#dating apps suck its so fucking frustrating
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I wholeheartedly believe humans were not designed to go extended periods without two way love and affection (if I don't get positive romantic and physical attention soon I will collapse)
#dating apps suck its so fucking frustrating#im going out tomorrow night but i KNOW nothing will happen i have the rizz of a fucking slug#im not entering any relationship anytime soon and that genuinely upsets me#throwback to my therapist 'we are happy when our needs are met and you hold love highly' blah blah blah yes abby but HOW#MY VALUES DONT MEAN SHIT IF ALL I DO IS WORK EAT AND SLEEP#AND I CANT MEET THE TOP ONE BECAUSE ITS NOT JUST ME THATS NEEDED TO MAKE IT WORK#im going to go and bang my head against a brick wall (write a fantasy romance novel) and maybe ill calm down#stop talking helena
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from my notes app:
Just picture it: Yoongi who just... never had a crush. Sure, he has felt attraction that sometimes evolved into something more through dates or other encounters. But a crush? Feet kicking, face blushing, giddy giggles? No, he couldn't say he ever experienced that.
Until you.
Until you showed up, a new manager at the company, and left him shaking in his disconcertingly large boots. You were bright, witty, charismatic and hard working and he stood there, arms hanging by his side awkwardly like a damn emoji, hovering around you unsure about what to do, what to say, how to act.
It was so frustrating! He never felt this way before and at 30 years old he felt as if he was going through a late puberty: voice cracking when he tried talking to you, waking up sweating from a dream way too realistic, poorly timed boners when he saw you walking around the office with skin tight pencil skirts.
His so called friend weren't making it any easier for him: Yoongi had officially become the butt of every joke as the members collectively regressed back to the 5th grade, murmuring everytime you showed up "here comes your wife, hyung, here comes Mrs. Suga".
Thankfully, you seemed unaware of their jabs, even as yoongi's pale cheeks blushed fiercely at the name.
He didn't know whether to be greatful or resentful for your obliviousness. On one side, you didn’t seem to hear the constant on going teasing from the other 6 raccoons he shared a band with, which saved yoongi from the swift death at the pearly hands of embarrassment, ripping his dramatic soul from his even more dramatic body.
On the other hand, you couldn’t seem to take a hint! He tried all of his best moves: standing there silently next to you, offering you a single tangerine, playing the guitar when you walked in whilst offering absolutely no explanation or context, even wearing his most scandalous, whorish outfit: a white tshirt that showed his collarbones instead of his usual 37 layers of clothing.
He didn't know how to make it any more obvious! Should he just take you against the wall of his studio (he totally should!, his lower brain unhelpfully provided as you once again strutted past him leaving him sniffing after your perfume like the fucking dog he was)?
He even tried asking his friends for advice, the lowest form of humiliation possible: Jungkook offered only baby oil and told him to lose a couple buttons. Hoseok made him couple matching beaded bracelets. And Namjoon, scorpio venus horndog, told him to actually go through with the wall taking idea.
Funnily enough, Jin was the one with the most plausible idea: give her a gift, bake her something! Homemade goods would show her how much you care.
So there he was, at thirty years old, holding onto a plate of cookies like a lifeline, cold sweating in front of your office, ready to flee the building and suck up those cookies like a hungry Kirby and mop in his own lameness like the international grammy nominee celebrity he was.
And then you opened the door and his body just reacted on his own, thrusting the plate towards you silently as his eyes screamed pure panic.
"For me?" You asked and he just nodded "Thank you so much, you are so sweet!"
Yoongi felt his lips curving and even without a mirror he could tell he had a dumbstruck smile on his face.
"What's the occasion?"
Ask her out, he urged himself. Tell her how you feel, how you can't stop thinking about her face, how her smile fuled his daydreams and her perfume haunts his days, bleeding into his psyche and sinking its claws into his heart, turning every song he wrote into a proclamation of adoration and lust, tell her how...
"Hm, for all y-your hard wo-work" he sputtered, mentally face palming himself at his own words.
Bugger.
Bugger it all to hell.
(Part 2>>>)
#bts fanfic#bts x reader#bts scenarios#bts fluff#yoongi#yoongi fanfic#min yoongi x y/n#yoongi x reader
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Dating Simon 'Ghost' Riley
Civilian | Male | Gay
Content: Headcanons, Gay stuff, First dates, Budding relationship, Pre-relationship, Alcohol use, Mixed emotions, Military stuff, Guns, etc.
Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley | Male
!!!SFW!!!
Note: This is kind of an in between of short-story and bullet point dating headcanons. I've wanted to write this for a while, but lacked motivation to go full story mode... sorry! Also, I do not know UK Gun Laws or how Gun Ranges work there, so just... go with the flow, OK?
It happened weeks ago; Simon stared down at his phone with a sense of dread, though you'd never have known just looking at him. He didn't even know why he had agreed to download this fucking app to begin with, though as usual it was at Soap and Gaz's insistence... and pestering. All he had wanted was some quiet on his day off, not to be harassed by yet another chatty man looking to suck his dick in an alley.
Sighing, he scrolled to the message that had just come in – a handsome young lad with a wide smile and kind eyes. It had started innocently enough, the usual pleasantries first, briefs answers after, and the long wait to see how long it would take to either receive a dick-pic or have a request for one.
Neither happened. In fact, the lad had actually carried on a decent conversation over the course the last few weeks, inquiring about hobbies and interests, career and what he was looking for. But then the lad had asked that they meet up on the upcoming weekend.
It's ironic that Ghost decided to ghost the poor lad. He didn't block him – frankly, he didn't know how – he simply didn't respond and closed the app. It was for the best, at least that's what he told himself, though he had blatantly lied to Gaz and Soap when asked how it was going, claiming all he could find was horny men looking for a quick hookup. Not that Gaz or Soap understood why that was a problem; they assumed Ghost getting laid couldn't make him worse.
But then they found out he lied, a casual glance at his phone when a message came in, and then another, asking about the date and apologizing if he had offended Simon.
Its rare that anyone could corner Ghost, but that's just what Soap and Gaz did, hounding their commanding officer until he ran out of excuses.
“Ye owe the lad an explanation.” Soap chided him, a finger pointed in his face.
“Agreed, you can't leave the lad hanging!” Gaz chimed in with a disgruntled look on his face.
So Simon agreed to apologize and reply to the poor lad, and even agreed to a date. He was ready for this, he knew he was charming and could flirt with the best of em', he just had no need to before. He simply wasn't interesting in dating.
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Cuppa
Simon: He felt nervous for this date, in many ways it felt like a blind date since he had only ever seen your face in a few pictures. He dressed nicely (Button-down, fitted jeans, boots and some cologne was dabbed behind his ears where the mask hooked), He was confident, pleasant, charming and funny throughout the date. But he saw the way you looked at him with every passing question and answer and was beginning to think this was a mistake. You weren't compatible... but why did that bother him?
You: You arrived early and found a nice little table at the cafe to wait for Simon. To say you were surprised by the giant of a man who appeared would be an understatement. As you both settled in and ordered drinks, you attempted to dive right into it. Your talk walk halting and awkward as Simon dodged most questions about himself with grunts, shrugs or one-word answers. His insistence on using terrible puns and dad-jokes made it more difficult to get to know him. It was frustrating, to say the least, but you persisted. He did at least ask some questions about you, which eased things, but you knew that if this was all he was willing to give, it would be difficult to go on more dates, let alone start a relationship.
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Movie and Dinner
Simon: Of course Simon would agree to a movie date followed by dinner. It meant that he got to sit in silence and darkness for about two hours, and then could have a bite to eat after where you would likely do a majority of the talking. He had already tried his best on the first date, it was up to you to pick up the slack this time. The movie went fine for the most part, except when you grabbed his arm during a jump-scare that made him roll his eyes.
Over dinner, he picked away at the curry on his plate while you discussed the movie. He was surprised by your review of the movie and its themes and found himself agreeing with you on many points. Maybe you weren't such a terrible date after all. He decided to pay for dinner, despite your protests.
You: It was stupid of you to choose a thriller for a movie date, but you really wanted to see the movie and no one else would go with you. Since Simon agreed, you made it a date and added dinner after. Thank the good Lord it was dark in the theatre; you turned bright red at the jump scare and felt bad for grabbing Simon's arm. You felt the way he tensed, but were too embarrassed to apologize to him.
Dinner went much better and Simon actually became more engaging as you discussed the movie and its plot. He seemed to enjoy your nerding out and even cracked a small smile.
As dinner came to an end, you thanked him for the (genuinely) enjoyable night and get ready to pay, since the date was your suggestion. Simon wouldn't allow it and ended up paying regardless. Maybe this lumbering, awkward man wasn't so bad after all.
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Pub Trivia
Simon: Simon's intelligence isn't limited to Military knowledge, so he decided to take you to a pub trivia night, though he couldn't understand why he had this continued desire to impress you. You. Just some civilian who had taken an interest in him.
In between the rounds and pints, he started to talk to you about his mates Gaz and Soap who gave him the idea for this date. You'd like them, he was sure, but it was too early for you to be meeting his friends, he was sure to remind you.
You: You couldn't deny the Simon was an encyclopedia of general knowledge, his brain was like a sponge, it seemed. He had filled in the sheets of answers rather quickly each round, but you got the chance to flex your brain full of useless pop culture knowledge in the last few rounds.
What really entertained you though, was that the drunker this man got, the more he was willing to open up to you... you should have got him pissed sooner. You laughed when he reminded you it was too early to meet his friends, despite never asking to. This man was ridiculous and in its own way, it was endearing.
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Aquarium
Simon: He had agreed to a date with you a few weeks prior but had to cancel due to deployment. He promised he'd take you out when he got back, but by the time the mission was over and he returned to base he didn't want to do the obstacle course. You surprised him when you offered a less energy-intensive option, and here he was at the aquarium now.
As you two strolled leisurely through the dark hallways of glass staring at a multitude of sea creates, Simon found himself actually relaxing; something he was unaccustomed to after a long mission. You stood unreasonably close, but he allowed it, figuring you were uncomfortable with all the other people wandering close by.
A brief stop at the aquarium cafeteria (for an unimpressive meal that would have made the mess hall staff on base look like Michelin Star chefs), filled the both of you up enough to know you'd make it to dinner and something more satisfying.
You managed to convince Simon to take a walk through the gift shop, and ended up buying him a pack of face masks with a shark-teeth pattern on them. He was surprised and delighted, though he wouldn't admit that to you.
You: Your heart sank when Simon tried to cancel the date - but you also understood he just came back from deployment. Maybe you were getting to know him better between the dates and texting, but you could feel his exhaustion, so you offered an alternative; a stroll through the aquarium.
It was rather cold in the building and you found yourself drifting towards Simon... that's how it started anyway. He smelled good too, and you felt comfortable with him. You desperately wanted to hold his hand, but figured that was a boundary too far for right now.
You treated him to food in the cafeteria, swallowing it hard and trying to hide your dissatisfaction with the offerings while he ate everything on his plate with his usual impassive face.
There was no plan to buy anything from the gift shop, you just liked wandering them to see what was there... but the sight of the face masks was too good to pass up. Simon always showed up to a date in a mask, and only took it off when eating, drinking or for a quick smoke. So it seemed fitting and perfect get these shark-print ones for him. You thought you could see a smile under his current mask as you handed them to him.
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Shooting Range
Simon: Simon was absolutely intent on showing off his sharpshooting skills to you. It was the closest thing to 'giddy' that he allowed himself to feel as he drove you to the range. Simon is an expert in his field, matched only by sparingly few men - and several good women too.
But there was also a feeling of caution and anxiety as you both signed in and got your gear ready. Simon watched like a hawk as you eyed the guns over before making a few selections. A Glock 17, Mossberg 500 and M4 Carbine... Interesting selections.
This was as handsy as Simon had ever been with someone, ensuring that your safety gear was secure and that you followed instructions to the letter. He was already hesitant about this activity to begin with, but you seemed genuinely interested.
Simon ensured that you paid close attention, and that he assisted you with aiming as well as stood close by as you fired. What he wasn't expecting was your proficiency with the Mossberg. You each took turns firing at targets, and to no surprise to either of you, Simon was the winner... though there were no winners, it was all in good fun. But if there were, Simon would have won.
You: You chose the Glock because it had always fascinated you, the Mossberg because you grew up in the country and were familiar with similar shotguns and the Carbine because it seemed the most military of the selection.
You couldn't stop the thrill that ran through you as Simon checked all your gear and guns, ensuring everything was secure and safeties were on before going straight into his lecture about gun safety. You listened to him speak with confidence and authority, happy to see him in his element. You wanted to make sure you gave him and the guns the respect they deserved and did everything he said without question - or at least with very little question.
Your heart raced as Simon kept close. You knew very little about guns overall, but the way he pressed himself against you to help you aim, the calm voice he spoke in as he guided you, the feeling of his hand on your back as he stepped away to let you take the shot. You were melting with happiness.
The biggest thrill was when you fired the Mossberg several times. The look on Simon's face was priceless as you expertly handled the shotgun and even gave him a run for his money with your accuracy, but that was a secret to share another time.
You gracefully conceded your defeat to the expert in front of you, but couldn't help but notice what might have been pride in his look as he reviewed your targets one last time.
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Cooking Class(es)
Simon: It's not that Simon is bad at cooking - he's really not - but he didn't have the opportunity to flex his skill often, and he had a select few dishes that he excelled at. So when you suggested this date, he was a bit apprehensive.
But Simon was a man used to following orders - usually - and listened intently to everything that was explained to him, so he settled in at the table next to you and took charge.
He needed a bowl? You had it for him already. Needed something washed? It was already done and drying. Missing ingredient? Nope, on your left. Simon appreciated your own attentiveness to the task, and how you made it go so much more smoothly.
And then the dessert section came up, and Simon floundered. Hard. Main courses aren't a challenge for him, but Simon doesn't bake. Not for a lack of interest, but a lack of time usually.
You picked up the slack though, and he reluctantly ceded control to you, letting you guide him in making the Zeppole.
Simon's demeanour softened as the class came to an end and you both sat there sampling the homemade ravioli, a glass of wine and eventually the Zeppole.
Before you parted ways, you gave Simon a tight hug, demanding he return it otherwise you weren't letting go. Simon decided to simply return the hug instead of forcing you off him.... not because he actually liked the hug from you.
You: Simon seemed to be taking this class very seriously from the moment he arrived. He stood in a typical rigid manner while listening and nodding along as instructions were given. The only thing missing was a few 'Yes sir!' replies.
The man made a complete mess though, and you found yourself quickly cleaning up after him in an attempt to keep up with his pace. But even still, you had fun. You got him the things you both needed for the meal, made sure the table was tidy and even engaged in some small talk.
It took everything in you to not laugh out loud as you say the panic in Simon's eyes as he read the instructions for the dessert. It was like he was reading a completely different language and, after a few failed starts, you took over and guided him.
As the class came to an end, and you could both indulge in the meal you created together. You clinked your wine glass against his and took a bite of the ravioli that was mostly his handiwork. It was good! Dessert wasn't too bad either and Simon gave a contented smile as he ate the last of the Zeppole.
You both relaxed on a nearby bench after the class for a few minutes, letting the meal settle in your stomachs before Simon explained he needed to get back to base. You stood up to say your goodbyes, but noticed how he lingered. How he hovered over you; closer than you were accustomed to from him. Taking the chance, you stepped closer and wrapped your arms around his waist and lowered your head into the crook of his neck. He stood there awkwardly for a moment, and you begin to worry you misread the situation; joking that you weren't going to let go until he reciprocated, and gently his hands found their way to your backside and pulled you into the best hug you've ever had. Simon held on longer than you did, though you never truly let go until his hands fell to his sides.
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#gay#gay men#lgbtq#cod#cod mw2#cod mwf2#cod mwii#cod mw 2#call of duty#simon riley#simon ghost riley#ghost#ghost cod#cod ghost#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon riley x male#ghost x reader#ghost x male reader#ghost x male#headcanon#headcannons#sfw
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It's actually fascinating to me that dating apps have essentially pulled the same bullshit that streaming services (and the video game industry, now that i think about it) have pulled.
Essentially:
- the market is over-saturated
- "content" is spread thin
- constant downgrades and removal of free features to paid tiers
I can think of quite a few dating apps off the top of my head. Hinge, Tinder, Bumble, OkCupid. (Most of which have enjoyed a brief five minutes on my phone before I realized ahh scary, but hear me out.) Userbases are actually spread pretty thin. Tinder has the most people on it, being the only usable app in many small town and rural areas. It has very effectively marketed itself as a hookup app, not a relationship app*--hence, people stay on the app longer and are more likely to get frustrated and pay for the premium tiers (after all, those 86 likes are so tantalizing! I want to know who they are! Ah...now that I've paid, where did they all go?) Technically all of these platforms will advertise your profile globally, far outside your location to drum up likes and trick you into paying for premium, but Tinder is a pretty hefty offender because of its near-ubiquity and explicit de-emphasis on long term relationships.
Other apps lack the userbase that Tinder has. They might be okay in the city, but the effect is very similar to content being divided among the many streaming platforms that have sprung forth since the advent of Netflix. Sure, it's easy enough to download every dating app available on the app store, but you have to a) dedicate time to curating your preferences on each of these apps and b) the free versions suck ass. Depending on what subscription model you get, these things can run you up as much as 40 bucks a month per subscription. That racks up fast. And people are desperate for companionship.
Here's the other comparison. Remember the paid streaming tier of Netflix with ads, when in the past decade its explicit appeal was having all the content with no ads?
I did a little snooping on the OkCupid subreddit, because I was curious. Most of the most popular posts and success stories were from... 2014. Nearing a decade ago, at this point. Many, many of the features that made (free!) OkCupid not only usable, but a genuinely accessible and efficient online dating experience have been slowly chipped away. Looking at the google reviews, and the subreddit, you can see how disappointed people were to watch this app's downfall. Prior to my own forays into online dating, when I was first doing research about free dating apps (because I'm a dirty cheapskate) I noticed that naturally, the older the articles were, the more highly these apps were spoken of. Despite this being the supposed heyday of online dating, the apps are at the worst they've ever been.
The parallels to the downgrades of streaming services are fairly clear, but I think it's even more obvious and insidious when you compare it to the state of microtransactions in the gaming industry.
See, many of these apps have "boost" mechanics that advertises your profile to more people (because everything these days is so swipe-heavy) or they have "super likes" that are limited and can be bought and let your potential match know you're interested--god, even the all important, basic dating mechanic of "letting people know you're interested in them" is made into a paid feature! Admittedly, most of my examples here pertain to OkCupid (because it's the only app I can bring myself to spend more than 48 hours on), but that one makes you pay fucking $1.99 for read receipts**. This is very similar to the pay structure of the mobile games industry, as well as the free-to play model of many modern console and PC games.
The gaming industry, being something of a new medium of expression and working as its own "virtual reality" of sorts, is usually a harbinger of new "innovations" in the ways we are sold commodities--lootboxes, for example.
And here we are. The invasion of microtransactions, season passes, and paid DLC that gut the base game of the most personal aspect of our lives.
In the case of streaming services and certain games, the solution has been piracy, or not to play. But for many of us, romantic loneliness is a major barrier to happiness in our lives, and the results these subscription services net us are...minimal. For those of us who are less than conventionally attractive or socially awkward, I mean, there's a reason we're trying to utilize these apps in the first place.
The equivalent to piracy is risking rejection and asking people out face to face. Otherwise... you can't exactly download a relationship. Or not one with a real person, at least. Our loneliness is already being capitalized on via AI romantic companions, as we've seen with Replika.
I've seen a fair few people (in my circle of edgy lefty tumblr, anyways) express frustration over the odd little cognitive dissonance that it's no longer as comfortable or commonplace to express romantic interests in strangers, though it may be in a normal, respectful way. Can't help but feel like that's related.
*I want to clarify that people who do hookups are cool and can do whatever they want. It's just that the state of the dating app industry has left those of us more interested in long term relationships in the dust.
**These are generally bad in normal day to day life, but I would argue in the context of a dating app that these can be pretty crucial in determining another person's interest.
#online dating#capitalism#tinder#hinge#dating#Unfortunately I was born about eight years too late to enjoy the good parts of online dating#alas#if i were not twelve years old i might have jumped on it sooner#i'm definitely not the first person to have made this connection#i've just had a couple realizations that i very much should have asked the cute boy at sophie's party if he was single#i'm even a girl! i'm supposed to have it easy! You could even call me cute if you were so inclined!#can't help but wonder if the ease of accessiblity to online dating is correlated with gender animosity#at least among straight men and women#incels being an obvious example but i've seen plenty of animosity from women towards men about this subject#long post#Anyway sorry if this is saying something everybody already knows i just hate capitalism#i hate being alienated#i hate being mediated by outside forces
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Ugh I just matched with a guy who was 25 and he was telling me not to swipe on guys that much older than me like sir 🧐🧐 if you're not interested why swipe. On the one hand I get he was probably uncomfortable but on the other hand dating guys my age is a literal fucking hellscape I hate to be all "iM MaTurE FoR mY AgE." But the Trauma has aged me I can't stand to be with guys especially my age who can't even wipe their own ass. Girls are different since society forces up to grow up at like 11. Frustrating dating app moments that should be a series.
-meatstick
I HAD A COUPLE OF THOSE BUT IRL AND IT WASN’T JUST DUDES LIKE
THIS LADY WAS LITERALLY FOLLOWING ME, MY DAD, AND MY SISTER AROUND KROGER AND WHEN I WAS LEFT ALONE AND LOOKING AT THE PRESERVES SHELF FROM LOCALLY OWNED BUSINESSES SHE WAS LIKE ‘you ought to be ashamed for marrying someone so old and having a child so young!’ AND I WAS JUST LIKE ‘?!?!? that’s my fucking dad amd sister, mind your own damn business and you wouldn’t get so worked up over strangers’ lives’ AND SHE JUST DID THE ‘wELL I DECLARE!’ and i said ‘declare yourself OUT of my personal space, we are in a pandemic and you are not wearing a mask’ and she stormed off and glared at me whenever we crossed paths
and this has happened a bunch to me, like random people seem to think my existence is their business because we’re in the same aisle of a grocery store
as for dating app stuff, i haven’t gotten it there yet but i DID get a guy trying to convince me to drive down to his place to fuck and i was like ‘?? no its 8pm go away’ and his response was like ‘bye then whatever’ as if that was gonna make me beg for him to stay — AND WHEN I TELL YOU LIKE TWO DAYS LATER HE DMED ME AGAIN WANTING TO TALK I
and yeah the majority of guys our age completely suck ass and i dont think i even need to expand on that bc its so obvious
#man i wonder if i still have the screenshots lmfao#boy was after the gorilla grip#even offered to pay for gas HSDHHSHD#meatstick anon#neptune.anon#neppy has mail !!
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HQ Boys Thinking Their S/O Left Them Pt. 4
Character(s) included: Kenma & Suna
Requested by: My sibling who doesn't read my work lmao.
Warning(s): Cursing, Mention of alcohol [Kenma]
Song of the day: Tired by Beabadoobee
A/N: First off please check out my announcements post. It has a lot of important Information in it and I would really enjoy it if you checked it out! Next this is requested by my wonderful sibling. Hopefully you all enjoy- also how's my new stuff..? Tell me if its ugly lmao.. I recommend having the palette/theme set to Goth Rave for the best look- I might make a few things a darker purple though! This might be the last part to this series unless anyone wants a few more!
Where to find all the parts!
Where to find all my content!
Tag(s): @chibiiichann & @corporeal-terrestrial
Kenma
Things were rough after Kenma landed his dream gig. Being a full time gamer had always been and always would be his dream. But now it was reality. He finally made it in the big league. He was finally there. It was perfect.. but soon enough flaws started to appear outside of his career. Which soon turned into flaws in the relationship. Kenma was known to be smart, calculated, and quiet. Even though all those seemed nice at times it was hard. Like any relationship things didn’t always work out. One of those being the communication. To be frank, there was no communication. At all.
You liked to drink and party. Hang out with friends and just live life to the fullest.. but even if you did like that, you loved just to cuddle. Which luckily you and Kenma shared. As time grew and his career finally branched into what he hoped it would, your time of physical affection shortened. Which sucked.. you loved physical affection. It was your love language. You couldn’t help it, whenever you saw him you just wanted to lay and be with him. But now that you couldn’t, you slowly branched out to others for what you couldn’t have. When that worked.. you just stuck with it. Getting drunk with friends and cuddling until one of your more sober friends called up Kenma and told him to pick you up. Kenma hated it. He really hated it. He hated to see you holding on to someone else, it didn’t matter what they looked like, what they identified as, or who they were. All that mattered was they weren’t him so they had no right to be that close.
Kenma likes to play games and stay home. He liked to be somewhere quiet and such. So every week when he had to go to pick you up, he sorta wondered if he didn’t pick you up what would happen..? Of course he wouldn’t do so though.. you had so many people eyeing you.. you were popular with everyone and extremely kind. So if he did leave you.. it would be as easy as it was for you to get a new cuddle partner as to get a new place to sleep. He trusted you.. well he kind of did. He wasn't good at expressing how he felt especially when it came to you or something you liked.
You got black out drunk the night before and when you walked into the kitchen you felt the heavy atmosphere. “Good morning baby..” you muttered rubbing your eyes. Your lips felt dry and your throat was raspy. Maybe you were screaming or something.. whatever it was fun.
“I don’t want you calling me that at the moment.” He stated. Which caught you off guard. Looking up your eyes were met with his. Clear confusion all over your face. “What? Did you really get that drunk to not remember being all over your friend last night..? Calling them baby and shit. If that’s a name you just throw around please just refer to me as my name..” He muttered.
“Oh you know I didn’t mean too baby.. I love you and you know that.. you're the only one who makes me happy… but right now I'm having a headache so do you mind passing me the coffee..?” you muttered brushing everything to the side which only made him more frustrated with you. you did this every time. You pushed everything that wasn’t in your interest to the side.
“Look at you doing it again. You always do this,” he looked at you annoyed and frustrated. “Pushing everything to the side. Do you not understand how annoying it is to get a call at three in the morning that you're drunk. Not only that but that you're all over someone else. Do you not understand or do you just not care because seriously it's getting hard to think that you are just that, your heads just that blank.”
You were caught off guard. Of course you were, he never responded roughly like that. He never acted so upset with you. To be honest you never really thought about how he had to pick you up and stuff. You never thought about what happened the night before to be frank. You were a party drunk. You liked to sing and dance and cuddle and such. All the things Kenma couldn’t or wouldn’t do with you, you did with anyone else when you were drunk. It wasn’t that you wanted to blame being drunk on acting that way, so you just waited till you did get drunk. It was more, when you were sober you tried to get Kenma to do those things with you. Which most of the time ended badly because you would just be shut down again. “You know I don’t mean to do those things.”
“You don’t mean too?” He looked upset, really upset. You saw him upset often, frustrated with how the game was turning out and such, but this was different. He looked more hurt than anything. “You do it every week. Every single week you go out and drink you go out and party and sing and dance and have the fucking time of your life okay? Then when your all tired and cuddled up with a friend. I get a call to pick you up. When I get there you're either on their lap with your arms around them, on their side and holding them tight, or in between their legs as they cuddle you from the back. Not only that but when I try and help you up you more then half the time push me away, and then say you wanna go home with your ‘baby’! I’m getting sick and tired of it. You wake up the next morning and act as if the whole night you were just thinking of me and how you just wanna cuddle and all this shit. I am so fucking sick of you this. I’m so sick of you drinking. I am so fucking sick of you.” He was shouting. He was pissed and of course he was. But this time he just blew up. He didn’t even wait for a response to anything. “I’m going to go stream don’t fucking bug me.” He walked away walking into his streaming room. Once they slam the door leaving you in utter shock.
It took you a moment to take in everything. You messed up. It was your fault. He was hurt. Your lover was in pain because of your stupid actions. You grabbed your stuff, shoving it into your pocket and walked out. It was hard to think of anything but Kenma right now. Slowly you walked to the park. The leaves fell from the trees, when you looked around you saw couples wearing matching scarves and such. The smell of chai and pumpkin in every corner. Meeting your gaze you saw Kenma’s favorite bakery. Slowly you walked over opening the door and you immediately noticed this pie section. You made your way over biting your lip and you looked up at the sudden voice.
“Y/n.. is that you?” As you eye’s met the other you immediately recognized Bokuto.
“Oh hey.. nice to see you again.” You smiled weakly. Unfortunately your eyes were wet and glossy as soon as you walked into the bakery, and you didn’t know if you could handle pushing down the tears anymore.
“Where’s Kenma..? Are you okay..?” He asked softly, gently rubbing your back as he seemed to be alone at the moment. You didn’t wanna cause any more issues but you couldn’t help it, immediately you started to cry.
“I messed up, I really messed up..” you mutter as he gently leads you to a seat.
“Hey everything will be okay.. just tell me what’s wrong. I know you can work through it okay..? We can do it!” he smiled. He had always been a big brother to you. He knew just what to say to calm you down.
“I got drunk again and this time I just was a mess I guess.. and Kenma seems to be getting tired of me and me doing this. Doing all this dumb shit and messing around. But I just.. I don’t know. I wanna cuddle and hug and go on dates. But Kenma just got his dream job and I don’t wanna fuck it up. I know its so fucking selfish. I shouldn’t do this to him. I know I shouldn’t. I deserve to get yelled at and stuff I mean seriously.. he has to pick me up at three every fucking week because I’m to stupid to tell him how I feel and how I just want to be held and stuff. I just wonder sometimes.. Maybe I am not as perfect as I thought I was for Kenma. He needs someone who can be there for him all the time and I know I just know that I will keep fucking up..” You were shaking. “I mean seriously.. I am not even able to tell him I love him much less tell him about how his job is bugging me. It’s the one thing he wanted to do. The one fucking thing he really wanted to do. I just wasn’t able to support him.. I couldn’t.. I just keep hurting him..” tears were rolling down your face.
“Y/n.. hey it's okay, but he will never know anything if you keep holding it to yourself. Kenma has always been like that. He gets bugged by things but won’t say anything until he is at his limit. He never understood the importance of communication.. and he never ever takes the first steps okay? I understand that you're frustrated but you knew when you got into a relationship with him what type of person he is. You knew he was hard to understand. You told me you did. But I don’t think that you would give up this easily. You and him are the same, there will never be an understanding between you too if you guys don’t talk it out. Okay..? I suggest you get some pie and walk back to talk it out with him. I mean to be honest his stream today seems to be a mess. So it must really be bugging him and it would be better to figure it out sooner don’t you think..?” He smiled softly as you nodded. “Good. I have to go but look if you ever need to talk just message me okay? I’ve got your back!” He smiled, getting up and walking out.
You got up and bought two slices of apple pie and started to walk back. It was going to be tough to do this but you needed to. You knew you needed too.
Kenma couldn’t stay concentrated so the stream only lasted ten minutes before he turned it off and went back out to the living room. Which is when he found out you had left. Sadly his first thought was that you had gone drinking so he called up one of your friends to ask. When he found out you hadn’t he was even more worried. He looked around for a moment before he sat on the couch and held a pillow waiting. Hoping you would come back home. He wanted to fix this. He went too far. He knew he did. He knew he did of course he did. He knew he blew up, he always did and he tried not to but it was so fucking hard.
When you came into the room you immediately saw him lying on the couch cuddled up and crying. “What have I done..” You whispered softly as you made it next to you gently placed the pie down and looked at him. “I am sorry..” he looked up to you a bit and immediately his face changed.
“Oh thank god you're okay..” he whispered softly, “I didn’t me-”
You cut him off, “I messed up. I knew I did and I just want you to listen okay? I love you and I know I rarely say it. For a matter of a fact I can count the amount of times I’ve said it with one hand. I know I need to say it more okay? I know I shouldn’t drink but it is just really hard sometimes.. I just wanna go on dates and hold you and shit and I know it sounds so fucking stupid but sometimes I just get worried that if I do you will get sick of me faster okay..? So I just thought it would be easier to do it with my friends and stuff and get drunk and try to not bug you. You just got your dream job and I just don’t wanna fuck anything up more but I clearly have. I know I’m stupid and inconsiderate and I will think about it more.. just please don’t leave. Please. I will be better I swear.” You tried not to cry but you couldn’t help yourself.
Slowly he pulled you to him and held you tight. “I wasn’t planning to leave you anytime soon.. It is my fault I always don’t pay attention and It ends up hurting you and I know I should try and think about your feelings more. But I get scared to ask about it because I think if I do then you will think something is wrong but clearly that doesn’t work. So I will try to open up more okay.. I love you so much babe.. I love you.” He whispered softly, kissing your forehead.
“I love so so much too.. I love you..” You whispered. It would take time but soon everything would be perfect.. everything would be okay again.
Suna
It was hard to believe that Suna was still playing volleyball. It wasn’t a problem to you at all, to be frank you were glad that he decided to do something he loved. You were glad he wasn’t stuck at a desk all day. It just sucked when he came home all tired and unable to hang out. But maybe it would be the same either way. It just bugged you when he didn’t come home till like twelve and blamed it on practice. You didn’t wanna think that he was lying to you but you never really knew much about volleyball. It could be easily right but it just ticked you off that he came home so late. Claiming that he already had dinner and stuff. But there wasn’t anything you could really do about it. This was his passion. He loved to play volleyball and all you could do was give him your undying love and support.You worked hard, enjoying your job. Though it also got frustrating when your schedules conflicted so you couldn’t hang out but that was just life. There wasn’t anything you could do about it, and that was okay.
Suna got home late again. It was the middle of the night when you heard the shower start. He didn’t even say hello. He knew you were up. He had to know. You always were up when he came in. Mainly because you wanted to make sure he was okay when he got back. You wanted to make sure he got back. You were worried easily but it was going to be okay. Of course it was. You just had to tell yourself everyday and it would be true.. right?
When Suna walked into the room he slowly slipped next to you. “Sorry about the wait angel.. I promise soon I will have time off okay and we can hang out.” He muttered softly as his warm, soft arms wrapped around you. The smell of cherry blossoms radiated off of him. He used your hair wash sometimes, he claimed it made him feel like you were with him all the time and that made him happy. His wet hair touched your back as he held you close.
It was hard to be mad at him when he got like this. He was so soft when he was tired. He always made the same promise. At the beginning you believed him, you waited for it to happen but at this point you just tried to forget that he even said it because it just hurt you more. Of course it did. You were holding on to this stupid hope that he will get more time to hang out. That hope that soon everything would be okay. “It’s okay baby.. get some rest okay..?” You muttered softly. You turned your head slightly, kissing his head as you faced the front again. Closing your eyes you hoped everything would be okay once more.
The morning came quickly. The sun shone through the blinds, then the feeling of coldness hit as you turned over to the empty bed. Heh. What were you thinking? Did you really think that he was going to wait for you..? God sooner or later you really had to realize this relationship was more one sided then anything. That this thing was going to be a forever relationship. But god fuck, this was just as real as a fake relationship. It was only one when it was a relationship when it was convenient. It sucked but none of his teammates even knew about you and him being in a relationship. It sucked to feel like you were being forced to be hidden. It almost felt like he was embarrassed of you. It had gone on long enough. You were so fucking done. This was too hard to hold on.
After packing a bit you got up and grabbed your stuff. Getting up you headed out taking your car to one of your only friend’s houses. It was hard to have a conversation with him let alone try and explain how you felt. So you decided to take a night off from seeing him, and try and clear your head. You didn’t wanna break up, fuck that was the last thing you wanted to do. You decided not to leave a note.. secretly kind of hoping it would make him a bit worried or something. So you knew he actually noticed.. or actually liked you. Suna always had a ‘I don’t give a fuck’ additude and that was one of the big reasons you were drawn to him. He was always so free, he didn’t care what people had to say about him.. Something you wished you could have but it really didn’t matter because he had you back, back then.
After a few hours of hanging out your friend took your phone away from you, being that you had been waiting for a call from Suna. They powered it off and placed it on a shelf gently slipping next to you. They smiled. You and them were alway close. They had been with you for every break up and to be honest you even tried dating, though it didn’t work out it was a great experience and you would still have done it to this day. When night struck instead of waiting for Suna you actually were kind of relieved the fear of him not coming home kind of slipped off your shoulders as you laid down next to your friend. Closing your eyes you hoped for everything to get better. You wished that he would be able to get some free time and such.
On the other hand when Suna came home he did what he always did, take a shower and head to bed. But this time you weren’t there, you weren't waiting for him. He looked around almost instantly running to check if your shoes were there, which they weren’t. Now a bit shaken up he took a deep breath and walked over to check if anything else was missing. Once he did it kind of hit him harder than expected. Running to grab his phone he began to call you. It was too late out and it was pitch black, fear had settled in as he realized what could have happened. All the things that could have happened, might have happened. He immediately put on his shoes, his hair still wet. God even knows he can hear you to dry his hair before he leaves, in hope he won't get sick. He unlocked his car calling you for the third time, unsurprisingly he heard the same voice mail.
“Hey this is y/n! It seems you are trying to reach me. At the moment I might be busy or have missed your call! Please try and call again or leave a message. I promise to get back to you as soon as I can!”
It had been a wet month as the rain hit the floor but Suna didn’t seem to mind. So maybe he was being over dramatic but you never have been away from him during the night from the day you guys started dating. So for you not even to mention that you weren’t going to be home was fucking with him. He did the next best thing, calling your best friend. Lucky for him they picked up. “Hey is y/n there.. they're not picking up and I really wanna make sure they're okay..” he muttered his breath was loud. Almost as if he was having trouble breathing and such.
“Ya, do you wanna pick them up they seem to be having trouble sleeping.. and it seems like you guys need to work through a few things so maybe it would be best if you did..'' They were surprised that he called. It wasn’t that he didn’t love you or anything, it was just that it didn’t always seem like he was that interested in you, as if being convenient to them and such. So for him to call up your friend was quite unexpected.
When Suna arrived he got out and knocked on the door after being met with your friend, “I’m only telling you this once so listen to me. Y/n loves you okay? If you're not interested just let them be okay? There are a bunch of people who would kill to be with them. If you do not have the time for them please just let them be, so they can find someone who can take care of them when they need someone too. Y/n is quiet about their feelings but that doesn’t mean you can only be with them when it is convenient to you, let alone only at night. If you don’t want to step up please just step down and let someone else fill your role for you. They are hurting to much because of your actions and you don’t seem to ever fucking care. Please just let them go if you're done.. This game has been over a long time ago. You won okay. You always will be against y/n..” they moved to the side letting the startled Suna in. “They're over there, if you don’t wanna carry them it is okay just call me over because I don’t want them to be woken up.” Suna shook his head gently. How fucking dare they assume that this was all a game to him. How dare they assume that he didn’t actually love you..? Why did they assume those things..?
Suna picked you up gently, gently you clung to him and his warmth. It was cold in the room and Suna seemed to be the only solution to it. It surprised Suna quite a lot, finding out that you were clinging to him. Being that at night he always hugged you, but you just wanted to give him space so he wouldn’t be bored of you. “Hey angel sorry for making you wait all these nights.. I promise I will be there okay.. please don’t move on I really do love you.. your my everything and I know it is stupid of me to talk to you while your asleep but sometimes I get to nervous to talk to you and I just want everything to be okay with you. Your friend is right though.. There is no excuse for what I am doing to you. I am so sorry.. angel trust me I really love you. I would be so fucking lost without you.” he muttered holding on to you tightly as he grabbed your stuff and carried you out. It was still raining as he tried his best to shelter you from the rain running to the car as he placed you in the front. It took him a moment to get you comfortable or at least that what he hoped was comfortable. He had placed a blanket on you and buckled you up as he moved to the front and started driving. It was a good thirty minute drive, and he knew soon you guys had to go back to go get your car but at this moment all he was worried about was you. “God angel.. I can’t compete with everyone else after you.. why did you choose me.. why are you still with me..?” he muttered. He gently held your hand as he looked out. You were always so cold. Suna on the other hand was like a walking heat source. Maybe because he was so big that he could hold you tight and stuff and it just made it feel warmer or something but it worked better than you could imagine.
It took a bit of time but soon you had arrived, sadly the rain hadn’t eased up. Suna got out first picking you up as he wrapped the blanket around you so you wouldn’t get cold or wet. You shifted around in his arms. “mm..” you muttered your eyes fluttering open with the feeling of his arms again and the feeling of movement. You held on tightly to Suna, “Baby..?” you grumbled softly confused where you were and what you were doing. Why was he here? More importantly, how did he find you.. did he really care? God it felt great to think that he did.
“Ah I’m sorry for waking you angel.. close your eyes I’ve got you now.. that house was too cold. I’ve got you now. We are home so you can be nice and warm again okay..? Don’t worry I’ve got you now so everything will be okay. I am going to take a break from practice for the week okay..? I am going to ease up on the practice so you won’t have to worry. I love you so much. I know I haven’t been a good boyfriend and I know I need to step it up. Will I be okay? Don’t worry I am going to be better for you okay. I am sorry about everything I’ve done to hurt you and I am going to do my best to make you feel better.. and if it doesn’t help I will let go okay. I’m going to finally let you breathe but please just give me just one more chance. I know I love you, and I know I don’t show it but I promise I do. If I didn’t please tell me what was that pain in my chest when I didn’t see you, I know I sound stupid I know I do but I know I really do love you. Hearing what your friend said and I know they're right but it just hit me. I am not ashamed of you.. you know that right..? I just don't want my team to know because last time when word got out I was dating someone the pressure was to muc. on them and the new articles and stuff and I just don’t wanna pressure you. I don’t want us to end because of that. I want everything to be perfect. I know I come home late, I just.. I don’t know. I know it is too much on you and I don't want that I just don’t everything to be over because of an argument that could have been avoided if I just you know.. not came home or something. I know it is no excuse but I am telling the truth please believe me. I can’t live without you.. I love you so much please baby.. fuck. I keep rambling. I am sorry angel. get some rest we will talk about this in the morning..” he muttered softly walking inside and gently placing you in bed as he walked and changed coming back as soon as he could.
You were wide awake.. but you just wanted to wait so you knew he would still be there when you woke up. So you knew he wouldn’t be gone before anything. So you knew he wasn’t lying anymore. “Night baby..” you muttered as his arms wrapped around you.
“Good night angel.. I love you so much..” He muttered, closing his eyes.
When the morning came you were surprised when you felt his body tight around you. “Morning my angel..” he muttered. “Did you get some good rest..?”
“Good morning.. mhm.. thank you for staying.. you don’t understand how worried I was that you were going to leave before I could say anything.. But thank you. I love you so much okay.. and I don’t what my friend said but please ignore him.. I only love you.. I will only ever love you. Please try and stay home more. It is getting hard to handle and I know it is selfish but I just want you to stay longer sometimes. I know you want the best for me but please.. it makes me feel like you actually don’t love me and I know it is wrong but I get scared and I don’t want to be.. please believe me when I say that I can handle it.. I just wanna be with you more. I just want to be what you want. I love you so much..” You were trying not to cry but you were.
“Angel… I love you so much. I will tell the whole world.. I want to. Will I be okay? I will stay with you till you wake up and eat Breakfast with you. I will come home sooner so you're not scared anymore.. I’ve got you and everything I’ve ever wanted so please don’t cry.. I love you so fucking much angel..” he whispered kissing you. This felt good.. refreshing, you felt okay for the first time in a while. You felt happy. You were going to be alright now, he was going to keep you safe and you would do the same thing. You loved each other and that's all that would ever matter because you two were made for each other.
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you’re someone i just want around: X
I will not ask you where you came from,
I will not ask and neither should you.
Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips,
We should just kiss like real people do.
Like Real People Do, Hozier
A/N: okay i know i say this every time but genuinely THIS IS MY FAVOURITE PART SO FAR!!!!! and my lil section of this story has come to an end!!! act one is done!!! and the beginning of act two aka part 11 will be coming on andrea’s blog!!!!! thank u guys so so much for all the love and support you’ve given us!!!! we truly cannot believe you guys have been so receptive and we love you all so so much 🦋 as always any and all feedback is deeply appreciated not just by andrea and I but by all content creators!!! seriously we do all of this for free while going to school and working full time and those little messages make our days so much better!!! so do reblogs!!! you should reblog the content you like!!!! leave a lil message in the tags!!! shoot us a message!! anything is truly madly deeply™️ appreciated 💌 thank you all once again for your support!!!! pls enjoy 🦋
ysijwa masterlist : andrea’s masterlist : leyla’s masterlist : ysijwa playlist : ysijwa playlist II
word count: 37.9k
content/warnings: harry ignoring “bros before hoes” part 45684957, “FUCK FLORIDA!!! ALL MY HOMIES HATE FLORIDA!!!” - xander, fight scene (rap), jefferson x hamilton (friends to lovers), road head ahead?? uhhh yeah, i sure hope so!!!, MUSI 1113: history of classical music, prof. harry styles, sherlock and watson solve the biggest mystery yet, *edward cullen voice* and so the mosquito fell in love with the butterfly
“Are you going to stare at your phone all day, like a bloody tool, or are you actually going to join the conversation?”
Despite the baited question, Harry keeps his gaze on his device as he flicks through his notifications, opening one app after the other in quick repetition before closing the screen. “That depends. Are you actually going to say something interesting?”
From the other side of his couch, Niall flicks up his middle finger with ease, his expression sour and unimpressed. “We are saying something interesting, you prick. I want to get out of town next weekend, but no one—” The Irishman shoots a pointed look to Xander, who’s leaning across the kitchen island with an unbothered expression. “—can agree on where to go.”
“It’s not that I can’t agree, Niall. It’s that your ideas are stupid.” Xander shoots back in an exasperated tone, raising his Bloody Mary (with extra blood, hardly any Mary) to his scowling lips. “No one wants to go to fucking Florida. It’s Florida. Why the fuck would we go to Florida?”
“Because I’ve been alive for two hundred years—”
Adam clicks his tongue from the lounge seat by the window. “I’m not sure if ‘alive’ is the best description.”
“—and I’ve never been to Disney World! I died from a fucking famine. Am I not entitled— nay, am I not owed—” Niall straightens his posture on the couch as he addresses the whole of the room, a determined look set in his icy blue eyes that contrasts the dulled gaze of those watching him. “A warm churro, cold Dole Whip, and a set of over-priced Mickey ears? Huh?”
“That still doesn’t answer the question of why we’d have to go to Florida to get that!” Xander exclaims, rounding the corner of the kitchen counter with his drink in hand. He raises the glass to his lips, pausing halfway to point towards the wall of windows that’s currently letting in the midday Sunday sun. “We could drive a half hour to Disneyland, and get you the exact same thing!”
Pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, Niall sucks in a deep breath through clenched teeth, as if he needs to calm himself down before doing something he regrets. “Xander,” He begins in a controlled voice, tight and tense and on the verge of snapping. “I suffered through starvation, fought in a world war, went through the Great Depression, and then fought in another fucking world war! After all that, why would I settle for Disneyland, when we could easily make it to Disney World and back in three days?”
“You know…” Mitch says slowly, flopping down on the sofa between Niall and Harry, who’s already turned his attention back to his obsessive ritual of checking his notifications. “You can’t keep playing the ‘fought in a war’ card. Harry fought in World War One, too, and I fought in the Revolutionary War. And died in the Revolutionary War. You do realize the majority of our group are veterans, right?”
Niall sighs in exasperation, clutching his beer in his fist to keep it from spilling as the older vampire beside him shifts on the couch. “I don’t play the ‘fought in a war’ card, Mitchell, I play the ‘fought in two wars’ card. And I think that card earns me the right to choose what we do next weekend.”
“And I think you folded those cards the moment you suggested Florida.” Wrinkling his nose, Xander finally enters the living room, and Harry risks a glance up from his phone to eye the dark-tinted liquid that laps at the edge of Xander’s glass with every step. “Why don’t we just go to Disneyland? Or, better yet, why don’t we take a few extra days and go somewhere exciting? I hear Greece is lovely this time of year; I wouldn’t mind trying some Mediterrean food for a week.”
“Florida is just as lovely—”
“That’s a lie, Florida is never lovely.”
“And Adam wants to go to Disney World, too!” Niall finishes triumphantly, taking a large swig of his half-empty beer before wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “So it’s two-to-one!”
“Two-to-two, actually.” Mitch interjects, pursing his lips at the childish grimace that overtakes Niall’s previously cheery expression. “I’m not too fond of alligators, and last time I heard from Sarah, she was in Italy. It’d be nice to have a week with her in Greece.”
Niall rolls his eyes at the sudden tie, turning his gaze past his disappointing friend to his other almost-as-disappointing friend, tone growing firmer. “Alright, then, Harry, it’s up to you. You’re our tie-breaking vote.”
Harry, however, had spent the better part of the last two minutes scrolling through the photos he and Y/N had taken on their date the day before, and doesn’t even glance up from his screen upon registering the utterance of his name. “Hm? The vote on what?”
The frustrated Irishman lobs his bottle of beer at Harry’s head, his pitch powerful enough that it nearly collides with its target a millisecond later. And would have collided, if Harry’s hand hadn’t shot up on a supernatural reflex to capture it perfectly within his grasp.
Keeping his eyes locked on his phone, Harry sighs at his friend’s antics. “Watch it, Ni, I don’t want to scrub beer stains out of my couch—”
“I wouldn’t have to resort to throwing bottles at your thick head if you could get it out of your girlfriend’s arse long enough to participate in our discussion!” The blue-eyed vampire shoots daggers at him, and the lightness of his irises shifts to a dark crimson as Harry’s gaze barely flickers to him. “Oh for fuck’s sake—” Bracing himself against Mitch’s lap, Niall launches over the couch and snatches Harry’s phone from his hands, scrambling back to his seat and stuffing it down his jeans pocket before Harry can react. “You’ll get this back after we finish talking, alright? Now, where do you want to go next weekend? Disney World or Greece?”
Although the urge to tackle Niall and fight for his phone twinges in Harry’s mind, he forces himself to stay seated, settling for just shooting a glare across the couch. He’s certain that Mitch wouldn’t be appreciative of him and Niall biting at each other on top of him, just as certain he is of the fact that attacking Niall won’t exactly make him look mentally stable.
Instead, Harry merely sucks in a deep breath, setting the beer bottle on the coffee table and dragging his jeweled hand through his hair before answering evenly. “First of all, she’s not my girlfriend. And second of all… neither. Y/N and I have plans next weekend.”
A collective groan runs through the room the moment the phrase falls from his lips, and Harry swallows down a smirk at the reaction he receives from his friends. Only Mitch’s face remains free of irritation, and instead sits in a neutral expression that, from his years of friendship, Harry can tell is tinged with concern.
“You have plans with her every weekend.” Xander complains, taking a sip of his Bloody Mary as he sits down next to Adam on the lounge seat, pulling Harry’s attention from the eldest immortal. “How can you sit there and say she’s not your girlfriend when you’ve been ditching us for the last, like, three and a half months to spend time with her?”
That, in all honesty, is a fair question. Harry knows that he’s been spending more and more time with Y/N in the last few weeks at the expense of his friends, and on some level, he does feel bad about it. Except that when he actually thinks about it, he doesn’t feel that bad in the slightest. He has no reason to, given that he spends almost every weekday with his friends, so what’s the harm in saving his weekends for someone else?
In fact, he rather enjoys bracketing off those days just to spend them with her, alone with no one else to bother them, where they can just bask in each other’s company. So no, he really doesn’t feel bad at all.
He has the sudden realization that, on top of having the sweetest, most addicting blood he’s ever had the good fortune of tasting in the last two hundred years, Y/N is just generally fun to be around. Due to this, Harry has unintentionally continued to grow closer and closer to the human girl with every second they spend together. She’s witty, adventurous, and always down to try something new— both in public and in the bedroom. And in the bedroom— a smile unknowingly creeps onto Harry’s face as he recalls the dinner he’d taken her to last month, and what they’d done after.
He also recalls the morning that had followed, in which they had eaten breakfast on his couch together in nothing but their underwear, their bodies tangled against the sofa cushions as Y/N had fed him bites of French toast while he showed her the extensive collection of Polaroid pictures he’d taken the previous night before. He vividly remembers the way she had squirmed at the images of her with her legs spread open for him, of her bare chest heaving and her back arching, and of the wetness dripping down her thighs and staining the sheets. And he especially remembers the way she’d hid her face away in his neck at the snapshot of his hand wrapped around her throat, as well as the picture of her suckling eagerly at his thumb while his array of rings had glinted under the flash of the camera.
It had been so cute watching her eyes brim over with shyness, especially because she had been more than happy to shed her inherent timidness the night prior. He’d teased her about it, of course. How could he not? He’d laid there as she rested between his legs, pointing out every welt and bruise prominent on the photos, and then skimming his icy fingers over her actual body to find them. It had been a very intimate moment, given that they were reflecting on more than just the physical aspects of what they’d shared. It feels like their entire dynamic had shifted slightly, all due to the fact that the roughness and aftercare that had occurred between them were actions that required immense amounts of trust and communication. Harry felt closer to her in a way he hadn’t before, and if the softness behind Y/N’s eyes was any indication, she felt the exact same way.
Their connection felt different now— purer, in a way, now that they’d seen one another in such an exposed fashion, but it still managed to stay within the boundaries Harry was intent on upholding. She’d given him a type of relief he hadn’t realized he’d missed so much, considering he hadn’t indulged in anything of that caliber in years due to certain doubts about his self-control. But somehow, he had managed to keep his supernatural strength and impulses at bay the whole way through, and he’d kept her safe and satisfied, as he promised he would. In return, she’d made him feel more in tune with himself than he had in a while.
With all of those thoughts filtering through the vampire’s mind during their morning cuddle session, he had ducked down and kissed at the tip of her warm nose, sighing blissfully when she had returned the gesture onto the curve of his chin. Then, he’d begun pinching playfully at her sides, not being able to resist the urge to make her smile. He had burst into laughter when she herself had erupted into spontaneous giggles, thrashing against him while squeaking curses between gasps of his name, pleading with him to cut it out or she’d wind up falling off the sofa. It had been a wholesome pastime, up until he’d ended up sucking maple syrup off her fingers with that signature devious twinkle in his half-lidded eyes, and then she herself had ended up licking that same syrup off his abdomen. That had led to him tonguing it off the swell of her breasts, and then she had wound up lapping at something much more interesting than his stomach.
