#I have thirty hours this week and none of them will be used for productive means

[thesilvercup]

Oh! Lover Boy!

A Jake Seresin x Reader

Reader finds out she’s pregnant and tries to come up with the perfect way to surprise her husband. But not all things go to plan.

Words: 2.1k

Warnings: none? If there are let me know!

Feel free to like, reblog, comment, not read, not like, or whatever your heart desires. Enjoy and happy reading! Find my master list here!

———————

Do you ever feel like no one has your back except for a few people? Yep, that’s exactly how I feel. Working as a painter while my husband is a naval aviator people always seems to paint me as the “trophy” wife or the dumb but pretty wife. Why won’t people see me for me? Even when I let them in their snide remarks push me further away from feeling worthy of any meaningful love or relationship. And trying to complain to people I get hit with “I wish that was my problem.” I feel so lost in life. That is until I see my husband.

Jake has always been there for me. He has picked me up when days got bad and he’s loved me for me. Not for my body or my looks like so many claim. That’s one of the reasons why I can trust him with my whole mind, body, and soul. However, I have a secret. A secret that won’t be a secret soon but a secret that makes the wait so much better. I, Samantha Seresin, am pregnant with Jake Seresin’s baby. The one catch is that he doesn’t know yet.

Jake’s had an extremely busy past few weeks at work. Which is awful for Jake and puts him under a lot of stress but ideal conditions for this secret. The long hours he has been working gives my gift more time to be perfected. I am painting a tiny little square canvas of us holding hands with me turned to the side to show a bump. Since this piece is so detailed yet really small I need the most amount of time I can get to finish it. Luckily for me, the painting is almost finished. As I paint my mind tends to wander so no wonder I just found out as I gazed upon the clock that I only have about an hour until Jake gets home. I put my painting products away and hide my canvas in a random draw in my studio.

Swiftly but carefully, I go about the house to pick up out of place objects and straighten crooked blankets. After that is done I head into our pantry. I bend down and push the start button located on the top of the roomba so I can focus my attention on dinner. Before I do any cooking in the kitchen I head out of pantry and into our living room. I turn on our record player and put on my favorite record of all time, A Night At The Opera by Queen. As the needle touches the vinyl and the music starts playing my body moves on autopilot. I walk through the doorway and into our kitchen where our defrosted chicken lay in the sink. I glance at my phone. Thirty minutes until he leaves work. Dinner will definitely be a time crunch because we live on base.

I rub different spices into the chicken breasts along with butter to crispen its skin. Along with buttered and salted asparagus i plop them in the oven to bake for 25 minutes. I then get started on the pasta I want to make. Although I follow social media I don’t worship celebrities. However, Jake and I both love Gigi Hadid’s vodka pasta. I hear the music stop so after I finish plopping the pasta noodles in boiling water I flip the record to side B. That’s when I hear my phone chime from the kitchen. Without looking at it yet I know that the text is Jake on his way home. Once I get into the kitchen I confirm that it is and rush to finish this pasta. He’s suspiciously 15 minutes early. I brush it off and continue cooking. 5 minutes later and the pasta is done as well as the asparagus with the chicken still cooking away in the oven, I hear the sound of keys dangling and my beautiful but tired husband walk through the doors. “Hey, Honey,” I call from my spot in the kitchen currently trying to take out our cute sea foam green glass dishes from the highest shelf. It’s evident that Jake can hear the slightest tense in my voice and he’s by my side in an instant, reaching up to grab the dishes but also reaching down with his opposite hand to grab my ass and give me a kiss at the same time.

“Hiya, baby. Missed you today,” he says as he sets down the plates on the counter and hugs me. I let my body relax into his and retort, “I bet I miss you more, baby.” He shakes his head and adjusts his hug to be tighter than before. “At work today, I couldn’t stop talking about you. Even more so than I normally do that everyone joked my call sign should be changed.”

“To what, Jakey?” I ask. I look up at him and his cheeks are tinted pink. “To Lover Boy,” he says sheepishly. I love the name! I start to giggle. “Well lover boy, I think it’s a perfect fit,” I say as I lean up to kiss him. Jake kisses back with extreme vigor but right as things started to get heated the oven dinged.

“Oh our dinner!” I exclaim as I go and get the hot hands from the island. Jake gets there quicker than I do. And manages to get the chicken out of the oven before I can even protest. I smile and kiss Jake as I turn off the oven and start packing our plates with food. As we start eating my mind keeps wondering from our conversation. Jake has to say my name a few times for me to snap out of my thoughts. I truly can’t help it. I keep thinking about the painting two rooms over. I want to give it to Jake so bad right now but I’m not sure if it’s the right timing. But will it ever be the right timing? Probably not. Maybe is should wait for him to shower? I assume he’s already showered before getting home. If not it might ruin the mood. How will he take it? We’ve been married for 2 years and I’m only 24 and he’s 30 so we are still quite young. Oh well maybe if I just rush and do — “Sam,” Jake states, “baby are you okay? You’ve been spacey all dinner?” Oh shit. “Yeah Jake I’m okay. It’s just this big project that I’m rushing to finish.” The concern from Jake’s eyes leave and for once I feel like I could actually lie and get away with it from my husband. Sadly, that’s not the case.

As fast as the concern left his face confusion trickled in. “I thought you weren’t completing anymore projects this month?” My face dropped and my jaw would’ve hit the table if it was connected any looser to my jaw. Trying to keep my composure I try a white lie. “Well actually it’s more of a personal venture than a business one.” The holds over Jake but it doesn’t seem like it’s enough. However, he doesn’t push me any further that evening. A few hours later we’re climbing into bed. With all these longer shifts, Jake hasn’t really had the energy or been in the mood to fuck. That’s okay though, I’ve been so incredibly exhausted having our tiny little love inside of me he barely notices how fast I fall asleep now. I pull the blankets up closer to my neck and snuggle in to Jake. His grip on me tightens and we drift off to sleep. With similar topics on our minds yet neither of us had a clue.

On typical weekday mornings, Jake would wake up first, have breakfast, and be dressed ready to go to work before I had even gotten out of bed. Yet today I woke up 30 minutes before Jake’s alarm. From the most awful and tight feeling in my stomach and my throat. I was going to puke! As the clock turned to 4:00 am I was up and in the bathroom spewing out the contents of dinner from the night before. Hearing Jake groan and step out of bed I hurry to come up with a good enough excuse. Should I say food poisoning? No because he’s completely fine and I was the one that cooked. Hmmm how about the flu? That could work I’ll go with that.

As I lean over the toilet to let out more of my stomach contents Jake crouches down behind me and gently rubs my back. “It’s okay baby, let it out. Shhhh, Sammy it’s okay,” he whispers. After a few minutes I feel a bit better and go to clean the toilet and brush my teeth. Jake stops me from cleaning the toilet saying that he wants to help. I oblige, not really having the energy or the urge to fight him on this. Once we get back in bed it’s around 4:20, ten minutes before he has to wake up.

“I’m sorry for waking you up, baby,” I croak out as he holds me in his arms. “Shhh my love it’s okay, I just want you to feel better,” he replies. “I actually feel so much better now,” I state as I hold onto him, the one person in the world that wouldn’t care that I just cost him 30 more minutes of uninterrupted sleep. “I’m so glad, baby,” he gently states. After a while of him hugging and rubbing my sides he works up the courage to say, “I actually liked that you got sick. It made me think of you being pregnant and how it would be like with me comforting you.”

“Hmmm,” I say, “that’s actually quite funny.” Jake furrows his eyebrows. “Why is that funny?” I croon my neck to look up at him. With a smile I say, “give me a second and you’ll see.” I toss the covers off of us and make my way down the steps. I turn into my studio and fish out the painting. Although it’s unfinished it’s close to being done. I also dig around another drawer to retrieve the pregnancy tests I had peed on yesterday, so that I didn’t give him old musty ones. I quickly glide up the stairs to give him his gift. It’s perfect! Impromptu yet cute. Before I enter our bedroom I call out, “Jake close your eyes and don’t open them until I tell you too.” “Yes ma’am,” Jake calls back. I peak around the corner to make sure his eyes are closed and once I’m 99% sure I come into the room. “Ok baby give me your hands.” “Yes, baby,” Jake replies. I place the canvas in his hands first, while keeping the pregnancy tests behind my back. “Ok , Jakey you can open your eyes now.”

Once Jake does his eyes widen and he glances up at me. The biggest smile I’ve ever seen from him is plastered on his face. “You want to have a baby, too,” Jake questions. I burst out into a fit of giggles. “Jakey, no. I don’t want to have a baby, too. We’re having a baby.” I show him the pregnancy tests that were hidden from behind my back. I start to tear up, however Jake starts bawling his eyes out. He launches into me telling me how happy he his. “Baby I love you so much,” he manages to get out, “this is the best thing to ever happen to me.” I nod my head in agreeance. My eyes happen to catch the clock as it reads 4:45. “Jake!” I say concerned, “you need to leave for work soon.” Without leaving my side he whips out his phone and agrees that he needs to get out of bed.

“But I really don’t want to leave you,” Jake whines. “I know baby but we’ll be here waiting for you to get back.” Jake’s smile appears and he kisses me all over the face and then shimmies down to kiss my still flat stomach. “I love the both of you so much,” Jake says. “We love you too,” I beam at him. Jake quickly gets dressed and grabs a small bite to eat before heading out of the door. I follow him to it and call out, “Lover Boy! Maybe get off work early for a special surprise?” Jake’s head snaps towards me so fast and he frantically nods. “Will do, I’ll even break orders to get here.” We exchange love you’s as he pulls out of the driveway. Oh how I love my Lover Boy.

#hangman fanfiction #jake seresin x reader #top gun au #top gun hangman #top gun maverick #hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin

[elizabethsway]

I'm somewhere between a cool and neutral color tone. Yellow and some oranges unless they are really dark do not look good one me. That being said, that's why I never went blonde.

My grampa had a full set of grey hair by the time he was thirty and I got my first grey at five. Safe to say, by high school I started getting a nice bit of white hair on one side of my head. After college, I was pretty much half and half but I had been dying it brown.

About 5 months before COVID dropped, I noticed that white/silver hair wasn't taking color well. It turned my hair a lighter brown. Later I chose a box dye of darkest brown and so you could see the ends of my hair dark brown, the middle orange light brown and the top a light brown. It looked great (note the sarcasm).

Awkward wedding photo just after final dye

As I only really dyed the scalp/top part and not the ends, I decided to hit the whole thing with the darkest color I could and ended up looking like Professor Snape for my sister's wedding. After that I stopped dying my hair. About a year and a half later I was getting an itch to dye my hair a color but liked how healthy my hair was. I never applied any heat to it or dies so mine is a little bit of hair band trauma, it was nice.

But I added in some purple dye (it was supposed to be light) trying both Arctic Fox and Manic Panic. The one of them didn't take at all one did slightly but I had to use a lot and keep it on for hours. The white hair wanted none of it and it washed out fairly quick, leaving just a glow behind.

Well after that I gave up and cut the orange from around the time of the wedding off and let the color fade. It regrew and was pretty nice looking.

Sadly, while hanging out with a guy, he asked if I dyed my hair blonde and I was like, "You're crazy. Get your eyes checked."

A week later I was checking out my hair and it did look a bit yellow from the ear down. Online it said that you can pick up pigments from Air pollutants and other things as well as hair products. I only have one hair product that they might cause discolorization which is like a Garnier Apple conditioner but it's very faint, so not sure if that's what's happening to my hair.

