ya alone for your name.”

You eyed him. He was older than you like many of the Commandos. At least a decade, likely more than that. You chewed on your hesitation and cradled the bag more firmly against your side. His eyes strayed as he tried to see through the thick layer of your coat.

“Nah, I’m not s’posed to talk to strangers,” you said and hopped off onto the road.

You heard him behind you as he struggled to follow and as you came up to the other side, he came parallel with you and kept stride with you easily.

“I know you’re young but you’re not a kid,” he intoned, “what’s the harm in a name?”

“It’s a small town,” you stopped short of the end of White Forge, “I think I know enough about you to avoid you.”

“Oh ho, is that it? Well, I’m Sam, I’m not a stranger now, am I?”

“Not interested, Sam. Sure there’s women your own age over at the bar,” you nodded behind him.

“You wanna come see? Maybe have a drink?” he gave a crooked grin.

“You don’t give up, do you?” you shook your head, put off by his forwardness.

“Well?”

“Not tonight, Sam,” you turned around and headed down White Forge.

“Then what night?” he asked but you didn’t answer and he didn’t follow.

You turned down onto your street and refused to look back in case. It would be best not to mention the run-in to your nan, she was paranoid enough as it was. Besides, you’d forget about it by the end of next week.

[1kook]

ZOOM CALL

⇢ meeting one

jeon jungkook x (f) reader

⇢ series masterlist

summary: In a sea of black screens and faceless names, there’s one smiley boy that beams back at you through the dimly lit screen of your laptop, a tiny Jeon Jungkook (he/him) tacked to the corner of his window. genre: fluff, slice of life, smut (tags tba) warnings: jk is a ditzy lil nerdy sweetheart, college crushes, social distancing -_-, use of the zoom app, 1kook Builds a Healthy Relationship (Version 2.0) ratings: M (18+) wc: 3.2k

notes: well. here we are. as always i have to thank common sense (coincidentally named rumu @kigurumu​ ) for reading this over and pointing out little details <3 after much deliberation, i have decided to post our beloved zoom jk (see origin story here) in the form of short ‘drabbles’ depicting diff zoom calls with this being The Beginning™️ so please... bare with me </3 ty to all the nice ppl who have been excited for this, luv u very much 🥺

There are times in human history where words captivate their audience; times when single words or phrases wrap around the listener, melt into their bones and radiate warmth from within. But rarely does one word manage such an impact, rarely is it as revered and as cherished as the word cancelled is to most college students. 

Class is cancelled, group meetings are cancelled, the stupidly big semester final project was cancelled. You could cancel nearly anything, and in most cases, it would be beautiful. Cancelled meant more time to sleep in the morning, an afternoon free of pesky project partners, a pleasant reprieve from having to socialize with anyone. It was a glorious word with heavenly connotations that brought tears of joy to your eyes whenever you saw it appear in an email preview.

Except this one.

Spring Semester 2021: On-Campus Classes CANCELLED — Social Distance Measures as per State Regula…

Your last semester as a student in university… online? You couldn’t believe it. All these years of studying rigorously, cramming for exams, attaining a near perfect GPA— just to sit in your bedroom and stare at your computer screen for the last 15 weeks of classes? Had your friends not been there to mope with you, you’re certain a part of you would have gone on a rampage and cursed every bacteria known to mankind for doing this to you.

It was your last year, you whined in private (never in public; your friends had always considered you the mature one, the studious friend who kept everyone in order), yet here you were, setting up your desk for your last ever first day of classes with quite possibly the biggest pout on your face.

Zoom, your school had raved in an email a few weeks into the break, the desktop application that will keep us united in these trying times! As if, you huffed, giving the stupid application permission to connect to your computer’s camera and audio systems. What even was proper Zoom etiquette? Did you have to enter the meeting and greet every student cheerfully? You had always said hi to your classmates before, but something about saying it over a computer mic felt awkward.

The feeling doubled when you finally entered the meeting, only to be met with a sea of black screens save for your professor, who seemed to be clicking around his computer in a rather confused fashion. This was going to suck, you thought bitterly.

You had entered the room ten minutes earlier because, well, you always showed up to class a few minutes earlier than the scheduled meeting time. But was there any point to doing that here? Usually, the time before class was spent making small talk with said classmates, discussing the readings or the assignments, talking mindlessly about whatever came to mind. But something in your gut said it would be weird to do that now.

So you sit in silence for the next ten minutes, nervously tapping your pen against your desk as you wait for the professor to launch into whatever introductory monologue he had planned. You toy with your phone, scrolling through your twitter feed only to see a brigade of tweets from students all over the nation suffering the same fate as you. It was a trending topic.

Two minutes before the class starts, you hear the tell-tale ping of someone entering the meeting. You wave it off just like you have your other 41 classmates thus far, but then there’s the clearing of a throat, and a sweet, “good morning” filtering through your speakers. Lifting your head from the hunched over position you had assumed while glancing at your phone, you’re startled by the sudden handsome face that appears before you.

In a sea of black screens and faceless names, there’s one smiley boy that beams back at you through the dimly lit screen of your laptop, a tiny Jeon Jungkook (he/him) tacked to the corner of his window.

He’s nothing short of a dreamboat, soft and doughy cheeks that catch the hue of the screen light, highlighting his cheekbones in a faint blue color. Imploring doe eyes blinking widely at the screen as he clicks around, narrating his confusion in a low mumble (mic still on, how cute). Dark hair— was it brown? black? the pixelated screen made it hard to tell —messily pushed away from his face.

And his voice, oh his voice. It matches his gentle appearance perfectly. A soft snort. “Am I the only one here?” he says, thin lips pulled to the side in a bashful grin.

The professor laughs with him. “No, but you are the only one with your camera on,” he responds.

You’re not sure if it’s the professor’s teasing jab at literally everyone else or the need to support the cutie who smiles softly at screen, but suddenly, a handful of windows come to life. Your classmates fill up the screen, dressed in an array of styles with bedrooms (and, on the rare occasion, dorm rooms) to match. You nibble at your bottom lip, finger hovering over the button that will expose your appearance to the rest of your classmates

Eventually, the wordless peer pressure, the need to be a good student, and the supportive face of Jeon Jungkook (he/him) have you inhaling sharply before dutifully clicking the camera on. Your face appears on screen, nearly lost in the now overwhelming sea of faces. You’re one of the last ones to turn your camera on, both pages of your zoom meeting participant windows filled with the contrasting images of your classmates joining from their bedrooms. The professor claps in delight, and finally dives into the mandatory first day of classes spiel.

Syllabuses, group work, asynchronous lectures. You’ve heard these words all before, have practically memorized this class’s syllabus like the back of your hand. The pros of being an overachiever. The cons are, however, that you think every question your classmates ask is stupid. Read the syllabus, you want to scream. But it’s the first day of class. You don’t even know who your assigned study group partners (as mentioned in the syllabus) are and you certainly don’t want them to dislike you so soon. They can do that after the third meeting, but not today.

You’re not entirely surprised when your attention drifts away from the professor and the endless sea of stupid questions he’s left to answer. Even when you realize you’ve stopped paying attention, you don’t bother forcing yourself to tune back in. No, instead your focus drifts across the windows of faces.

Some of your classmates are as bored as you, glaring at the screen with disinterest, or glancing off to the side probably at their phones. So you start looking at their rooms, analyzing their decorations and posters as if you’re a professional critic on some house design show.

Jeon Jungkook (he/him) is in a rather plain dorm room. Plain light gray walls— or maybe it’s white —free of decoration. He’s sitting at the provided desk, just like you. The only reason you focus on that is because there’s a multitude of your classmates lazily sprawled across their beds, slumped over a couch. Hardly anyone is sitting at attention like you. Well, except for Jeon Jungkook (he/him). He’s practically exposing the entirety of his living accommodation with the way his camera is set up.

Above eye level, reaching just below his chest, with the room all laid out before you. A neat twin bed, sheets meticulously made. It almost looks like the decorative set at a furniture store with the way the comforter and variety of pillows are placed. He doesn’t seem to be in the crappy dorms you remember, which leaves you wondering where exactly he’s been assigned. You know certain sports clubs get fancier dormitories. Anyway, there’s a door off the side of the bed, a black guitar standing in the corner just behind it. You wonder what’s behind the camera, if maybe his desk is as organized as the rest of his room. Maybe his closet is his weakness, you muse, imagining poor Jeon Jungkook (he/him) with a tornado of a closet. But the thought doesn’t make that much sense, so you discard it quickly.

Anyway, his dorm room. It’s neat and orderly, makes you tilt your head curiously as he swivels from side to side before you. As for himself, he’s dressed in a plain white sweater, hoodie strings perfectly even. His hair has long since fallen over his forehead, but he’s pushed it over this time in a fluffy side part. He was adorably soft.

He’s paying attention to the professor like he genuinely treasures every word that comes off his tongue, nodding along understandingly. He’s even got a pencil in hand, leaning forward every few seconds to scribble something down hurriedly. Not like this is all on the syllabus or anything, you think.

But as soon as the thought crosses your mind, it’s dispelled just as fast. He’s only trying to be a good student, you scold yourself, feeling oddly mean for wanting to make fun of this sweet boy. Especially when he raises his hand a second later and asks the first good question of the day. Something about the grading scale for group projects and how much is determined by the group members themselves. You’re not too sure, the words get a little fuzzy when he starts speaking and his pink lips pull down into an endearing pout.

A couple minutes later and your professor finally wraps up the questions, telling everyone to email him if any other questions arise throughout the semester. Just as you’re sighing in relief, he utters those dreaded words: “Ice-breakers!” he exclaims, and the whole class grimaces, much to his amusement. He says something about feeling the excitement through the screen, but then changes gears. “Since it’s a little hard to talk to your neighbor, I’m going to test out the Breakout Rooms and see how that works, okay guys?”

You frown. Breakout Rooms? What on earth was that? Like most of your classmates, this is pretty much your first rodeo with the Zoom application. He was sending you all into small groups, where? The answer presents itself a few seconds later, a message box appearing on your screen.

The host is inviting you to join a Breakout Room: Group 4

Your professor is still chattering in the background when you nervously accept the invitation, his voice suddenly cut off as your computer jumps to a new loading screen. It takes a while before you’re suddenly dumped into a new room. And then you’re staring at your own face, blown up on your own screen in a rather uncomfortable way. Jeez, did you really look like this?

As soon as you get to picking at your appearance, your mirrored reflection jumps to the side, once, then twice more to fit the three new guests in your room. Silence fills your bedroom as you and your classmates all stare at each other nervously for a couple seconds, unsure of what to say. This was, after all, your first meeting.

Just as you’ve gathered all your courage to click your microphone on, the screen jumps around once more and suddenly Jeon Jungkook (he/him) is in your Breakout Room. Immediately, his surprised face melts into the most reassuring grin you’ve ever seen, and he’s practically jumping forward to turn his mic on.

“Good morning, everyone,” he says, smooth and low. It’s like the awkward tension melts away under the pressure of his pretty smile, your classmates responding back with polite hellos and good mornings to him. You barely get yours in before Jeon Jungkook (he/him) starts talking again. “So… how are you guys?”

His words, sweet and caring as they are, send the five of you into a rather mindless conversation. Talking about nothing really, just whatever comes to mind about the class, about the semester, about the remote learning. Then Jungkook— “just Jungkook is fine!” he tells the other four of you with that same too pure look on his face after someone refers to him by his whole name —starts talking about some movie he had seen on Netflix the other day, something his friend recommended to him. Truthfully, you have zero interest in the type of plot he is describing, and you can tell some of the other people in your group don’t either. But he’s absorbed in his storytelling, features lit up as he details every last plot point of the film like his life depends on it. There’s a wordless agreement to let him ramble on.

By the time Jungkook has finished his novella recapture of whatever movie he was talking about, a green message bubble appears at the top of your screen. It’s a message from your professor, who is telling you the small group meeting will end in a few more minutes.

“Aw, that sucks,” Jungkook laughs, rubbing at the back of his neck sheepishly. And then, “oh! We haven’t answered our icebreaker question yet!”

Ah, yes. The reason for this small group was to get to know each other, not for Jungkook to recount an entire two hour movie for you all. “Oh, right,” you agree, probably the first words you’ve said in the past five minutes. You navigate to the chat box, where your professor had hastily dumped the question before sending you all off. “What’s one thing you miss most about being on campus?” you read aloud, glancing back at the screen.

Your group mates are all in various states of blissful comfort, the gaps of their nervousness smoothed over by Jungkook’s bubbly personality, and the hesitation they’d shown at the beginning is practically gone. Someone steps forward and says something about the campus dining hall. Jungkook laughs, loud and airy, claps his hands all cute too. Someone else says the library because it was a good place to study. There’s a lull and you jump in quickly. “I think I’ll miss the couches by the gym in the student center the most,” you confess, though you doubt anyone knows which ones you mean. They were a set of brightly colored couches tucked into a cranny behind the Starbucks just outside the campus gym, avidly avoided by the gym rats who were determined to ignore the sugary drinks and snacks.

Apparently, the hiding spot isn’t as secretive as you thought. “Oh, the ones by the Starbucks?” Jungkook exclaims, excitedly looking at his screen. You have this fluttery feeling that he’s looking at you for the first time. You nod, and he quite positively beams. “I love those!”

“Yeah, I spend a lot of time there,” you say, though it’s a little stilted because you’re not exactly sure how you’re supposed to react to Jungkook’s enthusiasm. Though his outgoing personality cloaks you in comfort, his pretty smile has your heartbeat acting a little funny.

Jungkook’s got these huge eyes, blinking owlishly at you. “Really? So do I!” And then you both seem to have the same realization. His head tilts to the side cutely, an amused smile on his face, “I’ve never seen you there.”

“I’ve never seen you there,” you shoot back, a little snarkier than necessary, but Jungkook doesn’t seem to notice. His smile turns goofy.

“Woah,” he says in a rather dreamy tone, “isn’t that so cool? We spent so much time in the same place, but never crossed paths before,” he babbles. He’s stopped looking at his computer, leaning back in a sort of dazed manner with this sparkly look to his eyes, much to everyone’s amusement. Except yours, because frankly, it sounds a little bit like he’s describing— “fate!” he says suddenly, like it’s truly an aha! moment. He pauses, taps his finger against his chin. “Or anti-fate? I’m not sure. But it’s like— we could’ve met so many times before and we didn’t.” Doe eyes return to the screen, flickering around until they presumably land on you again. “What do you think, __?”

And he’s just so cute, makes the rigid shield around your chest soften for the slightest moment as you nod meekly. “Uhh, yeah. Fate,” you agree, and then get to hear him laugh and giggle for about three seconds before you’re suddenly thrown back into the larger Zoom meeting.

Weirdly flustered, you hurriedly click your microphone back off, and nearly contemplate the camera too. But then the professor is asking you all to share what you talked about and you’re resigning yourself to a few more minutes of screen time while the class wraps up. By the looks of it, not everyone had as an enjoyable time as you did. Part of you is thankful you didn’t get stuck in an awkward small group. The other part recognizes wholeheartedly that it’s all thanks to one smiley boy at the bottom of your screen.

“And group 4?” the professor asks, and you blink yourself back into attention. Before you can unmute yourself and answer for your group, Jungkook is beating you to it.

“We talked about a lot of things,” Jungkook answers cheerfully. From your view, you get a front row seat to the sheer power of Jungkook’s magnetic personality, watching as all your listless classmates suddenly snap back from their daydreams to zero in on whatever Jungkook is saying. He fills in the professor about what you talked about, from the movies to the couches, and you feel weirdly mushy when his eyes flicker across the screen before settling with a soft smile.

He can’t possibly be looking at me, you tell yourself. Your hand jerks forward to turn the camera off, but in your haste, end up knocking down the water bottle on your desk. You scramble to straighten it, thanking the universe for the fact you actually remembered to screw on the cap. You glance back at the screen, and nearly die when you catch sight of a giggly Jungkook, smile hidden behind an adorable sweater paw as he laughs at something on screen. Oh no, was he looking at me? you panic.

“Alright, everyone,” your professor says in that “I’m about to wrap this class up” voice. Too close to the screen, voice a little too loud. “Good meeting today, I’ll see you all again on Wednesday. Stay safe.”

“Bye!” Jungkook sings sweetly, and everyone else follows as they all bid adieu to the professor. Still a little frazzled from the possibility that Jungkook may have watched you flail around like a total loser, you take a second longer to turn your mic on. Your classmates quickly leave the meeting, leaving only a few stragglers until the very end.

Surprisingly, Jungkook is here too, brown eyes focused on the screen. You unmute yourself. “Um,” you stammer, eyes unwillingly flickering over to Jungkook who smiles at the sound of your voice. “Goodbye. Thank you,” you rush out, and then quickly leave the meeting as well.

With the meeting over, you’re left staring at the home page of the Zoom app, heart beating a little too fast to be normal. Your face feels warm, and your fingers tremble from some unfamiliar, giddy feeling in your chest. You exhale slowly, hand coming up to rub at your chin as if that will somehow explain the weird excitement from your Zoom meeting. Maybe it was just adrenaline, or nervousness, you try to convince yourself. After all, the first day of classes is always nerve-wracking.

Except when you navigate to your class page and begin to mindlessly scroll through the class roster, there’s a weird stutter to your heartbeat when you catch sight of that Jeon Jungkook (he/him) that appears halfway down the list.

Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[astaroth1357]

Demigod MC Series: Dionysus

Hey y’all, sorry for going dark! I’m alright, almost completely recovered in fact! I just got so sleepy while my body was fighting stuff off and couldn’t really work up the energy to write... Still going to be spotty for a short time, but I’m glad to have gotten this done. See ya soon!

Demigod MC Series: Intro, Aphrodite, Hermes, Hades, Dionysus

Lucifer

Well, this mortal stumbled out of the portal covered in glitter, body paint, and carrying a red solo cup… which they proceeded to stare at like, "'ell sshhit… Thiz iz sum stron s'uff…"

First impressions were not on their side here.

He spent a depressingly long amount of time more or less assuming that the MC was a drunken f-up and spent the first few months trying to make them more… presentable.

But like… How do you stop someone from acting like a drunk fool when they can turn any drink they touch alcoholic???

For months they would show up to meetings buzzed or stumbling, all smiles and all giggles but HORRIBLY unprofessional, and he just couldn't stand it!

But then he found out their little secret…

Assassination threats befall the exchange students all the time. Most of them are dealt with quickly but some (through skill or dumb luck) manage to slip through...

He had been walking with the MC through their new vineyard in the House's courtyard, yet again trying to lecture them about their drunken behavior, when suddenly the two were ambushed!

Ten or so heavily armored demons dropped down from the sky to attack them! Lucifer was so preoccupied that he got cornered by three of them and it took him a hot minute to destroy them.

When he looked back at the mortal (who had been fighting a 1-on-7) he was certain they'd have been kidnapped or worse…

But he saw that they had already cut down two attackers with their weapon with ease. The other five were rolling in the dirt, babbling about inexplicable terrors and imaginary pain as their minds succumbed to madness…

Meanwhile, the MC just stood in the middle of it all with the icy glare of someone who’s just revealed how stone-cold sober they've always been under the surface...

When they turned back to him, they put their usual ditzy smile back on over the tormented wails of the demons around them...

MC: Whoopsie… Gotta little mad there. 🙂

He uh… took a big ol'step off their back after that. Surprisingly, they're more pleasant (and less dangerous) "drunk" than they are sober…

Mammon

Oh HELL yeah!! Lucifer actually gave him a mortal that knows how to party!!

Admittedly, they looked like utter trash when they first met, like, "Hey, I've been at this party since DAWN" trash, but they gave him one good look and pulled together a surprisingly hot smile.

MC: "-ey yer cute… Ya like strip poker?"

Spoken like someone else who also makes shit decisions… They were going to get along just fine!

And they did. The MC to him was that one friend that's always down for anything. Just anything. Whenever. Wherever.

He wants to try sneaking into Lucifer's room to steal stuff? Sure, what time?

He wants to take a mattress and see if he can ride it down the grand staircase of the palace? Alright, we bringin' pillows too?

He needs to set up another scheme that's gotta involve live rats and box of tiny hats and monocles?? That's oddly specific but count them in!!

Sometimes he honestly can't tell if they're laid back or just crave chaos... but it works out fine for him either way so who cares? 🤷‍♀️

And if you think normal Mammon is a pain in the ass for Lucifer? Check out drunk Mammon. All the same urges but literally none of the (marginal) competence!!

At one point, the eldest ended up stringing both Mammon and the MC from the ceiling after they both barged into his office looking for Goldie… while he was still in there… watching them wander around aimlessly calling out for a piece of plastic like it was a missing puppy…

They end up together on the ceiling a lot come to think of it, but hey, at least now he has some company. 😌

Leviathan

Thinks they're the most normal normie to have ever normed on this normie planet!!!

No, seriously. They're a billion times worse than Asmo!! All they want to do is go to parties and drink all the time! What kind of use is he to someone like that??

… That being said they ARE pretty fun to be around… And their sake is WAY better than anything he could get off Akuzon!!

They also like karaoke too! So at least he has someone else to go with (even if they get so drunk they can’t remember any lyrics and just belt barely coherent discount Mariah Carey vocals behind him...)

Of course, the real fun between these two is everybody else getting to watch a couple of the Devildom's sloppiest drunks attempt to communicate with each other…

Levi: MMM-*hic*-MCCC…!!! *throws himself at them from across the bar*

MC: What Leviachan??? 😨 Did the chair kick you off?!

Levi: Nooo! *pokes their cheek* I wanna-I wanna tell you sometin'...! *tries pulling them closer*

MC: Whaa? Secrets?? *leans in eagerly*

Levi: Mammon used all ma money on’a pyramid scheme a thou-zand years ago… AND HE STILL WON'T PAY ME BAAA-!!! 😭😭 *starts shaking them violently*

MC: *getting flung around like a limp noodle* Waaaat?! Nooo!!! I'm so sowwy!! 😢

Mammon: *watching it all go down right next to him* 😑 Ya guys need some water… I'm cuttin' ya off, got it?

MC: 😱 Shut yer whore mouth, criminal!! *starts pelting him with pretzel bites*

Levi: 😤 Yah!! *joins in*

Good thing he's a shut-in, because the hangovers he gets after those escapades are unreal…

Satan

A little concerned for their liver, honestly… How much damage have they already done to the poor thing...?

But at the same time, he'll be damned if they don't make some utterly fantastic wine!

Alcokinesis wasn't a power he would have pegged a demigod to have but apparently the great art of making drinks comes from their godly DNA.

When they first met, he was trying to get the MC to act less slovenly but made the mistake of agreeing to a wager: he'd let them dress however they pleased if they could give him the BEST drink he'd ever tasted.

Now, Satan isn't a huge drinker (thank you terrible alcohol tolerance), but he's still a man of fine tastes. Plus, he's sampled Demonus from Diavolo royal stock before. They should not have won…

But on that day, he had to let them go to RAD in a pink blanket toga... 😑 Their wine is just THAT good.

He hates to admit it, but they've gotten him drunk more times than he could probably count too… He's not a huge fan of clubbing with them and the others, but if they bring over a bottle from their vineyard he just can't resist. They're a master of their craft, truly.

And it's a good thing he likes their drinks so much, because if they called him, "Kitty-boy," when he's sober, he may have just become a sour grape himself…

They also may or may not have copious amounts of blackmail material of him either meowing between sentences, sobbing over some fictional character he likes, pole dancing on dares….

Yeah, he's been trying to destroy their phone for months now. If Lucifer were to see ANY of that, he's done for… 😣

He has also been meaning to ask them about other aspects of their abilities, their father is also the God of Madness after all, but anytime he tries to bring it up they shove another glass in his hand and tell him not to kill the mood...

Eh. What's the harm in having another drink, right? 🤷‍♀️

Asmodeus 

Honey. He's MET Dionysus. He's been to a Dio-party or two and they're INSANE. He could not be more thrilled by this!!!

He practically scooped them up on the first night that they were in the House and it’s practically been a nonstop rave between these two ever since. They’re like the party twin he never knew he needed!!

He absolutely abuses their ability to turn pretty much any drink they touch into alcohol at clubs. It makes the nights so much easier on the wallet PLUS it makes an excellent little party trick to impress the succubi! Who doesn’t want a free drink? 😏

And can he just say that their drinks are better? Just flat out amazing! If it weren’t so unhealthy he’d consider drinking nothing but their booze and wine for the rest of his days, Satan’s certainly getting close to it.

But little does Satan know, he’s not even getting the GOOD stuff...

There’s the normal wine: grapes picked from the vineyard, hand squeezed, then magically helped through the fermenting process. But their real good stuff? They were given enchanted oak barrels from their father and anything that comes out of those is worth starting a WAR over. 😩

He knows, because he gifted an extra bottle to Diavolo once and Barbs came to him the very next day demanding to know what vineyard had produced it with the look of man willing to annex a small nation...

Asmo had to beg Lucifer to talk to Diavolo after the butler more or less kidnapped the MC back to the Castle… Devil knows even Barbs wouldn’t ever be able to reproduce their wine, so they could have been locked there for eternity!!

Thankfully, he got his party-buddy back and their debauchery continued! (Just now with Barbatos following them around sometimes like he’s trying to gather state secrets... It’s an impossible task but he hasn’t given up yet, bless his black heart.)

Beelzebub

He isn't much bothered by their carefree nature, at least they seem to be having fun with his family which he appreciates. 🙂

To be honest, though, he nearly ate them when they first met because they smell like freshly peeled grapes… and for good reason.

By their third day at the House they had (somehow) planted and cultivated a full on vineyard in the courtyard. Hell, the wall growing to their bedroom balcony was covered in grapevines!! Always ripe and completely healthy in defiance of the lack of sun... Whatever magic they used was strong.

And, of course, their grapes were also delicious! Easily among the best fruits he's ever tasted! Every cluster is ridiculously plump, juicy, and sweet like little droplets of pure Heaven… 🤤

When their fruit first ripened, the MC came out with a basket to collect some only to find Beel had gouged himself on over half of their crop!!!

… which may have been why he got snared up on one of the courtyard walls by pissed off grapevines... Even with all his strength, he couldn't break through them and had to wait for Lucifer to cut him down… 😔 

From then on, Beel was pretty much the pesky rabbit to the MC's harvest. They had to set up traps and magical barriers to keep him from their precious grapes…!! Which inevitably meant one of his brothers had to come rescue him from their furious vines at least once a week... 🙄

SOMETIMES, the MC will bring him along to help harvest with them with the deal that he can have an extra basket for however many he helps them pick. But the second he takes a bite he shouldn't, it’s back on the wall!