It’s only natural, though, considering that in the bedroom, Y/N is a refreshingly unstoppable force. She matches his every push, pull, and thrust with ease, as if she knows his body by heart. Maybe she does, Harry muses, considering that he undisputedly knows hers from every angle, like the stanzas of his favorite poem. And between all those things, is it really his fault he wants to spend as much time with her as he can? Keeping her happy and content had worked well to sweeten her blood for him thus far, so why should he change his game plan now, when he’s so clearly in the lead?
Last weekend, for example, he and Y/N had driven the scenic route out to Malibu, where they spent the entire day lounging on beach towels and frolicking in the waves. He’d enjoyed seeing her with saltwater hair, her soft skin encrusted with sand and warmed by the sun, almost as much as he’d enjoyed fiddling with the strings of her bikini and coating her body in sunscreen, because “protection from UV rays is a top priority, love. Trust me.” They’d packed a picnic lunch for themselves that consisted of homemade sandwiches, chips and salsa, and fruit skewers, which Y/N had hand-fed to Harry after she’d convinced him to let her bury him in the sand. It had been irritating to shower the grit out from some unsavoury places, but worth it to see the smile on her face and hear her infectious giggles as she molded a sizable pair of sandcastle breasts onto his chest. And doubly worth it after he took her home and fed on her sea-tinged blood.
Yesterday, as well, had been an example of how well Harry is doing with this arrangement the two of them have. He’d picked her up in the early afternoon and taken her to the Museum of Contemporary Art, where they’d spent the rest of the day wandering the exhibits and debating the artistic merits of each piece. Of course, their discussions were less educated and more humour based, as Harry tended to list every painting as reminding him of sex, while Y/N said that every sculpture she saw was a comment on capitalism, but it had made them laugh nonetheless. And while the security guards standing by didn’t seem to think their overheard conversations were amusing— nor how they posed with the paintings, trying to mimic the various expressions depicted in the artwork— Harry could tell that Y/N was entertained. It was obvious in how sugary her blood had been after she’d fallen asleep hours later. And if Harry were a better artist, he would’ve created his own sculpture dedicated to the honey and lavender liquid that he’d become so tied to over these last few months, but it appears his position as a collector is what he was suited for— both for literal artwork and the metaphorical pieces he’d paint on Y/N’s body with his lips.
It’s with all these events in mind that he turns to Xander casually as the man’s question echoes in his head once more. “How can you say she’s not your girlfriend?”
A clear and concise explanation slips from Harry’s tongue without a second thought. “I can say she’s not my girlfriend because it’s true.” Harry slicks a hand through his tousled curls again out of habit, so used to busying his fingers with fiddling on his phone that he has to find some sort of substitute. “Keeping her satisfied keeps her— and her blood— around. And, yes, she’s a sweet girl, and a nice break from you lot—” He nods towards Niall specifically with a jerking motion and a raised brow. “But there…” He just barely hesitates before spitting the words out. “There aren’t any actual feelings there.”
“Oh really?” Niall challenges, his own brow kinking as he shifts on the couch, turning his body completely to face Harry at the expense of Mitch’s personal space. “So all those times I’ve heard the two of you shagging— all those times you’ve called her ‘a dream’ or ‘perfect’— there were no feelings in that?”
Xander wolf whistles at the comment as Adam barks out a laugh, and even Mitch allows himself a reserved smirk at the mention of Harry’s bedroom talk. Harry, on the other hand, straightens his shoulders as a flush works up his spine and onto his cheeks, and instead commands his tone to be as cutting as possible when he forms his reply.
“I don’t think Y/N would be very appreciative to know you’re eavesdropping on us fucking like some type of perverted creep, so you might want to invest in a better pair of plugs before I rip your ears off and solve the problem myself.” Harry threatens lowly, eyes flashing bright red for just a moment before reverting back to their natural emerald hue. “And you can take what I say mid-fuck as a ready-made script, mate, since you have no clue how to sweet-talk a bird into making her cum.”
Niall’s hands reach up to cup his ears protectively due to the other monster’s violent warning, his brows furrowing into a pointed scowl. “Eat shit. It’s not like I have a choice but to listen, given that you two nearly bring the building down while—”
“You know,” Xander chimes in from the lounge seat, his voice taking on an accusatory tone as his eyes narrow at Harry. “I thought a constant supply of blood would mellow you out, but if anything, you’ve grown a bit more irritable. Does this arrangement have an expiration date?”
“Xander…” Mitch begins, caution written into his quiet voice as his eyes flit from Harry to Xander and back again. “That’s not—”
Harry sharpens his voice into a blade as he slashes over Mitch, jaw growing taut as he spits out his retort. “I know a relationship lasting more than one night is a bit of a foreign concept to you, so I wouldn’t expect you to understand, but I really don’t think that’s any of your fucking business.”
“So you fuck the same person for a couple of months, and suddenly you’re a relationship expert?” Xander inquires with a humorless huff, his tone just as bitter as his eyes as he glares at Harry from across the room. “As if you haven’t had commitment issues since the nineteenth century?” Raising his drink to his lips, Xander takes a slow and calculated swig as Adam shifts in discomfort next to him, his eyes meeting Mitch’s with a nervous glance. “At least I can call shit what it is, while you just delude yourself for weeks on end, pretending that anything good can come out of your attachment to an insignificant human—”
“If I were you,” Harry says through gritted teeth, his fingers curling over the edge of his couch to hold himself in place. “I’d choose your next words very carefully, Xanny.”
“Or what? Are you gonna dig into your Fifty Shades chest and spank me?”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? What, are you just upset you never got the full treatment?”
A hot flush crawls up Xander’s neck as his jaw clenches. “I never said I wanted it.”
“The jealousy written all over your face suggests otherwise.”
“Alright!” Adam’s voice barks, swiftly slicing through the tension in the air, his eyes glowing crimson as he commands everyone’s attention from the two quarrelling vampires back onto himself. “That’s enough. You’re both being ridiculous. Harry, you can’t be upset with us for trying to understand what you’re doing, mate. We’re just curious, that’s all. But Xander—” The youngest vampire’s snickering is cut off when his name is called sternly. “That doesn’t give you the right to ridicule him for it. Harry knows what he’s doing— he’s a full-grown adult— and he wouldn’t do anything that would put himself, or any of us, into any sort of jeopardy.” With a long sigh, Adam’s gaze slides over the two creatures with a look of parental finality. “Are we good?”
Despite the annoyance still woven around each of Harry’s limbs, he forces himself to nod as he settles back into his couch, inhaling a deep breath through his nose. Beside him, Mitch nudges the back of his hand against Harry’s arm, as if in encouragement, and the motion reminds him just exactly who it is that he’s talking to. These are his friends— of course they have concerns about him. Although they might voice those concerns in unusual ways (like sticking their noses into his intimate life), the meaning behind their words comes from a place of affection.
“Alright.” Adam says again, relief flooding across his face as he turns his attention to the rest of the room. “Now, we still need to decide what we’re doing next weekend. Personally, I think a three day trip to Disney World would be a lot easier than Greece; I say we save that for next month, so we have more time to plan it and actually make the trip worthwhile.”
Xander, still a little irritated from his confrontation with Harry, huffs in response. “That’s all well and good, Adam, except you forgot that I refuse to step foot in that humid swamp-fest. Makes my face break out and my curls frizz up.”
“Jesus Christ, Xander.” Niall groans from the opposite end of the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose like before, nudging his large squared glasses up as he does so. “Can you just get that stick out of your arse long enough to—”
Whatever Niall is about to suggest Xander do seems to disappear from his mind as the Irishman suddenly cuts off his speech, his ears perking up as Harry’s phone begins to chime from his back pocket. Although the sound is muffled from both the cushion and Niall’s trousers, the distinguishable opening motive of “Alexander Hamilton” playing can be heard by everyone, and it only takes one loop of Y/N’s signature ringtone for Harry to launch himself over the couch with his arms outstretched.
“Hey!” Mitch exclaims loudly, pressing himself into the cushions as Harry’s body writhes against his lap in his effort to extract the phone from Niall’s pants. “Jesus, watch your fucking feet! You’re like Gumby!”
Harry, however, is only paying attention to Niall, who is fending off his attempts at snatching the device with one hand while holding the phone over the edge of the couch with the other. “Give it!” He snarls, eyes shading red as he watches an immature simper grow onto Niall’s face, his thumb poising over the answer button. “Don’t you fucking dare—”
“Shh!” Niall hisses at him, but his voice is lit with delight as he clicks on the green phone icon and raises the device to his ear, lowering his voice into a relaxed drawl. “Hi there, you’ve reached the Styles residence! Para español, por favor oprima el número uno. This is Niall speaking, what can I help you with today?”
“Oh—” Even through the tiny speaker, Harry’s highly tuned ears have no trouble picking out the gentle cadence of Y/N’s voice. “Hi, Niall! It’s Y/N.”
“Y/N!” The younger immortal grins at Harry as he dodges his attempt at swiping for the device, setting his palm between Harry’s eyes and shoving him back roughly as he clambers up off the couch. He dashes across the living room to hide behind the lounge seat, sticking out his tongue and wagging it at his very peeved friend. “Lovely to hear your voice, darlin’! How are you doing on this lovely Sunday afternoon?”
“I’m alright, thanks.” Harry hears her response as he pounces off the sofa, barreling across the room to chase after Niall. The shorter man is stealthy, and manages to duck and weave past Harry without a single issue, escaping under his left arm. He scrambles towards the glass stairs, holding back giggles as his opponent circles around the furniture to go after him, unhinged aggravation written all over his handsome features. “How are you?”
“Oh, I’m just delightful.” Niall laughs airily, taking a sharp turn away from the staircase to confuse Harry’s impulses, snatching a throw pillow off the nearest couch and aiming it at the brunette’s head. Like the beer bottle, Harry catches it easily, throwing it back at Niall’s stomach with a harder hand. Niall avoids it by a hair. “What can I do for you?”
“Uh, I just wanted to talk to Harry— I had a question for him. But if he’s busy…”
“Yeah, he’s a little indisposed at the moment, I’m afraid.” Niall races into the kitchen, bracing himself against the marble island with that shit-eating grin still on his face, shuffling erratically from side to side to sike out the other creature across from him. “But I’d be happy to take a message from such a gorgeous girl as yourself.”
“Oh, um, that’s very kind of you—”
Harry rounds the corner of the marble island with a growl, snatching his phone from one hand and smacking Niall upside the head with the other. “Bloody prick.” He hisses over the other vampire’s snickers, eyes colder than his touch as he delivers another blow to Niall’s shoulder. “Fucking annoying, is what you are—”
“Niall? Are you there?”
After heaving an exasperated sigh and sending one more glare to his friend, Harry raises his phone to his ear, doing his best to lighten the irritation in his voice. “Sorry, love. Niall just wants to be a bit of a bother today, it seems.” He sucks in a deep breath through his teeth as he turns away from the Irishman, wrapping his free arm around his middle as he leans his lower back against the island, crossing his ankles nonchalantly. He picks at a loose thread on his copper tartan trousers, voice coming out honeyed and delicate, as it always tends to get when he regards her. “Hi.”
“Hi.” He can hear the smile that spreads across Y/N’s face upon hearing from him, and the tone sends a flood of warmth through Harry’s chest. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“No, sweetheart, never. I’m always free to talk to you.” Harry sends a cautious glimpse towards the living room, knowing that the four vampires sitting in his living room (Niall had slinked his way back to the couch now that his ridiculous charade had come to a close) are hanging onto his every word. “How are you?”
“Oh, I’m good, just… I had a question, but if you’re busy—”
“No, not busy at all! I’ve just been lounging around with the boys all morning. S’nothing serious.” Harry replies a bit too excitedly, straightening the hem of his fitted red and black striped t-shirt, which had gotten mussed during his tussle with Niall. “What d’you need?
Over the phone, he can hear Y/N clear her throat delicately, and a picture of her sitting on her couch in her living room plays across the front of his eyes, her thumb wedged between her lips as she chews on her nail, as she always does when she gets nervous. “Uh, well, I was also just relaxing this morning, and I was playing on my phone, and I kinda came upon this cute little bookstore called Verbatim Books. They have a bunch of really cool used books— and records, too, which I think you’d like— and they have this really neat, like, labyrinth layout—” Harry’s lips twitch as Y/N continues to ramble, “—and I’ve been looking for a replacement copy of Wuthering Heights because I dropped mine in the bathtub, remember? And I wanted to get a new copy of Romeo and Juliet, as well—”
“Alright, slow down, pet. Can barely understand you when you’re going a mile a minute.” Harry chuckles boyishly, absentmindedly carding a jeweled hand through the soft curls along the nape of his neck. Just the sound of Y/N’s innocent dialect ringing in his ear manages to somehow soothe his entire body. “You want to go to this bookstore, is that it? Because we can.” He flicks his eyes back over to his friends, who are already rolling their own in response. “Just give me an hour or two to finish up with the guys, and I’ll come pick you up—”
“Well, the thing is…” He pictures Y/N chewing on her thumb some more, timid uncertainty pouring into her usually clear irises. “Verbatim Books is in San Diego.”
“San Diego.” Harry repeats back to her, his free hand settling against the cold marble of the island behind him as he quirks an eyebrow in mild shock. “As in the San Diego that’s a two hour drive away? That San Diego?”
Y/N’s anxious laugh tinkles through the receiver. “Yeah, that San Diego. But if you have plans with your friends, I completely understand. We can go a different day.”
Worrying his bottom lip between his teeth wearingly, Harry glances at the digital clock blinking above his stovetop, reflecting back the time 12:53 P.M. “When do they close?”
“Five, I think?”
The vampire calculates the route to San Diego in his head, his sculpted brows creasing as the time frame appears in his mind. “If we left now, we’d probably get there between three and three-thirty. Would an hour and a half be enough time for you to explore and find what you need?”
“Jesus fucking Christ, you are unbelievable,” Xander mutters from across the condo, but Harry pays him no attention other than raising a blue-lacquered middle finger to flip him off.
“I mean, yeah, I think so, but—”
“Alright, darling, then just give me a few minutes to grab my things and kick everyone out.” Harry says firmly, pushing himself away from the counter to begin searching for his car keys.
“No, Harry, it’s not so important that we have to go today, and I don’t want you to kick your friends out. In fact…” Y/N’s voice becomes thoughtful as a new idea pops into her head, and she hesitates for a moment before suggesting it on the grounds of not wanting to come off as pushy. But in the end, her curiosity bests her. “Why don’t we save Verbatim for another day, and I could just come over and hang out with you and your friends? I bought all the ingredients for this really yummy guacamole recipe I saw on Tasty the other day— we could do, like, an impromptu movie night or something. I’ve been craving one of your margaritas all week.”
“Yeah, Harry!” Niall chimes in as Harry re-enters the living room, obviously ignoring his friend’s earlier threat against eavesdropping. “I could go for some guac and a marg— not blended, though. Tastes like shit that way.”
Harry stares at him in disgust as he snatches his keys from the coffee table. “You’re a fucking twat.”
“What?”
“Oh— not you, babe!” Harry hurries to reassure her as Niall cackles in taunting satisfaction. “Sorry, I was talking to Niall. No, it’s… it’s alright. You want to go to this bookstore, and the boys were on their way out anyways—”
“Were you on your way out?” Adam asks Xander sarcastically, and Xander raises his half-full Bloody Mary as a negative response, making a mockingly sour face in return. “Okay, I thought so. Neither was I.”
“—so it’s all fine. I’ll leave in a few minutes, yeah? Probably be at your place within fifteen?” Harry checks the time on his Rolex as he estimates his arrival. “Does that sound good?”
“I— sure. Yeah, that works.” Y/N says slowly, her voice a little softer than it was a moment before. “I’ll see you when you get here, then.”
“Alright, doll. See you soon.” Harry hangs up his phone with a tap of his finger, sliding the device into his back pocket as he turns to face his friends. “So that was Y/N—”
“Oh, really? I had no clue!” Xander deadpans, rising from the lounge seat and setting his condensation-covered glass on the coffee table, deliberately avoiding the coaster Harry always insists should be used. “See you later, Harry.”
Adam matches the motion, a smirk jolting across his scruffy cheeks as he stands from his seat and claps Harry over the shoulder as he passes by. “Have a nice drive, man. We’ll do a movie night with Y/N another time.”
The promise plants a seed of unease inside Harry’s stomach, but he doesn’t allow it to show on his face, choosing to smile easily at Adam’s innocent comment instead. “Yeah. Another time.”
“Yeah, have a nice drive, H.” Niall mutters as he passes him, his face set in a petty surrendered frown. “A nice, long drive. Preferably off a very short cliff.”
“I would, Ni, but you’d miss me too much.” Harry grins at him jokingly, bumping the vampire’s shoulder with his own until his irritated expression softens into a slightly less irritated smile.
It’s Mitch, however, who makes Harry pause the most as he goes to leave. He halts in the doorway of Harry’s flat with a somber look in his eyes, appraising his younger friend with a curious gaze, which settles into trepidation as he sighs reluctantly. “You okay, H?” He prods gently, the question heavy as it falls from his mouth.
While Adam’s words were lighthearted and Mitch’s are anything but, they still leave the same feeling of uncertainty curling through Harry’s belly. And, like Adam’s words, Harry plasters the same reassuring smile across his features, doing his best to dampen his best friend’s concern. “‘M peachy keen, Mitchell. Don’t need to worry about me.”
“Are you sure?”
Harry only hesitates for a split second before urging himself to respond. “AB positive.”
///
If Y/N doesn’t say something to him, Harry is going to go absolutely insane.
It’s not that they haven’t had silence fall between them before, because they have. They’ve had comfortable silences as they lay in bed at night, Y/N wrapped within Harry’s inked arms as her breaths align with his. They’ve had quiet lapses in conversation during their usual breakfasts as they watch reruns of Y/N’s favorite crime show, or as they’ve wandered up and down the Santa Monica pier, or walked to and from casual dinners on warmer nights. Despite the lack of words flowing between them, Harry would always know what Y/N was thinking as he slipped his light denim jacket over her bare shoulders, capturing her hand within his own once more as he pulled her to the inside of the sidewalk so he could walk closer to the traffic. Silence is nothing new to them, and has even been the host of some of Harry’s favourite moments between the two, given that being able to hold a comfortable pause with someone is such a beautifully rare occurrence. Silence has typically been his friend.
But the silences that linger in their past have never felt quite like this.
From the moment Harry pulled out of Y/N’s apartment building parking lot and into the busy traffic of L.A., the mortal girl had grown quiet, and seemingly immune to Harry’s inquiries about how her day had been since he’d dropped her off at her apartment the night before. Although she first answered him with short snippets— no more than a few words long— by the time he’d peeled them out of the hustle and bustle of the city and onto the highway towards San Diego, even those answers had come to a faltering halt. Instead, Y/N had propped her chin up on her hand, rested her elbow on the ledge of the car door, and turned her pensive gaze at the scenery whizzing by the window, which she watched with a contemplative crease between her brows.
And the infuriating thing is that he’d asked if something was bothering Y/N the moment she’d begun to clam up, and his question had only received a small jerk of her head and a barely audible, “No, H. I’m fine.” No gentle caress of Harry’s hand against her leg or soft squeeze of her palm had granted Harry any more clarity on the subject.
She’s allowed to have secrets, of course. Everyone does. Harry himself certainly has his own fair share locked away in his chest, free from prying eyes and curious minds. But the thing is, she hasn’t held any from him. Any question Harry’s asked, she’s always provided an open and honest answer, even if there’s been a beat of hesitation before the words fall from her pretty lips. But her answer today, of being fine, is so clearly the opposite of that, and her insistence on hiding it means that she doesn’t want Harry to know that she’s upset. Which means— Harry’s hands tighten around the steering wheel as he rounds the curve of the road— that Harry’s part of the reason she’s upset. He’s not sure how, or why, or what he’s done, but he’s done something. Otherwise, Y/N wouldn’t be refusing to give him even a fraction of the warmth she’s usually so willing to gift him.
Another sigh heaves from Harry’s chest as he lets one hand fall from the leather wheel onto his thigh, tracing the pattern of his plaid trousers absently. He wants to ask again, just to see if her stubbornness has dwindled by the slightest degree. And it easily could dwindle with just a breath of suggestion from Harry, but he refuses to do that, no matter how badly he may want to. If Y/N is really mad at him for something, how can he convince her that she should forgive him if he’s using supernatural powers to make her admit what’s wrong. Even more, how can he convince himself that he’s justified in earning her forgiveness?
Harry casts another concerned glance at Y/N before shifting in his seat to extract his phone from his trouser pocket. With a quick swipe of his thumb, he unlocks it with ease, his eyes flicking from the road to the phone and back again as he opens Spotify.
“You’re not supposed to text and drive, y’know.”
The sweet cadence of Y/N’s voice, despite its quiet tone, uplifts the corner of Harry’s lips and mills a gentle chuckle in his chest. “I’m not texting. And I’m an excellent driver, sweetheart.” He glimpses at her from the corner of his eye before returning to his search through his playlists. “Got good reflexes.”
The human girl gives a hum of acknowledgement rather than another retort to his comment, and Harry’s newborn grin quickly melts into a frown as Y/N’s attention returns to the window. Harry finds comfort in another sigh as he selects an album from his library, clicking the shuffle icon in the corner and tucking his phone back in his pocket.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” Music begins to roll out from the speakers that Harry installed in his car the year before, producing a hip-hop beat and the voice of Christopher Jackson as George Washington. “You could’ve been anywhere in the world tonight, but you’re here with us in New York City. Are you ready for a cabinet meeting?”
Harry taps his fingers to the beat against the steering wheel as he steals a sly peek at Y/N. Although she hasn’t turned to him again, he can see her eyebrows pricking up with curiosity as to what Harry’s doing. That’s all the encouragement Harry needs.
“The issue on the table: Secretary Hamilton’s plan to assume state debt and establish a national bank. Secretary Jefferson, you have the floor, sir.”
The vampire bites back a triumphant smirk as he turns his gaze back towards the road, feigning a lack of interest in Y/N’s response as he begins to rap along to the Hamilton score. “‘Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness’. We fought for these ideals; we shouldn’t settle for less. These are wise words, enterprising men quote ‘em,” He cocks his head to the side, allowing his grin to fully light up his face as he captures Y/N’s attention within his. “Don’t act surprised, you guys, ‘cause I wrote ‘em. OWWW!”
Although Y/N’s expression stays neutral, he can see a twitch in her cheek at his loud exclamation, and Harry begins to exaggerate his actions even more as he gestures towards her with twinkling emerald eyes. “But Hamilton forgets! His plan would have the government assume state’s debts. Now, place your bets as to who that benefits.” Harry taps his chin symbolically, feigning thought, and then points towards Y/N with dramatized realization. “The very seat of government where Hamilton sits.”
Keeping her own eyes locked on the road ahead of them, Y/N gives a quick yet defiant shake of her head, the corner of her lip raised just a fraction more than it was a moment before. “Not true!”
“Ooh, if the shoe fits, wear it.” Harry’s simper continues to grow with the warming attitude Y/N’s beginning to display, and he shakes his head in return and raises his free hand in a questioning manner as he continues to rap along. “If New York’s in debt, why should Virginia bear it? Uh, our debts are paid, I’m afraid.” He lifts his fingers into his curls, running them through his roots and pretending to fluff the ends poshly for a haughty effect. “Don’t tax the South ‘cause we got it made in the shade.” Tapping a jeweled finger against the dashboard, Harry emphasizes the beats of his next line. “In Virginia, we plant seeds in the ground. We create; you just wanna move our money around. This financial plan is an outrageous demand, and it’s too many pages for any man to understand!” He pretends to flip the endless pages of an imaginary novel, and then snaps his wrist dismissively with a cocky smirk, deftly guiding the car around the curve of the road with his other hand.
“Stand with me in the land of the free, and pray to God we never see Hamilton’s candidacy. Look, when Britain taxed our tea, we got frisky—” Harry rolls his chest to the rhythm of the song, his dimples deepening in his cheeks as he reaches over towards Y/N and pinches at her side playfully, warmth erupting across his veins when she squeals in surprise. “Imagine what gon’ happen when you try to tax our whiskeyyyy.”
“Thank you, Secretary Jefferson.” Washington says through the speaker as Y/N smacks his hand away and purses her lips, appraising Harry with a raised brow. “Secretary Hamilton, your response.”
For a moment, Harry waits with bated breath, thinking that Y/N won’t rise to his challenge. She’s too angry with him, for some reason he can’t fathom, and when she opens her mouth, he assumes she’s just going to tell him off for—
“Thomas, that was a real nice declaration. Welcome to the present, we’re running a real nation. Would you like to join us? Or stay mellow doin’ whatever the hell it is you do in Monticello?” Y/N rolls with the music just as Harry had, his rainbow cardigan slipping from her shoulder as she gestures towards him with ridicule. “If we assume the debts the union gets a new line of credit, a financial diuretic.” She lists off each subject on her fingers, making a sour face at Harry. “How do you not get it? If we’re aggressive and competitive, the union gets a boost—” She slaps her hand down against her thigh passionately, as if his side of the imaginary argument appalls her. “You’d rather give it a sedative?”
Harry barks out a laugh as Y/N’s expression grows more incredulous, mocking him in character as if they were really on a Broadway stage, and not his ‘67 Cadillac driving down a highway in California.
“A civics lesson from a slaver.” She snorts, reaching across the seat and tapping her knuckles against Harry’s head with a light touch. “Hey neighbour, your debts are paid ‘cause you don’t pay for labour.” She mimics his voice, right down to the slight British tinge that had made it into his Virginian twang, throwing up her hands and shaking them in an overexaggerated motion as she quotes him. “‘We plant seeds in the South. We create’— Yeah, keep ranting. We know who’s really doing the planting.”
One of Harry’s hands shoots up towards his mouth and forms a fist, which he presses against his lips in fake astonishment at her dig, joining the background vocalists in howling. “Ooooh!”
The mortal gestures towards him with renewed fervor in her eyes that barely hides the amusement lingering in her irises. “And that’s another thing, Mr. Age of Enlightenment. Don’t lecture me about the war; you didn’t fight in it!”
Harry bites back the jesting retort of “No, but Mitch did.” that nearly rolls from his tongue.
The minimal restraint goes unnoticed by Y/N, who continues her scathing attack on Harry’s alter ego as she points over her shoulder with her thumb. “You think I’m frightened of you, man? We almost died in the trench,” She pinches together her index finger and thumb and brings them to her mouth, and the ease at which the mimicry of a joint comes to her makes Harry wonder if she’s ever actually smoked one. “While you were off getting high with the French! Thomas Jefferson, always hesitant with the President. Reticent— there isn’t a plan he doesn’t jettison. Madison, you’re mad as a hatter, son, take your medicine. Damn, you’re in worse shape than the national debt is in!” Gesturing theatrically, Y/N lowers her voice, keeping her intensity as she points to Harry. “Sitting there useless as two shits. Hey, turn around,” she makes a small twirling motion in the air with her forefinger, and then juts two digits upwards as if to stuff them somewhere, “bend over, I’ll show you where my shoe fits!”
Harry bursts into laughter with reckless abandon, wrapping his free hand around his stomach as he bends over the steering wheel. Reaching towards the stereo dials, he turns down the volume, letting the rest of the track fade to background noise before turning his gaze back to Y/N.
Just like him, the mortal girl is bent over with fits of belly laughter, and the sound echoes around the Cadillac in the sweetest way. Harry would take that over the Grammy-winning soundtrack any day.
“That was good, love. You’re a proper Broadway starlette, aren’t you?” Harry says between giggles, rubbing at his dimpled cheeks before settling his hands back on the steering wheel. “Didn’t realize you’d been holding out on me so much.”
“I wouldn’t call that holding out.” The mortal girl counters, fixing the slouching shoulder of Harry’s cardigan as she rests back into the passenger seat with a satisfied air. “You’ve heard me sing all the parts to ‘Non-Stop’ at once.”
“Well, yes, but…” Poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue, Harry shoots a cheeky grin at Y/N as he drums his fingers against the leather wheel. “This time you were actually good.”
An indignant scoff falls from Y/N’s mouth as she reaches across the car and smacks his arm. Harry can sense that she puts a lot of her force behind it, but the action feels as forceful as a fly landing on his shoulder, and he fakes a jostling of his body as he pouts. “You can’t hit the driver!”
“Then don’t insult my Broadway-worthy performances!” She remarks, crossing her rainbow-clad arms over her chest with a defiant air. “I think I’m quite talented— ready to take over the role of Hamilton himself, even.”
The creature rubs over his arm in an attempt to feign soreness, but the simper that’s still dimpled across his face gives him away. “I’m not sure if I’d go that far, peach. I think I’d give you a chorus role, at best.” He snickers as Y/N’s mouth drops down into a disgruntled frown. “If anyone would be playing Alexander Hamilton, it would be me.”
“Uh, I don’t fucking think so.” She shakes her head adamantly, her brows drawing together in petty disbelief. “They wouldn’t cast a fucking Red Coat in an American Revolution play.”
Harry wedges his plump lip between his teeth at the tauntingly insulting nickname as his mind flickers to Mitch once more. He’d be amused, Harry thinks, at how this girl seems to so easily mimic the attitude of those who have known Harry for decades.
“I can do a flawless American accent, love.” Harry’s emphasis on the consonants in his response only highlights his native tone of voice. “But that’s not why I’d be picked to be Hamilton over you. It’s because I just fit the role of the main character better.”
Y/N sputters in her seat for a moment, jaw dropping open at the assured statement. “Are you kidding?” She demands, pressing her palms flat on her thighs as she narrows her eyes. “Like, are you actually fucking kidding?”
“Not one bit.” With his voice dropped to a serious tone, Harry keeps his eyes locked on the road as he replies.
“That is the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard. I can’t believe you really—” Y/N sucks in a deep breath through her nose, as if she needs to calm and center herself in order to form a coherent answer, and her playful eyes slowly drift shut. “I grew up in a small town, dated the same guy for five years, was left behind while he went to university, where he then cheated on me, and then I moved from the town I’d never left before all the way across the country to Los Angeles, California.” Opening her eyes once more, Y/N turns her determined gaze back to Harry, collapsing her hands in front of her for emphasis. “I literally followed the ‘smalltown girl moves to big city’ trope. There are dozens of LifeTime movies that follow the exact same plot. If that doesn’t say ‘main character,’ I don’t know what does.”
“Mm, I’ll tell you what does.” Harry counters, wagging a ringed finger at the human girl while keeping the rest wrapped securely around the steering wheel. “‘Following the life of a handsome, rich British bachelor with a mysterious past, a great fashion sense, and who happens to be very well endowed.’”
“Oh, please. That says ‘one of two love interests from a Hallmark Christmas movie,’ at best.”
The vampire gasps with faux offense, clutching a hand to his dormant chest as he flickers his eyes to the scoffing girl. “A love interest? You think that’s all I’m entitled to?” He asks, brow furrowed as he clicks his tongue. “Did you miss the part where I said I had a mysterious past and a huge dick? Girls would foam at the mouth for me.”
“No, believe me, I know all about those two things.” Y/N snorts, brushing back a loose strand from her eyes before she rolls them. “Unfortunately for you, those are all key characteristics of a protagonist’s love interest.”
A smug smirk overtakes Harry’s face as he flicks on his turn signal, glancing over his shoulder before passing a car that has been going a bit too slow for his liking. “Huh. Well, I suppose as long as you know that I have those key characteristics— particularly that last one— then I guess I’ll settle. S’the most important of them all, I think.”
He expects his joke to receive a rolling laugh from the human girl, or a noise of acknowledgement at the very least, but all that echoes from her is an empty hum from the back of her throat. When Harry glimpses her way again, he finds that she’s resumed her previous expression of quiet contemplation, brow creased in thought as she chews on her bottom lip. Concern begins to weigh heavy in Harry’s chest once more.
“Speaking of mysteries, though…” She fiddles with her fingers, twisting one of her rings around a digit the same way Harry does when he’s anxious, and if he were in a better frame of mind, he might take pleasure in the fact that she’s picked up one of his mannerisms. “There is something I’ve been wondering. About you, I mean.”
From her closed off body language and sudden shift in mood, Harry knows that this has something to do with the guarded and upset expression she’d had when he’d first picked her up. And, from her lead in, he knows that his assumptions were right: her unsettled demeanor has something to do with him. Although the possibilities leave a feeling of unease in the pit of his belly, Harry’s curiosity and his need to satiate her wariness wins out, and he forces himself to nod and ask, “What is it, dove?”
Y/N opens her mouth, but no question falls out. From the corner of his eye, Harry watches as she closes her mouth again, as if she’s decided against asking whatever it is that she wants to. Harry is just about to encourage her to make her inquiry when a surge of confidence suddenly overtakes her body, and she’s spitting it out in a quick and confused voice.
“Why haven’t you introduced me to your friends?”
Out of all the causes for her guarded demeanor, the topic of his friends had been the farthest from his mind. The question catches Harry so off guard that he, for what feels like the first time, doesn’t have a quick response already formed on the tip of his tongue. Instead, his own mouth falls open in surprise, and he casts a quick look at the girl from the edge of his emerald eyes before turning back to the road in front of him.
He knows the answer to her question, of course; it’s the same answer that he’s given to his friends every time they’ve asked him to invite Y/N to a bar trivia night, or a weekend barbecue, or a club outing. And, truthfully, it’s a question that’s been floating more at the forefront of his mind for the last few weeks as he and Y/N have continued to spend time together, gradually becoming a constant in each other’s lives. However, he didn’t expect it to be at the forefront of her own, as well.
And the answer, really, is quite simple: if Y/N were to spend time with Harry’s gang of friends, there would be a larger possibility of her realizing that there’s something off about all of them. Like how they all have a specific jeweled accessory that they’re never without, or how none of them seem to ever grow weary, or how they all have the same cold skin and slight shadows around their eyes. Surely her keen eyes would catch how, despite the copious amount of shots and number of pints they throw back, none of them seem to become inebriated as easily as normal people would, and they can walk out of a club with their heads held high, free of stumbling or exhaustion. It’s with careful planning and—truthfully— sheer luck that Harry’s managed to present himself with a halfway-human appearance, and he has no doubt that it would be ten times harder to keep up that charade when the chances of her discovering what he is quintuple.
“Uh…” His brow furrows while searching for a valid response to give to the mortal beside him— one that would avoiding hurting her feelings, while still sounding believable. “I-I dunno, really. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”
The quiet “oh,” that slips from Y/N’s downturned lips alerts Harry that, no matter what response she was expecting, that wasn’t the right one. She tightens her cardigan-clad arms around her middle as she nods tightly, keeping her gaze fixed pointedly on the passenger window.
Harry rubs his bottom lip with his ringed index finger— another nervous tic of his— as he tries to remedy the tension that’s been brewing between them since she first stepped into the car. “I mean… this whole thing—” He gestures between the two of them, and although the urge to take her hand makes his fingers twitch, he returns his grasp to the steering wheel instead of allowing himself to try and extract her palm from the fabric it’s hidden beneath. “— has been between just the two of us, so I didn’t really think… it mattered.” He finishes lamely, knowing that his justification is just making things worse. “Does it need—? I mean, did you want—?”
“Well, it’s just…” Y/N lifts and lowers her shoulder in one quick motion, the cardigan once again sliding down to reveal the strap of her tank top underneath and a path of smooth skin that Harry yearns to touch. “It’s kind of like a— I don’t know, a marker? Like if something is going… well…” She spares him a quick glance before returning her gaze to the passing scenery. “You tell your friends. I’ve, um, I’ve told mine about you— like, my friends back home, over the phone— and if they weren’t so far away, I know they’d want to meet you, so I guess I—”
“You’ve told your friends about me?” Harry cuts over her, the shock laden in his voice raising it from its usual low drawl. “What did you tell them? What did they say?”
An anxious flush begins to creep up Y/N’s neck and onto her cheeks, and Harry suspects that it’s not from the warm wool of the cardigan. “I did, yeah. A couple weeks ago. They called and asked how I was doing, if I had made any interesting friends yet. And, well— I’ve pretty much only got you right now, so I kind of had to say something.” She lets out a weak laugh, more air than anything substantial. “I just said that we, um, we were seeing each other, kind of. Like, mostly we’re friends, and we hang out, and—”
“We do more than hang out.” A grimace tugs at Harry’s own lips at her simplified explanation of their complicated relationship, and he risks an elongated look at the girl beside him, trying desperately to read her expression with no success.
“I know that, but— like, we’re not dating, right? It’s not… that was the best explanation I could give. I don’t think there’s a proper label for what we are— not that we need one.” Although Y/N’s laugh holds more substance this time, Harry can still detect an undercurrent of tension in the sound. “Either way, they said they wished they could meet you, so I was just wondering— your friends know about me, obviously. We’ve met a few times quickly, but we’ve never, like, had a proper introduction, you know? I met Xander and Niall in the hallway, and Mitch briefly when we were having a movie night at your place… you talk about Adam a lot, too, and I’ve never even seen him in person.” Turning her head towards Harry with slow hesitation, Y/N worries her bottom lip between her teeth, her expression so frighteningly open that it makes Harry’s stomach turn. “Do they not… do they not want to meet me?”
Despite the quiet and cautious cadence of Y/N’s voice, and the way it twists around Harry’s unbeating heart like a vice, the question draws a soft laugh from the vampire. Shaking his head adamantly, Harry rakes a hand through his curls before it goes to tap against the steering wheel decisively. “No, sweetheart, that’s not it. They’re actually quite eager to meet you. As of late, I haven’t been able get through five minutes without Niall asking about you. He pries like a gossipy nan and s’been getting on my nerves, honestly.”
Relief spreads through Harry as the admission brings a gentle upturn to the corners of Y/N’s soft lips, but it’s short-lived as another thought pops into her mind, and her cautious tone returns at the realization that—
“So you don’t want to introduce me to them, then.” She states quietly, a clear degree of hurt present in both her tone and her eyes as she twists her body beneath her seatbelt to face him head on. As certain as she is in her assumption, the cautious shadow that sweeps over Harry’s face serves as confirmation of her statement, and it creates a hollow pit in her belly that grows with each passing moment.
Y/N is aware that their relationship— or whatever it is, because they still haven’t put a title on it, and that’s a whole other complication that she can’t dive into right now— is about as far from normal dating as they can get. She’d fucked Harry before she knew his last name, he’d told her to take him deeper before he’d even told her where he was from, and he’d asked her on a date two months after they’d met, mostly out of territorial jealousy; everything that they’ve done has been out of the traditional order. But still, she thinks, picking at her nails as the strain between them becomes palpable in the worst way, there are certain things that you do when you’re interested in someone. Certain milestones that indicate that a relationship is viable and can be sustained for an extended period of time. Meeting someone’s friends usually comes around the two month mark, and by Y/N’s calculations, that means they’re nearly two months overdue.
Which is fine, Y/N tells herself, dropping her gaze from Harry’s stormy sea glass eyes as she chastises the self-pity coursing through her veins. Everything about their relationship has been done out of order; why should meeting Harry’s friends be any different?
Except it is. As much as she hates it, it just is, because it’s not even that she hasn’t met them. It’s that Harry, with his guilt-ridden eyes and darkened demeanor, clearly doesn’t want her to.
“Y/N,” His gentle utterance of her name draws her from her thoughts more than his hand crawling across the leather seat does. It’s not until his cool fingers weave through hers that her fidgeting stops, and she even notices that he’s moved. “It’s not that I don’t want you to meet them, I just—”
“It’s fine, Harry.” She insists softly, despite the tightness in her statement making it obvious that it’s very much not fine. She pastes a thin smile onto her lips as she shakes her head, trying to appease him as best she can. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”
Harry squirms in the driver’s seat, tightening his hand around the steering wheel as he heaves a sigh through his nose. Y/N might be saying that, but the look in her eyes tells a different story. Does she really think that she can look at Harry with such a wide, wounded expression, and he won’t bend over backwards to make things right? The thought, although scathing, rings true in Harry’s mind as he worries his cheek between his teeth. Does she not know the lengths he’s willing to go to just to make her feel better? For fuck’s sake, he’s making a four hour round trip just to take her to a bookstore in San fucking Diego. Somehow, without Harry noticing it, this human has managed to influence him in ways he couldn’t possibly imagine anyone ever would again. Is he supposed to believe that she’s unaware of that?
Shaking his head tersely at her previous reply, Harry squeezes her fingers in his own, clearing the newly formed lump from his throat. “Yes, I do.” He says firmly, looking at the girl from the corner of his eye. “I can tell where your mind is going, love, and I promise you, it’s not as bad as you think.”
“Oh, yeah?” Despite the hurt still splashed across her irises, there’s an echo of a challenge in her tone. “So you just hide all of your… hook-ups from your friends, then?”
“You know I don’t have hook-ups, Y/N. There’s no one else, there’s just— there’s you. I only have you.” Harry makes his words as plain as can be, without any joke or teasing to downplay the sincerity of what he’s saying— or attempting to say, because his throat feels so tight that he can barely choke out a single syllable. “And that’s why I haven’t introduced you yet. I… I like what we have. This—” He raises their clasped hands, bringing the back of her knuckles to his lips so he can plant a chaste kiss over her soft skin. “I like it. We’ve spent these last few months in a bubble, just you and me, and it’s been…” A smile tugs at the corner of Harry’s lips, nervous and shy, but tinged with hope. “S’been amazing. And I’m just… not ready to give that up yet. I…I don’t know how to word it, really. I’m not good with, um—” With emotions, he thinks to himself. He’s not good with expressing any of this, but he forces himself to try. “It just feels like what we have is something I want to keep private, because it’s special. It’s kind of like when you were a kid and you got a new toy, yeah? And you didn’t want anyone to touch it because you liked it so much, you wanted to keep it all to yourself. It was something so personal, you didn’t want to share it…”
Harry trails off to look over at Y/N anxiously, and then comes to a sudden realization of the unintentional mistake he’d made by using such a materialistic analogy. His voice comes out rushed and apologetic. “And I’m not saying you’re an object or anything! I just wanted to explain it better and that’s the first thing that popped into my head. Did that...make sense? It probably sounded a bit dense. Or very dense. I’m sorry.” Harry knows he’s babbling aimlessly now, and with a surrendered sigh, he lowers their hands to the seat, still keeping Y/N’s fingers locked tightly with his. “I don’t want to share you, petal. That’s what it comes down to, really— just me being selfish. I like having your attention all to myself.”
Y/N listens attentively to Harry’s explanation as a new wave of blood boils to her cheeks, warming every inch of her body. As much as she still has her doubts— about his reasoning, about their whole arrangement— she wants to believe him. She wants to believe him more than anything in the world.
So do it, she tells herself, grazing her lip between her teeth as her gaze remains glued on Harry’s (ridiculously attractive) side profile. Believe him. He’s never given you reason not to.
“Okay.” She finds herself saying, and she decides that it’s her turn to raise Harry’s knuckles to her lips for a kiss. His skin is cool against her mouth, as always, and she lingers against him before lowering their intertwined hands to her lap. “I get it. I like what we have, too; I don’t want it to change. Plus,” She can’t resist tacking on a dig, glancing at Harry with a sly look. “From the brief interactions we’ve had, I think Niall and I are pretty compatible, so I don’t blame you for wanting to keep us apart.”
Although Harry barks out a laugh, he barely manages to hide the flash of crimson that streaks through his eyes at the suggestion. “Please,” He shakes his head as he strokes his thumb over the back of Y/N’s knuckles in a possessive manner. “I’m not worried about Niall. If I was going to be concerned about you leaving me for any of my friends, it would be Adam.” Y/N shoots him a curious look, and his dimples pop out of his cheeks as he elaborates. “Good sense of humour, attractive, and arguably the most sane out of all of us, present company included. But he can’t perform in bed like I can, so I think that’s a solid deterring factor. And I doubt he’d drop everything to drive you to a bookstore you found out about through— where did you say you heard about this place again?”
“Uh,” Y/N drops her gaze from Harry, turning her head straight back to the road as she shifts in her seat. “I, um, I saw it on TikTok.”
The vampire snorts obnoxiously, pulling his hand from Y/N’s to rake his fingers through his rouge curls. “Jesus Christ, of course you did.”
Y/N matches his scoffing with ease, crossing her arms over her chest with a defensive air. “Don’t give me that tone! This is exactly why I didn’t tell you! You know, you can actually find a lot of valuable information on there—”
“Yeah, because filming yourself doing the Renegade is a really great use of your time.”
“I didn’t say— wait—” The mortal girl quirks an eyebrow as she regards him with disbelieving eyes. “How do you know about the Renegade?”
“There’s a reason we blocked the app from Niall’s phone.”
///
Much to Harry’s relief, the drive back to Los Angeles begins a lot smoother than the drive to San Diego had.
The bookshop had been extremely similar to the antique store they’d been to a while back— it had the same rustic, messy aesthetic that gives a cozy, homey vibe, and it had sprouted a seed of nostalgia in Harry’s chest. They’d wandered around for a bit with their fingers intertwined, rarely breaking away from each other for too long for the sake of maintaining their buddy system. The pair had filtered through the extensive array of titles and knickknacks, walking under archways built out of novels and winding through tall shelves full of vintage collectibles. Y/N had entertained herself with grazing over the spines of all the different books they’d passed, her eyes glazed with a form of childlike wonder he’d grown so fond of seeing. And while Y/N had been losing herself in all the old treasures the shop had to offer, Harry had found himself losing his thoughts to her dreamy smile instead.
Satisfied with her purchases of Wuthering Heights and Romeo and Juliet, as well as a used copy of Jane Eyre (“Look, Harry, it has little notes in it from the previous owner! Isn’t that neat?”), Y/N had settled into the passenger seat with ease, a light smile on her face as she buckled her seatbelt. Harry’s own mood is considerably brighter than it had been on the previous drive, but his shift in energy had only partially been caused by his purchase of a new Simon and Garfunkel album. Truthfully, Harry thinks, as he watches Y/N thumb through her new second-hand annotated book (the irony of her affinity for literature written from Harry’s original time period is not lost to him), his attitude is merely a mirror of the girl next to him. It’s much more difficult to be in a good mood when she’s in a sour one, but on the flip side, it’s nearly impossible to be grumpy when she’s showing such a sunny disposition.
Her inquiries from their drive to the bookstore are worrying him, of course. He knows that he’ll have to introduce her to his friends eventually, especially if he wants to keep this agreement between the two of them up. He also knows that it’ll be ten times harder to do so with Niall running his mouth, Xander making sly digs, and Mitch and Adam watching him with parental-like concern. Perhaps it would be easier to just call this all off right now, before things continue to progress. It would certainly be better for Y/N, he’s sure of it. Y/N, who gets excited over annotations in her books. Y/N, who sings along off-key to the radio even when she doesn’t know all the words. Y/N, who innocently presses tender kisses to his throat in a manner that draws an obsolete warmth from every limb of his undead body, and who smiles at his stupid inappropriate jokes and returns them with her own, and who fits into his arms like she was made for the sole purpose of filling them perfectly.
Y/N, who is reaching between the two of them, intertwining their fingers together with a practiced motion, and—
“Thank you for taking me to the bookstore.” The human girl murmurs, her lips grazing the back of Harry’s knuckles as she speaks. “I really do appreciate it, although I’m sorry I pulled you away from your friends.”
Harry’s woes melt away as she pecks across his icy skin, and a grin begins to jolt his lips as he brings her hand to his own mouth. “Don’t be sorry.” He smears a kiss to the back before dropping their tangled palms to the seat between them, his thumb caressing over her velvety flesh. “You’re much better company than the four of them. And much prettier.”
“You’re such a flirt.” Y/N rolls her eyes at the comment, but leans further towards Harry in her seat. “And a liar. We both know that Mitch is prettier.”
“Mitch?” Harry’s emerald eyes widen in appalled surprise, the corner of his lips twitching once more in amusement. “Out of all of my friends, you think Mitch is the prettiest? What about Xander? He’s quite the vain one, don’t you think?”
Y/N shrugs one shoulder in a light manner. “I like Mitch’s hair. The long style works for him.”
“Ah, it’s the hair. That makes sense; it’s always the hair.” Nodding sagely, Harry allows his lips to pull into a full grin. “So you like it long, hm? Suppose I should keep growing mine out, then?”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Sherlock.” Y/N shoots him a smirk that’s much more mischievous than his own. “I said the long hair worked for him, not you. Who’s the vain one now?”
Despite the jesting tone of her voice, jealousy twinges in the back of Harry’s mind as his eyes darken from emerald to forest green. He forces his lips to stay upturned as he offers a response that’s only half a joke. “Ouch, Watson. S’not very nice, especially considering how I’ve driven you to San Diego and back today. I think I deserve a bit of praise, don’t you? Instead of you mocking me—”
“I’m not mocking!” Y/N’s protest is muffled around the entertainment in her voice, the rainbow cardigan once again slipping from her shoulder as she shakes with suppressed laughter. “Making one little comment isn’t mocking! It would be mocking you if I acted like you do when you get in front of a mirror— you make this one specific face, like you’re trying to pull a Blue Steel, and—”
“Alright, that’s enough.” Harry huffs as he yanks his hand away from Y/N’s, swiping it through his loose ringlet before clamping it back around the steering wheel. “Ungrateful little wench, aren’t you? I have half a mind to pull over right now and—”
“A wench? I’m a wench?” Y/N’s laughter grows louder, filling the entire Cadillac with the unabashed sound that, despite his act, warms the pit of Harry’s stomach. “Alright then, Merlin. What, are you going to put me to work in a labour house? Is that what a wench does these days?”
“First of all,” Harry quips, giving her a flat glimpse, “I’d be Arthur, not Merlin. Main character complex, remember?”
Y/N rolls her eyes grandly, proceeding to lower her head in a dramatic bow. “My apologies, sire. How could I forget?”
“And second of all,” the vampire states slightly louder, talking over her sarcasm, “no, because apparently, all wenches do nowadays is just make fun of the men who volunteer to spend four hours in a car with them without so much as a ‘thank you.’”
The mortal girl’s upturned mouth drops open in amused disbelief. “What—? I said thank you! Literally three minutes ago!”
“Did you? I don’t recall.” Harry sighs airily as he smoothly guides the car around a bend in the road. “All I remember is you saying you think Mitch is sexier than I am.”
Snorting loudly, Y/N crosses her arms over her middle as she gives a small shake of her head. “Alright, I think that’s a bit of a stretch. I just said he has nice hair. And, while we’re on the topic—”
“Watch it.”
“— his mustache is cool, too. It suits him.”
“You know, I could grow a mustache if I wanted to.” Harry can’t help the pout that plumps his lips, nor can he help the whine that creeps into his voice when Y/N giggles at the sight. “It’s true! I could! I just choose not to. And, really, you should be thanking me for it, because it saves you from getting a carpet burn between your thighs.”
“So I should be thanking you for driving me today, for not growing facial hair…” Y/N ticks off the items on her fingers with a ridiculing gleam dancing through her eyes. “Anything else we need to add to the list?”
Harry tuts as he thinks, pursing his lips in consideration before letting out a sharp exhale as a sly smile carves his dimples into place. “That cardigan you’re wearing. You could thank me for letting you borrow it— although ‘stealing’ might be a more accurate term.”
A miffed expression rises to Y/N’s face just as a flush does. “I didn’t steal it! I’ve just been borrowing it, like you said.”
“Mmm. Alright.” Harry hums in the back of his throat as he glances at the girl beside him, kinking a brow expectantly. “And when can I expect it back?”
“Fairly soon, actually. It—” Y/N’s cheeks boil with more heat as she drops her attention to her lap, clearing her throat gently before continuing. “It, um, it doesn’t really smell like you anymore, so…”
Silence falls between the two as Y/N’s voice drifts off, leaving behind only the sound of Fleetwood Mac gently drifting through Harry’s speakers to cut through the thickening tension that fills the vehicle. It’s only the faint sound of Y/N’s own shallow breaths that reminds Harry that he needs to fake his own, and he sucks in a deep gasp of air, his throat burning as her thick honey and lavender scent settles on the back of his tongue.
“Well,” He begins cautiously, gauging her reaction from the corner of his eye while keeping most of his gaze glued to the road. “You can always steal it again after I get it back, yeah? It’ll be good as new.”
Harry nearly heaves an audible sigh of relief when he sees the edge of Y/N’s mouth twitch. “Not steal. Borrow.” She corrects, her voice as tentative as his.
The heavy atmosphere in the car begins to dissipate as Harry rolls his eyes with fondness. “Agree to disagree, dove.”
Y/N lets out a sound of dissent as she rubs her palms down her legs, drumming her fingertips against her knees with finality. “Thank you for letting me borrow it, H. And thank you for not growing a mustache.” She giggles out, throwing a coy smile his way before her expression grows more gentle. “And thank you for driving me today, although I’ve already said it. I’ll have to think of a way to repay you.”
“Oh, I could think of a few.” Harry says with a suggestive smirk, thrumming his ringed fingers against the steering wheel. “How do you feel about spending the night? We could order dinner from that Thai place you like, take a nice bath, and I could spend a few hours between your thighs while you make those sweet little noises I like so much. Sounds relaxing, doesn’t it?”
“It does.” Y/N agrees, keeping her voice as light as she possibly can at the mention of Harry’s skilled tongue working her over. “But that doesn’t seem like much of a thank you on my behalf. Shouldn’t I be the one giving you something?”
Harry casts a look at the mortal girl with a raised brow. “Shouldn’t I get to choose my own reward?”
The fact that he sees the action of eating her out as a reward makes Y/N’s tummy froth. She really doesn’t know how she got so lucky, truly. “You should, but I can think of something better.”
The creature licks his lips once at the promise of something more enjoyable than her taste on his tongue. “Well, I wouldn’t say no to a blowie in the bath.”
“Actually…” Y/N tugs her bottom lip between her teeth as she casts Harry a sideways look through her lashes, twisting her body beneath her seatbelt to angle towards him. “I was thinking of something more immediate.”