And given that my hair doesn't like taking color I wasn't sure how well this was going to work but I got myself a purple shampoo /conditioner 3 set pack from Matrix. I did as the bottle said and nothing. I was still yellow.

You can see some of the yellow on the strand I'm holding but the yellow is mostly ear down. This was after Matrix.

A week and a half later I got myself Brand Mondo's Supernova Blonde Toning Purple Shampoo/Conditioner and his Forcefield Heat Shield spray. Now make a note, his conditioner said it should stay on for 5 minutes and I left mine on for 2 hours, so I didn't exactly follow the procedure but I think it worked well.

I saw a video of his where he reacted to people who used purple shampoo to dye their hair. He made a comment that said somey along the lines of that he didn't know why people left the shampoo on for several hours and if anything they should do the conditioner for longer. So I decided to take his comment out of context a bit and I put the conditioner on first to almost dry but slightly damp hair and left it on for two hours before rinsing. Then I shampooed, immediately rinsed and then did the conditioner again but only for the recommended 5 minutes.

And it looks like this.

Obviously I missed some sections or maybe they were just sections they really didn't want to take, but considering the purple is so light and metallic you looking because of my current silver hair, it blends pretty well.

Also things to note. My hair is naturally dry, it doesn't really create oil very often unless I'm touching it a lot or I put my head out the window of a car as it's moving (like a dog). But I will say it made my hair feel a little dryer and because I like to play with fate, I also did not use any gloves while doing this process so underneath my fingertips there's a little bit of purple but my hands felt pretty dry. I would suggest definitely using some kind of moisturizing product on your hair if you can afterwards or doing a mask.

I also used his heat shield product but I have not actually put any heat on it yet so it might have been a missed opportunity to try that. Do I imagine it would work very well.

Here's some bad pics of me growing out my hair, pre-COVID, when I was still going into office looking like this.

Super cute.

#brad mondo #supernova #matrix #arctic fox #manic panic #hair dye #go grey #go gray #grey hair #gray hair #toning #purple shampoo #yellow hair #blonde #process #growing out #going grey #going gray #silver hair #funny #lol #happy #cute #office #remote job

[luxlucis3]

Podcast Tips to Keep Anyone Ahead

Podcasts are really a great way to develop customers, impart information together with build your believability as an expert. Nonetheless, like any saying again product, they are difficult and difficult to hold producing. Not only simply because your motivation definitely will ebb and movement but also because what you may can say on the subject of any one subject is bound. So finding a matter to talk about for a quarter-hour or so -- every last week -- can be quite a daunting task. https://nofm.rs/

Tips on how to keep ahead and additionally keep going?

In this article I will give you six points that will help you to keep in front of you and keep developing podcasts.

1 . Make your podcasts being series.

It's always simpler to create four or five podcasts (i. e. a hour) than it truly is to create a single podcast. It sounds ridiculous but it's real. Creating one major piece is easier as compared to many smaller portions. And finding 1 idea that you can put into several is always less difficult than finding four to five separate ideas.

2 . not Create your podcasts as a group.

Buying two hours free of cost once a month is easier when compared to getting thirty minutes cost-free every week. It tones silly but it is really true. The fact that that you are under pressure to meet your deadline has a pair of opposite effects. Initial it gives you a impetus to do art -- which is wonderful. But it also applies emotional tension which makes it more difficult to complete creative work. It is advisable to easier to write, file and produce some podcasts in one go compared to it is to create 3 separate podcasts. Thus try to do ones own podcasts in a order.

Keep some sort of ideas book on hand at all times.

Ideas get to you all the time. However , most of them get displaced in the ether. The reason why? Because they aren't about you at the time they will occur. How usually do you remember a dreams? How usually have you walked in room to another in addition to forgotten why anyone came into the room? Usually do not trust your reminiscence… write it lower.

Don't around deliver on each and every podcast.

You could not expect a the airwaves to give their individualities an unlimited period on the radio are you willing to? Well you don't have a unlimited time in a good podcast either. At the time you script your podcast you only have moment for a set variety of points. Don't try and squeeze more tips in. Better to can two podcasts as opposed to one with more points.

Go on a break once in a while

You can't deliver creativity for the constant basis. None can anyone get the job done all the time. You need to go on a break if only to be able to recharge your battery. Doing batches from podcasts helps provide product to run while having break time.

Develop the suggestions while you are waiting

The moment was the last time frame you got in to be aware of the doctor without ready? When was the past time you required your spouse shopping along with waited while these people shopped? We all possess periods where we've been just sitting looking ahead to someone else to do their particular thing. Use this point to outline a person's scripts. Use that point to develop one theory into topics in a dozen podcasts.

[kachitoru]

Top Guidelines Of Ptr 9ct accessories

Review on Ptr 9ct Opening the box on this natural beauty has most likely made it in to the best 5 of my favorite times Doing work for TFB. There’s just a thing exceptionally captivating about an MP5, or in this case, an MP5 clone. Heckler and Koch labored some kraut Room magic into that gun.

The ATI mags were very inadequately produced, out with the 4 I bought just one failed to even in good shape the magwell, and the greater I employed them the greater malfunctions I started out owning.

 Ideally We are going to see alterations to those legal guidelines and violations to our second Modification rights. We apologize for this but we basically can't accommodate Just about every and every journal request with in excess of thirty unique guidelines, laws and limits impacting states, cities and local jurisdictions throughout the country. It can be The purchasers obligation to be educated of your neighborhood guidelines before finishing your invest in. Atlantic Firearms isn't liable for any problems which could arise with Journals shipped to you personally or your FFL dealer That will not be authorized in your neighborhood due to a change in present regulations.

Focus: No firearms are being sold on this site. WARNING: Products and solutions bought on This great site may well incorporate chemical substances recognized to the Condition of California to induce cancer and delivery defects or other reproductive damage.

Same below. Been doing that for ten years now. And in some cases I even stuff the suppressor within a pocket with one particular mag.

So far, I impressed from the PTR. I Individually don't love the mags it came with, but they appear to operate wonderful. I will likely be acquiring some metal kinds. The case is good. As soon as a stock is additional it is not useful for that firearm, but it is a great circumstance with other makes use of likewise. Review on ptr 9 ct The welds to the firearm are all very wonderful. I like having the highest rail. The inventory foregrip is sweet, I just prefer the aesthetics and come to feel on the vast tropical.

Campbell served to be a peace officer and security Specialist and it has manufactured a huge selection of arrests and been wounded on The task a lot more than the moment. He has prepared curriculum about the College stage, served as a lead missionary, and is desperately in enjoy with Joyce. He is teaching his grandchildren not to be snowflakes. At an age when many are considering retirement, Bob is Doing the job a sixty-hour week and awaits staying taken up inside of a whirlwind a few years in the future. Printed in Black Belt Magazine Fight Handguns

But closer inspection showed that it should healthy. So it just took somewhat elbow grease to acquire it on there completely. Therefore the conventional S-E-F grip matches the 9CT.

Enter your electronic mail and We'll notify you when restocked. By distributing you agree with our Privateness policy In inventory possibilities to take into consideration

I did so and found a firearm with considerably more utility than I would have imagined. The PTR 9CT 9mm is an interesting pistol. At this time I don't have to possess a Plainly outlined mission For each and every firearm. Recreation, personalized desire, plus a whim is sufficient.

If I used to be speaking about an AR, my generic suggestion is often Magpul, Or maybe Lancer for a more expensive option. Sadly, I have none of that prerequisite facts about everything From the MP5 clone arena.

PS: Several persons notice that the SBT5A suits rather tightly around the PTR 9CT. Atlantic Firearms states that it may well have to have light-weight fitting operate. Ought to be no problem.

Went by way of each of the mags flawlessly. Not a single hiccup. The matter is actually a beast. I'm not conveniently amazed, so this is having a while. But I'm beginning to truly such as this gun. The MLock issue is type of escalating on me. I acquired another vast foregrip Along with the mags yesterday, but haven't bothered to install it.

Nonetheless, the shortcomings in the SMG had been brought for the forefront over the war on terror As well as in domestic use. The AR-fifteen carbine delivered far higher wound prospective and accuracy.

[criminalmindzjunkie]

The More Loving One

Masterlist

Summary: Professor Reid finds himself falling for a student. 

A/N: This fic is based on this request. I changed a few things up, but I hope you like the finished product!

Long time, no see! It seems like forever since I got to sit down and just enjoy writing something. And enjoy this, I did. I approached this one a bit differently than I usually do, but I like how it turned out none the less. I hope you all enjoy my take on the Professor Reid arc. The first poem I use in this fic is titled The More Loving One by W.H. Auden, and the second is from a collection of Perry poetry.

Also, I recently hit 2k followers, which is absolutely unbelievable. I can’t even begin to explain how thankful I am for each and every one of you. This fic is my love letter to you. Thank you all so much. 

Pairing: Professor!Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Content Warnings: a few swear words maybe?, teacher x student relationship, age gap, exhibitionism (sorta?), vaginal fingering, unprotected sex

Word Count: 4k

           For as long as Spencer can remember, he’s always had a predilection for the finer things in life.

           Spencer attributes the origin of his preferences to his upbringing. In his childhood, before his mother’s disease got the better of her, she exposed him to all sorts of literature. While he ventured to read all types of writings, he’d always been partial to tales of extravagance. A young Spencer Reid sought refuge in the profligacy of it all, as it was so starkly different from his own reality. Forced to bear the burden of household and a sick mother from an early age, Spencer’s own life left little room for reckless indulgence.

           Now, as a single adult male, Spencer makes it a point to give himself up to the finer things as often as he can. Spencer isn’t a rich man, nor is he careless with what hard-earned money he does have. He simply likes to treat himself to the occasional five-star meal, and even more frequently, posh clothing and rare books. Walls lined with hundreds of antiquarian novels and a closet full of Comme Des Garçon cardigans are where the indulgence ends, however, and until recently Spencer was content with this.

           But when she strolls into his life on the very first day of his teaching career, Spencer knows that his small luxuries will no longer be enough to keep him satisfied. The part of him that longs to have only the very best roars to life as he takes in every perfect inch of her. She stands before him, the embodiment of divinity and grace, looking like every fantasy he only dares to conjure up in the late hours of the night. A litany of cliches from every piece of romantic literature he’s ever read spring to the forefront of his mind in the instant that her eyes met his, but there is nothing stereotypical about the way her gaze banishes the air from his lungs. It is as jarring as it is intoxicating. He never wants to look away.

           Unfortunately, she doesn’t feel the same. With a light flush of her cheeks, she turns away from him, and in an equally unfortunate turn of events, she proceeds to shuffle down the aisle and into the second row of seats to the right of the podium. The realization that washes over him feels like ice water in his veins.

           She’s a student. Worse even – she’s his student.

           Spencer wrenches his gaze from her as if he’s been burned, and the fiery shame of his embarrassment makes him tug at his collar. As he struggles to stave away the lingering heat in his chest and even more embarrassingly, the tightness in his trousers, Spencer chastises himself. His own carnal urges often go ignored, a fact that is glaringly obvious as he cowers behind his podium in an attempt to hide his arousal. He feels more than a little bit pathetic. No self-respecting thirty-five-year-old man gets hard just from gazing upon a beautiful young woman.

           When Spencer pulls himself together enough to start his lecture, he positively forbids himself to look her way. It is hard to fight the urge, but every time he catches his eyes wandering to her, he reminds himself that she is an indulgence he simply cannot partake in. No matter how badly he wants to.

--

           It doesn’t take long for her to notice him noticing her.