Out of the vineyard, they're nice enough. But put some grapes between these two and they're mortal enemies… STOP messing with their plants, Beel!! 😤

Belphegor 

So… this drunken fool is supposed to get him out of the attic? Never mind, this is never going to work…

He was SEVERELY underwhelmed when the "human" finally made it up the steps. This was who they decided to bring for their exchange program? They seemed like they could barely stand!

Naturally, he figured all the better for him. They probably wouldn't even last that long! 

Some poor, incompetent human falling victim to a demon out there? Diavolo's reputation would in tatters and he wouldn't even have to lift a finger! (His favorite way of doing things really 😌).

But… they just kept coming back? Like. Nothing was killing them….! How guarded were they keeping this moron?? 

Or… maybe it was something else?

Sure, the MC seemed like a drunken idiot but there were times when he'd swear that they were just… too aware to be sloshed…

MC: *suddenly stops smiling at him mid-conversation and looks him in the eye* You tilt your head when you lie. You know that?

How can someone so cheerful ALSO be so unnerving…?

So really, he should have seen their sudden heel-turn after they opened the door coming. There he was, fully intending to take them by surprise and choke them after a hug…

...and they knocked him down, climbed onto his back like a spider monkey, and rode him around like a bucking bull using his horns like handlebars!!

It wouldn’t have been AS humiliating if they didn’t also keep shouting things like "Giddiyap!" And "Yee-haw!!"

It took him a whole month to be sure that any and all footage of that nightmare was erased and he STILL hates the MC quite a bit for it…. But he's too scared to attack them now, so…

The lesson here? It's not a fair fight when one side’s crazy... 😔😒

[oh-for-fic-sake]

Tik Tok Leggings

Masterlist

Summary: Time to test these Tik tok leggings.

Warnings: swearing, Fluff, Cheeky Henry, Suggestive Themes, Plus sized reader

A/N: Just wanted to do something different thinking of maybe having a mini TikTok onshot series but unsure yet. Either way I hope you enjoy and happy Easter to those who celebrate  and those who don't? Have a brilliant Sunday xx

Taglist: will be in comment/reblogs

You eyed the package wearily... just how the fuck were you meant to pull this off? Slowly but surely the confidence  and 'fuck it' attitude was waning. They looked small.... very small.

You huffed a sigh looking at yourself in the mirror eyeing your form. You swear you'd gained some more weight, just a few pounds maybe? But you felt huge. Slowly you unravelled the leggings, it had been a good idea at the time but now you wasn't so sure. They were expensive and even thought you bought them as a little prank you did hope they would boost you confidence or at least be comfy enough to wear around the house.

Being a larger girl it was hard finding comfy clothes and you had to be comfy now that your boys were running around the house like headless chickens. You thought the terrible twos with trainers were bad? Your four year olds had scooters!

You grit your teeth and decided to try the leggings on gearing up for an all put war with the waist band but was pleasantly surprized. The fabric was firm and tummy controlling without feeling you feeling caught by a bloody boa constrictor! A comfy tight not spandex tight. You casually wondered about seeing if the company did bras, this shit would stop the girls from trying to knock you out on the stairs!

You pulled the material setting the... elasticated seam in your ass crack and winced... Okay that's a little strange... but not unpleasant and almost thong. You spun around eyeing yourself in to mirror. You didn't look to bad, if you said so yourself. Sure you wasn't magically strim and fit, you were blessed with a nice thick ass... but unfortunately had the thick hips and large thighs to go with it. You'd never be petite or dainty, but then again henry was huge behemoth of a man so you didn't need to be. As he said on many occasions he wanted a woman as thick as him... and you definitely fit that bill. His thighs were only slightly bigger then yours.

You turned around a few more times. Fuck okay hello there~ you grinned. You may not be the perfect sized woman but fuck if your ass wasn't glorious in these leggings~ this just might work.

You grinned and pulled on one of Henry's tshirts, the grey marines one it was snug and would ride up a little over your tummy showing off your bubble but that you felt was your best feature. And then padded downstairs, henry. Was in the large garden trying to teach the boys how to play rugby... Wanting to start them young.

You pottered about the kitchen chopping up the salad for tonight. Contrary to what people thought you were not large because you ate to much or did little exercise, you had always been bigger and admittedly since having the boys you had gained a little more weight but not ridiculously, you wasn't dangerously over weight.

You hummed looking out the patio door seeing henry jumping for joy as his boys and Kal played 'rugby' darting across the garden to the tiny rugby post at the end. Moving to Jersey to raise the kids was a brilliant idea, you had a huge country house with the land to go with it. Flat and immaculate that spread around the house in nearly four acres the lawn was mostly to the back and side and cornered off with tall hedge rows then beyond it a cornered off veggie plot and greenhouse and a work in progress chicken coop. Soon there will be a decent sized pond and some ducks... Henry didn't know yet, but if he was allowed to have a stables built four god knows how many horses you were allowed your ducks god dammit.

You grinned watching as henry ran around both the boys with his phone out cheering them on as they tor across the garden wrestling each other for the ball. You had panicked when you were told twin boys but you should have known henry would be able to handle it. It was perfect, days like this when he was home and strived to make his sons lives as magical and fun as he could, everyday was a holiday when dad was home.

You shook your head seeing the boys both lay on the floor in the shade completely tuckered out from the mornings fun. Henry can into the kitchen and you held your breath quickly bending over the counter a tad more then normal hoping to get a favourable reaction from your husband. But you couldn't help the tinge of doubt  what if he didn't like them? Or thought you looked bigger then you were?

"Hey sweetheart are the boys fruit shoots in the fri-oh sweet baby Jesus" he coughed cutting himself off  and took a half step back as he came in the kitchen. You giggled and turned to him then nodded your head to the fridge.

"Yeah their in there love" you said smirking and blushing as you saw him eyeing your ass tilting his head slowly down trying to get a better look at your ass making you bite your lip.

"Err yeah yeah... I... hold that thought" he said snapping out of it holding a finger up at you and looked to his phone.

"You just stay right were you are- no nope over bend over again babe... fuck me how did I get such a sexy little mama~" he growled one hand swiping over his screen. You flushed and wriggled our hips a little as you leant forward feeling on top of the world as he openly gawked at your ass. For a second you thought he was taking a photo and made to move wanting to snap up right but he napped his fingers to you pointing for you to get back down and brought the phone to his ear.

"Henry what are you?-" you tried standing once more but he crossed the kitchen pressing himself up against your ass and rocked slowly making you mewl as his bulge pressed against your ass half hard already. Henry huge hand pressed you down on the counter before him and winked then he spoke as who ever was on the phone answered.

"Hey mum, hi can you come get the boys?" He asked and you gasped at him shaking your head at him laughing. He wasn't palming the kids off to their grandparents because he wanted a midday fuck! Not that Marie-Ann would mind, she loved hosting the kids and frequently showed up out of the blue and took them out for the day. She was adamant that both you and henry still had alone time.

"No, no everything's all right I just- somethings come up~" he smirked and you laughed loud shaking your head at him, he was a little bugger! He wriggled his brows at you and nodded then flushed stuttering for a few comments.

"I.. No no of course not mum... muuuum stop- well yeah... yes I know you were young once-oh shit no I didn't mean of course your still young! Your in your prime! Okay yes, yes I promise to try my hardest... yes okay, see you in ten okay love you bye... bye mum I will. Yes I will mum bye" he muttered slowly moving through being embarrassed, shy and strangely confident before hanging up.

"Soo the boys are going out?" You giggled finding the way he reacted ridiculously cute. It wasn't what you expected, maybe a kiss on the cheek and a slap on the ass. But not him shipping the kids off for the day.

"And staying over night" Henry muttered moving both hands to your ass and squeezed and rolled the cheeks about making you squeak and try rising on your tip toes but he just growled following pressing a kiss to your neck.

"And what have we agreed to for this mighty generous gift? What have you promised?" You said arching back into him with a teasing tone knowing Marie would make henry pay for the 'young once' comment.

"Oh you know nothing too big just another grandchild, which wont be hard with these in your closet" he chuckled pinging the fabric that clung to your ass like a second skin. You flushed gasping out at him batting him away slowly. But it was a hard fought battle, Henry won easily sliding the cutting board back then let you spin to face him. He quickly hoisted you up onto the counter top behind you and kissed your lips moaning into you before pulling back and pointed at you.

"Right you stay- right here. Don't you move a muscle Mrs Cavill" he said seriously and backed away from you still pointing making you laugh and kick your feet biting your lip before nodding. Henry backed up to the back door and called out to the boys.

"Boys come on! Your going to grandmas for a sleep over! Go pack a bag, jammies, tooth brush and clothes for tomorrow! Come on mush hop it or cop it!" he called you smiled hearing two high pitch excited voices squealing at the thought of grandma. She spoilt them rotten. They dashed into the house quickly running past the both of you giggle as henry tried playfully nudging them on the bottoms with his foot when they ran through the kitchen to dart up the stairs and pack an overnight bag. Henry slunk out of the kitchen following the boys but kept glancing back at you.

"Remember right there babe, been too long since we fucked in here~" he growled making you flush remembering the last time you'd made love in here. It'd been when you were pregnant, the day you moved in before you redecorated you'd had Chinese take out and then made love in every room in the house.

"I'll be right here love I promise, now... You might want to sort yourself out before answering the door to your mother~" you teased pointing to the large lump in the front of his shorts making him grunt and cup himself trying to reposition himself and left the kitchen to help the boys pack.

You can safely say, these leggings were a success. You were definitely leaving a five star review... You did however regret not filming his reaction for tiktok. Honestly you didn't even have the app your sister in law had shown you and you thought it'd be something fun to try with Henry. You may just get more than you bargained for though, not that you minded... You just hoped you had a girl this time, it was about time to try and even things out a bit.

[capricorn-stark]

Protégé

pairing: red hood!jason todd x robin!reader, slow burn 

warning: swearing

a/n: for context, this is somewhat loosely based off of Battle for the Cowl (2009) which I definitely recommend as a read! 

There was something about falling that you would never, ever get tired of. 

Ever. 

Probably.

With the wind whistling in your ears, your hair floating up in a million directions, and your limbs seemingly weightless as the buildings and lights blurred into one endless streak of color, the rush of adrenaline that ran through your body right before your grappling hook shot out and you landed quietly on the concrete was about a million times better than any sparring session back at the cave. 

You grinned as you straightened, rather proud of the fact that you had actually managed to land so smoothly without nearly paralyzing yourself. Again.The landing was something you had been working on for a while now.

You could practically hear Bruce’s voice ringing through your head after your little stunt, lamenting on and on about how you had more important things to focus on during patrols, and you let out a sigh as you ran down the backway of the nearly empty streets. 

The heavy man who had been bound up with a decently made gag and one of Bruce’s fancy tech pieces (Batcuffs, maybe? Something else with Bat smacked in front of it?) grunted beside you. 

“What? Not like you had someplace to be.” You grabbed the back of his rather tacky-looking spandex suit to drag him along back to where your mentor was supposed to be.

Despite your (many) disagreements and his (many) criticisms of your hand-to-hand combat skills, attitude issues, and pretty much everything else relating to you, Bruce had actually still allowed you to go off on your own tonight. It might’ve been because he wanted a few hours of nothing but beating up petty criminals by himself for stress-relief, it might’ve been because he had started trying out that whole independence thing with you a little more (even though you were still only permitted to be about five blocks or so away), it might’ve been plot-convenience - but either way, you appreciated the gesture.

It didn’t take long for you to pull your new friend over to what should’ve been your rendezvous point with Batman, letting the man drop with a dull thud and a grunt of protest against the concrete as you glanced around for the other man. You weren’t particularly concerned by the fact that the Bat himself wasn’t there yet - after all, he was the goddamn Batman. He’d show up eventually. In the meanwhile, you decided to go over the information you had gotten on the criminal with you. 

Just for the sake of it. Bruce would make you go over it anyways.

“Drury Walker, thirty-two years old, found him trying to mug someone in a back alley and make an escape. Called himself…” you paused, looking down at his sorry-looking outfit for a few moments while he looked up at you with murder and vengence in his eyes. “...Killer Moth.”  

“Killer Moth?” A completely new voice repeated in disbelief, causing you to immediately whirl around to face them in a fight stance, heart racing at a million miles per hour. The guy in front of you had his hands up in the air, his face concealed with some sort of red knock-off Iron Man helmet. He was gonna get copyrighted by Marvel Studios. “Shit, sorry,” he started at the sight of you, still leaning up against one of the walls. “I was supposed to make a wholeass dramatic entrance, but you said his name was Killer Moth and that-” The man made a noise that was either a sharp cough or a laugh of some kind. “-sounded so fucking lame I couldn’t help myself.” 

Despite the fact that you were definitely in some sort of major trouble with this new guy, he really did have a point. Even Killer Moth himself would’ve been embarrassed by how trash his name was, if not for the fact that he looked like he was on the verge of an aneurysm - understandably so, since the new guy had produced not one, but two guns out of apparently nowhere. 

“And let me guess,” he continued, pointing one of them at your head, his tone still all-too light and easy. “You must be the Bat’s brand-new Robin.” 

Now this is where most people would've shut up and proceeded to be complicit with the dude holding two guns. But Batman hadn’t seen reason and made you his (sort of) partner because you were like other people. Hell no.

“Do I look like a traffic signal to you?” It had been the very first of your amendments with Bruce. You would not be fighting crime looking like a literal traffic signal or, at best, a clown from Haly’s Circus. And the tiny green shorts had to go. “Or Robin Hood?” The guy had a rather awkward pause where his gun sort of dipped. Killer Moth was looking between you with wide eyes. “Do I?” 

“I guess you kinda got a point.” You huffed and he raised his gun again, getting more in-your-face as his already angry-looking helmet somehow managed to look angrier. You weren’t exactly sure how a helmet could convey so much emotion. “But you work with Batman. And I heard you went by Robin.” 

Okay, so you couldn’t make him change the name, but you had agreed it would be more of an honorary thing.

“It’s complicated.” 

Using such a phrase as an excuse to escape from situations you didn’t want to go into was one of the many things you had learned from Bruce in your five months of training. Somehow, that seemed to trigger the guy further.

“So you do work with Batman.” 

Before he could do something actually insane, you had managed to push the gun pointed at your head away from you, using his brief second of surprise to take it out of his hands, kick him in the chest, and round back on him with it in hand. 

“And what about it?” 

As cool as you thought you might’ve sounded didn’t cover for the fact that you were still nerve-wracked about what was happening right then. Especially after the guy started to dramatically slow-clap like some sort of evil thespian in a high school drama. 

“Not bad, Robin. Not bad.” He looked at the gun in your hands and grinned. “If you weren’t Batman’s new replacement sidekick, I might’ve believed you had the balls to use that thing.” 

Now, you were an excellent fighter. You had to be, after your excessive training with the guy who had literally mastered about every martial art in existence during his (give or take) five year-long mission to find himself. Plus, some personal experience. But fighting someone like this guy? Built like a tank and padded up in a whole lot of armor and packing an assortment of knives, guns, and even a damn taser you got a first-hand taste of?

You fought hard, but about five minutes and another round of the taser later, you saw the knock-off Iron Man helmet staring down at you before the world went black.

~*~

You woke up in what you assumed was the self-dubbed Red Hood’s safehouse of sorts. 

“How the hell did he rope you into this shit?” he demanded with what you could only assume was him glaring at you through the helmet. Probably some expression that made someone look all angsty and annoyed - which was fair, since he had been trying to drill you for information you straight up refused to give while bound (way too tightly) to a chair for quite some time now. Rather rude. “Let me guess. You watched your parents die.” You stared at him before shrugging.

“Nope.”

“Oh, so they just went ahead and died somehow. Untimely accident caused by some psycho bitch in a Spirit Halloween costume.”

“…nope.” 

“They abandoned you as a child.”

“No, they didn’t - does divorce count?” 

Red Hoodlum’s hands kept clenching and unclenching while he stood there, staring at the wall behind you in silence. From the way his chest kept rising and falling, you were tempted to believe he was practicing breathing exercises amidst his rather violent twitching. 

“Divorce - what the hell is your trauma supposed to be? Why did he pick you?!”

“Hey, just because my trauma doesn’t include people dying doesn’t make it any less traumatic,” you scoffed in response, knowing you were absolutely right about that. Your middle school guidance counselor had said so (and it’s true, ladies and gentlemen, trauma comes in many forms!). “Kinda rude to assume it didn’t affect me somehow.”

He seemed rather abashed at that and you heard him clear his throat a little. 

“...right, yeah. Sorry.”

“Apology accepted - can you loosen these ropes a little? It’s starting to kinda hurt.” 

“Do I look ten? That’s the oldest trick in the book, I’m not gonna-”

“I’m not going to run, just loosen the ropes a little.” He still looked like he didn’t believe you. “Come on, I don’t think I can outrun your guns.” As in his literal array of guns tacked up to the wall behind him, not his gigantic biceps. 

And you weren’t too worried about being held hostage by him, either. You figured you had ten minutes tops before Batman burst in through the doorway, ready to give you a lecture on why straying from the specifically designated parts of Gotham he had let you traipse around was a terribly stupid idea. 

“No.” He was already walking towards the door, because apparently, he had enough of trying to interrogate you. 

“Hold on, I feel like my wrists are actually about to start bleeding or something - where are you going?”

“Keep talking and I’m gonna get the duct tape.” 

“Is that a threat?” Sounding more confident than you actually felt should eventually make you more confident. Eventually. 

The Red Hood sucked in a breath, stopping by the doorway and turning to face you, reaching into his pockets to get what you assumed was either a gun or duct tape when you both startled from a sudden crash. The man in front of you was already whirling around with two guns positioned to shoot when you heard the familiar voice of someone else.

“Hold your fire, soldier. I’m not here for you.” A pause. “Or I wasn’t, but now I kind of am.”

Apparently, Batman was too busy to save you. Now, you got Nightwing. 

And as much as you liked Nightwing, that still kinda stung. 

[svnflowervol666]

Pinky Promise (dad!Harry)

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: Harry introduces a certain special someone to the newest addition of his family.

Author’s Note: Surprise! Here’s some boy dad!Harry on this fine week night. I feel like Harry is almost always written as as girl dad (guilty as charged tho), so I wanted to show the boys some love. I didn’t really call this one an ‘x reader,’ because this one’s mostly about Harry and his bub, but the missus is still there, don’t worry! I hope you enjoy and as always, feedback of any kind, likes and especially reblogs are super helpful to keep me motivated to post more. Take care and TPWK.

     The Styles household was always filled with noise. Whether it was contagious laughter echoing off of the walls in the kitchen, the pitter patter of pudgy feet bursting through the back door from the garden, or the low humming of the secondhand record player coming from the living room. The sounds were comforting, reassuring to those that lived there. While the ruckus caused by something like which Joni Mitchell song Harry should play on the guitar before bedtime or what color everyone’s nails should be painted each week might seem chaotic to some, it represented a kind of tranquility that at one point did not seem possible to grasp.

    But today, in the modest, ivy-covered cottage with a pastel-yellow door, it was quiet. The sun poured in from the two open windows of the living area, filling the room with a still brightness that only London could emote. Dust particles danced in the light, drifting along through their own invisible current. The beginnings of the city could be seen in the distance, visible in a foggy haze with promises of sweet treats and adventue-packed days. But no sound, as the newest member of the Styles family had commanded the attention and affection of everyone within its walls.

    “She’s so little,” the youngest spoke up. Although he was now technically the oldest. He outstretched his hand out to caress the petite foot that stuck out from beneath the periwinkle-colored muslin blanket.

    “I know,” Harry replied, watching the swaddled newborn’s toes curl in reaction to being tickled by her brother, “I remember when you were this tiny, too.”

    “I was?” he asked, scratching at his chocolate brown curls that never laid flat.

    Harry nodded in affirmation, recalling the early morning when his son had been born prematurely. He’d spent nearly ten days resting in an uncomfortable vinyl recliner beside his girlfriend’s, who was now his wife, hospital bed counting down the minutes until the nurse would give them the “ok” to go visit their bub in the NICU. Harry stared in awe at his newborn through the glass of the incubator, using the open portal on the side to reach in and stroke his cheek with the faintest of touches. He was covered in wires and tubes, surrounded by monitors and beeping machines, all tasked with keeping his underdeveloped organs afloat. It was the most pitiful thing he had ever seen, and Harry still has those nights where he’s plagued with memories from the hospital. While the day he became a father was most certainly the best day of his life, it was one of the most traumatic experiences he’s ever been through.

    “Mhmm. You were actually even smaller when you were born,” Harry prodded, playfully wiggling his eyebrows at him.

    “No I wasn’t! the toddler jabbed back, crinkling his nose up at his parents, his aquamarine colored eyes turning into tiny slits on either side.

    “Umm, yes you were,” Harry’s wife replied with a chuckle from where she sat beside the rest of her family on the couch, “We bought the tiniest size clothes we could find and they still didn’t fit your teeny little bum.”

    The boy sat confused, trying to comprehend how a person could be smaller than his sister, let alone be so tiny that clothes didn’t even fit them.

    “Well, I’m big now. Right?”

    “Much bigger,” Harry reassured him, “But now that you’re bigger, you have t’ take care of your sister. You have to teach her how to be kind and share your toys with her. Think yeh can do tha’?”

    “Yes! C-can she swim with me in the pool?” he stumbled over his words, overjoyed by the idea of someone always being around to play his sacred water games with him in his nana’s pool.

    “Not yet, bubba,” Harry laughed, tickled by his son’s enthusiasm, “We have t’ wait until she’s a little bit older. But I’m sure she’d love to swim with you at Nana’s when she knows how.”

    “Okayyy,” the boy replied, slightly defeated.

    “Do you want t’ hold her?” Harry asked, gesturing to the sleeping bundle in his lap, her puffy eyelids closed peacefully as tiny, sporadic grunts left her little belly.

    “Yeah, but I don’t know how,” he professed, his plush, pink toddler lips turning down into a frown.

    “’S alright, I’ll show you,” Harry then carefully shuffled from his position on the couch, turning so that he was facing his son.

    “So, first, you have to make sure you hold her head because she can’t keep it up on her own,” Harry started, reaching over to place the baby girl into his son’s arms.

    Unlike the last time, Harry’s hands didn’t shake. He wasn’t afraid like he was before, when his arms trembled as he took his newborn son into his arms for the first time, petrified that he was going to accidentally smother him or drop him and that the worst thing he could imagine would come true. No. This time, his hands were sturdy, protective over his new daughter as he was preparing to introduce her to his firstborn for the very first time.

     Harry’s wife looked on lovingly as his son took the baby from him excitingly, his left hand cupping her head gently. Her tired eyes were filled with love when he wrapped his arm protectively around her little tufts of peach fuzz in the best way that a five-year-old with mediocre hand-eye coordination could.

    “You also have t’ hold her bum so she doesn’t squirm out of your arms.”

    Harry took his son’s hand into his, guiding him to place his tiny forearm along the baby’s back with his palm resting on her diaper-clad bottom. When he was confident of his son’s grip on the infant, he pulled back. He made sure to hover over him with his brawny, tanned arms just ghosting over his son’s. Just in case.

    The boy was elated. His sister was warm and soft, and she looked like one of the stuffed animals that he slept with every night. He couldn’t believe that the person he talked to in his mother’s belly every night for nine months and gave kisses to each morning before nursery school was here and real and now she gets to live with him forever.

    “She’s so cute,” he spoke in gentle whisper this time, remembering what his mum had told him about being quiet around the baby so that she doesn’t wake up cranky.

    He was absolutely smitten over her. Everything about her was the cutest thing he had ever seen in his brief time on Earth: her button nose that sat perfectly above her lips, her miniature fingers wound tightly her fist as if she was ready to fight, her little tongue that barely poked through her mouth each time she yawned. He could stare at her forever if he could.

    Instinctively, he pulled her into his bony chest for a hug, squeezing a little too harder than he should have. The baby girl tensed in his grasp at the motion, the beginnings of a shrill whine escaping her pruney lips.

    “Whoa, bub. You have t’ be careful,” Harry intervened, loosening his son’s arms so that the baby rested peacefully in the boy’s lap again.

    “She’s fragile. You can’t squeeze her like that,” the boy’s mum reminded him.

    “Sorry, Baby,” said the boy as he reached down to press his tiny lips to her eyebrow.

    Her forehead wrinkled up at the contact, similar to one of auntie Gemma’s baby puppies, thought the boy to himself. He also thought that she kind of looked like one of the puppies too, but he kept that to himself.

    Harry and his wife watched their children interacted, how his son was brushing his thumb along her skull, how her face relaxed at the steady motion. They were already in sync with each other, already comforting each other just by their presence. They were both besotted with their daughter, but Harry thinks he might be just a bit more in love with her than his wife. Harry had gotten used to raising his son, while he taught him to be a kindhearted and gentle creature, there had always been a degree of roughness to which he interracted with him. His daughter, however, was made of glass, Harry had convinced himself. He vowed to do whatever it took to make sure she never shed a single tear because of him or anything else he had control over.

    Now, Harry had two babies. One boy and one girl, just like his family before this one. The similarities slightly terrified him. His son was soft and gentle and loving, just like Harry had been as a child. He was sensitive, always yearning to be held and touched in the way that Harry had when he was his age. His daughter, even though she was only a few days old, was already a stubborn little fighter like his sister. She cried her lungs out within her first few hours of being born, kicking and screaming until it looked like her face was turning blue. She hated the harsh lights that the doctors shone in her eyes and their cold hands that poked and prodded at her belly like she was a science experiment. It wasn’t until she was in the arms of her family that her wailing subsided.

    It was thoughts like these that felt surreal to Harry. He never saw himself as someone that could be in the position he is now. He’d always thought he’d be an eternal bachelor, someone who only ever stayed with someone for a certain period of time before everything inevitably blew up in his face and he’d be back at square one. He never thought that he’d be the type of person with a wife and a white picket fence and a slew of babies; he never thought that he could be the type of person who could be this happy.

    “Bubby, can I ask you to promise me something?” Harry asked as he scooped the boy into his lap, making sure the baby was secure so that the three of them laid in one pile on the couch.

     He pulled his wife closer as well, making sure they were shoulder to shoulder and he felt surrounded on all sides by the ones he loved the most.

    “What?” his son asked, peering up at his papa with huge eyes that resembled saucers, his long, dark eyelashes brushing his brow bones.

    “I want you to promise me,” Harry began, wrapping his arms tighter around his two babies, resting his chin in the crook of his son’s neck, “tha’ whatever happens t’ the two of you, no matter how many times you get into fights. No matter how mad you might make each other. That you’ll love her. No matter what. That you’ll always be her big brother.”

    Harry hadn’t realized, but his voice trailed off near the end. His voice was just above a whisper, so quiet that only his son could hear. He pressed his lips to side of his bub’s forehead, an attempt to soothe both his son and himself.