The question of what she means by that dies before it can make its way out of Harry’s mouth, stopped in its tracks the moment Y/N’s fingers travel across the leather seat between them. She rests her palm on his thigh for a moment before beginning to massage the muscle beneath his trousers, her delicate fingertips just brushing over his inseam as her hand works its way higher.
A choked groan is all Harry can manage when her touch travels over his suddenly-growing bulge, and it takes all of his focus not to veer the car off the road. “Y/N,” He says, his accent low and thick with warning. “‘M driving, sweetheart.”
“I know.” Her voice thrums darker than normal as her palm presses flat against him, moving in a slow circle over the plaid fabric with insistence. “I didn’t ask you to stop, did I? You can keep driving.”
The laugh that rolls from Harry’s lips is breathless and strained. “Yeah, except I can’t when you’re— fuck—” Y/N squeezes along his hardening shaft, and Harry tightens his hands around the steering wheel with nearly enough force to bend it. “‘M gonna crash this bloody car if you keep doing that.”
“No, you won’t.” The mortal girl smiles sweetly at him as her nimble fingers pop the button of his tartan slacks, grasping his zipper and tugging it down so slowly that it’s almost painful. “You can multitask, can’t you?”
“Not like— God—” Clenching his jaw, Harry casts a pained glance at Y/N, only allowing himself a moment of looking before forcing his attention back to the road. What he sees in that moment, however, is a mischievous glint in her eyes that’s hidden beneath set determination, and the combination would send a shiver down his spine even without her soft hand creeping beneath his trousers. “This doesn’t feel like a reward, pet. Feels like torture.”
Y/N shrugs lightly, continuing to rock against Harry over his boxers as her free hand reaches for her seat belt and clicks the release button. “Maybe it is. Maybe I want to see if you can stay just as focused as I did when you made me cum on that ladder. Remember? Right in the middle of that antique mall?”
Harry watches as her seat belt retracts, a flash of worry striking through his body. Before he can voice his concern for her safety, her hand is dipping beneath the waistband of his boxers. “Y/N,” He strains to get her name past his lips, his abdomen tightening as she grips him snuggly, and her palm feels like agony and salvation all at once. “If you make me cum in my pants with an hour left in our drive, I’ll never forgive you.”
“Or maybe…” Shifting across the seat, Y/N leans into Harry’s ear, her breath hot against his cool skin as she pumps him slowly and ignores the comment he’d moaned. “Maybe I just feel the way you did that day. Maybe I want to tease you a bit.” She uses the precum that’s begun to steadily leak from his tip as lubricant, twisting her hand around his length to elicit a hiss from Harry’s clenched jaw. She takes the shell of his ear between her teeth, nibbling at it just to feel him writhe in response. “What was it you said to me, H? When you slid your fingers inside me in that little music room?”
Harry offers no response other than the short puff of air that leaves his nostrils as he clenches the wheel harder beneath his palms. He keeps his eyes locked on the road, knowing that if he looks down and sees Y/N working him beneath his slacks, he won’t be able to restrain himself from yanking the car to the side of the road and throwing her into the backseat. And however wonderful that sounds— because it does sound incredibly wonderful, especially when Y/N swipes her thumb teasingly over his bubbling tip— he can’t let himself give into her.
Y/N, however, doesn’t seem to accept defeat so easily, and begins to drift her lips down Harry’s jaw and neck. While the area had previously been a sensitive spot for Harry in the worst way, he’s repeatedly come to find that the sensitivity he feels when Y/N caresses him there to be an entirely new and pleasant sensation.
“You said you wanted to have fun, remember?” She licks over the curve of his throat, her own breathing growing heavy when she feels Harry’s Adam’s apple bob beneath her tongue. “Now it’s my turn, don’t you think?”
“Thought—” Harry swallows thickly again, his hips unconsciously thrusting up slightly into Y/N’s hot palm. “Thought this was about thanking me, wasn’t it? Not getting even.”
Y/N pulls away from his skin with a coquettish look in her wide eyes, her brows raised and lips parted into a small pout. “Are you saying that my mouth isn’t enough of a thank you?”
“Your—? Oh, fucking hell—” Harry nearly swerves the car into the other lane of traffic when Y/N frees his length from his trousers, the cool temperature of the air-conditioned car sending a shudder down his spine. The sensation only increases when Y/N dips her head down and extends her tongue to tease his cherry tip with the textured surface. “Y/N.”
“That’s what I thought.” The human girl says smugly, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips even when she wraps her mouth fully around his head and sucks gently, just enough to draw a breathless whimper from the man above her.
With one hand still grasped tight around the steering wheel, Harry threads his other into Y/N’s hair, roughly tangling his fingers between her silky locks. He doesn’t guide her head as he usually does, but the idea of being able to move her if he wants allows him to feel a semblance of control.
Y/N clenches her thighs together as she bobs her head down further, heat pooling inside her belly as she feels Harry tug on her hair with the lightest pressure. She trails the tip of her tongue down Harry’s expanse, following the prominent vein that pulses underneath her touch. “Do you still want me to stop, baby?” She asks softly, looking up at him through her lashes as she pumps him in a slow motion, batting her lashes sultrily.
“No.” Harry whines the word as he presses his head back into the seat rest, his neck flexing as he forces his gaze to stay pinned on the road. “No, love, just— fuck, just keep going.” He grits his teeth when he feels her nose smudge along one of his fern tattoos, his next phrase coming out as a barely contained growl. “You’re down there already, so you might as well.”
Tucking her loose hair behind her ears, Y/N takes Harry back into her mouth, pushing herself further and further down his cock at a pace that’s nearly agonizing. Harry twists his hand within her roots to create a makeshift ponytail, holding the locks out of her face so that she can focus better on the task at hand. He feels the mortal girl smile around his length, her tender fingertips drawing a little heart along his exposed pelvis as a cheeky thank you.
As the highway straightens out, Harry risks lifting his hand from the steering wheel for a quick moment, and his deft fingers quickly find the volume button of the stereo to lower it to a quiet lull. He wants to hear every sound of Y/N’s throat opening up for him, and the muted noises she releases at the taste of him in her mouth.
Of course, all of that is nearly overpowered by his own sounds of pleasure, and he struggles to keep himself quiet as he grips the wheel with renewed force. “Fuck, doll, look at you...I just…Christ.” The last word comes out as an elongated groan, his eyelids fluttering as her tongue massages down his extent in slow and even strokes. “Just like that, darling. God, you’re so good. Such a pretty mouth with such a filthy fucking tongue, hm?”
Harry throws a haphazard glance over his shoulder as another vehicle passes them, and a flash of territorial protection runs through him at the possibility of someone looking into the car and seeing Y/N touching him like this. The sight of her acting like such a bold little minx is for his eyes only, and that thought combined with her slow, blissful motions pushes him to inch his foot towards the gas. Harry wants to put a bit of distance between them and the other traffic on the highway, which will insert some much needed privacy into the situation.
His acceleration, however, is interrupted by a particularly rough bump in the road, and his body jerks in his seat as they drive over it. He hears the sound of Y/N gagging before he registers the searing sensation of his cock hitting the back of her throat, and he risks a peek downwards to see Y/N’s watery eyes blinking up at him in disorientation.
“Baby—” He tugs her head up from his lap, concern mingling with the pleasure in his voice as he evaluates her well-being. Her expression is hazy from her ministrations, and she blinks tears from her irises, keeping one hand wrapped firmly around his length as the other wipes away the wetness at the corner of her eye. “‘M sorry.” Harry gulps thickly as he smooths his thumb over Y/N’s scalp, trying to soothe any discomfort he may have caused. “Are you alright?”
Y/N nods in a jerking motion as her mood darkens lustfully, and she swipes her thumb over the glistening tip of his cock before answering. “I’m fine, H. Just caught off guard. Don’t worry.” The rasp in her voice is evidence of her actions, and Harry hates how the sound goes straight to his throbbing length in her hand. Undeterred by the harsh thrust that had choked her a few moments earlier, Y/N leans down once more to smear more sloppy kisses to the head of his prick, rubbing the slit against her bottom lip to elicit a cracked gasp from Harry’s lungs. “Just wanna make you feel good.”
“You—You are. God, you fucking are.” The praise falls easily from Harry’s raspberry lips as her mouth returns to its previous distraction, fully suckling on the leaking head as her hand continues to work him in a practiced manner. “Feels like a dream, sweetheart, t-the way you take me down your throat like that.”
The mortal girl keens at the validation, and uses it as fuel to push herself further down his shaft again. She makes sure that she’s mindful of how deep she’s taking him, keeping her hand wrapped firmly around the base as a buffer in case they hit any more rough patches of road. With that worry eased, she allows herself to focus on massaging his pulsing prick with her tongue, alternating movements with strong sucks to his sensitive tip. She twists her wrist at a rising pace, matching it to the tempo she’s established with her mouth, working him over messily and swimming in the strangled noises that pour out above her.
Y/N sniffles lightly, talking over Harry’s thick cock to the best of her ability, her voice garbled and raw. “You’re so fucking big, Harry. And so pretty, too.” She moves her hand lower down his expanse, carefully cupping his heavy balls and fondling them between her fingers, preening at the fractured grunt that filters from her lover’s taut throat. “And so full.”
“Please, baby…” The immortal’s quiet plea sends electricity coursing through every cell in her body, his grip on her hair tightening to the point where blots of color speckle her foggy vision. “Don’t stop. Just please don’t fucking stop.”
“I want it.” She whispers around him, the warm breath of her words puffing down his prickling skin and sending goosebumps across his clammy thighs. “I want you to fill my mouth, Daddy. Want every last drop.”
The creature sucks in a rattling breath through the cracks of his teeth, waves of pleasure erupting along his cheeks and down the knobs of his spine, all because of how erotic her delicate voice sounds as it expresses such explicit confessions. “You’re fucking ruining me, dove.”
The girl tugs at Harry’s balls gently, rolling them around her palm again as she gives a particularly harsh suck. He can’t stop the loud whine that tumbles down his tongue in response, his hips bucking upwards a tad in unrestrained need. “I want you to give it to me, H. Please? Want you so bad.”
Harry throws his head further back against the headrest of his seat, his jaw dropping open in a silent moan as his heavy eyelids lull over his rolling irises, tears blearing his vision until he can barely make out the road in front of him. “Gonna—Gonna give it to you, pet. Gonna give you every last bit, all for my sweet girl.”
Y/N hones her blurred sight above her onto Harry’s face, more warmth flooding the area between her thighs. He looks gorgeous as ever, with his prominent features slack in ecstasy, his clavicle cutting into the sweaty skin visible along the collar of his fitted tee, and with his unusually dark eyes framed by his long lashes. His chest is heaving wildly as he tries to keep his composure, his cross necklace glimmering in the sun with every rapid rise of his defined muscles. His sharp jaw is wound taut, the tendon along the structure ticking as he gazes at her drunkenly from above his sculpted cheekbones. His chestnut curls as matted along his temple and over the nape of his neck due to the heat of the moment, his thick brows are knitted together in pleasurable gripe, and his teeth-swollen lips are parted in aroused wonder at how skillfully she’s taking every last inch of him without any hesitation whatsoever.
Y/N watches him intensely, drinking up every twitch of his expression and every soft groan he tries to stifle, her tongue lapping at him with more excitement than before. Harry locks eyes with her through his foggy haze, the corners of his flushed lips jolting upwards into a cocky open-mouthed smirk when he sees just how fucked he’s got her, despite the fact that he’s barely lifted a finger through the entire process. He slowly tongues over his chapped lips, glimpsing back up towards the highway for a split second to make sure he’s avoiding any other oncoming cars. He then returns his attention to the human, giving her head a playful tug and feeling the tip of his cock nudge along the roof of his mouth, resulting in a low hiss streaming past his condescending simper. “Why don’t you take a picture, princess? It’ll last you longer.”
Y/N gives a quick squeeze to his balls, sly satisfaction weaving its way into her chest when she feels him jerk in response, a whined curse of, “Fuck me.” slipping through his defenses. “Maybe you should watch your tone while I’m down here.”
Harry raises an eyebrow at her challengingly, his palm grasping the back of her head with more intent and forcing her down, her nose smearing over his tummy as he hits the back of her throat deeper than before. He holds her there for a second, reveling in the way she constricts around him as soft gagging sounds bounce off the walls of his Cadillac.
After a few seconds, he pulls her back up his cock to a more reasonable length, humming smugly as she shudders and coughs dryly, her eyes twinkling submissively. His voice comes out strained, but its dark and accented tenor holds its usual unyielding authority, as well as arrogant chiding. “And maybe you should learn not to talk back to me. Guess I’ll have to pull the paddle back out sooner than expected, huh?”
A shiver coils down Y/N’s spine at the reference to that night. It happened a few weeks ago, but the memory is fresh in her mind as if it’s only been hours. It’s nearly impossible to forget, given everything Harry had put her through, and she often finds herself thinking back on it whenever she needs some relief and doesn’t have his company as help.
The human murmurs her next sentence shyly, her watery eyes regarding him with a certain type of wistfulness that makes his balls ache. “Maybe you should.”
Harry lets out an airy chuckle at her eagerness, which slowly molds into a gravelly moan when she returns to dipping her head with faster, sloppier strokes. A few strands of hair have escaped the ponytail in his palm, and he takes great care in tucking them back behind her ears with his index finger, which then trails across her cheek affectionately. “Maybe I will. But right now, you just worry about finishing me off. Then, we’ll see if I’m feeling up to it some other time— if I feel like you deserve it.”
Y/N nods her head obediently. “Thank you, Daddy.”
“‘Course, darling. Anything for my proper little slut. Especially when she’s taking me down her throat like such a good fucking girl.”
Y/N’s only reply is a broken mewl, and she allows herself to become immersed back into the action of giving Harry the orgasm she so desperately wants to deliver.
She can taste precum as it dribbles onto her tongue, a precursor to Harry’s impending climax, and the flavour makes her center throb. She has half a mind to remove him from her mouth and beg him to pull over so that she can properly ride him, but she doesn’t doubt that doing so would add hours onto their travel time. There’ll be time for all that once they’re back at his place, she reminds herself, pulling off of him just enough to lick her lips before lowering herself again. Right now, there’s just one thing she wants above all else, and if the sounds Harry is making are any indication, she’s fairly close to getting it.
“So fucking close, angel.” Harry pants, his abdomen contracting over and over again as he struggles to keep the car moving at a steady and consistent pace. “Gonna make me cum, aren’t you? Want Daddy to pump that pretty mouth full?”
Y/N hums around Harry as he yanks on her hair again, more for the sensation than to actually guide her. Still, she pulls up from his prick with a pop, looking up at him with doe-like eyes as she replies. “Mhmm.” She hums again, giving him a particularly hard pump and delighting in the groan that rolls from his tongue. “Wanna taste you.”
“You— fuck, darling, that’s fucking it.” Harry’s words echo from his throat in a ragged gasp as he twists his jeweled fingers around her locks once more, straining his head back against the seat to keep himself from looking down again as she retakes him down her throat. “I’m gonna fucking— Oh my God, baby, please—”
Y/N digs the nails of her free hand into Harry’s pelvis, scraping over his plant tattoos as she feels his toned tummy tighten beneath her touch. It only takes one more squeeze of her hand around his balls and one last determined suckle to draw his orgasm from him, and she lifts herself until just the head of his cock is in her mouth as he spills onto her tongue. Her own eyes flutter shut as she whines at the salty taste, swallowing it down without a second thought. She keeps her lips locked around him, wanting to capture every aftershock that spurts into her mouth, feeling ropes of cum splatter across her taste buds as Harry squirms against his seat, whining in encouragement.
She continues to milk him for everything he’s worth, repeatedly prodding the twitching vein protruding along his prick and scraping his sputtering head against the inside of her cheek, wanting to urge every last drop out of him. She only pulls away when the young man whimpers from above, shakily tugging on her hair to alert her that he’s crossing into more sensitive territory.
“Fucking shit…” He murmurs weakly, his breathing erratic as he eases off the gas pedal to reduce the car to a slower pace, rather than keeping the accelerated speed he’d fallen into as he came. He combs his fingers through Y/N’s mussed locks as a faint, exhausted chuckle rolls from his lips, his thumb ducking down to collect a bit of the mess that had seeped out of the corner of her mouth. He pushes the digit past her swollen, colored lips, his breath catching as he watches her clean it off without a single hitch. “God, minx, I’m gonna need a little warning the next time you decide to do that. Thought I was gonna crash the car a few times.”
“You wouldn’t have.” Y/N reassures him quietly, looking up at him with a fond smile before turning her attention to his softening prick. She licks up one stray bead of cum from his tip, delighting in the strangled sound the action draws from Harry. She then proceeds to carefully tuck him back inside his trousers, buttoning and zipping them up with ease. She even takes care to tuck his red and black striped shirt back inside the waistband, but only after she presses a gentle kiss to his still-tensed abdomen, nuzzling her nose across his happy trail and feeling butterflies flutter in her belly when he lets out an appreciative mewl.
Harry inhales deeply as he watches her sit up from the corner of his eye, his hand slipping from her hair to his own to fix the disheveled curls. “No, I suppose not. I have precious cargo. Speaking of—” He reaches over Y/N’s body, and with one hand still on the wheel, fumbles to fasten her seatbelt back across her chest and lap. “Y’gotta keep this on if you ever do that again, alright? S’not safe to have it off for so long.”
A fond smile tugs at Y/N’s lips as Harry sews his fingers over her thigh, squeezing lightly over her jeans before massaging the muscle. She’s noticed that he’s grown more and more touchy and protective each time they’re intimate with each other, and it would be a lie to say she doesn’t enjoy it. “Yes, sir.”
Harry’s fingertips stutter over Y/N’s leg for just a moment, and the twitch of his sensitive cock beneath his slacks nearly causes Harry to swerve the car again. “Fuck, don’t say that right now.” He mumbles brokenly, his voice much more raw than he’d like it to be. “Don’t think my poor dick can handle it.”
Laughter bursts from Y/N’s chests, and the contagious sound draws a giggle from Harry’s own body as she settles her fingers over his, twisting them together in an instinctive motion. “Too sensitive?” She teases, lulling her head back against her seat rest while keeping her eyes focused on him, sweetening her voice down into a babying drawl. “You poor thing.”
A bright pink blush sears itself onto Harry’s cheeks as he clears his throat, tightening his hand around the wheel again to ground himself. “Yeah. I only really like overstimulation when I’m the one administering it, not the one receiving it. And you—” He squeezes her thigh as punctuation. “—are much too stimulating, especially when you’re looking at me like that.”
Another honeyed giggle falls from Y/N’s strawberry lips, and the corners of her eyes crinkle as her smile continues to grow. “I like seeing you like this.” She says decisively, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she reaches over and affectionately twirls one of his loose ringlets around her finger. “All flustered. It’s cute.”
“Are you seriously calling me cute after deep-throating me while I drive?” Harry asks incredulously, a snort echoing from his throat as he shifts around in his seat. He’s already uncomfortable in his trousers again, both from the wetness she’d left on him and the way her words are making him stiffen again.
“Mm.” Y/N thrums in agreement as her free hand reaches for the stereo, dialing up the volume again so the sounds of The Kinks can be heard without strain. “I think you’re cute— very cute, actually. Even moreso when you get all blushy. Am I not allowed to say that?”
Another layer of warmth soaks itself across Harry’s small ears and stinging nose, and he tries to play off his childish reaction with a casual scoff. He can’t deny the way the compliment makes him feel, though. It’s different from the praise she usually gives him, which tends to be sexual and in the heat of the moment. But this is much more intimate in such a sweet and tender manner, and he hasn’t received that type of innocent attention from someone in much too long. He likes it, he decides. Especially when it comes from Y/N.
She makes him weak, and though he’d normally seethe at the idea of anyone ever making him weak again, he comes to find that the softness she coaxes from him is something so different from the mainstream definition of that dangerous word. She makes him weak, yes, but not in a destructive sense. This girl— this simple mortal girl with bones made of glass and skin of fine velvet— makes him weak in the knees, and in the pit of his stomach, and in the cement walls he’d built around his phantom heart. She makes him vulnerable in new places that have been entirely foreign to him for the last twenty decades, if the glowing warmth surging through him is any indication. And for the first time in a while, he’s beginning to think that maybe— just maybe— that’s not such a terrible thing.
The vampire comes to the sudden epiphany that being weak for someone is unorthodox to him because it’s a human trait. Allowing yourself to form a deeper connection with someone— with a person completely the opposite of what you are— requires compassion and understanding. It requires willingness and empathy, as well as trust and pure intentions. It requires humanity. And that’s what Y/N is doing, Harry realizes. She’s taking that last wilted shred of humanity he possesses and is urging him to use it. Even though it’s not intentional on her behalf, and even though she has no idea of just how small that fragment of humanity is, it’s somehow miraculously working; just her being the caring soul she’s always been seems to be enough to awaken that part of him.
Despite the fact that the immortal would normally laugh at such a stupidly cringey and cliche concept, there’s no denying that at this point in their little LifeTime movie crossover, it’s true. That’s why it feels so utterly weird— she’s bringing out a side of himself he hasn’t shown in literal centuries. She makes him feel the one sensation he didn’t think was possible for him to ever experience again: She makes him feel alive.
Oh.
…Oh.
Harry snaps himself out of his inner turmoil, sucking in a shaky breath and exhaling slowly, releasing all his consuming thoughts. Relying on his supernatural impulses to focus on any oncoming hazards, the creature allows himself the indulgence of shifting his hunter eyes onto Y/N for a lingering glance. The sun is just beginning to set outside the car window, ducking over the cityscape and washing the distant buildings in mellow shades of soothing pinks, cozy oranges, and buttery yellows. The colors cast a golden light through the glass of his car, and it settles onto Y/N’s soft features like stardust, highlighting her flyaway hairs, the gentle slope of her plush lips, and the dreamy tinge in her captivating eyes.
If Harry didn’t know any better, about both what she is and about not believing in such ridiculous tales, he’d think she was an angel. Not that an angel would ever be seen with the likes of him.
“Y’can say that, petal.” He murmurs after a lengthy pause, reluctantly returning his attention to the long stretch of road in front of him, his palm still secured over Y/N’s denim-covered thigh. If he focuses enough, he can feel her pulse through the fabric, and the steady thumping sends a strange prickling through his hand and into the rest of his body. “You can say whatever you’d like, and I’d listen.”
“Oh, is that so?” She pokes at him with a cheeky grin, using her nail to absentmindedly trace the blood red daylight crystals embedded into the eyes of his lionhead ring. “So you’re actually offering to listen for once, instead of making your cocky little comments?”
The edges of the vampire’s lips jolt with endearment. “Just this once, yeah.”
Except it’s not just this once, Harry thinks to himself, adding on the words he will most likely never have the courage to speak aloud. I’d listen to anything and everything you have to say. No matter how small and insignificant it may be, or however random and useless you might think it is. I’d listen. For you, always.
Harry doesn’t express his private thoughts, but he pretends that he has, and he pretends that the smile Y/N is gifting him at the moment is her heartfelt response to his silent confessions.
He adores it more than he should, and how could he not? It’s so blinding, he thinks it could very well burn him.
///
It’s not that Harry is nervous for tonight, because he’s not.
Spending his Friday nights with Y/N has become as regular as clockwork, and Harry knows that it’s overdue in their routine for him to cook a dinner for her, given that she’d had the courtesy of doing it for him. He’s already picked up her favourite red wine to accompany the gnocchi recipe he’d sweet-talked Vincenzo into sharing with him (Gnocchi al Vostro Gusto— the one she’d enjoyed on their date at Bella Vita), as well as snagged all the ingredients for the lavender lemonade cocktail he planned to make her when she first arrived. He’d even gone so far as to freeze a few petals from edible flowers into his cubed trays earlier in the day, just to up the ante on his already stunning presentation.
He’s already set out shining dinner plates along his kitchen island, tidied and dusted his entire condo, and made each of his friends promise to leave him alone for the night. He’s prepared everything that’s been within his power into sheer perfection; nothing could possibly go wrong. So he’s not nervous, because everything is fine and because he never gets nervous. Being nervous is for morons, and he’s far from being one, so he just isn’t. It’s that simple. There’s absolutely no reason to be nervous.
Except that he can’t manage to get his mahogany belt to lie properly against his waist (he’d searched in vain for his black Gucci belt with the logo buckle, but hadn’t been able to find it), the woven leather tail twisting repeatedly whenever Harry tries to tuck it beneath the rest of the belt. And while the rational part of his mind knows that this doesn’t matter, and that he can just guide the tail into a loop along his olive trousers, the irrational part of his mind— which, unfortunately, just happens to be in control at this very moment— knows that tucking it in won’t look nearly as chic as folding it just right to lay the excess along the length of his thigh.
He’s already crafted the rest of his outfit so carefully, spending almost an hour deciding on the red and black patterned vest to pair with the trousers, and an additional forty-five minutes choosing which short-sleeved button up to layer beneath it. He’d ended up picking a yellow top with indigo swatches along the collar, proceeding to tuck the shirt sleeves up along the sleeves of the knitted vest to give the fit a stylish flare. Harry thinks he looks good (although, to be fair, he always does), but he knows that if he turns his attention back to it for too long, he’d end up tearing it off and starting all over again. However, judging by the clock that’s ticking from his bedside table, Harry knows that isn’t an option. It’s 5:42 PM, and Y/N had said she’d be here by 6:00, and if Harry isn’t ready by the time her delicate knuckles rap against his front door, then she might just decide to turn on her heel and leave, and Harry won’t ever get the chance to ask her—
The creature stops short in his tracks, his fingers freezing over the leather of his belt that he’d just managed to settle into place. He’s not asking her that, he reminds himself, loosening his limbs just enough to nervously twist his mother’s ring around his pinky. He’s already decided that— and undecided it, and decided it again— after his road trip epiphany the previous weekend. It doesn’t matter just how weak, or warm, or alive, or just plain human Y/N makes him feel. He knows what this is, and has known since the beginning, and there’s just no way that he can bring himself to ask Y/N to be his—
Harry can’t even force himself to think of the word.
He makes long strides towards his dresser, picking up the string of pearls lying on top of the varnished wood and fastening them around his icy neck. What meaning could that word even hold for him, anyways? He’s a vampire, and though Y/N makes him feel the complete opposite, there’s no way he could ever feel so human as to give into the notion of having a girlfriend. A girlfriend leads to a fiancée, which leads to a wife, which leads to the expectation of a family, and Harry knows that none of those things are compatible with the immortal afterlife he lives now. If Mitch, who is— by any accounts— ten times the man Harry could ever be, hasn’t even managed to lock Sarah— another vampire— into a solid relationship after three years, how could Harry delude himself into thinking that he could do that with a human?
And even if he, with all his commitment, abandonment, and trust issues aside, could have a relationship with a mortal— not any mortal, he reminds himself, but the only mortal that’s ever managed to capture a sliver of his genuine attention— that doesn’t mean he actually wants one. Why would Harry ever want to be tied to one place, or one person? Why would he ever want to have to phone someone before going somewhere, or have to check in on them when they’re doing the same? Why would he want to deal with having to manage someone’s emotions, problems, and life? He’s traveled the circumference of the world and back again, and seen more changes to society than any human could ever comprehend. He loves being reckless, and untethered, and not responsible for anyone other than himself. He enjoys being impulsive and not having to worry about his actions falling back on anyone else’s shoulders other than his own. It’s who he is— it’s who he’s been for a while now— and it’s who he had imagined he’d continue to be for another two centuries.
It’s like that one country song that tormented his radio in the early 2000s— the one about life being like an endless road and about how people should enjoy it while it lasts. He believes the exact words are, “Life is a highway, I want to ride it all night long” or something of the sort. Horrendous song, but it held a pretty decent message.
So with all of this taken into precise consideration, why would he, in his right mind, ever chain himself to one geographical location, and one single fleeting soul?
The answer floats to the forefront of Harry’s mind as he casts a glance towards his half-opened dresser drawer, where a pair of Y/N’s pastel blue sweatpants are folded neatly on top of his own pairs. She’d left them there a few weeks ago, and while Harry had washed and dried them for her with the intention of giving them back, he’d decided it would be a better idea to keep them here in case Y/N ever ended up staying the night without planning to. Just so she’d have something comfortable of her own to put on before falling asleep in Harry’s bed, on the side that he now keeps made up just for her.
Why would Harry ever tie himself to one person? Because that person is Y/N, and she’s not just a person. She is— in every way except officially— Harry’s girl.
Harry can’t even bring himself to deny that fact as he fixes the collar of his shirt and strides out of his bedroom, dimming down the lights before making his way to the glass staircase. Every issue he’d brought up, every fact that he’s tried to use to convince himself that he doesn’t want a relationship, can’t even be considered an issue when it comes to Y/N. He already does all of those things— checking in on her to make sure she’s alright, letting her vent about her stress, listening to her problems with an attentive ear, holding her hand whenever they’re together, kissing her forehead while she lays against his chest, switching her to the inside of the sidewalk to ensure her safety, moving strands of hair out of her face so they don’t become a bother— and he does it all gladly. He’s come to adore the soothing comfort he receives when he walks Y/N to her door after a date, or double checks the locks after she’s inevitably invited him inside. He delights in calling her during her lunch breaks to inquire about how her day is going, and to remind her that “iced coffee isn’t a substitute for water, peach. You’ll feel a lot better on your shift if you drink a glass, alright?” And even when her voice is strained and laden with anxiety as she curls into his side after a particularly rough day, it still sounds like the most beautiful melody he’s ever heard, and the weight and warmth of her body against his own acts like a relaxant to Harry’s cold limbs.
He rolls his shoulders now as he skips the last two stairs and lands squarely on his leather Gucci boots (they’re one of his favorites, and though they’re a simple black, they have a rainbow impression along the lip that he thinks is quite chic). He releases a long breath as he absentmindedly studies over his art wall, his eyes landing on the painting of a deconstructed sunflower. The abstract piece reminds him of the night Y/N had come over to his condo for the first time, and he begins to feel that annoying yet familiar knot between his shoulder blades that always seems to form when he’s away from her. It’s something he hadn’t even noticed until a few days ago; how his body grows rigid and stiff whenever they’re separated, like he can’t allow himself to exhale until she’s beside him again. He supposes it’s a strange vampire tendency— something carnal and territorial inside of him that thinks it’s his job to protect Y/N, the decadent and intoxicating center of his strange obsession, and when she’s not around, unease threads into his muscles until he can be sure his primary source of blood is alright.
Or maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s something deeper inside him— some other reason to keep her out of any harm and an arm’s length away. However, he refuses to indulge that unsettling mystery right now. It’s too fucking complicated to dwell on.
Ambling into the kitchen, Harry begins to dig through his lower cupboards for the apron he hadn’t bothered to slip on when he was cooking earlier. Pushing aside the white cover with the words “World’s Best (pancake) Tosser” stamped onto the front (it had been a gift from Niall, delivered with a sly grin and a cheeky comment about how the apron was too accurate to pass up), Harry selects the butcher’s apron printed with the phrase “Mr. Good Lookin’ is cookin’!” He slips the loop over his head and ties the straps behind his toned back with a quick motion, the edges of his lips quirking at the pompous joke. He knows Y/N will make a comment about it.
He hadn’t bothered with the apron before when he’d been preparing the gnocchi simply because his loungewear isn’t necessarily that important, but now that he’s changed into something much nicer than the t-shirt and sweatpants he’d previously worn— and after he’d struggled with deciding on the outfit for so long— the last thing he wants to do is splash sauce onto himself as he navigates his kitchen.
Harry’s mind continues to race with nearly incomprehensible thoughts as he gathers the last of the ingredients needed to finish the meal, his nimble fingers easily peeling the skin from a clove of garlic before he begins to mince it with practiced skill. Maybe that’s the cause of all his confusing feelings, he muses as he tosses a knob of butter into his preheated pan, scooping the garlic onto his knife and adding that to the mix as well. Maybe that instinctual feeling to protect is the root of all his fantasies of a relationship. He can’t possibly want— can’t actually believe that he’d...
Except he does.
Sighing grimly as he snags a wooden spoon from a kitchen drawer, Harry nudges the cabinet shut with his hip before beginning to stir the sizzling concoction in his pan. Somehow, against all odds— against all reason— he’s become attached to Y/N. So attached that he’d spent an hour begging Vincenzo for this specific recipe when he could’ve so easily googled a different one and recreated it to near perfection. So attached that he’d driven to three different liquor stores to find her favourite brand of red wine, which he’d set to chill in his fridge hours ago, because even though a cabernet sauvignon is supposed to be chilled for forty-five minutes at most, Y/N likes it icy cold. So attached that he’d taken care to freeze individual flower petals into ice cubes, just so he could make her a cocktail flavoured with honey and lavender, the exact same way she is. So attached that, for the first time in twenty decades, the concept of a relationship doesn’t draw a disgusted gag from his throat and doesn’t send a ghostly spike of pain to his neck.
“Doesn’t matter.” He mutters the words out loud to himself, as if speaking them audibly will reinforce their meaning. Opening the fridge with a rough tug, Harry nabs the quart of cream he’d purchased earlier that day, bending the mouth of it open and pouring it smoothly into the saucepan and giving it a stir. It doesn’t matter if he wants a relationship, because there’s no way that Y/N does.
A bitter laugh tears its way through his chest as he reaches for the bowl of gorgonzola cheese he’d shredded earlier, scattering the ingredient into the saucepan and slowly mixing it in. He’s arrived at the same point he has all week when he’s had this argument with himself. The same fact that’s stopped him in his tracks each time he’s dared to think that— if he should ask— Y/N would say yes to him becoming a more permanent fixture in her life. She’d say yes, he thinks. Or he hopes, at least. She’d say yes, until she wakes up in the middle of the night to Harry caged over her with crimson irises, terrifying shadows below his waterline, black veins webbing out from his eyes, and a blood-soaked mouth bared to reveal his dagger-like fangs. Then, she’d be gone.
Not gone, he amends in his head, the thought somber and acrid in his mind as he reduces the sauce to a simmer. He’d have to go after her, of course, but not in the way a man usually goes after a woman. Despite how they’d joked about it casually, Harry most definitely doesn’t belong in a LifeTime movie. No, he’s from a much darker genre— less leading man, more malicious creature that lurks in the night— and the only thing he could do when he chases Y/N down would be to wipe all traces of himself from her mind entirely. That’s the ending they’d be destined for if he let himself buy into his romantic delusions. It’s better not to put a label on anything. No labels keep a degree of separation between their two lives— at least, that’s what Harry tells himself. And as much as it pains him, a degree of separation might be exactly what they need.
And yet, when Y/N knocks on his door two minutes later, just as he’s sprinkling various ground herbs into the sauce and setting it onto the back of the stovetop to wait until they’re ready to eat, Harry can’t help the giddy grin that immediately decorates his dimples. He hurries to untie his apron and tosses it onto the back of one of the chairs lined against his kitchen island, dragging a ringed hand through his purposefully tousled curls as he nearly super-speeds to the front door of his condo. He trips on his way there, spewing curses as he barely saves himself from face-planting the ground like an imbecile. He straightens himself out with a petty huff, slowing down slightly and being more mindful of every step he takes. His smile has already returned before he even yanks the door open.
Y/N— his Y/N, he allows himself to think affectionately— is dressed from head to toe in his own clothes. Well, almost head to toe, he corrects, casting a sly glance at the way her black jeans hug the curve of her hips too perfectly to be his own pair. But he recognizes the black and white speckled short-sleeve button up that’s french-tucked into the high-waisted denim, and shrewdly notes the addition of a Gucci belt looped around her waist— the very one he’d been searching for earlier. She’s even styled the shirt the same way he does, with half the top buttons undone. However— Harry licks his lips unconsciously as his eyes hover over her exposed chest— she’s paired the top with a delicate looking black lace bralette that catches his hungry gaze the moment he spots it. Even the black ankle boots she’s wearing are reminiscent of his own fashion choices.
“Y’know,” Y/N’s amused voice cuts through his stupor, drawing his attention back from the obvious canvas of her body and up to her glittering eyes. “It’s not very gentlemanly of you to check out my tits before even saying hello.”
Harry’s mouth crooks sheepishly in response as he reaches out to her, looping his muscled arms around her waist and pulling her inside the condo and against his body with ease. “Hello.” He murmurs obediently, thumbing at her waist over the silky fabric as a teasing yet fond cadence sews its way into his voice. “So this is where my clothes keep disappearing to, hm? I searched for that belt for an hour today.”
“Shouldn’t have left it at my apartment, then.” Y/N counters easily, curling her hands against Harry’s chest. He can already feel her heat beginning to web through his entire being, warming him in a manner nothing has in the last two hundred years. “And you said tonight’s dress code was casual formal— which makes zero fucking sense, by the way— so I figured the best way to conform to that would be would be by wearing your own clothes.” A drop of hesitance begins to colour Y/N’s tone as she casts her gaze towards his own, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she tries to read between his teasing words for any hint of actual annoyance. “Is that… okay?”
“Perfectly okay, angel.” Harry soothes the worry lines that have formed between her eyes by stamping a kiss onto her forehead, allowing himself to linger for a moment to inhale her familiar scent of sugar and flowers. It seems more powerful today than it usually is, almost bowling him over right there in the foyer, and he takes a step back to regain control of himself under the pretense of closing the door. “Honestly, I’m a little miffed that you look better in my clothes than I do.”
“‘Miffed’?” The mortal girl laughs as she reaches down to retrieve something from the ground, and it’s only then that Harry realizes that she’d had an overnight bag in her hand before he’d tugged her into his grasp and caused her to drop it. “Who says ‘miffed’? Are you a sixty-seven year old woman named Betty?”
Although he allows a chuckle at her incredulous question, Harry’s attention has focused in on the bag inches away from her outstretched hand. Cursing himself for being too wrapped up in her appearance to notice the item she’d been toting, Harry quickly fetches it from the ground before she can, carrying it further into his apartment before setting it down on one of the island chairs, as if the small distance could make up for the initial lack of manners he’d displayed.
“No, I’m not. I’m just British.” He should bring the bag up to his bedroom, he thinks, just so Y/N doesn’t have to wonder where her clothes are when she’s fraught with exhaustion later. But that would mean having to leave her side, and the grip her fragrance has on his senses right now won’t allow him to do so.
“Oh, yeah! I almost forgot.” Y/N lilts with an exaggerated air, another giggle rising from her petal-like lips as she leans against the marble countertop on her elbow, propping her chin up in one hand and resting the other on top of the stone. She regards him with all the affection that he doesn’t deserve, and yet always seems to crave, and it takes all of Harry’s willpower to not grasp her chin in his hand and sift their lips together just to taste her laughter. “Along with ‘pip pip’ and ‘cheerio,’ right?”
“Yes, those phrases are definitely at the top of my vocab list. You’ve heard me say them a million times.” Harry rolls his eyes playfully, shaking himself from his distracted thoughts as he steps back behind the counter to effectively put a little bit of much needed space between him and the mortal girl. His restless hands are already outstretched to his bar shelves before he even asks, “D’you want a drink, darling?”
Y/N watches with innocent curiosity as Harry sets two lowball glasses down on the counter before reaching into his cupboard for a jar of honey, which he spoons onto an awaiting plate. He rims the glasses in the syrup before dipping them into sugar, sparking confusion in Y/N as she tries to decipher what cocktail Harry is making her. Her befuddlement only grows as he extracts a bottle of clear liquid that she assumes is vodka and a purple concoction that she can’t identify. “What are you making?”
“Lavender lemonade.” Harry answers swiftly, reaching into a drawer for the small double-ended measuring cup tool that Y/N still can’t remember the name of, as well as his crystal cocktail shaker. Y/N observes with wide eyes as he fills the shaker with ice and vodka before picking up the mysterious liquid. “This is lavender syrup. Not homemade, unfortunately, but I do buy it from a little organic grocer I know at the farmer’s market. Adds a nice floral note to the drink, and mixes well with the lemonade.” He caps the container and shakes it expertly (the way his muscled arms ripple with effort doesn’t go unnoticed by her, as it never does) before setting it down on the counter and making his way to the fridge freezer. “S’where I get my honey, too.” He chances a look over his shoulder just in time to see Y/N dip her finger into the honey pooled on the plate and pop the digit into her mouth, and Harry has to force himself to tear his eyes away as she sucks lightly on her fingertip, her cheeks just barely hollowing. “Do you like it?”
“Mhmm,” Y/N hums around the digit as she keeps her eyes shamelessly glued to Harry’s ass while he bends down to open the cooled drawer, retrieving a tray of cubed ice and coming back over to add one large block into each lowball glass. “Are there flowers in there?” She asks in wonder after retracting her finger from her mouth with a pop, leaning over the table more to observe the decorative ice that has filled the cups.
“Mm.” Harry matches her hum with a more pleasured undertone, both from her noticing the small detail, and from the unobstructed view of her cleavage that her new position allows him. He picks up the shaker and strains the light purple lavender and vodka mixture into the glasses, topping off each cocktail with a can of sparkling lemonade that he’d also retrieved from the fridge. “S’pretty, isn’t it?” He asks, stirring the drinks with a spoon before holding up one of the glasses to the light and handing it to Y/N. “My own creation. You’re the first person to try it.”
Their fingers graze as Y/N accepts the glass from him, sparking electricity up her entire arm, and she can’t help the irreverent moan that thrums in the back of her throat as she brings the glass to her lips, tasting the honey and sugar first before the lavender coats her tongue. “This is so good, H.” She praises, licking a lingering dab of honey from her mouth between her words. Twisting the glass in her hands as she regards the lilac drink, Y/N eyes him over the rim of the crystal, pupils blown wide. “I didn’t think honey and lavender could ever taste so good.”
“You know, I used to think that, too.” Harry’s mumbles knowingly as his own eyes drift a shade darker. He watches the human girl’s neck strain with her swallow, as if she knows he’s trying to keep his gaze away from there and she’s beckoning him back. “But it’s my favourite flavour combination now. Can’t ever seem to get enough.”
The comment goes right over the mortal girl’s head, just as Harry knew it would. His expectations of the cocktail in his hand are also met from his very first sip; although the concoction is delicious, it pales in comparison to the fragrance wafting across the island from Y/N. He may as well be drinking water, honestly. But he knows he’ll end up repeating the recipe a few more times at the very least, just because Y/N tells him that it’s her favourite drink he’s ever made.
“You say that every time I make you a new drink, dove.” Harry can’t help but quip coyly at the repeated compliment, setting his crystal tumbler against the counter with a quiet thud. “Am I supposed to keep believing it?”
“Obviously. Especially when each drink keeps getting better and better.” Y/N licks a drip of honey from the rim, her tongue delicately capturing the sugar crystals before her lips settle back onto the edge to take another sip. “You would be an amazing bartender, but we’ve already talked about that before.”
“We have, yeah.” Harry smiles softly as he recalls the conversation they’d had weeks ago, where she had said his drinks were better than anything she’d had at a club, and he had responded by saying he doesn’t have the patience to be a bartender. That conversation feels as if it happened a lifetime ago, and considering how much closer they had become since, it quite literally could be. “But refresh my memory, will you? Why is it that I’d make such an amazing bartender?”
Y/N gives Harry a jokingly flat glance as a response to his smug tone, but decides to humor him, nonetheless. “Well, you obviously have the mixology skills, and I don’t doubt that the whole thing you have going—” She nods her head to him over the island with a teasing smirk. “—would get you endless tips.”
“My whole thing?” Harry repeats the phrase with an air of faux confusion. “What do you mean, my whole thing?”
He knows what she means, of course. But he won’t deny himself an opportunity to hear Y/N feed his ego with sweet-spoken praise.
Y/N doesn’t buy his innocent act for a minute, but still indulges him, yet again. She likes to see Harry preen under her compliments just as much as he likes to receive them. “You know…” She casts her eyes over his figure slowly, picking out every detail she can comment on as she wedges her bottom lip between her teeth. “Your whole look— the tattoos, the muscles, the dimples, the sparkling green eyes, the shiny curls… all of that would have any drunk customer draped over the bar for you. And even if you couldn’t get by on looks alone, you’re absolutely charming. To the point of ridiculousness, honestly, but,” Y/N eyes him suspiciously, and while her words are mostly in jest, she can’t deny that she’s seriously thought them at some point in time. “I’m not entirely convinced it’s genuine. Although being able to fake that kind of attitude would serve you well in a crowded bar.”
Whatever Harry was expecting to hear among the praise, an accusation of dishonest behaviour wasn’t it. His brow furrows deeply as his lips turn down into a displeased grimace, and he drums his ringed fingers over the marble countertop as he cocks his head to the side. “What d’you mean?” The question is earnest now, no longer a coquettish teasing remark, and the warmth the mortal girl had provided him with begins to subside as a flash of icy doubt digs shards through his chest. “Not genuine? Does it seem like I’m faking it or something?”
Y/N teases her lips with her tongue, unable to stop the nervous tic as she hears the displeasure that clearly strains Harry’s tone. Setting her own glass down on the counter, Y/N lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “I just mean, like… I don’t know. I don’t really think that now, but in the beginning…”
“What?” Harry prompts her with more intensity than he’d meant to, but he’s spent so much of this past week analyzing their every interaction while wrestling with his own thoughts that he’s already on edge; he needs to hear what Y/N had thought of him when they’d first met. His own recollection of the memories has made him flinch multiple times, particularly the times when he’d thought that Y/N was as boringly ordinary as humans come. He can only imagine what her take on the situation is. “Did I— was I rude, or—?”
“No, no, nothing like that.” She hurriedly assures him, shaking her head hard enough that her loose locks bounce around her shoulders. “You weren’t rude at all— the opposite, actually. I don’t know, it just seemed… like it was too good to be true, y’know?” Her voice grows impossibly softer as she traces her finger over the rim of her glass, her eyes dropping from Harry’s like it hurts her to hold them. “Like, there was no way that someone could be so attractive, so funny, so good in bed—” Harry can hear blood creep up the nape of her neck against her will, beginning to pour into her cheeks. “—and so charming. Something had to be an act.”
Despite the urge Harry has to justify his actions, he knows there’s nothing he can say that could prove Y/N’s original perception of him wrong. And, in all honesty, he has no right to. As much as he’d like to argue the fact, and as much as he did genuinely come to enjoy being around her, Harry can’t deny that from the first moment he’d approached Y/N in that club, he’d dialed up his charm as he always did without a second thought. He’d flattered her, flirted with her, done everything he could to convince her that she should take him home so he could indulge in the two things he’s always manipulated people for: sex and blood. And when that worked, he did it again, and again, and again, until they’d fallen into the pattern they have now. He’d never lied, of course, and he prides himself on that— every compliment he’d paid her had been rightly deserved. But even that justification doesn’t stop the shame that’s twisting its way through his limbs and making his head heavy.
She had thought something had to be an act, and she had been right. Harry himself was an act, in every aspect of the term— stretching the truth about his past, opening himself up just enough to make her open herself in return, setting her up so that she’d become dependent on their relationship. And all so he could sink his teeth into her neck without a second thought.
He can’t exactly pinpoint when all that had changed— singing “Non-Stop” in his kitchen? The jealousy he’d felt when he spotted her on a date with that insipid idiot, Jacob? Seeing her in that yellow sundress when he picked her up for their first date?— but the fact that it had changed doesn’t erase how it had started. It doesn’t erase the cruelty he’d hidden beneath his calculating words, intricately-placed caresses, and dirty promises.
“Harry.” He’d been so caught in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice Y/N had moved until she’s standing right in front of him, one of her velvet hands twisting into his own as the other tucks a loose curl back from his creased forehead. “I don’t think that now. You know that, right?” Even after securing the ringlet, she keeps her palm pressed against his cheek, and Harry can’t help but lean into the burning heat her touch provides. “I just— I’d never met anyone like you. There was no one like you where I grew up. I didn’t think someone could be so…” Y/N worries her lip between her teeth again, and Harry wishes he had enough in him to smooth the bite mark with a touch as soft as her own. “I didn’t know you yet. But I do now.”
The vampire inhales a shaking breath as if he needs it to live, lifting his own free hand to wrap over the palm Y/N rests against his cheek. Weaving his fingers through hers, he drags her hand lower until her skin is secured over his lips, and he smudges a gentle kiss against her handprint. There’s something so tender in her words— no one could ever accuse Y/N of being disingenuous. But he needed to hear this, he thinks as he presses his mouth repeatedly to her palm, the throbbing of her pulse in her wrist catching against his cheek. He needed to hear how she thinks she knows him. It’ll serve as a reminder that he can’t allow himself to succumb to the weak thoughts he’d battled earlier in the day. As much as Y/N assumes she knows him, there’s things that she’ll never understand— things he would never allow her to understand, because she doesn’t deserve such a terrifying burden— and how could he keep up that pretense while allowing her to call him her boyfriend?
“I know you do, sweetheart.” Harry mutters the words into her fragile skin, inhaling her intoxicating aroma deeply until his throat burns in agony. It’s a small price to pay for what he’s put her through. “It’s alright. I don’t blame you for doubting it.” The smirk he forces onto his face is nowhere near believable, but he manages to keep the strain out of his voice enough to sell it. “I’m pretty hard to believe, y’know? Especially when you grew up with people like Cucumber Dick.”
Successfully diffusing the moment, Harry’s comment tugs an irritated groan from Y/N’s chest, and she takes a step back from him as her hand falls from his face, despite her other fingers still remaining tied with his own. “You can’t just keep calling him Cucumber Dick, alright? He has a name!”
“Yeah, Bradley.” Harry says in distaste, his nose wrinkling as he shakes his head slowly. “S’honestly worse than Cucumber Dick. I’m doing him a favour— a bit of charity work.”
Y/N hums in the back of her throat thoughtfully as she steps back around the kitchen island, Harry’s arm extending over the countertop as she tugs his hand along with hers. “Then don’t do me any favours like that, alright? Can only imagine what you call me when I’m not here.”
A few names pop into Harry’s mind— dream, darling, angel, and countless others that he’s murmured to himself in the privacy of his condo— but they’re tainted by the memory of his friends confessing how they’ve talked about her when he hasn’t been around to hear it. How they’ve compared her to different foods, used that to reference her, as if that’s all she is to him. As if she isn’t the only person who has managed to make him feel something in over two lifetimes.
In the rational part of Harry’s mind— which, once again, is sadly not the part of his mind that’s ever in control— he knows that he can’t blame his friends for thinking that. It’s his own fault for being so insistent on that fact over the last few months. How many times had they questioned his motives behind his daily phone calls to her, or how often he found himself dropping everything just to spend some time with her? How many times had he rolled his eyes at their assumptions that he wanted more from the mortal girl than he’d ever admitted? How many times had he asserted that there was nothing more that she could offer him than her body and her blood? They’d only listened to what he was saying, despite knowing that Harry’s reassurances were false. Did any of them suspect that things had changed for him now? Or did they still think that Harry’s only motivations behind his relationship with Y/N are primal?
Harry pushes the badgering thoughts from his head as best he can as he reaches for his apron that’s still lying over the back of the chair. He can’t dwell on those thoughts now. If the turmoil twisting inside of him hasn’t subsided by the end of the night, he’ll call Mitch once Y/N is fast asleep under the extra blanket he keeps on his bed just for her. Although he doesn’t relish the thought of admitting he was wrong to the likes of Xander or Niall— he knows their teasing and taunting would never end— he can talk to Mitch about it without the worry of judgement.
“Why don’t you put a record on, petal?” Harry asks absentmindedly, nodding his head towards the record player set up in the corner of his living room as he slips his apron back over his head. “I just have to boil the gnocchi, and then—”
“Wait, wait wait,” Y/N cuts over him with an increasingly gleeful expression, rounding the edge of the island again to tug on the strap of Harry’s apron. “Mr. Good Lookin’ is cookin’?” She repeats, unable to bite back the giggles that are rising through her throat. “Please tell me you didn’t buy that for yourself.”
His troubling mindset disappears the moment laughter falls from her lips and echoes around the kitchen. “‘Course I did. And why wouldn’t I?” Harry simpers as his deft fingers easily secure the ties behind his back in a neat bow. “I’m Mr. Good Lookin’, and I’m cookin’. S’only the truth.”
“Your vanity is astounding. Truly.” Y/N trails her finger from the strap of the apron to the pearls around Harry’s neck, stroking the silky stones with the lightest touch. “Like, borderline narcissistic.”
Snaking his arms around her waist, Harry easily pulls the mortal into his body, securing her against his chest just as he had done when she’d first arrived. It’s comfortable for him to have her pressed against him like this. The steady rising and falling of her chest and hummingbird beat of her heart against his own unmoving organ keeps him centered, like his own personal lifeline.
“Is it so wrong to be confident in my appearance?” Harry quirks an eyebrow as his dimples pop from his cheeks, and he slides his hands from Y/N’s back to her ass, cupping and squeezing firmly in appreciation. His smirk only grows as Y/N’s cheeks begin to boil from the suggestive contact. “How can you contradict me when it gets such a reaction from you?”
“I think that has less to do with your looks and more to do with where your hands are.” She quips dryly, and yet her nails dig into Harry’s exposed collar bones with the slightest of pressure, a surefire sign of just how much his touch affects her.
Harry leans forward as the girl’s breathing grows more erratic, and he nuzzles his nose along hers while keeping the smallest of spaces between their lips. “Either way, I’m getting what I want, aren’t I?”
To his immense pleasure, Y/N’s words are breathy and strained when she replies, a side effect of the shallow inhales her body draws against his. “Which is?”
“You. More specifically, you melting under my touch like you just can’t get enough of it.” Harry drags his lips across Y/N’s for no more than a second before continuing his path up her jaw, only stopping when he can feel the flushed shell of her ear beneath his mouth. “You should indulge your vanity a little more often, sweetheart. S’quite fun, honestly.”
Y/N shivers beneath Harry’s touch, her eyelids fluttering as his cool breath rolls over her ear and down her neck. Turning her head to the side, she locks her half-lidded gaze with his own before slotting their lips together to indulge in the lingering taste of honey and lavender that sits on his tongue.