           In the early days of the semester, she manages to convince herself that the stolen glances are but a figment of her overactive imagination. That, or an unhealthy dose of wishful thinking. But as the semester stretches on and the professor’s eyes linger more and more, wishful thinking gives way to a startling realization that she isn’t alone in her attraction. Professor Reid is, to her complete and utter astonishment, just as taken with her as she is with him.

           This is all but confirmed when a slight brushing of the hands during an exchange of papers leaves them both with flushed cheeks and pounding hearts. Both of their heads snap up, two sets of eyes meeting in a prolonged stare that results in an understanding of sorts. It’s mutual, this thing blossoming between them. She can see her own hopes reflected in two velvet pools of brown – can see the longing, the desire that burns within them. Her heart soars, as she imagines his does, and she accepts the papers with a smile.

           She also imagines that, if he could, he would tell her to wait for him. He would tell her that, for now, their relationship must stay strictly professional.

           This doesn’t stop them from sating their cravings in other ways.

           She makes it a point to stop by during office hours at least twice a week. Her visits always fall under the guise of her studies, but within minutes their hushed conversations stray from the professional and towards a more personal nature. She learns of Spencer’s mother and her condition, of his unusual job and his coworkers that were more like family. In return, she tells him about her upbringing in southern California, as well as her dreams of becoming a criminal psychologist. They never go as far as to discuss what will happen when the semester comes to a close. It is an unspoken agreement that the end of the semester will find them in each other’s arms. All they have to do is wait.

           Spencer can’t voice his affections with words, but he more than makes up for this with his actions. Without fail, every Monday following the very first clandestine brushing of hands, lavish bouquets of flowers arrive at her workplace. Each bouquet is always paired with a notecard inscribed with a brief explanation of the meaning behind that week’s flower of choice. Cherry blossoms to pay homage to her beauty, plumeria to symbolize their new beginning, agrimony to convey his thankfulness that she is willing to wait for him.

           Her favorite bouquet arrives four weeks before the end of the semester. As she steps through the doors of the bakery, a vase full of nine red roses sits atop the counter. The sight of them nearly takes her breath away. She pauses for a moment and runs her fingertips across the velveteen petals before plucking the notecard from its place.

           This week, Spencer chooses to forgo the explanation in favor of a messily scrawled poem;

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well

that, for all they care, I can go to hell,

But on earth indifference is the least

we have to dread from man or beast.

How should we like it were stars to burn 

with a passion for us we could not return?

If equal affection cannot be,

let the more loving one be me. 

          ��That evening, Spencer receives his first bouquet from her. On his desk sits an arrangement of pale pink ambrosia.

           The meaning isn’t lost on him, but if it were, the note that sits next to the vase makes her intentions clear.

We never had to force love.

We were drowning in it from the moment we met.

--

           Spencer is horribly frustrated.

           A mere twenty feet away from where he stands, the notoriously garish and wholly unprofessional PhD program director is gesticulating wildly to the young woman that stands trapped between him and the hors d’oeuvre table. To find Professor Van Wesep in such a position is not uncommon, due to his penchant for trying to charm (terrorize) the prospective female doctoral candidates. The man is practically a walking harassment complaint waiting to happen. Spencer would abhor Van Wesep even if he weren’t the only thing standing in the way of him and his lover.

           At long last, the semester has drawn to a close. The lonely nights spent longing to hold her in his arms are a thing of the past. By the time the sun rises again, Spencer will no longer have to wonder what her body will feel like pressed against his. He’ll be thoroughly acquainted with every inch of her, and she with him. The thought sends a thrilled chill down his spine.

           The torturous foreplay they’ve been engaging in for the last four months would have surely broken a lesser man. Spencer would be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted on more than one occasion to have her during one of her frequent visits to his office. Some days, when her visits came later in the evenings, just as the sun began to dip low in the sky, her eyes would glisten in such a way that told Spencer her thoughts were none dissimilar to his own. That glimmer of lust had him holding on to his restraint by the skin of his teeth.

           And here they were, on the last evening of the semester. Final grades had been submitted and were released hours prior. Spencer would have been content to skip this event altogether, in favor of more… recreational activities, but his lover insisted on attending.

           Initially, Spencer assumed her insistence lay in her desire to mingle with her future peers and mentors. Her true intentions come to light when she breezes into the room clad in a pair of sleek, designer pumps. Her lips, painted fire engine red, curl up into a playful smile at the sight of a slack-jawed Spencer Reid. The devious glint in her eye twinkles sinfully in the light.

           Tonight isn’t a social call at all. Tonight, she wants to play with him.

           And play she has.

           From the second she arrives all eyes are fixating on her celestial beauty. Peers and mentors alike trip over themselves in their haste to capture her attention, if only for a fleeting moment. She works the room flawlessly, leaving a trail of smitten men of all ages in her wake.

           The most smitten is Spencer himself, because he’s the lone recipient of countless heated glances, as well as more than a few knowing smirks. She well aware of what she’s doing to him, and she takes pleasure in watching him squirm.

          Spencer intervenes when Van Wesep makes the ill-advised decision to reach a hand up to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. He barely has the time to withdraw his hand before Spencer is upon them.

          “I apologize for the interruption,” Spencer casts a faux apologetic glance at his colleague, before settling his gaze on his target. “Ms. Y/L/N, may I speak to you for a moment?”

           She looks positively gleeful. Perhaps Spencer should have intervened hours ago.

           “Absolutely, Professor Reid.”

           The honorific sends a jolt of heat straight to his groin. He definitely should have stolen her away earlier.

           The two of them say their goodbyes to a confused Professor Van Wesep, whose imploring eyes follow them as they hurriedly slip from the party and down the hallway.

--

           “Where are we going?”

           Spencer leads her down a long corridor, far beyond earshot of the other guests. Pushing her into a dark corner, he positions her between himself and the cold wooden door of an unoccupied office. The only sounds that can be heard are the distant thrum of the music and the eager pants falling from his lover’s lips.

           Spencer pulls her into a searing kiss, one hand tangling in her hair and the other finding purchase on her waist. He worries for a moment that he’s being too rough with her, that he should have taken a more careful approach to their first kiss, but she assuages those worries when she kisses him back with equal enthusiasm. Her hand reaches between them and clutches his tie, then she’s pulling him closer and whining wantonly against his lips. Spencer takes this as an invitation to slip his tongue inside and he finds himself letting out a low groan when he tastes a hint of strawberry.

           Spencer pulls away to catch his breath. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

           “Oh, I think I do, Professor,” she laughs, breathless. “Probably just as long as I’ve wanted to do this.”

           Spencer jolts forward when her hand slides down to cup him over his trousers.

           “Could’ve done that a lot earlier if you hadn’t insisted on teasing me for the entire night,” Spencer growls through gritted teeth. He’s more than a little proud of his ability to string together a sentence with her hand working him over with slow, steady strokes.

           He trails a line of kisses across the underside of her jaw, before taking her earlobe and nipping it lightly with his canine. Spencer’s actions are rewarded with a full body shudder. He dips his tongue in the hollow at the base of her throat and her hands ball into fists against his dress shirt.

           “Spencer, please.”

           Spencer hums and pulls back to look at her. The hand in her hair lowers, and he trails a thumb across where her nipples are hard against the fabric of her dress.

           “Yes, my love?”

           Her eyes flutter against the weight of her arousal, and Spencer twitches in his pants. The sight of her with her hair disheveled and her lipstick smeared on account of him is a heavenly thing. He doesn’t know how he ever deprived himself of such a splendor.

           “I want you. Right now.” She punctuates her words by pulling him down into a frenzied kiss. One of her hands tangles itself in the hair at the nape of his neck while the other busies with tugging his shirt out of his pants.

           “Right now?” Spencer taunts, mouth against mouth. His hand trails down the side of her breast, caressing her rib cage and her hip before stopping at her upper thigh. Spencer’s fingertips toy with the tops of her lace thigh highs. “But anyone could walk by and see us.”

           “I don’t care,” she argues, fumbling clumsily as she struggles to undo his belt buckle.

           Spencer’s wandering hand dips below the hem of her dress to explore the silky-smooth skin of her inner thigh. She’s soft here, too, he thinks to himself as his hand travels up, up, up. He stops just short of where she wants him most and she lets out a despairing cry.

           “You wouldn’t mind someone walking by and seeing you with your pretty legs spread wide for your professor?”

           Spencer brings life to his words by lifting her leg up, hitching her thigh around his hip and pressing into her. The silk fabric of her dress rustles as he pushes it up and out of the way.

           A breathy moan tumbles from her lips as he rocks against her, dragging his arousal up and down the front of her lace panties. The friction is maddening in that it provides only the smallest bit of relief. It’s not enough for Spencer, and judging by the way she desperately pushes down the fabric of his pants, it’s not enough for his partner, either.

           “Need to get these off now,” she murmurs against Spencer’s mouth. An eager hand tugs at the elastic band of his underwear.

           Spencer places his hand on hers, stilling her movements. “Not so fast, baby. Gotta make sure you’re ready for me first.”

           Her fingers clamp down on Spencer’s wrist, guiding him to the sodden lace between her thighs.

           “Don’t think that’s gonna be a problem,” she whimpers as Spencer’s fingers take appraisal of the drenched cloth. “In fact, I think four months of foreplay is sufficient enough. Wouldn’t you say?”

           “Maybe so,” Spencer muses, voice muffled as he sucks at the skin of her neck. “But I’m not willing to chance hurting you our first time together. You’re entirely too precious to me.”

           Spencer captures her lips in a kiss so sweet it has her sighing into his mouth. When he pulls away, he fixes her with a smile.

           “You’re not particularly fond of these panties, are you?”

           Her eyebrows pull together. “No, why?”

           Spencer pulls at the flimsy fabric harshly and it gives way under the force of it. He reaches back to stuff the thong in his back pocket.

           “That’s why.”

           Spencer’s lips come down against hers at the same time his middle and index fingers drag across her slickness. His foresight pays off when his mouth muffles the sound of her cries. As confident he is that they won’t be found, a cry like that would certainly have drawn unwanted attention.

           The swipe of his thumb across her crest paired with the gentle pressure of his fingers dipping into her heat is enough to make her legs buckle. Had it not been for Spencer pressing her against the wall, she surely would have fallen to the ground in a trembling heap.

           “I could get lost in you for hours,” Spencer groans, curling his fingers inside her in such a way that makes her clutch desperately to his shirt.

           “Spencer, oh my God,” she keens. “I need you, please.”

           “You have me, my love,” Spencer whispers the promise against her parted lips. “You’ve had me since the first moment I laid eyes on you.”

           Spencer speeds up the onslaught of his fingers until the telltale tightening of her heat warns him of her impending climax. He has to bite down on his lower lip to regain his own composure. The feeling of her tight and wet around his fingers is almost too good.

           “Spencer, I’m getting close,” she whimpers.

           Spencer continues until she’s on the cusp of tumbling over the edge, until one more pass of his fingers against her crest would surely seal the deal, and then he’s removing his hand and taking a step back.

           “Spencer, what the fu-,” she pauses when he promptly shoves his pants and underwear just enough to free himself from their painful confines. “Oh.”

           A dazed smile makes its way to her face as Spencer presses himself against her once more. He sweeps her up into a kiss comprised of pure, unadulterated desire, before pulling away and smirking deviously at her.

           “Jump.”

           It takes a moment for her pleasure fogged brain to make sense of the request, but as soon as it does, she complies without question.

           Spencer’s hands grip her thighs firmly and in one swift thrust he sheaths himself into her fully – an indulgence so grand that all others dull in comparison. Now that he’s had the finest, felt it wrapped around him like warm velvet, he can’t imagine a world in which he must live without it.