    “Can yeh do that f’ me?”

    The boy in Harry’s lap pondered his father’s words. His finger went absentmindedly to stroke his sister’s hand, astonished when her fingers unfurled from the tight fist they’d been bound in all day. He slipped his pinky into her palm just as her muscles relaxed so that she was now clutching tightly to his digit.

    He had no idea of the weight that Harry’s words carried. He had no idea of the thoughts of uncertainty that haunted Harry about never getting to this point in his life. He doesn’t understand the cruelty that exists outside the walls of his home besides the pesky little boy in his class that borrows his crayons and doesn’t give them back. He doesn’t know that other children don’t grow up in homes with parents that love each other like his do.

    He didn’t know any of these things, but he sensed that it meant a great deal to Harry, and he wanted to make sure that his father knew he could count on him for anything because he loved him with all of his heart and Harry proved that to him every single day.

    “Pinky promise, papa,” the boy responds, loosening his hand that was wrapped around his sister to offer it to Harry.

[atlafan]

Je T’aime - One Shot

a/n: Bonsoir! I’m back on my French bullshit! Harry is the head chef at a five start restaurant, and he unfortunately has a new manager coming in: Ariel Bardin. They don’t start off on the right foot, and it just gets worse from there. How will they learn to work together? Read to find out! (not proofread) Support me here if you’re able! FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY PLEASE REBLOG, DON’T JUST LIKE, REBLOG REBLOG REBLOG! LEAVE ME LITTLE NOTES IN THE TAGS, GIVE ME FEEDBACK! I’M BEGGING YALL PLEASE THROW A BITCH A BONE I DO THIS ALL FOR YOU!

Warnings: light soft dom/sub themes within the smut, hate fucking (light degradation, but not really???) lots of swearing, plenty of angst, and a tiny bit of fluff, mild choking

Words: 12.9K

Pairing: Harry Styles x OC (Ariel Bardin)

Managing a five-star restaurant was no easy task. Ariel had to make sure all of the schedules for the waitstaff were up to date, double check that the cleaning crew left everything spotless, and make sure those that came in early had set up the tables as beautiful as can be. There were many headaches that came with all of it: drama with the waitstaff, customers trying to get in without reservations, large parties that couldn’t be turned away because it was for someone famous – it’s what made the previous lead manager of Je T’aime quit. The owner, who lived far away, was not happy about this news since the previous lead manager had been there for years. So, he sent in the only person he trusted to get the job done – his daughter, Ariel Bardin.

Ariel was only twenty-seven, but she was honored when her father asked her to take over. She had plenty of experience in the food service industry, and she watched her father run the place for years. It was always her dream to manage Je T’aime, and now she finally had the chance. Being a lead manager meant giving up a lot of personal time, having to step in when the kitchen got busy, running food, and a lot more. Ariel was more than up to the task.

The head chef of the restaurant wasn’t so thrilled with the change in personnel, though. He had a good relationship with the previous manager in that the manager let him run the kitchen how he liked. Chef Harry had never met Ariel, but he had a feeling things would be a lot different. He was very particular, and ran a tight ship. He didn’t want someone else coming in and thinking they could take command. He knew he needed to get ahead of things. He had emailed her to see if she wanted to meet for dinner to discuss things before her first day, but she declined. Ariel appreciated the initiative, but she explained that she wanted to meet the entire kitchen crew at the same time. Harry was already annoyed that his efforts were thwarted.

Ariel was excited for her first day. She made sure to get a new pair of no slip grip shoes that weren’t totally ugly. She put on a pair of black slacks and paired it with a baby blue blouse. Lastly, she put her hair up in a cute ponytail, and put on a little eye makeup before heading out. She had requested a tasting at the restaurant before it opened for dinner, and she wanted to leave the cooks plenty of time to get their prepping done. She also wanted to get their early enough to set up her new office.

Before entering the restaurant, she takes a deep breath. She smiles and waves to the people setting up the dining tables as she makes her way towards the kitchen. She remembers being a little girl and going to work with her father. She loved it when he’d sit her up on one of the counters because the cooks would always let her taste test their latest creations. They figured if a child liked the cuisine, then adults would too. Ariel goes right to her new office, and smiles. Arthur had kept up the family photo of Ariel’s parents. Her mother was pregnant with her when they opened Je T’aime. In fact, her father named it that because Ariel’s mother was French, and her father learned the language just for her. Ariel’s mother passed a few years back, and it was pretty devastating. She was a wonderful woman, and Ariel always hoped to have a romance like theirs.

She snaps herself out of her thoughts, and starts taking out the things she brought with her from the box she was carrying. This was going to be a great day, she could feel it. She takes out a notepad and pen, and heads back out to the kitchen towards the chef’s office. She taps on the door frame when she sees two men sitting inside chatting.

“Hello?” She says to them, and they both turn in their chairs to look at her. “I’m Ariel, the new lead manager. Which one of you is Chef Harry?”

“That would be me.” Harry stands up to shake her hand.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you. So, that makes you Chef Garrett, right?” She says to the other man.

“Correct, I’m the sous chef, it’s nice to meet you, Ariel.” He shakes her hand as well.

“Wonderful, is everything ready for the tasting? The menu’s changed a lot over the years, and I want to see if it needs anymore.”

“With all due respect,” Harry starts, “the menu’s more than perfect. It changes seasonally as is.” He crosses his arms.

“With all due respect, Chef, I don’t particularly care.” She smirks and crosses her own arms. “I’ve worked hard to get here, and my father finally trusts me to take care of this place. I’m not going to make him regret it. Now, if I like everything, then nothing will need to change. But I’ve got a couple of ideas I may like to try out, and you’ll have to deal with it when the time comes.” She smiles and leaves the office.

Harry and Garrett share a look, and follow her out. A few of the other cooks had already set up the plates for the tasting. Ariel greeted all of them warmly, and started tasting the food. She was impressed, for the most part, but she definitely had notes.

“These mashed potatoes could be whipped a bit more…possibly with more sour cream?” She says. “And this chicken…more seasoning could do it some good. The salmon is excellent, though, just delicious.”

“Chef Harry prepared that.” One of the cooks says, and Ariel looks back at Harry who had a smirk on his face.

Ariel narrows her eyes at him, and then turns her attention back to the food. She enjoyed the pasta dishes, but she makes a face when she gets to the steak frites.

“What…what are these?” Ariel asks as she points at the fries.

“French fries.” Garrett says.

“Mhm, yeah, they should be steak fries, freshly made. These look like they were frozen before.”

“Because they are.” Harry says. “They’re more cost effective. We season them after they’re fried, and they’re great for when kids come in.”

“Kids like steak fries just the same. I want fresh cut potatoes used. They’re more authentic. This isn’t a fast food restaurant. You already have to order potatoes for the mashed potatoes, right? I bet we’d get a discount if we order a larger quantity. We can talk it about it later.”

After tasting a few more things, and thanking the cooks, Ariel heads into the dining room to start greeting the waitstaff. Things felt a lot less hostile with them. Harry was fuming in his office with Garrett.

“It’s her first day and she already wants to change things! And the worst part is, she’s completely right about the bloody fries.” Harry huffs. “Steak fries would be ten times better!”

“Chill, Harry. She just needs to see how well you run things while it’s busy, and she’ll understand her place here. This is your kitchen.”  

“Right, good idea. Her real job is to manage the waitstaff.”

Ariel was on fire. It was a busy night because blackened salmon was the special. She was helping run food, and the waitstaff was extremely impressed. The previous manager rarely helped liked that. She was even running bread and water to tables, starting off orders, and helping seat. She even went behind the bar to help get drinks to tables, and help the bartenders catch up. It was a great first impression. She was exhausted by the time she got to sit in her office at the end of the night. She sat with the head hostess to go over the receipts before cutting her for the night. Her last task was to make sure the kitchen was closed down properly after locking up the safe.

“Ariel?” One of the cooks asks her as she steps out. “Would like anything for dinner before start to throw things away?”

“Throw things away?” She furrows her brows. “I have food at home, thank you, but don’t throw anything out. Surely we can start up a makeshift compost before getting a real one.”

“Oh, well, we don’t throw everything away, just-“

“Can you let me see all of the leftovers that usually get put in the trash?”

The cook nods, and she follows him. Harry was in his office checking over what the most popular orders of the night was, and getting some paperwork done. He notices Ariel speaking with Eddy, and he sighs. He gets up, and makes his way to where they are.

“Is there any particular reason your keeping Eddy from his sidework?” Harry asks her.

“I asked him to show me what usually gets thrown out. This could easily be donated or used for compost. I’ll be coming in early tomorrow to set up a new compost area, and I’ll be talking with the local food kitchens to see what they need. This is good food, and it shouldn’t be wasted.” She crosses her arms. “Is that going to be a problem?”

“Why,” he sucks his teeth, “Come to my office when you’re done telling my staff what to do, we need to talk.” Harry turns on his heel and goes into his office, nearly slamming the door.

Ariel helps the kitchen and dish crew clean a few things up, earning herself even more brownie points, before going into Harry’s office. He doesn’t look up at her until she clears her throat.

“You wanted to talk?” She says.

“Yeah, have a seat.”

“I’d prefer to stand, thanks.”

Harry turns in his seat, and looks up at her.

“Are you and I going to have a problem?” He asks, standing up, towering over her, but she stands her ground.

“I don’t know, are we? Are you seriously going to tell me that you never thought of composting?”

“It’s expensive. We find other ways to stay green, though. You would have known that if you had gone to dinner with me. I could have told you everything you needed to know. But no, you blew me off, and decided to find every possible way to embarrass me and undermine me in front of my staff.”

“Look, Chef, I’m sorry if you feel disrespected, that wasn’t my intention. I just think a lot of changes need to be made. I spoke with the dining staff just the same, it wasn’t just your staff. This place means a lot to me, and I just want to make sure it’s being run well. I…I didn’t think a dinner would be appropriate for us.”

“Why? It’s not like I was asking you out on a date.” He scoffs.

“No, but I just assumed you were going to try to schmooze me or something, and I didn’t want to deal with it. Am I wrong in thinking you were going to try to work me over?”

“It wasn’t to work you over, but the last manager and I sort of had an understanding.”

“Which was what?”

“I do my thing, he does his, and we don’t get into each other’s hair.”

“Well, that’s not how this is going to work.” She gestures between the two of them. “I don’t want things getting hostile between us, for the sake of the staff. I didn’t think we’d be best friends or anything…but I was hoping we’d at least get along.”

“I don’t think that’s gonna happen. Not a great first impression.” He crosses his arms.

“Same could be said to you.” She scoffs. “If you start doing things better, then I won’t have a reason to talk to you. So, do better, Chef.” She looks him up and down, and then leaves his office.

Harry wanted to pull his hair out. This woman was going to make his life a living hell, he could feel it.

//

“What kind of a name is Ariel, anyways?” Garrett scoffs a week or so later. He was in charge of the new composter, and he wasn’t thrilled about it.

“I know! We her parents big fans of The Little Mermaid?” Harry chuckles.

“It’s French.” Ariel says, entering Harry’s office. “And it’s a family name. My grandmother’s name was Ariel, and my mother named me after her.” She looks at both of them and smirks. “And, Ariel just so happens to be my favorite Disney princess, so it’s an honor on many accounts.”

“Did you need something?” Garrett asks her.

“Yes, actually. I wanted to talk about Passover, it’s coming up and we need to talk about a kosher menu.”

“Seems like something for just the two of you to discuss.” Garrett says, and leaves quickly. Ariel takes his seat.

“A kosher menu, huh? Don’t you need a separate kitchen for that?”

“Not necessarily. I was just sort of thinking we could offer some different specials throughout the week.”

“Like what?”

“I’ve got a killer brisket recipe, we could offer a matzah ball soup too. There’s lots of stuff we could whip up. Oh! Macaroons would be good, and maybe some matzah bark as well. I’ve got recipes for all of it if you’re game.”

“When’s Passover?” He sighs and looks at the calendar on the wall.

“At the end of March, plenty of time to order what we need.”

“You know we do a brunch on Easter, right?”

“Yes, I’m aware.” She nods. “If we do for one, we should do for others.”

“If you email me the recipes, I can work on them.”

“Alright, I can do that. I ask that you don’t tweak them. They’re family recipes and I promise they’re golden.”

“One of our cooks is Jewish, he can work on them. I’ll be focused on the brunch food.”

“Oh…well, great, okay.” She stands up. “Thanks for hearing me out. I think a lot of our customers will be excited, and it’ll being good attention.”

“Listen, uh…I’m sorry about Garrett and I before. We were just-“

“Don’t.” She shakes her head. “I know you both don’t like me. I’m a bossy bitch that’s come in and made things difficult, I get it. This isn’t my first male-led restaurant that I’ve managed.”

“Hey, I’ve got no problem with women in charge.” Harry stands up. “You just came in like a bull.”

“Aw, would you have preferred if I pouted my lips and batted my eyes at you, and asked pretty please?” She pouts her lips and bats her eyes at him, making his mouth fall open. She smirks at him and shakes her head. “It’s too easy.” She laughs and leaves his office.

If he couldn’t stand her before, he definitely couldn’t stand her now.

//

It really pissed Harry off at how much the Passover food was liked. The restaurant had never been busier, getting completely booked with reservations from patrons that had never been before, but heard about the diverse specials. Then there was the Easter brunch. Ariel walked in with her hair half pulled up, and the rest of it flowing. She was wearing this gorgeous pastel pink blouse along with some navy slacks. She was dolled up for the holiday. She pumped up the staff during the pre-meal chat, and then she started running around with coffee carafes to help out the busy staff.

It was an elegant brunch, and Harry was also dressed up because the head chef usually went around the dining room checking in with the patrons. He wore his nicest chef’s jacket, and made sure his hair wasn’t too out of sorts before he went into the dining room. Ariel had never seen him be so personable. He was genuinely laughing with people at their tables, she couldn’t believe it.

Ariel was tired, but her customers were happy, and she got to go home around four, which was a blessing in disguise. She couldn’t wait to get home and flop herself onto her bed. She just needed to put the cash in the safe, and check the receipts.

“Is there any lobster mac ‘n cheese left?” She asks as she walks over to the line.

“Got a pan of it right here.” Eddy smiles at her.

“Amazing, I’ve been looking forward to it all day.” She scoops some into a to-go container, and adds a couple of other things she wanted.

“Why is that you always like the food I make the best?” Harry smirks as he also fills up a container for himself.  

“I’m not too big to admit you’re a very talented chef, Harry.” She says and looks at him. “It’s your personality that could use some work, Happy Easter.” She smiles at him. “Great job today, everyone!” She exclaims before making her way back to her office.

“Man, did you see Ari’s tits in that shirt today?” One cook says to another.

“Her tits? I was too busy sneaking a peek at that ass of hers. Wouldn’t mind tapping it.”

“Oi.” Harry says to them. “None of that, alright? It’s rude.”

“C’mon, Chef.” One of the cooks says. “I know you don’t like her, but even you can admit she’s hot.”

“Do you all want to get out of here on time to see your families?!” Harry shouts. “Finish cleaning up.” He huffs, and goes back to his own office.

“He’s not wrong.” Garrett says to the cooks. “Don’t be disrespectful.”

“Yeah.” Eddy chimes in. “Don’t think your girlfriends would appreciate it very much if they knew you were talking about another woman like that.”

Harry was about to head out for the day. He was going to go home and cuddle up with cat, Luna, and veg out. He walks by Ariel’s office, and he stops short. He sees her sitting with her face in her hands. He looks around behind him, they were the last two people there.

“Hey, are you alright?” He says as he opens the door, and she jumps in her chair a bit, obviously startled.

“Yeah.” She wipes under eyes. “I’m fine, why?”

“You just…were you crying?”

“No, don’t be silly.” She wipes under eyes again. “I’m just a little sweaty, I ran around a ton today.”

“How was the mac ‘n cheese?”

“I haven’t eaten it yet, I’m bringing it home…”

“When are you headed out?”

“Soon.”

“I can wait for you, if you want…”

“I’m all set.”

“Ariel, if something’s wrong-“

“Nothing’s wrong! Go home, Harry! I’m just finishing some things up.”

“You know something, you are a bitch.” He puts his hands on his hips. ���I was just trying to be nice, and you have to be so nasty about it!”

“Right, because I need a fuckwad like you checking on me.” She rolls her eyes. She takes her leftovers and puts them in the trash.

“What are you doing?!”

“I’ve lost my appetite.” She says, standing up, grabbing her purse, and brushing by him on her way out.

Harry was shocked Ariel hadn’t turned his hair white with how much she stressed him out. The interaction they had pissed him off to no end. He had defended her, told his staff not to talk about her a certain way. Then, when he sees her in distress, she’s as ungrateful as ever. He tried calming down in the shower, but that didn’t work. He tried watching TV with Luna, but he just wanted to know what she had been so upset about in the first place.

He takes out his phone, and searches her on Facebook. He figured she must have one, if not he would search Instagram. He rolls his eyes when he sees how gorgeous she looks in her profile picture. She had most of her privacy settings on, but his eyes widen when he sees her tagged in a post. It was written in French.

Il y a quinze ans aujourd'hui, nous avons perdu notre Nana Ariel. Comme elle nous manque tellement, et nos étés avec elle sur les plages françaises.

Harry only understood a few words, so he taps the translate button: Fifteen years ago today, we lost our Nana Ariel. How we miss her so, and our summers with her on the French beaches. He furrows his eyebrows at the photos. It must have been a cousin that tagged Ariel. Her nana looked like a lovely woman.

“Shit.” Harry sighs. Ariel was probably putting on a brave face all day. He knew her mother had passed, but he wasn’t sure about her grandmother. Her female figures were gone, and he called her a bitch to her face. He felt terrible. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Harry gets off his couch and goes into his kitchen. An hour or so later, he’s driving to Ariel’s house to deliver a fresh lobster mac n’ cheese. He was lucky he knew her address. She lived in a quaint neighborhood. He pulls up out front, and goes up to her door, ringing the bell. After a few moments she opens the door. She was in a long robe, and slippers. Her hair was up in a bun on the top of her head.

“Harry?”

“Here, feel better.” He practically shoves the casserole dish into her arms. “And…I’m sorry I said that to you, okay?”

“What is this?”

“Lobster mac n’ cheese. You threw yours out because I was being an ass…but to be fair you snapped at me first.”

“What made you do this?”

“The Easter bunny came to me in a dream, alright? It doesn’t matter, just take it and eat it. M’sure you don’t feel like cooking after such a long day.”

“Well, you’re right.” She raises an eyebrow at him. “I’ll take it, thank you. I shouldn’t have been so short with you.”

“I shouldn’t have tried to pry. I’ll see you Tuesday.”

“Yeah….” She almost invited him to have some with her, but as nice as the gesture was, she didn’t really feel like spending anymore time with him today. So she lets him leave.

Harry was back on his couch in no time with Luna, feeling much better than he did before. He feels his phone buzz, and he looks down to check his notifications.

Ariel Bardin: I don’t know what makes me more furious, the fact that you’re an incredible cook, or the fact that such a simple dish could make me feel ten times better

Harry smirks down at the message. This didn’t change anything between the two of them, but Harry felt a little better knowing there was a bit of a common ground between them now. They didn’t have to like one another, but maybe there would be a bit more respect.

//

There was a respect between them, but the two still bickered and argued and made things difficult for one another. He’d call her a spoiled brat, and she’d call him a fat headed fuck, it was just their thing. No one in the kitchen seemed to mind, especially because if Harry was yelling at her, then he wasn’t yelling at them. Garrett had warmed up to Ariel considerably over the last few months. He was starting to see that she really did mean well, and over time the changes she made were for the better.

A lot of people understood why Ariel and Harry butted heads so much. They both had dominant personalities, and kitchens were hot. Usually one of them would go into the walk-in fridge, and come out much more cooled down. As the summer months started, it just got worse.

“I’m not sending out wilted lettuce!” Harry screamed at her.

“It’s not wilted!” Ariel screamed back.

“Did you go to culinary school?! You’re not the fucking expert, I am!”

“So, you’re just going to chuck perfectly good lettuce because you think it’s wilted! Put your fucking glasses on!”

“Enough!” Garrett yells. “We’ll double check the lettuce and make sure none of the dingier looking pieces get sent out. Take a break, the kids are getting scared.” He was referring to the kitchen staff, and to the few waitstaff that were in the kitchen.

They both growl and walk away from one another. They stayed away from each other for the rest of the night. Ariel was there late catching up on some paperwork. She jumped when she heard something fall on the ground. She thought everyone had gone home for the night. When she goes out to the kitchen to see Harry, she sighs with relief.

“Scared the shit out of me, what are you still doing here?” She storms over to him.

“Prepping the dinner roll dough so it’s ready to go for tomorrow. It’s been too hot to make it in the morning. The prep cooks can just come in and use the ovens while it’s still cool if the dough’s already set and proofed.” He says as he continues to knead the dough on the counter.

“Why not have someone else do it?”

“Why should I make someone else stay late?” He scoffs.

“Well…here, I’ll get an apron so I can help.”

“I’m all set.”

“Don’t be silly, it’ll help you get out of here faster.”

“What do you care about that?”

“God, you’re so stubborn.” She goes to wash her hands, and steps over to the dough, but he swats her hand away when she goes to reach for it.

“Go home, Ariel.”

“What the fuck is your problem?!”

“You! You’re my fucking problem! Cooking is supposed to be relaxing, this is my me time, and you’re ruining it!”

“Well, excuse me for offering to help!”

“I don’t need your help!” He slams a fist down on the counter, causing flour to splatter onto her chest and face. “Oops.” He smirks.

Ariel wipes her face off, gathers a bit of flour, and flicks it into Harry’s face. He takes a deep breath and looks at her.

“Oops.” She says in the same mocking tone he had.

“You know, for someone who hates wasting food, I’d think you’d be more careful.” He says, wiping his face off. “It was an accident when I did it.”

“Oh well.” She shrugs.

“You,” he starts walking towards her, backing her up to the opposite counter, “are one of the most infuriating people I have ever met.” They were practically chest to chest. She could feel his breath fanning over her face. “I wish you never started working here.”

“You know what they say, can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.” She says, looking up at him with a searing gaze.

“It’s my kitchen, you get out.”

“Make me.”

Harry’s eyes widen, and his nostrils flare. He was about ready to boil over. He’s not sure what comes over him, but his flour covered hands reach up to cup her cheeks, and he leans down to kiss her roughly, pressing her further against the counter. She gasps as he does it, but she doesn’t fight him. She doesn’t push him away, she doesn’t do a thing to get him to stop. In fact, she reaches to tug at his shirt so he could be even closer to her. She could taste the mint from his gum, and his lips were insanely soft. He breaks the kiss first, but doesn’t move her hands from her face.

She opens her mouth to speak, possibly to question him on why he kissed her, but she doesn’t get the chance because he’s kissing her again, this time licking into her mouth. She pushes against him, backing him up to the opposite counter, and he grunts against her. Her arms move to wrap around his neck, and her fingers tug at his hair. Just as she was sucking on his tongue, he shoves her up against a nearby wall, and lifts her up. She wraps her legs around his waist, and he carries her over to a counter to sit her on.

Their lips hadn’t parted, and they both needed air, but neither could stop. Harry kisses sloppily towards her neck, and she bites on her bottom lip to suppress a whimper. She reaches down to untie the apron he had on, and she tugs it off. His hands work to undo her pants just as he bites down on the crook of her neck, making her gasp.

“Lift your hips ups.” He says into her ear before nibbling onto her lobe. She does as he says so he can tug her pants down. He places his hands on her thighs, and scratches his nails down them before looking at her. “You want this?” She nods yes at him. “Need you to actually say it. I’m not gonna do anything you don’t want.”

“I want it.” Her cheeks flush. “Happy now?”

“Very.” He growls, and bites down on her bottom lip before letting it snap back. He reaches between her legs, and he groans. “You’re soaked, did yelling at me rile you up?”

“No.” She blushes, and then tugs at his hair. “Stop talking before I change my mind.”

He tugs her panties to the side so he can get a real feel for how wet she is. He plunges two fingers inside of her, and her mouth falls open. Her head rolls back as he pumps them in and out of her.

“Christ, when was the last time someone fucked you?” He grunts. “You’re so tight.”

“Harry, please, shut the fuck up.” She grits her teeth and reaches for the button on his pants.

“Only cause you said please.” He smirks, and she flicks his forehead.

He sucks his teeth and reaches into his back pocket for his wallet, pulling out a condom. She rolls her eyes at the fact that he’s one of those guys that kept a condom in his wallet, but she wasn’t going to complain too much. She was glad he had one. He takes himself out of his pants, getting them down just enough, and rolls the condom on. He looks at her, just to make sure one more time that it was alright and she nods. He splays his hands on her back, pulling her closer as he pushes inside.

“Fucking, shit.” He grunts.

“Try to last longer than a minute there, sport.” She says, trying desperately not to wince at the stretch he was giving her.

“God, I fucking hate you so much.” He says as he starts to thrust in and out of her. She grips his shoulders to hold onto him.

“The feeling’s, ngh, mutual.” She bites down into his shoulder to suppress her moans, but he yanks her head back by her ponytail.

“If I’m gonna fuck you, you’re gonna let out every single little sound, do you understand?”

“You really like telling me what to do.” She grunts.

“And you’re shit at listening.”

“So are you!”

“Weren’t you just telling me to shut up?! Take your own fucking advice!”

She lets out an exasperated noise, and crashes her mouth back to his. He grips her hips as he pounds into her. Her legs wrap tighter around him to get him even closer. They’re both moaning into the other’s mouths. One of his hands leaves her hip, and he brings it over to rub at her clit. She whimpers, and starts panting. He nips at her lips, and works his way back to her neck.

“Fuck, ugh, that’s it.” She mewls. “I’m close, don’t stop.”

“Can feel you squeezing me, like the way I feel?” He licks up her neck back to her ear, and then slots his mouth over hers, not even giving her a chance to answer him before she’s crying out.

She lets her body rest against his as he picks up the pace. He was close himself, but he was trying to savor how good she felt. She was soaked between her legs because of him. He’d never let her live this down. A few more thrusts, and he’s spilling into the condom.

He rests his forehead against hers for a few moments as he catches his breath. He pulls out of her, and tugs her panties back into place before helping her off the counter. They both wordlessly work to get their clothes back on properly.

“So, uh, do you really not want help with the dough?” She asks, smoothing some hair away from her face.

“No, it shouldn’t take me too much longer…thank you.” He chews on his bottom lip. “Why don’t you wait, though, I’ll walk you to your car.”

“Sure…I was in the middle of some paperwork anyways. Just come get me when you’re done.”