Despite his instinct to draw her closer while curving her body into his own, Harry separates their lips with a gentle nudge of his forehead against her own, his breathing growing just as erratic as Y/N’s. Control, he reminds himself as heat prickles along his icy skin from the tender pads of Y/N’s hands. This isn’t like their first meetings, when he could invite her over under a pretense and take her against the counter before they’d even finished their drinks. This is different now. She’s different now.
“Why don’t you go put a record on?” He says again, his voice noticeably deeper than it was when he first made the request. “And I’ll finish getting dinner ready. Sound alright?”
Y/N manages to nod without removing her forehead from his, but that seems to be the only movement she makes; her palms remain pressed firmly against Harry’s tattooed biceps, even after he reluctantly releases his hold on her body. She can’t help it— it feels too good to be so close to the young man to allow herself to willingly walk away. Something in his presence is so calming, so steady to her, even when he’s whispering obscenities in her ear.
But outweighing the need to be next to him is her desire to make him happy, and if he wants her to pick out a record… “Alright.” She nods once more as her hands slip from his skin, trailing down his forearms and grazing his wrists before falling to her sides. “Any record?”
Harry drags a ringed hand through his curls, his lithe fingers tugging on the locks before falling to his side in a loose fist. “Any record.” He confirms as he reaches for a kitchen drawer, tugging it open to extract a long metal spoon. “Anything you want to listen to.”
He watches as a serious expression paints itself over the human girl’s face, as if the task he’s given her is of the utmost importance. She turns on her heel and marches out of the kitchen as if on a mission, and as Harry turns towards the now-boiling pot of water on his stove, he knows that his own face reflects a look of fondness. It’s too easy to let his guard down with her, he thinks as he ladles his homemade gnocchi into the rolling water. When she looks at him, there’s such an openness in her expression that he can’t help but allow himself to be seen.
But being seen doesn’t always feel so sweet, which Harry remembers the moment he hears Y/N’s melodic voice ring from the living room.
“When did you get a piano?”
Harry’s hand freezes mid-scoop, the few gnocchi that had been dangling on the edge of his spoon falling into the boiling water. A bit of the liquid splashes out and lands on his arm, but quickly fizzes to room temperature once it meets his freezing skin.
“Uh—” He clears his throat as he tries to refocus on his task, but his actions are much more frantic than careful as he finishes filling the pot with gnocchi. “I’ve had it for a while, remember? I mentioned it to you before. At the antique mall.”
When his explanation receives no response, he gives his own frustrated sigh, and sets down the polished spoon to retrace Y/N’s steps out into the living room. As he expected her to be the moment he heard her question, he finds her with a reverent hand tracing the edge of the matte black Steinway grand piano that’s occupied a space in nearly every home he’s had since he purchased it in the 1920s. Seeing her nimble fingers drift over the hand-crafted edge brings back a hazy human memory to Harry’s mind— a flash of sharply manicured fingers and a strangely pale hand, adorned with an opal ring as they danced over the pianoforte in an opulent sitting room. The sound of tinkling laughter that rang like a bell, pitched almost high enough to make his ears ache, and a soft, hypnotizing voice slathered in the most delicate accent he’d ever heard.
Harry has to blink a few times to bring himself back to the present.
“What was that, darling?” He hopes his voice isn’t nearly as strained as it feels when he refocuses his eyes on Y/N’s waiting gaze. “I didn’t quite catch that.”
“I said that you told me it was in storage.” She glides over the intricately carved music stand, the digit dancing across every twist and curve of the decorative panel. “Why did you bring it out?”
“Uh, I dunno, really.” An uncomfortable itch settles onto Harry’s skin, his stomach turning as Y/N takes a seat on the creaking piano bench set in front of the instrument. “I just, uh, figured it should be displayed somewhere, instead of gathering dust in a storage unit. It’s a vintage Steinway, y’know? Those need to be taken care of.”
In truth, the vintage instrument had rung Harry quite a high bill over the last few decades, not only in the price it cost to keep it in permanent storage, but in the services he’d had done to it once a year to keep it in its nearly pristine condition. Despite keeping it out of sight to keep it out of his mind, he couldn’t seem to allow himself to let the instrument fall into disrepair, just in case he ever decided to display it again. Or sell it, as he’d been leaning towards doing over the last few years— a genuine Steinway piano in condition as good as his had quite the high price tag. But he’d never been able to force himself to part with it, as it looked too similar to the one he had originally learned to play on. Even though those memories were tainted with the usual pain that came with thinking about his human life, it was still his life, and he ached to hold onto some part of it. It’s why he had his mother’s ring, and his sister’s earring, and his father’s cross and pocket watch. It’s why had a small wooden box hidden away under his bed with memorabilia from his first life. As much as it hurt to remember— and it did, in ways he can’t possibly begin to describe— remembering seems better than the alternative.
“Well, if you want to show it off…” Y/N’s fingers are trailing down the fallboard now, inching their way towards the ivory keys with a daydream-like purpose. “You shouldn’t hide it away in the corner of the room. It would look gorgeous in front of the windows, don’t you think? A proper centerpiece.”
It would make a beautiful centerpiece, and he originally intended it to be so after the delivery company had dropped it off at his condo a few days before. After bribing Adam and Niall with the offer to buy out their bar tabs for an entire month, the three of them had spent the afternoon rearranging the furniture in his living room to display the Steinway in the center of the room. He’d thought that, knowing how excited Y/N had been to hear him play the piano in the antique store, she’d like to hear him play in his own home, on an instrument he knows like the back of his hand. He’d even begun kicking around the idea of teaching her a few songs, but those musings had quickly turned sour as the instrument brought back more memories of his foggy human life. In the end, he’d decided to restore his living room back to its original state with the addition of the Steinway thrust into the corner, where the ghosts of his past could plunk the keys quietly without drawing too much of his attention. He’d done his best to ignore the instrument over the last couple of days, and in his hurricane of thoughts that had centered around Y/N, he’d nearly forgotten about its existence completely.
He can’t be mad that Y/N is asking about it; after all, he’d brought it out of storage with her specifically in mind. But seeing the newfound object of his affections with her fingers poised over the keys brings back a rush of emotions he’d been repressing for the better part of two hundred years.
“It—” Harry clears his throat once more, trying to rid himself of the lump that is rising up like bile. “It took up too much space in the center of the room. Wasn’t very cohesive.”
“That’s too bad.” The mortal girl’s words fall from her mouth in a murmur as her gaze remains locked on the keys, almost as if she’s in a trance. Her finger begins to press down on the ivory with a slow and meticulous motion. “It seems like such a shame to—”
“Let’s— Let’s not get into that now, sweetheart.” Harry says hurriedly, his fingers catching her own before she can trigger the instrument to make a sound. “Dinner’s almost ready, and you—” He forces a grin onto his lips. “—still haven’t picked a record out.” Threading her fingers through his own, Harry gently tugs the human girl up from her seat on the piano bench. “Would you rather I do it instead?”
As he expected, Y/N wrinkles her nose with distaste as she rises to meet his emerald eyes. “No.” She scoffs as a quiet snort rises from her throat. “I don’t need to listen to some weird experimental 60s music while trying to eat dinner.”
While Harry would normally bite back at her dig, he just responds to her with a thin laugh and a smile without dimples. “Exactly. So why don’t you pick something out,” He jerks his head over his shoulder to where his record player and vinyls sit neatly on a shelf lining the wall, ignoring the ghastly spike of pain that twinges his neck as he does so. “And I’ll plate dinner, yeah?”
“Alright.” She agrees, and Harry nearly breathes a sigh of relief before she finishes her phrase. “But you’ll play for me later tonight, won’t you?”
The phantom pain grows until it extends down Harry’s entire spine, filling every nerve in his body with a sense of anxiety and trepidation. The last thing Harry wants to do is move his fingers over those weighted keys, and with the burning sensation now shooting through his fingers, making his hand twitch around Y/N’s, he’s not even sure he can.
But he is sure of one thing, and that’s the fact that he can’t ever seem to say no to Y/N.
“Yeah, dove. Of course.” Keeping his voice even, Harry pulls her away from the extravagant instrument as inconspicuously as he can. “Later tonight.”
///
There are so many things that Harry has done over the last two centuries that have both angered and confused him.
He’s held grudges against himself over the way he’s acted, the people he’s surrounded himself with, the people he’s allowed himself to trust, and the blatant disregard for human decency he’s allowed himself to succumb to. In the last twenty decades, Harry has amassed enough vendettas for fifty lifetimes, let alone the one endless life he’s been given. And yet, even with all of those missteps in mind, the fact that Harry ever looked at Y/N and deigned her an ordinary human might be one of the biggest mistakes he’s ever made.
It’s so clear to him now— sitting across from her at his kitchen island, the few scented candles flickering between them doing almost nothing to cover her sugar and flower scent, her eyes reflecting back the burning flames and something else that Harry can’t quite put a finger on— that he’s not sure how he ever missed it. How had he once leaned against the counter in her own kitchen, looked into those very same eyes, and managed to convince himself that it was only her blood that drew him to her? How had he listened to her sweet and sensual voice murmur delicate phrases about her day and her emotions, and not realize that he was inching closer and closer in order to hang on every word, as if she had the supernatural ability to compel him as he did her? How had he seen her in the smokiness of the club, with her fragile skin practically luminescent under the pulsing strobe lights, and thought that she was so utterly unmemorable and unnoticeable that he could easily take her home for one night without anyone wondering about her whereabouts? How had he convinced himself that it would only be one night?
There are so many things that Harry will always be angry about, will never forgive himself for, and his initial perception of Y/N is one of them.
If he has any redeeming qualities, he thinks as he watches the mortal girl spear a bite of gnocchi onto her fork over the rim of his wine glass, it’s that he can, at the very least, admit when he’s wrong. He can admit to himself that this girl— this self-assertive, stubborn, vivacious, kind-hearted mortal girl— is the most interesting and most intriguing human he’s ever met. And as terrifying as that is, it’s also a little thrilling; it’s been so long since Harry has felt a pull to someone like this. The sensation, while unfamiliar and something he’s severely out of practice with, is just as electrifying as he remembers, and now that he’s had a taste of it, he can’t stop chasing that high.
It’s that undeniable pull which drive Harry to murmur an unauthentic apology about not having a dining table (he’d chosen a larger living room over a dining area when he moved in, and his friends just settled for eating at Niall’s when they wanted to sit down somewhere) because he’s secretly pleased that he has an excuse to sit next to Y/N. It’s that pull that makes him hang on her every word about her day like she’s relaying the plot of a Greek tragedy, his facial expressions perfectly mimicking hers as she describes the customers she dealt with. It’s that pull that sends his fingers forward of their own accord to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear as the soft melody of Hozier’s “Like Real People Do” floats between them like a comforting lullaby. It’s that pull that, when she inquires about the entrée he’d prepared for them, causes him to proudly admit that he’d recreated the recipe from Bella Vita after wrestling it from Vincenzo. It’s that pull that urges him to scoop up one of his own gnocchi and bring it to Y/N’s lips to feed her the first bite of the meal, his hand cupped delicately under the utensil to catch any sauce that might drip onto her shirt (which is really his shirt, and that fact alone delivers so much more pleasure than he ever would’ve thought possible).
It’s that pull, that adrenaline rush, that indescribable sensation, but underneath it all, it’s her. It’s always been her, since the moment they’d first met. From the moment he first laid eyes on her. How is it, Harry wonders, that his first sighting, enhanced by his supernatural senses, had managed to make him so blind? How is it that he’d had this girl in front of him all along, and he’d managed to delude himself into thinking that he’d be able to stop himself from becoming vulnerable for her? And maybe, he wonders slowly as he clears Y/N’s empty dinner plate from the marble island to the sink, he’s still deluding himself, because for some strange reason, being vulnerable for the mortal girl doesn’t seem to be as terrifying as he thought it would be.
The vampire suddenly recalls a specific day all those weeks back, when Y/N had stayed over and they’d taken their first bath together in his jacuzzi. He thinks about how he’d allowed himself to be vulnerable for just a fraction of a second, when he had admitted to her that she often caught him off guard. She had returned the sentiment, and he remembers the words he'd uttered to her amidst the warm steam and quiet splashing of the water. He had said that he found her influence on him— the influence they had on each other— to be scary, but exhilarating. And now, after spending so much time together and allowing himself to grow closer to her than he ever could’ve imagined, he’s come to find that his attraction to Y/N is no longer incredibly scary. Yes, there’s still a sliver of fear in him at the notion of opening himself up to her, but it’s only natural— there isn’t one person in existence who isn’t scared to strip themselves emotionally bare for someone else. However, his genuine excitement soothes his hesitations, and it startles him in a pleasant manner he can’t quite decipher.
Setting the dirty dishes into the sink to be dealt with later, Harry risks a glance at Y/N over his shoulder. He watches as she wipes the corner of her mouth on a napkin before raising her stemmed glass to her lips, delicately draining the last of the crimson liquid before placing it back down with a clink. When he catches her sparkling eyes, Y/N shoots him a smile that, even with only one corner of her lips lifted, manages to dazzle him from across the kitchen. Harry can hear the fresh flush of blood that overtakes her cheeks, as if the wine itself is settling beneath her fragile skin.
Yes, vulnerability should petrify him. Vulnerability means danger. It means giving someone the ability to break you, and Harry knows this from firsthand experience. Harry might be the only monster in the room, but in this moment, Y/N is the ominous threat. She’s the vague silhouette that hides in the shadows, the mysterious mass circling just beneath the waves, waiting for the right moment to strike.
But now that he’s dipped a toe in, Harry can’t stop himself from diving headfirst into those dangerous depths.
“D’you want another drink, love?” He asks, turning back around and leaning his hip against the marble counter as he cocks his head to the side in a questioning manner. “Some more wine before dessert? Or another cocktail?”
Y/N glances at her multiple empty glasses in front of her, but shakes her head slowly. “No, I’ve had enough to drink. But I’d love a cup of tea, H. If you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. A cup of tea, coming right up.” Harry reaches for the sleek kettle that he keeps set on the backburner of his range, flicking on his tap with his other hand before settling the hollow object under the stream of water. “You know, I think this is the first time I’m actually making tea for you. S’a real treat, isn’t it?” He flashes a toothy grin at the girl before placing the now-full kettle back onto the burner and twisting the knob to high. “A proper cup of tea made by a proper Brit. Can’t get much better than that.”
Y/N rolls her eyes playfully as she circles her finger around the rim of the empty wine glass, her motions just starting to get heavy with the liquor. “It’s just some dried leaves and water, Harry. Don’t get too full of yourself.”
“I think you’re the one who’s usually full of me, aren’t you, pet?” Although his back is turned towards the stove, Harry can hear the effect his words have on the human girl by the small, nearly imperceptible gasp that leaves her lips. “‘M not sure you’re allowed to make that observation.”
Despite the choked feeling that’s welled up in her throat at his comment, Y/N quickly clears it out with a small cough, capturing Harry’s sea glass eyes with her own to stare him down stubbornly. “I’ll make any observations I want.” She says firmly, crossing her arms over her exposed chest in a mockingly angered pose.
A fond laugh rolls from Harry’s stained lips as he opens his cupboards and extracts two tea cups that are painted with vines of wisteria flowers. He’d found them a few years back at the very same antique mall he’d brought Y/N to, included in a china tea set that he hadn’t been able to resist buying. The hand painted violet flowers had caught his eye from the moment he’d glanced at the china cabinet they’d been locked inside, and he’d barely been able to tear himself away from the glass case to retrieve the key from an employee.
He’d always had a soft spot for wisteria; there had been a wisteria tree outside of his childhood home, and he and Gemma used to collect the bunches of blooms and bring them inside for their mother. That had been a long time ago, of course. When they were children. Harry can’t quite remember at what age they’d stopped digging through the garden for flowers— it might have been when Gemma turned eleven, which would’ve made him…. Seven? Harry frowns at the uncertain memory as his grip tightens around the delicate china cups. Yes, he reminds himself, he would’ve been seven. His sister had been four years older than him, and it was around age eleven when she’d declared herself a lady, and said that it wasn’t ladylke to dig through a garden and walk around with dirt under one’s fingernails, and Honestly, Harry, you must wipe your feet before stepping into the house, or else you’ll track mud everywhere—
With trembling hands, Harry sets the wisteria tea cups down on the marble counter, flexing his fingers to get rid of their shakiness before reaching for the respective saucers. It seems that Y/N’s ability to make him feel more human isn’t just resurfacing the manners and emotions he’d long suppressed, but the memories, too. How long had it been since he’d heard his sister’s voice ring in his head as clearly as that? How long had it been since he’d thought of the tiny foyer of his childhood home, which he’d tracked mud into countless times as his mother and, eventually, his sister clicked their tongues at him? Is the tree still there, he wonders as his thoughts continue to spiral. Or had it been cut down in the two hundred years since he’d last seen it, long after his family had all…
Harry places the saucers carefully down against the marble before bracing himself against the edge for just a moment. Barely thirty seconds have passed since Y/N’s retort, and although his enhanced mind had begun to spiral, it’s not too late for him to give a half-sane response.
“I know you will, sweetheart.” He finally murmurs, hiding his face as he pulls open his fridge to extract the carton of oat milk he’d purchased last week. Y/N, he’d come to learn over the last few months, prefers milk over cream in her tea, just like she prefers sugar over artificial sweeteners.
Harry can feel the burn of her eyes into his back as he extracts a teaspoon from his kitchen drawer and the kettle begins to whistle. Focusing and relishing in being the object of her attention, Harry removes the kettle from the heat, flicking the stove off before reaching for the canister that stores his tea bags. In an effort to fully distract himself from the troubling thoughts of his past, he begins to hum the tune to the Hozier song that had been playing earlier, before the record had spun to stop just before they’d finished their entrees. With the near murmur of the melody reverberating through his throat, he spends a moment debating on whether or not he should use the matching wisteria-adorned teapot that sits on the highest shelf of his cupboard, but quickly decides against it— it’s too formal for the occasion. But tossing two separate tea bags into the two teacups, he finds as soon as he does it, doesn’t feel right either; after all, he’d told Y/N that he’d be making her a proper cup of tea. That fact settles the manner in his (moreso than usual) changing mind, and within a few moments, he has the two teabags deposited into the teapot before pouring in the boiling water to steep the satchels of dried leaves.
Halfway through his preparation, his ears had perked up with the distinct sound of Y/N rising from her chair, which had been followed by the muted pattering of her feet against his hardwood floor. Not bothering to ask where she’d been going, Harry had instead decided to wait for his suspicions to be confirmed. Sure enough, just as he’s stirring the sugar and oat milk into Y/N’s cup of tea, he hears the quiet press of one of the keys of his piano. C4, if his aural skills are still as tuned as they used to be.
Setting the two cups of tea onto their respective plates (Y/N’s with milk and sugar, and Harry’s plain), the vampire easily balances both cups of tea in his hands and makes it to the living room without spilling a single drop.
Just like before, Y/N seems entranced by the piano, plunking out different notes and letting them ring into the open air. Harry can’t help but wince slightly as he approaches— as talented as Y/N seems to be at some things, music theory does not appear to be included.
“Christ, love, a tritone?” He protests, his voice hinging on a whine as he approaches the piano bench. “What, your fingers couldn’t make it a perfect fifth, hm?”
The answer to his teasing question comes in the form of Y/N’s entire body jumping as her fingers stutter over the keys, an audible gasp falling from her mouth while her hand clutches to her chest and her head turns to stare at Harry over her shoulder. “Jesus, you scared me!” She says breathlessly, her palm massaging over her the area where Harry can hear the rapid pulsing of her heart. “Have you always creeped around like that?”
A playful grin tugs at the immortal’s lips as he extends an arm out, handing the china saucer and cup to the human girl. “Only when I’m carrying boiling tea. Scooch over, will you?” Nudging his way onto the newly unoccupied space of the bench, Harry nods his head towards the keys she had been previously playing. “Was that an original composition?”
“Beethoven, actually. I’m surprised you didn’t recognize it.” Y/N blows gently over her tea with pursed lips before taking a small sip. Harry knows that his sister would have condemned the action, along with the following slurp, by calling it unladylike, but the inelegant manner leaves a fond feeling buzzing through his body once more.
Raising his own teacup to his lips, Harry chuckles quietly over the rim of the cup. “I wouldn’t have pegged it for the classical era, actually. Sounded more atonal to me.” He takes a small sip of tea, the liquid scorching down his throat in the best way. “You said you took lessons when you were younger, didn’t you? Do you remember anything?”
“Twinkle twinkle little star, maybe.” Y/N takes another small gulp before setting the cup back down on the saucer. “I was, like, eight. Nursery rhymes were as far as I got.” Her gaze drops to the caramel coloured tea with a curious gaze; Harry had remembered exactly how she takes it, despite him only having seen her make a cup of tea once a few weeks ago. “But you, on the other hand… Mr. Good Lookin’...” Her lips jolt into a teasing grin as her eyes flicker to the side to capture his own. “You’re quite the musician, from what I remember. And you promised to play me something.”
“I did, didn’t I?” Harry’s smile grows imperceivably tighter as he takes another drag of the boiling drink, his throat growing thicker with every swallow. “And you still want me to?”
Brow furrowing at his reluctance, Y/N cocks her head to the side in bewilderment. “Of course I do, H. I loved listening to you play for me at the antique mall.”
Harry thinks back to that day, when he’d stuttered his way through a Chopin piece before his stumbling fingers had given up entirely. “I’m just a little out of practice, love. It’ll be a bit messy.”
“I didn’t ask for perfection; I asked for you to play.” Her warm fingers find Harry’s upper arm, massaging the tattooed muscles just underneath the tucked sleeve of his shirt as she regards him with wide, curious eyes. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but if you’re nervous because you might mess up… Well, you heard me play.” Her light laugh rings through the cavity of the piano, reverberating off the highest strings in a way that only Harry’s immortal ears can pick up. “I won’t be able to tell the difference.”
“I suppose that’s true.” Despite his reservations, a half-hearted smile finds its way to Harry’s lips over the rim of his tea cup, which he sets down on the living room side table after taking one last sip.
Flexing his ringed fingers, he repositions himself on the piano bench, moving more towards the center of the seat as Y/N moves down to the edge to give him full access to the piano. For a brief moment, his hands hover over the ivory and ebony keys as he evaluates the repertoire he knows he can muddle his way through without too much trouble. He’s already played a few Chopin pieces for the human girl, so that composer is out. Liszt doesn’t seem to fit the mood, either, as his pieces are much too ornamented for their quiet living room ambience. Debussy is out before Harry can even consider him; the last thing he wants to do is invoke any more memories of sitting at a piano with the much too familiar composer. And Beethoven and Mozart seem too contrived for this setting, as well.
With a frown on his wine-stained lips, Harry spares one glance at Y/N, whose own eyes are glued to his floating fingers. She reaches out with a tentative touch of her own, gliding them across Harry’s tensed knuckles with a pressure so soft that, if not for the heat of her skin, Harry might not feel it at all. The cautiousness of the motion is not lost on him— it’s almost as if Y/N is worried that she’ll spook him out of playing, like any sudden movements could break him. It reminds the creature of the awareness he has whenever he touches her; how he always carefully evaluates the amount of pressure he uses whenever he glides his fingers over her vulnerable skin.
As if she were a butterfly, he thinks, not for the first time. His butterfly.
Harry doesn’t remember making the conscious decision to start playing. He doesn’t even recognize the piece that’s tentatively ringing from the piano until the repetition of the first motive, when Y/N emits a satisfied breath and her warm hand falls back to Harry’s thigh, rubbing gently over his olive trousers with that same delicate touch, almost as if he were a butterfly.
The creature’s fingers continue to glide over the ivory keys, his phrases growing smoother and more confident with every passing moment. He pays careful attention to the dynamics of the piece, trying his best to recall the sheet music that he hadn’t looked at in decades, but it only takes about thirty seconds for him to realize that it’s easier to just let himself feel the music. With Y/N’s hand continuing to dance over his thigh in time with the tune, Harry lets himself play around with the score, peppering in crescendos and decrescendos as he sees fit. He draws out some of the minor phrases, hoping to wrench on his obsolete heartstrings the way he had when he first learned the piece in the early 20th century, and hovers his fingers over the bass notes as he uses the pedal to make them ring out into the living room.
Halfway through the composition, Harry realizes that he’s breathing with the phrases, timing each inhale and exhale of his lungs with the musical lines. It only takes him another two measures to realize that Y/N is doing the same, her body leaning into Harry’s as Harry leans into the instrument. And that, he finds as his jeweled fingers slide over the keys, tugs on his heartstrings more than any melody ever could.
As he approaches the end of the piece, he softens his touch, his fingertips almost ghosting over the keys as he gently presses the final notes. Harry keeps his foot hovered over the pedal, allowing the quiet cadence to fade to silence in its own time, and as it does, he can feel his body coming back into itself— which is strange, considering he hadn’t noticed the trance-like space he’d slipped into.
Y/N, however, must have noticed, because her voice is hushed and hesitant when she speaks again, waiting until the final notes have completely faded to silence, as if she’s afraid that she’s interrupting something.
“That was so beautiful, H.” She praises, her hand still rubbing over his clothed thigh. The motion would normally drive Harry mad, but for some reason, all it does to him in this moment is bring a strange lump to his throat. “What’s it called?”
In his unfamiliar haze, it takes Harry a moment to find his own voice. “Uh, Papillons.” He says through his thick accent, clearing his throat subtly as he lowers his hands to his lap. He hadn’t even realized they were still lingering over the last notes. “It means—”
“Butterflies.” The mortal girl nods in recognition, a thoughtful look over her face as she taps a finger against his trousers, her tone slightly jesting as she murmurs her next sentence. “I know enough sixth grade French to understand that. Is it a French piece, then?”
“No.” Harry jerks his head in the negative, only remembering to soften the agitated motion after it’s happened. He raises his keen eyes to meet Y/N’s, a reminder of where he is. And a reminder of who he’s with. “It’s the fifth movement in a suite by Robert Schumann— the “Polonaise,” in B-flat major. S’one of my favourites.”
“I can see why.” Y/N murmurs, a fond smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “It was wonderful, really. ‘Out of practice,’ my ass.”
Even with the residual anxiety still coursing through his veins, Harry manages to force out a chuckle at her teasing. “Trust me, I’m just as surprised as you are. But Schumann has always been a favourite composer of mine—” Harry takes Y/N’s teacup from her, noting how her eyes had flickered to the ground, as if she was looking for a place to set it, and she sends him a thankful grin as he sets the cup next to his own on the end table. “—along with his wife. They were both incredibly talented musicians.”
“His wife?” Intrigue threads through Y/N’s voice as she props up an elbow on the piano, resting her chin on her loose fist as she turns her body towards Harry. “She was a musician, too?”
Harry hums affirmatively as he cracks his knuckles, flexing his fingers in his lap to loosen them from the buzzing sensation that’s still prickling his skin. “She was, yeah. They had a pretty passionate love story, y’know. That’s why his music is so beautiful— he wrote it all for her.”
Y/N doesn’t miss the reminiscent tone that seeps into Harry’s voice, and she threads her fingers through his own as her eyes widen with a gentle plea. “Will you tell me about them? Schumann and his wife?”
“I—” Hesitating at her request, Harry squeezes her hand tightly, half in affection, half in warning. “It doesn’t have much of a happy ending, darling. A bit of a tragedy, that one.”
“I want to know.” The human girl nods her head stubbornly as her eyes flash with determination. “Just because it has a sad ending doesn’t mean it’s not worth knowing.”
Harry pauses for a moment, allowing her words to fully sink into his mind and spark the beacon of hope that’s sat coldy in his head for so long. “I suppose that’s true.”
He mulls over where to begin, thinking back to all the newspaper articles he’d read about a child prodigy in Germany in the 1820s, who was the daughter of—
“So the story really begins with Friederich Wieck.” Harry’s voice falls into a smooth cadence as he begins, thumbing over Y/N’s warm knuckles absentmindedly as he recalls the information. “He was a music teacher, most known for piano, but what he really wanted to be known for was raising a child prodigy. He had a few children, but the one who filled that description was Clara, his second oldest.”
As Harry begins to spin the tale, Y/N can’t help but focus on his expression. Although his eyes are set on their linked hands, she can tell that his gaze is far away, as if he’s seeing the scene play before his eyes as he tells it. It’s fascinating, she thinks, seeing him focus so intently on something as niche as an old love story between musicians, but more than that, it’s new to her. This is a new side of him that she hasn’t seen before— not cocky, or charming, or playful. This side of him is intent, as if he wants to make sure that every word he speaks is the truth. His expression is almost as interesting as the story itself.
“Clara’s parents, Friederich and Mariane, didn’t really get along very well, and Clara had a lot of trouble when she was young; she didn’t really speak until she was four. But music always came easily to her, which made sense, considering her parents.” Harry’s free hand drifts back to the ivory keys, just resting over the lacquered surface. “Her mother was a musician, too— an accomplished singer. But after her parents split when she was five, when Mariane had an affair with a family friend, Clara was left with her father. And her father wanted to focus on her music career. He gave her hour-long lessons every day, and made her practice for two hours on top of that. She made her performance debut when she was just nine years old, in 1828, at the Gewandhaus in Leipzig.”
“Okay, wait. Pause.” Y/N worries her bottom lip between her teeth as she waits for Harry’s faraway eyes to refocus on her confused expression. “What does playing in Leipzig at age nine have to do with a love story?”
An amused laugh slips from Harry’s lips at Y/N’s impatience. “I’m getting there, sweetheart. A little bit of patience would be beneficial to you, I think. And a little bit of trust in me, yeah?”
Although she huffs a little bit, Y/N relents, squeezing Harry’s hand in acknowledgement at the phrase he always seems to end up repeating: Trust me. She vaguely wonders why it’s so important to him. “Alright, fine. Continue.”
“Thank you.” Harry swipes a hand through his tousled curls before settling it back down on the keys, running his fingertips over the smooth surface absentmindedly in the same rhythm he’s swiping over Y/N’s knuckles. “Okay, so… She played in Leipzig a few times that year, and once was at a private music party at someone’s house, where she met Robert Schumann.” At the mention of the name, Harry shoots Y/N an ‘I told you so’ look, which she meets with a roll of her eyes. “He was a gifted pianist, and was so inspired by Clara’s playing that he got permission from his mother to quit his law studies in order to study piano under Clara’s father, Friederich. So in 1830, Robert moved into the Weick household as one of Friederich’s students, and—”
“Sorry, I— pause again.” Brow furrowed, Y/N’s eyes narrow in suspicion as she mulls over Harry’s words. “So— if Clara was, like, nine—”
“Eleven, actually. It’s 1830 now, remember?”
“Alright, eleven. If Clara was eleven… You said Robert quit law school to study music.” Y/N’s narrowed eyes widen as she regards Harry, as if asking him to contradict her suspicions. “How old was Robert?”
“Around twenty, I think.” Harry says casually, lifting his shoulder in a light shrug. “He was born in 1810, so— yeah. He would’ve been twenty.”
“Twenty?” Y/N yanks her hand from Harry’s as she fully twists her body to face him, as if just hearing the horror in her voice isn’t enough. “He was twenty? I thought this was a love story?”
“It is! It’s just—”
“No, it’s not! It’s gross!” Wrinkling her nose in disgust, Y/N shakes her head harshly, her loose hair spilling over her flushing cheeks. “A twenty year old shouldn’t—”
“He didn’t! Nothing happened until they were older, love.” Harry captures Y/N’s hand within his own again, smoothing over her knuckles as he hurries to reassure her. “And it was the nineteenth century… a nine year age gap in a relationship wasn’t exactly uncommon.” For a brief moment, Harry wonders what Y/N would think if she knew just how much older he really was than her. Would she react with the same horrified expression she had now? Yank her hand from his again as she had just done?
“Yeah, well…” Y/N’s appearance is still bristled as she shoots Harry a condemning look. “There’s a difference between a nine year age gap and a child—”
“Nothing’s happened yet, sweetheart.” Harry bites back the involuntary laugh that bubbles through his chest at the indignant tone of her voice. “Now can I continue? Or do you want to yell some more?”
Although her response is grumbled, the mortal girl mutters, “Fine. Continue.” as Harry lifts her knuckles to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of her hand.
“Thank you.” He lowers her hand back down to his thigh, smoothing it over his trousers before continuing where he’d left off. “So Robert studies under Clara’s father and stays with them for a year. And although Clara and Robert were just friends, Friederich could tell that they were becoming close, which he didn’t like. And before you say anything,” Harry watches as Y/N’s lips twitch into a frown. “It wasn’t because of Robert’s age. Friederich didn’t want Clara to fall in love with anyone; he just wanted her to focus on her music. He still wanted his child prodigy, you know? So he began to take her on tours through Europe. But by the time Clara was sixteen, it was clear that she and Robert had feelings for each other. They wrote countless letters to each other, signed them ‘your special friend’... And when Clara turned eighteen, Robert asked Friederich for his permission to marry his daughter. And Friederich said no, because that would ruin his plans for Clara’s music career.”
Despite her hesitation at the relationship, Y/N still mutters a quiet “Harsh.” at the story.
Harry’s hands return to the keys, but this time, they do more than hover. He begins to press a few notes slowly, letting one ring out completely before moving to the other, and it takes Y/N a few moments to realize that he’s playing an actual melody, albeit a deconstructed one.
“Because Clara wasn’t twenty-one yet, they needed her father’s permission to marry, so Robert took the case to court. And it was…” His fingers stutter over the keys for a moment as his face twists up, remembering how the story had decorated the society pages of newspapers back then. “Messy. Really messy. But in the end, Robert won the case, and he and Clara were married. And they wrote all this beautiful music together…” Harry’s left hand joins his right over the piano, moving with more intention now as he adds a quiet harmony to his slow melody line. “They weren’t good with words, but they were good with music. That’s how they communicated with each other. You can hear the love in everything they wrote, the devotion they had for each other. Listen,” He says in a hushed voice, the melody of the music becoming unbearably sweet. “D’you hear it?”
“I do.” Y/N nods softly, her fingers massaging Harry’s thigh muscle as he continues to play. It’s not a lie, either; there’s a sincerity in what Harry’s playing that twists within her chest.
Or maybe, she thinks, her eyes trained in the profile of the man beside her, it’s just Harry.
“Didn’t you…” Y/N hesitates both in her words and her motions over Harry’s leg as a new thought tugs at her mind. “Didn’t you say the story had a sad ending? That all seems good, isn’t it? Clara and Robert got married, wrote music together…”
Harry’s fingers begin to slow down, returning to the reduced melody he’d been playing previously, as if weighed down by the knowledge he’s about to share. “Uh, yeah. Robert had a lot of problems— mental health issues. Later in their marriage, he became manic, had episodes where he saw angels and demons… and he was worried he’d hurt Clara.” Harry says quietly, risking a glance at the girl beside him, who’s watching him with such wide and trusting eyes that he almost can’t bear it. Harry knows what it’s like to fear hurting the ones you care for. “He tried to kill himself, and when he was unsuccessful, he asked to be taken to an insane asylum. And he never went home again. He died there, just a few days after Clara was finally allowed to visit. S’like…” Harry’s fingers pause over the piano once more. “S’like he was waiting for her. Before going.”
Detecting the emotion in his voice, Y/N raises her hand from his thigh, smoothing back a few loose curls before gently setting her palm over the curve of his neck. “That is a bit of a tragic story, I’ll admit. To have fought so hard for each other for so long… And then to lose all of it like that…”
“Yeah.” Harry clears the lump from his throat as subtly as he can. He’s certainly no stranger to loss, to feeling helpless at being unable to save someone you love… He knows that pain all too well.
As if she can sense the darkness in his mood, Y/N rubs a comforting hand across his shoulder and down his arm, drifting over his inked skin with a warm touch. Her comment, however, is more lighthearted than her caring caress.
“I still think the age gap is a little weird. How do you go from writing letters about being ‘special friends’ to falling in love?”
Harry rises to her baited joke, doing his best to shake himself from his introspective thoughts as his fingers begin to drift over the keys once more. He focuses on just his right hand now, playing out an absentminded yet tender tune as he speaks. “So if I started to call you my special friend, you wouldn’t like it?”
“God, no— that sounds awful.” Y/N scoffs, her own hand drifting to the ivory keys. “We’re sleeping together, not making mud pies in a kindergarten class.”
Harry’s laugh is more genuine as he begins to slow down his playing, plucking only single notes that Y/N echoes in the lower register of the piano. “Alright, fine. Not special friends, then.”
“There’s just so many cooler historical ways to say we’re having sex, y’know? None of that ‘special friend’ bullshit.” Y/N continues to match Harry’s notes as best she can, wincing every so often as she plays a dissonant key. “Like… ‘lover.’ That’s a good one. Nice and simple. Or—” Her eyes light up with mirth as the thought pops into her head. “Courtesan to the queen. Not as simple, but it certainly rolls off the tongue.”
Harry quirks a brow at the suggestion. “And you’ll be the queen in question, I presume?”
“Of course. Do you have a better idea?”
“‘Paramour’ is a neat little name, don’t you think?” Harry asks, his fingers pressing down a simple perfect fourth on the piano to punctuate his question. “Sounds pretty elegant. Understated.”
“If you want understated…” Y/N matches the top note of Harry’s interval, already knowing she wouldn’t be able to match the actual notes without hurting both of their ears. “We could do what historians do when talking about ancient queer couples. Say we’re just good friends.”
The creature hums in acknowledgment at the back of his throat. “We could, yeah. Or we could be mistresses. Is there a word for a male mistress?” Harry quirks an eyebrow as his lips pull into a quizzical frown. “A master?”
“Jesus Christ, never refer to yourself as a master again.” Y/N groans loudly, her fingers slipping from the keys as she feigns a shudder. “That just sounds creepy. Even creepier than a special friend. How about…” She tries her best to stifle a wry grin as a more vulgar alternative pops into her head. “The Whore of Babylon?”
“Fuck’s sake, what did I say about slut-shaming me?”
“I just thought it’d fit! It has a nice ring to it! But if it really irks you that much— Oh, wait—” She quirks her head to the side, a new wave of amusement lighting up her eyes as she thinks of her next step in their game. “What about ‘special advisor’? You know, like we’re in a historical drama, and I have a kingdom to defend from oncoming war, and you’re my most trusted advisor, and when my husband is away with the army, you and I sneak off into my chambers…”
Although he giggles boyishly at the suggestion, Harry can’t ignore the twinge of jealousy that shoots up his spine at the mention of Y/N’s— albeit imaginary— husband. He doesn’t like being referred to as her side relationship, even in an imaginary world of queens and wars. Even then, he wants to be Y/N’s first choice.
Because she’s his, he realizes, his fingers continuing to pluck out single ivory notes as a way to deal with the impending ball of tension that’s growing inside his abdomen. Even in a game, in an imaginary world, in any way imaginable— Y/N is his first choice.
He just— he wants her, in every sense of the word. And he knows all the reasons he shouldn’t— he knows how reckless it is to allow a human to get so close to him, how he’ll never truly be able to be honest with her, how he’ll always be using her for her blood, how he can’t give her the human relationship she deserves. But he can’t stop from thinking about Robert and Clara, who fought for each other from the very beginning, who persevered through every challenge thrown their way, and who still only got sixteen years together before circumstance tore them apart.
Harry is here. He is— for all intents and purposes— theoretically alive. And the girl he wants more than anyone else is right next to him. There’s no doubt in his mind that it’ll be difficult, but does he not owe it to those who ran out of time to try? At the very least? Does he not owe it to himself to fight for the happiness he’s spent so long evading, all out of fear?
He can manage that. He can manage his cravings around Y/N enough to take only what he needs, and never anything more. He can manage his double life and keep her from falling victim to the darkest corners of his mind. He can manage his strength enough to treat her as delicately as he’d treat a butterfly. He can manage the most monstrous parts of himself. He can do that for Y/N.
But only if she wants him to.
It’s that hesitation that brings a tremor to his hands as they pause over the keys, poised over the lacquered surface that he can barely tear his gaze from. “A special advisor sounds fun, yeah. Or you could…” Harry clears his throat roughly, sweat pooling across his brow as he fiddles with the opal ring on his pinky. He twists it back and forth around the digits, only managing to spare one look from the corner of his eye at Y/N’s quizzical face before dropping his stare back down to the piano.
“Or you could, um… you could just… call me your…” Say it, the voice in his head practically yells. It’s just one word. It’s not that hard. “Boyfriend. You could just call me your boyfriend.”
A heavy pause fills the air in the large room, and Harry feels like he’s being suffocated. His voice grows fainter when he detects the sudden hitch in Y/N’s breath, but nothing else. He finds himself wanting to fill the empty space between them with something, or else he might pass out from the nerves. “If you… If you want, that is. It would just keep it simple. Plain and simple.”
Plain and simple, Y/N thinks as her hands curl together in her lap, slotting between her thighs as if the pressure of her clamped legs can keep her from feeling how they shake. It would keep it plain and simple.
But when has their relationship ever been simple?
It should’ve been simple, and the mortal girl knows this. Two consenting adults, calling each other every once in a while for a bit of release— that’s simple. That kind of relationship doesn’t have any pressure. There’s no need to try and impress one another, or to meet any expectations. That kind of relationship is no muss, no fuss, and no strings attached. That was how they had started, and it had been simple. It had been easy. It had been uncomplicated.
And it also hadn’t been that way for a long time.
Y/N’s known for a while now that the line between two friends having sex and being in a committed relationship has become increasingly blurred; that was all but confirmed when Harry nearly pitched a hissy fit when he saw her coming home from her date with Jacob. But even with all of the dates, the gifts, the phone calls during her lunch breaks, the homemade dinners and drinks and desserts, even with all of that— Y/N never thought that they’d actually arrive at this moment. This moment, in Harry’s apartment, their bodies pressed together on the small piano bench, his fingers fidgeting nervously as hers are pressed between her thighs, with the word boyfriend dangling over their heads like a sword.
She can’t pretend she hasn’t thought about it, because she has. And she can’t pretend that her thinking about it doesn’t usually lead to her daydreaming about it, because it does. It’s why she spends the majority of her downtime wrapped in Harry’s rainbow cardigan, and why she’d picked out his button down shirt to wear tonight. It’s why she’s talked about him to her friends, why she’s begun to speak about him casually to her coworkers, instead of hiding in the storage closet when he calls her on her break. Because even though they aren’t together— even though they’re friends in the least and seeing each other at the most— it had been nice to pretend that either of them were capable of being more.
Y/N is no stranger to heartbreak, and she’s spent long enough studying her own commitment issues to be able to recognize them in someone else. Harry had pretty much told her in the beginning that relationships weren’t his thing, that he didn’t want to be defined by a label that could so easily be broken. And Y/N, who hadn’t opened herself up since Bradley, had been inclined to agree. Relationships are messy, and labels only bring expectations that would eventually not be met. Seeing each other is easy. Seeing each other is breezy. Seeing each other leaves room for interpretation, for allowances, for excuses to be made if one of them suddenly changes their mind. Seeing each other is plain and simple.
Boyfriend.
The truth of the matter is that Y/N shouldn’t be so terrified of such a simple word. In all forms and fashion, Harry practically already is her boyfriend— he literally calls her his girl during sex, for fuck’s sake. They do everything that a normal couple does, and have been doing it for a while now. She’s fairly certain that calling Harry her boyfriend instead of the guy she’s seeing wouldn’t actually change their relationship that much. But if she’s honest with herself, Y/N knows that it isn’t their present day situation that’s sending a cold sweat down her back. Boyfriends, from her limited experience, lead to fiancés, which lead to husbands, which lead to children and a white picket fence in an unassuming suburb. That was the exact life she’d come to L.A. to escape— how could she willingly fall back into it?
And then she hears Harry exhale shakily, his thumb fumbling with the opal ring on his pinky, and she knows exactly how she could willingly fall back into it.
This is Harry. Harry, who tells her the stupidest jokes that can somehow still make her laugh. Harry, who gives her all of his attention every moment that they’re together. Harry, who listens to every story about rude customers without complaining once, hanging onto her every word as if what she says matters more than life itself. Harry, who makes her believe that it does. Harry, with entrancing emerald eyes, shining chestnut curls, intricately inked skin, and the most comforting arms she’s ever been held in. This is Harry. Not Bradley. Bradley wanted the wife, the white picket fence, the house filled with children. Harry— as far as she can tell— just wants her. And she just wants him.
Plain and simple.
Y/N extracts one of her hands from between her legs, snaking it over Harry’s, where she captures one of his fiddling hands in her grasp. Intertwining their fingers, Y/N fixes her gaze onto his opal ring as she hesitantly swipes her thumb over his cool knuckles.
“Yeah,” She whispers the word, as if speaking any louder could break whatever it is that’s brewing between them. “Yeah, that could work. I’d really like that.”
The human girl watches from the corner of her eye as Harry’s lips, which he’d been gnawing on nervously while waiting for her response, slowly curl into a hesitant grin, as if he’s nervous to show how anxiously he’d been waiting for her to answer. He keeps his sea glass eyes glued to their tangled hands, his own fingers contracting to test their grasp.
Harry knows that it’s selfish of him to be so happy that the girl he cares for is entering into a relationship with a monster. But seeing as how he’s the monster in question, he can’t make himself feel guilty for it. All he feels is the elation that’s slowly spreading through his entire body, and the determination that’s chasing it. He can do this. He’s strong enough. He can be strong enough for her.
“Can I…” His voice is just as quiet as hers, nearly cracking at the end when he finally lifts his gaze to her heated cheeks, wide eyes, and stained lips. “Can I kiss you?”
A tender laugh falls from those stained lips as Y/N combs his curls back over his ear, dragging her thumb over the sharp lines of his jaw. “You do that all the time, so the answer is obviously yes, isn’t it?” She thumbs down the muscles in his neck, until her palm settles over the collar of his shirt to fist the fabric between her grip. “You don’t even need to ask anymore.”
“It never hurts to ask. And this time…” Harry worries his bottom lip back between his teeth before he soothes the bite mark with his tongue. “It’s different. We’re different.”
“Not too different.” Y/N leans forward until their noses nudge against each other, their mouths kept apart only by an inch. She cards her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, twisting the locks around her digits in a way that’s so much softer than Harry thought possible. “Still us, yeah?”
The taste of honey and lavender is so thick on the back of Harry’s tongue that he’s almost choking on it, but he’s never felt less thirsty in his life. He has this under control. He can tame this. He can.
“Yeah.” He inhales deeply through his mouth, as if he were relishing the bouquet without tasting the wine, and slots their lips together with ease.
Although they’ve shared countless kisses over their months together, this might win the record for the gentlest that they’ve ever shared. There’s no rush, no animalistic need to pull Y/N closer and tighter against his body. There’s only her burning warmth, her silky skin, and her sugar and flower flavour washing out the black tea that had been lingering on his taste buds. Harry has never felt closer to being human again than he has in this moment. Right now, they’re not a predator and his prey; they’re simply two people who, against all odds, have managed to find each other. And Harry is owed this happiness. He knows he is.
The rest of the night passes in a blissful haze of comfortable domesticity. They eat dessert on Harry’s couch, feeding each other bites of raspberry sorbet in between giggles and banter. It’s something they’ve done countless times before, but there’s something different about it now; maybe it’s the fact that Harry knows that Y/N isn’t going to push him away now. She wants him. She wants him. She’s leaning into his touch every time he brushes his knuckles over her cheek, laughing at his poorly-timed jokes, gazing at him through her lashes in a way that stirs desire in the very pit of his belly. They’re comfortable together, and for the first time, Harry is realizing just how wonderful that is.
It’s the only thing on his mind as they stand side by side in front of his double vanity in his en suite, his gaze tilted to the side to watch as Y/N removes her makeup with some wipes she’d packed in her overnight bag (Harry makes a mental note on the brand so that he can pick them up the next time he finds himself near the drug store). He’s never had such casual comfort and ease with someone like this before; the last time he’d found himself in a relationship, it had been in a time where maids were required to help lace and unlace corsets and valets prepared him for bed. There was never a chance to watch as someone he cares for ties their hair back in a loose ponytail before rubbing cleanser into their skin. He never got to observe the quiet, intimate moments of someone’s bedtime routine. In the early days of their relationship, Y/N had never had a chance to properly take her makeup off before Harry was tugging her into bed, her lipstick smeared across his face as much as hers. This is his first time really witnessing that transition, and he likes it more than he thought he would.
There are, however, a few things that he knows Y/N likes before bed, and he gives her a moment of privacy to change into her pyjamas while he makes the quick trip to his kitchen to fill a tall glass with cold water. He doesn’t need to grab an extra blanket this time— he’d already made sure to toss the knit afghan onto his bed before Y/N arrived, and he finds it draped over her body when he returns to his bedroom.
“You look cozy.” He comments with a fond smile, handing the mortal girl the glass of water as he pulls back the other half of the blankets. He climbs underneath the covers, propping his elbow up on his pillow as he lies on his side to watch as she takes a sip of the drink. “Y’alright, love? Need anything else?”
Y/N shakes her head as she sets the glass down on the bedside table and settles back into her pillows, stifling a yawn into the back of her hand. She always gets sleepy after she has a few drinks, something she’d explained to Harry— much to his amusement— a few weeks prior, after a movie night at her house when he’d made his famous margaritas. They’d been having a Harry Potter marathon, and they’d barely begun the second before her eyes had started to flutter closed.
“I’m good, I think.” She tugs the blankets up to her chin, tilting her head to the side to find Harry already staring at her with a soft expression. “Actually…” Extending a hand to him, she lifts her covers off her body enough to indicate what she wants. “C’mere.”
A boyish giggle falls from the vampire’s strawberry lips, and he flicks off the lamp before crawling towards Y/N in the enveloping darkness. He folds himself right into her side, opening his own arms for her to slide into, but is surprised when her hand finds his shoulder and tugs him closer to her.
Harry takes the hint and hesitantly settles himself onto her own body, allowing the mortal girl to rest his head along her collarbones, his ear finding a home just above her beating pulse. One of her hands knots itself in his hair, delicately detangling his messy curls as the other finds a home on his naked shoulder blade, rubbing over his defined muscles with the hottest touch Harry has ever felt.
It’s a vulnerable position, one that Harry hasn’t been in for decades. And yet, instead of feeling the usual mix of fear and trepidation, all Harry can feel is comfort. The combined sensation of Y/N playing with his hair and massaging his shoulder is more pleasurable than he ever could’ve assumed. A month ago, that would have confused him. But now… he exhales softly as Y/N’s nails lightly scratch along his scalp. He can be vulnerable with her. He trusts her. And, to his extreme luck, she seems to trust him.
A few minutes pass with nothing said between the pair, the silence around them punctuated with only the sound of their breathing and Y/N’s lone heartbeat. If Harry didn’t know better, he’d think that Y/N had fallen asleep, but his sharp senses know that’s not true; her pulse is still a few beats faster than it normally is, and her breathing hasn’t completely evened out yet.
Sure enough, Harry’s suspicions are confirmed when Y/N whispers into the darkness a moment later, as if she could hear him mentally assessing her body language. “Harry?” Her voice is gentle, halfway between a whisper and a murmur, as if she’s afraid to be any louder. “Are you awake?”
Harry bites back the smirk that threatens to overtake his lips. “Mhmm.” He hums, nuzzling his head further into Y/N’s caring touch. “Still awake.”
She matches his hum of acknowledgement, the pads of her fingers pressing deeper into the knots of his back. “I was wondering…” Her voice thickens with hesitation. “Would you, um, would you sing for me?”
Without completely lifting himself from her chest, Harry raises his eyes to meet her own, her fingers pausing their motions through his locks as he does so. “Sing?” He asks, taken off guard by the out-of-the-blue request. “Y’want me to sing?”
Although there’s a shadow of shyness across her face, Y/N nods slowly. “I heard you humming earlier today, while you were cooking, and it sounded nice, so I was just thinking about it…” She clears her throat nervously, and Harry can hear the wave of blood that rises to her cheeks. “But you don’t have to. I know it’s late—”
“No, petal.” Harry hurries to ease her, a frown settling onto his face as he hears her breathing grow shallower with anxiety. “S’fine. No need to get shy.” Harry is amazed at how smoothly the reassurance falls from his lips. “Yeah, I’ll sing for you. Any requests?”
Despite him telling her not to be shy, Y/N just shrugs her shoulders in response to his question, her eyes locked on the ceiling above them as if she can’t bring herself to meet his gaze. Harry plants a kiss along her clavicle before settling back into her plush chest, mentally running through the catalogue of songs he’d been humming earlier. He should pick something soft, he thinks. Something like a lullaby.
Y/N resumes her gentle combing through Harry’s locks, mostly to distract herself from his thoughtful silence. She shouldn’t have asked him to sing something— he’d made it clear earlier that playing the piano for people was something that made him nervous. They’d sung together playfully multiple times, and Y/N could tell that Harry has a pretty voice, but half-singing, half-rapping along to the Hamilton soundtrack is so different than singing to her in the darkness of his bedroom. She shouldn’t have asked. In fact, she should tell him to just forget it, and—
“I had a thought, dear, however scary, about that night, the bugs and the dirt.” Harry’s low vibrato echoes around the previously silent room, his voice no louder than a murmur. Y/N can feel the vibrations of his vocal chords against her chest, a quiet hum that soothes her like nothing else ever has. “Why were you digging? What did you bury, before those hands pulled me from the Earth?”
Harry clears his throat quietly between the stanzas, his own eyes drifting close. He’s never been one for stage fright— he’s always been eager to show off his vocal skills, and there’d been a time when all he wanted was to sing on stage in a smoky speakeasy. But this— singing in the quiet of his bedroom for an audience of one— is more intimate than he’s used to, and he knows if he catches Y/N’s observant gaze right now, he’ll lose his nerve.
“I will not ask you where you came from; I will not ask and neither should you.” Harry tunes his ear to the steady pulse of Y/N’s heart, using the rhythm as a makeshift metronome to keep his time. To keep himself steady. “Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips; we should just kiss like real people do.”