           “Spencer!”

           Spencer swears he’s never heard a sweeter sound than her crying out his name as their bodies come together for the first time. It’s synonymous with a siren call, he thinks, because in that moment she could lure him to certain death and he knows he would go with a smile.

           His lips seek purchase on the exposed skin of her chest as he buries himself in her paradise again and again. The sharp sting of her heels digging into his back with every thrust brings out a sort of primal urge in him, spurring him to rut up into her like a man possessed.

           “You feel perfect,” Spencer groans out against the flushed skin of her neck. He presses a soft kiss to where her pulse bounds just beneath the skin before pulling away and locking eyes with her. “When I’m old and gray and can remember nothing else, I’ll remember this. I’ll remember how it felt to kiss you for the first time – how it felt to touch you. How it felt to worship you and make love to your body.”

           Spencer’s voices catches, thick and overwhelmed with emotion.

           “I’ll remember how it feels to love you.”

           Her breath catches in her throat and sharp pang of panic burns hot in his chest. Had he misinterpreted her affections? Did she not burn for him in the same way? Perhaps the ambrosia meant nothing. Spencer’s movements falter, and for several torturous seconds he’s nearly paralyzed with fear.

            She silences those fears with a kiss.

           “Oh, Spencer,” she sighs as she presses her forehead against his. “I love you, too. More than you could ever comprehend.”

           Spencer resumes moving in and out of her, but the frenzied feeling from before is replaced with something else now. Something softer, but no less passionate.

           “Yeah?” he inquires, searching her eyes for any trace of insincerity. He finds none, and it’s a relief. Any hint of falseness in her claim would surely lead to a heartbreak he could never recover from.

           “Yes.” The word trails off into a moan. “I love you, Spencer Reid. I don’t imagine I’ll ever stop.”

           Spencer’s heart jolts and he whines pathetically against her mouth. “I’m counting on that.”

           “I’m close, Spencer,” she pants, her breath hitting his face in warm puffs. “Don’t think I can last much longer.”

           “Me, too.” Spencer nudges her nose with his own. “Reach between us and touch yourself, my love. I want us to cum together. Can you do that for me?”

           She nods, and the hand that clung to his right shoulder dips in between them to rub tight circles against her crest. Spencer doubles his efforts when he sees her eyelids flutter closed, and the resulting tightening of her core leaves him panting hard.

           “Spencer, I-” her breath catches in her throat as Spencer delivers a particularly strong thrust. Her head falls against his shoulder, her soft moans of his name like heaven to his ears.

           “Cum with me, baby,” Spencer grunts out desperately. He needs it like he needs air to breath and water to drink. And once he has it, he knows he’ll need it again and again.

           She gives it to him with a muffled cry of his name and he’s instantly swept away, drowning in the blissful way her body sings for him. His body follows her lead, shattering completely under her fingertips.

           While he’s been through similar acts with previous partners, those instances always felt impersonal and clinical. The caresses and whispered words were all a means to an end, an end that usually left him feeling lonelier and emptier than when he started. But right now, as he feels the beat of her heart pressed against his own, he swears he couldn’t feel fuller - full of adoration, full of affection, full of love. It’s beautiful and overwhelming and everything Spencer didn’t know he was looking for.

           A raucous round of applause erupts from the direction of the party, startling the two of them. Spencer feels her laugh against his neck.

           “It’s almost as if they were applauding us for a job well done.”

           Spencer presses a chaste kiss to the crown of her head.

           “As they should. That was sensational.”

           Spencer carefully pulls out and lowers her to the floor. He wastes no time in tilting her chin up and capturing her lips in a reverent kiss. Spencer hopes his lips convey his gratitude.

           The two of them pull apart and set to making themselves presentable. Their efforts prove to be in vain when Spencer points out a dark purple love bite nestled into the crook of her neck. She counters this by taking note of the smudge of red lipstick on his collar.

           “What an adulterous pair we make, Professor.”

           Spencer rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “I’m not your professor anymore.” He bends down and places a kiss to her lips before taking her hand in his.

           “I suppose you’re not,” she muses as they meander down the corridor. “Whatever shall we do now?”

           As the two of them step out of the dark hallway and reenter the party, Spencer smiles to himself. Visions of wedding rings flit through his mind. Spencer supposes he’ll have to take a break from the posh clothing and rare books in favor of saving his money. He’ll buy only the finest ring for his future wife, after all.

           “I have a few ideas.”

-

-

-

-

-

taglist: @90spumkin @moon-light-jukebox​ @whxt-to-write @calm-and-doctor @jessalyn-jpeg @pinkdiamond1016 @itsametaphorbriansblog @eldahae @itsmytimetoodream @kasaikawa @shadyladyperfection

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #professor!spencer #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds smut #matthew gray gubler fanfic #matthew gray gubler smut #matthew gray gubler #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #smut #professor!reid

[believinghurts]

Their Daughter

Chapter 5

Author’s note: I use Grammarly to fix my mistakes, but there could still be some so sorry for that. Also, I am getting back into writing and am hoping to have a few more works out soon! Please reblog, like, or comment feedback is appreciated.

Word Count: 4,400

Warnings: None? Sirius being a d*ck? Maybe language, but I don’t think so.

Regulus wasn’t sure how much time had passed as he stroked his niece's hair. He was mad at his brother for basically throwing away the only good thing that had ever come from the Black family. Sirius was too blinded by the past to see what was right in front of him. As children, Sirius often told Regulus that he was their family's favorite and that it bothered him, but if he knew what it was like to be less loved then how can he love Harry more than Ali? He understood that Harry was Sirius's Godson, but couldn’t he love Ali and Harry equally? If Sirius made the effort maybe Ali and the other children could even be friends. His heart ached from the emotional battle that Ali was going through right now. Even if Sirius didn’t see it, he and Remus did. Ali’s light was dimmer than before and when she was lighting up again after finding out Sirius never came for her, Sirius just had to go and snuffed it out.

Carefully sliding out from under Ali and placing a pillow under her head Regulus left the room. He shut the door behind him casting a locking spell so she wouldn’t be bothered. He needed to speak with Remus first before doing anything. They needed to decide what to do about Ali. As much as Regulus wanted to spend time with her before she went back to school he didn’t want her to be this upset anymore. He walked into the study to find Remus and Nymphadora sitting near the fireplace.

“How is she?” Nymphadora blurted the question as soon as she saw her cousin. Remus had owled her after Ali had gone to her room. The older sister in her wanted to go up to Sirius and give him a piece of her mind, but she knew that it wouldn’t do any good.

“She’s asleep for now. All the fighting has exhausted her. I honestly don’t know what to do. I want her here, this is her home, but if Sirius doesn’t stop acting like the brut that he is it is going to hurt her more. Speaking of Sirius, where is he? It’s quiet.” Regulus flopped down on the chair across from Remus and Nymphadora raking a hand through his hair. His worry for Ali was causing him a headache. On one hand, he wanted to send Ali to stay at the Malfoy Manor for the remainder of summer, but on the other, he wanted to hold her close and have her stay in her home where she belonged.

“Sirius left with Harry after you went upstairs. He hasn’t been home since. The Weasleys stepped out to Diagon Alley to get the kids stuff for school.” Remus replied. He was secretly thankful that the house was mainly empty. This way at least Ali could come down if she felt like it without the chance of someone bothering her. Remus was having the same thoughts as Regulus about keeping Ali at home virus's sending her to the Manor. He just wanted his niece to be happy. The hope that he had of Sirius and Ali having the father/daughter relationship was gone. If only Remus could get Sirius to open his eyes to the pain he was causing to the girl, but Sirius was nothing if not stubborn.

“I think I am going to write to Cissa and see if she can keep Ali for the rest of summer. If that’s what it takes for her to be happy then so be it. We can see her off at the -“

“I don’t want to leave,” Ali’s voice interrupted. “I want to stay here with you. Please don’t make me leave. I can handle it, I promise.”

Ali knew that she and Regulus were going to have to talk about the fact that she called him dad, but that was a private conversation. Right now she needed to convince the adults in the room that she didn’t need to leave. She could take Sirius. Yes the words that he had said hurt her and the actions he did tonight furthered that hurt in her heart, but she was done. She didn’t owe him anything, and it was clear she knew that he didn’t want to be her father. She had meant what she said to Regulus. He was her father in all the ways that counted. He loved her unconditionally, was always there for her, and protected her.

She went and sat on the couch in between Nymphadora and Remus who wrapped an arm around her pulling her close to his chest. “It might be best if you went and stayed for the rest of the summer at the Manor, Al. This isn’t good for you mentally. We all can see how drained you are.”

“No, this is my home. I can handle it. I have you all plus the older Weasleys and Fleur. You'll protect me and if I need to get away for a little bit I’ll owl Blaise or Draco to go to Diagon Alley or something. I want to spend time with you. Times are hard right now and you never know when you are going to lose someone and I would like to have as much time with each of you just in case.”

Regulus leaned forward taking Ali’s hand in his, “Nothing, and I mean nothing is going to happen to us. I love you more than you could ever imagine and if you want to stay here you can.” Ali smiles brightly at that before Regulus cut her off, “but you have to tell me, Remus, or Severus, if anything happens. And you have to come out of your room. I am not having you locking yourself away again. Got it?”

Ali pounced on Regulus, hugging his neck tight. She was excited to spend some more time with her family. She had meant what she said about never knowing when something was going to happen. Wizards had been disappearing all over London and she was genuinely scared something was going to happen to her loved ones. She was going to make it a point to take plenty of photos and make enough memories to last a lifetime the next couple of weeks.

Regulus held his niece tight, fighting back the tears when she whispered, “Thanks, Dad,” into his ear. He had been called a lot of things in his life, but this was one title he was going to wear proudly.

Remus’s voice interrupted the moment, “wait for a second, why are you going to owl Blaise? We have an agreement, young lady, no boys till you're thirty!”

Ali’s giggle was music to those in the room with her, and for the first time that summer they all saw Ali smile at home the brightest she had since everyone arrived.

————

The rest of the day was eventful which was something that everyone was thankful for. Nymphadora left shortly after spending some time with Ali since she had something to attend to with Moody, so that left Regulus, Ali, and Remus to watch the Star Wars movies in Ali’s room. Kreacher brought them snacks while they made a fort on the floor. Ali was incredibly content laying on the mounds of pillows in between her Uncles. When she was younger they would have movie nights like this once a month until she started Hogwarts. Even then she and her friends carried on the tradition in the boy's dorm since Draco was often present at the ones hosted at home. She wished that she could have Draco over now, but knew that if she brought him here then everyone in the house would throw a fit about it, maybe it was something to bring up to Regulus later.

Molly called them all down for dinner shortly after the second film ended. Leaving the mess on the floor the trio made their way downstairs with Ali trailing behind her Uncles. She could feel her nerves spike the closer she got to the dining room. She thought about excusing herself stating she wasn’t hungry, but the loud growl in her stomach gave her hunger away. Everyone had already sat down beside Harry and Sirius when they got into the room. Regulus pulled the seat out next to him for his niece. Fleur shot her a smile when she sat down by her uncle with Charlie on her other side. At least she was sitting near someone who didn’t hate her.

Chatter and the sounds of forks on plates filled the room as everyone got their fill of Molly’s meatballs and onion sauce. Everyone broke off into separate conversations. Remus, Regulus, and Arthur talking about the Ministry, the younger Weasleys, and Hermione talking about Quidditch, Bill and Fleur about their upcoming wedding, and Charlie and Ali talking about his work in Romania. “What are you planning on doing after you leave Hogwarts?”