Harry nods and goes to wash his hands before getting back to what he was doing. Ariel makes her way to the bathroom to properly clean herself up. They walk to the parking lot together later in silence. He makes sure her car starts before driving off and heading home to Luna.

//

Work was…awkward after that. Everyone was confused because the kitchen had never been more quiet. Ariel had mostly kept to herself and if she had something to say, she was less brash. Harry was the same towards her.

“Do you think we could add pudding pie to the summer dessert menu?” She asks him. “Like an Oreo thing?”

“Um, sure, yeah…should be easy enough to work into the rotation.” He says. “Good, uh, good suggestion.” He swallows.

“Thanks, Chef.” She nods and walks away from him.

“Dude, not that I’m complaining, but what’s up with you two?” Garrett whispers to him as they both work to chop vegetables.

“Nothing.” Harry shrugs a shoulder. “We’ve just…reached an understanding, is all. We, uh, hashed things out a week or so ago.” He clears his throat. “Just focus on the your beets for the borsht. I need to get started on that chilled melon soup.”

Harry heads into the walk-in fridge to grab the cantaloupe he had already cut up to make the soup with. He was essentially making a creamy smoothie, but this was one of their summer best sellers. He stops short when he sees Ariel trying to reach for something on the top shelf.

“Need a hand?” He asks, and it startles her.

“Y-yeah, could you get the, uh, shredded Brussels down for me?”

Harry nods and reaches above her to grab the pan. He hands it to her, and she thanks him before making her way towards the door.

“Ariel?”

“Yes?”

“How…how have you been since-“

“We can’t talk about it now.” She shakes her head. “Find me later if you want.”

And that’s what he does. At the end of the night, Harry goes into Ariel’s office and sits down at the spare chair she had.

“So…what’s up?” She asks him.

“I just wanted to see how you were since we, you know…” He looks away from her for a moment. “We haven’t talked about it.”

“I didn’t think you wanted to.” She shrugs. “It’s really not that big of a deal, it was a heat of the moment thing.”

“Yeah.” He swallows. “Nothing more to it than that. I can’t help but notice that things have been a tad more civil between us over the last week.”

“I just haven’t wanted to make waves, I guess. Sort of hard to yell at the guy that made me come as hard as I did.” She says shyly, and he smiles.

“Glad I could finally be of some use to you.” He smirks.

“Don’t get too cocky. I have things at home that make me feel even better.” She smirks and his face falls.

“It was good, though, right?”

“Yeah…nice way to get some frustration out.”

“I think…I think that’s how we make things work here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, think of how peaceful everything’s been this week with us being nicer to each other. I think when we’re starting to get on each other’s nerves we should just fuck because clearly talking shit out doesn’t work too well.”

“Are you asking me to be your fuck buddy?”

“The word buddy implies that we’re friends, and we’re not. I still can’t stand you, Ariel.”

“Likewise.”

“But you’ve got a tight cunt that I wouldn’t mind fucking into again, so what do you say?”

“Harry, this is a five star restaurant. We can’t just fuck in the kitchen every time we get on each other’s nerves. That’s a major health code violation.”

“So we wait.” He shrugs. “We both have cars and houses. Lots of places to let out our frustrations.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“You do that.” He says, and stands up to leave.

“You didn’t tell anyone, did you?”

“Might have mentioned to my cat, but only because she was mad at me for getting home so late. I’m not one for bragging about intimate details.”

“Good.” She nods. “Thank you.”

Harry leaves her office and she sighs heavily. She wasn’t expecting the conversation to go that way at all. Ariel thought for sure Harry was going to say that it was a mistake and it never should have happened, but he didn’t. He wanted to fuck her s again, he said it himself. And he wasn’t wrong, the kitchen had been a much happier place to be over the last week. The only thing was, she didn’t know if she wanted to give into his request so easily. He was the one who admitted to wanting to do it again, not her. The ball was totally in her court! She also wasn’t too sure how smart it would be to start fucking her chef on the regular. It could do more harm than good.

//

“What do you mean you let a party of fifteen come in?!” Harry shouts at Ariel, who was now putting on an apron and gloves to help the cooks out.

“You heard me! We can either waste time arguing about it, or we can get to preparing their meals! It’s not you who’s gonna have to stay late, it’s me and my dining staff.”

“Why would you let a group of fifteen come in right before closing?!”

“Because they paid up front with cash for four bottles of $500 wine!”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah, holy shit. They already gave us their order, so we just need to get everything out to them, and then everyone can clean up. Let’s move!”

Harry sighs heavily, but does as she says. He and Garrett get to work on the entrees while the cooks work with Ariel on the appetizers. She runs the food out so she can help out her dining staff that were trying to wrap up their sidework. Two hours after closing, the large party left, and luckily they left a huge tip. They apologized over and over again about coming in so late. Apparently they were in a production for something, and it closed so they wanted to celebrate. Ariel assured them it was fine. She sighs when she’s finally able to go back into her office. She still needed to go over all the receipts for the night.

“Need any help with that? I know your hostess usually gets this done with you…” Harry says as he walks into her office.

“No, thank you.” She says without looking at him. “You can go, I don’t need you to wait for me.”

“You’re such a hypocrite.” He shakes his head and sits down. “You tried to force yourself two weeks ago into helping me make some bread dough, and now here I am offering up some help and you won’t take it.”

“Guess the shoe’s on the other foot.” She still wouldn’t look at him, so he reaches forward to grab her chin, and turns her head in his direction.

“You’re, quite literally, the most annoying person I’ve ever met.”

“Yeah? Then why are you trying to fuck me right now?”

“Who said I was trying to do that?” He says, letting go of her and sitting back in the chair.

“Please, it’s so obvious.” She scoffs. “We’re the last two people here, you’re coming in here offering help. What’s wrong, hm? None of my waitresses wanted to suck you off?” She pouts at him, and his face hardens.

“I have never done anything like that with a member of the dining staff.”  

“No? They sure talk about you like you have.”

“You sound a little jealous.” He smirks.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” She deadpans.

“You know, when my cooks make crude remarks about you, I tell them it’s wrong and to stop. Do you even try to defend me when you hear them talking out there?”

“Sure I do, I tell them that this neither the time nor the place for any of that, and that they should have more respect for you. One of the bartenders, Jess, she seems to have a thing for you. Her eyes are glued to you every time you come out into the dining room. Why not go be her fuck buddy?”

“Because I don’t want to fuck her.”

“And you want to fuck me?” He nods yes at her. “Why?”

“Because despite how much I can’t stand you, it was a good fuck and I’d like to do it again. This isn’t news, we’ve talked about this already.”

“I smell like food.” She mutters as she gets back to checking the receipts.

“So do I.”

“So, go home and shower and meet me at my place in a little while. I’ll text you when I’m ready.” She looks at him. “Go feed your cat or whatever, I’m sure she’s missing you.”

Harry tries his best to bite back the smug look that was growing on his face. Wordlessly, he stands up and leaves her office. Ariel shakes her head and continues with their work.

“Far too easy.” She says to herself with a smirk.

//

Harry didn’t end up at Ariel’s place until nearly midnight. It took her a while to finish things up at work, and then she wanted to shower so she didn’t smell like food anymore. Her rings her doorbell, and she opens it wearing the same robe she had been wearing the first time he showed up at her place, only this time she wasn’t wearing her cute little slippers, and her eyes weren’t puffy from crying. She doesn’t say anything to him, she just steps aside to let him in.

He doesn’t look around, he doesn’t compliment her place, all he does is kick his sneakers off, cup her jaw, and shove her up against the wall. His mouth crashes to hers, and she sinks into it. She almost wanted to sigh with relief. It was amazing how simply kissing someone could make you forget all your troubles. She tugs him closer to her, and his hands brush down her body to lift her up.

“Where do you want it?” He breathes as she wraps her limbs around him.

“Bedroom, upstairs.” She says before kissing on his neck.

He grunts as he finds his way to the staircase, and carries her up. Of course, he makes a few pit stops to kiss her, smoosh her up against the wall and lick into her mouth. When he finally does make it to her room, he practically tosses her on the bed. He starts to rid himself of his clothes while she sits and watches.

“Aren’t you going to take yours off?” He asks after getting his shirt off.

“M’only wearing this.” She shrugs. “Thought you might like to take it off yourself.”

“Stand up.” He tells her and she does so, walking over to him.

His hands reach for the tie on her robe, and he undoes it. He pushes it off her shoulders, and licks his lips when he sees her naked body, the robe pooling at her feet. He wraps his arms around her waist, and pulls her close so he can kiss on her chest. He licks between the valley of her breasts before pulling one of her nipples into his mouth with his teeth. He sucks on it harshly, eliciting a soft moan from her. He walks them back towards the bed, and he pushes her onto it. He climbs on top of her, and goes back to kissing on her chest. He works his way down her stomach, nipping where he pleases, before he’s able to lay comfortably between her legs.

“You…you don’t have to.” She says to him, and he looks up at with a confused look.

“I know I don’t, I want to. Didn’t get to do it last time.” He rubs circles into her thighs with his thumbs. “Do you not want me to?”

“No, I just…I don’t know, it’s sort of intimate for what this is.” She chews on her already swollen bottom lip. “You really want to?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t wanna suck your dick.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“Okay.” She takes a deep breath and opens her legs for him.

He uses his thumbs to open her folds up a little more so he could better see what he was working with. Ariel always hated this part when a guy would go down on her. She always felt like she was at the doctor’s office getting a checkup. She stopped feeling like that the second his tongue licked around her clit. She sits up on her elbows to watch him. He continues to lick around her clit, watching it get a little more swollen each time and then he sucks on it.

“Ah!” She gasps, reaching for his hair to tug on.

His fingers soon replace his tongue on her clit so he lick around where she’s wet for him. He moans into her after he finally gets a real taste. She smelled sort of like cocoa butter, he assumed she moisturized after her shower. For a woman that couldn’t stand him, she sure was considerate. He licks into her, and she squeaks out a noise that she had never heard come out of her own mouth. Ariel tries to wrack her brain, but she can’t seem to recall a time where a guy had ever actually licked into her before, teasing her in such a way with their tongue. Harry was licking and sucking on her while his fingers were working magic on her clit. She had tears in her eyes from how good it felt. Her thighs were squeezing against his head, and her heels were digging into his back, but he didn’t care. He was too caught up with fucking her with his tongue.

“Shit, I…fuck, Harry, I’m gonna come!” She warns him, and all he does his moan into her, encouraging her to do so.

She tugs on his hair a little harder as she cries out, back arching and head rolling back. He sits up and licks his lips. She was speechless, she had no words. He reaches into his back pocket to pull out a condom before standing up to get his pants off. His cock slaps back against his stomach once it’s free, and her eyes widen. His tip was already leaking.

“You got that turned on just from eating me out?” She wasn’t being condescending, in fact, her tone was full of shock.

“Yeah.” He says as he rolls the condom on. He knees back onto the bed, and shuffles to sit up against the headboard. “Since you’re not gonna suck me off, the least you could do is ride me for a bit.”

Her mouth falls open at that. She wasn’t quite sure how he expected her to have the energy to ride his dick after what he just did to her. She furrows her brows, and moves herself onto his lap. When they make eye contact, she realizes that she doesn’t want to look at him, so she turns herself around to ride him reverse. She guides him in, and sighs into her ear once he hits bottom. She takes a moment just to get reacquainted with him before she starts to swivel her hips in little circles. He gets an arm around her, securing it between her breasts, and gripping her shoulder to help keep her close and steady. He nibbles on her earlobe, and she whimpers. He carefully thrusts up into her as she grinds on him. She couldn’t believe the restraint he had. Most guys would thrust up too far when she was on top and it would hurt. But this…this felt heavenly. She almost hated him more because he was so good.

His mouth moves to the crook of her neck, sucking a bruise into her skin. Her head rolls back, and his other hand snakes around to rub at her clit. She picks up the pace, bouncing a little more on him. The way he was grunting and moaning was giving her goosebumps, which was an odd sensation to feel while her skin also felt extremely hot. His tip starts to hit her g-spot in just the right away, and she loses all control of the noises she’s letting out.

“That’s it.” He groans. “Come all over my cock.”

“Oh my god.” She mewls.

Her fingernails sink into the meat of his thighs as she cries out. She arches into him, and looks up at him, almost distressed, so he licks into her mouth. One of her arms hooks around his head to tug at his hair as she rides out her orgasm. She squeezes around him so tightly that after one more thrust he’s spilling into the condom. She lets her body go slack against him as they both catch their breaths. He sponges open mouth kisses to her neck and jaw before lifting her off of him. She whimpers from the abrupt change.

“Sorry.” He says. “Know that stings a little.”

“Yeah, just a little.” She swallows.

She watches him get off the bed and throw the condom away. He walks right into her bathroom, he didn’t even ask first, and she wasn’t sure why that annoyed her so much, but it did. When he comes out, he grabs his clothes to put back on. She goes to the bathroom next and puts her robe back on when she comes out. She walks him down the stairs and to the door.

“Well, uh, have a good night.” He says, running his hand through his hair.

“You too.” She opens the door for him, and he quickly steps out. She closes it and sighs, resting her forehead against it. She hated him, she really did.

//

A pattern had started between them. After hooking up, things were usually cool for about a week, until they’d eventually fight over something. The cooks almost wanted to set up a bingo card of things they fought over.

“Why can’t we offer lentil pasta instead of just gluten free?!” She yells one day.

“Because lentil pasta is more expensive than standard gluten free pasta!”

“You’re such a cheap prick!”

“I’m sorry, I’m trying to save this restaurant some money!”

“We can splurge on some different options! It’s what the people want!”

“Oh, did your bloody survey results tell you that!”

“Yes, as a matter of fact!” His eyes were full of rage. They were both in his office going over the order sheet.  “Why can’t we just order it, try it out, and see how many people order it? If it’s a flop then we don’t have to order it again!”

“Fine!” He throws the clipboard with the order sheet onto his desk. “You’re coming to my place tonight.” He says lowly.

“M’allergic to cats.”

“Take a decongestant then.” He brushes by her to open his door, and he slams it behind him, leaving her standing in there.

Despite her gut telling her not to go, she follows him to his house after work. They say nothing to each other as they walk in. Luna comes over to greet Harry, and he picks her up. Ariel grimaces at the cat.

“You seriously don’t think she’s cute?” Harry asks.

“I’m not a cat person, they’re no fun.”

“You just haven’t met the right cat, then.” He snuggles Luna to his cheek for a moment before setting her down. “My room’s this way.” He nods towards the hall on the right, and she follows him. He walks straight into his bathroom and turns the shower on.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re doing this in the shower, I smell like steak.” He says, already taking his clothes off. She crosses her arms and huffs. “What?”

“I don’t want to shower right now. Just rinse off quick.”

“Ariel, I wasn’t asking. Get your ass in the bathroom, now.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are? What do you think this is? You can’t just – mmph!”

He had yanked her into him, kissing her to shut her up. She doesn’t fight him on it at all, and he walks them both into the now steamy bathroom, kicking the door closed. They both work quickly to get the other naked before stepping into the warm water.

“You better have a fucking spare towel.” She mumbles against his lips.

“Obviously.” He bites her bottom lip and then steps back from her. He reaches to grab his body wash.

“You’re seriously taking a shower?”

“Yeah.” He says as he lathers his body up. “I was balls deep in au jus today.” He steps in the water to rinse himself off. “Much rather be balls deep in something else, though.” He tugs her to him, licking into her mouth, and reaching between her legs to rub at her folds. His middle finger slips inside her, and she gasps. “Always so ready for me.” He grunts, and backs her up against one of the tile walls. “Can I hit it raw?”

“Are you, um, are you clean?” She asks.

“Yeah, are you?”

“Yeah.”

He grins, and hooks one of his arms under one of her legs to lift it up enough for him to have the room to thrust up into her. She grips his shoulders as he rocks in and out of her. He slots his mouth over hers and they both moan. Her nails rake down his torso and she grabs onto his love handles for dear life as he pounds in and out of her.

“You really fucking pissed me off today.” She says to him. “It’s just pasta.”

“You like spending money left and right.” He grunts.

“If people like it, then it’ll bring in more business. It could pay for itself.”

“The more people that want it, the more we’ll have to, shit, buy.”

“I’m aware of how supply and demand works, you asshole.”

Harry growls at her and presses his other hand to her throat.

“Do us both a favor, and just shut the fuck up, yeah?”

She nods at him and he lets go of her throat, but she pulls his hand back to keep it there. He groans because, quite frankly, it was one of the hottest things he had ever seen someone do. He wasn’t going to last very long, and he had no way of rubbing her clit.

“Touch yourself, rub your clit.” He says into her ear, his breath hot on her.

She snakes a hand between the two of them, and she whimpers when she touches her throbbing clit. She presses on it and rubs circles into the little bud.

“Ah, oh fuck.” She starts panting. “Just like that, Harry, shit.” She wanted to cry she was so close. She bites down on his shoulder as she comes to her release. She didn’t want her noises to scare his cat.

He pulls out of her quickly and comes on her stomach. He steps away from her and grabs his shampoo. She stands there awkwardly while he scrubs his head.

“You can use my body wash if you want.” He says, nodding to it. Ariel doesn’t say anything. She starts to tear up. “Hey, whoa, are you alright?”

“I…um…” She blinks a few times, but can’t really form a sentence.

He’s not sure what’s going on, but it he takes it upon himself to guide her back into the water to rinse her off. He gets his body wash on a spare cloth to wash her with, and then he turns the water off. He grabs a towel to wrap around her, and then gets one around himself. He picks her up and sits her on the sink counter to get a better looks at her.

“Talk to me, what happened?”

“I’ve never, um, let someone, uh…choke me before.” She looks up at him, and he sighs.

“Did I hurt you?” He asks softly.

“No.” She shakes her head. “Just felt a little…floaty for a second, like, lightheaded.” She swallows. “M’fine, I think it was just the steam. I have asthma and it can act up after a particularly hot shower.”

“If I had known I wouldn’t have-“

“I put your hand back on me, it’s okay.” She takes a deep breath and hops off your counter.

“Do you…wanna just crash here?”

“No.” She laughs. “Not at all.”

“You can’t drive if you’re all lightheaded.”

“I’m fine now.” She says as she puts her clothes back on. “I need to get going, I have a busy day tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow’s your day off.”

“Yeah, and I have things to do.” She leaves his bathroom, and he follows her out to his front door.

“Just…could you at least text me when you get home?”

“Sure.” She nods. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

She’s out the door in a flash. Harry didn’t quite understand why things were always so awkward with them afterwards. It was like neither of them ever knew what to say because they just didn’t really know how to be soft with one another. Harry scoops up Luna and brings her to bed with him. About twenty minutes later his phone buzzes.

Ariel Bardin: I’m home

Harry Styles: thanks for letting me know, you made me nervous for a second there

Ariel Bardin: I’m fine, you can go back to not giving a fuck now

Harry Styles: will do, goodnight!

Every time he was nice to her, she had to reject it. He hated her, he really did.

//

“You’re really liking it, you’re not just saying that?” Ariel’s father, Frank, says to her.

“Yes, Papa, I swear.” She smiles. “It’s better than I thought.”

“Good.” He sips on some lemonade. “You look awfully tired.”

“It was a long night.” She shrugs.

“How are things going with the head chef, Harry is it?”

“Yeah, um, I mean, we butt heads from time to time, but it’s fine.”

“It wouldn’t be a normal kitchen if the manager and chef didn’t butt heads.” He chuckles. “I used to fight with the chef all the time.”

“Papa…Uncle Matthew was the head chef when you were there.”

“Don’t I know it. We fought constantly, stubborn old bastard.” He shakes his head. “We still argue about recipes to this day.” He laughs. “Tell me, are you still planning to do the staff appreciation shindig at the end of the summer?”

“Course I am. Hotel’s booked and everything. It’s going to be a fabulous evening.” Ariel smiles. “The dining staff are really excited.”

“Good, good.” He nods. “Do you think you’ll bring a date?”

“Papa.” She groans. “I’d have to be seeing someone in order to bring a date.”

“You work too much, you don’t make time for yourself. Your mother and I were married with a kid by the time we were your age, you know?”

“Yeah, I’m the kid.” Ariel laughs. “I just have other priorities right now.”

“There’s really no one you’re talking to? No one that you like?”

“No.” She takes a sip of her own lemonade. “Don’t worry about me so much, I’m perfectly content, alright?”

“Okay, okay.” He raises his hands in defense. “I won’t ever stop worrying about you, though, that’s the curse of being a parent. At least let me pay for a new dress for the party, hm?”

“You know your money’s no good. I’ll send you pictures, though.”

“Please do, you always look so pretty when you get all dressed up. Spitting image of Mama.” He smiles.

“Thanks, Papa.” She gives his hand a squeeze. “Maybe, um, when I feel like I can take a vacation we can go to France? We haven’t been in so long, and I think it would be good to see our cousins.”

“If you plan the whole thing, sure.” He shrugs. “I think it would be a blast.”

//

Ariel was feeling a little nervous for the staff party. Not only was the restaurant closed for the weekend, but her staff had never seen her in a dress before. She was second guessing everything. Her hair was down and wavy, and she had on this gorgeous navy blue, lace mini dress paired with white heels. When she walked down the hall to the elevators she heard someone suck their teeth. She turns to see it’s Harry.

“Oh, hi.” She blushes.

“Hi.” He looks her up and down. “You look nice.”

“Thank you, so do you.” She swallows and steps inside the elevator once the doors open. Harry steps inside as well, and presses the button for the floor they need to get to with the small ballroom. “Should be a fun night, huh?”

“I’m hoping so.”

“It’s usually a good time.”

“I remember coming with my parents when I was little, it was great. They let me drink all the Shirley Temples I could stomach.”

Harry chuckles slightly at that. In that moment she wasn’t sure if she had ever genuinely made him laugh before. They had hooked up a few more times since the night in his shower. It was always the same, hot and heavy, and then awkward when they were done.

“Wait until you see Garrett on the dancefloor after a few drinks, he can breakdance.”

“No shit, really? I’ll have to keep an eye out.” The elevator dings and they both get off and head towards the ballroom. They both could hear the music the DJ was playing. “Well, have a good time tonight.” Ariel makes her way over to some of the dining staff members that were closer to her age. She had become friendly with a few of them.

Harry migrates over to where his staff was, and buys them all a round of drinks. Ariel stayed nursing on the same vodka-tonic for a bit. She didn’t want to get trashed. She was talking with a couple of the hostesses, having a good time.

“Alright, ladies, I’ve had a couple of drinks, I’m gonna go talk to Harry.” Erica says to them. “My mistake last year was waiting until the end of the night to talk to him. I’m starting earlier this year.”

“And what’s the end goal here, exactly?” Ariel smirks.

“To see what his hotel room looks like, of course.” Erica winks and walks over to where Harry was. “Evening, Chef.” She smiles.

“Hi, uh…”

“Erica.”

“Erica! Right, I knew that. You still working behind the bar?”

“I hostess too.” She smiles.

“Good for you.”

“Are you having a good time?”

“I am.” He nods, and sips from his drink. His eyes flash to Ariel and then back to Erica. “Are you?”

“Yeah. Must be nice that you have the whole weekend off for a change.”

“It’s definitely a nice break.” He smiles, and looks at Ariel again. “Could you excuse me for a moment? I just remembered something I needed to tell Ariel, and I don’t wanna forget again.”

“Oh, um, sure.”

Harry walks away from Erica, and she pouts.

“Don’t take it personally.” Garrett says to her. “Personally, I think he has a thing for Ari, but I have very little proof.”

“Are you kidding? They can’t stand each other.”

“Maybe so.” Garrett shrugs.

Harry makes his way over to Ariel, and clears his throat to get her attention.

“Yes?” She asks, eyebrows raised.

“Come dance with me.”

“Very funny.” She scoffs.

“M’serious. I think it would be good if everyone saw us palling around. Show them the squabbles we have are purely work related.”

“Harry, I have a feeling I’d hate your guts no matter the setting.”

“Just humor me, will you?” He says, visibly annoyed.

“Fine.” She rolls her eyes, and finishes her drinks before following him to the dance floor. A slower song was playing, so she figured it wouldn’t kill her to dance with him.

Once they’re on the dancefloor, his hands go on her waist, and she puts her hands on his shoulders. They sway back and forth for a bit, and it just feels awkward…

“This is weird.” She giggles, and he can’t help but laugh too.

“Why is that the only things we’re good at doing with each other is fighting and fucking?” He smirks.

“Been wondering the same thing myself.” She smirks back at him. “Things would be so much easier if you didn’t question every little thing I wanted to do.”

“Someone’s gotta play Devil’s advocate.”

“You’re not the advocate, you’re the Devil himself.” She rolls her eyes, and it makes him laugh.

“I happen to be a very nice person, you just tend to bring out the worst in me.”

“I suppose a guy who named his cat Luna has to have a soft side.”

“Oi, leave her out of this.” He pouts at her. “You’ve warmed up to her.”

“She’s alright.” Ariel shrugs.

“Those are, uh, really beautiful earrings you’re wearing.” He blushes slightly.

“Oh! Thanks, they were my mother’s. She left me all her good stuff.”

“You must miss her a lot.”

“Yeah.” Ariel sighs. “But it’s nice having these little pieces of her.”

“You know, I’ve never asked, can you speak French fluently, like, are you bilingual?”

“Je ne sais pas, dites-moi.” I don't know, you tell me. She grins at him.

“Okay, I know you said I don’t know…something…me…” He narrows his eyes in thought.

“Dites is tell, it’s the past tense of ditre, which is say.”

“Ah, right, it’s been a while since I conjugated a French verb.” He chuckles. “Remind me, how do you say fuck in French?”

“Merde.”

“I thought that was shit.”

“It works for both.” Ariel shrugs. “There are a lot of variations and translations, like, if I wanted to say I want to fuck you, I’d say Je veux te baiser, but baiser translates to kiss.”

“French is so confusing.” Harry shakes his head. “But it sounds nice while you’re speaking it.” The song ends and she tries to step back from him, but he keeps his grip on her waist. He leans in to whisper in her ear, “Tu veux coucher avec moi ce soir?” Do you want to sleep with me tonight?

“You could have at least used the formal voulez-vous.” She sighs.

“Just answer the question.” He rolls his eyes.

“Oui.” She nods. “But I wanna do it in my room so I can hang my dress up. I don’t want it getting wrinkled.”

“Do you wanna head up now? Think I’m done hanging out with everyone else.”

“Yeah, let’s go. Uh…go ahead of me, I’ll meet you at the elevator.”