Harry feels a spike of warmth against the top of his head, and it takes him a moment longer than normal to realize that it’s Y/N’s lips pressing against his hair. As he continues to sing, she times her caresses of his ringlets with the beat of his words, which he keeps timed with the beat of her heart. They’re in a cycle, he realizes as he quietly sings the second verse into her skin. She’s lined up with him as he lines up with her. They’re locked together, steadying the other while relying on them to keep them steady in return. For the first time in two hundred years, Harry feels truly in sync with someone.
“Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips,” Y/N’s mouth smudges against his temple once more as he nudges his nose along the base of her throat, allowing himself to press his own lips against the satin skin of her chest, just over her heart. He feels like he could stay in this moment forever, which means something given that he truly does have forever. He’d spend every second of the rest of eternity frozen in this instant, if the world allowed it. He’s content, and relaxed, and cradled in his duvet with the one other soul who has somehow managed to thaw the coldness from his stony heart. For the first time in too long, he feels like an actual person again. He isn’t bogged down by his carnal instincts, or by the fear of losing his composure, or by the fact that he doesn’t have a thumping rhythm behind his ribs.
He doesn’t need all of that because he has Y/N, and she makes him feel more real than all of those aspects ever could.
“We could just kiss like real people do.”
#harry styles#harry styles x reader#harry styles x you#harry styles x y/n#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fic#harry styles imagine#harry styles fluff#harry styles angst#harry styles smut#vampire!harry styles#vampire au#one direction fanfiction#one direction fic#one direction imagine#harry styles au#writing#ysijwa
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better for you
pairing: chris evans x female!black!reader
warnings: age gap, angst, language
word count: 2.7k
a/n: this lowkey sucks and is very poorly edited, i’m sorry but on the plus side, i surpassed 400 followers yesterday!! so thank you to those 400+ people🤍🤍
i do not consent to my work being copied in any way, shape of form or reposted on any other platform
not my picture
You didn’t consider yourself a jealous person. Much less a jealous girlfriend. Not at all. Never had and you thought you never would.
You had practically raised yourself as your parents had always been more preoccupied with their jobs. You loved your parents, you really did, but when your high school counselor told you that you could graduate high school a year and a half early, you took the opportunity to start college immediately and move out of your parents’ house. This drastic change when you were so young made you become extremely independent. Which is why your relationship with Chris worked almost perfectly. You valued your independence, as he did his, and you respected his independence, as he did yours.
As a corporate lawyer that had multiple firms around the country, you traveled a lot, needing to meet with clients. Chris, as an actor, also traveled a lot.
You both trusted the other without a doubt at the beginning of the relationship despite that Chris was, at first, a little wary of being with someone as young as you. As a 24-year-old, he thought that you should be living your life, partying, sleeping with whomever you wanted without being tied down, but you had explained to him that despite your age, those were not the things that you wanted.
You and Chris were truly made for each other, knowing the other more than they knew themselves. You would even dare to call yourselves soulmates.
Which is why you could not fathom why you were in your current situation.
You had left early in the day for California, where you were overseeing the opening and start-up of your newest firm. Chris, on the other hand, had left 3 days ago to go on some trip his publicist had arranged for him. You hadn’t bothered asking what it was about, assuming that it was about ASP. Plus, you didn’t mind it: he had to do what he had to do.
But now, you couldn’t believe yourself.
You were sitting on your hotel bed, in a white and fluffy robe, fresh out of the shower. Your computer was open in front of you, the TV was blaring the news and you had your phone in your hand. It was almost 11pm but you had been doing this for at least 3 hours. All three electronics were talking about the same thing: Are Chris Evans and Lily James dating??
It was a bit your fault that people gave themselves the right to assume things like that, to be honest, since you had been the one to pressure Chris about keeping your relationship secret. You knew that people would talk and judge you for your 15-year age gap. You, personally, didn’t care and neither did Chris but his career was dependent on his public image and you didn’t want to hold him back, especially not at a pivotal moment in his life like right now.
So, you had agreed on telling your families and your very close friends and Chris had convinced you to let him tell his publicist, Megan. God, she fucking hated you. When Chris arranged for you guys to meet, she had called you “a walking, breathing PR disaster”. You had laughed it off calling her funny, but you knew that she was 100% serious. You really shouldn’t have been surprised that she would do something so fucked up at some point.
A bunch of different news outlets were pumping out new stories every 30 minutes, each article a little more detailed than the previous. It was all over the Internet and it seemed to be the only thing that people cared about today.
Considering the 8-hour difference between London and San Francisco, you hadn’t been able to talk to Chris at all since you got to your hotel. You weren’t even sure if you wanted to talk to him. He hadn’t even tried to talk to you. Why was he avoiding you and acting like he had something to hide?
You’re reading the latest Daily Mail article on your computer about how Chris and Lily apparently got to his hotel in the same car when you hear your phone ring on the nightstand. You don’t even bother looking at the caller ID as you reach for your phone, eyes still glued to your computer and answer,
“Hello?”
You hear a loud exhale on the other end of the phone before you hear Chris’ tired voice, “Baby, hi.”
You tense up slightly before asking, trying to seem nonchalant, “What’s up?”
“Have you watched the news today?”
You bite your lip, thinking, before replying, lying through your teeth, “No, why? What’s going on?”
Chris sighs again before answering, “Nothing, it’s fine. How was your day?”
You roll your eyes. Was he seriously not going to say anything?
“Fine, but it’s really late and I have to get up early tomorrow so good night.”
You hang up the phone before Chris can answer anything. You throw the phone at the end of your bed, frustrated beyond belief.
You continue to read the Daily Mail article as you hear a message coming in. You don’t bother to get up to pick up your phone as you see the message appear on your computer screen a couple of seconds later.
chris💙, 11:01pm:
Good night baby girl. Good luck tomorrow🤍
You groan loudly at his message. Even when he had pissed you the fuck off, his words still brought butterflies to your stomach.
You disregard his message and finish reading the article. You roll your eyes as you close your computer and get up to put it on the hotel desk. As you’re walking back to bed, you take your phone from the end of the bed and put it on its charger, ready to go to bed.
You’re not sure how you manage to fall asleep that night as your mind swirls with unending thoughts.
When your alarm wakes you up at 6am the next day, you feel groggy, having slept very badly last night. Which was to be expected.
You get up and change while eating a protein bar before heading to the hotel gym: you needed to do something to get your energy up. Once you finish your workout, you head back to your room to get ready for the day.
When you get out of the shower, you open your computer and, having left the Daily Mail website open last night, you see a new article posted 2 minutes ago: Chris Evans and Lily James seen on a date in a London park.You groan loudly, closing your computer as you hear that your cell phone is receiving multiple texts.
You reach for your phone on the hotel desk and your eyes widen as you see your lock screen.
5 missed calls
12 messages
You open your Phone app seeing one call from Chris, two from your best friend, one from your brother and one from your mom.
You open the Messages app as a new message from your brother comes in.
will, 7:31am:
When did you break up with your boyfriend? And why didn’t you tell me?
you, 7:32am:
i didn’t
yet
will, 7:32am:
You know i’m gonna fucking murder him right?
You smile fondly at your brother’s concern, chuckling softly as you type your reply.
you, 7:33am:
as you should(:
You open the rest of your messages, mostly asking the same thing. You didn’t feel like talking about it anymore so, you ignore them until you get to your conversation with Chris.
chris💙, 5:22am:
Hey, I’m sure you’ve seen the articles by now.
I’m so sorry
Call me when you can, please. I really need to talk to you.
You bite your lip as you think about what to answer. You didn’t have the energy to deal with this right before your firm’s opening. Shaking your head, you lock your phone, putting it back on the desk, getting dressed.
As you get back to your hotel room, exhausted from your day, you hear your phone signal an incoming text for the millionth time today.
You sigh loudly: you knew it was Chris texting you again. You had been ignoring his texts all day because you didn’t want to get in a bad mood while you were opening the firm.
You put your purse and work bag on the floor, unlocking your phone. You open the conversation with Chris, scrolling through his messages.
chris💙, 6:15pm:
I’m leaving a bit earlier than I planned, I should be home tomorrow morning.
Are you back in Boston or are you gonna stay in LA?
You sigh, feeling guilty that you had been ignoring his texts all day. You start typing a reply, your finger hovering over the send button for a couple of seconds before clicking on it.
you, 6:17pm:
i’m still in san francisco i’m leaving tomorrow morning
As soon as your message goes through, you see the three dots pop up in the conversation.
chris💙, 6:17pm:
Oh my God, hi. Are you okay?
Can I call you?
You chew on your bottom lip: you really didn’t think he was going to answer that fast.
you, 6:18pm:
i’m about to take a shower then i’m gonna go to bed i’m really tired sorry
chris💙, 6:18pm:
Okay, I’m sorry
Good night
You groan loudly. You really didn’t know why you felt so guilty: he was the one running around with another woman. As you think about this, you realize that you didn’t really know who she was.
You shake your head at yourself as you pull up Google on your phone and look for her. You don’t even realize it but, 20 minutes later, you were now at the oldest post on her Instagram.
You curse at yourself, dropping your phone on your bed, and head to the shower.
You stay under the hot stream of the shower for at least an hour before you finally get out, toweling off.
You order some room service for dinner, settling down in front of a random show playing on the TV. After pushing your food around for half an hour, you sigh loudly, put the tray on the hotel desk and get under the covers before finally falling asleep.
You had not slept very well so you had been in a rush to leave the hotel and catch your flight to LAX in the morning. You were exhausted and hungry when you got to your shared LA home with Chris but there was no food in sight, considering that neither of you had been here in a couple of months.
As it was not too late in the day, you decide to take a nap and order some food after.
When you wake up a few hours later, the sun has already completely set and the house is pitch black. You rub the sleep out of your eyes and take your phone before heading to the living room to order some food.
As you enter the kitchen and are about to head to the living room, you hear a deep voice, “Hey, you’re up.”
Taken by surprise, you throw your phone in the direction of the sound and scream, “Holy shit!”
“Ow… What the fuck?”
You’re breathing heavily, clutching your chest as you turn on the kitchen lights, brightness illuminating the area as you see Chris holding the side of his head.
“Jesus Christ, Chris! You almost gave me a fucking heart attack!”
Chris rubs at his head as he looks towards you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Your heartbeat starts to slow down as you roll your eyes.
“What are you even doing here?”
Chris frowns and replies, “Well, you never told me where you were going to be but when I got back to Boston and you weren’t there, I assumed you were coming here.”
You groan silently, crossing your arms over your chest and raising your eyebrows,
“So, London seemed to be very fun.”
Chris shakes his head, looking up at the ceiling, before making eye contact with you, “I didn’t know that’s what the trip was about.”
You chuckle humorlessly, “Really, Chris? Since when do you go on trips, not knowing what they’re about?”
Chris exhales loudly, taking a couple of steps towards you, “I promise that I didn’t know. Megan planned everything and just sent me the info.”
You snort loudly, rolling your eyes. Chris frowns before asking, “What?”
“Megan, Chris? Really? She fucking hates me, of course she would pull a stunt like this.”
Chris frowns again, shaking his head, “What are you talking about? She doesn’t hate you.”
You laugh, this time, actually finding this funny, “Chris, she literally called me a walking disaster.”
Chris struggles to find an answer to that: he knew that Megan used this exact kind of formulation so he couldn’t deny it.
“And you know what? It’s fine. Maybe you really should be dating her instead of me.”
Chris’ face contorts in a mix of hurt and anger, “Why the fuck would you say something like that?”
“Because it’s true, Chris. She’s better for you. She’s actually your age, not a fucking child compared to you. She can give you the things you want from life that I can’t. Maybe it’s better that way.”
“What way?”
You shrug your shoulders, looking at your feet, mumbling, “If we weren’t together.”
Chris scoffs, “You literally have to be kidding me.”
Chris takes large steps, making his way towards you and takes your chin in his hand, forcing you to look at him.
“Y/N, I’ve told you before and I will tell you again. I do not give a shit about your age. And I thought you didn’t either. So, what’s the problem here?”
You bite your bottom lip nervously, “Because what if what Megan said is true? I mean… If people find out that we’re dating, the shit talking would never stop. I can’t do that to you.”
Chris sighs, enveloping you in a hug.
“Baby, it doesn’t matter. None of it matters if we’re not together.”
He lets you go, stroking your cheek, “You’re it for me. There is no one better for me than you. And no one is going to take that away from us. Not you. Not Megan. And certainly not my fans. If they love me as much as they say they do, then they’ll respect you.”
You chuckle slightly, “Chris, I don’t know what kind of fantasy you live in, but in real life, that’s not how things go.”
“Okay, but who cares? There’s two people in this relationship, you and me. Not you, me, Megan and my fans.”
You scoff, mumbling, “Yeah, tell Megan that.”
“I will. The same goes for her. I didn’t know she actually meant those things about you and I’ll tell her that she needs to knock that shit off.”
You sigh, nodding slightly, “Okay.”
“And, baby, I’m sorry.”
You furrow your brows, trying to understand, “I never should have agreed to Megan’s little plan thing. But, most importantly, I should have told you as soon as I knew. It’s just that I kinda owed Lily a favor and she needed this. But it doesn’t erase the fact that I should have been honest with you and I’m sorry I wasn’t.”
You sigh, “I know, it’s okay. I knew this kind of thing could happen when I decided to be with you, and I overreacted a bit so I’m sorry too. I knew it wasn’t true and I should have asked you about it instead of ignoring you. I just… couldn’t let go of the fact that maybe you should be with her.”
Chris shakes his head, “I shouldn’t. And I never will be.”
Chris laughs a bit before continuing, “Sorry, but you’ll have to try harder to get rid of me.”
You laugh loudly, throwing your head back. Looking back at Chris, you smile warmly before hugging him,
“I love you, Chris. Like, a lot.”
Chris chuckles, squeezing you tighter, “I love you too.”
#chris evans#chris evans x black!reader#chris evans x reader#chris evans imagine#chris evans fanfic#chris evans x black reader#chris evans x female reader#chris evans x woc#chris evans fanfictions#chris evans fanfics
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Good girl gone bad | (frat!tom)
request:
How about frat cocky Tom at a Christmas party, wearing something that shows off his muscles, and he keeps flirting with y/n, who hates him. Throughout the night, he slowly wins her over, and once he has her in the palm of his hand, he makes her compliment him and then worship his muscles and then get on her knees and suck on him through his boxer briefs and then finally he f*cks her face and he's dirty talking and boasting all the way through :)
disclaimer:
Hiii,
so this was a request (sadly anonymous but if you’re out there reading this, I hope you enjoy and this lives up to your expectations...) this is my first attempt at fratboy!tom so I apologize in advance if that’s not exactly what you expected from it or whatever. Also I’m french so, some unfortunate spelling mistakes may occur and for this I apologize too! (damn I do really know how to sell myself, don’t I?) Anyway, enjoy your reading and please give it a ♥ if you liked it and a comment if you either really liked or hated it. Annnnd I’m talking too much.
warnings:
smut smut smutty smut is to be expected, obviously.
includes: brat!tom, braggy!tom, boasting!tom and some serious potty mouth / enemies to lovers (well, more like enemies to fuckbuddies idk) / oral-sex / face-fuck / dirtyDIRTY talk/ fingering / brief mentions of self luuuuvin (that’s masturbation, for you) / dom!tom + sub!reader / I guess a little bit of humiliation and praise kink idk if that’s triggering so just in case... / roughness...
I guess that’s it? probably enough already.
____________________________________________________
« Come on, it’ll be fun! God knows you could really use some fun… » your friend’s voice almost begged over the phone as you safely locked it between your cheek and your shoulder to open the door to your dorm room, your keyrings grazing the piece of metal surrounding the lock with a soft, clicking noise.
“Yeah cause hanging out with complete morons as they get shit-faced on cheap vodka is totally my idea of a good night...”
“ Urghhhh, Y/N please, are you really gonna be a Grinch about it?”
“ Well, it’s a Christmas party so I guess that’s convenient?”
You could tell your friend was getting frustrated by now, the slight change of tone in her voice making her sound desperate. Kicking off your shoes and dropping your books above the mess on your desk, you immediately crashed onto your bed with a loud, exhausted groan as this never-ending day had managed to push every single one of your buttons. You felt completely drained and yet, your best-friend wanted you to join her to some frat-house where, apparently, the “most incredible” Christmas party was about to be held? Uh-uh. No way. Your actual plan for a Friday night (= eating take-out food in front of some true crime documentary on Netflix) seemed much more appealing than the effort your friend seemed to require from you.
“You’re really gonna bail on me? What if something happens to me?”
“Now this is guilt pressure and you’re so much better than this! “ You laughed, “plus… I know you wanna go just so you can make out with Harrison… You really don’t need me for this and truth be told, I really don’t need to see that guy shove his tongue down your throat!”
“Maybe YOU need someone to shove his tongue down your throat “
“I’ll pass, thanks “
“Come on, how long has it been since you’ve got laid? “
“That’s… way beside the point?””
Still, you thought about it.
How long has it been, really?
Well. As far as you could remember, there were a couple (disastrous) tinder dates at the beginning of the semester. Nothing major even though the sex was still okay. Then you had decided to delete the app so you could focus on your studies, thinking that, eventually, life would grant you with an actual IRL, cute boy who could actually work a little harder to get into your pants whereas it had taken a single swipe on a screen for the previous contestants.
But for now, as the semester had come to an end and Christmas break was around the corner, it only occurred to you just how busy you had been, studying all night long and running on fumes and gallons of coffee. Maybe your friend was right. Maybe you truly needed to blow off some steam. Sometimes you wished you were more like her, carefree and less picky when it came to boys and random flings. Like her current crush, Harrison.
Harrison was a typical heartthrob with the face of a Greek God, so it was only natural for him to act like a brat and play with girls as he wished. With his piercing blue eyes and dreamy smile, girls could only wish he would look at them twice. But still, he wasn’t the worst part of Team Jackass, as you liked to call them. Their captain was actually Tom Holland. Football Quarterback, Tom collected girls’ hearts like trophies and held his pride within his questionable reputation. Party animal, heavy drinker and confirmed exhibitionist since he’d been caught fucking a cheerleader in the middle of the football field right after a game, his name was on everyone’s lips, whether they whispered gossips down the faculty’s corridor or muffled into a pillow as he dived into another naïve, besotted girl with the promise of an encore. To this day, all of the girls he had laid his eyes on were still waiting for a call-back.
You pulled a disgusted face at the thought of witnessing his little hunting game one more time. Tom was actually one of the main reasons why you usually skipped any frat party now. There were just so much time you could waste, sipping on some funky tasting “home-made” punch as “Football superstar” Tom Holland bragged about his athletic skills or how many girls he had fucked over the last couple days. Sometimes, it felt like a competition between him and his brain-dead friends. Somehow, you just knew he kept score of his one-night stands. Maybe he’d give you five stars for trying anal, a deep throat would give you another six and god forbid if you flattered his enormous, gigantic cock, well then, by all means, the throne would be yours. There was just something about him that screamed and irradiated praise kink.
“Y/N? Have I lost you?”
Your friend’s voice brought you back to reality as you seemed to have blacked out for a while.
Then, out of nowhere and unexpectedly, the words came out of your mouth.
“What time is the party then?”
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For every party, there’s a dress code.
Surely, a “Christmas” party just couldn’t be, without a fair splash of colorful jumpers or any subtle hints at Santa Clause as an excuse for a last-minute theme. Still, standing in front of what could only be Wednesday Addams’ wardrobe, you were suddenly hit by your lack of interest for any piece of clothes that wasn’t a shade between black and white. Was beige even a color anyway?
For a brief second, you considered wearing your infamous Christmas onesie, basically a fluffy one piece with a zipper, an oversized hood and covered with snowflakes and candy canes. The jokes would never end but no one could blame you for being ‘off theme’, then.
In the end, you settled for a rare “colorful” top which, luckily, happened to be whatever shade of green Christmas trees actually were. It was also skin tight and you knew for a fact it made your chest looks twice its size because of the way the velvet fabric enhanced your waistline. It was nowhere near provocative with its long sleeves and turtle-neck so you figured you could be a little bit more risky with the bottom part of your outfit, grabbing the black mini-skirt you’d bought a week before on a splurge, even though you didn’t know if you’d ever find the confidence to pull it off. It was short, there was no denying that as you turned around in the shop’s fitting room to catch a glimpse at your backside, knowing your whole ass would be exposed if you ever dared to bend down even so slightly.
Still, you felt sexy in it and as a girl who happily traded a sexy dress for yoga pants and an oversized hoodie, any piece of clothes that made you feel good about yourself was an instant buy.
Looking down at your final outfit as it laid down on your bed, a pair of nice ankle boots at the bottom of it, you patted yourself on the back for making the extra effort and walked to the bathroom for a well-deserved boiling shower. Staring at your reflection in the mirror above the sink, you sighed to yourself as the aftermath of a sleep deprived week and lack of skin care routine or basic maintenance whatsoever hit you like a truck on the highway. Your hair had been wrapped into the same messy bun for days and it would definitely take some professional skills to cover up the bags under your eyes.
Maybe this party was the wake-up call you needed, the equivalent of a Judging look from your mother every time you visited her after a while. You could almost hear her complain about how unhealthy you looked and how you should wear more “flattering” clothes. Ironically, you also knew she would never approve the skirt you intended to wear that night. You remembered just too well that frown she’d given you at your father’s 60th birthday and how you had to gulp an entire bottle of red wine to forget about the fact the woman who gave birth to you had called you a prostitute for wearing a dress above the knees. Sometimes it’d be like that. Family gathering were like a plague, somehow, you just couldn’t escape it and it would either scar you for life or make you wish you were dead.
As you entered the cubicle, the coldness of the tiles hit you, covering your skin with goosebumps and sending shivers down your spine. It took you a couple minutes to adjust as you waited for the water to turn hot enough to coat the mirror with a thick foggy layer. Only then did you relax, letting go of this week’s emotionally charged weight upon your shoulders and focusing on yourself, at last.
It was a fairly long shower as you decided to go through your entire haircare routine instead of a brief, one minute shampoo. Not to mention the fact you also had to shave entirely as it felt like it would be a good way to get rid of this nightmare of a semester, like stepping out of your old skin and into a new one. Usually, body hair was probably too far down the list of your preoccupations to even be noticed but you figured, as you felt surprisingly motivated, now was the right time to make your body smooth as a baby. You actually loved the feeling of a soft, freshly shaved skin.
As you rinsed off the soap, your hands fondling the body parts water failed to reach, your mind unexpectedly wandered through some steamy thoughts as soon as your fingertips grazed your slit, taking some shy dip between your folds. It was no surprise that a simple, barely there stroke would instantly strike your arousal, after all, it had been a while. You shamelessly admitted that your studies had taken over your life, up to the point you’d even find yourself too exhausted for some self-love. Somewhere in your chest of drawers, the small collection of adult toys you owned were probably collecting dust in the middle of your socks and panties, wondering when they’d get to take a swim and make you squirm into your sheets as you hold on to the headboard, biting your lip until it turns white so you don’t scream through climax.
What struck you the most was the fact TomfuckingHolland came to your mind the very second your middle finger met your clit, circling it softly as you felt electricity spark through your legs, making it jolt. Why the hell was his stupid smug splattered all over your unspeakable thoughts when he was, by far, the last man on Earth you’d let come close to your naked self? Let alone in a shower cubicle the size of a shoe-box where you’d have no space whatsoever to escape his heavy, muscular chest.
His body looked ridiculously built for a man with the face of a 13 year-old. Sometimes you’d catch him randomly flex throughout the day, showing off his enormous biceps to anyone willing to praise his impeccable shape. There would be no room for these guns in there, you thought as a brief image of these massive arms shielding you from both side, fists tight against the tiles, came immediately to your mind. What took you by surprise wasn’t to actually picture Tom standing in there with you, naked and definitely willing to make that room a lot steamier, but the fact you slipped a finger into your surprisingly dripping core as soon as you imagined him stepping closer so your bare, sticky chests would meet, his obvious arousal poking at your inner thigh, begging to make an entrance.
You stopped before you inevitably came, even though your body craved for that well-deserved relief. You may have been hornier than you thought, but not nearly horny enough to hand your first orgasm in months on a silver plate to a boy who probably stroked himself in front of a mirror on a daily basis. Your thighs squeezed together where your fingers had left a desperate void, rinsing your entire body with a much colder water, hoping it would bring your sanity back.
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You looked incredible.
It wasn’t just you boosting your ego through a pep talk in front of your mirror back in your dorm this time, and even if you loved to give yourself an encouraging speech, praising whatever features you thought made the cut in the top three of your best assets as you gathered the strength to go out in public in an outfit pretty far from your comfort zone, nothing could ever beat the look people gave you as you walked into the frat house looking like a three courses meal. There was just something about that short time slot where you caught a gaze and knew what that look was all about.
You knew Liza, the head student with a soft spot for athletes so obvious she probably had the entire football team’s handprints tattooed on her skin, just hated to see you get the attention she usually caught. Athletes loved nerdy, smart-ass girls like her, but to her own despair, you actually happened to be one of those, only with a shorter skirt and thicker thighs.
You knew half of Team Jackass was already staring at you, wishing they’d catch a glimpse of whatever you had to offer underneath that impeccable outfit as the soft fabric of your skirt kept rising up, every step bringing you closer to an unfortunate peek at the plain, white cotton undies you had chosen to wear that night.
But above anything, you could most definitely feel someone’s gaze upon you, burning up your skin like lasers trying to scan through your clothes. Suddenly, you felt exposed and with a simple smirk, Tom-Holland came out, strong as ever, just so he could pop out the comforting bubble you had built around you. Of course, he had chosen to wear the tightest white tee-shirt so everyone could distinctively see each of his six, rock-hard abs. Of course, his sleeves were slightly rolled up to enhance his biceps and if you weren’t familiar with his despicable behavior, seeing him flex just so he could kiss the pumped-up mount irrupting from his upper arm like a fresh batch of popcorn on a stove, you could have barfed immediately at the disgusting sight of a man with an ego the size of a fucking comet.
For now, you simply rolled your eyes all the way to the back of your head and watched as he smiled cockily, his hand reaching out for a redhead girl’s cheek even though his eyes were most definitely undressing you from afar. You could tell the girl had dressed to impress as she was tightly wrapped into the just-slutty-enough version of Santa’s outfit. Basically a velvet red dress with a fluffy white strap on top of her bustier. The way she laughed and twirled her long curly strand of hair as she gazed lovingly at Tom was enough for you to know she would soon join the never-ending list of names on his score board.
Shaking your head at how easy it seemed for him to get laid within the first hour of a party, you made your way to the kitchen where the alcohol seemed to be. As expected, most students were already sipping at some questionable cocktail right from the bowl with a straw and since you didn’t feel like going straight for the strong stuff, you settled for a beer, fiddling with the bottle cap for a solid minute before you heard a voice coming from behind your back.
“Need some hand with that, sweetheart?”
The cocky tone and thick accent immediately sent you off as a long, single shiver ran down your spine from the disgusting thoughts it brought along. It had come to the point you couldn’t even stand his stupid voice.
“I’m fine, thanks” you lied, your first still tightly gripped on your sealed beverage.
“You look like you could use some strength…”
Of course, he had to bring up his impressive, spectacular strength within seconds. Maybe he expected you to slow clap, bow down or throw confetti’s all over him for being strong enough to open a beer bottle. What on Earth would you do without his strong, manly hands?
Grinding your teeth as your tongue clicked against your palate out of pure annoyance, you gave him the most unimpressed look as he grabbed the bottle from your hand, popping out the cap hard enough to make it fly off and hit the table with a soft, metallic thump. Smirking to himself, Tom handed you the bottle back, tilting his head as he obviously expected some enthusiastic reaction.
“Do you want a medal or something?”
“A simple ‘thank you’ would be a good start? “He mocked, raising his eyebrows in a way that made your consider throwing the entire bottle at his face to wash away his stupid cockiness.
“Thanks” you simply blurted out, raising your beer slightly before walking away as you took a couple sips. It wasn’t even that cold or remotely good.
Tom watched as you walked away in silence, his eyes inevitably drawn to the way your hips and that glorious ass of yours seemed to wiggle into that daunting skirt. Grazing his thumb over his bottom lip with a smirk, the eager flame in his eyes made his will to take you to a quiet place grow bigger with each step you took.
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The music was getting considerably louder as people were now dancing all over the place, from the staircase to whatever was left of furniture after too many parties hosted in this house. The constant buzzing sound of chit-chats and laughter was slowly making your head spin as you gulped on your third (or was it the fourth?) Shot of tequila. As expected, Y/BFF/N had wasted no time as she was already clinging to Harrison’s neck, feasting on his mouth like an open buffet. His hands were on her bum, holding on to it for dear life with a strong grip. At least, she was having fun.
Out of boredom and to your own surprise, you had agreed on doing shots with a couple people you knew from class. Not technically what you’d call reliable friends but you always bumped into them at parties where you’d basically chat, and drink. From afar, you could see some people had gathered around a table where Team Jackass had started the inevitable beer pong contest. Nibbling at a piece of lime, hoping it would wash away the burning haze of the tequila, you winced at the sourness as your eyes suddenly locked with Tom’s. He was now holding his arms up on both side, raising one fist through the air as he had clearly won that first round. There was something pathetic about a man in his twenties begging for attention and acting like he was about to claim the gold medal at the Olympics when all he did was throw a feather-weighted plastic ball into a red cup.
All the alcohol in the world would never get you drunk enough to tolerate this guy.
Sometimes, you couldn’t help but think it was a shame to see him act so pitiful when he face was actually okay. Well. He was definitely cute as long as his mouth was shut and his stupid, pretentious smug out of the way. With his soft, chocolate brown eyes, his tousled eyebrows and thin pink lips, he could’ve been a guy you’d be interested in. His brown hair was somehow, always tucked into a snapback or a beanie but you had caught a glimpse of his natural curls once and though it killed you on the inside to admit it, he did look great when he didn’t try too hard to be a complete asshole.
Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t see him walk towards you.
“We’re doing shots now? “
“Impressive” you frowned, “did you figure it out all by yourself?” you chuckled, swallowing what’s left of lime, basically pulp, in one soft gulp.
“You like to act all smart ass around me, don’t you?”
“Correction: I am, in fact, smart… Not that it’s something you’re familiar with so, pardon me if it’s all too confusing for you… “
“Are you calling me dumb, then?” he was frowning now, his enormous self-centered head deflating under the unexpected pressure of your witty come-back.
“Did you hear the word ‘dumb’ coming out of my mouth?”
“No – but I sure know what I would like to see come in that sweet mouth of yours, darling”
The fact he had the nerves to say that kind of stuff right to your face was enough to piss you off but what caught you off guard was his hand reaching for your face as his thumb delicately grazed your bottom lip, pulling at it just enough for you to taste his fingertip.
“Surely, lime isn’t the only thing you like to suck on?” he smiled, cocky as ever as you could feel actual rage building up from your core and all the way to the back of your throat.
“I suggest you keep your hands off me” you snapped, pushing his hand off your face as he laughed to himself, the raspy sound caught in his throat making you throb against all odds.
“Or what? What you gonna do about it, uh?” he teased, confident as ever, his words coming out of his mouth halfway between a threat and a challenge. His arms were crossed against his chest now, making every inch of muscle he owned just pop out. There was nothing sweet about the way his body was built, and was he ever given the occasion, you knew he could break your spine in half with his one hand. You just wished you’d never thought about it as the filthiest images came to your mind, starting with Tom spinning you around over the sink in the bathroom and pinning you down with his palm pressed between your shoulder blades as he pounded hard and fast into you.
Maybe Tequila had gotten to your head faster than you expected.
“I know girls like you” he started, walking backwards until your back hit the wall and you were completely trapped between his arms, one of his leg parting yours so his knee would slowly graze that spot where your thighs met, claiming his access to that precious part of your body you could definitely feel getting damper against your will.
“What about it?” you asked, slightly more provocative than you had intended.
“You like to act all innocent, pretending you have higher standards…” His breath was warm, wrapped into the thickness of alcohol, curving a ball at the back of his throat so his voice would come out raspier and lower than usual, “… but secretly you just want guys like me to fuck the back of your throat until you choke”.
You felt it. Your pussy throb at the single thought of it. You didn’t want to physically react to these obscene images, words coming out of his mouth filthier than anything you’d ever heard, but still, as hard as you wanted to remain cold and unbothered, there was no denying for the dampness between your thighs. You just hoped he wouldn’t get a chance to notice it.
“You disgust me” it took you all the strength you had to spat back at him, and even then, all he did was smile then chuckle softly to himself as his hand slid up your throat, wrapping it slowly until his thumb pressed itself into the crook under your chin, nesting as it was made to be there.
“Please—are you really going to pretend you’ve never thought about my cock filling up your pretty mouth?” his fingers found your lips again, tracing it slowly as your heartbeat increased with each word, “like you’ve never thought about me when you finger yourself at night” he paused, pinching his bottom lip between his teeth as he tilted his head, his mouth coming closer to your hear with a dark whisper “I know you do, baby… I know you touch yourself thinking of me, wishing those fingers were mine, diving into your dripping cunt… Touching spots you could only wish you’d reach… how I would spread those lips open and run my tongue all over your slit….” A warm breeze brushed your neck as a cursed laugh escaped his lips, making you squirm unexpectedly, “I bet you taste so sweet, I would never get enough of that glorious pussy…”
By now, you were wrapped into the intoxicating scent of his cologne. It was strong and manly as expected, yet comforting in a way you didn’t want to think about. You didn’t want to picture yourself wearing that grey hoodie he loved to wear after a game, his perfume raining over your bare chest as you’d lazily ride him on his dorm bed after you’d get bored of whatever movie you’d settled for, pushing your panties to the side as he couldn’t be bothered taking it off completely. You didn’t want to picture him unzipping that same hoodie, palming your boob with one of his strong hands as his mouth sucked on your nipple until your soft, delicate skin turned red from all the biting marks. You didn’t want to feel yourself stretch around his rock-hard cock as he’d lift your legs up to wrap it around his neck, because he’s that kind of jerk who likes to show off even when he’s completely buried inside of you, that kind of complete asshole who loves to remind you just how deep he can go, smirking to himself as he hits your special spot over and over and over…. until you beg for him to stop. That kind of utterly disgusting dickhead who’d never stop, because he knows that, deep down, you just want him to keep going.
“Now you can tell me you’re not already wet… But we both know that’s a lie” he smiled again and as you felt his hand going down, palming you through your top and all the way down to the front of your skirt, you finally decided to come to your senses and grabbed his wrist into your tight fist, stopping him just in time before he’s reached the only approval he truly needed.
“Go to hell, Holland” you snapped, using all of your strength to push him off and walk away.
You didn’t turn back to see him chuckle at the sight of your flushed face.
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The coldness of water came as a shock as you bent over the sink in the bathroom, splashing your face until it didn’t feel like your skin was on fire. Grabbing a towel, you patted your cheeks and forehead, staring at the reflection in front of you. You definitely looked flustered, like you had just run a marathon when all you really did was to suffer through your archenemy’s evil little game.
Usually, you would have just brushed it off and that’d be it. But tonight, for some reason, you just couldn’t seem to shake him off your thoughts, his voice still echoing through your head like a curse without a cure. Outside the bathroom, you could hear the muffled sound of music and screams coming from the living room as beer-pong had turned into strip-pong with everyone removing a piece of clothes every time the ball missed the cup. Typical, drunken behavior. Soon enough these parties would turn into a massive orgy and it wouldn’t even come out as a big surprise.
Freshen up a little had helped you settle your thoughts back into place but still, your body didn’t seem to catch a break as the build-up tension and frustration Tom had caused within your core was yet to be released. There was no denying that your toys would have come handy if you were back to your dorm room as it felt like your pussy kept clenching for no reason, like the gaping mouth of the thirstiest man in the middle of a drought. You knew how bad you needed to put it out of its misery but if you thought undressing for a ping pong game was bad, what would happen if anyone walked on you literally fingering yourself in the bathroom of a frat-house? No one would shut up about it.
Tom would certainly not. Shut. Up. About. It. Ever.
You pressed your thighs together, hoping for some sort of relief as his words came back haunting you, thinking about how your hand had found its way between your legs earlier in the shower, the very second you had thought about his body pushing you up against the tiles. Is that what he was to you, now? A fantasy? Would you become another disgusting cliché of a girl begging for the typical frat boy to fuck her at a party because she couldn’t handle his dirty mouth?
Then you thought about your best-friend and how the last time you’d seen her, she was heading upstairs with Harrison, giggling, her lipstick smudged all over her chin after making out heavily on the couch up to the point everyone was starting to wonder whether they should be charged for that kind of peep-show or just roll with it. How she was probably getting fucked in his bedroom while you were standing alone in a bathroom, dripping wet for a man you hated down to the very bottom of your guts.
The door swung open abruptly, making you jump.
“So that’s where you’ve been hiding!” Tom smiled, walking in.
“Can’t a girl have some privacy?”
“I need to take a piss, you’re the one standing out there doing nothing” he joked, walking to the toilets with his hands already fiddling with the zipper of his pants.
“Hum, excuse me?” you spat, widening your eyes as you realized he was genuinely about to use the toilets with you still standing a few meters away.
“I said I needed to take a piss… So either you just stand there watching, which I don’t mind really… or you can get out?” he pointed his chin towards the door, unbothered as he casually pulled his dick out of his boxers.
Both infuriated and shocked, you turned around as there was no point leaving the room now that his whole junk was out and already halfway through it.
“Do you have to be that disgusting? Really you’re such a pig!” you complained as you heard him sigh with relief before the toilet flush broke the most awkward silence of your entire existence.
“Don’t worry darling, I’ll clean it up real nice just for you…” he smiled even though you still had your back turned to him. You heard him use the tap, washing his hands for a considerably long amount of time. At least he wasn’t one of those filthy rats who thought basic hygiene was optional.
“What were you doing by the way?” he finally asked, grabbing the towel to your left, “touching yourself thinking about me?”
You turned around to face his cocky face once more, this time with a furious need to slap it. Hard.
“You know I’ve seen you walking around campus a couple times, Y/N… Those big jumpers and yoga pants you like to wear don’t do that body any justice, but this?” he circled his finger in the air, pointing out her entire outfit “this, I like to see… and if you weren’t being a little brat I would gladly pull up that skirt up to your waist and have you there, above the sink…”
“I’m being a brat?” you scoffed. That was rich, coming from the ultimate king of bratty assholes.
“Well you call it whatever you like but denying yourself something you truly need just to prove a point seems a little childish…” he shrugged, shoving his hands into this jeans pocket and giving you a perfect glimpse at the veins running up his arms and disappearing underneath his rolled up sleeves.
“You think all girls are begging for you to fuck them? Really?”
“Probably, yeah, and who could blame them really? I have a great cock and I’ve never had a single bad review about the way I use it…” he smiled, with the arrogance of a king sitting on a throne of indecency.
“You’re so full of yourself… it’s insane” you shook your head with pure disgust.
“Then go ahead and prove it”
“Prove what, exactly?”
“That you’re not dripping wet as we speak…”
Point taken.
You were, indeed, dripping wet and soon enough, you’d have some serious explaining to do as the thin cotton fabric of your underwear was now soaked with your unsolicited arousal. Even though your head was filled with hateful thoughts and resentment for Tom, it felt like your body would not stop begging for his touch, dragging him closer like two pieces of magnets on a fridge. Unconsciously, you were now standing a couple inch away from his face, so close you could actually smell the soft mixt of menthol and alcohol from his breath. There was no point denying the obvious tension between you two as you looked like you were about to break into a passionate kiss but now it was just a fight between your will for self-preservation and your body, aching to be touched.
And so you heard yourself say these words you never thought you’d say, like you were standing in the audience as your other self was performing on stage, making some questionable decisions you weren’t 100% okay with.
“Which one’s your bedroom?”
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You could have fought longer, for the sake of your personal values, but as your feet were swiped off the ground, your back hitting the door as it closed behind you with a loud slam, all of your good sense and respectable choices just vanished as much filthier thoughts buried them for good.
Your legs were wrapped around his waist as his hands had wasted no time and found their way under your top, fondling your breast with the hunger of a wolf. Your lips attached to his, you moaned louder than expected as he pushed himself a little harder against you, the obvious stiffness of his crotch pressing against your aching core. Your skirt had risen up to your waist from spreading your legs a little too wide, flashing your white panties as it was now so soaked you could definitely see the outline of your lips, the thin fabric sticking to your slit. Catching your breath, heavy pants breaking your kiss, you looked into Tom’s eyes only to see nothing but pure, absolute lust in them. As you tugged at his brown locks, a couple strand curling slightly at the back of his neck, you watched as his snapback fell to the floor with a thump, unleashing his brown untamed mane.
Suddenly, he didn’t seem so bad, groaning slightly as your fingers scrapped the back of his neck, your lips sucking on his throat for good measures. With his head tilted back slightly, it felt like Tom was getting soft for a while, caving in so you could take control over him. Unfortunately, that didn’t last long as he suddenly traced a hand all the way down to your inner thigh, immediately pushing your panties to the side with his middle finger.
“I knew it…” he smiled, sliding his finger along your slit as you wrapped it up with a glistening coat of arousal. You knew he had won the minute he felt just how wet you were for him, but when it should have been upsetting, you just didn’t care. All you needed now was to feel his cock filling you up in any way he wanted, “who made you this wet, darling?” he smiled, pulling at your bottom lip with his teeth.
“Don’t be a brat…” you complained as you could see some mischief in the way he looked at you.
“Just say it” he insisted “I want to hear you say out loud just how wet I make you” this wasn’t a request, but an order. And for some obscure reason you didn’t want to figure out, it somehow turned you on even more.
“You…” you started, biting your lip out of nerves, or out of excitement, you weren’t sure quite yet. “You make me so wet, Tom” you almost moaned, pushing yourself a little harder against his hand when he failed to give you exactly what you needed. His fingers. Buried deep inside of you.
“Hmm” Tom groaned, two of his digits spreading your lips apart at a torturing slow pace, “I like the sound of that…” his knuckles were barely halfway when you buckled your hips off the door, begging for more, “what’s that darling? Tell me what you want…” he was whispering by now, slowly pushing his fingers into your desperate slit, “I want to hear you beg for it…”
You felt him push deeper, curving his fingers into a hook every time he reached your g-spot. By now you were so aroused you just knew it would take you more than a couple stroke to cum heavily into his awaiting palm. You could hear the sloppy sound of your own wetness every time he slammed his slick, extremely skilled digits back into your throbbing pussy. His lips curved into a hasty smile as he could feel you literally drip all over his palm and wrist.
“I want you… I want you so much” you barely managed to whimper as he increased the pace, his wrist working its magic between your thighs.
“Hmm hmm? I’m gonna need you to be more specific baby… what exactly do you want?” his thumb grazed your clit for a brief second and that was enough for you to squeal under his touch, making you clench suddenly around his fingers, “say you want my cock” he almost growled as you felt his hard-on twitch against your thigh, begging to be freed.
“I want your cock” you immediately wimped, your own words sending shivers down your spine as you twitched with anticipation, “I want it so, so bad…”
“Good girl…” he hummed, slowing down the pace so he could add a third finger, stretching you out slightly this time, “d’you think you can take it though? It’s pretty big…” he smiled, twisting his hand just enough so he could dig himself a path.
You simply nodded, unable to speak anymore, but as you were about to beg for more, Tom removed his hand, leaving you frustrated and hornier than ever. His face changed suddenly as he watched you pout, his hand reaching up for your lips.
“What about that pretty mouth, then? You think it may fit?” he smiled, spreading your lips apart so you could taste yourself on his soaked fingers. You immediately obliged, sucking at it, one by one, never keeping your eyes off him. When he shoved three of his digits, watching as your tongue twirled around it, cleaning it off completely, you could definitely tell his eyes had gotten darker, filled with unspeakable thoughts you would be begging to hear soon.
“You’re gonna let me fuck that pretty face?” he added, removing his fingers from your mouth so he could give you a soft, cheeky slap on the cheek. You nodded, obedient as ever. “Say it” he commanded, louder this time, “say you want my cock inside your mouth”.
“I want it… I want your cock inside my mouth” you pouted, only because you knew he loved to see you beg like a spoiled little princess. You’d seen it in his eyes, the way he looked at you every time you tilted your head to fake an innocence that was long gone.
Tom stepped back, walking away slowly as he watched you standing there, flustered, your hair all over the place, panting out of lust and frustration. Pulling his shirt off, you watched as his impressive chest unveiled in front of you. Abs like rocks, a thin strand of hair tracing a path from his navel to his crotch, disappearing under his jeans, his impeccable V-line bringing images you never thought you had within yourself. As he pushed his hair back, daunting you with his a look half way between arrogance and disdain, it felt like all signs of dignity had left your brain as all you could think about was to crawl to the floor and beg for his cock.
“What you’re waiting for then, Darling?” he smiled, unzipping his flies as he watched you walk towards him and get on your knees within seconds.
Your hands pulled at his jeans until it finally pooled around his ankles. Looking up to stare into his eyes, you felt both small and powerful, submissive but in control as you were now responsible for this man pleasure. It was up to you whether he’ll get to cum or not. But as you considered edging him as an option, Tom wasted no time in remembering you who was actually in charge.
“Are you gonna be a good girl for me?” he sighed, grabbing your hair into a fist as his other hand stroked his cock through the cotton fabric of his boxers. You could tell he was just horny as you were as a couple pre-cum had already stained his briefs, turning it into a darker shade of grey.
Again, you nodded, removing his hand so you could replace it with yours, palming him through his briefs as he growled against your touch. He was big. Actually much bigger than you expected but somehow, you were up for a challenge. Tracing the outline of his cock with your fingers tips, you felt him push his hands on the back of your head, forcing you to come closer to his crotch.
“I want to fuck your pretty little mouth so, so bad” he groaned as you unexpectedly ran your tongue all over his stiff through the fabric, feeling it twitch as you palmed his balls. By now he was so hard you could feel the veins tracing a dirty road up to his leaking head as Tom started grinding slowly against your mouth, messing up your hair with his desperate fists.
When you pulled down his boxers, you took a couple seconds to stare at his glorious manhood, hard and pressed against his abdomen where it curved slightly, your mouth watering with a thirst you could have never pictured, especially when standing in Tom Holland’s bedroom. And yet, you couldn’t wait to have this magnificent piece of flesh filling up your mouth.
“Like what you see?” Tom smirked, boasting as ever but immediately squinting his eyes with a deep growl the minute he felt your tongue licking at the base, slowly going up until you finally bobbed on his creaming head.
You had always been good at this, giving head. Not that all of your partners would give you a proper review in the morning, pointing out your highs and lows, but there were just things men couldn’t do, like hiding the fact they were just having the time of their lives. And right now, Tom actually looked like there was nowhere else in the world he would rather be than standing here, with his cock in your mouth.
Twirling your hand at the base where you mouth couldn’t go just yet, you started bobbing up and down his shaft, sucking your cheeks in so your mouth would pop every time his dick came out. You had quickly figured out a couple things about Tom, including the fact he just seemed to love it dirty and noisy. You could actually hear him growl louder, his fist tightening its grip into your hair every time he slipped off your lips, only for him to shove it back a little harder and definitely deeper with each thrust.
“That’s it baby… Just like that… you’re such a good girl…”
You were a good girl, indeed. Always had been. Straight-A’s student from day one, the pride and joy of your parents, spending most of your week-ends doing some volunteer work whenever it was needed while being a caring, polite girl who never did anything wrong. Right choices only.
Or so you thought. Obviously, tonight would be always marked as the only questionable decision on your impeccable path to perfection. But still, as Tom grabbed your face with both hands to push himself deeper and all the way down your throat, making you gasp for air slightly, you had no regrets.
You stayed still for as long as your lungs could handle it, holding on to his firm, muscular buttocks as you swallowed him all. Looking down on you, Tom was left speechless as his cock stretched your cheeks out, his balls resting into your palm as you twitched them slowly, making it jolt with both pain and pleasure. When you felt like you were about to gag, you pushed yourself back, gasping for air as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. Your cheeks felt numb and yet it missed the feeling of being stretched out already.
“Hmmm baby look at you…. you think you’re ready for it?”
“Yeah” was all you could blurt out. Yes to anything he wanted. You were prepared. You longed for it.
Looking around as Tom started pumping himself, getting ready for you, spitting into his palm to lube himself up so your lips wouldn’t drag along his shaft too much, you just couldn’t believe you were there, kneeling on the navy carpet of Tom Holland’s bedroom, the epitome of the ultimate frat boy. A huge flag from his favorite sports team was hanging above his bed, his never-ending hats collection sitting on wooden shelves by the wall like it was some kind of “frat boy starter pack” Art exhibition. In the corner of the room, you caught an unexpected glimpse at a guitar. It looked fairly new, but never in a million years would you have pictured Tom playing guitar. On his desk, his laptop was still open on a Spotify tab where you’d probably find a playlist based on some typical white boy rap music but against all odds, the room looked neat compared to what you had in mind.
“You look so beautiful” he sighed, out of nowhere, and to be completely honest, had your mouth not been filled with his dick, you would have probably picked up your jaw from the floor. Taking him all in once more, you just pretended you couldn’t hear, sparing you some awkward misunderstanding. Maybe those words were actually directed to his dick. After all, the boy loved himself just that much.
His hands were all over your face, wiping tears from your eyes every time he hit the back of your throat a little too hard, stroking your cheeks, massaging the back of your neck, roaming through your tangled hair as your kept up with his reckless pace, his hips swinging back and forth while you remained completely still so you could take him like a champ.
“God, I love to see you choke on my cock….” He gritted through his teeth “so…so hot…” you could tell he was getting sloppier now, pumping in and out of your mouth abruptly then a lot more slower as a couple twitch from his cock gave you a hint of his upcoming grand finale.
By now, you were a slippery mess, the taste of pre-cum hitting your throat as you dribbled all over his shaft, obscene sounds of suction coming out of your mouth every time he pushed himself out and back in all over again.
“F----uuuuck….fuck baby I’m gonna come!” he grunted, the sudden high-pitch of his broken voice driving you insane as you pushed yourself up a little so you could open your mouth wider, expecting him to fill it up soon enough. “D’you want me to cum in your mouth? Uh?” again, he gave you a little slap on the cheek, not quite hard enough for you to feel any pain. You nodded, moaning whatever came close to a “yes” as every single inch of your mouth was filled with Tom.
You heard him whimper, twitching a couple times, harder with his thrust as his hand fisted into your hair abruptly throughout his climax. Looking up to see his face, your eyes locked with his as he came all over your tongue, raining down your throat with a couple last, sloppy thrusts.
“Oh fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuuu------“
Your eyes immediately teared up as you tried your best to swallow every drop of cum he had to give, the corner of your lips dripping like an overflowing sink.
Then there was a complete silence.
As you wiped your mouth off the thick, warmness of his cum, you felt him kneel to your side, then sit. Both of you looked completely exhausted, drained from every ounce of energy you had left.
“Well, that wasn’t half bad… for a little brat” he spoke again, and you just couldn’t believe he had gathered the energy to say this when he could have chosen silence.
Laughing quietly to yourself so you wouldn’t slap him across the face, you decided not to fuel him up and remained quiet instead. His hair had gone curlier than heaver, his glistening red face making him look like any cute boy you could easily fall for.
“I’ve got a feeling we’re gonna see a lot more of you at frat parties now?” he spoke again, and though it truly pissed you off to admit it, you just knew this wasn’t a one-time thing. For all you knew, this, was barely a prequel to a long, bumpy story of a good girl gone bad.
All because of Tom-fucking-Holland.
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Online dating
darcy lewis x reader / masterlist
summary; darcy decides to try a dating app, least to say, the guy isn’t anything like his picture. and thus she ditches him, and finds someone else in a hot second / warnings; the oc guys in this fic are dicks, homophobia, darcy being bae, swearing, mentions of sex and cheating, mentions of joy x reader.
he was a polar opposite to what he had portrayed his online self to be, screw the internet! this date was truly tragic, darcy had plenty of things that she could be better using her time for, rather than sitting opposite this oaf, that was licking his unappealing lips, and staring at the waitress when he thought that she didn’t notice.
“huh?” the scientific doctor pulled her phone out, ushering a puzzled expression on her face as she stared at the blank screen. she of course recognised that no one was making any attempts to contact her, but he didn’t know that. “one second.” she held her finger up, bringing the phone to her ear as she blabbered into the speaker that was inherently catching nothing that she was saying.
“slow down jane.” darcy falsely ushered, using her hands to exaggerate the conversation in her head. she put the phone down, a facade of panic elaborating behind her spectacle adorned eyes as she grabbed her belongings in a frenzy, standing upright and out of her seat. “im so sorry, my friend has just hit some guy with her car and she needs some moral support. tonight is going to have to be cut extremely short.”
short was a relief, but the hopeful expression on this dude’s face wasn’t. perhaps it was cruel to leave this guy hanging, and well, she couldn’t blame him for wanting more, she sent him an awkward smile as he began to speak. “we should do this again some time - properly.” darcy wasn’t dumb, she noticed how his eyes sped to the side as the curvy waitress walked by.
“sure...” no, definitely not. darcy was well aware that she was wasting her time with this moron, she didn’t need a man, let alone a dweeb of one. a quick wave was all she bade him as she exited the coffee shop, only to become engrossed in a scene erupting on the local streets. there was a woman, flinging shirts, and a bra within the bundle that looked as though it was not her size, what was she thinking, clearly it wasn’t, at said example of figurative masculinity.