Ali shot a glance over at Remus who was doing a terrible job of disguising his eavesdropping on the duo. “I am thinking about becoming a professor. I like creatures obviously so I was thinking something along those lines, but I also like Herbology. So maybe that. I just know I want to teach.”

Charlie shot her a grin. “Have you thought about where? I know Hogwarts has Sprout for Herbology and Hagrid was doing Care of Magical Creatures, but you still have three more years of school so maybe they’ll need someone by the time you're done.”

Ali shrugged her shoulders. In all honesty, she wanted to leave England and travel for a bit but knew that if she brought it up now it would be a fight or something so she bit her tongue. “Maybe.”

The noise came to a halt when the door slammed open in the living room. Everyone hopped to their feet, wands at the ready. It felt like hours had passed before the intruder walked through the door. “Sirius! Harry! Merlin, you scared us all.”

“Sorry, it’s raining hard and we were in a rush to get back home.” Sirius shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. Everyone retook their seats beside Milly who served Harry and Sirius. Ali tried her hardest to keep from looking at the latest duo that entered, not wanting to cause any more trouble or to give Sirius a reason to lash out at her.

Dinner passed rather quickly, conversations flowed in their small groups. Charlie had gone with Fleur and Bill on a scouting mission shortly after eating, while Fred and George worked on new products for their shop. Ali was in her head thinking about asking to go to meet Pansy in the coming days to look at a new book shop. Pansy wasn’t much of a reader but was always looking for an excuse to get out of her house. She was startled when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Looking up Molly was smiling softly at her while handing her a letter in a dark blue envelope. She instantly knew who the letter was from since only one person used that kind of envelope when writing her.

“This came for you, dear, when you were with your uncles. I didn't want to bother you then I almost forgot just now.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley.” Ali smiled at the kind woman. Despite her feelings towards most of the Weasley children, their parents were quite nice.

Molly patted her cheek before walking off. Ali started to rip the top off when she got Regulus’s eye and he winked at her. He knew who the letter was from having met the boy a few times already. Her cheeks flushed and continued to do so while reading it.

Dear Supernova,

I hope you are surviving the dreadfulness that is upon you right now with all the people in your house. Yes, Draco told me what was going on yesterday when I finally threatened to out his crush if he didn’t explain why we hadn’t been seeing you a lot this summer. I have to say I am quite hurt that you didn’t tell me yourself. Best friends I thought. Just joking, but seriously you could have told me about him and I wouldn't have said a word to anyone.

I miss you, Supernova. We’ve only got to see each other once this summer and we both know when school starts you will have a book shoved in front of your face in the first three minutes. Could we get together sometime this week? It has been awful at home and if I have to hear Draco's voice one more time without you there to tell him off for being annoying I may throw myself off the astronomy tower.

Your uncle may not agree, but you could come to stay at mine for a night. Mother agreed to it as long as Regulus does and we have separate rooms. If you can't, maybe I can come to you? I don’t really care what the redheads have to say about me being there so don’t worry about that. We have much to catch up on; like the fact that you got Headgirl and also didn’t write and tell me. I had to find that little tidbit out from Parkinson's. Don’t worry we’ll catch up whether that's soon or on the train.

love,

Zabini

Ali felt a pang of guilt hit her square in the chest. She hadn’t meant to forget to fill Blaise in on her life but it had been so crazy recently she hadn’t got to write anyone much. In all the truth no one knew that she had gotten Headgirl. She had gotten the letter from Flitwich a few days after the Weasley’s arrived and completely forgot. Although she told her Uncles she didn’t want to go anywhere spending some time with Blaise sounded nice. Deciding to just rip the bandaid off she looked up to find Regulus and Remus looking at her with amused smiles on their faces.

“What’s you got there, Ali?” Remus asked, causing her cheeks to flame red. She wasn’t scared to say that she wanted to hang out with a boy. She did it all the time whether it was Blaise, Theo, or Draco; it was more to do with the fact that she was about to ask to spend the night at a boys' house. Even if they were going to be in separate rooms and they had fallen asleep cuddled together weeks prior at the Malfoys, something none of her Uncles knew, it was going to be a little fight to get Remus to agree as he made the ‘no dating till you’re thirty’ rule when she was five and asked for a boyfriend for Christmas.

Looking around she noticed all attention was on her even if the other adults in the room were making it seem like they weren’t listening while the children openly gawked. “Uhm,” she was cut off by Severus stepping into the room. Great, now she had to face all three Uncles. Where were Dora and Cissa when she needed them?

Severus hugged her quickly before taking a place by Regulus. “Who's the letter from Ali?” He asked her letting her know there was no getting out of it and that she was going to have to spill the beans.

“It’s from Blaise,” A look of amusement passed Regulus’s face, making her think that he knew what was in the letter already while Remus looked like he was going to snatch the letter out of her hands and read it himself if she didn’t hurry up.

“And what possibly could it say to have your cheeks looking like the inside of Gryffindor common room?” Regulus teased further.

She coughed trying to get her nerves resealed. “He was saying that we need to catch up before school starts, and invited me to come and stay with him and Mrs. Zabini for a night this week.”

Remus grunted while Regulus smiled. Ali had to hide a giggle as she noticed all the other mouths in the room had dropped to the floor. Ali knew that except for Hermione and Harry the Weasley’s never stayed or had anyone else with them.

“Can I, please? His mother said we would have separate rooms and she will be there as well as the house-elves. We only got to see one another once this summer. He said if I can’t he could come here, but honestly, I think the first option is better. Please?” She pulled out her best puppy eyes and pouty lip. She was not above begging for it but didn’t want to do so with everyone staring at her.

Regulus looked over at Remus. Ali could see the silent conversation going on between them. Regulus’s head inclined slightly toward Ali which she hoped to Merlin was a good thing. Remus looked back at his niece with a look in his eye she couldn’t read. “Rosalynn said you’ll have separate rooms?” Ali nodded her head so fast she almost gave herself whiplash. “And you’ll stay in them?” Once again she nodded, although she knew that they more than likely would be in the family room till late hours in the night. He looked back at Regulus, “you have no problems with her going?”

“No, I already knew about it. Rosalynn wrote about two days ago. If she wants to go, that's fine. You know Rosalynn will look after her as she does Blaise. And the Heavens know that boy would jump in front of the Knight Bus for Ali.” Regulus chuckled at Ali's shocked expression.

“Y-you knew? Why didn’t you say anything?” Ali struggled to get the words out.

“Rosalynn said Blaise wanted to ask you. She was just giving me a heads up, knowing how Remus is with boys and you. You know we talked quite often, Als.” Regulus winked at her.

“You may go,” Remus stated. She was shocked she didn’t have to put up more of a fight.

“WHAT?” Sirius shrieked. He knew that Regulus would let her go to the Death Eaters house, but Remus? He thought he could count on his ‘friend’ to at least say no. “You’re letting her go to the Death Eaters house? AGAIN? Who's also a boy and staying the night? Are you mad?”

Remus looked at Sirius with disdain, “No I am not. She is a good girl and Blaise has been her friend for years. Rosalynn loves her as much as we do and would never let anything happen. And for God's sake quit calling everyone a Death Eater.”

“Outrageous.”

“Sirius, you have no say in what she does. You gave that up last night. Ali is a good girl who makes good choices. Not only that but she also deserves a little something since she got Headgirl this year, don’t you think?” Regulus smirked as he saw the Granger girl's face fall.

“You got Headgirl?” Hermione whispered to Ali with disbelief lacing her voice.

“Yeah, I did. Draco got Headboy I believe, but it may be Theo. I haven’t asked yet.”

“Why do you and Draco get Head of Houses? Why not Hermione and -“ Ali cut her dear Godbrother off.

“And who? You? Ron? Why would any of you get Head of Houses with all the trouble you bring in? Sneaking out, stealing things, picking fights. We do have the highest marks in most classes as well as treat others equally unlike the likes of you.”

If looks could kill Ali would be dead three times over. In all honesty, she kinda felt bad for the younger Weasley boy seeing as all of his older brothers, bar Fred and George had been Headboy. But then she thought about the trouble he and his friends had caused her and her friends as well as others over the years. Harry preached about equality among the houses but she had witnessed many times when younger Slytherins were picked on by Gryiffndors. Hufflepuffs generally didn't have any problems with the other houses so long as everyone was being just. Ravenclaws tended to keep to themselves unless it really involved them. Whereas Slytherins preferred to stand up to those picking on other Slytherins especially the younger ones. Slytherins were always made out to be the bullies when in general if you got to know them people would notice that they are a lot more than what their parents used to be.

Ally had heard the stories of how mean James and Sirius were to those in Slytherin even if they never did anything to them. She believed in harmless fun could be had pulling pranks, but tricking someone into going to a place where a werewolf was was downright cruel. She had no doubts in her mind that James and Sirius were once good people like her Uncle Remus is now, but seeing as Sirius still acts like a child those doubts were becoming known.

“I just think that Slytherins shouldn’t be Head of House when all you will do is favor your own, and treat everyone else like dirt,” Ron stated.

“Ronald Weasley! How dare you say such a thing?!” Molly exclaimed.

“It’s alright Mrs. Weasey. I am used to hearing such things come from them and others in their house,” Ali looked Ron in the eyes, “You seem to forget that I’m a Ravenclaw, not a Slytherin. I do not favor anyone and will not when I start Head Girl duties but know this. I will give you as many detentions as you deserve if you are caught bullying, harassing, belittling, any of the other houses. You may think that Gryiffndors are the bravest of the houses and maybe you are in some ways, but you are cowardly in others. Maybe some Slytherins are as bad as you make them seem, but Harry,” she turned her head slightly to the side, “you seem to forget just which house Peter Pettigrew was in when he was the one who betrayed your parents. And Regulus was in Slytherin but seems to be more loyal to his friends and family than that rat was.”

“It seems that Alianova has given you all something to think about as you're getting ready for bed,” Molly stated looking at all the children present in the room. Her face grew red when she saw that none of them had moved a muscle. “Now.”

Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny, jumped from their seats and booked it to the stairs scared of Mrs. Weasley’s wrath. At some point, Charlie, Fluer, and Bill came back from scouting. Charlie ruffled Ali’s hair causing her to grin. “Good job, kid. You’ll make a great Head Girl.” Bill and Fleur nodded in agreement. “Nothing happened while we were out. We’ll give a full debrief tomorrow, but we will be heading to bed as well. Good night everyone.”

Molly walked to Ali and pulled her up out of her chair before placing both hands on Ali’s pale cheeks. “Don’t you worry, dear, I will be talking with all of them in the morning. You made a lot of valid points, and I for one am proud that you are Head Girl.”

She kissed her forehead before taking her husband to go to bed after waving her wand to get the kitchen clean once again. Arthur offered Ali a small smile before disappearing behind his wife. Sirius scoffed at the behavior which everyone heard but chose to ignore.

Ali turned to her three Uncles, waiting for the answer about going to her friends, and the scene that just played out in the kitchen.

“I am proud of you as well, Alianova. You have done excellent, and I know it is Remus and Regulus' decision about going to Blaises’, but I see no problem with it. I will stay in the guest room. Come get me if you need me. Good night, Ali.” He hugged her tightly, making Ali tear up slightly at the thought of Servus being proud of her. It also made her giddy at the thought of rubbing it in Draco’s face since Severus is his Godfather and never said such a thing to him.