Harry nods and makes his way off the dancefloor. Ariel counts to ten Mississippi before making her way out. Harry was leaning up against the wall waiting for her. The elevator dings and they both head inside. Before she knows it, she’s being shoved against the wall, and Harry’s tongue is down her throat. She wraps her arms around his neck, and she groans when he presses himself against her hip. When the elevator dings on their floor, he steps back from her, and they both quickly walk to her room. The second she’s inside, she kicks her heels off, and jumps up for Harry. He carries her over to the bed, and they both fall onto it. They’re both being sloppy with their kisses, but neither cares. The need to be close is overpowering. She starts unbuttoning his shirt while his lips stay on hers. She imagines they’ll still be red and puffy by morning.

He flips them both over so he’s on his back, and she grinds herself against his growing erection. He grips her hips and helps her rock back and forth. She kisses on his neck, and sucks on the area just below his ear. His hands squeeze and knead her ass as a bruise starts to form where her lips are.

“Fuck, need you naked.” He grunts, sitting up to tug on the hem of her dress.

“Hold on, you’re gonna rip it! There’s a fucking zipper on the back.” She huffs.

In the next second, he’s shoving her down onto her stomach so he can undo the zipper of her dress. He pulls her up by the hips so she can free her arms, and then she’s being moved into her back so he can get it the rest of the way off.

“Take your underwear off.” He says as he undoes his pants.

“No.” She smirks at him.

“What do you mean ‘no’?”

“You do it.”

“Ariel.” He says firmly. “Have you not learned how this works by now?” He moves to hover over her, kissing her slowly. “I talk, and you listen.” She shakes her head no, and his eyebrows raise.

“What makes you think you’re always in charge, hm? I let you do all of these things, you know?” Her smiles grows wider. She pecks his lips before speaking again. “Now, tell me you hate me and take my bra off.”

He sits back, and yanks her into his lap. He works to undo her bra, and tosses it across the room. He kisses on her chest, and sucks on the plushier areas before taking a nipple into his mouth. He pops off with a smirk.

“I don’t just hate you, Ariel, I absolutely loathe you.” He pushes her down onto her back and yanks her underwear off. He finishes taking his own clothes off, and he reaches for a condom, but she grabs his wrist. She shakes her head no. “You sure?” She nods her head yes, and he moves back over her.

He kisses on her neck while one of his hands roams down her body and between her legs. He slides two fingers inside her, and she moans softly. He pumps them in and out slowly before curling them up inside her, and rubbing his thumb on her clit. She grips at the comforter on the bed.

“Like that?” He says into her ear.

“Yes, fuck.” She bucks her hips up to grind against his fingers easier. He pulls them out and she whines.

“Would you relax, I was just gonna flip you over.”

“Oh.” She blushes and rolls onto her stomach. Harry yanks to her to her knees, and slides his fingers back in. Ariel sighs with relief.

“There we go.” He rubs his other hand up her back, and scratches back down before giving her ass a smack. He squeezes the supple flesh and leaves his hand there as he continues to work his fingers in and out of her.

“Oh, oh! Right there!” She gasps and starts rubbing her clit.

“M’I hitting it?” He grunts.

“Y-yeah, you’re right on it, don’t stop, please!”

She can hear him grunting and groaning behind her. He got so much pleasure making sure she got off, it astounded her. She cries out as she comes around his fingers, and he pulls them out slowly. He rubs her back as she catches her breath, and he sucks her slick off his fingers.

“Good?” He asks.

“Yeah, thanks.” She turns onto her side. “Wanna hit it from the side?” She wiggles her eyebrows at him, and he chuckles.

“Sure, if that’s how you want it.”

“It is…for now.”

He gets into position, and gets one of her legs over his shoulder. He pushes inside and watch as her mouth falls open. That was always his favorite part. She’d had him so many times at this point, and she still seemed so shocked at how he stretched her out. He rocks in and out of her slowly before really getting a groove going.

“H-Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Could you like, go behind me, like, we’re both on our sides? Do you know what I mean?”

He nods and pulls out of her so he can lay down behind her on his side. He lifts one of her legs a little so he can slide back inside of her. She hooks one of her arms around his head so she can get her fingers in his hair, and he kisses on her shoulder while his hand presses on her lower tummy. They were grinding against each other in the most perfect way. His fingers start to work her clit and she whines.

“Sensitive?” He asks her.

“Mhm.”

“Fight through it, know you can come again.”

“Need something to bite on.” She pants.

He gets his other arm around her neck so he can get his fingers in his mouth. She moans around them, and her eyes roll back.

“M’not gonna last, Ariel.” He rubs her clit harder, and she just moans louder around his fingers. “I’m gonna have to pull out soon.”

“No! Come inside me!” She shouts around his fingers.

“Fuck!” He cries out as he comes inside her. It pushes her over the edge, and she comes with him, milking him for everything he’s got. She kisses the palm of his hand before he pulls out of her.

“Could you, uh, bring me to the bathroom?” She asks, looking over her shoulder. “I don’t wanna sleep on sticky sheets.”

“Yeah.” He breathes, and scoops her up, bringing her into the bathroom. He sits her down on the toilet, and leaves to give her some privacy. When she comes out, he’s laying in his boxers on the bed.

“What are you doing?” She asks, going to her suitcase to look for her nightshirt.

“Figured we could fuck again in a bit, it’s not like we have to worry about getting up early, right?” He says, not looking up from his phone. “Or did I tucker you out.”

“No, um, we could…we could do it again in a little while.” She knees onto the bed and lays down. “I just need some time to cool down.”

“Yeah, no worries.”

“Harry?” She asks, turning on her side to face him.

“Hm?”

“Do you really loathe me?”

He looks up from his phone at that and turns on his side to face her.

“No…just sort of said it to keep us in the mood.”

“Do you think, like, we keep fighting as an excuse to fuck?”

“No, I mean, I genuinely can’t fucking stand you sometimes and doing this helps.”

“But what happens when one of us meets someone and we can’t just fuck it out?”

“Oh, please.” He scoffs. “Do you have time to meet someone else?”

“No, I’m just saying-“

“Besides that, who’s gonna fuck you better than me? Gimme a break, Ariel.” He laughs and rolls onto his back again, going back to his phone.

“Harry…eventually I’m going to want more than just fucking someone on the down low. I want certain things.”

“Yeah? So do I. You act like I’m going somewhere.”

“I’m…very confused right now.”

“Come here.” He pats his thighs and she shifts to straddle him. He tucks her hair behind her ears, and then pulls her down to kiss him. “You really think I’d like you run off to be with someone else? If that’s what you think, then you’re even crazier than I thought.”

“Harry, you don’t want me, stop messing around.”

“I’m being completely serious. I’ll get you the big house, the white picket fence, we’ll fill it with babies, and then they’ll have a romantic story to think about just like you did with your parents.” He kisses her again. “What’s cuter than mum and dad meeting in the kitchen at work, right? We can leave out the rest.”

“What makes you think that I…that I want any of that with you?” She was trembling.

“Because you wouldn���t have fucked me a second time if you didn’t like me, Ariel.”

“Harry, stop it, you’re gonna make me cry.” Her bottom lip quivers. “This isn’t funny.”

“I know it’s not, I’m not joking around.”

“But I don’t want us…I don’t want us to always be at each other’s throats. I don’t want that to be the only reason there’s a passion between us.”

He caresses her cheek and rub away a stray tear.

“It won’t be like that. I mean, I certainly know how to make you shut the fuck up, but I think we really have this weird connection. Things always get so awkward after we hook up because I think we’re both sort of soft people, and we don’t know if it’s okay to be soft with one another, but…I wanna be soft with you, I think. I want to sleep over, and cuddle, and all that other shit.” She blinks at him. “Do you want all of that…with me?” She nods yes at him. “Alright then, quit your blubbering and come here.” He tugs her down to him all the way so he can hold her properly. “Je t’aime.” He says softly as he strokes her hair.

“Je t’aime aussi.” I love you too.

[jungshookz]

cream a little dream of me; knj

➺ pairing; kim namjoon x reader

➺ genre; lveb!universe, you’ve been asking for this and i’m finally here to tell you that this is smut! nsfw! 18+! oral sex (receiving)! dirty talk! namjoon has a dirty mouth and y/n is into that!! y/n’s a great listener and namjoon is very into that!! also frosting is involved somewhere 

➺ wordcount: 8.9k

➺ summary; y/n has a wet dream about namjoon and yoongi just wants to help his best friend get laid. 

➺ what to expect; “it’s not a big deal or anything, but, uh... when were you planning on telling me about that nice little dream you had two weeks ago?”

➺ optional reading: here’s the link to la vie en bonsai if you haven’t read it yet or if you just want to experience the story all over again! 

                                      »»————-　☁️　————-««

to say the least, yoongi is… confused.

in the three years that he’s been friends with you, he likes to think that he’s seen every single one of your emotions

but this?

this is different somehow… yet he can’t quite put his finger on what’s so different about it... 

he’s seen elated y/n

he’s seen devastated y/n

he’s seen infuriated y/n

he’s seen stressed out y/n

but this y/n?

the starry-eyed and constantly looking like you’re day dreaming y/n?

he can safely say he’s never seen this version of you before and it’s a little concerning because now he has no idea what the protocol is 

even back when you guys were in university you practically never daydreamed during lectures

you were always focused on the professor and whatever powerpoint was playing on the screen with a concerning amount of intensity 

one time, yoongi put his hand over your eyes just to be funny and you nearly snapped his wrist off

“okay, seriously?” yoongi waves his hand in front of your face for the fifth time in half an hour before shaking his head gently, “what’s gotten into you?”

you blink quickly when you snap out of your little daze, looking at him and setting the bowl of batter down on the counter before checking out the damage you’ve done

you’re supposed to fold this batter

not whIP it

now it’s ruined and you’re going to have to start all over!

“i don’t know what that batter ever did to you, but you might need to take it down a notch before you sprain your wrist…” yoongi trails off, leaning over a little and wondering if he can get away with dipping his finger in for a teeny tiny taste

sure, he might get salmonella or whatever from ingesting raw eggs, but it’ll be worth it 

“also, what are you even making?” he frowns, gesturing to all the items splayed on the counter, “because there are like ten different things going on here-”

you look around the kitchen before reaching up to scratch the back of your neck

you... don’t really have an answer for him 

there’s bread dough over here 

three bowls of frosting (chocolate, cream cheese, buttercream) over there

some chopped up peaches on the cutting board

the puff pastry is de-frosting in the fridge

there’s a pie baking in the oven at the moment

you just finished greasing up a mini cupcake tin

and don’t forget about the bowl of batter you’re currently whipping the life out of

(let the record show that you have no idea what you’re making. you have no clue what this batter is for. and why’d you take out your set of food-colouring dye??) 

you just needed to let off some steam and this is the only way you know hoW

“isn’t this great? working out in the comfort of my own personal gym…”

both you and yoongi look over towards the kitchen door when you hear jin’s voice ring through namjoon’s laptop from the living room

yoongi perks up in interest when you suddenly scurry over to spy at namjoon through the crack of the door before he gets up to follow you 

“yeah, easy for you to say-” namjoon grunts as he pushes himself up off the ground so he can clap his hands together quickly before his palms land back on the ground in a solid thump

he thought push-ups were already awful as is so he wasn’t very pleased when jin told him to start doing them with claps in between each set

also, jin has access to a full-blown gym in his house, but namjoon doesn’t have any access to actual weights so he’s had to resort to using jugs of water instead

it’s actually working out pretty well!

he took the sweeper part of the broom off and then used a lot of duct tape (and patience) to tape the jugs to both sides of the pole

he felt like he was mulan from that one part of the movie except mulan is probably physically stronger than him 

“you know, i’m surprised he hasn’t smashed his face against the floor yet...” yoongi snorts as he continues to peer at namjoon over your shoulder

he waits a couple seconds for you to respond but frowns when you let out a short little sigh while keeping your eyes glued on your sweaty boyfriend

...

see?!

you’re doing it again!!!!  

you have your bottom lip tucked in between your teeth and your eyes have gone all lidded and hazy

your grip around the edge of the door is really tight and your knuckles are going kind of white 

good god

yoongi narrows his eyes suspiciously before jabbing your shoulder roughly, “hey. what are you thinking about?”

you shake your head a little too quickly for his liking before turning back around and brushing past him to get back to the counter

huh

okay

something’s up for sure

he doesn’t know if it’s good or bad or whatever but he’s going to find out

your cheeks and the tips of your ears are a little flushed now which is even more interesting

what could possibly be going on in that little noggin of yours?

“tell me what you were thinking about.” yoongi sits back down on the stool as he stares you down across the counter, “y/n- look at me.”

“i’m not-” you glance up at yoongi for a quick second before looking back down, “nothing!” you mutter, your arm starting to move faster as you continue whipping the mystery batter 

yoongi immediately points to the ball of dough sitting a couple feet away from him, “tell me what you were thinking about or i’ll eat that ball of raw dough right noW-”

“-!” you set the bowl down before scrambling to move the dough out of yoongi’s reach

he’s eaten raw dough before (it was raw cookie dough and he took bites of it every time you turned to face away from him) which resulted in him suffering for like 48 hours and you’re not taking any chances

“you can’t keep secrets from me.” yoongi deadpans, “aren’t we best friends? don’t you trust me?” he bats his lashes at you before pushing his bottom lip out in a pout, “because i certainly trust you… and you, out of all people, should know how hard it is for me to trust someone…”

your eye twitches 

you know he’s only saying all of this to butter you up so that you’ll inevitably give in and tell him what’s going on... and you hate that it’s actually working... 

look at that face!

those cheeks!!!

those eyes!!!!

“i…” you trail off, biting the inside of your cheek as you contemplate whether it’s a good idea or not to tell yoongi what exactly’s been going on with you lately 

if you tell him, he’ll stop bugging you about it

then again, if you tell him, he might keep bugging you about it 

but he’s already suspicious of you so it seems like you don’t really have a choice...

this is really a lose-lose situation, if you think about it 

...damn. 

“hey, do you remember that time you were crying really hard and i made you feel better by telling you that i kind of sort of loved you...?” yoongi mentions casually while inspecting his nail beds, his eyes flickering up towards your face for a quick second to see your reaction 

he bites back a smirk of success when he hears you let out a sigh 

ha HA 

hook, line, and sinker bABY 

“okay, fine, but-” you slam the bowl down on the counter before placing your hands on your hips, ”it’s a secret. between us!” you gesture for him to come over to you

“god, finally-!” yoongi nods enthusiastically and hops off the stool before scurrying over to join you at the other side of the counter

you lift your hand up so the side of your mouth is covered and yoongi reaches up to wrap his fingers around your wrist, grinning excitedly as you whisper something into his ear 

…

…

…

yoongi’s jaw drops

holy shit

no wonder he hasn’t seen you act like this before! 

this isn’t elated y/n or disappointed y/n or excited y/n 

a new player has entered the ring

this is HORNY Y/N

“you… little… horndog!” yoongi cackles with glee as he claps his hands together wildly, “you, y/n y/l/n- you had a wet dream?!” 

you feel your anxiety spike at how loud yoongi’s being and you make a gesture to try to get him to use his inside voice but he doesn’t seem to be paying any attention to you at all right now 

“wow...” yoongi laughs lightly, crossing his arms as he looks up towards the ceiling, “i mean, welcome to puberty, i guess. a bit of a late start if you ask me, but either way i’m actually pretty proud of you for basically creaming your-”

“shh!” you quickly shove a spoon into yoongi’s mouth and he spits it out immediately

it falls onto the counter with a clang

to be honest, you actually don’t remember too much of the dream

flashes of namjoon’s head in between your legs and his strong arms wrapped around your thighs pinning you down pop into your mind every now and again to taunt you

but other than that

nothing!

it’s just that joon’s been working out a lot lately (jin’s trying to get in better shape because of one photo where the shadow made it look like he had a double chin and it traumatised him) so it makes sense that he’s turning into an actual beefcake now 

the other day you accidentally busted a bag of icing in your hands after squeezing it too hard because you were watching namjoon doing bicep curls with the milk jugs 

his arms just….,,. 

you want to bite into them

or dig your nails into them

or just look at them!

you would be perfectly content with just staring at them 24/7!

now, the issue here is that you...

you don’t really know…

you don’t know how to initiate things with namjoon

it’s awkward!

…on your end, that is

since getting together, you and namjoon have had plenty of heated make-out (and slight groping) sessions but you always end up chickening out as soon as you feel things starting to escalate 

you just get nervous that you’re going to do something wrong and it’ll pop the love-bubble you guys are in right now!! 

and you really don’t want to pop anything!! 

and namjoon, being the sweet, kind, caring, considerate, wonderful, absolutely flawless boy he is, never has an issue with it because his number one priority is making sure that you’re comfortable

he’s totally okay with moving at your pace! 

but after the last couple of times where you’ve left him high and dry, you notice that he either a) puts a pillow over his lap almost immediately and tries to change the subject or b) waddles off to the bathroom for a ‘pee break’

you feel awful knowing that you’re blue-balling him but you don’t want to take things further if there’s even a slight possibility of you ruining things 

so... yeah! 

your only stress reliever has been baking which isn’t new

you’ve stress baked before but this is a nEW type of stress baking

this is the most chaotic level of stress baking there is because everything’s just a disorganised MESS  

“you know what, it actually makes sense now,” yoongi reaches up to stroke his chin in thought before nodding to himself, “you’ve been acting so weird lately that i thought i did something wrong- and it turns out you’ve just been excruciatingly horny this entire time-”

“lower your voice!” you hiss, hurrying over to the door to make sure namjoon’s not listening in to what should be a private conversation if yoongi wasn’t so damn loud 

he may be in the living room but who knows how far your voices can travel??

you peek out to look at poor namjoon who looks like he’s just about ready to pass ouT from exhaustion

he lets out an almost animalistic growl as he pushes himself up off the ground one last time and you feel a tingle in your southern region

if you were a cartoon character there would be gigantic hearts pumping out of your eyes, your tongue would roll out of your mouth like a red carpet, and a horn would be blasting aooga in the background 

“okay, well - you can’t not tell me about what happened in it.” you turn back around to face yoongi, “give me all the details!!!!” he wiggles his brows as he leans down and folds him arms atop the counter, “and get real nasty with it because i haven’t had sex in months-” 

“no way!” you scoff before crossing one arm over the other to make an ‘x’ sign at yoongi, “no! i don’t remember anything.”

“you’re lying to me.” the smile on yoongi’s face drops and he scowls at you, “you totally are!”

“am not! it’s true.” you chirp, nodding satisfactorily when yoongi doesn’t respond

good 

the topic has been dropped and now you can focus your attention back on this weird, runny batter you’re still beating the life out of 

“...what about if i guess?”

you pause

oh

oh no

you don’t like that idea at all

you don’t get a chance to shake your head nO before yoongi starts listing out all your possible wet-dream scenarios

“he was finger-fucking you.”

“you were sucking him off?”

“he was eating you out!”

“69? you on top? or was it him on top? …no, it was probably you on to-”

“a classy combination of tongue and fingers? ooh, quick question- how quickly did dreamjoon find your g-spo-”

“missionary! can’t go wrong with good ol’ fashioned missio-”

“doggystyle? cowgirl! reverse cowgirl? or was he kind of, like, spooning you from behi-”

“ooh! plot twist! you gave him the strap-”

“butt-stuff! butt-stuff?? butt-stuff but the plug had a tail on- oh-ho, it was butt-stuff, wasn’t it-”

“something with a belt? something with cuffs? something with leather?”

“roleplaying! he was a sexy gardener with a big ol’ hose and you were just an innocent wittle twree-”

“was he rawdogging you?”

your eyes immediately widen and you look up at yoongi for the first time since he started rambling, “wha- WHAT is that?!”

rawdogging??

that sounds like it’d give you carpet burn for some reason 

“sex without a condom.” yoongi states as if it’s the most obvious fact in the entire world, “duh.”

god

boys are so

boyish!!!!

“why not just say that instead??” you ask incredulously, tilting your head

yoongi snorts, “well, because rawdogging sounds way hotter-”

your face screws up immediately, “does it really, though…?”

yoongi pauses before his face lights up, “aha! so dreamjoon WAS rawdogging y-”

“crude!” your entire face is bright red at this point and you hurry over to the fridge to grab a bag of frozen blueberries out of the freezer (for what purposes? you have no idea.)

“you think i’m being crude?” yoongi scoffs, “i think you’re being a prude. okay, lemme see what else i can think of-”

“yoongi, literally no one asked you to list-” 

“were you grinding on his-” yoongi pauses again, “you know, like dry humping?” he hums before pushing himself up off the counter and placing both his palms flat on the surface of it, “i mean, i guess i can see why that’d be hot, you know, with clothes being restrictive and all- oh! were you getting off on his thigh? because a couple of girls have done that to me before and it was actually pretty hot AND since namjoon’s dna consists of 80% plant he basically has tree trunk thighs-”

“okay, i don’t remember too much-” you grab yoongi by the arm to yank him back in so you can whisper in his ear again

yoongi listens attentively 

…

…

…

you clear your throat before shoving yoongi away to make it seem less suspicious if namjoon just so happens to come into the kitchen at this very moment 

“surprisingly simple, but it does the trick, that’s for sure…” yoongi hums as he strokes his chin thoughtfully, “damn. i hyped it up way too much. that’s actually a pretty boring dream compared to what i’ve dreamt about, now that i think about it-”

you can’t help but roll your eyes as you open up the bag of blueberries

…what did you pull these out for again?

“well, what’s the problem?” yoongi frowns, “you guys are already dating. just go up to him and ask him if he wants to do stuff. if a girl told me that she creamed her panties because of me, i’d be ecstatic!”

“stop saying it like that-”

you feel a little weird talking about this with yoongi

he’s always been comfortable telling you about his sex life but you prefer to keep your intimate details private

it’s not that you don’t trust him or anything, because obviously you do, but… you’d feel more comfortable if you talked about this with a girl-friend, you know?

guys just don’t understand! 

“i don’t know how to…” you shift in your spot, “ask.”

yoongi scoffs in response and crosses his arms, “y/n- namjoon is a man. men are simple. do you remember the other week when you invited me over for a breakfast and you dropped the spatula on the floor?”

you nod before tilting your head curiously, “…why?”

yoongi clears his throat

now he’S the one who looks slightly uncomfortable

“well...” he clears his throat, “namjoon was wearing sweats and i swear i wasn’t purposely looking- my eyes just happened to be looking downwards in that general direction naturally-”

“yoongi-”

“the man’s dick twitched in his sweats when you bent over, alright?” yoongi blurts out and your eyes immediately widen, “my point is: men are simple- painfully simple creatures. so... just ask him!”

you frown

just ask him??

was he even listening to you??

you just told yoongi you didn’t know how to ask namjoon and his advice was for you to ask namjoon

that’s like taking someone who doesn’t know how to swim and immediately tossing them into the OCEAN with a punctured life-ring

“god,” you roll your eyes before flicking your wrist at him, “just forget i told you!”

“hey!” yoongi gawks and shakes his head, “i can’t forget! now my only purpose in life is to get you some head-”

“jesus christ-!”

you jump ten feet into the air like a cat that’s just been sprayed by water when the kitchen door suddenly swings open and a sweaty namjoon stumbles in

“i think there’s sweat dripping into my contacts-”

“namjoon!” yoongi spins around in his stool and props his elbows up on the counter, “what a coincidence! we were just talking about you, my man…”

yoongi looks over at you with a cheeky grin and you shake your head stiffly before turning to get the jug of water from the fridge for namjoon 

“oh yeah?” namjoon huffs as he places his hands on your hips from behind, sliding past you to grab a clean glass from the dish rack, “what about?”

“just about how…” yoongi looks back at you quickly and you shoot him a glare

he wouldn’t… 

would he??

(he absolutely would.)

any word of your conversation and you’ll skin him alive

“-hard you’ve been working out lately!” yoongi chirps, “i mean, it looks like you were trapped in a washing machine-”

“oh, god. trust me, it’s so not worth it, i’m in so much pain-” namjoon winces and shakes his head, “you’re welcome to go and take my place if you want-”

“absolutely not-” yoongi snorts, “first of all, it’s the holidays, and everyone knows you don’t work out during december. also, you couldn’t pay me a million dollars to do a push-up. i’m perfectly happy with my somewhat doughy centre.” he pats his tummy with a happy hum and you can’t help but giggle

silly boy

namjoon laughs lightly before pausing to chug down some water, “i wish i could say the same. unfortunately, jin’s not giving me a choice-”

“sweaty!” you whine when namjoon suddenly wraps an arm around you from behind before kissing your cheek and he frowns playfully when you swat at his forearm, “and sticky…”  

“relax, i’m about to hit the shower-” he nudges his nose against your cheek before pulling away, “and then i won’t be sticky and i’ll smell like peaches-”

“i should probably go, too.” yoongi gets up from his seat, “i just ordered my dinner and it’s going to arrive at my apartment in like half an hour.”

“wait!” you hold a finger out before turning to open up the cupboards for a tupperware box, “take some pie with you…”

                                     »»————-　☁️　————-««

“still coming friday?” you ask as you watch yoongi put his shoes on

you asked yoongi if he would be interested in helping you decorate the apartment on friday (aka you told him he didn’t have a choice and that he had to come and help you whether he wanted to or not)

“mhm.” he glances up at you, “still ordering pizza?”

“mhm.”

you reach down to pat the top of yoongi’s head gently just because you want to and pauses in the middle of tying his laces to reach over and jab your stomach

“i know the main focus is decorating the place for christmas but i think you guys are going to love the nature documentary i picked for us to watch while-” namjoon chimes in but shuts up quickly when you and yoongi exchange knowing glances, “what?”

yoongi looks back up at you with a raised brow, “…does he really have to join us?”

“no choice.” you shrug casually and namjoon’s jaw drops

wha-

“oh, hold on-” yoongi gets up off the ground before patting his pockets down with a frown, “i think i left my keys in the kitchen… can you go and get them for me?”

you nod before turning to hurry to the kitchen

you don’t want him to get another parking ticket

it’s only after you disappear into the kitchen that yoongi swiftly pulls his keys out of his back pocket with a jingle

namjoon opens his mouth to say something but yoongi quickly holds his hand out to shut him up

“야 남준아- 어제 니 여친이 니 꿈 꿨데~ (y/n had a sex dream about you).” he chirps and gives namjoon two firm pats on his surprisingly firm chest before his eyes widen in surprise, “어우 딴딴해 운동 열심히 했나보네! (woah, you really have been working out! good man.)”

“yeah, i-” namjoon chokes, “wait, wha-”

“y/n, i found my keys! my bad!” yoongi calls out and gives you a thumbs up when you come out of the kitchen, “see you losers on friday!”

he gives namjoon a grin and a light punch to the arm before swiftly turning on his heel

namjoon’s eyes are as wide as saucers as yoongi shuts the front door behind him and he blinks rapidly before turning to look at you

you tilt your head at him curiously and namjoon swallows before offering you a sheepish smile

oh, boy.