“screw you durkus!” any guy named ‘durkus’ was basically a label confirming that he was a dick. “i don’t need you, nor the next man! i am a well established woman who has done more for this country than you could ever know, you’re dust beneath my feet, a pathetic layer of residue that i want nothing more to brush off.” perhaps she was being harsh, but it sounded like he deserved it.
from the red lipstick, that the woman was not at all sporting, from the random bra that she had flung at her partner, it was a safe bet to assume that he had cheated on her. darcy plodded closer, listening whimsically in, and realising that her life was pretty calm, there were no longer asguardians or dark elves infiltrating her life, nor the work that she had attained to field in.
she had only recently earned herself the title of doctor, and it was frustrating that people would assume that she opted for a profession in a hospital room, or they would forget the professional endorsement all together, and address her as ‘miss lewis’. she was no one’s puppet, she had scaled herself up the ladder of her career to be where she was now, but another thing that she was alongside such a wave of potential was a feminist.
this dick was shouting in the streets, calling her inexplicable names such as a ‘whore’, and a ‘two faced bitch’. having the ability to hear the insults brew anger in her stomach, she couldn’t just stand there. “what are you going to do, turn into a complete lesbian?” now that was the last straw, it had darcy marching over, and promptly she shoved the guy, making him drop all the items that were grasped in the basket of his arms.
a flabbergasted ‘huh’ was riveted from him, and it made darcy smirk as she attuned his attention towards her; the stranger that had gotten involved in his public display of disrespect and homophobia. “how about you watch your damned mouth before i make sure you can’t open it again. and whilst you’re at it, get some new shirts, you’re not a model, unless you’re the kind that are put on prison pamphlets.”
“who the fuck are you?” he spat his saliva on the ground by darcy’s feet, establishing her with the information that her first impression of this dick had been correct. women just knew with this kind of thing, they could sense trouble from a mile away. “you know what, keep that crazy bitch. maybe you can help her store her katanas, and go on double dates with danny rand and his plus one. rather you than me.”
“don’t ask.” the woman shook her head, tired of the drama that durkus always seemed to bring. she had enough trouble, involving work and extracurricular night time activities, without him adding to them. darcy presented her with a sweet smile, picking up the box of random bits and bobs that was on the floor. “that’s just work stuff, i’m moving offices and as i came to collect some things from our apartment, and i found him- well let’s just say he wasn’t alone.”
“that was pretty easy to pick up on. how’d you not realise that you were dating a total sleaze?” she was blunt with her enquiry, though the woman shrugged, a guilty expression cowering upon your features, like an ashamed shadow. a small, attractive smile graced her lips, secrets hidden beneath the span of the expression.
“oh, i knew. i just had to pretend to be happy, so that my ex, or well now, my other ex joy would stop chastising me, claiming that i haven’t got over her. she’s so up her own ass sometimes and it drives me- shit, i’m sorry, you don’t know me, nor do you need to hear about my problems.” the y/h/c haired woman shook her head, stretching her hand out to miss lewis. “i’m y/n, thanks a bunch for helping me out back there.”
darcy accepted her handshake, completing the action as she smiled. “i’m darcy.” this woman didn’t need to know about her doctor title, in fact, darcy was keen on knowing everything about her instead. “so’d how you meet him?” referring to the person that had most recently became y/n’s ex. y/n was relieved that darcy had shown up, she was sure she’d have used her martial art training for more than composition; she’d have kicked durkus’ flat ass.
“on a dating app.” it was a normal answer, she wouldn’t share the intel that before that she had saved his ass whilst wearing a black hood, stopping him from getting mugged in the dead of night. perhaps she should have saved someone else that particular late evening. darcy couldn’t help but let a small laugh out, finding both their circumstances quite amusing. she was sure a similar situation would have unfolded if she had decided to regularly see the date that she ditched.
“online dating man, it sucks, am i right?” it had quite the reputation, for the two of them especially. “maybe we should just date each other.” she joked, though she was being partially serious. it felt right, they had bumped randomly into one another’s faulted situations on the same day, it almost felt like fate, though that subject was too cheesy to say aloud.
“well doctor lewis, i would not at all mind going on a date with you.” darcy frowned at the title that she had been called, pointing at the side of the woman’s jacket, that had a recyclable label stuck upon the material. “so you majored in science, if i am correct?” finally, someone got it! she could get used to that.
y/n did not appear as a deity nor a creature from another realm, she was normal. or so as far as the eye could tell, in fact, she did not suspect a thing from this woman, much less to be a defender of the earth that worked in a small and less know league than the avengers, yet still roamed the us to protect its people.
darcy though had won this battle for her though, giving her a moment of peace from fighting, and had idly sent durkus on his route far away. y/n could get used to not being the hero all the time, more so if this doctor was her knight in shining armour.
#darcy lewis x reader#darcy lewis imagine#darcy lewis fanfiction#Darcy lewis oneshot#kat dennings x reader#Darcy x reader#Darcy imagine#thor x reader#marvel women x reader#imagines#imagine#xreader#marvel x reader#Darcy lewis ff#darcy lewis x you#darcy lewis
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Rare Jewel - NCIS Reader Insert
Pairing: Gibbs x plus-size reader
Warning: language
Word count: 1673
Requested by: @soggy-enchilada
“Can I please request a Gibbs x plus size reader? Maybe they have to go undercover to a gala or smth together and the reader walks out in this figure hugging dress feeling and looking FLY AS FUCK and Gibbs is like hot damn. You get where I’m going?”
A/N: Alright, trustno1 is the reader’s chat URL, just for clarification (its a nod at something, send me an ask if you can figure it out! ;) ). I made up the gala name for this fic, at least to my knowledge, too. I sincerely hope this is what you were looking for @soggy-enchilada. I haven’t ever written a plus-size reader POV, and I truly hope this is what you wanted. I loved this idea BTW!! Anyways, here it is!
You had been staring at Gibbs, who unaware, had been conversing with Director Vance in the hallway of the upper level of the NCIS offices for the last fifteen minutes. The conversation wasn’t what had caught your attention. Rather it was the tall, silver-haired fox of a man that you had been watching. And this intense staring hadn’t gone unnoticed by your team members, or at least by DiNozzo.
He creeps up to your desk the first chance he has, an all-knowing “I know what you’re doing” falling from his lips. You, of course, vehemently deny anything, a little too quickly with an “I don’t know what you are talking about DiNozzo.” This causes him to let out a bark of a laugh. “Sure you don’t sweetcheeks. And I bet that Director Vance will love to know that you’ve been staring at him for the last fifteen minutes. In fact, why don’t I go tell him for you now.” He turns from your desk, heading towards the steps to the second floor.
You let out a frustrated hiss, which momentarily drew the attention of McGee. “DiNozzo, get back here.” He laughs loudly, grabbing McGee’s attention once more, as he turns and saunters back to your desk. “You’ve got it bad. And good ole Jethro doesn’t even know.” Despite your current situation, you had to let out a small laugh at his use of Gibbs’ first name. You know he would never call Gibbs that to his face.
Gibbs was still completely in the dark about the way you felt about him, which wasn’t like him. Gibbs, usually, was rather intuitive, yet despite the many obvious tells you had revealed in the past two years, some accidentally and some on purpose, he still thought you felt no more for him than a coworker.
“At least I know what I want.” You say in response, giving his a teasing reminder that he still hadn’t found ‘the one’, or at least focused on one woman in a long time. He waves a hand at you as if to distract you from the topic. “Okay, yeah. But at least I’m not drooling over our boss.” You make a face in response. “You’re wrong.” It’s the best you can come up with, and you know DiNozzo is going make fun of you for it.
“You’re wrong? Is that all you’ve got? You’re worse than Probie. At least he can come up with comebacks better than that.” He responds in jest, opening his mouth to say more but a voice stops him.
“DiNozzo, knock that shit off and get back to work.” Gibbs’ voice is as cold and unyielding as steel as he makes his way back to the bullpen. His voice startles you, making you hope he didn’t hear any of what the two of you were talking about. DiNozzo made a face at you as he backs away from your desk.
“The Military Officers Hall of Fame and Awards Gala is this Friday night and Director Vance has agreed on an undercover operation. Y/L/N and I will be attending as a couple, while DiNozzo will be going as a member of the waitstaff and McGee will be running interference in one of the surveillance vans.” He says, his voice leaving no room for argument. You nodded, nervousness already consuming you at the thought of having to find a dress that fits you comfortably. DiNozzo surprisingly doesn’t say anything except a quick “Alright” and McGee answers with a number of questions regarding the statistics of the undercover mission, which Gibbs gruffly answers with as little syllables as possible.
A ding sounding from your desktop computer, grabbing your attention. A notification blinks on your chat app, letting you know you have a new message. You open the app and see it’s from DiNozzo. You roll your eyes dramatically, knowing he is watching you from his desk before opening it.
DiNozzotheGFather68: ooooh, a whole night pretending to be a couple with Gibbs? 😉😉
trustno1: go find yourself a tray DiNozzo! i know you are gonna have to practice to make it believable
DiNozzotheGFather68: oh, bite me! no, actually, why don’t you go bite Gibbs 😉😏😗
trustno1: eww DiNozzo, stop being gross
You shut the chat app after that, not ready to deal with another round of DiNozzo’s relentless teasing. You decide to try and get some of the paperwork finished from the ever-growing stack on your desk to distract you from the growing anxiety filling your chest.
----
The rest of the day passes uneventfully and soon, you are leaving to go home, dreading the fact that you will have to scrounge through your closet to find something that would be dressy enough for the gala. You highly doubt that you’ll find a dress, which means you’ll have to go shopping, which is something else that you dread.
The ride home is short, shorter than you would have liked today, and before you know it, you are changed into your lounging clothes and staring at your closet, your favorite snack in hand, paired with a much-needed glass of your favorite drink. Opening your closet doors, you heave out a sigh at the task ahead of you. You could already see two potential dresses but you knew that when you pull them off the rack, you’ll change your mind.
After downing your drink, you pull out the first one off and immediately throw it onto your bed. That one would be one of the last ones you would wear. You would sooner go in your rattiest pajamas, in front of Gibbs, than wear that one. The second one wasn’t much better in your opinion but you tried it on anyway, not really wanting to go dress shopping tomorrow. This dress was a black mermaid style dress, with a large taffeta bottom and lace sleeves. The tag was still on it and you couldn’t even recall where you had gotten it from in the first place.
Upon first glance you feel rather confident in the dress, but the more you stare at your reflection, all you can see are the flaws in the dress. It was a bit tight across the chest and the mermaid style made it almost impossible to move, not to mention that you had no spot to put your standard issue handgun. It didn’t take you long to shed the dress and turn to the second one, a deep red velvet bodycon style dress with spaghetti straps and a flare along the bottom.
You reluctantly pull it off the hanger, and wiggle into it. Dread settles on your shoulders as you turn to look in the body length mirror. That dread quickly flies from your shoulders though, replaced with a feeling of astonishment and surprise. Not only did the dress fit, you hadn’t thought it would since it had been sitting in your closet for months, but it fit well. It hugged your thick curves and made your chest, and your butt as well, look far more pronounced, which you liked.
“Damn”, you murmur as you continue to look at your reflection. “I look like a badass bitch in this dress.” You were starting to feel excited about the prospect of spending the evening being Gibbs’ date, especially now that you looked so good.
----
Two days later, and you find yourself getting ready for the prestigious gala. You had your hair up in a fancy updo, the loose tendrils hanging around your face were casually curled. You had on your favorite diamond pendant and were wearing your sexiest black heels. You had just finished touching up your makeup when you saw the time.
“Shit.” You exclaim, grabbing your gun and shoving it into your thigh holster, which you barely managed to cover with the edge of your dress, and your shiny, almost maroon colored, clutch. You quickly, or as quickly as you can dressed as you are, get into your crappy little car and floored it to the event’s location. The engine sputters a few times in protest at the speed along the way, but you make it to the large establishment only five minutes later than when you were supposed to be.
You enter the nearly empty lobby, scanning it for the tall, muscled figure of Gibbs. You don’t see him and decide, after sucking in a deep, fortifying breath, you pull open the ballroom doors. His eyes found yours immediately, widening at the sight of you. You maintain eye contact with him as you make your way through the crowded room, past dancing couples and stately individuals.
When you reach him, he lets out a slow uncharacteristic whistle. He smiles at you, offering you a hand. You take it and he suavely spins you before pulling you close. “You, agent Y/L/N, look beautiful. Absolutely breathtaking.” He places a hand on your lower back, leading you to the dance floor. A slow, classic number starts just as the two of you reach the dance floor. He pulls you into an embrace, moving you into a slow two-step.
You rest your head on his shoulder, caught up in the act of pretending to be a couple with Gibbs. I like him, a lot. “Who?” Gibbs' voice startled you out of your daydreaming. “Hmm?”
“You said you like him? Who?” You quickly realize upon hearing his words that you had said those four words out loud.
“Him, you.” You say before you even know what you’re saying. “I like you. A lot.” He slowly breaks out in a smile. “Took you long enough.” He says simply.
“Wait what?” You ask quietly. “You knew?”
“I’ve known for a while. I just wanted to hear you say it.” He said, brushing a tendril of your hair away from your face. “And I like you too.”
Your heart thumps widely in your chest. All you could think about was what life would be like if the man holding you was yours . What a truly wonderful life it would be and you felt that you were finally on the way to this life.
#ncis#ncis fanfiction#ncis fandom#ncis imagine#ncis reader insert#reader insert#fandom#fanfiction#leroy jethro gibbs#gibbs#gibbs x reader#gibbs x reader insert#gibbs x you#jethro gibbs x reader#ncis reader#gibbs reader insert
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wall to wall (m.) 01
↳ in a pornographic movie, refers to a series of sex scenes with no plot.
⇁ female reader x hoseok
⇁ smut, porn star!au
⇁ sex work, insecurity, jealousy, slut shaming/objectification (not the sexy kind), role played scenario that includes: d/s dynamics - dom!hoseok, porn star level dirty talk, stuff that should never happen in a kitchen bc hygiene, daddy kink, impreg kink, rough sex, spanking, a lot of finger sucking, this fic is a poor attempt at social commentary
⇁ 22.5k
. . .
Temporary popularity is the biggest threat to your career right now. Without a solid core fan base you’re doomed to be forgotten. If not now, then in a month or two, and if not then, surely by the end of the year. That’s how quickly the adult film industry cycles through their actors, especially when you’re a woman.
Your agent comes forward with a proposition to help put you back on the map.
↳ or, my contribution to the lights, camera, action collab : )
part 01 | part 02 | part 03
author’s note | inspired by the piece ‘slut-shaming: pornstars are humans too’ & the life after porn documentaries on netflix. thank u to jordan, eva, amy, venus, addie and lu for being a part of this collab !! *inserts a million heart emojis and a big fat NUT emoticon*
re:warnings, the slut shaming is done by others and can also be considered as internalized oppression. it’s something the reader struggles with and eventually works to overcome. this first part isn’t as smutty as the second but regardless i hope u can bear with me lol. ty, as always, for giving my writing a chance. i hope u enjoy it or at least take something from it !
wall2wall can be read as a sequel to my fic money shot. same disclaimer applies: this story does claim to accurately portray the world of adult entertainment
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SCENE 01 - YOU’VE GOT MALE. TAKE 01. ROLL A.
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Today is just one of those days you wish you had slept straight through. Maybe if you had, you wouldn’t be dying from the sheer dullness of having nothing to do.
You huff out a sigh, bored out of your goddamn mind.
Head cradled in the crook of your left palm, you use your available hand to refresh your instagram feed. Much to your disappointment, nothing new shows up. The same video of a dog chasing its own tail plays on but you pay it no heed, the novelty having worn off after the first few times.
The next half hour passes by in a similar fashion, each result proving to be as unavailing as the last. You’d think that after a while you’d give up and find a new distraction to pass the time but whether out of habit or boredom-induced insanity, you persist with your fruitless attempts.
Today really fucking blows, you think glumly, the curve of your mouth thinning into a grimace. As the adorable corgie keeps the infernal cycle going, yapping and running around incessantly, you’re struck with a terrifying thought. Maybe this is how you will die - condemned to live your life stuck in the worst sort of monotony imaginable.
What you had expected to be a “quick and easy” shoot has turned into a tedious ordeal that you don’t see ending anytime soon. And whilst on-set complications and prolongations are frequent enough that they’re almost expected, today really takes the cake. Even during your rookie days, you can’t recall running into delays of this scale.
To top it off, the weather app announces a record-breaking heat - which in itself is bad enough. As luck would have it, it gets worse. The place rented out for today’s filming lacks proper air conditioning, equipped instead with electric fans that look like they’ve been around since the 1980s.
A quick glance into the vanity mirror confirms that you look as frazzled as you feel. Because of the humidity level that weighs down the air, your hair is in a right state. You fight a grimace off your face. The straggly hair coupled with the oily sheen on your face...it’s far from your best look, to say the least.
And to think thousands of people will get to see it up close in 1080p resolution... It’s a terrifying concept.
You’re already dreading the upcoming sex scenes that you’ve yet to film. It’s always a messy affair - fluids of all kind end up literally everywhere - but the sweltering heat undoubtedly makes it ten times worse. A shudder works its way down your spine.
Frankly speaking, the mere thought of having hot and wild sex in these less than ideal working conditions kills your libido. Under the glaring studio lights, surrounded by sweaty crewmen and pressed up an equally feverish body - it’s basically the porn equivalent of a fuckin’ barbecue party.
Yeah, no thanks. You’d rather be at home, with the air conditioner at full blast, nestled in the comfy cushions of your sofa as you marathon a series of your choice on netflix. Only the promised sum of money keeps you from bolting and calling it quits altogether.
“So when are you gonna drop the new boy toy?” a voice buzzes in your ear not unlike a pesky fly.
Tempting as it is to ignore it, you peel your eyes away from your reflection just in time to catch Seokjin shoot you the most unimpressed look in his repertoire, one perfectly groomed eyebrow arched in judgment.
In the background, an old ceiling fan whirs on but does nothing to cool you off. If anything, its constant rattling only exacerbates your growing headache.
“What are you talking about?" You flick a piece of imaginary lint off your dressing robe, your tone neutral.
Seokjin’s brown eyes see right through your feigned air of indifference. Months of working by your side have made him an expert at reading your body language, be it naked or clothed. A wolfish grin adorns his face as he swoops in for the kill.
“Oh come on. You know exactly who I’m talking about. Jongmin. He’s short - comes up to right about here.” Seokjin holds a hand up to his chest to illustrate his point, deliberately shaving off a few inches off your boyfriend’s height in order to antagonize you.
You bite the inside of your cheek, careful not to spit out the retort that’s perched on the tip of your tongue. It takes a great deal of effort to unclench the muscles in your jaw but you manage to school your features into an expression of polite confusion.
Seokjin frowns, dissatisfied with your lack of response. You don’t need to be a mind reader to know that he’s currently thinking of new ways to provoke you.
When the silence stretches on and he’s yet to riposte, you allow yourself to relax again, believing that he’s given up on being an asshole.
To your chagrin, you’re sorely mistaken. The last of your self-restraint is finally put to the test as his next words do nothing to quell your irritation.
“Jongmin.” He repeats slowly, like you need it spelled out for you. “He follows you around everywhere like a lap dog. It’d be cute if it wasn’t so, you know, pathetic.”
“His name is Jimin,” you correct for the nth time.
Instantly, you reprimand yourself for playing into his games and granting him the attention he so craves. Fulfilling his twisted desire is the last thing you hope to achieve. Staying silent would be the sensible thing to do but your brain completely bypasses the memo. The moment your mouth opens it’s impossible to quash the urge to justify yourself.
Maybe it’s your pride coming into play. Maybe it’s Seokjin’s uncanny ability to get under anyone’s skin at will. Whatever the case may be, you stammer out, on the defensive, “And he’s not my 'boy toy'. We - it’s not - we’re dating.” But the word feels like a weight on your tongue. You swallow.
The statement earns you a scoff of incredulity. “Dating? Him?”
You finally set your phone down and aim a glare his way, abandoning all pretense at being indifferent because—Jesus. Is the idea of you dating that unfathomable? He’s never been this worked up over any of your other relationships. Granted, none of them have ever lasted this long but is it really any of his business who you choose to see in your free time?
“I don’t get what your problem is. What’s so wrong with me dating?”
“Have you seen who you’re dating?”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?!”
While this isn’t the first time your agent lets a judgmental comment slip from between his pearly white teeth, it’s usually not laced with spite. Seokjin is never outright hostile, preferring sweet words of manipulation and thinly-veiled insults to shows of aggression. The attempt to get a rise out of you does not go by unnoticed. His anger, this time, feels personal.
You wrack your brain, quickly sifting through your recent memories to try and figure out why he’s chosen to be such an ass today. You’re certain that you’ve filled out all the necessary paperwork required to proceed with today’s filming, and yes, after thinking it over, you know that you went to the obligatory medical checkup last week. So there really is no reason for him to bitch at you unless—
The proverbial light bulb flickers on and it all suddenly makes sense.
You’re willing to bet a hefty sum of money that the high-paying gig you turned down two weekends ago is to blame for his abnormal crotchety behavior.
Yes, that would explain it.
Due to Seokjin's well-known propensity to hold a grudge for longer than average, the odds that he’s still hung up over the lost deal are pretty high. And as much as his disappointment and frustration are understandable from a business standpoint, you don’t appreciate being used as a verbal punching bag for him to expel all those pent-up feelings.
Seokjin hums, a knowing smirk pulling the sides of his mouth upwards. Fleetingly, and not for the first time, you find it a shame that his cockiness tarnishes his otherwise handsome face. “I give it another couple of days until you get bored. How long has this gone on for? A month? How are you not yanking out your hair from the sheer boredom of dating...that."
A muscle in your jaw ticks.
“He’s not Voldemort, you coward. Would it honestly kill you to say his name?” Seokjin’s expression begs to differ. You cut him off before he can add fuel to the fire. “And I won’t get bored. Jimin’s - he’s a perfectly nice guy. We’ve been seeing each other just fine—not that it’s any of your concern.”
“Yes, he’s nice,” Seokjin concedes easily, brushing off any attempts at putting an end to the conversation. He grins, wide and smug, like he knows you can’t refute what he’ll say next. “Perfectly nice and boring. The kind of guy you’d bring back home if your parents were straight-laced folks that wanted to marry you off to a choir boy. Seriously, how the fuck did a guy like him end up in the porn industry? He belongs in a church or, I dunno, maybe some neighborhood book club - not behind a camera filming you getting flogged by a daddy dom.”
You sniff. “Just because he tucks his shirts in doesn’t—”
“It’s not just the shirts, honey.” He leans over to pat your hand in a gesture of consolation. Used to his antics, his attempt is easily blocked by a swat of your hand.
You muster the dirtiest look you’re capable of, the kind of look that sends men to early graves, but he simply smiles in response, completely unfazed.
Any person with the minimum amount of tact would know to politely change the subject. It’s unfortunate that your agent does not belong to that pool of individuals, choosing instead to be selectively blind to overt social cues.
He continues on, unperturbed, like he has a point to prove. “Believe it or not, I know you. Sometimes, for whatever reason, perhaps a lapse in judgement but who the fuck knows, you like to venture out of your comfort zone and experiment. Like with the chickenshit gingerbread spice concoctions they come out with at Starbucks to celebrate turkey season and Christmas or the cream cheese makis they make for the white crowd who want to eat sushi but don’t like anything other than white rice and seaweed. And, trust me, while I’m all for diversity and broadening your personal experiences, don’t you think there’s a reason why you always go back to your preferred choice of an iced latte with two sugars?”
“Did you just compare Jimin to a gingerbread latte?”
Okay, so admittedly you’ve made some questionable food and beverage choices in the past, but the comparison is a fucking reach.
“You’re absolutely right." Seokjin gives a firm nod of his head, his expression serious. "Now that you mention it, he’s definitely a vanilla soy. Bland and boring. Targeted towards the middle-aged soccer moms that think veganism is a trend, not a lifestyle. Wants to be a people-pleaser but misses the mark.”
“I didn’t know it was Share Your Unwanted Opinion Time,” you grind out from behind a strained smile. “If I had, I would have said something about your receding hairline earlier.”
It’s a low blow but the way Seokjin’s plump lips curl in displeasure makes the dig worth it. One of his hands automatically shoot up to flatten the bangs that are usually slicked back with copious amounts of gel.
Offended, he spits, “It’s not receding! There’s a difference between premature balding and a bleach job gone wrong.”
"I'm not sure people care to differentiate. Looks like a receding hairline to me." You shrug while picking at your nails. “You’re nearing that age, too, so.”
“You just try looking this good at 30. Fucking try.”
He waits for a reply but your interest has already waned. You scroll through your phone, bored once more.
Seokjin makes a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat at the clear dismissal. You swear you hear him grumble under his breath - something along the lines of never going blonde again - but can’t find it in you to care, not when he’s finally ceased his nagging.
"Filming in twenty!" someone shouts from outside the door.
"They’re running behind schedule," Seokjin notes after glancing down at his gold wristwatch. "How can they take more than an hour to fix the lighting? Tch. Bunch of fuckin’ amateurs."
He aims a glare in your direction as if their incompetence is somehow your fault.
You have half a mind to glower back but miraculously withhold your sentiments. Admittedly, he isn’t wrong - the team you’re working with today keeps committing blunders even rookies wouldn’t dare perpetrate - but you’d rather get your driving license revoked forever than to acknowledge that Seokjin’s right and inflate his already unnaturally huge ego.
Something heavy plops into your lap. When you look down, the glossy surface of a magazine reflects the harsh lights suspended over the vanity table back at you.
“I didn’t want to resort to this but you leave me no choice,” he says in response to your look of confusion.
“What’s this?”
You hold up the magazine expecting the worst. It’s heavy in your hands, the pages thicker than the gossip rags you’d find in a dentist’s waiting room.
“’s the newest issue. Came out this morning. I’d actually like it back once you’re done because I haven’t finished reading it and God knows how hard it was to get my—hey, you can stop flicking aimlessly, I saved you the trouble and bookmarked the page,” Seokjin explains a bit impatiently.
When you shoot him a glance, his attention is trained on your face, not the magazine. He barely blinks. Like a snake honing in on its prey. And that kind of intense focus - that can’t be good. After all, you’ve known Seokjin long enough to suspect that whatever trick he has up his sleeve will give him the advantage he needs to deliver the killing blow.
Gingerly, you flip through the pages like you’re afraid the magazine might self-destruct in your hands. Which would be a waste, in your opinion, since Exquis is a damn good magazine - perhaps less intellectual than Playboy, but definitely classier than Hustler. Its reputation speaks for itself. Known for hiring the best photographers and carefully combing through their models, it’s selective, only picking the cream of the cr—
Everything around you stills.
Your eyes narrow at the spread because there, on the page Seokjin’s taken great care to bookmark, a model poses provocatively on a lounge chaise near a crystal clear pool. It’s similar to a shoot you’ve done in the past but you can tell right away that the quality of this is above and beyond anything you’ve ever done. The lighting is better, heck even the barely-there-swimsuit looks like it costs ten times more than whatever you had been told to throw on at the time.
The vexation you feel only worsens once it finally registers who the model is. Her youthful and pretty face carries a permanent haughtiness that not even makeup or acting can entirely mask.
The pages crease in your hold as you flick through the rest of the spread dedicated to the up and coming talents. With every new page that has her plastered on its glossy surface you feel your stomach sink.
2...3...4...
“Five pages,” you curse under your breath. For a magazine this renowned, it’s...a lot. Commendable, even. Your nose crinkles. “Well, fuck. me. sideways.”
Seokjin gloats, reveling in your outrage. “Hmph. I told you, didn’t I? Passing up the opportunity to work with Kim Namjoon would come and bite you in the ass.”
“Aha! So you have been a little bitch because I refused to shoot with Namjoon.” You whirl around in your chair and use the magazine to jab him in the chest. He easily steps aside, avoiding your attempt at wrinkling his trademark Armani button-down shirt.
“It was the chance of a lifetime and you knew it.” He turns his nose up and sniffs.
“That’s what you said about filming with Min Yoongi last month.” You roll your eyes. “I can’t take you seriously if you’re gonna say the same thing every time a new guy shows up.”
“Shooting with Agust D did help you gain some mainstream popularity. You’ve gotten love calls for catalog printings and your name is now automatically on the invite sheet for every C-list event in town. Namjoon would have given you another needed boost.” Seokjin folds his arms, lecturing mode switched on. You struggle with the instinctive urge to tune him out. “Sure, he’s got a niche audience, but he’s famous in his field and it would have helped expand your fa—“
“Not to kink shame or anything because we don’t do that, but Namjoon is a freak. And don’t deny it, I’ve seen his videos.”
“He’s specialized in particular—“
“You were the one telling me not to film all sorts of shit right off the bat,” you cut in, refusing to back down from your stance. There’s no way you’ll let him sweet-talk you out of this one, not after the multiple videos of Namjoon you’d binged one weekend. “Stick to one story.”
“Well, we’re not exactly ‘right off the bat’ anymore, are we? We’ve passed that stage. Right now is a crucial time in your career so you’ve got to make it count. Filming rehashed videos of the same pizza delivery guy scenario gets boring and fast. As pretty as you are, you’re not offering anything new to the table, are you?”
Fuck him. He’s right and you know it. Temporary popularity is the biggest threat to your career right now. Without a solid core fan base you’re doomed to be forgotten. If not now, then in a month or two, and if not then, surely by the end of the year. That’s how quickly the adult film industry cycles through their actors, especially when you’re a woman.
Still. “I refuse to work with a guy whose porn alias is Cock Monster.”
“Beggars can’t be choosers.”
“Well I said no,” you insist stubbornly.
“Well if you had said yes, maybe it would be your ass cheeks getting their own two page spread in Exquis instead,” jabs Seokjin, hitting you where it hurts.
Ugh. The reminder that Joy’s bested you yet again riles you up even more. That, coupled with the likelihood of your career ending imminently, makes you stop and think.
Your agent goes on to say, “Don’t you want the AVN for best newcomer? Where did that competitive edge go? At the rate this is going, Joy’s going to steal it from right under your nose.”
“Like fucking hell,” you hiss. The magazine bends under the strength of your grip. “That one’s mine.”
You absolutely refuse to lose out to her. Every fiber of your being rejects the idea of letting her one-up you again.
“Not if you don’t start branching out. The last time you did anything substantial or interesting was about a month ago. It’s already old news. People are going to forget you shot that sequence altogether if you don’t do anything that puts you back on the map.”
A pause. “…I really don’t want to film with someone who willingly named himself Cock Mons—”
“Fine.” Seokjin heaves a resigned sigh. “You don’t have to fuck the monster willy. Willy monster? Hm. Wouldn’t it make more sense to name himself Monster Cock and not Cock Monster? Wonder why he does th—”
You suppress a snort. “Please spare me while you can. It’s amazing, that talent for making everything sound a lot worse than it already it is.”
“Why, thank you.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“You trying to insult someone who’s willing to find you someone else to work with? I can always ask Monster Meatstick if he’s up for—”
“No! No, that’s - not necessary.” You force out a smile that wouldn’t fool anyone into thinking its genuine. “Why would I ever insult you? You’re the best agent one could ask for.”
“That’s what I thought.” He takes your compliment, forced or not. When he smiles, smugness rolls off of him in waves. “One day you’ll realize you’re taking my talent for granted. I’ll find you another onscreen partner even though you don’t know what you’re missing out.”
“Thank you.”
“But!” He interjects and this time you don’t bother swallowing down your groan, already dreading the stipulations he has in store for you. “You have to promise to hold up your end of the bargain and try your best.”
Indignation colors your face. Your mouth falls open, retort at the ready. “When do I ever slack off on the job?! I’ve never given a half-assed blowjob in my life - and trust me, the temptation was there. Do you have any idea how hard it is to stay focused when the guy can’t cum on command? I once had to get my jaw realigned.”
“I’m not saying you’re slacking off,” he backtracks, switching tactics. His expression is soon replaced by the business-like smile you’re used to seeing on the regular. Tone buttery and appeasing, he tries to convince you through flattery instead. “You work hard and do a good job… I wouldn’t have signed you on otherwise. The problem isn’t with the quality of your work but with - all the rest.”
“The rest?” you parrot back dumbly, trying and failing to comprehend.
Seokjin scowl returns, unable to keep his genuine emotions under wraps.
“D’you honestly think you’re at a point in your career where you can pick and choose your jobs like this? Ever since you started dating that - that thing - your workload has significantly decreased. And not because you lacked opportunities. You had them but you turned them all down.” Visibly getting worked up over the issue, his voice rises an octave, then two. “What should’ve been a good spring board, only brought you back to square one. I know I can’t force you to take jobs if you refuse to, but I can say that your potential is going to waste. I’ve never seen someone sabotage herself like this before and it’s driving me up the wall. While I get that you’re under the delusion that you’ve found true love or whatever Disney fantasy Jungmin has sold you, you can’t turn down projects over and over again without there being serious repercussions. You’re smart enough to know this. I shouldn’t have to remind you.”
Seokjin’s chest heaves as he takes in several big gulps of air, visibly out of breath after his monologue.
For him to explode like popcorn kennels in the microwave... You reckon he’d let his feelings pile up inside him for a while, silently stewing.
You’ve never seen your agent look so visibly distressed. He’s normally the picture-perfect image of composure so the sight that greets you is enough of a shock to render you speechless.
Deep down, Seokjin probably means well. There aren’t a lot of agents like him; you’re one of the lucky ones. Most girls are discarded by their agencies as quickly as used tissues once they get milked for all their worth.
Thankfully it’s never been that way with Seokjin. He claims that he’s in it for the long run. According to him the quick buck isn’t worth seeing the light die out in girl after girl. Perhaps that’s why he takes the task of ensuring your safety so seriously. How many times has he warned you to steer clear of this or that seedy director or ban you from attending drug-heavy parties? While his behavior can come off as overbearing on the worst days, at least he cares.
Sadly, it’s more than you can say for most.
In a way, he’s the only one in this business rooting for your success—if only because his paycheck depends on how well you perform. You like to pretend there’s more to it than that.
“I’m not - what’s Jimin got to do with any of this?” you splutter, still digesting the long tirade you’ve just been subjected to.
“Are you serious? That’s all you got from what I said?”
“Well, no, but I still fail to—”
“Do you think me a fool?” He crosses his arms tightly across his broad chest. “The only scenes you’re willing to shoot are when he’s on set. Are you a kid or something? Since when do you need supervision to shoot a sex scene?”
“N-no. It just worked out that way, okay?” In reply to his dubious expression, you force yourself to explain. “Okay, okay - I get it. Maybe I might’ve lessened my workload recently but it has nothing to do with Jimin, alright? My vagina needs rest from time to time. Just because it’s my job doesn’t mean I don’t need a break. I’m human too, not some blow-up doll.”
“You expect me to believe that he has nothing to do with it? You were perfectly fine before he entered the picture. And now that you’re all loved up you only pick—”
A knock, so timid you barely catch it, cuts off the rest of his sentence.
“Yeah? Come in, I’m decent!” you yell - not that you care whether someone sees you naked or not. The concept of modesty has long been lost on you. Some might call it shamelessness or vanity, but you take pride in how you look. And why wouldn’t you? Your body is your bread and butter. You spend hours in the gym every week so that your ass looks good no matter what camera angle.
“It’s me.”
The door opens a crack and the speaker tentatively sticks his mop of hair through the small opening. As soon as you recognize him, your heart leaps at the sight and you quickly tighten your robe together.
“Oh, speak of the devil,” Seokjin mutters under his breath.
You resist the urge to throttle him and plaster on your brightest smile instead.
“I wanted to see how you were doing. Sorry I took so long... I would’ve come earlier but they needed my help.” Jimin scratches a spot behind his ear, sheepish. “Someone tripped over the cables and smashed a camera lens so we had to find a replacement. The director threw a fit and wanted to call it quits so we’ve been trying to calm him down this entire time. He did - eventually, anyway, after he called his dealer on set.”
A disapproving frown tugs at his mouth corners and mars his otherwise perfect appearance.
You take a moment to swoon internally. You’ll never get tired of admiring your boyfriend. Unlike the majority of the on-set personnel, he doesn’t reek of weed or booze or stale cigarette smoke. His ironed clothes and immaculate appearance always make it easy to spot him amidst the hungover crew.
“That’s fine! I kept myself busy.”
Jimin returns your smile, his eyes creasing into beautiful half-moon crescents. You don’t know what kind of love-struck expression covers your face but next to you Seokjin makes a noise that sounds like a cross between a gag and a cough.
“Oh! Here, I brought snacks. I didn’t know what you liked so I just grabbed everything I could get my hands on.” He holds up a paper plate stacked with treats no doubt stolen from the catering service. “I know I kind of went overboard but I wanted to make sure you kept your sugar level up.”
“That’s sweet of you,” you coo, reaching to take the plate from him. He’s piled on the sweets so high that it’s a miracle nothing has toppled over yet. You aren’t especially hungry but take a bite out of a chocolate candy to show how much you appreciate the effort. Its gooey consistency melts on your tongue, the taste so sweet it sticks to your teeth.
“How adorable,” chimes in Seokjin, his hand grabbing a licorice stick from the mountain of candy before you can swat him away. “Thanks Jongmin.”
“Jimin,” he corrects good-naturedly, his smile not budging an inch. You think, privately, that’s what you like the most about him. Not many have the ability to block out Seokjin’s bullshit so effectively.
“Mmh,” your manager says around a mouthful of candy. “Seokjin. Pleasure.”
You elbow him while gritting your teeth. “Can you...give us a moment?”
Seokjin swallows down the treat and opens his mouth in protest. He has the audacity to look betrayed. “You’re kicking me out of our room so the two of you can get it on? Really?”
Jimin’s cheeks flush and you quickly cut in before your agent can make matters worse.
"I just want to talk without you breathing down my neck. Weren’t you going off earlier about how I didn’t need adult supervision anymore? Well?”
“Fine. Fine! But you owe me. Again.” He grabs his portable phone charger from the vanity table before making his exit. “And don’t forget what we talked about!”
What a fucking drama queen. You have no idea why he always insists on making a scene when you know for a fact that he would’ve left of his own volition in five minutes anyway. For reasons he has no trouble disclosing, he can’t stand Jimin’s presence.
“I won’t,” you grumble just so that you can get him out of your hair faster.
The door slams shut with more force than strictly necessary. Silence hangs in the air for a brief moment before Jimin turns his warm gaze towards you.
“What was that about?”
“Uh, nothing. You know how he is...” You play with the ends of your braided hair. “He can’t go very long without throwing a tantrum.’
“He seems very protective of you,” remarks Jimin, a thoughtful expression painting his angelic face. “I think that’s why he’s not that fond of me.”
“Nonsense,” you rebut immediately as you take his hands in yours. “Who could ever not like you?”
Jimin allows his lips to quirk into a small, self-deprecating smile that you promptly erase with a kiss. His lips feel pillow-soft against yours, and you let yoruself indulge in the feeling before pulling back.
You sigh, remembering the scene you’ve yet to film. “If only my co-star was you.”
He laughs at that. “Seokjin would probably throw a fit, huh?”
.
.
Jimin treats you to dinner that night.
He chooses the restaurant. It’s a small, quaint place, tucked into a hidden corner just minutes away from the bustling main street of the shopping district. It’s not the kind of place people stumble across by accident but judging by the occupied tables, business is doing fine by reputation alone.
The owner comes out to greet Jimin by name. They exchange warm greetings, the woman asking him how his brother’s been doing and whether he’ll stop by anytime soon.
“Ah - I’m not sure... You know how he is... I’ll let him know you said hi.”
“Tell him I’ll give him an extra serving of ribs. That was his favorite, right?”
When her eyes trail over Jimin’s shoulder and spot you, she grins so wide you’d think she won the lottery or something. “Park Jimin! You’ve gone and found a girlfriend! And so pretty, too. Ah, really...time sure flies by. I remember when you first started coming here - and now!”
You smile back, greeting her with a polite handshake. The owner is quick to usher you into a small booth in the back. She hands you the menus while patting Jimin on his shoulder. “I’ll get you drinks. It’s on the house.”
“You don’t have to do that!” protests Jimin, shaking his head. “Really. It’s not—”
“Nonsense.” She waves a hand at him. “You’ll get two more if you keep that up, Park Jimin.”
Once she knows she’s earned Jimin’s compliance, she leaves with a satisfied smile. You can tell by their genuine interactions that she’s close to Jimin. Family, perhaps? Either way, this isn’t a place Jimin tracked down on yelp. He flips through the menu with ease, like he’s done it hundreds of times before.
“Sorry about that,” he says once she’s out of earshot. “I used to come here all the time with my family when we all still lived here. They moved and live in a different town now so we haven’t had a meal together here in years, but. I still come here. The food is good, of course, but - I dunno. I have good memories here so I thought I’d share it with you. It sounds stupid now.”
He laughs quietly, cheeks flushed a pretty pink.
“I love it.” You can’t help but smile, cheeks hurting from the force of it. Invisible liquor runs through your bloodstream, a ball of warmth unfurling in your belly. “Thank you.”
A pause ensues. It’s one of those moments in which you’re unsure if you’ve said too much or not enough. Being here with Jimin means a lot. You’re not the most verbose person but you hope that Jimin can feel your sincerity.
Maybe your stare comes off as too intense because Jimin breaks the eye contact and clears his throat.
He fiddles with his earring and says, “The food is really good!”
Pink dots his cheeks as he attempts to change the subject. “I don’t know how long the place has been around for but the food is exactly the same. Apparently it’s the sauce they use? Auntie still won’t share the recipes with me and I’ve known her since I was a kid.”
He chatters on, gaining confidence when he notices you’re not put off or bored by his numerous anecdotes. As time passes by, he’s visibly more relaxed. His laugh is more natural, less restrained, like he’s using all the muscles in his face and not just the ones near his mouth.
It’s a stark difference from the first date, you think. Back then he had come off as quite shy, preferring to let you lead the conversation, only offering up tidbits from time to time. Now the conversation flows easily. Nothing feels forced or awkward and - it’s nice. The normalcy of it. Like a hot cup of tea before bed or the scent of the fabric softener your mother uses. It’s something you find comfort in, that you can see yourself coming back to and not growing tired of.
Seokjin can say what he wants - that Jimin’s too uninteresting, that you’re too mismatched of a couple - whatever.
Jimin likes you for you.
When you’re out on dates or when the two of you talk on the phone late into the evening, he rarely brings up your job. Instead, he asks you questions about your favorite TV shows, your dipping sauce preferences, the first album you purchased. These small details might seem inconsequential to others but to you, they’re a welcome breath of fresh air.
For all the talks of Jimin being too average and too normal, men like him are in reality surprisingly hard to come by.
Because what you haven’t failed to notice since you began your career as a porn star is that people love the idea of you. People who avidly watch you from their laptop screen in the comfort of their own home think that you’re some type of sex goddess - that you’re basically up for anything. In their minds, you’re a fun girl who loves sex, all kinds of sex, any kind of sex, and who doesn’t have any qualities or attributes other than making people cum until their limbs go numb.
Your feelings? Not really important. Feelings would make you human and being human would ruin their favorite fantasy.
That’s what takes you a while to learn - you don’t get paid to have sex, you get paid to sell dreams.
It doesn’t bother you at first. In a way, you think, it’s like acting. The porn star people jerk off to daily is a character you play, a mask you can take off at your leisure once the camera director yells ‘cut!’.
Very quickly, you learn people don’t share the same sentiment. To them, the line that distinguishes you from your job persona isn’t blurry - it simply doesn’t exist.
In the beginning, you’d stayed optimistic. Once people get to know you past the image they’ve built up in their heads, surely they’ll realize you’re not a sex-craved addict who only has dick on the brain, right? But with every new date you accept to go on, the reality of your situation only leaves room for disappointment and barely reigned in revulsion.
Even in non-romantic situations, people let you down. Old classmates, neighbors... It pisses you off that they assume you have no self-worth just because you’re a sex worker. Stevie from 308 down the hall once tried throwing crumpled bills at you, expecting you to crawl over to him for a fifty. The memory is enough to set your blood boiling. You can’t wait until you earn big enough bucks to move out of your shitty apartment into a nice high-rise penthouse, away and above all the scum of the Earth.
“You okay?” asks Jimin, noticing the crease that burrows your brow. “The food alright?”
You blink several times, belatedly realizing you had zoned out. Guilt and embarrassment well up within you.
“M’yeah,” you swallow down the spoonful of stew stuffed in your mouth. “Sorry.”
Jimin chews his bottom lip. Finally, he settles with, “Tell me if I’m boring you.”
“No, no! You’re not.” His evident doubt does nothing to alleviate the sudden nausea swarming your lower belly. “I’m serious, Jimin. I’m - Sorry if I gave off that impression. I just - I have a lot on my mind but you’re lovely. I’d tell you if you were - you know. Promise.”
“Would you? Sometimes I think you’re too nice.” It’s not delivered as an insult, but it doesn’t exactly sound like praise, either.
You force out a snort. “Heh. Wish you’d tell Seokjin that.”
“He’s not too cross with me, is he?” Jimin’s expression looks awkward, like he’s forcing his facial muscles to stay relaxed and mien nonchalant.
“Wh- oh, you mean because of earlier? He isn’t. That’s not him being angry. It’s not even you. It’s me. We just have - a slight difference in opinions, I suppose. If you can even call it that.”
“He doesn’t want you to date me,” concludes Jimin.
The frustrations you’d repressed earlier in the day come back. Why does Seokjin’s opinion matter? You huff, putting your spoon down.
“He’s not my dad. And even if he was, I’m grown. I can make my own decisions.” You roll your eyes. “Don’t worry about him. He’ll get over it... It’s not like it’s any of his business in the first place.”
“Still...” Jimin says, unsure. “He’s your agent. I wouldn’t want the relation between you to sour because of me.”
“Honestly, I’m convinced it’s not even you he has a problem with. We talked about it today and I think he’s getting antsy because, um, you know, I haven’t accepted any big offers lately. Like, I’m staying too much in my comfort zone or something. He says that in the long run that can be detrimental to my career.”
It’s a bit strange, discussing your work with Jimin. You both work in the same industry, Jimin as a second camera assistant and you as an adult entertainer, but outside of filming sets, you rarely acknowledge what the other person does for a living.
“Oh.”
“Yeah. He wants me to branch out and try new things.”
“What, you mean anal? Gangbangs?”
“Um, yeah. All that, probably...” You have to blink several times because of the shock of hearing Jimin say that so casually. “...Is that okay?”
“Huh?” Jimin in turn blinks at you, like your question doesn’t properly register. “Oh, yeah, sure. I’m fine with it. You said it’ll be good for your career?”
“Apparently.”
“Then, yeah.” He shrugs like he isn’t bothered by the news at all. “Of course that’s okay.”
A part of you wants to push the issue, ask him why he’d be fine with his girlfriend filming intense sex scenes with random men, but that inner voice is snuffed out before the poisonous thought has time to take root.
Isn’t this what you always wanted? A boyfriend who is accepting and understanding of your profession?
You wash down your worries with a gulp or two of soju, determined not to let your own insecurities ruin the rest of your night.
.
.
Less than 24 hours after you’ve agreed to work on a worthwhile project of Seokjin’s choosing, a slew of texts blow up your phone.
Unsurprisingly, it’s your agent. A quick scroll through your phone reveals that your agent has left you with no less than 15 messages, 1 voicemail, and 3 e-mails.
It’s...a lot. You’ve grown to expect that kind of fanfare with him. Like any man who deals with legally binding contracts on a daily basis, Seokjin ensures that you keep your word. He can be extremely persuasive when he sets his mind to it. You’ve seen men and women alike succumb to the force of his magnetism. Back when your filmography had solely consisted of amateur sex tapes shot in bad lighting with low-grade filming equipment, Seokjin's charms alone had been sufficient to win over lukewarm casting directors and book you jobs.
SEOKJIN : hey!!!!!!!!
SEOKJIN : ???
SEOKJIN : wow. you’re leaving me on read.........the audacity.
SEOKJIN : i raised you on my back and this is how you repay me?
SEOKJIN : do you not respect your elders in your household?
SEOKJIN : i swear if you’re blowing me off for jimmy instead of answering your calls .........
SEOKJIN : or blowing jimmy. either one.
SEOKJIN : ok it’s been 10 min. i’m chill but not that chill.
SEOKJIN : can you please stop sucking dick and read your emails. it’s important.
YOU : ever heard of multitasking? god gave us two hands for a reason
SEOKJIN : oh. nasty.
SEOKJIN : way to ruin my lunch.
SEOKJIN : well. suck down that nut sauce asap
SEOKJIN : cos what i sent you needs your undivided attention
YOU : i’m nasty?? me????
YOU : you don’t hear me saying nUT SAUCE you freak
SEOKJIN : nutté sauce
SEOKJIN : there. fixed it.
YOU : ...that’s not even a thing
SEOKJIN : well it should be!
SEOKJIN : adding accents makes it instantly classier, don’t you think? nutté sauce. has a nice ring to it.
SEOKJIN : honestly. sounds like some fancy four star french starter now.
YOU : ???? it absolutely doesn’t but ok
SEOKJIN : imagine. during a scene you just yell out
SEOKJIN : “i’d like a serving of your nutté sauce to go”
YOU : dicks would shrivel up on the spot
SEOKJIN : what? i think it’s brilliant!
SEOKJIN : my talent is wasted as an agent. should’ve been a scriptwriter instead.
YOU : yes i’m sure the oscars are weeping over the missed opportunity
He takes your sarcasm at face value, feeding you more ridiculous variants of faux french cum lingo—that which you very wisely choose not to reply to. Instead of humoring him, you open the .pdf file he’s sent your way, ignoring the near-constant buzzing of your phone as he’s no doubt pestering you for an immediate answer.
Had it not been necessary for business, you’d have blocked his number ages ago. In fact, after that nut sauce comment you’re seriously reconsidering, business obligations be damned.
To his credit, the film project he suggests you work on doesn't sound half-bad despite its questionable title. Why anyone would choose to name it THE SPERMINATOR is beyond you.
As you read through the proposition, you’re surprised to find it’s tamer than the initial imaginary scenario you’d played out in your head. Expecting to read through a long list of unnameable kinks and dicks, the scene description is rather domestic all things considered.
Your shoulders sag in relief. You enjoy sex as much as the next person, but even you have limits you’re not willing or eager to cross. You’re a human being, first and foremost, and, contrary to popular belief, not competing in the sex olympics.
From what you’ve read so far, nothing in Seokjin’s offer seems too strenuous or perverse. The scene in question is centered around a young, newly married couple trying to conceive for the first time and the sex acts are described as “romantic insemination” - whatever the fuck that means. The only complication you can think of is that you’ve never played the part of a married couple before. None of your previous films specifically target couples or women. Is romance something you can sell accordingly?
You’re quick to shake the concern off once you remember that no one cares if your acting is shit or not. All you probably have to do is yell out ‘Daddy’ a few times mid-thrust and call it a day.
Honestly, you’re a bit disappointed in Seokjin for choosing such a safe, no-risk project - especially since he constantly advocates the risk-return trade off as the way to live by. But you’re not about to start complaining. You’d rather shoot this type of innocuous scenario than ridiculous, hentai-like scenes involving freakish get-ups and toys of monster proportions not realistically made to fit in a vagina.
The deal is perfect. Almost too perfect.
Subconsciously, you must realize something is wrong. Maybe Seokjin’s many lessons have finally rubbed off on you because there’s a persistent voice in your ear warning you that the film proposition is a trap, one that you’ve unfortunately walked straight into.
Your wariness increases when he refuses to send you the script upon request. Alarm bells ring off but by then it’s too late.
“The thing is... Director Ryu wants to try a new type of project," Seokjin says over the phone once you call him up for answers. "He thinks he’s going to pioneer a new genre of porn and revolutionize the industry - his words, not mine.”
“What the hell does that even mean?”
“How do I explain this without you getting the wrong idea..."
“Is this meant to reassure me?!” Dread drips from your tone. You should’ve suspected something was off from the very moment Seokjin suggested to shoot vanilla porn as your next big project. What a joke.
“Calm down, it's not as bad as - whatever you're thinking.” Too bad that his attempts to calm you down have the opposite effect. “He’s been wanting to try out a new improvisation format for his porn movies.”
“Come again?”
A beat of uncomfortable quiet passes. Reluctantly, Seokjin explains, “Which means - there isn’t an actual script to go off of. That’s why I couldn’t send it to you - because there is none. He wants it to be as realistic and natural as possible so he’s looking for actors who can go with their gut and create their own scenario instead of ones who need to be directed.”
Your resounding silence speaks for itself.
Sure, sometimes they provide scripts to act as guidelines, roughly giving the actor an idea of how the scene will unfold, but no one is expected to follow it word for word. Most porn films rely on improvisation rather than scripts because of how notoriously bad porn stars are at acting and memorizing more than a few lines at a time, and the introduction scene never lasts very long anyway for it to make a noticeable difference. Besides, after filming a handful of movies, you’ve noticed the dialogue is more or less all the same.
What bothers you is that this director wants you to carry out a movie that relies heavily on improvised dialogue. Convincingly.
“C’mon,” Seokjin tries when you refuse to deign him with an answer. “It’ll be fun. You like acting, right?”
“Seokjin...” You pinch the bridge of your nose and try to keep your composure in check. “How do I break this down for you? I think you’re forgetting the most crucial detail here - I can’t act! The closest I've ever gotten to acting is faking an orgasm and I’m pretty certain that doesn’t count."
“And you do that very well!" says Seokjin encouragingly. "You'll be fine. Don’t stress over it. Your scenes with Min Yoongi last time were perfectly acceptable!”
“That’s the thing.” Stress makes your voice raise a half-step. “He did, like, 90% of the acting! Back then, all I had to do was moan and act like a slut! Which hardly counts - I was being myself. Whatever this - thing - you’re attempting to rope me into - I’m not qualified for it.”
“Sweetheart, we’re not aiming for the fucking Oscars here.” When he laughs, it’s practiced enough to sound sincere. “At the end of the day, it’s still porn. Nobody’s expecting you to be the next Meryl. And besides,” he presses on, clearly refusing to change his mind. “This is exactly what you need right now. Something fresh, something new. If you pull this off, you’ll gain exposure.”
“If I pull it off. Big if."
“I know it sounds like a gamble. I get it, I do. But remember what I always say? High risk—”
“Yes, yes. High reward. I get it.” Your frown deepens. “There’s no way to know this will work, though.”
“A good co-star already guarantees you half of the success. And luckily for you, the guy they signed on seems like the real deal. He’s hot, you’re hot. People will pay money to see you two fuck regardless of how good or bad the acting is.”
“Well. That’s reassuring,” you say, voice as flat as a board. “Although I suppose watching porn on mute is always an option if it comes to that.”