Remus followed after Servus, wrapping his niece in a bear hug around her shoulders. The height difference amusing Regulus to no end seeing as Ali only came about midway in Remus’s chest. “You may go as long as it’s okay with Reg, and you stay in separate rooms. I am a little mad though that you didn’t tell me yourself about getting Head Girl, but I am still incredibly proud of you. No one deserves this more than you do, not even Harry.” The last part was whispered in her ear. He kissed her forehead, before heading to his room.

With the three Blacks being the only ones left in the room. “I don’t think you should go.” Sirius’s voice was venomous as he thought about his only child, his legacy, spending time with Death Eaters.

“It’s a good thing it doesn’t matter what you think isn’t it?” Regulus smirked at his older brother. He was not going to take this away from his child. “Ali, you may go so long as you stay in your separate rooms whenever the two of you decide to go to sleep because I know from having all your mates over it will be late.” He walked to Ali cradling her freckled face in his hands. “I am so proud to call you my daughter. Even after all that you have been through in your life you have still managed to form your own beliefs and thoughts as well as stand up for them. You deserve Head Girl over anyone else, and hopefully, you get to share it with one of your friends.”

Ali dove into her Uncle's chest. Tears welling up into her eyes at the thought that he really did think of her as his own even if she already knew it. It was nice to hear out loud. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I love you, dad.” She kissed his cheek before heading to her room to write Blaise.

Sirius felt his anger sore to new heights when he heard Ali call Regulus dad. He had enough courtesy to wait till she was out of earshot before grounding out, “We need to talk, Regulus.”

#harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #remus lupin #sirius black #regulus black x niece!reader #remus lupin x niece!reader #harry potter oc #severus snape x niece!reader #sirius black x daughter!reader #draco malfoy x platonic!reader #blaise zabini x reader

[jiminzfilter]

slow dancing in the night

→ Pairing. Taehyung x reader

→ Genre. established relationship, fluff, slice of life, model!taehyung, model!reader, taehyung missed you a lot, he is starving (his words not mine), gets a bit hot by the last 40 lines, mentions of oral (f) so I guess this counts as mature content, implied smut, making out (kinda), there is a bit of swearing

→ Summary. what could possibly be better than coming home after a long day of work to someone you love and missed a lot ?

→ Word count. 3.2k (!!!)

→ because I wrote this over a year ago when I still didn't know what I was doing with my writing, I had to go through a deep process of editing and re-writing before posting it. This might not be my best work but it's still a fic that I really really like :,)

→ song rec. slow dancing in the dark, Joji// still with you, Jungkook

Fridays have always been exhausting days for both you and your boyfriend, especially on runways weeks. As models, you were put under a lot of pressure.

Pressure to be perfect, to smile but never smile too much, to look good, to not fall on stage.

Falling has to be the most tragic thing that can happen to your carreer as a model, the hungry stares of thousands of photographers and reporters ready to share the latest news to the press.

Yeah, it was exhausting.

This week was no exception... or maybe it was since, this time, you were the only one working until late.

It’s four in the morning and you’re already on your way out - kind of running late, oBviOusLy - quietly wishing your boyfriend a good day.

He is not working today.

That lucky bastard.

He gets to enjoy his free day in bed, lazing around, while you work your ass off all day. He mumbles something that you assume is a sort of goodbye. He is still asleep.

You look at him one last time before leaving the room and smile. He looks so peaceful.

You still remember the day you met, by pure luck even though you both call that fate. That was 5 years ago, when you just debuted your career as a model and were not that comfortable around high heels.

Okay no. Let’s be real.

You hated wearing them because you couldn’t walk in heels higher than 5 cm.

It’s still a wonder how you managed to make it in the first place.

Were you wearing flat shoes for the audition ? Damn you really must’ve done an impression on the judges if they made you pass without the heels try-on.

Your first day at the agency was chaotic to say the least. Your manager made you walk around the building, to visit she said. She made you wear heels. HEELS. That devilish person.

But, thank to that, you got to meet Taehyung. Your eyes landed on him as you were visiting the lounge and couldn’t tear them away from his figure. The poor man had to witness you fall down because you weren’t watching your steps anymore.

I mean.

Who could blame you ??

That was Kim frEaking Taehyung

!!!

He even came to help you get back on your feet and asked if you were alright, kind of amused.

It’s not everyday you see someone falling down in here, let alone a newbie

Let’s be honest, you were so embarrassed.

First day of work and you’re already failing falling.

That night when you came home, you spent the night wearing heels and prayed really hard you’d never have to face him again. After all, the building was big enough and there were enough workers that you could avoid Taehyung easily

If only

The NeXt day, you were told that you had a couple shooting, with none other that Kim Taehyung.

GreaT

He would occasionally tease you about your fall and check on you to see if everything was alright. He watched you carefully as you were walking around with heels.

From up close he looked even more handsome.... :)

After this day, you started talking with Taehyung more and more. He introduced you to everyone around the agency. You met outside of work, got to know each other. You both became regally good friends but there was something lingering in the air, in the way you’d look at each other or stood so close to him after a couple glasses of wine that you could breathe his air.

So what was bound to happen happened and you went from friends a to lovers without really noticing it.

He was still your best friend...somehow

Eventually, you took things to the next level and moved in together... maybe a half and a year ago or so ? You’ve never been happier in your life

And, well, you’d actually be happier if you could spend the day with boyfriend instead of running around trying to find god knows which accessories you need for the rehearsal.

8 in the morning is noT a time to be doing cardio.

Especially while wearing heels

Become a model they said, it’ll be fun they said

“Y/n! Come here please I need you to try on this dress before you go!” Your personal stylist calls “I made sure to fix it yesterday so it’d be a perfect fit for the show”

You stop your tracks and go to her “make this quick i have to go get changed before 9 otherwise I’m screwed. Why did they even decide to do the rehearsals so early today ?” You sigh, frustrated, and put on the dress she’s handing you “thank you”

“Okayyy...it looks great. Gold looks amazing on you.” She smoothes the dress and gives an approving nod, visibly satisfied ; “You’ll look perfect for the Grand Finale. Oh god it’s already 8:30 you better go before Mr.Kim throws a fit because you’re late”

You both giggle ; “thank you for fixing the dress Naeun, see you later today. Well, probably tonight. Byeeee”

The rehearsal seems to never end. You’re squeezed in dozens of different outfits, gorgeous for sure but sO tight. Mr. Kim, the one who organised the runway, is such a perfectionist that you have to re-do some things multiple times before he’s satisfied. One time the lighting isn’t right, the other the models are walking too fast, not on beat and so on.

Everyone hates him for that but he always makes the best shows so you just follow.

After multiple tries, the rehearsal finally comes to an end. It’s already 4PM. You barely get time to breathe and go pee before you’re back into the ‘running-around-to-find-my-dress-and-fix-my-makeup-oh-god-i-gotta-be-on-stage’ crazy mess.

Walking on the runway feels amazing, running backstage is terrible.

It’s so hot and small back there you can hardly move around well.

It takes 2 hours for the whole fashion show to be over, one more for pictures outside the catwalk and chat with reporters. Since you’re kind of a famous model now, you get invited to the afterparty and spend few extra hours interacting with some celebrities that attended the show. Other models were invited and you’re happy to see familiar faces amongst them. Jimin, an old colleague and friend of yours, comes your way and compliments you. You chat with him for a while before deciding you’ve had enough for the day and leave the party. A few more people greet you on your way out.

A taxi takes you back to you company, where you left your stuff in the morning. You spend an extra thirty minutes getting rid of your heavy makeup and striping off that gorgeous but awfully tight golden dress you’ve been wearing ever since the end of the runway.

Now, you can FinaLLy go home. yassssss

It’s almost 12am when you leave the agency and climb into yet another taxi. The ride is quiet, background music playing over the car’s radio, and you take some time to look at what you were gifted for your performance : fancy makeup products, accessories, pieces of clothing-but not those from the runway, you sadly never get to keep those. Being kinda famous has its perks :,)

You then decide it’s time to warn Taehyung you’ll arrive soon and send him a few texts. As if he was waiting for them, he instantly replies saying he’ll be waiting for you and proceeds to spam you with heart emojis. Sometimes, it looks like this man just discovered what emojis were and is trying to use them as much as possible. What a child…

It’s way past midnight when you finally step into your duplex and the first thing you notice is that the place is way too quiet.

Maybe Tae went back to sleep, who knows, it’s super late after all…

:(

You remove shoes and jacket and drop your bags in the entrance before going further and you call out quietly “anyone here? Tae, you sleeping?”

There is a faint glow from the tv on your right but the sound has been muted.

Weird…

“Taehyung ?" You call one last time

Suddenly, two strong arms wrap themselves around your waist and you’re pulled into someone’s chest. You gasp, almost scream, but soften up when you feel the warmth on your back

“Hi baby” a deep voice says in your ear, sending chills down your spine “I missed you”

You turn around and are very pleased to see a handsome face and a warm exposed chest your boyfriend smiling at you.

“Mhm, missed you too” You wrap your arms around him and rest your head against his chest, happy to hear his heartbeat. Taehyung places his head atop of yours and gently strokes your hair. You tighten your grasp around him and hum.

Few seconds later, he lifts your chin up and gently lays a kiss on your lips.

“How are you doing?” He asks, his right hand cupping your cheek. The warmth of it is comforting.

“Exhausted, but you know how it goes” You shrug and he smiles

“Not too tired for dinner ? I could cook something if you want”

“Mhm... let me just go shower and put something else on” You sadly let go of him

“Sure, go ahead” he whispers and you give him a kiss before regretfully tearing yourself away from him.

You walk up the stairs to your bedroom, where you find the bed undone. You smile, Taehyung never really liked making the bed and, very honestly, neither did you. You slump onto the mattress and bury your face into the pillows, inhaling his scent. Lavender. Relaxing. Just like he is.

After a warm shower, you find a t-shirt Taehyung left on a chair in the room and wear it. It’s big enough to reach your thighs and, if you were more energised, you’d probably stay like this. You grab large pants and put them on.

Once again, you smell lavender all around you.

When you’re back in the living area, you see Taehyung busying himself in the kitchen. He hears your steps and his eyes find yours as a smile appears on his face when he notices that you’re wearing his shirt

“My shirt looks better on you than it’d ever do on me” He teases, his gaze longing on your frame.

“maybe I should keep it then” you smile and ask ; ”Do you need any help?”

“no no no no no, you’ve worked enough already. Go and have some rest. I'll call you when everything’s ready okay?”

Too tired to argue on this anyways -and thankful for the given rest-, you go lay down on the couch, your body oriented to let you look at Taehyung.

As he hums and moves to the chill music that was playing in the background, you start to detail his beautiful figure. From the curl of his dark hair (which you knoW are so so soft to the touch) to his beautiful profile and his nose you love so much down to his broad shoulder and then his tanned abs you see from time to time when the opened shirt of his pyjama moves according to his steps.

oH! Let’s not forget his perfect hands gripping at the pan’s handle while he cooks… vegetables? Something like that yeah.

Taehyung is giving his best into what he’s cooking. Vegetables with rice, that’s the only thing he could do quickly.

Quickly as in less than half an hour, unlike his friend Namjoon who’d take this time just to cook the rice.