                                     »»————-　☁️　————-««

namjoon hasn’t been able to think straight since it was revealed to him that you had a sex dream about him.

it’s been an entire week that he’s learned this new piece of information and it’s been weighing verY heavily on his mind!!

when he wakes up his first thought is gee i wonder what y/n dreamt about

when seokjin’s rambling about god knows what the only thing in his mind is gee i wonder what y/n dreamt about

the last thing he thinks about before he goes to bed is gee i wonder what y/n dreamt about

and then his imagination conjures up what could’ve happened in your sex dream which is very dangerous because he has an overly-active imagination 

it sucks that he doesn’t even know the details of the dream because stinky yoongi ziPPed off before he got a chance to squeeze the truth out of him!!!

and he hasn’t mustered up the courage to ask you about it because… how is he even supposed to ask you about it in a casual, non-confrontational way?!

he doesn’t want to embarrass you or anything like that!!

the only reason why he’s only slightly nervous about the whole situation because he doesn’t think he… oozes sex appeal?

so it was more than surprising to find out that you had a naughty dream about him

he’s like 90% leg and 10% dimple for crying out loud

and it’s not like he hasn’t done anything before, because he has, but it’s just different because it’s… you.

you’re his girlfriend and if he flubs this up the first time around then it’d be even more embarrassing than if you were just some random girl!

“말해줘여어 (you have to tell me).” namjoon whips around from where he’s standing by the tree, cradling the box of baubles to his chest, “you have to!”

“싫어 (nah).” yoongi shakes his head, tossing a kernel of popcorn into his mouth only for it to bounce off his cheek and onto the couch

he purses his lips before kicking it under the coffee table

it’s fine

the dust bunnies will get rid of it 

“말해줘여어! (you have to tell me!)”

“야 안돼 (no way).”  

namjoon clenches his jaw and sets the box down onto the floor promptly before balling his hands into fists and setting them on his hips, puffing his chest out

...

“아 왜여��어어~ (why not??)” he whines, deflating and resisting the urge to stamp his foot and throw an actual tantrum

“아니 비밀이라고 했으니까 그렇지! (it’s not my thing to tell! and i can’t betray y/n like that-)” yoongi shrugs as he keeps his eyes glued on the screen, “by the way, you didn’t even choose a cool nature documentary. what are we even watching?? the guy’s been talking about seaweed for the past ten minutes-”

“what do you mean it’s not your thing to tell??” namjoon scoffs, not even paying attention to the fact that yoongi just insulted his favourite nature documentary about plants in the ocean, “형이 먼저 말 꺼냈잖아! (you were the one who told me that she dreamt about me in the first place-!)” he snaps

“잠깐만 (wait, wait-)” yoongi sits up quickly, a couple kernels of popcorn rolling off his chest and falling onto his lap, “일주일이 지났는데 아무것도 안 했단 말이야?? (are you telling me that you… it’s been a whole week and you haven’t done anything about it??)”

namjoon shrinks down before reaching up to scratch the back of his neck, “노 코멘트 (…no comment.)”

“킄 정말로? (really? wow.)” yoongi snorts before shaking his head and leaning back against the couch, “both of you- i mean, both of you deserve each other, seriously-”

namjoon resists the urge to flop down on the couch dramatically, “아니 뭐라고 말하는 거예요 (well, i’m sorry, what am i even supposed to say-)”

“아우 그러지좀마 걍- (you don’t have to say anything, all you have to do is-)”

“yoongi!” namjoon and yoongi look over when you stick your head out around the kitchen door, “cream cheese or vanilla?”

“vanilla, duh.” yoongi raises a brow

you should know by this point that he prefers vanilla frosting over cream cheese!

halfway through the documentary you decided that you were going to make a carrot cake

(and yes, part of the reason why you made that decision was because you were bored of the documentary and wanted to do literally anything else, but you’ll never admit that to namjoon in case it breaks his heart)

namjoon stays quiet until after you disappear into the kitchen again and then he turns to face yoongi with both of his hands clasped together, “말해줘요오! (you have to tell me, c’mon!)”

“말해주면 제발 다른 거 보면 안 될까? (if i tell you, can we watch something else?)”

namjoon scowls

“아 됐어요 도와줄 거라도 있는지 확인 해볼게요- (fine, forget it. i’m gonna go see if y/n needs any help.)” he steps over the boxes of decorations on the ground before turning to look back at yoongi, “부엌에서 필요한 거 있어요? (you need anything?)”

“아니 (nah.)” yoongi responds before shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth, “oh! actually, see if y/n would be willing to make little carrot cupcakes instead of a whole carrot cake. holding a tiny little cupcake in my hand makes me feel like a giant.”

                                     »»————-　☁️　————-««

“knock, knock…” namjoon knocks on the kitchen door quietly before pushing it open, “everything going okay in here?”  

he smiles when you look up from the bowl and beam at him, “hi!”

“hi-” he comes in and shuts the door behind him, “you need any help?”

“help? from you?” you giggle lightly and shake your head, “i’m good.”

ever since he accidentally poured salt into your batter that one time he hasn’t been allowed to help you

:-//

“yoongi changed his mind, by the way.” namjoon gestures back to the direction of the living room, “king min would like cupcakes now.” 

your shoulders immediately droop and you gesture to the already greased cake-pans sitting on the side

what a waste! 

“hey, don’t shoot the messenger!” namjoon raises both his hands in defence before shrugging, “the man wants what he wants.”

you resist the urge to go out there just to throw the cake pans at yoongi

you’re definitely going to force him to wash everything for you later 

“also... you’re just doing this to get out of watching the nature doc, aren’t you?” namjoon wraps both his arms around you from behind and leans down to prop his chin up on your shoulder

you could’ve helped with the decorating, but somehow everything looks better when namjoon does it 

he hung a big red bow on your front door and it looks great! 

you pause in the middle of shredding carrots before letting out a nervous chuckle, “whaaat? no...”

“it’s about the types of plants in the ocean!” namjoon points out, “is that not cool?? plants are cool.”

you shake your head no almost immediately 

not cool

two and a half hours of someone talking about grass that lives in salty water?

not cool at aLL

“how’s the decorating going?” you ask, giggling lightly when namjoon nudges his nose under your jaw before planting a kiss against your neck

“it’s going fine… yoongi isn’t helping, obviously. i handed him one bauble to hang and he hooked it on the collar of his hoodie and told me he’d do it later.”

“mm.”

a brief moment passes where the only sound that can be heard is the carrot you’re shredding against the grater

namjoon purses his lips as he thinks about what yoongi just said to him 

...

ah

fuck it

“hey, can i ask you something?” namjoon sighs, smiling in delight when you suddenly turn your head to press a sweet little kiss into his cheek

“mhm!” you turn back, continuing to grate away

“it’s not a big deal or anything, but, uh... when were you planning on telling me about that nice little dream you had two weeks ago?” namjoon asks cockily, biting back a grin when he feels you freeze in his arms 

it’s at this moment that the fact that you had a wet dream about him has finally sunk into the depths of his brain and now he’s actually feeling... really good about it 

you had a sex dream about him

what’s not to love?  

he can almost hear the alarms wailing in your head

and now that he’s got the ball rolling- he’s not as nervous as he thought he’d be!

as a matter of fact... this could be fun.

“w-” you clear your throat quietly and the half-shredded carrot drops into the metal bowl with a muted plunk, “i- what dream? i didn’t have a dream about you.”

he knows you’re trying to play it cool but he can see how tightly you’re gripping the grater and he can feel your ears getting hotter against his cheek 

“i never said the dream was about me.”

oh, shit

you messed up

“so...?” namjoon moves your hair to the other side before leaning in to plant a warm kiss under your jaw, “this dream that you had… about me. tell me what happened in it.”

you swallow thickly, the gears working overtime in your brain as you try to come up with some kind of an excuse to get yourself out of this situation

you know that now isn’t the most appropriate moment to be thinking about this but you’re 100% going to slaughter yoongi the moment you get a chance to 

the secret ingredient to make these cupcakes taste good will not be love

it will be BLEACH 

you can’t believe he ratted you out like that!!

how embarrassing!!

“you were-” you cough, “um, you were… you… we…”

oh boy

this is already a train wreck

this is exactly why you didn’t want to tell namjoon about it!

because you know yourself and you knEW you were going to get all flustered and twitchy bringing it up

“well, i was-” you pause, “i was sitting on- sitting on the counter-”

“this one right here?” namjoon’s hand leaves your waist to pat the surface of the counter lightly and you nod gingerly, staring down at his obscenely pretty fingers, “what else?”

“that was it.” you blurt out, “the end!”

namjoon steps back a little and spins you around quickly before pressing you up against the counter, “what else, y/n?”

he traps you in between his arms and you fight the urge to explode into a million bits 

oh god

okay

just tell him!

just SAY it

it’s time to get it over with!!

“you were…” your eyes flicker downwards and your nose scrunches slightly

you really don’t want to say it but you don’t think you can back out at this point because you’ve already said too much 

“…eating me out.” you force out before averting your gaze and looking off to the side  

you really wish there was a better way to say that because the phrase eating me out just sounds so… in your face, you know?

namjoon swallows thickly

so you had a dream about him eating you out?

“y/n, there’s really nothing to be embarrassed about, i promise-” namjoon laughs lightly when he notices your entire face starting to go red

you let out a particularly pathetic whine before leaning your forehead against his chest and gently shoving at his (firm) abdomen

“what’s the problem?” he asks, rubbing comforting circles into your back, “i think about you, you know.”

“you’re just saying that…” you mumble, reaching up to pinch the bridge of your nose, “you’re lying...” 

“no, i’m serious!” namjoon pulls away to look at you, “i… i think about you. i think about things.”

you blink twice 

he thinks about you

he thinks about things 

he thinks about you?

he thinks about things?? 

…what kind of things does he think about?

“y-you do?” 

“of course i do.”

“oh.”

a moment of silence ticks by 

“i think about a lot of things, y/n.”

“like what?” you look up at him, the corner of namjoon’s pretty mouth curling upwards

“you really wanna know?”

“yes.” you respond a little too quickly before clearing your throat quietly, “…please.”

“hm.” he smiles, “as polite as always-” 

you gasp in surprise when namjoon suddenly lifts you up and plops you down on the countertop in one swift movement and your stomach flutters at how effortlessly he just did that

wowie

he places both hands flat on the surface on either side of you before looking up at you with his head tilted slightly

you keep your hands folded in your lap, nervously picking at the worn edges of the sweatshirt you’re wearing (it’s namjoon’s coffee-coloured sweatshirt that you ‘borrowed’ from him) 

“mostly about fucking you into the headboard.” namjoon confesses, a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth when he notices the way your eyes flicker

oh

you definitely seemed to like that idea

“i think about your fingers pulling at my hair when i have my face in between your legs...” he hums, trailing a finger up from your kneecap to your thigh, “i think about how pretty you’d look bent over the counter for me. i think about the sounds you’d make, how soft your moans and gasps would be… i especially like thinking about you moaning my name. i think about you riding me wearing nothing but that cute little apron of yours - you know, the one with the little honeybees on them?”

“apron’s in the.. in the washing machine.” your breathing’s become a bit more shallow and you haven’t blinked in nearly a minute so it’s safe to say that he has your attention

“you know… i think you know what you do to me when you walk around wearing nothing but one of my sweatshirts and a pair of panties, or when you come out of the shower wrapped in a little towel because you ‘forgot’ your clothes in the bedroom…” namjoon murmurs lowly, “and don’t think i don’t notice the way you look at me whenever you suck frosting off your fingers.”

“frosting?” you whisper, namjoon nodding as his eyes flicker down to your lips briefly

your tongue pokes out to swipe over your bottom lip for a split second 

“that’s right.” the metal bowl scrapes against the counter as namjoon drags it over and you jump in surprise at the feeling of the chilled metal bumping up against your bare thigh

“you think you’re so innocent, don’t you?” namjoon chuckles lowly, lifting the spatula up before swiping some frosting off of it with the side of his thumb, “you think i don’t know what you’re up to?”

“i don’t…” you trail off, going cross-eyed when namjoon’s hand comes closer only for his pointer finger to tap at your bottom lip

“you do. open.”

you’re just a little thrown off because namjoon’s never... you’ve never seen him like this before

he’s never spoken to you like this before

he’s never looked at you like this before 

you’re certainly not complaining, of course 

“you taunt me because you like to-” you can’t seem to break away from namjoon’s gaze, the side of his pointer finger hooking underneath your chin as he pushes his thumb into your mouth, “i know you do it on purpose.”

almost immediately, the taste of sweet vanilla frosting washes over your palette

“you want me to think about you, don’t you?” namjoon swallows a groan when you start sucking, your cheeks hollowing slightly as your tongue swirls around his thumb to make sure no frosting gets left behind, “you like the thought of that? like leaving me high and dry because it forces me to use my own imagination?”

(admittedly, yes. a little part of you likes the thought of you completely consuming every corner of namjoon’s mind... just a little part, though.)

you nod slowly in response with glazed over eyes and namjoon clenches his jaw 

fuck

he flattens his thumb down on your tongue to get you to open your mouth a little more for him and hums contently when you do so obediently

a thin line of spit stretches from your tongue to namjoon’s slick thumb as he pulls his hand away and you don’t even get a chance to register whatever that moment was before he’s leaning forward to slant his mouth over yours

namjoon kisses you purposefully, pulling you closer to him as you fist at his shirt tightly 

he savours the faint sweetness of the frosting left behind on your tongue and can’t help but smile when he hears you whimper

“can i tell you something?” namjoon pulls away only to start sponging kisses to your neck and you tilt your head to the side for him

“uh-huh, y-yeah-” you nod quickly, slinging an arm around his neck to keep him close while the other hand grips at his shoulder

your eyes roll to the back of your head for a split second and you can’t help but quietly mouth an ‘oh my god’ to yourself because you never knew it could feel this good to have your neck kissed

“i think it’s hot as fuck that you had a wet dream about me,” namjoon groans lowly and you immediately feel a zing! of electricity travel straight down south from the sound of him speaking to you in such a deep, gravelly voice, “and you definitely don’t have to be shy about asking me to touch you… because i’m very willing to do so.”

“i want you to- w-want you to touch me-” you stutter, feeling your cheeks warm from hearing those words come out of your mouth, “want it so bad-”

your eyes pop open when namjoon suddenly pulls away and you frown, instantly missing the feeling of him being pressed up so tightly against you

“lift your hips-” namjoon pushes the bowl of frosting to the side before tapping two fingers on your upper thigh, “-up off the counter.”

?

your brows knit together in confusion

why would you-

your eyes widen in realisation when it dawns on you what exactly is happening here

“w-what-” you glance at the (for the most part, closed) kitchen door frantically before looking down at joon, “but yoongi’s in the-” you turn back and jump in surprise when you see that namjoon’s face is right in front of yours

you’re practically nose to nose with him

“i know.” namjoon leans in to give you a quick peck before pulling away with a particularly smug grin, “so you’re just going to have to stay quiet for me then, aren’t you?”

you WHAT

“why don’t we get these off, hm?” namjoon hooks a finger into the waistband of your shorts and gives it a gentle tug

you look at the door once again and then back at namjoon, who offers you an innocent little smile as if he didn’t just suggest going down on you on the kitchen counter with your friend in the room next door

okay

think about this!

think about this with your logical brain and not your bonk horny brain

would you rather see your very hot boyfriend’s face in between your legs or would you rather send him away so you can continue making a cake for your very picky friend?

…

you plant both palms on the counter before raising your hips a little, namjoon grinning in victory before yanking your shorts down in one go

if you would’ve known this was going to happen today you definitely would’ve worn a sexier pair of panties

white cotton is boring!!!

also you know this is the wrong time to be thinking this but you’re wondering if it would be possible to rope yoongi into a shopping spree at victoria’s secret next week because you’re going to need better looking panties if namjoon’s going to keep springing these spontaneous sessions on you

“cute.” namjoon hums, poking at the little blue bow that sits at the centre of the waistband

your breathing stills as he slowly lowers himself to his knees in front of you and you feel like your heart is about to beat out of your chest at the sight alone 

“soaked right through…” namjoon observes quietly, turning his head to press a kiss to the pillowy flesh of your inner thigh, “i’ve barely touched you, baby.”

you jolt in surprise when he runs his thumb slowly up your slit through the thinned fabric of your panties, though he stops right as he’s about to reach your clit

so close yet so, so painfully far

you nudge him with your foot, “you’re teasing.” you swallow thickly, namjoon offering you a boyish grin as he tilts his head, pushing his bottom lip out in a mocking pout

“aw… am i?” he coos, and you shiver when he leans in to press a kiss over your clothed clit, “i’m sorry, darling… that must be so hard for you…”

“and you’re being mean.” you murmur, namjoon chuckling to himself as he pulls your panties down your legs

“am not.”

“are too.”

“am not.” namjoon perks a brow, pushing your thighs apart gently, “take it back.”

“no wa-!” your back immediately straightens as if a jolt of electricity just shot straight up your spine at the first feeling of namjoon licking one long stripe up your centre, and you fight back the urge to snap your legs shut

that’s.,., new!

very new

very new feeling

you’re certainly not against it and it’s not a bad feeling 

it’s just…

new

“good?” your breath wavers when namjoon hums against you, your eyelids fluttering shut at the feeling of his tongue slowly pressing in deep, “hm?”

namjoon slips his tongue in between your folds before sliding it flat and straight up to your swollen clit, grinning to himself when you finally give in to pleasure and lie back on the counter

you whimper, rolling your hips down towards his mouth as he drags his tongue over your slit in repetitive strokes before flicking his tongue over the top of your clit

it’s too much and not enough at the same time, your legs instinctively starting to squeeze shut around him

“nuh-uh, baby…” you find that you can barely move, namjoon’s fingers digging into your thigh as a warning as he keeps your legs open, “keep them spread for me.”

namjoon watches your reaction intensely, finding pleasure in the way that your chest rises and falls quickly and in the way you twitch every now and again

from here, he can see the way your brows furrow and the way you bite and tug at your bottom lip in a poor effort to keep yourself quiet 

“you can use your words like a good girl, can’t you?” namjoon teases, two fingers rolling tight little circles into your clit as he watches you, barely blinking, “tell me how good it feels…”

“good- ungh, feels good-” you whimper, hips bucking up against his fingers desperately

namjoon looks down to see you practically dripping onto the counter

jesus 

he would’ve done this a lot sooner had he known you’d be acting like this from his touch 

“fuck me,” namjoon groans suddenly, and all of a sudden it seems like everything’s moving ten times faster than before, “you look so fucking hot right now-”, he wraps his strong arms underneath both your thighs before yanking you closer to him, practically burying his entire face in between your legs

your right leg gets hitched up over his shoulder and you quickly sit back up, digging your fingers into the soft strands of namjoon’s hair as his tongue laves back and forth against your folds

your back arches and you tilt your head up towards the ceiling, namjoon instinctively pushing his clothed crotch against the bottom part of the counter for some kind of relief 

he’s so painfully hard from just hearing you hold back moans and watching you squirm and twitch 

you remind yourself to loosen your grip on namjoon’s hair because you’re worried that you might accidentally rip some strands out and leave him with a bald patch, but namjoon obviously doesn’t seem to mind as he doubles his efforts and starts to lick and and suck with tremendous fervour 

“fuck, you taste good-” he curses, his right hand sliding underneath your sweatshirt to cup your bare breast before he pinches and rolls your nipple in between his fingers

he drags his tongue down to circle around your tight hole and you jerk immediately, “oh my god-” you pant, overwhelmed by all the different feelings your body is experiencing at this moment, “that feels so-”

your bum is teetering on the edge of the counter at this point because namjoon’s basically pulled you off of it and you reach down to grip at the edges so you don’t fall off 

“gonna cum?” namjoon murmurs, eyes locking on your face almost immediately as he feels you starting to squirm underneath him 

he really wants to watch you cum

“j-joonie, god, don’t stop-” the arm wrapped around your waist tightens around you and your eyes roll to the back of your head as he continues his torturous onslaught of pleasure, “i-i- nngh- namjoon-!”

“i’ve got you, baby… you can cum…” namjoon feels himself twitch in his sweats upon hearing you moan his name like that 

the thought of gagging you with your own panties to mute your moans briefly flits through his mind but... he wants to hear you moaning his name over and over and over again 

he wants to make you scream for him

when it happens, you practically bite your bottom lip off trying not to cry out in ecstasy

namjoon has to hold your trembling thighs open to keep them from snapping his head right off

your hips buck lazily as you quiver around namjoon’s hot tongue, your body glistening in a sheen layer of sweat as you bask in the slow, rolling waves of ecstasy

you lie back down against the counter, chest heaving beneath your sweater as you stare dazedly up at the ceiling

oh, wow

you watch as the ceiling fan whirrs around and around and around

you feel like you’re not physically here right now 

like your soul left your body and you’re just floating in the air like a bunch of particles 

“-!” you twitch when namjoon carefully wipes you off with your panties before setting them onto the counter next to you 

you slowly prop yourself up onto your elbows so you can look at him, feeling your cheeks flush when you see that he’s looking right at you 

you’re not sure why you’ve gone all shy again as if his tongue wasn’t licking you out ten seconds ago 

“hi, pretty girl...” he smiles, his dimple popping up in his right cheek, “welcome back.” he jokes, rising to his feet while keeping your right leg propped up onto his shoulder

he turns to give your ankle a kiss before gently bringing your leg down and helping you sit up

“that was really something...” you wrap your arms loosely around his neck as he grasps your hips before leaning down to give you a sweet little kiss 

“oh yeah? did i live up to dreamjoon?” namjoon teases, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear before pinching the apple of your cheek 

“you did a much better job than dreamjoon.” you hum, and it’s only then that you’re aware of the very prominent bulge pressing into your centre, “but i... i wanna make you feel good, too…” you murmur, namjoon biting back a groan when you nudge your bare centre against him, a darkened splotch now staining the front of his sweatpants  “and…” you lean upwards to whisper something into namjoon’s ear

...

...

holy shit

yes please

“yeah, shit, we can definitely do that-” namjoon hates to admit to how horny he is but he can’t help it when you go around saying stuff like that to him, “we-” he pauses suddenly, eyes going wide in panic, “oh, shit!” 

“wh- what??” you look around the kitchen frantically before grabbing the closest thing to you as a form of defence (a silicone whisk) 

“friggin’ yoongi-!” namjoon hisses in pain as he adjusts himself in his sweatpants, “i forgot about yoongi-”

okay

a little weird of him to be thinking about yoongi while he’s touching his- 

“oh my god, yoongi!” you hiss quietly, hopping off the counter with wobbly legs 

namjoon hands you your shorts and you quickly wiggle into them before pulling your sweatshirt down  

you completely forgot that yoongi was in the room right next to you guys and that last moan of yours wasn’t exactly quiet

and you know that yoongi might not have a lot of knowledge when it comes to baking, but you’re sure that he knows enough to know that practically screaming namjoon’s name out loud isn’t a key step in achieving a fluffy cake batter 

“we weren’t doing anything!” 

the two of you stumble out into the living room and you file through your brain to come up with some kind of a logical excuse as to why you’re hot and sweaty and why namjoon’s hiding his lower half behind a kitchen towel and how in the world those two facts are related to his precious carrot cake cupcakes

you pause when you notice that yoongi’s nowhere to be found 

?

the documentary’s still playing on the TV, the boxes of tinsel and baubles have been completely abandoned, and there’s nothing but a blue sticky note sitting on the couch 

taking a nap in my car. text me when you guys are done being horny. also - you’re welcome. 

christmas with cee 2020 masterlist

🎁what would you like from ceenta this year? 🎁

[stiltonbasket]

Can we have a hundred day celebration for Shuilan in renouncement? Would love to see Wangxian happily showing off their baby and the everyone being KO’d by her cuteness.

If anyone had told Wei Wuxian what his future would hold five years ago, he would have laughed at the impossibility, and then dug a hole for himself in his favorite radish patch until Wen Qing came along to fetch him. 

How strange it would have sounded to the Yiling Laozu holding court in the Burial Mounds, scraping by on thin luobo stew and the odd egg from market to feed A-Yuan, that one day a child of his would receive the blessings of all the Lan sect the moment she came into the world, and again thrice over at her hundred-day feast! It scarcely seems real to him now, after more than a year as Lan Zhan’s husband and the Lan Clan’s Xinhua-jun, and the sight of his richly dressed reflection in the looking glass bewilders him so much that he scarcely registers it when Lan Zhan materializes behind him with A-Lan in his arms.

“A-Lan looks so sweet, Lan Zhan,” he laughs, when his husband reaches out to touch his elbow--in a gesture that means come back, xingan, for I am here beside you, and you need never want for anything again. “She’s sparkling almost as much as you are.”

Lan Zhan dressed the baby in a tiny, glittering robe covered with beaded flowers, and whenever the light falls upon her little body, A-Lan glows like a moonlit pearl: so cool and soft and calm that Wei Wuxian can scarcely look away from her, even after the hundred-day feast is well underway in the banquet hall. He and Lan Zhan hold the seats of honor today, rather than Lan Xichen, and Xiao-Yu sits close beside them with his fluffy hair tied up into two pigtails.

“May I hold her, Hanguang-jun?” a kindly matron from the Cheng sect asks. Lan Zhan nods, and Lan-bao is swiftly transferred into Cheng-er-furen’s arms: puzzled by her sudden ascent, certainly, but happy enough to blink her big eyes up at Second Lady Cheng and coo like a roosting pigeon.

“Oh,” Cheng-er-furen gasps, as A-Lan kicks her tiny feet in their pink satin shoes. “Xinhua-jun, she’s beautiful.”

Wei Wuxian feels his heart quiver in his breast. “They say that one beauty recognizes another,” he says gravely, laughing out loud when Lady Cheng’s cheeks flush red. “Lan-bao can already tell, Lan Zhan, don’t you think?”

Lan Zhan presses his lips together and refuses to answer, but Wei Wuxian can see them twitching up at the corners. “That means he agrees with me,” he teases, as Cheng-furen slips a red packet into Xiao-Yu’s hands and kisses the toe of A-Lan’s little sock. “Don’t you, xingan?”

Lady Cheng rolls her eyes at their flirting and passes down the line with a smile, yielding her place to the next guest before going to find a seat at the banquet table.

“Ah, Wei-xiong,” the next well-wisher sighs, snapping open his favorite fan and holding it out to the baby. “A-Lan’s gathered quite a crowd today, hasn’t she?”