“It was a joke!” What worries you is that it doesn’t sound like it is. “You have nothing to worry about. I’ve seen some of your co-star’s tapes. He’s got a mouth on him, if you know what I mean. Just let him lead and it’ll go swimmingly.”
“It’s one thing to follow someone’s lead during sex but you want me to - to improvise for God knows how long! That’s just asking for a disaster to happen.”
“You said you were up for a challenge!” Seokjin throws your words back at you, his tone accusing.
“And you said this would be beneficial for my career! How is making a fool out of myself going to help me any? I don’t want to be remembered as the girl who can’t act to save her life.” You want to cry in frustration. If you had wanted to act you would’ve chosen that as your major in college. “I don’t - I can’t do this. I’m not - this isn’t what I signed up for! How do you expect me to convince viewers what they’re watching is real...”
“Just—” Exasperated, he takes a deep breath. Exhales. “Trust me. When have I ever been wrong about film projects.”
Is putting your career at risk really worth it? You’re not sure anymore.
On the bright side, it’ll finally get Seokjin off your back, you reason, trying to remain positive. That in itself is worth celebrating, right?
Fine. You’ll agree to it out of pettiness. Once Seokjin realizes what a terrible idea this entire ordeal is, you won’t hesitate to rub it back in his face. He’ll never hear the end of it.
"Who am I working with, anyway?”
"Ah, hm, well." Hesitation creeps up his voice for the first time, putting you instantly on edge. "...You won't know him. He's new to the scene - got started a month or two ago, I forget."
"Great. Not only am I being used as a lab rat for this director to experiment on but you're also pairing me with a fucking rookie. Jesus.”
"He’s not half bad! He’s not bad at all, actually. I wouldn't be insisting if I didn't trust him not to blow his load early."
"Aren’t I lucky,” you deadpan. “So I don't have to worry about him busting a nut before the director gives the signal?"
“All you’ll have to do is act like a married couple with baby fever,” he talks over you, ignoring your overflowing sarcasm. “And how hard can that be? You’ve been loved up with Jumin for a month now - that’s plenty enough practice if you ask me. I know you’ll be able to sell that romantic shit to the public without too much trouble.”
“It’s Jimin,” you correct from force of habit.
You’re promptly ignored — not that you expected anything less from him.
"Just give it a thought? And get back to me when you make up your mind. The sooner the better. The offer won't stay on the table forever." Even over the line, you can picture Seokjin raising his eyebrows at you, expectant. “If you’re serious about this job, you know what you have to do.”
You both know that you’ll accept the offer. Seokjin’s got you all figured out. As much as you don’t like being pushed around, the need to prove yourself is your main driving factor. The acquaintances who sneer at you, the family members who’ve shun you, the peers who expect you to burn out after the five month mark—you’d rather roll over and die than prove their misconceptions right.
It’s a matter of pride when you sniff and reply, “I’ll think about it.”
But the decision is already made before the call ends.
.
.
SCENE 02 - THE SPERMINATOR. TAKE 02. ROLL B.
.
Eight days later you find yourself squeezed into a brazenly short dress that zips in the front, more fit for a night out in a club than a dinner at home. It’s so ridiculously tight, you feel like a prey being swallowed down by a snake. There’s no room to breathe. You can’t wait for the scene to start, if only so you can dispose of the piece of fabric and never wear it again.
Unfortunately, your outfit gets worse because thrown over the clubbing attire is a frilly apron with small hearts embroidered along the hem. The mismatch is jarring. You’re not sure what look the stylist is going for but the end result is very...peculiar.
You comfort yourself with the knowledge that it could always be worse.
A quick glance at the digital clock on your phone confirms that you’re running on time. Good. After your last gig, the last thing you want is to spend hours waiting for the personnel to set up the cameras and sound equipment correctly.
Thankfully, today’s team works like a well-oiled machine. All that’s left are the last-minute preparations before the shoot begins.
Your false eyelashes are still drying when Seokjin elbows you sharply in the ribs. You crack open an eye to glare at him. “Ouch - ah, seriously? What is it now?”
“That’s him, that’s him!” Seokjin whispers under his breath, his gaze glued to a point somewhere beyond your shoulder. “Wooow. Aren’t you a lucky bitch? I’d gargle his nutté sauce for breakfast, if you get what I mean. He looks way better in person, damn.”
“Firstly - please never say that out loud again.” You fake a gag. “How do I buy myself a new set of ears?”
Seokjin ignores your dramatics. He shoots you a look. “You let that last guy draw a starfish on your face with his crème de la nut but did you hear me go sick?”
“That’s not the same and you know it!” Your jaw drops in indignation. “And can you stop trying to make nut cream a thing for the love of—”
“What’s this about nut cream?”
You whip your head around, mortification already etched onto your features. Your mouth opens, defense at the ready, only for your throat to clamp up.
“Oh.” You blink up in surprise because - well, Seokjin’s earlier assessment isn’t embellished. The guy is fit as fuck.
You’d seen photos in passing, had even googled his name out of curiosity, but the two-dimensional version of him pales to his real life physique. There’s a sharpness to his features that the camera fails to pick up on, a vibrancy that gets lost in the medium.
“Hey. I’m Hoseok.” His grip is firm, assertive, and your eyes naturally wander over his form. The loose muscle tee he’s thrown on puts his toned arms on display and makes it easier to admire the seemingly endless expanse of sun-kissed skin. He’s neither too thick nor too spindly, his muscles lean and firm instead of bulging. Strong but not intimidating. “I look forward to working with you.”
“Likewise.” You swallow, mouth dry.
You expect him to leave it at that like most of your past co-stars usually do. Or worse - for him to abandon all pretenses and cross lines that aren’t meant to be crossed. As someone who has experienced it all - from standoffish to creepy and vile - nothing surprises you anymore.
But unlike your, admittedly low, expectations, his gaze is warm and friendly. He speaks smoothly, leaving no time for an awkward silence to instill itself.
“Yeah, I know who you are! I saw a video or two of yours before - you were featured on the agency’s main page last month, right? Fuckin’ genius, by the way. Best stuff I’ve seen in a long ass time.” An easy grin sits on his face, nothing about it fake or contrived. “I hope we get along today. I haven’t done much work myself - yet anyway - but I hope this can be a good experience for the both of us.”
“You’ll be in good hands,” Seokjin assures, patting your shoulder like a proud parent. “_____ here is the best talent I’ve signed on.”
“That I can believe,” Hoseok chimes, his smile never waning. “I’ve heard good stuff about you. I won’t lie - it reassured me a fuck ton when I heard I’d be working with you. The stuff we’re doing is, well, it’s a bit of a gamble at this point, but I’m sure it’ll go well because I’ll be working with you.”
For a brief, embarrassing moment, you’re robbed of words, unable to respond to his flattery. From experience, you know to be wary of guys like him. Whenever someone lays it on thick they always have an ulterior motive. But what could possibly be his?
“Seokjin’s saying that because I’m the only one who can stand his nagging,” you finally say, your shoulders stiff. Maybe it’s because you’ve just met, but it’s hard to figure him out and it doesn’t help that you’re naturally wary of strangers.
“Oh hush. You love me.” Sensing how guarded you’ve become, Seokjin mercifully offers you an out. “It was nice meeting you, Hoseok. Wish we could stay and chat but she has to get ready to film the pre-interview portion.”
“Oh yeah, that’s cool. Catch you later.”
You offer a quick smile he returns tenfold, its brightness momentarily dazzling you.
Slightly dazed from the intensity of it, you stagger behind Seokjin, sun spots dotting your vision. Your surroundings blur together as your mind tries to recover from the interaction.
“Sooooooooo?” Seokjin sing-songs once you’ve walked far enough to be out of earshot. His brows are raised knowingly, an infuriating type of smugness clinging to his features. “What did I tell you! He’s hot enough to single-highhandedly melt a glacier, huh?”
You scoff, not willing to admit anything. “He’s okay.”
“Oh c’mon. He’s baby daddy material for sure. Which works out well for you since he’s gonna pump one into you later.”
For once the grimace that crosses your face isn’t exaggerated. “Please. Stop. Talking. I’m this close to heaving out my lunch.”
You’re not even joking with that one. Attractive as Hoseok may be, any talk of baby-making is enough to dissipate any smidgens of lust.
The reminder of what the upcoming scene entails and the expectations people carry crash down on you like a pile of bricks. Although you’ve done your best to ignore the fact you’ll be acting today, the meeting with Hoseok yanks you harshly back to reality.
You’re going to act. As a married couple. Trying to conceive a baby.
Three things that have never, ever been on your bucket list are now about to be crossed out in the span of the same afternoon. To that you can only say - what the fuck is my life.
Like a mounting wave before the inevitable crash, panic crests within you. You feel it gradually build and build, flooding your lungs and every crevice of your body with overwhelming anxiety.
Seokjin sighs. “How are you going to make it through today? The whole point of the sex scene is to get you pregnant. Or fake pregnant. You know what I mean.”
“Um...” You try to laugh but it comes out shaky. Seokjin shoots you a concerned look. “I’ll be fine! Really! I can do it. It’s just acting like you said, right? It’s not like he’s actually gonna knock me up in real life. So. Totally fine. It’s fine. Perfect.”
Seokjin’s concern grows. His eyebrows pinch together and his expression turns serious. He asks with no trace of mockery, “Are you okay?”
“I’m okay!” you reply. It’s too rushed of an answer to convince him. Your palms feel clammy and you wipe them off your damned apron. “Just. Nervous. Y’know.”
His steps slow to a halt and he places a warm, heavy hand on your shoulder. The weight, familiar and comforting, grounds you to reality. “Hey. What’s there to be nervous about? You got this.”
“Yeah.” You nod. Maybe if you say it enough times you’ll trick yourself into believing it. “I’ve got this.”
“Look. Let me be honest for a second. I’ve been an agent for eight years now and I’ve seen a lot of talents come and go. No pun intended.” You smile back at him weakly. “You’ve got something...extra a lot of them lacked. I knew the moment I saw you on film you’d go far. The energy you bring onscreen is insane. I know today might seem new and strange - but so was your first ever professionally shot film, right? And you got through that fine. You’ll do great. I know it. And, not to toot my own horn, but I’m always right.”
That earns him a laugh. The nerves are still there but thanks to his pep talk it’s easier to breathe.
Despite being a big pain in the ass, Seokjin is exemplary at his job. Without him, you’re acutely aware you wouldn’t have gotten half as far as you have. Having him by your side is a reassurance in itself.
Someone calls your name, pulling you from your thoughts. When you turn around, you’re face to face with the round, bespectacled face of Director Ryu. You reckon he’s in his early forties but he acts younger than his age. It’s your first time working with him but so far he’s been nice enough, if a little full of himself. Not that you’re unaccustomed with working alongside conceited colleagues.
“Oh good, you’re back. You can get seated for the interview bit.” He points over to a chair placed in front of a pale yellow wall. From close up, you can see a paint job is in order, the old coat chipping off in several places. “Alright, this won’t last long - just need you to answer some questions on tape and we’ll be good to go.”
“Sure thing.” You nod and follow his directions, sitting still while the hair and make-up artist steps up to give your lips a final touch-up.
Strictly speaking, the before and after interviews aren’t a necessity. In your experience, directors mostly film the short question-and-answer sequence when you’re set to film hardcore sex scenes as a way to show viewers everything is consensual and that you thoroughly enjoyed the experience despite whatever might have transpired on screen.
You reckon the director wants to film you today to document the process behind his “groundbreaking film project”. Cue roll of eyes.
Somebody needs to tell him he isn’t inventing anything, you think while watching him fiddle with the camera until he’s completely satisfied with the angle. All he’s done so far is add unnecessary pressure on you. You hope Hoseok is faring better because the amount of performance anxiety you’re experiencing is an instant boner killer.
“You nervous?” the director asks once he’s done adjusting the camera lens.
While by some standards you’re still considered a newbie in the industry, you’ve done this enough times to fall into a routine. Wake-up, breakfast, get ready, arrive before call time, fill out all the paperwork and get ready to shoot your solo stills. It’s familiar enough that you’ve long stopped getting pre-performance jitters.
Today’s rush of anxiety is as surprising as it is unwelcome. They don’t want to hear that particular truth though, so you keep your reply sweet and bubbly.
“Nah,” you grin, wide and easy. “I’m super excited to film today!”
“Oh yeah? Is it perhaps because of your co-star?”
Your smile freezes for a second. Somewhere over the director’s shoulder you can see Seokjin nodding enthusiastically while giving you the double thumbs up. “Hoseok? He’s hot, sure.”
“Ooh. Already on a first name basis?”
“Hm?” you let out a noise of polite confusion, only belatedly realizing that his viewers know him better as his porn alias, J-Hope. But there’s no way in hell you’re going to yell that out loud while he’s fucking an orgasm out of you. Not only does it sound ridiculous but it’ll shatter whatever carefully crafted illusion you manage to build. “Um, yes. We’re getting to know each other. He’s very friendly.”
“I’m sure he is.” And there’s an implication there that doesn’t sit too well with you but thankfully Director Ryu chooses to move on and put that particular subject to rest.
“You ever shoot an insemination scene before?”
“Not yet.” You make sure to keep the smile on your face even if your cheeks are beginning to hurt. “I can’t wait to get to it. It’s a fantasy I’ve always had but never tried out for myself. I’m excited to film a first on camera!”
The director has yet to call you out for your bullshit so you slowly start to relax. Acting is a bit like lying, isn’t it? Maybe you can get through today after all.
You breeze through the rest of the questions, forcing out practiced laughs here and there all whilst keeping your voice syrupy sweet. It’s quick work, especially when you know what to expect. Before you know it, it’s already time to film the pièce de résistance. Everyone that’s allowed on set during filming filters into the kitchen, conversations between crew members dying down as they use their last recreational moments to check their phones.
The director’s filming style exempts you from shooting the customary pre-shoot sex stills which are essentially promotional pictures of you and and your partner in every sex position that you’ll be filming for real later on. You’re thankful for that, at least. Even with all of your on-camera experience, staying perfectly silent and still with someone’s dick inside you is no easy feat. It’s worse when you have to keep eye contact with your co-star and fake sexual gratification because the shot calls for it.
Hoseok waves at you from the other side of the room, the hair and makeup artist dusting some powder across the slope of his nose.
How can he look so relaxed?! You’re barely holding your lunch down. Honestly, it’s a miracle you’re able to now tat the butterflies are back in full force, making a mess of your stomach.
You feel queasy but try not to make it too obvious even as Seokjin comes around to check up on you. The last thing you want to do is make a scene, especially when your onscreen counterpart's demeanor is making you look amateurish in comparison.
Maybe Hoseok is a better actor than you’re able to give most porn stars credit for because try as you might, you fail to detect any nervous undercurrent in his tone. For someone who is supposedly starring in his first major project, he doesn’t seem all too bothered about how it might play out.
How does he do it?! In all honesty, if Seokjin hadn’t informed you of his rookie status, you would be none the wiser.
There’s an ease with which he carries himself, a fluidity in his movements that belies no anxiety or awkwardness. Even from this distance you can tell that there’s never a hint of hesitation in his movements or speech; he doesn’t seem self-conscious in the least. He talks and moves with the assurance of someone who has been in the industry for months, not weeks.
In that moment you envy him. You’re so nervous about the upcoming scene that it’s hard to feign an air of professional detachment.
His boisterous laugh is loud enough to carry across the room and interrupt your line of thought. When you look over at him again, you find him folded in half, hands clutching his sides, and wearing a grin so bright it eclipses the entirety of his face.
“He seems nice.”
You jump, startled by Jimin’s sudden appearance. You hadn’t even heard him draw near. With a sheepish expression, you turn to look up at him only to find him already staring off into the distance. There’s a strange look painting his face, and a small crease in his brow that usually isn’t present. When you follow his line of sight, you’re met with the image of Hoseok talking animatedly to the the small crowd that’s flocked around him.
“Yeah.” You aren’t sure what else to say. Although there’s no sarcasm attached to his words, you can’t help but find Jimin unnaturally tense.
Which makes sense, you concede guiltily. A mere stranger is minutes away from dicking down his girlfriend. You’re not sure how you’d feel if you were to stand in his shoes.
You breathe in deep, silently willing away the knot of distress in your belly. There’s nothing wrong with what you’re doing. It’s just a job. A profession that Jimin has always been fully aware of, even before you’d begun dating.
Even as you remind yourself of the facts, it does little to dispel the lingering feelings of doubt and guilt.
“Hey.” Jimin frowns at you in concern. “You alright?”
“Yep!” you say then immediately sigh, knowing that lying to your boyfriend is pointless. “I’m just a bit nervous.”
“Nervous?” Jimin’s worry grows, the crease in his brow deepening. “What about?”
“Just—” You gesture around with your hands. “All of this.”
“Oh.” He looks genuinely surprised. “But you don’t usually get nervous... Is it the impregnation thing you’ll have to do? I know you’ve said you’re not a big fan of that. Or... Is it something else?”
“I don’t know,” you answer truthfully. It’s a bit of everything yet at the same time nothing you can clearly pinpoint and put a finger on. In all logic, you know that you’re feeling disproportionately stressed out but you can’t stop yourself from feeling how you feel. “It’s not that I don’t want to film. I just - I’m worried I won’t do well.”
Jimin takes your hand between his, running a thumb in soothing circles across the surface of your skin. He repeats the motion several times until your heartbeat is completely synced to his touch.
“You’ll do great. You always do.” The lines of his mouth bend into a smile. “I’ll be on the sidelines cheering you on.”
“My very own cheerleader.” You allow yourself to relax and and smile back fondly.
As much as you worry about Jimin being upset with you filming sex scenes with other actors, he’s never been anything less than the supporting boyfriend you’ve always dreamed of. Seokjin calls Jimin’s constant presence on set maddening, but you’re thankful that your boyfriend sticks by your side while others might flee or shame you.
Suddenly, you’re overcome with emotion. Maybe it’s the stress, or maybe today you’re more hormonal than usual, but your eyes threaten to well up as you grip his palm tightly in your own. “Jimin, I—”
“Okay, lovebirds!” Seokjin claps his hands once, effectively ruining your moment. “Hand-holding time is over. We’re moving onto the more R-rated stuff.”
“Seokjin!” you hiss, upset over his horrible timing.
“It’s fine.” Jimin shakes his head. “He’s right, shoot’s about to start anytime soon. I need to get ready, too.”
“Right.”
Reluctantly, you let go of Jimin’s hand.
“Don’t pout.” He laughs and presses a quick, chaste kiss to your mouth. “I’ll wait for you after filming and we can go grab dinner. Italian sound fine?”
“Yes, yes, yes.” You bob your head eagerly. “I’m literally dying for carbs. Italian sounds more than perfect.”
“Good.”
You can’t resist sneaking in one last peck before Jimin retreats behind the cameras and you’re pulled to stand in front of a granite kitchen tabletop. Director Ryu is waiting for you, Hoseok already by his side.
From close-up, your co-star looks even more striking. The make-up artist’s work highlights his features without going overboard. The lines of his face are sharp, like every single one has been meticulously drawn. What usually would give someone a hostile and unapproachable impression is balanced out by the liveliness that lights up his eyes and his wide smile that looks almost too big for his face.
“It’ll start in the kitchen and then we’ll work out way to the bedroom.” Director Ryu points down the hallway. “I was thinking of keeping it all in the bedroom but nothing screams domesticity more than kitchen scenes, right?”
“Uh-huh.” You give a polite nod. Next to you, Hoseok coughs into his fist.
“Depending on how this goes we might have to take several takes - just keep that in mind.”
That’s nothing out of the ordinary. Sex scenes are never filmed in one take. There’s always one thing or another - a smoke break, a flaccid dick, a lighting fixture that needs to be changed. A 45 minute porn movie is the result of the editing team that painstakingly goes through, cuts and assembles hours of footage.
“Remember,” Director Ryu instructs, one hand cocked on his hips. “You’re still stuck in that honeymoon phase. All the two of you want to do is fuck like horny bunnies but your husband’s been away all day. Both of you have been waiting for this reunion for hours and hours. I want to feel that level of tension, got it?”
Hoseok nods like a dutiful student, his expression comically serious. You’d laugh if it wasn’t so inappropriate.
“Yep. Ok. Got it.”
You just want the director to stop talking so that you can get this over with quickly. The monologue is just delaying the inevitable.
Director Ryu spends extra minutes setting up the scene, emphasizing how in love and passionate the two of you should behave, describing how long you’ve been wanting to try for a baby, going into explicit detail about what the sex scenes should convey to the viewers. He just goes on and on and on with no end it sight.
At this point even Hoseok is growing restless. His feet refuse to stay still and his eyes dart around the room as if his attention is drawn elsewhere. It’s Hoseok’s constant fidgeting that draws Director Ryu out of his monologue. He finally senses that there’s a unanimous decision to start filming and retires behind the camera to settle himself in his appointed chair.
Hoseok shares a long look with you. “Is he always like that?”
“God, I hope not.” You lower your voice to whisper, “Seokjin - my agent - he says apparently Director Ryu wanted to make a career off of documentaries once he graduated from film school but quickly switched genres once he saw how little filming the mating habits of koalas was earning him.”
“Ah,” Hoseok nods conspiratorially before his features shift into something more serious. “Hey. Before we start, is there anything you’re not comfortable with? I know this scene is supposed to lean towards vanilla but you never know... I’d rather make sure. Just in case.”
You blink, taken aback. Hard limits aren’t really discussed outside of hardcore scenes. Sure, everyone is given a safeword before shoots begin but even screaming out “STOP!” or “Can we take a break from filming?” is enough to put the filmed scene on hold.
“Ah... No. I’m okay. But thanks for asking.” A moment passes and you add, “Is there - are there any words or kinks that bother you?”
Hoseok shakes his head. “Not for this one. Just - if there’s anything you’d rather me not say or do, don’t hesitate.”
You nod in reply, not sure of what else to say. Unfortunately your past experiences with men have made you suspicious of any form of flattery or kindness.
Soon, though, you relax. What reason is there for Hoseok to deceive you? Maybe he still has that rookie mindset. You can relate to the eagerness and the desire to do well you’d had in your early days of filming.
“Alright. Good luck, Hoseok.”
His smile is so bright that it erases your previous doubts. Surely someone with ill-intentions wouldn’t be able to smile like that, right? You return a tentative smile of your own. Something akin to understanding seems to pass between you. Although you don’t know Hoseok and he doesn’t know you, you trust him enough for this scene.
The moment is broken when Director Ryu directs Hoseok to wait outside the camera’s line of vision and you’re left alone in front of the kitchen stove.
Any moment now, you think. A telltale silence falls over the staff members as they all anticipate the director’s signal for the scene to start.
The first few seconds are always tricky. You’re no actress. There’s no switch inside of you that flips on and off as soon as the director commands “ACTION!” and “CUT!”. The world around you doesn’t fade out, your ‘porn star persona’ doesn’t claw its way out from within you and lunge for the nearest available dick. Sometimes, if you’re not attracted to your onscreen partner, you find your mind drifting off, making an inventory of your fridge and wondering what you’ll be able to cook up for dinner with two eggs and leftover rice.
When Director Ryu shouts “ACTION!” and slams down the plate, you freeze up. Usually you have an idea of what to say or do, but the words and actions won’t come to you this time.
Someone behind the cameras lets out a light cough. Oh right, you blink down at the simmering pot of water in front of you. The cameras are recording you making an utter fool out of yourself.
The spike of humiliation forces you into action. You’re more professional than this, damn it. You give the water a tentative stir, movements wooden and stiff. It’s hard to concentrate. All you can do is watch as the water simmers to a boil, the sound of bubbling water like a roaring current in your ears.
A door creaks open, signalling your onscreen husband’s return home.
To your horror, you find that you’re unable to move, as if your limbs had forgotten their primary function.
Before the scene had started, you had envisioned yourself throwing yourself into the arms of your loving husband and welcoming him home with a shower of kisses and words of affection. You had internally rehearsed it, had even thought of what you could say to him between pecks, but the reality is far removed from what you had practiced.
“Darling?” Hoseok’s voice is soft but loud enough for you to hear him over the angry sounds of boiling water. The vowels he uses are rounded, different from the bright pep in his tone from earlier.
You want to respond but your tongue feels like lead, too heavy in your mouth to articulate and form the proper reply. What are you supposed to call him, anyway? Honey? Hoseok? A nickname derived from his name? What do newlywed spouses call each other? Why couldn’t you give this more thought before the cameras began rolling?
Panic balloons inside you, threatening to burst. For a terrifying and mortifying second, you think that you’ve gone and ruined everything. The muscles in your shoulders bunch up and you half-expect the director to shout ‘CUT!’, give you a public scolding for missing your cue and berate you for your overall ineptitude.
Hoseok’s arms wrap around your middle before you have time to agonize any further. Just as you suspected, his arms are strong, the lean muscles flexing as he readjusts his hold around your waist. What you don’t expect, however, is the unadulterated warmth he radiates. His body burns hot; even through the layers of clothing separating the two of you, his warmth seeps through. But it’s strangely comfortable, not unlike basking in the afternoon sun during the last days of summer. You let yourself melt into his embrace.
“You’re not even going to say hi?”
With your back turned to him, you can’t be sure, but you imagine the pout playing at his lips. He tucks his chin in the crook of your shoulder. If he feels any awkwardness, he doesn’t let it show.
Miraculously, your mouth seems to be in working order again. It takes you a few seconds too long to find the appropriate answer, but it finally comes before the director can cut in to make any remarks.
“If I turn around right now, I won’t be able to keep my hands off of you,” you explain. “And - I don’t want to ruin our dinner.”
Just to keep up the pretense, you add a handful of spaghetti into the pot of water.
Hoseok lets out a hum from behind you. He’s standing close enough for you to feel the vibrations low in his throat.
“I hate it,” he says after a stretch of silence.
You pout. “What? My cooking? What’s wrong with it?”
“No, silly. I hate -” he sighs, buries his face in your neck before looking back up so the camera can capture his expression. “I hate not being with you. I missed this.”
He hugs you from behind before kissing your neck. It starts off innocuous - his lips pressing short, chaste kisses down the column of your throat. Quickly, however, his mouth lingers on your skin.
“Ah - don’t. I’m cooking!” you shriek when his teeth scrape over a sensitive spot under your jaw. Your protests are half-hearted and go by unacknowledged. The pot of pasta could overflow right now and no one would care, least of all you.
Hoseok noses your neck while he tightening his grip around your waist, the movement bringing his hips flush against your lower back. You give the pot in front of you a very unenthusiastic stir, attention focused instead on the way his lips tenderly skim the surface of your skin, testing and teasing. The sensation feels nice - and keeps your mind off of the several cameras directed your way.
“But I went all day missing my princess,” he sighs, open mouthed against your neck. “Spent all day thinking about you.”
“Y-you did?”
“Mhm.” He gives your exposed shoulder a peck. Then another. “Thought about your cute little laugh.”
His line catches you off guard. Your mouth opens but no sound comes out.
Porn is often crude and to the point. You’re used to men complimenting your body parts or praising your skills in bed. You’d never minded, either. But Hoseok’s choice of words make you eager in a different way.
“What else?”
“Well, your cooking, for sure. Without you I’d be eating out of ramyeon packets for breakfast, lunch and dinner.”
You let out a snort.
“That’s true. Your cooking is so horrible it’s offensive.”
“Hey now. Don’t be mean.” He pokes your cheek before pinching your chin to turn your head towards him. “I can cook a decent omelet.”
Hoseok’s a good few inches taller than you so you have to strain your neck to be able to look him in the eyes. The slight discomfort barely registers. You’re too transfixed by the way he stares at you. It’s hard to place the expression because you’ve never seen it on a fellow actor before. Normally, the men you work with stare you down with hungry and lustful intent, but there’s none of that in Hoseok’s gaze.
The expression on his face cannot be described as innocent, either. He licks his lips, drawing your attention to the pretty lines of his mouth delicately curved into a smile.
“I missed the way you feel in my arms.” His voice sounds deeper, this time. “I missed holding you close to me. Kissing you. Reminding you how much I love you. I missed the look in your eyes when - “
“When?”
He smirks. “You sure you want to hear it? What if you can’t keep your hands off of me after? I don’t want to be held responsible for soggy pasta.”
“Hoseok,” you whine, one of your hands reaching down to slap at the hold around your stomach.
He tightens his hold around you and your breath hitches, suddenly all too aware of how firm his body feels behind you. The smirk on his face widens as he leans forward to confess his next words.
“I was thinking about how I miss the look on your face whenever I make your pussy sloppy with my cum.”
“Hoseok!”
One moment he’s crooning sweet words of affection, the next he’s spitting out filth. The quick back-and-forth gives you whiplash but you can’t say you dislike it. Unlike the tired and overused clichéd porn scenarios you’ve filmed in the past, Hoseok’s unpredictable behavior has the advantage of keeping you on your toes.
“You missed it too, hm?” He kisses your neck, lips soft and warm. “Kept thinking about how pretty you sound. So, so pretty. Especially when I give you what you want.”
“How would you know what I want?” You turn your head forwards so you can pretend to check up on the cooking pasta. “You were away all day.”
Hoseok’s eyes flash dangerously.
“How would I know?” he parrots back, his tone sweet and mocking. Something about it sends tingles down your spine and has you standing up straighter. “I always know what my pretty wife wants. I know because your body can’t lie to me.”
His hands wander, one of them inching up the material of your frilly apron to reach between your breasts. The movement is slow enough for a camera to zoom in and follow its trail. Hoseok rests his hand on your left breast and gives it a squeeze.
“See?” He repeats the action. “Your heart’s racing like crazy.”
You swallow audibly, finding it hard to come up with a witty riposte.
He continues with a chuckle, “You can’t deny it, can you? Your body’s too honest for your own good. It’s okay. You don’t have to say you missed me. I know.”
His self-assured way of talking makes it easier for you to react. This - the cockiness, the playfulness - you’re familiar with.
You roll your eyes and continue to give the pot in front of you a few additional stirs only for your breath to hitch when he starts to grind his hips against your lower back in time with your stirs.
Fuck is your only coherent thought. He rolls his hips so well it’s impossible not to imagine them doing something else. Your bottom lip grows numb from how hard you bite it.
“Of course I missed you.” You keep your tone as light as possible, determined not to show that his words and actions affect you.
Hoseok’s eyes narrow. He removes his hands from around you but keeps his front pressed against your back. He smiles again, dimples poking through.
“You don’t sound convinced... That’s fine.” It sounds like the beginning of a challenge and you soon learn why.
His nimble fingers play with the knot of your apron and you tense, expecting him to make quick work of your clothes and dive straight into dessert, so to speak. Once again, he surprises you by leaving the apron alone, hands falling to his sides.
His knees hit the floor, the noise startling you. Before you have the chance to truly react, he’s quick to pull your hips backwards until your back is arched. The sudden change in position forces you to adjust your stance so as to keep your balance.
“Hoseok?” you start to question but he cuts you off with a tut and light smack to your ass.
“You just keep your eye on dinner like you were doing before.” His fingers play with the hem of your short dress, stretching the fabric until it bunches up around your hips and leaves your lacy thong on display. “You can do that, right?”
Flustered by the position he’s maneuvered you into, with your hips thrust back obscenely, legs splayed wide and pussy on show, you grip the wooden spoon in your hand with more force than necessary. “It’s just pasta. I can manage.”
Maybe you sound less indifferent than intended because Hoseok seems more amused than offended by your feinted nonchalance. He barks out a laugh, his hands spreading the meat of your cheeks aside to get a better view of your lace-covered bits.
Privately, you wish you could witness his reaction. If there’s anything that turns you on, it’s knowing how much someone else wants you. If feels good to know that you’re wanted and desired. Even if fucking is part of your job description, the act needs to be mutually enjoyable for you to be completely satisfied.
“Sure.” The lilt in his voice is so sweet that it borders on condescending. “While you do that, I think I’ll have my appetizer.”
It’s corny, overused and a little degrading - exactly the type of one-liner you’d ordinarily find in porn - but he gives you no time to call him out for it. As soon as he’s done talking, he wags his tongue out and drags it across the red lace, and the repeated up and down motions quickly dampen your panties.
You notice with great frustration that he takes care to avoid your clit, focusing instead on licking broad stripes over slit and, to your surprise, around your rim. He doesn’t stop until your underwear drips with the accumulation of your essence and his saliva. The soaked lace rubs against you, the rough texture adding pressure to your most sensitive zones, until you can’t tell if the extra sensation is a blessing or a curse. Your hips jerk forward every so often, unsure if you’d rather lean into or escape his torturous games. Because as amazing as Hoseok’s tongue feels, you know your body well enough to be able to tell that this particular tempo won’t bring you to your peak.
An appetizer, he had called it. That’s exactly what the teasing ministrations feel like - a small sampling before the main course. It’s satisfying and maddening in its own way. Good, but not enough to satisfy your ravenous appetite.
He unearths himself from your dripping core, chin shiny with your juices.
“Keep focus,” he instructs as he slots two fingers inside of you. You’re wet enough that they slide in without too much difficulty, the stretch making your stomach clench. “I thought you said you knew how to cook pasta.”
Against your will, you force yourself to focus on the bubbling water in front of you. As much as you want to push your hips back and ride his fingers until you’re pushed over the edge, you can’t take the humiliation of messing up pasta - even if it is for the sake of a porn scenario.
It’s fucking pasta! You have to be seriously inept to mess up such a simple dish...
But what should have been an effortless task becomes more challenging than expected. Hoseok refuses to go easy on you. If anything, your stubborn silence is all the motivation he needs to thrust his fingers inside of you harder, curving them at an angle that makes your knees wobble. You struggle to keep any incriminating noises at bay but despite your best efforts, several muffled moans slip out one after the other.
Somewhere in the back of your mind, the logical side of you points out how dangerous all of this is. What if, during your impending orgasm, your body seizes up and knocks the boiling water everywhere during the process? You quickly switch off the gas stove at the thought. Better be safe than sorry.
Just then, Hoseok adds his tongue to the mix, his fingers relentless in their pursuit of your pleasure. You bite back a curse as the wooden spoon slips from your hold and clatters to the floor.
“Ah fu - Oh God,” you stutter, hands holding on to the edge of the counter for dear life.
You’ve been eaten out God knows how many times in your life, but not many have instinctively known what really gets you going. Hoseok laps at your core, tongue collecting the moisture that seeps through the fabric of your ruined panties, while his fingers scissor you open for his cock.
Your stomach clenches as you imagine how well he’d fill you up. Who the hell would ever want pasta for dinner when Hoseok could feed you his cock instead? Definitely not you, that’s for sure.
It’s easy to picture it. All he’d need to do is stand up, unzip his pants and spear you open with a practiced roll of his hips. Maybe he’d make you toss a salad while he fucks you from behind, slapping your ass whenever you forget to keep stirring the ingredients together. Or perhaps he’d let you ride his dick on the kitchen floor, too impatient to make it to a more comfortable surface.
Your imagination knows no bounds. Once you start, you can’t stop thinking of more lascivious scenarios, each one more daring and debauched than the last. The heat between your legs becomes unbearable and still, you ache for more.
Hoseok pulls away from the apex of your thighs and snorts, the sound pulling you out of your depraved thoughts. The pace of his thrusting slows down without stopping completely, his fingers still pressed deep within you. Your arms tremble as they try to keep you upright, knuckles white from the strength of your grip around the counter’s edge. You exhale shakily.
A whine works its way into your voice. “Why - why’d you stop?”
Ignoring your protests, he pops his fingers out of you and indulges in one last lick of your swollen pussy, before gathering to his feet. He rolls down your dress back over your bum and peers over your shoulder, acting as nothing had ever happened.
“Thought you said you’d take care of dinner, hm?” Hoseok has the gall to hum in disappointment.
Your mouth opens in outrage. “You!”
Hoseok pouts. “I thought we said you wouldn’t blame me for any soggy pasta.”
“You’re impossible,” you say without any real heat to your words.
“But you love me that way.”
He smiles as he leans in to kiss you, lips sticky and warm. You follow the pace he sets as best you can, unaccustomed to the way he takes his time - like you’re a delicacy that demands to be savored and not gulped down. On-screen kisses are usually rushed, messy, with too much tongue. They’re a scripted affair, more for show than out of real affection. When men tuck back your hair behind your ear or palm your cheek, it’s only to better angle your face for the camera.
There is something intimate about the way he holds you, the way he looks at you. Inwardly, you can't help but admire his acting skills. There’s something tender about the way he handles you that’s distinctly different from any of your previous onscreen partners. Sure, you’ve shot vanilla sex scenes before, but never of this variety. None of the male actors’ performances have made you wish, even fleetingly, foolishly, that the scene was real.
Hoseok pulls up for air before your mind can wander off completely, his panting mouth a hairsbreadth away. Lips touching but not quite.
Blearily, you blink your eyes open. You’re close enough that your noses brush against one another, your breaths mingling together. Hoseok’s eyes remain closed throughout, like he doesn’t want the moment to end. He looks so content that you can’t bring yourself to do anything else but melt further into his embrace, gaze drinking in the minute details of his face - like the tiny moles dotting his cheekbone and upper lip and the pretty curve of his eyes.
“And cut!”
You both jump away from each other, startled. For a second there, the storyline you’d been instructed to follow had slipped from your mind. You’re unsure if the lapse in judgement is good or bad but you don’t let the question linger in your thoughts. You’ll have plenty of time to dissect your performance at a later time.
“Good, good. That wasn’t what I was expecting but I don’t think anyone has any objections?” Director Ryu claps his hands. “Fifteen minute break sound good everyone? Then we’ll relocate to the bedroom to shoot the next part.”
There’s a general hum of agreement from the crew members. Chairs and various other equipment scrape the floor as the personnel prepare to migrate to the other room for filming. Jimin’s gaze meets yours briefly but all he can do is smile weakly in your direction before he’s ordered to help push some of the equipment down the hall.
Someone comes up to you with a bottle of water while another steps closer to blot the beads of sweat near your hairline and reapply a layer of lipstick. The make-up artist knits her brows in concentration until she’s satisfied with the touch-ups. She then moves on to Hoseok, make-up palette and brush at the ready, and grumbles loudly about the sticky residue covering his face. You hear Hoseok bellow a laugh, the sound so infectious that even the make-up artist joins in.
You sip your water through a straw, careful not to smudge your freshly applied lipstick, and check your phone for any missed messages.
“Was all of that okay?”
“Hm?” You look up and are surprised to see Hoseok stare at you expectantly. “I, uh, know some girls aren’t into ass play. I’m sorry. I should’ve asked before jumping the gun but I figured - since you said there wasn’t anything major you were adverse to filming...”
His voice trails off.
“I liked it.” The admission is an easy one. “It did take me by surprise, but - I don’t have any complaints.”
“Ah, really?” Hoseok’s mouth corners upturn in relief. “That’s good to know. I was thinking - for the next scene - what if - I mean, are you okay with calling me Daddy?”
You tilt your head as you mull over the proposition.
“Daddy?”
“It’s not - you don’t have to. But listening to Director Ryu go on earlier made me think of something we could do. I think it fits well with the general idea. What do you think?”
“I’m fine with it.” Using the title doesn’t make you squeamish so you shrug in compliance. It’s not the first you’ve had to incorporate a daddy kink into the scene and it likely won’t be the last. You don’t see why you wouldn’t or shouldn’t do it with Hoseok. “I’ll follow your lead like I’ve been doing.”
It’s only as you’re following him towards the bedroom that you recall that you’ve yet to get to the crux of the scene - the damned impregnation kink. Even though you’re considerably less nervous than you’d been an hour or two ago, the thought of begging someone you barely know for something so intimate makes your stomach flip-flop. You don’t even have unprotected sex with Jimin and he’s your boyfriend.
Speaking of Jimin, you try to sneak in a peck or two before filming but Director Ryu intercepts you before you can make a beeline to where Jimin’s stationed behind a camera.
“How are you feeling?” The overhead light reflects off his round glasses and makes it impossible to hold eye contact unless you want to become semi-permanently blind.
“Good---”
“Wonderful. Well, we’ve positioned cameras here, here, and over there. There’ll be another camera man who’ll film with a handheld camera for closeups. Just keep that in mind. I know we’re giving you free-range to do what you feel is best and most natural but I’d hate to ask you to re-shoot because the camera couldn’t capture the both of you properly.”
You nod and he continues, “Also - please remember that you’re acting as a horny young married couple. I remember at that age I was up for anything, you get what I’m saying? People think just because you put a ring on your finger the sex automatically becomes stale. Fuck that. Show people married couples are freaks in the sheet.”
“Uh... Alright. I’ll keep that in mind.”
He claps a hand over your shoulder. “That’s the spirit.”
Freaks in the sheet? What did he expect you to do? Try out all the sex positions in the Kama Sutra?
“What did he want now?” Hoseok leans over to whisper once you’re seated comfortably on the bed. You’re hoping the mics don’t pick up the conversation but would rather not take the risk of being overheard bad-mouthing the director.
Shrugging, you say, “Just that this scene should be spicier.”
Hoseok raises his brow, lips quirking into a smirk. “That so?”
The same cockiness you’d caught a glimpse of during your escapade in the kitchen is back and the memory you associate it with makes the back of your neck prickle with heat. You clear your throat and avert your eyes.
Thankfully Director Ryu interrupts before Hoseok has the chance to fluster you further. You follow each of the director’s voiced directives until you’re comfortably seated on Hoseok’s lap, dress hitched around your waist because of how far your knees are spread on either side of Hoseok’s thighs. There’s a quick, last minute adjustment as Director Ryu ensures that the camera in the left corner picks up on everything it’s supposed to.
Satisfied, he lets you take the reins from there, then gives the cameras the signal to begin rolling.
You don’t waste a moment, taking his earlier commentary to heart. It’s your turn to pepper kisses all over Hoseok’s golden skin, leaving faint traces of rouge behind like an artist signing their own painting. You stop a few times to admire your work. Lip prints and lavender bite marks color his skin and the sight awakens a possessive streak you didn’t know you had.
Your enthusiasm to mark him up gets a little out of hand.
"Mhm." Hoseok grunts when you lick over a sensitive spot under his jaw. "Slow down, princess. There's no rush. We have all night."
He cups his chin between his hands so you have no choice but to relent and direct your gaze up at him. You’re pleased to see that he’s not completely indifferent to your touch; despite his instructions to take it slow, the smoldering look in his eyes tell a different story.
He runs the pad of his thumb over your lower lip, the pink flesh no doubt swollen. You take the digit in your mouth, unprompted, and run your tongue against its underside, wishing that his cock could fill your mouth instead.
Hoseok makes a noise low in his throat, not quite a growl but close.
"And I intend to take my time with you." The look he levels you with promises a night full of mind-numbing pleasure. Ribbons of heat curl around the base of your spine. "Want to make you feel good."
"You do," you agree, words muffled around the thumb you refuse to let go of.
You take a hold of his wrist and free your mouth, only to quickly replace it with his forefinger and middle finger. The stretch of two digits makes you moan lewdly.
Hoseok’s eyes darken. He lets you play for a few more seconds before he takes back control, his fingers pushing deeper into your mouth until they hit the back of your throat. You swallow down a gag, but his fingers don’t let you rest for long. He drags them over the flat of your tongue, watching as spit dribbles down past the sides of your mouth, and repeats the motion, pumping into your mouth steadily like he would a cock.
As nice as it feels to be filled with his fingers, whether in your cunt or mouth, you’re ready for more. Subconsciously, your hips grind down in his lap, shifting this way and that until you’re perfectly seated over his hardened length.
Drool is pushed out of your mouth as Hoseok squeezes a third fingers in with the other two. You suck harder, hoping that all your efforts will spur Hoseok into finally fucking you. The knowledge that he has to, at one point or another, keeps you from whining and begging pathetically for his cock. You can exercise patience if you put your mind to it; you’re sure of it.
Your on-screen husband decides to test that resolve.
His other hand starts to wander south, his fingers toying with the short hem of your dress that’s been rucked up even higher with all your rocking and grinding. The movement of your hips slow, your brain unable to keep up with the stimuli coming in all directions.
A crack resounds in the room, the sharp sound startling you more than the sting that accompanies it. Hoseok’s palm rubs over the heated area, only inflaming it further.
“And who told you you could stop?”
The second slap is notably harsher than the first, and your hips automatically lurch forward hoping perhaps to lessen the impact of the sting.
You know he doesn’t expect a verbal answer; his second hand keeps your mouth plugged up, making any attempt at talking unintelligible. It doesn’t stop you from trying, only because you know the muffled protest are greatly appreciated amongst viewers. And if the way Hoseok’s digs his fingers into your smarting ass cheek is any indicator, you’re confident that he also enjoys your squirming and messy display.
“Keep moving, princess. I need both your holes nice and wet.”
The way his voice dips an octave makes your stomach twist in arousal. You long to tell him that you’re sufficiently wet enough for him to slide his cock inside right away but all you manage are pitiful garbled words.
He raises an eyebrow at your delayed response and your hips move before he can smack the globes of your ass for a third time. You have an inkling he’ll only hit harder with the intention of leaving marks of his own all over your skin.
It’s a careful balancing act, but you figure it out as you go. Bounce too fast and the fingers in your mouth will make you gag. Move too slowly for his liking and he won’t hesitate to add to the collection of handprints on your ass.
You lose track of how long he makes you play this game. Your mind focuses on sucking while keeping your jaw slack enough to accomadate the width of three digits. Drool pools down your chin, and you’re certain whatever the make-up artist had done to your lips is now ruined. Worse off are your panties. At the stage they’re at now, you’ll have no choice but to throw them out. Hoseok’s pants might need be as unsalveagable as your thong, you think inwardly, judging by the large, dark wet spot you’re currently sitting on.
“Mmh, good girl.”
He gently slides his fingers out, strings of saliva attached. He hums in satisfaction at the lewd sight and rubs his fingers across your swollen lips and shiny chin, spreading the fluids and what’s left of your lipstick over your mouth. You swallow, mouth sore from being used roughly for so long.
“This hole is sufficiently wet, I think,” he appraises, eyelashes fluttering before he casts a long look down your body until it reaches where you’re seated on his clothed erection. “Let’s check this one too.”
The way he smirks at you but makes no move to check himself lets you know that he expects you to do the work.
You let your hands trail down your body slowly, cupping your breasts as you do, enjoying his hooded gaze and the way his cock twitches beneath you a bit too much. When you reach the hem of your dress, you lift your hips up to pull the fabric up to your navel giving an unobstructed view of your lace-covered pussy.
Hoseok stare intensifies but you don’t feel any embarrassment from the scrutiny. “Well you certainly look ripe.”
His fingers toy with the delicate string of lace around your hips. He lets the material snap against your skin a few times before he grows bored or impatient with his own game and gives the lace a harsh yank. It tears easily and the leftover scraps fall into his lap.
“... But just to be sure -” His hands grip your waist and manhandle you onto your hands and knees. Your head spins from how suddenly he’s moved you around to his liking that your arms give out and you fall face first into the clean smelling bed sheets. “Gotta give my favorite hole of yours a better look.”
His hands hoist your hips at a higher angle so that your soaked center is visible for the cameras to pan onto. Hoseok slides in two fingers easily, then a third. Loud, obscene noises echo in the otherwise quiet room, noises that are quickly joined by your unabashed moans of pleasure.
Your core is on fire. Hoseok’s fingers are just as good as you remember them to be. No, better. The three fingers pump into you in measured strokes, the drag slow enough to keep you dangling over the edge without pushing you over.
Hoseok spanks your ass, hissing between his teeth as you clench around his fingers, no doubt imagining your inner walls hugging his cock instead.
“Christ. You’re always such a soft, wet little thing down here,” he croons in dulcet tones. “I could play with you all day.”
You thrust your hips back, shameless.
“Please! Please Daddy, I’ll be so good, I just - please - I nuh, need it. Need your cock fucking me full. I’ll take it so good, you know I will. Want you to - please! Daddy, I need your cum.”
“Shit.”
He fumbles in his haste to flip you onto your back. He crawls over your body, and you watch fascinated as he dives down to kiss you like a man starved. He looks almost feral, pupils so dilated the brown of his eyes is almost gone.
Heat blooms in your stomach as he kisses you deeply. The press of his lips against yours renders you a little less coherent as time ticks on, every brush of his tongue making you a little more dizzy with want.
Everything about him burns. It feels like being kissed by the sun itself. Every caress, every lick and nip leaves you feverish all over, like your drunk off his touch.
"Let me," he says, pinching the zipper of your dress between his thumb and index finger.
You wrap your hand around his and guide his movements. His gaze never leaves yours and it makes shivers run down your back. Even though you're the one controlling his movements for the time being, the look in his eyes makes it abundantly clear that the control you wield is only temporary.
When your dress finally falls open, you try not to preen too much under the reverent look that falls over Hoseok’s face. Your back arches a little off the bed, pert breasts thrust towards him - an appealing offer he doesn’t dare refuse.
Hoseok circles a thumb around your nipple, rubbing and flicking until it hardens into a stiff peak.
You wonder, distantly, how this looks like from the outside looking in. The man in front of you is a stranger in all senses of the word. Yet the way he touches you - like there are years of built-up affection behind every gesture - makes you second guess everything you know.
"Fuckin' love your tits.” He sighs, awe reflected in the dark of his eyes. "Love playing with them. Love how wet it gets you, how hungry your little pussy gets."
"Please,” you mewl, his words igniting a new wave of heat. It rolls over your body, leaving no extremity untouched. You burn from the inside out with raw desire.
You squeeze your own breasts in a bid to get him to touch you more. Hoseok merely chuckles, finding your desperation entertaining. One of his hands reach down between you to play with the wetness that clings to your core like a second skin and it takes everything inside of you not to rub yourself against him like a bitch in heat.
"What is it, princess?" His lips quirk into a smirk like he already knows the answer. "You're looking quite needy. How did you manage to hold it in all this time?"
“Stop teasing,” you growl, the lack of friction making you irritable. "I need your cock. And why - why do you have so many fucking clothes on?”
He chuckles, chest vibrating in amusement.
“Take them off,” you insist. Then, you grudgingly tack on a “Please” for good measure.
As hot as Hoseok looks like in his “work clothes”, he looks infinitely better naked, you decide as he chucks off his button-down shirt and gets started on his leather belt. With each new piece of clothing that gets discarded, the anticipation building inside of you skyrockets.
You take a moment to soak in his lithe figure, not bothering to hide how affected you are by the view. He’s nicely sculpted; you can tell right away that he takes care of himself. Swimming or dancing maybe? You hesitate between the two. His muscles are lean, nothing like the bulging biceps and thick forearms typical of the stereotypical gym rat.
Hoseok’s dick is, unsurprisingly, as pretty as the rest of him. It’s long and curved, a prominent vein running along its underside. The thatch of pubic hair that rests above his dick is neatly trimmed, the dark hair contrasting with the tan skin of his abdomen and the rosy hue of his erect length. Your eyes swoop down his thighs, licking your lips unwittingly at the alluring sight presented to you.
“Daddy,” you say, the whine in your voice unmistakable. “Want your cock.”
For a brief moment you’re tricked into believing he’s given in to your demand, but find yourself disappointed when he contents himself with rubbing his hardened member between your thighs, the glide slippery thanks to the copious amount of your essence that’s pooled there.
“Like this?” Hoseok asks, tone too sweet to be anything but mocking. The head of his cock bumps into your swollen bundle of nerves one, two, three times. You keen, your hips canting upwards in a bid to get more friction. “Want to rut against me until you get nice and creamy?”
He uses his right hand to spread your slick lower lips so that he can nestle his cock snuggly between them. He rolls his hips, the undulations fluid and dirty, and smirks at how you moan brokenly beneath him.
Your stomach clenches. “Need it in me."
"You'll get it," he promises after kissing you sloppily, lips sucking on your tongue. His breath is ragged but his voice steady, firm. "I'll give you everything you need. Make you cum so many times you know who owns this sweet pussy."
He speaks so surely, carries himself with so much confidence, that in the moment you can't help but believe him. The line between staged and reality blurs and you find yourself nodding eagerly, begging him as best you can to give you what you want.
The first tentative push of his dick wipes you clean of coherency. He slowly eases himself into you, reaching forward to lace his fingers with yours. It’s - more intimate than you expected. He squeezes your hand tightly in his when he finally manages to bury his entire length inside of you.
“Perfect.” He kisses the side of your temple before drawing back, his hard cock dragging deliciously against you. With a fluid hip thrust, he slides back in and you feel the stretch moreso this time around. The curvature of his cock has him pressing up against your walls in a way that robs you of breath.
"Daddy! Hh - ah, oh God. You're too b-big."
"Mhm, that's right. Daddy's fat cock is splitting you open. I'll plug you up with it later so none of my cum will leak out."
Every time he pulls back, your pussy clamps down tightly around him, unwilling to be empty even for a second.
Hoseok’s nostrils flare in arousal. He grabs your left tit and squeezes, using it as a hold to better fuck into you. With his body hovering above yours, his hand staking claim of your breast, and his cock drilling into you, you have nowhere to go. Pinned to the bed and unable to do anything but take everything he delivers, you wrap your legs around his waist and moan.
"Daddy's gonna fuck some babies into you,” he rasps, his eyes dark pools of lust. "Gonna breed your sweet pussy over and over. You'll be so full of my cum that you'll be pregnant with my babies for sure."
“Oh fuck. Yes, yes - oh my nhhg.” You sob as Hoseok drives his cock into you with more force. While the piston of his hips isn’t rushed, he pulls out to the tip only to slam back in to the hilt every time. The stretch burns in a good way and the sound of your moans are rivaled only by the wet, obscene sounds from your coupling.
"Fuck. Your cunt just - shit." He cracks down a hand against your ass and you shriek, not expecting it. "You're so tight, holy shit."
"Want it. Want you to fuck me good."
"I will," he says lowly, the promise reverberating deep in his chest. "I'll fuck you until you're begging me to stop. Fill you up so much, you'll be bloated with it."
And it should freak you out, the imagery he paints with his words, but the thought of laying there and him fucking you so well that you won't be able to feel your legs has you gushing out more wetness.