The music he put earlier is slowly starting to bore him. After washing his hands, he reaches out for his phone and plays a different playlist. It’s one you name yourself when the two of you were still friends (aka not dating yet). “Taetae fm” because you once joked he should have his own broadcasting channel on the radio. He’d always criticise the music playing so why not have his own channel 👀

“You know Y/n, I actually watched the fashion show live this afternoon. I mean, of course you know because I always do that haha. Anyways, you really were the highlight of the runway tonight. And I’m not saying this in a biased point of view. Okay I might be a bit biased as your boyfriend but I swear that it’s true!! You literally shone back there, especially in that gold dress you were wearing and even the audience was impressed by your looks maybe you didn’t see it on stage but some cameras filmed their reactions and everyone was looking at you. Really, you were so gorge-oh” Taehyung looks at you and smile fondly “Of course you’re asleep, baby”

He lets his phone aside and checks the now cooked food before making his way to the couch. There’s a blanket on the sofa, he covers you with it, scared you might get cold. Taehyung put a loose strand of hair behind your ear and places a kiss on your chin.

You slowly open your eyes and find yourself face to face with him. You both smile.

“Hi there beautiful” He whispers

“what time is it? Did I sleep until the morning?” You’re scared of having slept through the entire nap without realising

“almost 1:20am, I just finished cooking. I thought you might be cold so I went to cover you with the blanket. You should go enjoy the food while it��s still hot, imma go to the toilet”

You nod as an answer and watch him leave upstairs. Getting up from the warmth of the couch is the hardest part so you keep the soft blanket draped around your shoulders and walk towards the kitchen. You grab two bowls and two pairs of chopsticks that you place on the counter along with glasses and a bottle of water.

You then go take care of the rice and the vegetables, which you mix in the pan. The song playing changes and your favourite nighttime tune starts.

“I don’t want a friend, I want my life in two” you sing along

“Waiting to get there, waiting for you” Taehyung’s voice startles you as he grabs your wrists and pulls your back close to him. You smile as he makes the both of you dance slowly. You put his arms around you so it’s like he’s hugging you from the back. You swing around for a little while, enjoying the close proximity as you both softly hum the song, making your body vibrate against each other, moving in perfect coordination.

“I love you” he whispers in your ear and then kisses it, sending chills down your spine, before lifting one of your arm up to make you turn so that you’re now facing him “did my baby sleep well?” You nod as you place your arms around his waist, paying attention to go under the shirt so you’re touching as much skin as possible.

Taehyung chuckles before asking you in that same, chill-sending, low deep voice ; “Still hungry? Because I’m starving”

If you didn’t just wake up, you would’ve definitely caught that lust in his eyes and also the fact that this wasn’t as innocent as it seemed.

As an answer, your stomach growls pretty loudly, making Taehyung laugh . “I’ll take that as a yes. Sit down, princess. Let me take care of you”

You do as he says, jumping on a stool, detailing all of his moves. You only realise how hungry you actually were when you start eating. Rice with vegetables has never tastes better. You eat everything in less than 5 minutes when you’d usually take your time to finish your plate.

“Damn, that was a well needed dinner! Thank you Tae” you mess a bit with his soft locks

“Imagine me who was waiting for you all evening!! I was hungry too” He pouts.

“Oh come on, I was working today. Cardio in heels isn’t the best way to wake up, let alone spend the whole day standing in tight clothes. When I think you has a day off… pfff. I saw the bed, I’m sure you stayed there all day, you lazyyyyyyyyy ass.”

He mumbles some gibberish and you giggle, knowing that you're right. He looks away, crossing his arms and obviously sulking. You leave your stool and stand behind him, wrapping your arms around his neck. You leave a few kisses on his cheek and neck

“- Don’t be such a babyy. You know I love you.

- You do?

- of course, you dummy” you bop his nose "Sooo, what do we have for desert?

- You. Uh I mean!! Yoghurt, fruits, cakes, fruits…anything” he clears his throat

“Great! What do you prefer?” You open the fridge

“ I’d very happily eat you out honestly but an apple sounds good”

“Oh sur- wait whaT!?” You snap your head to him, eyes wide open

what did he sayyyyyyyy?????

whaT am I even supposed to say noW oh my goddddd

You close the fridge’s door, suddenly not so yogurt-hungry.

There’s a sudden silence between the two of you, only disturbed by the music still playing in the background.

“Mhm? What is it?” He turns around to face you, asking so innocently “did I say something wrong ?”

This man knows what he is doing for sure. Has he ever been that straightforward before ?

Taehyung stands and closes the distance between your bodies, now towering over you.

He lowers himself slightly to speak in your ear “what is it baby? Mhm?” You feel his smile on your cheek when he lays a kiss on it “what happened to my all proud and fierce y/n who was so confident telling me I was being lazy all day, huh? Tell me” He lays another kiss on your temple

OkaY

now he’s being a tease

Great

1 A.M. fluffy and bare chested teaser Taehyung

gReAT

Anyhow, it’s a good turn on.

Really.good.freaking.turn.on

Being tired and turned on was definitely not a good mix for you. You could feel the heat rising in your body and hear your heart pounding in your ears.

“Tae��”

He laughs gently seeing you silently begging for more, brushing your face with his lips, teasing another kiss.

“Tsk tsk, you gotta speak darling, I cannot guess”

You should calm down and go to sleep, it’s 1am and you have work tomorrow you should definitely-

“Fuck-“ You sigh and grab his face, sealing your lips together while closing your eyes.

It doesn’t take long for that kiss to turn into a heated make out session.

You grab and pull some of his dark curls while his hands travels under his your shirt.

You break the kiss just a second to catch your breath.

“Have i ever told you you have the perfect body?” Taehyung asks

“Did I ever tell you how perfect you are??” You reply

He laughs, deep raspy laugh.

You’re too tired for this

And because you’re tired, you’re even more horny :D

Taehyung puts his hands behind your thighs and you jump, locking your legs around his waist, hands still in his hair, lips against his while carries you to the bedroom.

He leaves your lips to travel down your jaw and then collarbone. You throw your head back.

Taehyung gently lays you on the mattress of your king sized bed and makes it his personal mission to pleasure you tonight.

#taehyung fics #taehyung fanfic #kim taehyung au #taehyung fluff #bts fanfic #taehyung #taehyung ff #fluff #implied smut #model taehyung #bts fics #taehyung oneshot #taehyung one shots #taehyung one-shots #taehyung smut #kim taehyung x reader #taehyung au #it's 2am what am I doing #slow dancing in the night

[mountswhore]

𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐢’𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐚𝐲 — mason mount

summary: it had become a chore to bring your things back and forth from mason’s home, so he made your life a little bit easier.

notes: requests are open, just ask! <3

for @stephspurs

“Good evening, bubs.” Mason wearily spoke, walking down his stairs as you arrived. You’d just come from work, stopping at home to grab your things as you stayed at Mason’s tonight. It was a weekly thing, staying over from Thursday to Sunday, and bringing a whole bag of things from home. Important things; like your toothbrush, your skin care products, and hairbrush. It wasn’t so much your clothes you were worried about forgetting, because you always ended up in one of Mason’s hoodies or shirts.

“Hey,” you yawned, putting your bag against the door of the living room and embracing your boyfriend, “how was training?” Mason just shrugged and kept you close to his chest, having missed you since Sunday the week before.

You’d grabbed your bag and trudged upstairs, putting it in it’s usual space beside Mason’s drawers. You’d started to unpack your things, as you’d be here for the remainder of the week. Putting all of your skin care into the bathroom, along with your toothbrush and hair brush. Your clothes just stayed in a neat pile beside the drawer, and your bag would be left empty until the dreaded Sunday evening.

“You know I don’t have work tomorrow.” You announced, rising to your feet and straddling Mason as he sat on the edge of his bed. His devilish smirk had appeared, hands finding the curves of your waist and squeezing them tightly.

“Really?” He questioned, watching the smirk form on your face to match his own.

“Well, I think I could manage to get the day off. I’ve been doing well recently.” Mason rarely gave himself props for how hard he works, that’s why it’s usually your job to do it. He worked too hard, even. Not know when to stop and have a rest, which is why it was so important for you to see him on the weekend. Because God knows if you didn’t, he’d be pushing his body to the limit.

“Wonderful. What do you say to ordering?” You asked, seeing Mason nod his head rapidly and push you off of him. He dived for his phone as you stretched your legs, limbs aching after a heavy day of work. What you needed was a bath, and so did Mason. As he placed an order, not even needing to ask what you wanted, you’d started a bath and rested your forearms on the windowsill to stare outside.

It was raining, your all-time favourite forecast. Mason would be less likely to train, you loved the sound of rain on your windscreen, and it made the best light to cuddle in. It wasn’t too dark that you needed a lamp, just an open blind to let the minimal light in. Mason was lucky enough to have a skylight above his bed, which you’d always look up at as it rained. You’d been caught off-guard when Mason wrapped his arms around you, still able to rest his head atop yours despite being on a stool.

“A bath, hm? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re trying to woo me, Y/N.” He flirted, his hands reattaching to your waist. You’d just rested into his touch, feeling so much better since arriving at his. You’d both gotten into the bath, enjoying the feel of each other’s skin, as well as the hot water surrounding you both. Mason placed a few mere kisses on your shoulder, not feeling anything but peace as he held you close.

A short while after, the pair of you were stood in front of his bathroom mirror and doing skincare. Mason hadn’t the slightest clue on what any of the products did, but he watched you intently as you explained and applied it to his own face exactly how you did yours. He couldn’t deny how clean he felt after doing so, sitting on the couch with you as you ate your food. Nights with you were undeniably better than being alone — if only you knew how soothing you were to be around.

Sunday had come around, Mason had watched you pack your bag for the past 20 minutes. He sat in bed and stared with an obvious frown on his face, as you folded your clothes and shoved them in. You had enjoyed your long weekend at Mason’s, but now it was back to work.

“Mase,” you called out, not taking your eyes from your pile beside you, “could you grab my skincare stuff from the bathroom?” He hummed and quickly jumped out of bed, reading them out as he handed them to you.

“Face scrub,” he named them one by one, throwing them into your hands, “moisturiser,” he almost laughed at how ridiculous the names sounded, “blemish treatment, this has acid in it?” You let out a chuckle and took the tube from him, waiting for the rest. “Skin purifier,” returning to reading their names aloud and pulling faces at them, “anti-redness formula,” his brows tugged together at the thought of all of this on your face every night, “hydrating mist, this can’t be real.”

You groaned as you tugged your large bag to your car, waving at a displeased Mason, before leaving his home for a few days. You knew he’d FaceTime you the second you got home, and wouldn’t leave you alone until you were asleep later that night.

But there were a few hours you were sat at home, without Mason on the other line, as you told him you had paperwork to catch up on. He took this time to sit at his pc, planning to play a game, but instead looking up those ridiculous products you had. He’d slowly added each one to his basket, remembering what each bottle looked like, before paying. He’d even bought a bag with an ‘M’ on it, for ‘Mason’s house’. He’d bought you your own skincare bag to keep here when you visit him. To say this man was in deep love would be an understatement.

The next time you saw him was actually on the Wednesday, two days before you’d planned to go over. He’d asked for you to quickly go to his and wait for a package, as he was at training but couldn’t miss it. So you did. You let yourself in with the key he made you, lounging on his sofa until the package had arrived. Mason following thirty minutes after it.

“Evening, bubs.” He greeted, almost zooming through the door and grabbing the package, heading to the bathroom. You shrugged, continuing your scrolling through TikTok and waiting for your boyfriend to return from upstairs. He’d been a while now, and just as you were about to go up and check on him, he’d strolled down in just some shorts.

“Sorry, I wanted a shower before I hugged you properly.” Mason clarified, wrapping his arms around you tightly, eager to show you his surprise. “Why don’t you stay the night? I mean, you’re already here.” He made a good argument, and it was so very tempting to just do it.