“Well, we did limit the full-moon ceremony to only our friends and family,” Wei Wuxian points out. As far as social events go, A-Lan’s full moon was one of the most exclusive gatherings of the year, open to members of the Lan sect and only by invitation to guests outside the Cloud Recesses; Ouyang Zizhen was generally envied as the sole attendee unconnected to Wei Wuxian by sect or familial ties, though he would have been invited anyway as Ouyang-zongzhu’s heir. “Lan Zhan was worried that we might fall ill during the monsoon season, so of course we had to invite everyone now that the weather’s turned warm again.”

Huaisang gives a meditative nod and lets A-Lan chew on the handle of his fan. “Lan-bao doesn’t have any teeth,” he yawns, when Wei Wuxian stares at the fan in disbelief and tries to pull it out of the baby’s mouth. “She can gum on my fan all she wants, I doubt she can put a dent in it.”

But the fan loses its charm before long, and A-Lan starts fussing in her blue satin wrap and refuses to settle until Wei Wuxian picks her up. The next group of guests offers their good-wishes one by one, leaving behind gifts like red packets and jade pendants and enough books to set up a new wing in the Library Pavilion; and a little while later, a shy two-year-old wanders up with his mother and presents a clumsily-carved dizi, just the right size for a toddler about as old as he is.

“I married out of the Cloud Recesses, so I live with my husband in Caiyi now,” the mother explains, as her son looks into Lan-bao’s crib with big eyes and makes soft cooing sounds in a clear attempt to play with her. “He runs a woodworking shop, so when we heard about the invitation to Lan-xiao-guniang’s hundred-day, Fang’er asked him to help carve a dizi for her.”

Wei Wuxian is so thoroughly charmed that he promises to stop by the woodworking shop later in the month, and present little Lan Fang--who seems to have taken his mother’s name, to retain his connection to her sect--with a learning dizi of his own.

“You can never begin too early,” Lan Zhan offers, catching Xiao-Yu by the sleeve to stop him from feeding his spicy peanut snacks to Lan Fang. “Does he prefer the flute above other instruments, furen? If so, he could come to the Cloud Recesses to study alongside Xiao-Yu when Wei Ying starts his music lessons.”

Wei Wuxian flinches, wondering if Lan Zhan has lost his senses--because what good mother would send her son to learn the dizi from the infamous Yiling Patriarch, even if he had been redeemed in the eyes of the gentry by his marriage to Lan Wangji? But Lan Fang’s mother is already nodding, looking fondly at Xiao-Yu as he offers Fang’er a bite of tangyuan, and the look in her eyes when she turns to Wei Wuxian is full of nothing but happiness.

“Xiao-Fang doesn’t get along very well with the children in Caiyi,” she sighs. “But he’ll surely come to study here one day, so if I could send him and know that Xiao-Yu-gongzi would look out for him--”

“Xiao-Yu will!” A-Yu exclaims, grabbing Lan Fang’s hand. “He’ll be A-Yu’s shidi!”

Lan Fang is more interested in doting on A-Lan, but Xiao-Yu is delighted by the prospect of having a junior sect brother, and tells the next ten people in line that he has become a shixiong now.

All in all, A-Lan’s hundred-day feast goes off without a hitch, and Wei Wuxian is nearly in tears at the sweetness of it all by the time Jiang Cheng arrives with a set of silver baby jewelry.

“A-Cheng, you shouldn’t have,” he chuckles, ducking his head so that Lan Zhan can pat his eyes with a cool handkerchief. “Lan-bao has enough jewelry for a new set every day, by now!”

“This isn’t just any set of jewelry,” Jiang Cheng informs him, motioning his head disciple to come forward and open the flat jewel-cases to reveal necklaces, bangles, ankle-bracelets and a longevity lock encrusted with silver beads.

Upon closer inspection, Wei Wuxian discovers that each tiny bead is a miniature clarity bell, etched with the Jiang sect lotus blossom and reinforced with so many protective charms that the collected set must have cost a small fortune.

“Didi,” Wei Wuxian begins, trying in vain to swallow the lump in his throat. “This, this is--”

“She won’t be able to wear these for long, but you could get them disassembled and extended with plain silver when she’s older,” his brother interrupts. “But A-Shuai says you should put them into storage when A-Lan gets older, because heaven knows I can’t afford another set.”

Lan Zhan frowns. “Why would we need another set?”

Jiang Cheng fixes him with a pointed stare, and Wei Wuxian feels his cheeks turn crimson when he finally gets the hint.

(Three years later, A-Lan’s hundred-day clarity jewels are passed down to a newborn baby sister, and no one is more pleased than her adoring jiujiu when Wei Chunyang wears them at her own full moon celebration.)

[dream-a-little-bigger-x]

Bet On It | Charlie Gillespie

Requested:  I may have already requested this (or I may have dreamed it) - but I would love an imagine with Charlie and the reader having a bet. Charlie loses and has to get the readers name tattooed somewhere and his fans go INSANE. Can be either platonic or romantic, your choice.

A/N: This was too good to pass up. Hope you like it! And special thanks to @calamitykaty for helping me out again on this one! I appreciate your help and love so much! You are the best of the best! Love you! 💖

Pairing: Charlie x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, tattoos 

Song(s) used: Show Me How You Burlesque - Christina Aguilera 

Words:  3,880

“Wanna bet on it?” was one of the first things he had ever said to you three years ago when you met him after your dance troupe had performed at the annual showcase. 

You and Meghan Gillespie had been friends since you started taking dance classes when both of you were five. However, your friendship never expanded from dance classes. Both of you were totally fine with that. 

This also meant neither of you had ever met each other's siblings, but that changed when you were seventeen and Charlie tapped your shoulder when you’d come up to greet your own family after the showcase. He’d complimented you on your dancing, and told you a little flustered that you had stolen the show. You didn’t even need to ask his name to know this was Charlie. He had the same bone structure and the same eyes Meghan did. She had told you about her siblings, mostly about Charlie since he was the closest in age and, according to her, the most annoying out of all her brothers. 

The two of you talked the whole night, even long after everyone had gone. Most of it was absolute nonsense, but  you loved getting to know him a little more aside from the stories you’d heard from Meghan. You enjoyed his presence and the way he carried himself and told his stories. This boy just seemed like the most excitable and passionate person you had ever met in your life. A lot of similarities to his sister, you noticed. 

“Can I see you again soon?” he asked when the two of  you wrapped up the night when it neared twelve am. 

You had raised your eyebrow at his nervosity more than his question. “Are you asking me out on a date?” 

Charlie’s head snapped up at your question, his eyes wide and jaw tight. “Wha-What? Nah! I wouldn’t date my sister’s friend! Uhm, more like, uh… Like a platonic date!” he exclaimed a little too excitedly. He even added some finger guns to top it all off. 

“All right, a platonic date it is,” you said as a teasing grin made its way to your features. “But you have to promise me one thing…” He nodded his head, encouraging you to go on. “You  have to promise you won’t fall in love with me.” 

A snicker raked through his body before he mimicked your teasing grin, “Wanna bet on it?” 

Even though back then there was nothing at stake, he still lost the bet. You both did, technically. Because after that first ‘platonic’ date followed more dates that grew into non-platonic dates until he finally picked up the courage to kiss you on your doorstep. 

Now three years later, you were working together on a second season of Julie and The Phantoms, both of you having been on the first season too. You as a background dancer and him as one of the leads of the show. 

To say you were proud of him would be an understatement. 

However, no one knew you were dating except for the closest people in your life. Meghan knew from the first ‘platonic’ date that this would be more than just a shallow friendship, and all your other friends and family were just happy you found each other. The cast of Julie and The Phantoms, however, were your biggest shippers. They loved to tease you both to the point where fans were suspicious, but you never made anything official. You kept telling them you were just best friends. 

After a full day on a corona proof set, the two of you finally settle on the sofa of your shared apartment with Owen. Said third roommate still had to film a couple of scenes with Booboo, which meant the two of you had the space all to yourself. 

Cuddled up on the couch, the two of you scroll through your phone, catching up on anything  you’d missed on social media. You’d received a few comments on your latest Instagram story with Savannah and Tori, and even more on the ones with Charlie in them. Most of them told you they wanted you to do a live together soon. 

“People are asking for a live,” you stated, showing some of the messages in your inbox. 

“Then they shall receive,” Charlie replied and got up from the couch, making his way into the bedroom. You furrowed your eyebrows, wondering why he just left, but you were given answers when he returned with an acoustic in his hand. “They always love a good jam session,” he explained before handing  you his phone so you could set up the live on his account since he had a lot more followers than you. 

“Let’s see,” you mumbled as you pressed the button, letting the phone rest against a large candle on the coffee table. Names started popping up at the bottom of the screen while the little number in the right-hand corner raked up quickly. “Hey guys!” 

“‘Sup!” Charlie shouted excitedly, a wide smile taking over his features while he tuned his guitar. “What do you guys wanna see from us today? Send us some requests for songs I should play or questions you want us to answer.” 

A laugh escaped your mouth as you noticed a lot of the questions were about whether or not you were a couple. “No, we’re not together, we’re just best buddies.” You put your head on Charlie’s shoulder, smiling a toothy smile at the camera. 

“Do you pull pranks on Owen or others from the cast?” Charlie read aloud as you pulled yourself up again, nodding your head in response. “Yeah, we pull pranks on each other all the time!” 

“Yeah! I love to prank this one whenever I find him somewhere napping,” you chuckled, especially when you noticed his expression on the screen. His mouth ajar as his eyes went from left to right. “I swear, this boy can sleep anywhere!” 

“Don’t expose me like that!” he cried out, which made you burst out with laughter to the point where you even let out a snort. You couldn’t hold yourself anymore at how offended he was by all of this, you were practically cackling. “Okay, if we’re exposing each other, you’re always dancing. ALWAYS,” he put emphasis on the last ‘always’. His eyes widened at the word as well as his voice growing louder. 

You stopped laughing at this, suddenly turning serious. “That’s my job, Char,” you deadpanned. Charlie wasn’t Charlie if he let it go so quickly. 

“Yeah, on set and maybe at practice, but you dance everywhere,” he turned to the camera, “Seriously, she dances in the shower, on the toilet, at catering, in bed,...” he stopped himself upon realizing he’d said a tiny bit too much. 

“People are asking how you know all that, Charlie. How do you know all of that?” you teased along, knowing he had dug himself a hole and you loved to see him squirm to get him out. 

“Because I… Come on, y/n, we’re best friends, we fall asleep in the same bed all the time,” he quickly saved himself in a very nonchalant, very Charlie way. You couldn’t help the smirk tugging at one corner of your lip, thinking ‘Nice save, Gillespie’.

“But that’s still not as bad as sleeping everywhere,” you countered, your face still overtaken by that smirk. “I bet I could get a whole album of pictures of you sleeping anywhere.” 

This claim made Charlie’s head snap up, a feeling of dejavu rushing through his mind. This suddenly felt very familiar since both of you had  been in a situation like this before, both pulling the short straw.

“Wanna bet on it?” he declared, his eyebrows nearly reaching up to his hairline. 

Your tongue glided across your turned up lips as you replied, “What’s at stake?” 

“Let’s see what they think. Guys! Help us out with this bet, please! What should be at stake?”

Dozens of replies came in, but your eyes fell on one in particular. “The loser has to get the winner’s name tattooed in a place of the winner’s choice!” you read aloud, pointing at the screen where the comment used to be. “Yes! Okay! So, let’s say we have to each get ten pictures of videos by -- it’s now Tuesday, so Monday?”  Charlie nodded his head in agreement. “First one to get ten wins.” 

Charlie held his hand out for you to shake, which you gladly did so, sealing the bet. 

“Get ready to get tatted for the first time, baby,” Charlie quipped with a smirk. 

“Oh, no, Char. I’m gonna leave this a blank canvas,” you responded, gliding your hands over your ribcage and down to your sides for emphasis. “You better get ready to get ‘y/n’ tattooed in big block letters across your chest!” You patted his pecs before adding with a giggle, “No ragrets.” 

He let out a chuckle at the meme reference before turning to the phone again. The two of you spent the next twenty minutes talking to the fans on Instagram live, playing them some songs and teasing one another non-stop. The fans were pretty certain you were a thing by now, but you still insisted all this was just a really close friendship. 

By the next day, everyone knew about the bet and was willing to help both of you out. Though, most of them told you afterwards they were on your side all the way. 

Savannah skipped over to you when you were waiting at the Hollywood Ghost Club set, getting ready for the last rehearsal before you’d start filming the scene tomorrow. You were going over the steps in your head until she spoke up. “Have you caught Charlie yet today?” she asked with a smirk. You let out a chuckle, shaking your head. 

“No, haven’t really stopped today, so I haven’t seen him much either.” This made you realize you kind of missed him and were up for a cuddle right about now. “Why? Have you seen him somewhere?” 

The mischievous look in her eyes spoke a thousand words. “Gimme your phone, I’ll go take a picture, so you can stay here.” You mull over the option for a second before deciding against it. 

“No, that’s not very fair. I’ll just go and look for him after this rehearsal and hope he’ll still be napping.” Savannah shrugged at your response before tucking a strand of hair of yours behind your ears. 

“Suit yourself, he’s in the breakroom.” You made a mental note of that. “You’re so soft for him, it’s adorable,” she uttered as a tender smile found its way to her lips. “I’ll let you get to rehearsal and I’ll make sure no one wakes Charlie before you can get to him, okay?” 

You shot her a thankful smile, “Yeah, thanks, Sav.” She kissed your cheek before walking away to wherever she needed to go. 

Thankfully, Charlie was indeed still asleep by the time you made it to the breakroom. He looked adorable all curled up on the small sofa with his arms wrapped around his own stomach. With an endeared smile, you grabbed your phone from the pocket of your sweater and snapped a picture before making your way over to him and squatting down in front of the couch. Softly, you brushed a strand of hair off his forehead before combing through the luscious mop of brown locks. 

He stirred slightly and squeezed his eyes tighter before they fluttered open. When they met yours, a soft, sleepy smile lit up his face. With a beam mirroring his, you said to him, “You look very cuddly up here, mind if I join you?” He scooted over and turned to his side, answering your question without words. You joined him on the small couch and rested your forehead on his chest, shutting your eyes as you inhaled the familiar scent of his cologne. 

“You took a picture, didn’t you?” he mumbled, pressing his lips to the crown of your head. You giggled, which was enough for him to know that you did. 

“One point y/n, Charlie zero,” you said and kissed his shirt-covered chest. 

“Oh, I’ll get my revenge, Bubba, I promise you!” He poked you in the ribs, making you squirm in his arms. “But let’s nap first until they need us again.” 

When Charlie promised something, he stuck to it. So, during lunch that same day, you stood in line with Madison, Jadah, Savannah, Tori and some of the other dancers, chatting a bit while music played from the speakers in the spacious area where everyone was either already eating or queueing to get food. 

“You really never know if you--” you cut yourself off once your ears picked up on the song that was playing in the background. “Oh my God! I know the choreo to this one. Tori, you do too, right?!” 

You put the plate you were holding on top of Savannah’s while Tori and some of the other dancers gave theirs to the other girls. Tori and Sam, one of the dancers you were closest with, got up on the table. Chuckling, you watched as a few others followed their example, and you quickly give in too. 

“Hit it up, get it up, won’t let you rest Hit it up, get it up, this is not a test Hit it up, get it up, gotta give me your best So get your ass up, show me how you burlesque”

You’ve loved this movie since it came out ten years ago. Your mother showed you some videos of you dancing in front of the tv, trying to imitate the dancers. It was pretty hilarious to see a ten-year-old do this dance. 

Right now though, you were ready to show off in front of everyone with some of the greatest dancers on this crew. Moments like these were proof that you were born to be a dancer. 

“A little bit of naughty, it's a little bit nice She’s a whole lot of glam, sweat, sugar, sex, spice Shimmy, shimmy, strut, strut Give a little what, what Up on the tables we’ll be dancing all night”   

Little did you know that Charlie had walked in with Owen, Jeremy and Booboo just as you’d started to dance. He was quick enough to grab  his phone from his pocket and film it. Even though he loved the fact that it was now a tie, he couldn’t help but smile proudly at the girl he’d fallen in love with three years ago. 

This was his favorite side of yours. You were in your element on the dance floor -- or table in this case. He just loved how confident you were and how free you seemed. While you’d be kind of shy when around new people, nobody would notice that when you’re dancing. He found it incredibly sexy to see you up there. 

You groaned as Charlie held his hand out to help you down the table when you’d finished the impromptu performance. With a smirk, he said, “1-1, Bubba,” and pressed a kiss to your flustered cheek. 

“I hate you,” you mumbled, but you couldn’t withhold the smile tugging at your lips. He looked so chuffed with his victory, even if it was a small one. You wanted to grant him this one win. 

The one win quickly turned into eight more, for the both of you, by Saturday. 

Match point. 

There was a mutual agreement to pause the bet on Sunday since the two of you had a day off and were going to sleep and dance around the apartment while cleaning up anyway, so that wouldn’t be fair. But on Monday, it was game on. 

You were certain you were going to win. All you had to do is find Charlie when you knew he didn’t have to film anything and try to withhold yourself from dancing if it wasn’t a part of the filming or rehearsal progress.

By noon, you had succeeded in one department. The only thing left to do now, was find Charlie. You knew he had an hour off for lunch and  that he’d spent twenty minutes of it taking a power nap somewhere on set. The only downside was, that you had no clue where he could possibly be sleeping  now. 

“Mads! Jer!” you exclaimed when you saw Madison and Jeremy walking up to you with sandwiches in their hands. “Have you guys seen Charlie anywhere?” The two glanced at each other before giving you a look that screamed ‘seriously, y/n?’. 

“What’s the best napping spot in the entire studio and isn’t used for anything today?” Jeremy asked as a way of responding to your question. 

Your eyes widened as the image of the bed popped into your head. You quickly muttered, “Thank you!” before hurrying your way to the set that holds Julie Molina’s bedroom. And there, smack in the middle of the bed, cuddled up to a pink cushion, lied your boyfriend. 

Butterflies erupted in your stomach as you nervously grabbed your phone and snapped a few pictures to make sure there was at least one that wasn’t blurry. Your hands were shaking way too much from the excitement, but you couldn’t just let this one pass. You had to win. If not just to prove a point. 

You rapidly scrolled through the photos and when you saw one that was in focus, you shrieked and leapt onto the bed on top of Charlie. He let out a groan at the sudden weight pressing down on his body as he shook awake. 

“I won, bitch!” you screamed out, doing a happy dance as you straddled his lap.

He rubbed his eyes like a toddler whilst giggling like one too before placing his hands on your thighs and saying, “I didn’t think you’d find me here.” He started rubbing up and down your jeans-cladded legs, a pout tugging at his bottom lip. 

You raised your eyebrows at him, “Seriously? This is the most infamous napping spot of the entire studio! I immediately came here when I couldn’t find you in your regular spot in the breakroom.” Now it was his turn to raise his eyebrows at you. 

“Someone else told you I was here, didn’t they?”

“Yep, definitely.” 

He groaned and then flipped you over, so you were lying next to him, and you let out a shriek before it turned into a giggle. “I already know where you’re gonna put my name too,” you mumbled. You pressed your forehead against his while tracing a heart on his chest, right above his heart. 

His eyes fluttered shut as he kissed your forehead. Placing it back, he muttered, “Let me guess, on my left pec, so you’re forever in my heart?” You simply hummed in response, earning a chuckle from your boyfriend. “Why are you so predictable?” 

“Shut up, you love me.” 

Butterflies welled up in his belly as you said that. He loved the overconfident way you always said those words. They were true. Very true and he loved that you knew that. But that didn’t take away the fun into actually reminding you too. 

“That’s true.” 

The following day, you took Charlie to the tattoo parlor to get his tattoo. You had told him a thousand times he didn’t have to do it, that knowing you were the winner sufficed, but he just replied with a, “No, I want that tattoo.” 

The tattoo artist asked if  you had a design in mind, so you handed her the slip of paper on which you had perfectly written your name in cursive and told her where to put it. She simply stated, “You got great  handwriting,” before showing you and Charlie to the back. 

“Film this for Insta, babe, so the people know I lost,” Charlie had ordered you sweetly as he tugged his shirt over his body, handing it over to you while he sat down. 

You grabbed your phone and started filming when the tattoo artist, whose name was CeCe, she’d said, started on his tattoo. Charlie looked up at you, biting his lip, and then reaching out to you. Without asking him what was wrong, you swung his shirt over your shoulder and took his hand with the one you weren’t filming with. He squeezed hard, nearly bone-crushingly hard, but you let him. After all, it was kind of your fault he was there in the first place. 

When CeCe had finished and put a protective band-aid on it, Charlie grabbed his shirt from your shoulder, and kissed you on the lips sweetly. You paid for the work and time CeCe had put into this, said your goodbyes, and headed back home. 

Pretty much every single one of the cast was waiting at your place, ready to see the finished product. However, Charlie wasn’t allowed to take the covering off yet. It needed to stay there for two to four hours before he could take it off. 

And once he did, you were surprised to not only see your name on his chest, but also your favorite flower worked into it beautifully. Confused and surprised, you looked up at Charlie. 

“When did you even tell her to do that?” you asked as everyone started to take pictures of the tattoo and of the interaction between the two of you. 

��Called in beforehand,” he simply shrugged. Shaking  your head, you leaned up and planted a kiss to his lips. Even though it was bat-shit crazy he even went through with tattooing your name on his chest, the fact he added an element of you made it extra special. 

That night, Charlie posted the video of him getting his tattoo on his Instagram stories while you made a compilation post of all ten of the sleeping Charlie pictures you had accumulated in the last week, along with a picture of his tattoo. 

@Yourinstahandle: Victory is mine! You are absolutely crazy. I can’t believe you went through with this. At least now I’m forever embedded on your heart and I’ll be yours forever. 💖 @Charles_Gillespie 

And with that, you immediately went Instagram official too. Following your example, Charlie shared a picture of his brand new tattoo as well. 

@Charles_Gillespie: Wanna bet on it? Forever mine 💖 @Yourinstahandle

When he joined you in bed that night, you went to lie down on his chest, only to receive a painful hiss from him, causing you to shoot up again. “GAH! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!” you shouted, and looked at him in shock. 

“It’s fine,” he muttered and went to pull you back but you refused to. 

“No, Char, I’m not gonna hurt you for an entire night,” you grumble and crawl across his legs to lie down on his other side. “This feels weird.” You rested your head against the non-painful side of his chest. “But better than no cuddles.” 

“Yeah, well, maybe you shouldn’t have won, so I wouldn’t be in pain right now,” he responded, followed by a small chuckle, letting you know he was just joking.    

“You are the most ridiculous person I have ever met,” you muttered. Before closing your eyes, you quickly leaned up and pecked his cheek. 

“Wanna bet on it?”

*

*

*

JATP Taglist: @hannahhistorian92 @marinettepotterandplagg @thequirkybookaholic @bookdealer5 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @hemmingsness @iainttakingshitfromnobody @ifilwtmfc @angryknightstatesmantrash @kiss-themoongoodbye @rudysbay @thedarkqueenofavalon​ @caitsymichelle13​ @calamitykaty @wiselight @kcd15​ @vicesvsvirtuesfanfic @stars-soph @kinda-really-lost

Charlie/Luke taglist: @parkeret​ @lukeys-giggle @gingerxarmy @lovesanimals @lolychu @perfectlywrongformend3s @luckylouiebug @camiladelrio98 @myfriendscallmebeans

Lemme know if you wanna be on my taglist! 

[novelconcepts]

i think always about the scene where dani and flora were about to escape the manor before viola showed up, and flora asks where are they going dani said “i don’t know” or something. do you think that if they succeed to leave the house dani would’ve tried to reach jamie? after all they in theory had a date in the pub, so in theory dani knew the little flat above the pub…

It's complete luck, Dani will think later. True idiot luck, nothing more--maybe the first lucky thing to happen in the last hour. Absolutely, they shouldn’t find the village at all. Absolutely, they shouldn’t have managed it: a grown woman with no car, no idea where she’s going, and an eight year old girl sobbing against her shoulder as she runs. They should wind up lost in the dark, staggering desperately in a circle, maybe turning right back up where they started. 

Utter luck, that the adrenaline holds out, that the darkness doesn’t swallow them whole, that she finds herself stumbling through the door of a ramshackle little pub with Flora. Shouldn’t happen. Some tiny part of her wonders if this isn’t the magic of Bly, extending far beyond the reach of that house. Some tiny part of her thinks, If it can reach this far, what’s stopping them from doing the same?

“Hey,” the old man behind the bar snaps. “You can’t bring her in here!”

“Please.” Her head is pounding. Her throat is raw. Screaming hoarsely into a gag will do that to a person. “Please, I’m looking for--for Jamie...”

She trails off, realization striking: she doesn’t even know Jamie’s last name. A woman she somehow feels she’s known forever, a woman she is painfully certain she is already growing to love in ways Eddie couldn’t have pulled out of her with an infinite lifetime, and she doesn’t know her last name. It would be hysterically funny, if she could remember what laughter tasted like. 

More good luck, sweeping in like a thunderstorm: the old man is nodding, though he still looks uneasy at the sight of Flora’s puffy red eyes. At the sight, too, of Dani’s rubbed-raw mouth. They must look awful, a pair of ghosts in their own right, crashing into the easy calm of his night. 

“She know you’re comin’?” he asks gruffly, and Dani shakes her head. “But she knows you.”

He’s looking at Flora, and Dani wonders if the small-town awareness Owen has spoken of with such irritation extends to the Wingrave children. Probably. Probably everyone in town knows the miserable story of two orphans left to cope in that big old haunted house. 

“She knows,” Dani says, when it becomes clear Flora is incapable of her usual boisterous chatter. “Please. Can you call her?”

He makes a face, his hand straying to the black plastic handset behind his head. “Fine, but if you’re lyin’, it’s only fair I warn you she's got a temper--”

Dani lowers Flora onto a stool, leans her weight against the bar, presses a hand to her head. This is insane, she tells the spooling pressure in her chest where air does not seem willing to flow. This is insane, to think there are ghosts pulling at the Wingrave children’s strings, pulling at Miles even now.