"Mmmh.” Maybe he can feel how soaked you are because he comments, “This is my favorite hole of yours, princess. Always so fuckin' drenched. I bet we’ll have to throw out the sheets again." He chuckles. "You must be hungry for it, right? I made you wait so long. No wonder your pussy is clenching like that. It needs a big, fat cock to milk dry."
“I missed it,” you cry, body skidding a little higher up the duvet each time he fucks into you. Your eyelashes flutter, lids heavy. It’s hard to concentrate, let alone form words, when your brain feels like complete mush. “I - I need your cum. Daddy, please.”
"Don't worry, gorgeous. I've got you. Daddy will feed your cute pussy his cock."
"Th-thank you, Daddy."
"Love you," he murmurs. It’s a quiet confession, lost somewhere in between the mattress creaks, the loud slaps of Hoseok’s hips slamming against yours, and the string of whimpers and groans pulled from your throat. It’s quiet but you hear it.
One of your hands reach up to pull him down by the neck so that your lips meet. He kisses you open-mouthed. It’s a filthy kiss, one that makes you moan into his mouth. You’re certain that if you had been standing your knees would have wobbled.
When you let up for air, Hoseok’s staring you down, his red-bitten lips plump and shiny.
"Love this pussy. So sweet and wet for me. Always for fucking swollen, like it's waiting to get a pounding. Love that. Love how eager you are to be bred by my thick cock."
The impregnation kink is - a bit much. You've never really imagined having kids, at least not anytime soon. You can’t even keep your plants alive for fuck’s sake.
But the way he suggests it is nothing like what you had imagined. His suggestions are - vulgar and primal. Like the urge to fuck you full of his cum is biological and he can’t smother it.
For a moment, you let yourself entertain the thought of being his breeding bitch - of laying on your back and letting him fuck load after load of cum inside you until your pussy physically can't accommodate any more. Of not having any other worries or thoughts but take his cock every moment of the day.
"You just got tighter.” He curses under his breath, voice thick with arousal. "Such a warm little hole. Taking everything I give it. You'd take anything if it meant getting bred by me, right?"
“Yes, yes,” you chant, pleasure coiling inside of you. “Give me more! I need it."
"Shit. You can't handle more, princess," he tries to reason. "Daddy needs to be gentle with you. Your hole is so small, it'll hurt if I go harder."
"Daddy promised to fuck me.” You whine, uncaring if you sound too bratty and demanding. "B- Breed my hole. It's yours. Puh-please use me."
"God." Hoseok groans, his features twisting in what looks to be pain or pleasure. With tremendous effort he pulls himself out of you and your eyes widen in panic.
“What? Daddy why? I thought—”
He shushes you, reaching somewhere overhead to grab a fluffy pillow. "Just wait a sec, okay? There you go.”
The pillow is placed underneath your hips, keeping them elevated. When Hoseok takes his glistening cock in hand and directs it back in, you both moan in unison.
"Oh fuck, I’m gonna, ah,” you gasp as your mind goes blank with pleasure. The new angle is heaven on earth. It’s almost too much, too quick, but Hoseok’s firm grip on your hips prevents you from alleviating the pressure.
"Take it." He grunts, brows knit together. Every powerful snap of his hips makes your breasts bounce, your breath hitch. Without his hands keeping you pinned down, your head would have collided with the headboard by now. "Be a good princess and take your fucking."
He gains momentum, the new angle facilitating the slide of his cock. He drags the flat of his palm down your thigh and takes a hold of your knee before hoisting it up over your shoulder. The stretch burns the back of your calves but you’re so fucked out, you can’t even find the words to complain.
When you glance up, it’s to fall upon the sight of Hoseok brushing his sweaty fringe out of his face. His cheeks are flushed pink, his skin dewy from the film of perspiration wrapped around his body. Beads of sweat trickle down his heaving chest but he chooses to forgo a quick break. On the contrary, he pushes in deeper like he’s determined to carve out a permanent space for his cock.
"Just gonna keep you here,” he huffs, his eyes the shade of cloudless night sky. “Everyday I'll fuck my cum back inside of you so that you'll always stay full. Want to fuck you forever. Don't want this to end."
"Want it too," you sob, orgasm hovering just on the periphery. "Want you to keep me full forever. Ugh - oh fuck! Hoseok- I'm—"
"You gonna cum around my cock, princess?" He angles his hips downwards, relishing in the wanton cry it elicits. "Gonna give me everything?"
"I'm yours," you profess, jaw slack with pleasure.
It doesn’t take much more for the orgasm to crash over you, Hoseok fucks you through it, groaning as your inner walls spasm around him. He breathes out curses, lip drawn tight between his lips, and doesn’t wait for the last waves of your orgasm to abate to chase after his own end.
In the throes of your pleasure, it doesn’t register then that Hoseok has been holding back all this time. If you thought he had been fucking you hard before, it’s nothing compared to now. He growls and bends forward, forcing your leg to stretch even more, and pushes in and out of you at a pace that makes you scream.
You don’t even have time to come down from your first high that you’re already thrown towards your second. Hoseok plugs your mouth up using two digits, his fingers a firm pressure against your tongue. Your eyes roll back, too overwhelmed from the feeling of being stuffed on both ends.
“God, I could fuck your holes all fucking day.” His rhythm begins to falter as the pressure inside of him grows, his movements frantic and less controlled than they’ve ever been. “How about that? I’ll fuck my princess’ mouth properly next time, stretch it out nicely. Then you’ll let me have your ass, hm?”
Shit, shit, you whimper around his fingers, spit bubbling down the sides on your mouth. It’s scary knowing you have no way to stop the oncoming destruction.
“Yeah, I can tell you love that. You’re gonna cream my dick again, aren’t you?” You can’t tell if the sound he makes is a laugh or a grunt. All you know is that you feel like you’re about to burst. “C’mon, be a good girl and milk my cum out. You better get every last drop.”
There’s an underlying threat in his command. You do your best to obey his words, not wanting to disappoint.
Hoseok pushes his cock in as deep as it can go and grinds his hips into yours. His cock reaches so deep that you swear he might hit your cervix. And considering the nature of the scene you’re portraying, maybe that’s what he intends.
He swipes his fingers through the mess of your cunt, zeroing in on your sensitive clit. He swirls some of your fluids over it before giving it a sharp pinch that makes you cry out. Your hips fly off the pillow but Hoseok is quick to pin you back down. The never-ending drag of his cock along your walls paired with the rough ministrations to your clit is all you need for the pressure inside you to snap.
Above you, Hoseok moans, low and throaty, as he finally dumps rope after rope of warm cum inside of you. He throws his head back, exposing the collar of purplish bruises you sucked onto his skin earlier. Something about the view satisfies you immensely - not that you’d dare voice these thoughts out loud.
Hoseok’s strength gives out and he sags onto your body, his breath warm against your skin. He feels hot, like a furnace, but strangely it’s not uncomfortable. It’s almost like having a personal heating pad; the soreness of your muscles melts away with each passing moment.
Much to your displeasure, your post-coital bliss doesn’t last forever. He's given the signal to pull out and obeys, careful to keep your hips propped up so that his load of cum won’t slosh out. He’s still got a role to play, after all, and the end goal is to get you pregnant.
A cameraman walks forward to zoom in on your swollen and used pussy - physical proof of your exploits. The haze lifts. You become more aware of the people standing on the outskirts of your vision, lighting or sound equipment in hand.
“And that’s a wrap!” Director Ryu calls, his cheeks stretched to accommodate the width of his grin. “Good job everybody!”
You breathe out a sigh, glad your day is finally over. Seokjin walks up to you with a robe for you to throw on and you nod in thanks, slipping the satin gown over your sweaty body.
Around you, the staff start milling about, putting the equipment away and gathering their belongings. You pay them no heed, your attention focused on getting changing into showering and changing into comfortable clothes. You’re in the middle of taming your messy hair when your stomach erupts into growls, reminding you of your hungry state. What you’d do for a big slice of piz—
You remember your date with Jimin and speed up, not wanting to make him wait around for you any longer. It’s not hard to spot him - he’s waiting outside of your dressing room, can of coke in hand.
Something about his smile feels off.
Maybe it’s the way his eye corners don’t crease or the slight strain the curve of his mouth that betray him.
Your expression falls. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing - it’s nothing, don’t worry,” he says after a short, tense moment of silence. The look on your face must have reflected your feelings of doubt because he proceeds by reaching out and pulling you tight against him. Pressed up against his shirt, you can smell the faintest trace of the fabric softener he uses and its scent, familiar and sweet, mollifies you somewhat. “You did amazing today, baby. As usual.”
The compliment you’ve been waiting for makes the sides of your lips rise automatically. “I did, didn’t I?”
“Almost too well.” He hums, one of his hands stroking the back of your head.
“Well, I can’t take all the credit, “ you admit. “The results wouldn’t have been half as good if Hoseok hadn’t been my partner. He’s new in the game but he doesn’t act like it, does he?”
“He doesn’t, no.” Jimin agrees. “He’s... he’s something, alright.”
Your grin widens. All your worrying had been for nothing, in the end. The shoot had gone without a hitch, all of the set members coming up to you with praises of a job well done. You can’t recall the last time any of your performances had elicited such a response post-filming. Even Director Ryu looks particularly pleased, a permanent grin etched onto his features as he reviews the tapes. The knowledge that you’ve done well fills you with a pleasant giddiness that warms your insides and makes your cheeks hurt from how wide your smile stretches.
“Oh good, you’re still here.” Hoseok beams. A damp towel hangs around his neck and the ends of his hair are wet like he’s just gone and doused his head under the bathroom faucet. “I was worried you had left. I just - thanks for earlier. I had a lot of fun! If the chance presents itself, I hope we can work together again.”
“Thank you.” You want to praise him too, know that his performance deserves it, but your next words are cut off before they have the chance to form. Jimin steps closer to you, his grip on your hip tightening suddenly.
When you glance up to check on your boyfriend, he’s sporting a serious expression that you’ve rarely seen before. He doesn’t look angry, but it’s clear as day that he isn’t too pleased with the present situation. His face is closed off, cold, unwelcoming - so drastically different from the usual cherubic sweetness you’re accustomed to seeing.
You’re at a loss for words, unsure of who to address first. What’s going on?
Hoseok senses the sudden change in atmosphere and chooses to tactfully retreat.
“Good work, man.” He nods at Jimin and then shoots you a wave. “See you around sometime, ______ !”
Your eyes follow his exit before you turn to face Jimin again, hoping the smile on your face masks the worry you feel bubbling on the inside.
“Jimin what - I mean, are you sure you're okay?”
Jimin returns a strained smile of his own. “I’m fine.”
Your gaze lands on his right hand that’s still squeezing your waist. It borders on uncomfortable but you try not to let it show. You must not do a very good job at schooling your features because Jimin quickly apologizes for his behavior.
“Sorry.” Jimin lets you go once he notices your discomfort. “I just - I don’t know. You’re right, I’m not acting like myself. I think...seeing you say that stuff and act that way just - I’m not sure why, I guess - Since usually the sex isn’t like that, it caught me off guard.”
“You didn’t like that I acted like I was in love with him.”
“Would anyone?” he shoots back, smile sardonic. “It just looked so convincing in the moment. I guess it got me worked up.”
Sure, Hoseok is hot. If you had to work with him again, you would in a heartbeat. It’s not often you land a colleague you’re so sexually compatible with, who also happens to be so well-mannered and good-looking. It’s like hitting the jackpot, really.
But - just because you’d fuck him again for professional reasons, doesn’t mean that you’re interested in him beyond that.
“Jimin. I don’t want to be with anybody else but you.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” The muscles in his face relax. “I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
.
.
It’s not until later, as he fucks you uncharacteristically hard in the backseat of his car parked in the back lot of the film studio, that you begin to wonder if things really are as idyllic as you believe them to be.
.
.
.
#wow so this took a decade and a half to finish but it's finally here !#final part should be up by the end of the month : )#bts smut#hoseok smut#hoseok#also warning i didn't proofread the smut scene yet so rip if there are any mistakes
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That’s a wrap! Thank you to everyone that participated in Sceo Week 2020! There were a lot of amazing works this year and we couldn’t be happier with the participation! Please continue to follow us for future Sceo events. :-)
Below is the round-up post for all the content that qualified for the event.
FICS (General - Mature)
Boardshorts and Bandsaws by Numendar
Loss is not a fine cut thing, sometimes you have to lose to become more than you were.
I'd Give You My Sunshine by tiniestawoo (thosewhofall)
Scott wasn’t exactly surprised that, of all the people who might call him from jail, it had been Theo’s voice on the other end of the line. What had surprised Scott, though, were the long silences and out of character insecurity in his voice. Stiles would undoubtedly have hung up the call and left Theo to face the consequences of whatever he was calling ‘wrong place, wrong time stuff’. But that just meant Scott knew he shouldn't.Ignoring someone who needed help had never really been Scott’s strong suit. For all the undeniable wrong Theo had done, when Scott asked him to step up and help them, he had.-Or the one where Theo Raeken used to be a sex worker, gets arrested, and throws a kink into Scott's carefully crafted sense normalcy.
tell me somethin' i ain't heard before by CerinityKS
“So that alpha…” Scott started, voice tense. Theo nodded.“Not sure what, exactly, he would have done but it likely wouldn’t have been… pleasant.”“And when he said you belonged to me…”“Well,” Theo hedged, knowing his next words likely wouldn’t help. “He wasn’t completely wrong.”(or theo lets scott in on some truths about being an omega, scott loses his damn mind, and theo is annoyed but secretly loves it, really. as long as it doesn't kill him first.)
Under the Stars by TheKingsChimera
First ever submission for Sceo Week. Hope you enjoy. Prompt is "First Time".
Matched by xartificialsweetnerx & DemonzDust
Valentine’s Day is around the corner and Scott is in charge of his animal shelter’s holiday-themed adoption event. Little does Scott know that his perpetually single existence is preventing his best friend from finally tying the knot with his own match. And as for Theo? Well, he is just plain unable to admit he needs a match of his own.
What Should Have Been Ours II by DemonzDust
After being kidnapped and tortured by Mr. Douglas, Theo has learned the truth about why the Dread Doctors chose him as a child. He now knows that Scott was supposed to be his soulmate, and that the Dread Doctors intentionally corrupted him to keep them apart. Now Scott saved him from Douglas's clutches, but the True Alpha has no idea what Theo learned and Theo plans on keeping it that way.
I shouldn't have ask. by Elit3
This is the third part of my series. This will explore Theo's childhood and his encounter with the dread doctors. There will also be Stiles' feelings about the chimera. Will the elders of the group finally accept Theo in the pack?
These violent delights by Prospero_Caliban
After Theo has a very normal surgery Scott wants to start a relationship with him. Theo wants to make things right even if that means saying no.
Making decisions is hard now that he thinks about others.
give me your heart cuz i ain't gonna break it by CerinityKS
“She said it was a gift,” he continued.Deaton glanced up in surprise. “A gift? Now that is interesting.”“Why? What is this stuff?” Liam asked.“A double-edged sword,” Deaton explained, then continued at their confused and, in Scott’s case, frustrated, expressions. “A gift is one way to describe it. This substance,” he swiped a finger through the powder coating Theo’s neck in demonstration, “is a type of hallucinogenic,” he explained.“So Theo is hallucinating right now?” Malia asked as she wrinkled her nose, clearly not seeing what was so bad about that.“In a sense,” Deaton agreed. “But it’s a very specific type of hallucination. See this substance is used to give the victim a glimpse of their soulmate.”(or theo gets whammied, scott freaks out, get jealous, and somehow the only two who don't see whats happening are theo and scott.)
Dear Scott by DemonzDust
SummaryIn a dusty shoebox tucked into the back corner of Scott’s closet there’s a box of letters from his secret grade school crush.
Damn be the body temperature. by Prospero_Caliban
SummarySince his body temperature is lower than others Theo has to think about sharing this problem with Scott.
New Wolf in the Old Guard by liliaeth
SummaryAfter Scott is killed by hunters, he somehow manages to recover from what should be unsurvivable, even for an alpha. The worst part though, are the dreams, as he keeps dreaming of a woman locked in a coffin burried in the ocean.
Termination Shock by Escalus
Termination Shock: The point in space where the solar wind -- the pressure generated by the sun -- is finally overwhelmed by the strength of the interstellar medium. Often used to mark the end of our solar system.In other words, it is the point where everything you've ever known -- everything you could have possibly known -- has ended, and every step you take after that is into some vast new darkness, where the only source of light and comfort is that which you bring with you.Scott McCall, permanently blinded by his fight with the Anuk-Ite and ravaged by indescribable tragedy, embarks on a quest to stop Monroe from ruining any more lives. He won't risk anyone else he cares about on this dangerous mission, but he can't go alone. Who cares about Theo Raeken anyway?
FICS (Explicit)
Alpha Needs by DemonzDust
As Scott turns into the six month anniversary of his eighteenth birthday his body begins to undergo a new transformation that threatens to drive him mad. After advice from Derek, he seeks release in the form of a chimera that’s been trying to worm his way back into the pack since summer started.
Where There’s a Waiter, There’s a Way by ColetheWolf
Scott McCall and Derek Hale are celebrating their first year anniversary at a fancy restaurant, but Scott finds himself venturing into the realm of infidelity for the first time with the hot waiter, Theo Raeken.
now all i want is your body close to mine by CerinityKS
Theo had no idea how the fuck he’d gotten himself into this situation.This situation being Scott mouthing at his neck, the hot press of his body behind him as his hands worked their way under his shirt. Theo whined, heat racing through him as he pressed back against Scott, erection straining against his jeans.He could hear yelling in the other room, raised voices and the scent of anger attempting to penetrate through the haze of lust and want clouding his head. Scott, sensing his attention drifting, bit down sharply on the crook of his neck. Theo gasped and shuddered, going limp in Scott’s arms and trusting the alpha to keep him upright. Scott rewarded him with an apologetic lick at the angry wound as one of his hands dipped beneath the band of his jeans.(or the boys get whammied by sex pollen and uh, help each other out - including theo typical angst and a scott more in tune with his emotions than theo expected, but he's not complaining.)
There's Only One Van by TamerOfPickles
Scott, Theo, Stiles, and Liam are on their first tour as an up and coming band. Their gigs don't pay much yet, so they save money sleeping in the back of their van while one of them drives to the next location. Being cooped up in a small space causes things to get a little more intimate than they expected.
Finding Something to Do by TamerOfPickles
While searching the Dread Doctors' complex, Scott and Theo accidentally get trapped together in a bunker with a twenty-four hour lock.
The Trouble with Portals by VolsungartheMighty
Stuck in quarantine, unable to visit each other, Theo and Scott are desperate for sex. Weeks locked away with only their hands for company, Theo manages to find something that might ease the tension.
i'm not tryna be your part time lover by CerinityKS
“Whatever McCall,” Theo sneered, “suck my dick.”Not the best comeback but at this point Theo just wanted this confrontation to be over so he could head over to the gym and pound his frustration out on a punching bag. He didn’t expect Scott to stop, give him a considering look, then close the distance between them in a blink and drop to his knees. Theo stumbled back into the row of lockers behind him, eyes wide and ready to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing when Scott reached out, grabbed the band of Theo’s shorts and underwear, pull them down in one quick move, and then dart forward to take Theo’s into his mouth.(or theo and scott are dumb high school jocks who start blowing each other after school - featuring pining, dumb boys being dumb, jealousy, and their captive audience the rest of the beacon hills high students)
See Me After Class by TheorianDG
SummaryIt's not that Scott is surprised, there were always certain types that flocked to dating apps and truth be told he hadn't expected much. The first few he'd ignored but then came Theo, who on top of being genuinely interesting just so happened to be a student at the university. Christ, why did he let Stiles talk him into this?
It's a Long Way Home (When You're On Your Own) by clotpolesonly
“I didn’t, like, come looking for you,” Scott finally managed. “I just caught your scent over at the…”At the gas station. Around behind the gas station, where all the most questionable smells were concentrated. The ones Scott had opted not to examine too closely. He still wasn’t sure that he wanted to.Instead, he blurted out, “Are you living in your car?”Theo’s pink cheeks grew pinker. His sharp eyes narrowed dangerously. “No, Scott, I’m putting myself up at the Hilton with the fortune I have in the bank.”It was Scott’s turn to flush.
Mistaken at first sight by Notsalony
One time doesn’t mean anything, two times, usually means something, but three times, that clearly means something right? At least that’s how the pack feels.
One Size fits my Boyfriend by Notsalony
Scott and Theo are dating and they’re roughly the same size. So why shouldn’t they share clothes? Theo can’t think of one good reason either… even if it ends up with him naked a lot of the time.
VISUAL FAN WORKS (FAN ART, EDITS, AND GIFSETS)
Tyler Posey & Cody Christian on Wolf Watch by @sceosource
I’d Give You My Sunshine Promo by @tiniestawoo
Sceo Stydia Edit by @demonzdust
Theo staring at his salvation by @sceoedits
Alpha Needs Promo by @demonzdust
Sceo Commission for What Should Have Been Ours by @akimao
peace. // folklore by @tiniestawoo
First Time by @sceosource
Scott Protecting Theo, Teen Wolf 6x07 by @sceoedits
totally correct sceo texts by @demonzdust
Matched Promo by @demonzdust
Theo ‘Heart Eyes’ Raeken looking at Scott by @tiniestawoo
softer world by @tiniestawoo
Scott & Theo, Teen Wolf 5x09 (Ouroboros) by @sceoedits
Scott x Theo by @prrtnrr commissioned/posted by @demonzdust
What Should Have Been Ours II Promo by @demonzdust
Tyler Posey and Cody Christian Flirting at Comic-Con by @sceosource
When you’re thinking about your crush in class by @sceoedits
I’d Give You My Sunshine CH2 Promo by @tiniestawoo
Dear Scott Promo by @demonzdust
Lovestruck Theo by @sceoedits
Sugar, we’re going down swinging by @tiniestawoo
Sun and Moon by @testostones commissioned by @princeescaluswords
I’d Give You My Sunshine CH3 Promo by @tiniestawoo
IT’S A LONG WAY HOME Promo by @tiniestawoo posted by @clotpolesonly
A Hogwarts AU by @tabbytabbytabby
Saturday Night (Music Video) by @nyxelestia
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The Five Year Promise: The Snap (5/10)
Summary: Y/N Stark, 20 year old superhero, makes a promise with a 16 year old Peter Parker after being cheated on, that if she hasn’t found love in the next 5 years, they’d finally go on a date. Then the snap happens. Y/N is gone and Peter isn’t
Warnings: lots of angst and swearing
Twitter// buckyslemons
The Five Year Promise Masterlist
A/N: no one told me how to add read more in my posts on a MOBILE APP, not the laptop so if I see comments saying to add ‘read more’, either teach me or please be quiet.
You and your father were hidden from above watching as needles started to come in contact Dr. Strange's face, causing an obviously painful whitish subcutaneous glow at each touch. “Give me the stone!”
You watch, trying to plan your next move before something taps your shoulder. You raise your hand to it, ready to shoot, but then see what it is and stand down. It was Strange’s cloak. Your father looked at it confusedly. “Wow you're a seriously loyal piece of outerwear, aren't you?”
Suddenly you hear someone drop down before you, making both you and your father turn around. “Yeah, uh, speaking of loyalty.”
“What the-“
“I know what you're both gonna say,” Peter begun as he raised his hands up. He watched as your face turned into one of anger.
“You should not be here,” your father had muttered, shaking his head at both of you. “I did not want either of you here.”
“I was gonna go home-“
“I don't wanna hear it.”
“But it was such a long way down and I just thought about you both,” Peter spoke, glancing at you specifically.
“You’re such an idiot peter!” You told him, anger coursing throughout your body. “My father and I could’ve handled this! This isn’t a fucking game peter, this is a one way ticket!”
“Don’t you think I get that-“
“Obviously not!” You cut him off, taking a step closer to him. “You can’t just risk your life recklessly like that!”
“You’re doing the same thing!” Peter spoke back, his turn to get angry. “I don’t get why it’s so bad when I do it!”
“Because you’re a damn kid Peter!” You yelled back at him. His face dropped for a second before looking at the floor as he played with his fingers. “You do things out of pure instinct. Not thinking that two avengers plus a wizard was enough as it is.”
‘Just a kid,’ he had though. ‘Just a little kid.’
“Come on guys,” your father breathed in heavily as he took you both to the viewpoint as tension between you and Peter rose. “We got a situation. See him down there? He's in trouble. What's our plan? Go.”
“Um. Okay, okay,” Peter spoke, trying to forget what you had said earlier on and concentrate. He had to prove you wrong. That he wasn’t a impulsive teenager. That he was an asset. He and the Cloak then popped back upright. “Okay. Did you ever see this really old movie, Aliens?”
-
“Painful aren't they?” You heard maw speak as he poked Stephen with needles, making him scream. “They were originally designed for microsurgery. And any one of them-“
He stops as he hears a thump behind him. Maw turns to see Iron Man standing there, hand repulsors ready to fire. Ebony Maw’s face remained unchanged as he looked at your father. “Could end your friend's life in an instant.”
Your dad shrugged, acting like he didn’t care. “Gotta tell you, he's not really my friend. Saving his life is more a professional courtesy.”
Maw walks slowly towards your father, beckoning very large, very solid metal objects to float behind him. “You've saved nothing. Your powers are inconsequential compared to mine.”
Your father remained unbothered as he sighed. You readied into position, your fists pointed towards the wall of the spaceship. “Yeah, but the kid's seen more movies.”
You let out a quantum blast which pierces the side of the ship to Maw's right and begins to suck everything out with depressurization, especially Maw and his large objects. Dr. Strange is pulled loose of his pinnings, loses the needles, but also heads for the hole, helpless to resist. The Cape wraps around his arm and an anchor point, but Dr. Strange's arm slips loose and he keeps going.
You are also struggling to hold tight to the pipe attached to the wall. Peter sees this and shoots a web strand at Dr. Strange and you with one hand, while he holds onto a piece of the ship with the other. It breaks, sending them both towards space when his Iron-Spider suit's metal arms brace him to keep him from being sucked out. Fortunately, Dr. Strange is still surrounded by the ship's atmosphere making haste to leave.
“Yes!” Peter yelled excitedly as spider-legs came out of his suit. “Wait what are those!”
Peter crouches with his new spider-legs, and makes a mighty leap and pulls you both back inside. Your father quickly sprays nanites onto the hole to plug it up. He then walks past Dr. Strange, shaking his head and with his armor retreating into its containment as Dr. Strange gets to his feet and becomes en-Cloaked. “We've gotta turn this ship around.”
“Yeah,” you replied back sarcastically as you walked over and sat on the floor, your back against the wall. “Now he wants to run. Great plan.”
Dr. Strange looked over at you. “No, I want to protect the stone.”
Your dad walked towards the expansive front view-port before speaking. “And I want you to thank me now. Go ahead, I'm listening.”
“For what?” Stephen had scoffed, matching Tony’s ego. “Nearly blasting me into space?”
Your father moved his head to the side looking at Strange absurdly. “Who just saved your magical ass? Me.”
Strange shook his head at your dad, letting out a bitter laugh. “I seriously don't know how you fit your head into that helmet.”
“Admit it.” Your father had spoke, taking a step forward. “You should have ducked out when I told you to. I tried to bench you. You refused.”
“Unlike everyone else in your life, I don't work for you.”
“And due to that fact, we're now in a flying doughnut billions of miles away from Earth with no backup!”
“Can you guys for one secound just shut up!” You cut them both off as you walked over to the ship’s systems, trying to work out what it was doing. “This ship is self-correcting its course. Thing's on autopilot.”
Dr. Strange walks closer to you. “Can we control it? Fly us home?”
“Maybe,” you spoke shaking your head as you looked at the various switches and buttons. “Might take a while but we could get home, gather the remaining Avengers and-“
“-I'm not so sure we should,” your father cut you off as he looked to be in a deep thought. You looked at your father confusedly.
“Under no circumstance can we bring the Time Stone to Thanos,” Strange shot at your father. “I don't think you quite understand what's at stake here.”
Your father stalks over to Strange. “No. It's you who doesn't understand, that Thanos has been inside my head for six years since he sent an army to New York and now he's back! And I don't know what to do. So I'm not so sure if it's a better plan to fight him on our turf or his but you saw what they did, what they can do. At least on his turf, he's not expecting it. So I say we take the fight to him. Doctor. Do you concur?”
Dr. Strange thinks for a secound before nodding his head. “Alright, Stark. We go to him. But you have to understand. if it comes to saving you, your daughter, the kid or the Time Stone, I will not hesitate to let either of you die. I can't, because the fate of the universe depends on it.”
“Nice. Good. Moral compass. We're straight,” your father nods at Strange. He then steps over to Peter, as he formally taps each of Peter's shoulders with the edge of his hand, dubbing him as is done at a knighting. “Alright, kid. You're an Avenger now.”
Your father doesn't look at him as he says those words, knowing well what he is signing him up for. Peter however looks at Tony in disbelief, and then cycles through delight, satisfaction, pride and determination, and braces himself for what's to come. You scoff at your dad, knowing all to well what he was doing. You then look at Peter before shaking your head and storming off to find a quiet place out of here.
“Go after her,” your father spoke, giving Peter a little tap on the back. “See if she’s alright.”
Peter nodded at Tony before going over to where you had stormed off. He walked around for a few minutes before he saw you pacing around in an empty room. “I can’t believe it! I can’t believe he just made you an Avenger! I can’t believe you’ve risked your life for no reason and my dad has made you an Avenger!”
Peter scoffed, walking into to room you were in. “You expect me to stay there while you’re up here!”
“You heard me Peter, it’s a one way ticket!” You stopped pacing to look at him as you waved your arms around. “You should’ve stayed there no matter what happens to me!”
“You don’t fucking get it do you!” Peter yelled in frustration, pushing back his hair as his heart started beating rapidly out of anger and exasperation. “For the smartest person in the world you can be so daft!”
You crossed your arms, looking at Peter as he offended you. “Excuse me?”
“Last week you asked if I liked you. I don’t.” He spoke as he clenched his jaw. Your heart dropped for a moment as you took a step back. “The truth is I love you.”
“Peter,” you mumbled, shaking your head at him. “You don’t even know what love is.”
“And there you again, patronising me,” Peter spat out as he laughed bitterly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“I’m not!” You told him, uncrossing your arms.
“Yes you are! You always do!” He accused you as he pointed a finger at you. “You think because I’m four years younger than you, that I don’t know anything!”
“I’m not saying that, I’m just saying you haven’t been exposed to many things in life yet,” you replied back, trying to get him to understand where you were coming from. Peter wasn’t in love with you, was he? “Love being one of them.”
“Not exposed?” Peter shouted, his face displaying a look of unbelief for your lack of awareness. “I’ve been exposed for years! For years I’ve been exposed to love because of you! I can’t think of anything but you! And you don’t even fucking see it!”
“Pete-“
“No! You don’t get to talk! Because it’s been like this for two years, of you looking at me like I’m some sort of kid! And this watch?” He held up his wrist as he showed you the watch you gave him. “This is because you feel sorry for me! You don’t love me! C’mon Y/N tell me you don’t actually see me more than a brother, because it’s a one way trip, remember! I might not come back to hear the truth!”
“Peter,” you let out a sigh as you pinched your nose. You honestly don’t why you gave him the watch. Maybe you saw potential in the guy, because he sure did pay attention to you. You thought in the future, you might give it a shot. “you’re a nice guy. I though that-“
“That if you exhausted all your options and still didn’t find the one that I was the last person who you’d date,” Peter let out a little chuckle, looking at the floor. “Its fine I get it.”
“Peter, look you might not even ‘love’ me by the end of five years,” you tried to reason with him, taking a step forward. “You might find someone else when that timer hits zero.”
Peter let out another bitter laugh as he walked over toward you, making your breath halt.
“You know how I know that this is what love is?” Peter spoke, looking at you dead in the eye. “Because what you just said sounds fucking impossible.”
-
You, Peter, Tony and Dr. Strange are aboard the ship when you see the surface of a planet approaching. Dr. Strange looked at your father, walking near the window. “I think we're here.”
“I don't think this rig has a self-park function,” your father spoke before looking at you. “Get your hand into this steering gimbal. Close those around it. You understand?”
“Got it,” you replied back. You walk over to the steering wheel that looked like two gloves, as you put your hand in one of the gloves.
Your father places his hand on the other glove. “This was meant for one big guy, so we gotta to move at the same time.”
The ringship is heading straight for the center of what looks like one of a colossal game of jacks. “We might wanna turn. Turn! Turn! Turn!”
Your father armors up as the ringship clips the "jack" obliquely, but still losing a good third of its hull in the collision. Peter throws up his helmet at the same time. Doctor Strange steps between them and creates the Shield of the Seraphim around you all, anticipating a rough landing. The ship, now reduced to about 40%, plows through the dirt and stops, leaning slightly to one side. Doctor Strange helps you and your now de-helmeted father, to your feet. You’re both panting a little from the exertion of arrival. “You alright? That was close. I owe you one.”
Peter descends from above in classically spider-like fashion as all three of you looked at him. “Let me just say, if aliens wind up implanting eggs in my chest or something, and I end up eating you, I'm sorry.”
Your father pointed at Peter like a parent telling off his child. “I don't wanna hear another single pop culture out of you for the rest of the trip. You understand?”
“I'm trying to say that-“ Peter stopped as he looked behind you both. “Something is coming.”
A grenade rolls into view. You, Peter, Strange and Tony get thrown well back when it fires its energy pulse.
“Thanos!” You hear a creature yell as he flings a blade at Doctor Strange, who neatly deflects it with a mystical shield, and in return sends the Cloak of Levitation at the creatures face, half-smothering him and throwing him to the floor. You see what seemed to be a Human attacking your father and due to how close your father was to him, you couldn’t just shoot at him. The man had your father in what seemed to be a magnet.
You opted for your black widow skills and ran toward him, wrapping your legs around his neck, choking him with your thighs.
“Get off me!” The man yelled as he tried to smack you in the head with the back of his gun. You grabbed it with your hand. The man purposely fell backwards to get you off his back, making you see a daze. He then shot an electric current that wrapped around you like a cord. Your dad pulls free of the magnet then runs towards Drax as soon as he sees that Quill had you, putting a foot on his torso.
Quill has you in a head-lock, gun pointed at your head. Doctor Strange has a mystical shield of golden energy up, and stands ready at the third point of the triangle. Mantis had Parker in a coma.
It was a complete mess.
“Alright, everybody, stay where you are, chill the F out,” Quill spoke as he depowered his helmet. “I'm gonna ask you this one time. Where's Gamora?”
Your father spoke, dehelmeting as well. “Yeah, I'll do you one better. Who's Gamora?”
“I’ll do you one better! Why is Gamora?” The creature that was headlocked by your father spoke out.
“What the fuck is wrong with him,” you whispered to yourself as you looked at the creature that your father had under his foot.
“Tell me where the girl is, or I swear to you, I'm gonna French-fry little miss thighs of death!” Quill had spoke, pushing the gun towards your head more.
“Let's do it! You shoot my daughter, I blast him. Let's go!” Your father threatened as he extends his nano-tech cannon, looking uncannily like an electric shark about to eat Drax's face.
“Do it, Quill! I can take it.”
“No, he can't take it!” Mantis yelled back.
“She's right. You can't,” Dr Strange deadpanned.
“Oh yeah? You don't wanna tell me where she is? That's fine. I'll kill all four of you and beat it out of Thanos myself,” the man spoke before looking at you. “Starting with you.”
“Wait, what. Thanos?” Dr Strange spoke, trying to inject clarity and sanity into the situation. “Alright, let me ask you this one time. What master do you serve?”
“What master do I serve? What am I supposed to say? "Jesus"?” The guy spoke making you roll your eyes at him as it dawned to you.
“You're from Earth?” You had asked him, turning around to look at him from the death grip he had you in.
“I’m not from Earth. I'm from Missouri.”
‘Well this was going to be a long day,’ you thought you yourself as you closed you eyes and sighed.
-
Peter and yourself had sat on one of the rocks in the planet which you came to learn was called titan. Despite your predicament and the place in ruins, it was a beautiful place.
Your dad was trying to explain the plan to a group of people who you’d learnt the names of a while ago. The one that looked like a Prey Mantis had the name Mantis. Go figure.
Mantis was currently jumping on what seemed to be a gas emitting from the ground or something, you didn’t know. But what you did know was if Thanos was as strong as others had told you he was, then you guys were in for it. Because you had found a team of some questionable characters.
You sighed, rubbing your temple before facing Peter, who looked like he was ignoring you. “Pete?”
He didn’t respond, staring at the rocks in front of him. You shook your head, playing with your fingers.
“Come one Pete,” you softly spoke, turning around to have your body face him. “We might not come back out of this. We need to talk.”
“Fine,” Peter mumbled, grabbing a rock from the floor and chucking it across. “You go first since I already confessed about how I love you and how apparently it’s not even real.”
You rubbed your eye before biting the bottom of your lip, trying to form some logical explanation on your outburst. You looked around the planet, playing with the material of your suit.
“Truth is Peter, you’re not a kid. You’re smart, mature, attentive and heroic,” you spoke. “But I didn’t give you that watch to risk your life for me. Or to ignore other girls for me. I gave you that watch because if you exhaust all your options, and there’s no one else left, that we give it a go. Because I want to. But I want to make sure you 100% want to and not because I’m the first girl you like.”
Peter’s head moved up at that comment. “That’s the thing. I don’t think I’ll ever find someone like you. And it scares me. So when you gave me that watch...for once I-I felt hopeful. I felt hopeful that we might have something. Maybe not now, but in the future.”
“Exactly Peter,” you spoke, putting your arm around his shoulders as you pointed at his watch. “This is for the future. In the future things change. Things become unpredictable. Hell, you might not want to wear this in a couple of months or years time. But that’s okay. The main thing is when we’re both ready, if we are ready, we’ll give it a shot. It’s just now I can’t. Not because of age primarily but because I just got my heart broken. And you need to meet other girls before you decide what you want. Because once we start, we can’t be friends if things go wrong.”
“I get it,” Peter whispered to himself, rubbing his arm. “You need time. And I need time too. I need time to actually grow. To learn. To be a man. I’m 16 and you’re 21. We both need time. It isn’t right to try now.”
You give Peter a hug which he returns. It’s warm and gives you a feeling of eating a hot chocolate fudge during Christmas. Like home. “I hope the future is kind to us.”
“I hope so too,” Peter replied back as you both pulled away from each other. You then looked at each other’s eyes, for a secound almost lost.
You then awkwardly looked away, your attention once again caught by the Mantis girl as she spoke. “Excuse me, but, does your friend often do that?”
You looked over to where she was pointing, where you see Dr. Strange sitting cross-legged. He was floating slightly above the ground, his hands poised in a mystic gesture with the Time Stone glowing brightly in the Eye of Agamotto setting. Green vapor-like energy flows from the stone, and more intricate magical energy patterns circle Dr. Strange's forearms. The Cloak of Levitation flows behind him as if the Stone is creating a strong breeze. His eyes are closed, and his head is jerking rapidly from side to side, the motion blurring, but resembling looking for something.
Peter, you and your father ran over to him. Your father grabbed him, shaking him. “Strange! We alright?”
Dr. Strange snaps out of his trance and falls forward, letting out a cry.
“You're back. You're alright,” your father breathed in heavily as he took a step back.
“Hey, what was that?” Peter asked Strange who was still breathing deeply. He then sighed, looking at you all.
“I went forward in time to view alternate futures. To see all the possible outcomes of the coming conflict,” Strange spoke, looking deflated.
“How many did you see?” Quill had asked him.
“14,000,605”
Your father looked nervous as he asked the next question. “How many did we win?”
Dr. Strange stares intently at Tony for a moment. He looks at your father like he was silently apologising to him, giving you a quick glance. “One.”
At the time, that look meant nothing to you. Like it was just Strange tired from viewing all possible outcomes.
But looking back at it, you would’ve yelled at him. Pleaded with him. That somehow, someway it could’ve gone differently.
That there was an outcome that he may have missed.
-
You hid behind a rock with Peter, waiting for the arrival of Thanos. You were lying if you said you weren’t afraid. You were. It was like being a child. You think there’s monsters under your bed. You tell your parents, and they laugh, saying that monsters aren’t real. And then you return to bed, unable to sleep.
This is what it felt like, your heart thudding against your chest. This is it. This is what you’ve been waiting for. And although you’ve been waiting six years, you still didn’t feel prepared.
“Somethings not right,” you whispered to Peter, giving him a quick glance before keeping your eyes out for Thanos. “Something- I don’t think I- I will make it- fuck.”
You shook your head, tears welling up in your eyes. Peter moved towards you, rubbing your back. “Pete? Can you promise me something?”
“Anything,” Peter spoke, looking at you concerned. You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to contain yourself.
“I don’t want you to comment on this, just a yes or a no. I don’t want sympathy and I don’t won’t hope. I just want a yes or a no,” You begun before looking away at him and back where Strange was. “If I don’t make it, take care of my father will you?”
“Y/N-“
“Will you?” You reinforced. Peter gulped, before nodding. He wouldn’t let you die. He couldn’t let you die. “Good. Great talk.”
You let out a little breath before you look back. A blue mist started appearing, getting bigger and bigger. You know what it was. It was a portal created by the tesseract. You remembered it from 2012.
You then see a giant man who looked almost 8 foot tall. He had a violet complexion and donned a gauntlet with four stones; reality, space, power and soul.
You held your breath as you realised he’s here. Thanos is here.
“Oh, yeah, you're much more of a "Thanos”,” Dr Strange spoke from the stone he was sitting on. Thanos looked at him, his face unchanged.
“I take it the Maw is dead,” Thanos sighed, as he slowly walked around before stopping. “This day extracts a heavy toll. Still, he accomplished his mission.”
“You may regret that,” Dr Strange replied arrogantly. “He brought you face-to-face with the Master of the Mystic Arts.”
Thanos let out a little smile. “And where do you think he brought you?”
You see Star-Lord crouch behind wreckage with his weapon ready, behind Thanos. You and Peter peek from behind Dr Strange. “Let me guess. Your home?”
Thanos begun explaining his home, showing various imagery of what used to be. Explains why he was doing what he was. Trying to justify himself.
Dr. Strange summons his Mandalas, entering a fighting pose. “I think you'll find our will equal to yours.”
And that’s when you all get out of your position.
“Ours?” Thanos spokes before he looks up to a see a chunk of wreckage descending rapidly on him, too rapidly to react and powered by your father. He is subsequently crushed by it.
The wreckage on top of Thanos erupts in purple, as he bellows in rage. He turns the hovering fragments into a flock of bats with the Reality Stone and swarms your dad with them, driving him back through the ruins.
Peter webs his eyes, and swings in to kick him in the face at the same time that Drax leaps from cover, blades in both hands, to knee-slide behind Thanos and try for a tendon slide across the back of the Titan's knee.
You jump through a portal that strange had created and blast golden energy, that sends Thanos hurdling back. He uses the reality stone to send the discarded ship towards you, but you fly in full speed right through it as the heat from the quantum energy sliced the metal of the ship.
Strange starts dueling with Thanos while Drax attacks similarly on his other side. Thanos punches Drax through a ruined wall, then shatters the blade with one hand and tears the web from his eyes. He advances on Doctor Strange and kicks at him, but Strange's shield absorbs the damage.
You make your way back on the ground, and shoot Thanos from behind. Thanos uses the Power Stone to shoot balls of energy towards you but you quickly deflect them with your own powers. You then use quantum energy to lift up a massive rock and aim it at Thanos who crushes it before it even reaches him.
“Don’t let him close his fist,” you had heard Dr Strange whisper to his cloak. The Cloak swoops off Doctor Strange's shoulders and wraps itself tightly around Thanos' armored hand, who starts tugging at this unexpected wrapping.
Doctor Strange starts throwing portals everywhere. Peter leaps through one on Thanos' left.
“Magic!” He punches Thanos in the head and vanishes through a portal to the lower right before reappearing above Thanos. “More magic! Magic with a kick! Magic with a-“
Before he can finish Thanos turns, grabbing him from the air, and throwing him to the ground, with his hand around his neck. “Insect!”
He then throws him at Doctor Strange, knocking them both down. Thanos finally tears the Cloak away and is then promptly surrounded by fiery explosions as you bombarded him with your powers.
He sucks all the flame into the gauntlet with the Power Stone and fires it in a stream back at you, hitting you dead on and sending you far away.
Peter leaps from behind, more conventionally this time, while Thanos concentrates his fire on you, and webs the gauntlet and drops down in front of him, pulling hard to stop Thanos from hurting you.
‘Can’t let her die,’ Peter had thought.
Thanos yanks on the web-line, pulling the much lighter teenager towards him, and punching him on his way past. He tears the webbing free of the gauntlet just in time for a small spaceship to attempt to crash-land on him.
The ship drags Thanos along for a distance, burying him under debris. He stands just as the pilot leaps in a great arc to punch him, landing in front of him with an energy-blade at the ready.
It was Nebula.
Thanos punches her away. Doctor Strange uses the Crimson Bands of Cyttorak to pinion the gauntlet, pulling Thanos' fingers open and trying to pry the gauntlet off his hand.
Thanos tries to pull free, as Drax slides in from his right, kicking his knee and knocking him off-balance, then wrapping himself around Thanos' kneeling leg. You quantum blast his legs, making him fall, before holding his legs in a ball of energy.
Star-Lord shoots a electric trap onto the ground to Thanos' right, the tangle-field holding down his unarmored hand. Peter swings in, webs Thanos' chest then wraps it around behind him, digging his Iron Spider legs into the ground to anchor himself.
Doctor Strange opens a portal straight above Thanos' out of which drops Mantis, landing on the Titan's shoulders, her hands on his temples. He bellows as she tries to put him under.
Thanos was now trapped. And you were slightly relieved.
Your father is pulling on the gauntlet. Doctor Strange reapplies the Crimson Bands of Cyttorak to reinforce the trap's hold on Thanos' right hand, and the Cloak helps him pull. Thanos is finally subdued enough to incapacitate, not fully asleep.
“Is he under?” Your father spoke as continued pulling on the gauntlet. “Don't let up.”
“Be quick,” Mantis cried as she clenched her eyes closed, trying to concentrate. “He is very strong.”
“Parker, help! Get over here,” your father spoke as Peter drops his web-line, and hurries to help Tony with the gauntlet. “She can't hold him much longer. Let's go.”
Quill flies over to join the others, stands in front of Thanos, tauntingly. “I thought you'd be harder to catch. For the record, this was my plan. Not so strong now, huh? Where is Gamora?”
Thanos stirred from that name, still under asleep. “My Gamora.”
“No, bullshit,” Quill spat out, as you continued comcentrating your power on holding Thanos’ legs. “Where is she?”
Mantis lets out a sob, her face in shock. “He is in anguish.”
“Good,” Quill spat out harshly, staring at Thanos.
“He- he mourns.”
“What does this monster have to mourn?” Drax yelled.
Nebula had stood there, her eyes welling up as she put the pieces together. “Gamora.”
“Fuck,” you whispered, looking at Quill who’s face was in shock.
“What?”
Nebula shook her head with horror and sadness at what had happened. “He took her to Vormir. He came back with the Soul Stone but she didn't.”
Your father frasps the danger immediately and de-helmets. “Okay, Quill, you gotta cool it right now, you understand?”
Quill slowly turns to Thanos.
“Don't, don't, don't engage, we've almost got this off!”
“Tell me she's lying,” Quill spoke, now enraged. “Asshole! Tell me you didn't do it!”
“I had to.”
Quill shook his head while starting to tear up. “No, you didn't! No, you didn't!.”
He continues to rage and then pistol-whipping Thanos twice in the face, causing Mantis to let go in pain. “No you didn’t!”
“Quill!”
Your father leaps for Star-Lord's arm, re-helmeting and leaving Peter to pull off the gauntlet. You hold onto Thanos’ legs with your powers more strongly, your whole body aching in pain. Thanos wakes completely, now well and truly furious. He head-butts Mantis, grabbing the cuff of the gauntlet just as it is sliding off his hand, causing Peter to stumble back, and then throwing Mantis away off his shoulders.
Thanos kicks Drax off his right leg and into Nebula and Star-Lord, knocking them down. He yanks on the Crimson Bands holding his right hand to throw Doctor Strange far away, and swats away your father and his repulsor shots.
He then grabs you, using the power stone to chuck you across the sky. Peter sees this and runs over to you but before he reaches you, your head hits the rock.
Your vision starts to daze, the last thing you see is Peter’s face before you black out.
-
Your vision was blurry as you opened your eyes, blinking rapidly. You could hear voices murmuring somewhere as you focussed on the orange sky above you. You look to your left, seeing a familiar brown pair of eyes. “Peter?”
Peter smiled at you, but it didn’t fully reach his face. Your head was pounding as you looked at your surroundings. Half of the guardians passed out and you dad clutching his injured stomach. And then Strange. Strange didn’t have the time stone.
“Oh no,” you muttered shaking your head, making your head pound even more. “Wh- what happened.”
“Thanos wanted to kill your dad,” he mumbled defeatly, making your eyes widen as you looked over to your dad. “Then Dr Strange gave up the stone for his life.”
You quickly got up, Peter quickly trailing behind you just in case you had fell. You had ran up to your dad, taking him by surprise as you gave him a tight squeeze. No words were exchanged, but both of you knew how much you loved one another.
“Stop being such a self-sacrificial ass, okay?” you told him, grabbing his cheeks as you made him look you in the eyes. Your father gave you a sad grin and a little nod. “Y-you can’t do that.”
You then grabbed Peter and pulled him into the hug with you and your father. You guys all squeezed each other, happy that none of you guys had died. That you might have a chance of coming back home, or to what’s left of it if the remaining Avengers don’t win.
You then made eye contact with Dr Strange, who hasn’t stopped looking at you for a while now. You then pull away from the hug and walk over to him. “You gave away the stone.”
Dr Strange nodded, not breaking eye contact with you. “Yeah, I did.”
You nodded, looking at his face for any answers on why he did what he did. A thunder broke your gaze, as you looked up and saw a cloud forming. You then saw Dr Strange in the side of your eye let out a sigh.
You then felt sick, your stomach doing somersaults. Your vision started going in and out of focus, your whole body shivering. You were scared and terrified. You didn’t know what was happening but you knew it was something horrible.
“Ah!” You screamed, as you held your stomach in pain. Peter and your father ran over to you, trying to hold you upright.
“Hey, hey what’s wrong?” Your father asked as he sat you down. You shook your head, your eyes filled with tears as the most excruciating pain jolted throughout your body.
“Something is happpening,” Mantis cries as everyone looked over to her. And then the most horrifying thing happened to her. Her body had slowly disenergrated into ash, the wind carrying it away.
“Quill?” Drax had spoken as he too had disenergrated whilst Quill watched in horror. Your father had gotten up, walking over to Star-Lord as he too started to fade.
“Steady, Quill,” your dad spoke before Quill had vanished. You let out a sob as the pain got worse and worse.
“Tony,” Dr Strange had spoken, catching your father’s attention. Little speckles left his body as he looked at your dad with pleading eyes. “There was no other way.”
He had vanished as well, leaving you, Peter, your father and Nebula. You let out a cry before shaking your head. “It hurts so much!”
“Hey, Hey, Hey,” your dad spoke, his eyes tearing up. “It’s going to be fine. We just have to get back to earth.”
“You don’t understand!” You told him, lifting your arm up as you saw dust particles leave your hand and then re-forming. “Dad I- it’s me too. I have- he-“
You shook your head, not wanting to say. Your suit was trying to heal you. But the pain was getting worse and worse. “I h-have to turn the suit off.”
“No!” Your dad yelled at you. You looked at Peter, seeing tears fall down his face as he watched on silently. You closed your eyes, falling into a hysteria of cries.
“I’m gonna g-go either way Dad,” you spoke, unable to form coherent sentences. “I have to do it.”
“Please-“
“I l-love you dad. Please don’t waste your life,” you cried out to him, holding his hand. You then looked at Peter giving him a sad smile. “And Pete, I like you. I do. B-but I was always scared to give it a go. B-but remembered what you promised. P-please.”
“No, no, no you can’t just do that! You can’t smile at me and tell me everything’s gonna be alright every time it isn’t!” Peter shook his head at you, grabbing your hand. “You- you- please just- just lets take you home, we can fix this. P-please j-just look me in the- the eyes-“
“F.R.I.D.A.Y,” you whispered, as you gave your father one last look before looking at Peter who was a sobbing mess. You then squeezed his arm while he was speaking.
“A-and know everything’s going to be fine,” Peter finished, his whole body shaking. His Spider senses was on overdrive as anxiety flooded his whole body. He couldn’t lose you. Not again. Not ever. “J-Just please stay.”
“Turn off my suit,” you finished your command, giving both men a smile as you saw dust particles slowly leave your body.
“No!” Peter yelled out, trying to stop the dust from leaving your body. Your dad watched you, unable to take his eyes off from decaying daughter, watching in absolute shock and grief.
Peter’s senses allowed him to hear your heartbeat get fader and fader before it wasn’t there at all. He can hear every spec leave your body, one by one. It was by far one of the worst experiences in his life.
Peter Parker had to watch you die twice.
Your body slowly collapsed into a pile of ash. Peter sobbed as he grabbed the dust from the floor and trying to put them together. “Th-this isn’t h-her! S-she doesn’t l-look like this! She- we have to- she can’t- We have to fix her!”
Tony watched in silence as Peter tried to pick up your ashes. He watched as Peter let out a gut wrenching cry as he realised he couldn’t do anything with what was left of you. Tony then slowly picked up what was left of you and closed his hand into a fist as he placed it near his heart.
He had failed. He had lost his only daughter.
#peter parker#peter parker x reader#spider-man#peter parker x you#peter parker imagine#spider-man x reader#spiderman x reader#spider-man imagine#mcu imagine#avengers#avengers x reader#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#tom holland#tom holland x reader#captain america#captain america x reader#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers#thor#thor x reader#loki#loki x reader#wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff x reader#natasha romanoff x reader#captain marvel#captain marvel x reader#marvel
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