Miles. She left him. She left Miles, Rebecca Jessel’s warm voice still ringing in her ears. It’s too late. Too late. Too--

“Dani?” Jamie’s voice, just behind her. She can’t bring herself to lift her head and look. It’d be so much sweeter to remember her last image of Jamie instead, the last glimpse of normalcy drunk greedily in with no knowledge of what would come next. There will be other nights. Promise. Jamie’s hands curled around her own. Jamie’s kiss pressed to her lips with uncharacteristic euphoria. Jamie had giggled, and Dani had felt ten feet tall, the luckiest woman in the world, the richest--

“Flora.” Jamie is bending, a hand pressed to Flora’s face, smoothing back the sweaty mess of her hair. “What’s going on? Where’s Miles? What are you--”

Flora makes a hitching sound, and Dani imagines trying to explain it--not to Jamie, who believes her so readily even when there’s no reason, but to Henry. Henry Wingrave, trusting her with his brother’s children. Henry Wingrave, who she’ll have to face and say, Sir, I did my best, but you never warned me about the ghosts--

“C’mon.” Jamie’s uttered that word once before, an incontrovertible command. Last night, taking Dani’s hand in the kitchen, leading her out to take in flowers and stories. She doesn’t quite do it the same way now--her hand brushes the small of Dani’s back instead of her fingers, urging her gently along--but Dani can hear that same calm charge in her voice. It’s as though Jamie understands something has broken, and has chosen stability in answer to the too-big horror strangling Dani’s ability to explain. 

She lets herself be propelled through the pub, through a door at the back, up a flight of stairs. Somewhere at the back of her mind, she’s loosely aware that it shouldn’t be this way--that she should have visited Jamie’s flat for the first time on Jamie’s schedule, in Jamie’s truck, with Jamie grinning at her over a beer. But, then, what about tonight has gone to plan? What about tonight has been right?

“Sit,” Jamie says, urging her visitors toward a lumpy couch at the center of the small room. She looks calm, though Dani suspects it’s the kind of calm that might at any moment crack open. “Talk.”

An invitation, more than a demand. Dani buries her head in her hands.

“It’s crazy. It’s crazy.”

“You ran here in the dark,” Jamie says. “You ran here in the dark with Flora. Wouldn’t have done that if it wasn’t bad.”

Shouldn’t have done it at all. Should have called Jamie--run through the house in search of Hannah--done any number of things that wasn’t a flat sprint over unfamiliar ground into town. Should have kept her head. 

“Miles,” she says, and almost shatters right there. Her head is a land mine, pulsing warning. Her chest aches. Jamie is kneeling on the floor, she realizes, her hands busy at Flora’s face, her hands, searching for sign of damage. Dani inhales. “She’s--she’s okay. Rebecca made sure of it.”

Jamie looks up sharply. “What?”

Dani knows what she looks like, what she must sound like: a rumpled, ragged mess spouting dead women’s names like she has any right to them. Still, Jamie isn’t staring at her like she’s crazy. She’s watching with guarded eyes, her hands--satisfied that Flora is, physically, unharmed--moving to Dani. 

“What about Rebecca?”

“She let us go.” Jamie’s thumb is pressing very gently to her jaw, tilting her head to give the lamplight room to spill over her skin. She hears a breath catch, hears Jamie make a tiny, wounded sound at the sight of the skin rubbed red around Dani’s mouth. “She told me to take her and run.”

And I shouldn’t have. I’ve never listened to ghosts before. Why start now?

“Rebecca,” Jamie repeats. Her hand slips behind Dani’s head, gently inspecting; she finds the knot soon enough, Dani’s telltale gasp of pain pulling something taut behind her eyes. “Fuck, Dani, what--”

“Peter.” Flora’s voice is very small, a shock of unexpected color amidst Jamie’s usual palette. “Peter said we were helping.”

The calm in Jamie does not just break at those words; it erupts, her entire body revolutionized by her sudden rage. She’s got a temper, the old man had said, and Dani’s seen notes of it--at the rose bushes, hoisting a shotgun in the dark--but never quite like this. She stands abruptly straight, her shoulders pulling back, her expression livid. 

“What,” she says, “do you mean, helping?”

It spills out in a chaotic rush--Flora, mostly, explaining through hiccups. Dani supplements where she can, as if she understands any of it. As if she hasn’t, in some part of her throbbing brain, wondered all this time if the evening wasn’t a hallucination born of her concussion. 

“He hit you,” Jamie says. Not a question. “Tied you up. In the attic. And he took Miles.”

Those are, Dani thinks wearily, the bullet points. “He said they were trapped. That the house would wear them away. Rebecca wouldn’t...”

“'Course not,” Jamie says hotly. “’Course she wouldn’t. Fucking Quint.”

Dani blinks up at her. Her vision is gray around the edges, she realizes. Can’t be a good sign. She shivers. “You believe us?”

A little of the rage melts out of Jamie at this--her eyes softening just a bit, her fingers uncurling from a fist. She almost smiles. “You two? Best people I fuckin’ know, why wouldn’t I believe you?”

“Because it’s crazy,” Dani says hollowly. “It’s crazy, but--” But that little boy had stood wrong, with Peter pulling his strings. That sweet, lovely little boy had gone hard around the mouth, had gone steely at the shoulders, had held himself like a man three times his age and thirty times more capable of cruelty. 

“I believe you,” Jamie says simply. She gives Dani’s shoulder a squeeze, Flora’s hair a gentle ruffle. “I believe you.”

The flat is quiet after that, for a while. Wrung out, Flora is dozing against the arm of the couch before she seems to know it. Jamie gestures for Dani to stand, the pair of them gently shifting Flora until she is resting comfortably on a throw pillow. She breathes like she’s still preparing a scream, like she is still ready to charge back into that house after her brother, even as Jamie drapes a blanket over her small frame. 

She leads Dani to the bathroom, then, sets her down on the toilet seat. Her hands are steady as ever, gentle as she administers a warm cloth to Dani’s scraped skin--cleaning around her mouth, around wrists that have been chafed nearly bloody--and a bundle of ice to the back of Dani’s head. Dani chases a handful of aspirin with cool water and tries to look as though the whole world isn’t swimming away from her. 

“It’s bad,” she says. “It’s so bad, Jamie. I couldn’t do anything.”

Jamie makes a soft sound of acknowledgment. Dani’s wrist is upturned in her hand, her fingers skimming lightly across rope burn. Dani barely feels it. 

“What if--” She doesn’t want to give it voice. Doesn’t want to admit it’s even possible. Isn’t there something to be said for the power of belief, unpredictability shaped by human faith? “What if he really is gone for good? How do I explain that? How do I live with that?”

Jamie raises her eyes. “Not gonna have to find out.”

Dani frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I mean.” She turns, drops the wet cloth in the sink, clicks the cap back onto the bottle of pills. “Didn’t let Quint get away with this shite in life. Don’t think for a fuckin’ moment I’d let him do it now.”

Dani shakes her head. “It’s too late--Rebecca said--”

“Love Rebecca.” Her voice is strangled when she says this, as though Jamie is speaking through the entire last year of grief at once. “Loved Rebecca, sister I never had. But she didn’t know everything. Christ, even just getting wound up with him--she makes mistakes, too.”

“But--”

“Dani.” Jamie takes her face between steady hands. Even just this easy proximity, the sweep of her breath not far from Dani’s own, settles something Dani thinks has been screaming most of her life. “I promise. Whatever we have to do--whatever it takes--we’ll fix this.”

“We’ll fix a ghost,” Dani says flatly. Jamie smiles, leaning in until her forehead knocks lightly against Dani’s own. 

“We’ll fix Miles. Kid’s been through too much already. I’ll be damned before I let Quint have him.”

It’s just as insane a thing to say as the rest of the night. Jamie doesn’t know--can’t know--how to make this right. Jamie is just one woman, though maybe the best person Dani’s ever been fortunate enough to find. Jamie can’t turn back time. 

Still. She almost forgets that, watching her make phone calls--to Owen, and to the house, where it rings and rings and Hannah never picks up. She almost forgets that Jamie is not a superhero, as she presses the ice pack to Dani’s head with one hand and says into the receiver, “Quint, yeah. Dunno how. Does it matter?”

She almost forgets that they are not superheroes when Owen knocks on the door. That they are only an au pair, a gardener, a cook, and a little girl. That they are no match for whatever the house has become over the years. She almost forgets. 

Because the set of Owen’s mouth is uncompromising for the first time since she’s met him. Because Flora, refreshed from her nap and no longer tilting toward tears, is grim in the seat beside him. Because, thigh warm against her own in the backseat, Jamie is holding her hand like it’s never crossed her mind to let go. 

They are not superheroes. They are not prepared for the ghosts of Bly Manor. They don’t know where Hannah is, how Rebecca is holding on, what Quint will do in Miles’ body. They don’t know anything at all. 

But they are going back. Because some stories need changing. Because some tragedies cannot be simply accepted. Because Peter Quint deserves to be put in his place, and Miles Wingrave deserves a life of freedom, and whatever’s gone wrong at the great, good place--their home--can be set right. Dani can feel that, way down beneath the headache and the fear. It can be, even if she doesn’t yet know how.

You, she thinks, looking from Owen at the wheel, Flora seatbelted carefully in, Jamie running a thumb over her knuckles. Me, she thinks, watching her own battered face in the rearview mirror. Us, she thinks, remembering the dinner table earlier that night, Hannah’s smile, the music of their mingled laughter. 

This can be fixed. Somehow. It must be.

“Right,” she says in a voice much stronger than she expects as they pull up the long drive. “Step one: find Miles.”

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: IV

“I had a few, got drunk on you

And now I’m wasted

And when I sleep, I’m gonna dream of 

How you tasted.”

— Medicine, Harry Styles

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

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

word count: 26.4k

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why, thank you! 

My pleasure.

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

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

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

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

I wouldn’t want it any other way. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It happens Thursday on two occasions. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re going to regret that. 

Pinky promise?

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What...What are these?”

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

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

Then it all clicks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I just...it’s like…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, it fucking worked.”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am, I can’t hold—”

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

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

“Do I make myself clear?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mm-mm. What?” 

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

He feels her heartbeat trip. 

“And you know what I do to brats?” 

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

“I fuck them until they break.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell me you want it.”

“I want it.”

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

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

“I...I want you to spank me.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yours.” 

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

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

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

“Now beg me to let you cum.”

///

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

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

“You drool in your sleep.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Truly. His dad was hotter.” 

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

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

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

“Couldn’t be me, either.”   

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

She gladly delivers. “Exquisite taste.”

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

“Emmett was pretty hot, as well.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s definitely something.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How chivalrous.”

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

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

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

“I’m just making a point!”

“Yeah, a shitty one.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey!”

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

“You’re a dick, you really are.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What—?”

“And it’s not even ten A.M. yet.”

“What do you—?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whatever.” 

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

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

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

“Wow. I feel used.” 

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

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

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

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

“We could UberEats some iHop.” 

“Who’s gonna get the door?”

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

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

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

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

“You’re so dumb.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, like you’re any better?” 

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uber for Y/N?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh...my God.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Exactly.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You have no idea.

“You underestimated me, Holmes.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The irony of it all. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are those...Are those handcuffs?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You like Hamilton?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You are vile.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Harry, I’m serious—” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[cjsinkythoughts]

FATWS One Shot #7 - Revels

Word Count: 2921

Warnings: Cursing, That’s All, it’s a Really Tame One Shot

Setting/Characters: Party Scene in Avengers: Age of Ultron; Lots of Characters so I’m Not Gonna Name Them All

A/N: I know…it’s very late. I wanted to have it out on Friday, but I dunno, guys. My motivation as of late has been very low. I finally decided to just sit down and write tonight. So here it finally is!

This one is pretty mild compared to others. There’s a few feeling things in here, but it’s mainly just the reader hanging out with the team. The ending’s written a bit weird, but I didn’t know what to cut it off because the writers did a nice job of making the Mjolnir scene flow into the scene with Ultron’s appearance, but I didn’t want to write the whole fight with Ultron, I just wanted the lifting scene.

Listen here, though! Prepare yourselves to be conflicted even more with Steve! I made it a lot more…touchy than I was planning on. Don’t come at me! It needs to be done! This’ll be one of the last ones focused on Steve like that though. The next one is reader and Wanda bonding and then after that I don’t have any more planned for AoU, so we’ll be going to Civil War, which is where reader meets Bucky officially. So Bucky’s coming soon!

I’m gonna update my WIP List and - maybe - my One Shot list and post those later, along with a poll because I dunno which series I wanna start on next.

Thank you all so much for your patience, understanding, and support! As always, not beta’d, so please excuse the mistakes, all are mine! Be kind to yourselves and others! Enjoy and stay tuned!

FATWS Series Masterlist

cjsinkythoughts Masterlist

*******

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

You set your bag down and looked at your phone, vibrating from where you just left it on the counter. You looked at the time and squinted. Seven. You supposed it wasn’t too late, but you weren’t expecting any calls. 

Tired, your feet dragged as you moved across the room to get your phone. You were helping Fury set up the Helicarrier again while still remaining “dead” to everyone. It was the last thing you were doing before joining the Avengers full time. You were a bit hesitant to be in the spotlight after all these years, but after much pressuring from your team, especially a certain blonde, you finally caved. It was time for a change anyways. It might even be good for you.

Speaking of blondes, Bubba flashed across your screen, a picture of him with some scruff that you took one day in spite of his protests because you’d never seen him with a beard before lighting up behind the contact name.

You answered it, rubbing your eyes with the heel of your hands as you did so. “Hi, bubs. What’s-”

“Where are you? I miss you. Are you coming soon?”

You chuckled at his whines, an eyebrow raising as you processed his words. “Whaddya mean? I’m at my place. Where am I supposed to be?”

“Honey!” You giggled at his groan, finding it amusing how childish he could be at times. “The party? Tonight? Remember? You promised you’d come. I don’t wanna be here without you.”

“Oh shit,” you hiss out. “That’s tonight?” Moving across the kitchen to check your calendar, you scrunch up your face when you see ‘Avenger’s Tower 6 pm’ written in the square. “It’s Saturday. Aw, Stevie. I totally forgot.”

“Oh. So…are you - are you not coming, then?”

Frowning at his fallen tone, you shake your head. “I’ll be there. Just…give me a bit.”

“No, no. It’s okay. You sound tired. You don’t have to-”

“I’m on my way, Steve. I did promise after all. I’m an hour out.”

You could hear his surprise in his voice. “An hour? You’re not in D.C.?”

“I’m a little bit upstate. Just in a safehouse while I help Fury work on something.”

He let out a contemplative hum from the other side of the line. “That secret project you still won’t tell me anything about?”

A smile appeared across your lips as you walked to the bedroom to change into something a little more appropriate, settling for a comfortable romper instead of dealing with a dress. “You know I can’t, bubs. You haven’t told anyone, right?”

“No ma’am.”

You giggle softly. “Alright. Thank you. You’ll find out soon, probably. It’s almost done. Promise.”

“Then you’ll come live here? With me - the team, I mean? I miss you. The team missed you. On the raid.”

“Oh yeah. How was it?”

“Get here and I’ll tell you.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’m coming, I’m coming. See you then, bubba.”

“Okay, honey. See ya then.”

*****************

It was nearly nine when you got to the Tower, but any party thrown by Stark didn’t end until at least ten, so you knew you were fine. Just…fashionably late. A concept you knew Tony understood and you wouldn’t hesitate to remind him if he brought it up.

You were pleasantly surprised by how tame the party was. Sure there were a hundred people you doubted even Tony knew, but no flashing lights, the music wasn’t blaring, and no one was grinding on anyone. Everyone was just talking, drinking, and having a good time.

“Hey! There you are! Capsicle said he called you, but that was hours ago!”

Speak of the devil. You grinned and let Tony pull you into a hug before taking the drink he offered. “Yeah, well, I had a few things to do today.”

His eyebrow quirked up. “A few things, huh? Anything I should know about?”

“Nope!” You popped your lips and gave him a smirk. “Not everything’s about you, Mr. Stark.”

“Yeah, well, we missed you this week. Fun raid.” He looked you up and down and nodded, gesturing to your outfit. “Alright, you know what? I accept this. This is okay. Not what I had in mind, but you pull it off.”

You laughed, shoving his shoulder playfully. “It’s comfortable, okay? Where’s Steve?”

The billionaire rolled his eyes and gave you a look. “Don’t worry your pretty little head. He’s over playing pool with Wilson. C’mon! I wanna get you drunk and complain about my perfect, heroic, billionaire life to my favorite teammate!”

“I just need to tell him I’m here.” You snicker. “And don’t let anyone here you say that. I don’t want my rep to become Tony’s favorite.”

He chuckled with you and gave you another squeeze. “Alright, alright. Come find me later, though. I do have something I need to show you.”

You shook your head, already knowing where the conversation was heading. “Tony! No! I don’t need a suit! Thank you, I appreciate it, but I’m really okay. I like fighting in sweatpants.”

“Fine!” He huffed out. “But at least let me show you some designs I came up with. I put a lot of hard work into them, you know.”

Tapping his chest, you nodded. “I’m sure you did. I’ll come find you and you can show me, but that’s it.”

He smirked, drawing an ‘x’ over his heart with his finger. “Cross my heart.”

“I’m serious, Tony!” You point at him as he started walking away. He just blew a kiss towards you, making you laugh and roll your eyes again.

Turning, you scanned the room for the pool table where, supposedly, Steve was playing with Sam, who you had no idea was gonna be here. You’d been helping him out with the whole James - Bucky, you reminded yourself - Barnes thing during your free time. No such luck yet. The man was literally a ghost, even for you.

You couldn’t stop the smile on your lips when you finally caught sight of him, his brown leather jacket hugging his shoulders a grin on his face as Sam talked to him about something. Quickly making your way over, your arms wrapped around that ridiculously tiny waist, crossing over his stomach. You felt him tense at the sudden contact, before he relaxed at a kiss to the nape of his neck and spun around.

The beam he gave you made your heart flip, his muscled arms winding around your neck. “Y/N! You made it!”

His boyish excitement made you laugh. “I told you I’d come. Hi, Sam.”

Sam nodded and waved. “What’s good, Y/N?”

“Who’s winning?” Slipping out of Steve’s hold, you leaned over the table to study the games process.

“We just started a new one.” Steve informed you. “Wanna join?”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “You sure you wanna be embarrassed in front of all these nice people?”

“Oooh!” Sam winced. “Smack! Alright. Put your money where your mouth is, Y/L/N. Ten bucks says I win.”

“You’re on, Wilson.”

A few more drinks, a couple games, and thirty extra bucks later, Tony called you over impatiently. Steve gave you a questioning look as you heated up, Tony waving his arms dramatically and shouting your name. God, he’s so embarrassing.

“He wants me to look at suit designs.”

Steve frowned at your explanation. “I thought you told him no?”

You chuckled. “I did. I’ll be right back, bubs.” After kissing his cheek, you head over to Tony. From there, you end up bouncing around from teammate to teammate, laughing and joking around with them.

Until Steve dragged you back with him again. “Excuse me.” He interrupted you, Clint, and Natasha’s chatter, grabbing your elbow and taking the drink you had in your hand. “I’m stealing you.”

“C’mon, man! It’s called sharing!”

Natasha laughed and nodded in agreement with Clint’s statement. “Everyone’s gotta have a turn, Rogers.”

Steve hummed, walking backwards and pulling you as you giggled in amusement. “You just had your turn, Romanoff.”

“Sorry guys.” You shrugged when the two looked at you incredulously. “Captain’s orders.”

“Damn right.” Steve nodded firmly.

“Watch your language!” Clint shouted with a pointed finger.

You raised an amused eyebrow at Steve’s groan. “Your language? They do know that you have, quite possibly, the worst mouth on the planet, right?”

He sighed, pulling you to the side of the room and wrapping his arms around your waist. “It’s something that happened on the mission. Which you would know if you were there.”

“Steven.”

He blinked innocently at you. “What?” At your pointed look, he let out a sigh, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. “Did I do something wrong? Is that why you’re avoiding me?”

“Who said I’m avoiding you?”

“C’mon, honey.” He lifted his head, his eyebrows furrowed together. “Don’t hurt me even more. I know you have.”

You shook your head, lips turning down and hand raising to cup his cheek. “Stevie, I’m not. I promise. I’ve just…I’ve just been busy.”

He pouted. “With Fury?”

Giving him a weird look you shook your head. “No. I mean, yes, but I’ve also been helping Sam out with your friend while you help the team with the rest of the HYDRA bases. You know that. What’s going on with you?”

“I’m sorry.” He sighed, ducking his head to your shoulder again. “I’ve just missed you.”

“I know, bubba. I’ve missed you too.”

The real truth was you had been avoiding him. Not on purpose. Kinda. You just felt something different around him. Something you’d never dealt with before. And you didn’t want to deal with it now, so you haven’t been. It was why you were so hesitant about becoming a full time Avenger. Well, that and the fact that you’d been in the shadows for a decade and you weren’t sure how well you’d do in the light.

“Where’s Sam?”

“He had to head home. Long drive. His excuse, not mine.”

You gasped in offense. “And he didn’t even say bye?! Rude!”

Steve chuckled, his nose brushing against the skin of your throat, breath tickling your collarbone. “I’m sure he’ll call you in the morning or something. Apologize for leaving so abruptly.”

You hummed, swallowing the lump that suddenly appeared in your throat. “Tell me about the language thing. What happened?”

He groaned, but straightened and told you about him accidentally scolding Tony, before he proceeded to tell you about the rest of the mission, including the Maximoff twins. 

“Why is it that war always seems to breed more war?” You asked with a sigh.

“They’re just kids trying to do what’s right.”

“We all start out that way, don’t we?” You shook your head. Kids. they shouldn’t be fighting in a war. They shouldn’t have to deal with that. “It’s just a shame.” Your voice is muffled by his shirt after you pressed against his chest.

“Yeah.” He sighed out. “Wanna go get a drink?”

Pulling back from him and looking around, you noted that most guests had already gone and it was dwindling down to just the Avengers and a couple allies. “Yeah. Wanna sit down too. I’m kinda tired.”

“Alright, honey. Let’s go sit down.”

It wasn’t even half an hour later when you were all sitting around the middle of the room, everyone else having gone, but Dr. Helen Cho, Rhodey, Maria, and the team. You were in the same boat as Helen, who was basically passed out on an armchair. You’re legs thrown over Steve’s lap, stretched out to let your feet rest on Thor’s thigh, who was on the chair on the other side of the captain. You were hugging Steve’s arm, your head resting against his shoulder, a small smile of content across your features as you listened to the team banter and tease.

You started laughing at Clint’s comments towards Thor’s hammer while spinning the drumstick he had for whatever reason. “Ah, whosoever be he worthy shall haveth the power! Whatever, man! It’s a trick!”

You and Steve exchanged amused grins as Thor challenged Clint, who stood up with no hesitation and headed to the hammer.

“This is gonna be good.” You chirped, taking the bottle Steve handed you as the archer stopped in front of where it was placed on the table.

Clint stuck his tongue out at you, before turning back to Thor and gripping the handle. He tugged for a moment, grunting, before laughing in slight embarrassment. Chuckling, you snuggled closer to Steve’s side, your eyes feeling heavy. He turned his head to nose your temple and kiss your cheek.

“Oh brother.” You giggled, sitting up with interest as Tony stood up and unbuttoned his suit jacket.

“Alright, so if I lift it, I-I then rule Asgard?” Tony asked in clarification, slipping his hand through the strap.

“Yes, of course.” Thor confirmed with an amused smirk, shooting you a wink when you nudged his knee with your foot.

Tony braced himself, setting his foot on the table. “I will be reinstituting prima nocta.”

You rolled your eyes, scoffing. “Oh God, Tony.” Steve squeezed your knee with a slight chuckle as the billionaire tried lifting it to no avail. You gave him a weird look, watching him leave the room, before turning to Steve. “What’s he-?”

“Alright! Let’s try this again!”

Another fit of laughter left you and the team when Tony strutted back in with his Iron Man glove on. And when that didn’t work, Rhodey joined him with his War Machine glove. 

Your eyes were watering and you tried holding in your laughter, but you couldn’t help it, pressing your face into Steve’s arm to muffle the sounds. You felt his shoulders shake with silent chuckles, which didn’t help your own.

When Bruce went up, an awkward silence filled the air after he tried Hulking out, but then you started laughing again.

“Your turn, bubba.” You nudged the blonde, who gave you a look, before shrugging and patting your thigh. 

“You gotta get off then, honey.”

You rolled your eyes but swung your legs off him, letting him stand up. He rolled his sleeves up, stepping up to Mjolnir, a few encouragements from the team, before pulling on the hammer. You thought you saw it shake a little, but Steve yanked some more and it didn’t move, so you figured you were imagining it.

Steve sighed and let go, putting his hands up in surrender with a grin like the good sport he was. Thor laughed. “Nothing.”

You shrugged at the super soldier who plopped back down besides you as the others tried getting Natasha to go up. “You tried.” 

He raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms and leaning back. “Well if Romanoff isn’t going…your turn.”

“Wh-what?” Your eyes went wide.

“I did it.” He gestured to the hammer. “Now you gotta.”

“Hold on, hold on. We didn’t agree on th-”

“Honey.” He gave you a little pout, cocking his head to the hammer. “C’mon. Just a tug.”

You narrowed your eyes, but your lips turned up and you straightened off the couch. “This is peer pressure. Captain America, everyone.” He chuckled as you stepped over to Mjolnir. “It’s not gonna work.”

Tony snorted. “Not with that attitude.”

“C’mon, Tones. If none of you could.”

The billionaire shrugged with a grin. “Never know if you don’t try.”

You deadpanned at him, gripping the handle and trying, in vain, to pull it. You didn’t put nearly as much effort as everyone else. “Wow. Look at that. What a surprise.”

“What was that?! You barely touched it!”

Giving a shrug, you started back to your seat. “I’m guessing if you’re worthy or whatever, it wouldn’t take that much to lift it.” You fell onto the couch, your head landing in Steve’s lap as you looked upside down at Thor and pointed at him. “But I do have a question for you.” The god looked at you in interest, gesturing for you to continue. “What does worthy mean? Like, what makes a person worthy to lift it? You couldn’t lift it a while back - I know, I read the files. SHIELD agent, remember?” You added when you saw him open his mouth to question you.

You blinked at him curiously, tilting your head, watching as his brow furrowed. Tony cackled and clapped at the silence in answer. “Oooh! She got you! All difference to the Man Who Wouldn’t Be King, but it’s rigged. And the lack of response to Y/N’s question just makes it more obvious.”

“That’s not what I meant-”

“You bet your ass.”

You rolled your eyes, letting it go as Maria teased Steve about Clint’s foul language. “Did you tell everyone about that?” Tony ignored Steve’s question and continued to ride on Thor and his hammer.

“Why are they trying to make sense of it?” You questioned, highly entertained, but also very tired, turning to press against Steve’s stomach.

“It’s Tony. I couldn’t tell you. C’mere.” Steve shifted you so that you were sitting up, but he was holding you more comfortably. “Try getting some sleep.”

You hummed and nodded against him, but a high pitched whine made you wince and stand up, Steve unconsciously standing a bit in front of you. A suit of Tony’s, damaged with wires hanging down and oil leaking out or places that didn’t have metal keeping them in, came in and you inwardly sighed at the bad feeling tugging at your gut.

So much for sleep.

***********

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