“I have none of my things.” You complained as he led you up the stairs and into his room. He just smirked and stood behind you, the worry on your face becoming clear now. “What are you doing, you freak?”

Mason led you to his bathroom, the bag sitting pretty on his counter. Finally, he’d removed his hands from your eyes as you studied the bag. Slowly zipping it open, everything you usually use was in there. “You bought this all for me?” You were shocked at the gesture, watching as he nodded. The look in his eye was that of complete infatuation.

“I don’t deserve you.” You simply stated against his lips, kissing them a million times over. Mason giggled and smoothed your hair back from your face, a habit he’d picked up since you first began dating. “Do you know how expensive skincare is?”

“It’s a price I’m willing to pay if it means you don’t have to drag that heavy bag around.”

#money mase #mason mount x reader #mason mount smut #mason mount imagine #mason mount blurb #mason mount

[libraford]

I owe you all a story about kittens. But its about... a little more than kittens. It's a long one.

I want to tell you all about the kittens, which took place in 2019. But in order to do so, I have to take you back even further, to March of 2018, and concludes in 2021. Because it's about kittens, but it's also about business and all the things that can go wrong.

In March 2018, tragedy struck. The owner of the flower shop died unexpectedly, leaving the business to four capable managers. One of those managers was the man that had hired me, leaving a power vacuum at our location. Grandpa was not the first choice to take the lead, but she stepped up and she became manager. In my opinion, there was no better person for the role: she had only ever worked in the flower industry (assuming we're not counting the one week in 1976 when she worked at a pizza parlor,) and as such she knew the business inside and out.

Prior to this, she had taught all of the designers and practically ran the place when the boss was out, so it was the next logical step. And it was good.

Of course, we had our ups and downs. What I did not realize when I joined the flower shop is that the flower industry is volatile- there are so many variables that went into the creation of floral pieces and if there is one misstep you can be set back anywhere from a day to several thousand dollars. There are late deliveries, there are frightening brides, there are missing piñatas… van fires, flower snobs, color corrections, failed psychics, friends, enemies…

You can set the bar so very low and yet…

The rise and fall of drama at this particular flower shop could be dictated into hours and minutes because sometimes you need to hire people just to fill that space. Grandpa was on record by saying 'if they can walk, talk, and spell their name, hire them.' Even so, we were critically understaffed most of the time because if you hire anyone you're going to get a lot of quitters.

It's a tough cycle to break, and our power was limited.

And we had bigger fish to fry: we had an average of thirty funerals, two weddings, and well over six hundred deliveries per week. Business was booming and we just had to keep up- if you make it one week after the next it doesn't feel so bad.

By March of the following year, the four owners had whittled down to two: my former boss and the former webmaster. We had a district manager now, some kind of accounts position… things like that. It was kind of astonishing that before this, all the work had been done by a single man. But the secrets to his success had died with him.

Things were looking good, actually: the flower business was full of life! We were doing all kinds of special events, starting contracts with businesses and getting our name out there. Drama still plagued us, but as far as I'm aware, that's par for the course for flower shops.

Then, in May 2019, tragedy struck. A tornado ripped straight down the street of our headquarters, demolishing the greenhouse and the historical building that it all started in. No one was injured, but the damages were devastating. Despite all this, we kept working.

We worked hard. And hard. And hard.

And though the new warehouse wasn't slated to be finished until 2021, we reached an equilibrium where things were okay.

But before I get to that, I made a promise to you.

It was a hot day in August and I was walking into my closing shift at 10am. After two years of working with roughly the same people, you got to learning how to tell when something was happening. I walked in to everyone staring at me and acting 'natural.' It never looks natural.

In the back of the store, there was a box that Cherry was standing very purposely in front of.

"What's in the-"

"Sh!" Grandpa spied through the window in the cooler door as someone swung out with a purchase. "Did you find something you like," she asked the customer, trotting over to help him at the register.

"What's happening," I asked Blue.

"Nothings happening, it just kind of… happened."

"Blue… what does that MEAN?"

"There's a customer here, I can't talk about it."

I am bursting at the seams to know what's going on.

Grandpa fared the customer well and went back to her station behind the computer. "Open the box," she said.

Ominous, but okay. I go over to the box and Cherry steps aside. There's something moving inside the box and I wonder if Pam's daughter had folded herself into a box to ride out a panic attack again. I carefully opened the flaps of the box and accidentally disturbed the sleep of-

Four.

Tiny.

KITTENS!

Oh my god, it was the most adorable thing in the world and the poor things were screaming because they had only known the world for a few weeks and everything was strange and blurry and all they knew to do was cuddle for warmth and scream. The box consisted of two black kittens, one tuxedo kitten, and a white seal-point with terminal eye goop.

They immediately started climbing up my arm.

"Not that I'm not thrilled, but… why?"

"Stray cat left her babies out by my pond and wasn't just gonna leave the little fuckers," Grandpa said. The seal-point made it all the way up my shoulder to scream in my ear and stare at me with one clear blue eye. "That one's name is Pop-eye. He's my favorite."

"Jake doesn't get along with them," I surmised. Jake was Grandpa's Australian Shepherd. He was old, blind, deaf, and losing his sense of smell. And he was ornery.

"First thing he did was sit on Pop-eye. So they're gonna be at the shop during the day until we can get them all homed. Know anyone that needs a kitten?"

So, for awhile, we had shop cats. One of the all black twins had been claimed the very next day, but the rest of them were with us for some time. We got very good at feeding them all every hour on the hour and eventually they settled into accepting that 'mom' was seven different people.

In the meantime, we had to hide the three of them from visiting management.

This was not my first round with cat-related crimes.

The district manager, Puppet, was due to come for a visit any time that week. He was supposed to come once a month for a routine check in, and there were only ten days left in August. Likewise, we had to hide the kittens from the customers on the off chance that one of them was a secret shopper.

Backtracking once more to explain: the company had shelled out money to pay a third party to send secret shoppers to grade us on a rubric and also whatever they thought was appropriate. The grades were cleanliness, customer service, how knowledgeable we were of products, things like that. If we got above 90%, there would be a bonus in our next paycheck.

Sounds great, right?

The spies could decide that anything wasn't up to their standard. One woman went on and on about our 'black wall,' which was the outside of our cooler and I'm sorry but… that's not changing. There was a complaint that the table at the front used to showcase our bridal seemed out of place and odd. There dirt in the flower pots… where dirt goes. Corporate reads those comments.

So keeping the children out of sight of the customers and any visiting management became our priority.

'So just keep them in the break room,' I hear you, the reader, suggest.

If you've never owned cats, it is imperative for you to know that they are mostly comprised of spine, and only the smallest of openings will deter them from squeezing into parts unknown. Cats are semi-solids. Kittens are semi-solids with a sense of adventure and little tiny needles for fingernails.

And you can't just tape the box shut.

So… they got out. Well, two of them got out. The tuxedo awoke to find that her brothers had gone exploring without her and did the sensible thing, which was cry about it.

Mood.

I have named this cat Brood X Cicada. The black one can be named Abyss. I'm great at naming cats.

Lucky for us, they're only a few weeks old and walk kind of like little tin soldiers. It took all of five minutes to pry Pop-eye from a piece of Styrofoam and locate Abyss exploring an old toolbox. However, by the time I'm done cat collecting, Brood X Cicada had toddled off in search of her brothers and I'm out of hands to hold kittens in. I stuffed Abyss into my apron pocket and tried to save X from eating plastic.

It is at this moment that Cherry came in to tell me that Puppet the District Manager was on his way, and saw that I was helplessly juggling kittens. Abyss was climbing out of my pocket, eager to join his siblings in the high and exalted position that was my hands.

"We need these kittens out of here," I said. "Who hasn't been on lunch yet?"

Cherry dodged her head back into the workshop. "Hey Key, you been on lunch?" Pause. "You wanna go now?"

Key came into the back room and I handed her the box of kittens. "Take these, in your car. Go to burger King or something, I don't care. Puppet cannot see these. If anyone asks, you're on a route."

Key held the box and took a moment to appreciate the series of events that lead to her being handed a box of kittens in a 'Take this, don't ask questions' kind of matter.

Puppet was in the front door as Key was out the back and we successfully avoided a serious mistake. His visit was only an hour and she walked back in without anyone the wiser.

We made it through the big challenge, now to continue looking for homes for them. Ms. Crow found a friend of a friend of a friend that was excited to take Abyss from us. After some interrogating my friends, I found someone who knew someone who could take Pop-eye and Brood X Cicada. (They were renamed Hocus and Pocus.)

Grandpa cried for every single one of them that had to go. And I remembered my very first day of working there when she introduced herself as 'The Tinman.' What a liar, the softy.

Our days went on kitten-free, the management none the wiser.

It was December when I got the feeling that I should be taking photos of my work to build a portfolio. Something wasn't right, I felt. I couldn't say what it was that put me on edge, but I could only say that all was not well. I took photos of everything that I was proud of, and I was proud of a lot of things. By February, I had over fifty items that I could show off to a potential studio. And I thought- in March, I should start looking to see if other shops are hiring.

And in March 2020, tragedy struck. Our state went into lockdown on March 13, dictating that all non-essential businesses close and non-essential staff be laid off. There were two days where none of us knew what was happening, if we had jobs or if that job was safe.

They laid off all but three designers and Grandpa but kept most the drivers, changed our hours to 8-5, closed Sundays. Canceled weddings. No walk-ins. The three designers were Blue, Red, and me.

Blue was worried about her children. She resigned.

Red's wife was worried about him and harassed him into quitting.

And then there was one.

There's a series of poems I wrote in my journal about being an essential worker during lockdown. There's adorable little doodles of skeletons around the margins, festooned with flowers. They all go something like this:

We are the Skeleton Crew.

We once were seven but now are two

We don't know what to do

So we just work, work, work.

Many may wonder how a flower shop would be considered an essential business. The answer is funerals. We were allowed to remain open because of our relationship with the funeral industry. And sad to say: the industry was booming.

And I did all of it. I made every spray, every 'get well soon' vase, every 'happy quarantine' bouquet. I called angry brides to see if they could postpone, I dealt with everyone's grief and uncertainty.

All the flowers that arrived at US Customs through Italy were destroyed because we didn't know whether coronavirus was transmitted through physical contact and there's no way to sanitize flowers. Not without killing them.

It was me and Grandpa. That was it. Ten funerals a day, and everything else. Flowers were more important than ever: you couldn't be there, so you sent flowers. And flowers and flowers and flowers…

I couldn't leave now. I was important, I was needed.

The work became overwhelming for both of us and we began hiring back some of our staff. Some came back right away, bored out of their skulls having to spend time at home. Can't relate. Key never responded, Cherry was pregnant and shouldn't be out of the house.

Dandy came back, Kali came back, Astra came back. Eventually, Blue. After a month of just me and Grandpa, there was almost a full crew and it was enough for us to get through an average week. It took us a month on our bare knuckles but we finally weren't shouldering the responsibility of seven people.

But we still didn't know jack shit about the future there.

In May, the 'economy opened up,' which is a strategic way of saying that people got tired of never leaving the house and stores were pressured to open back up again before a vaccine was released under threat of… you know what? This isn't a story about how America responded to the coronavirus poorly and you can probably find a better thinkpiece about it written by someone with facts and feelings if you want to squeeze yourself behind a pay wall.

This is about workers rights and kittens, two things that are far more important than the economy.

We got 'Hero Pay,' which was two dollars extra per hour and damn did I grasp onto that with the tendons in my wrists. I had never been paid $12 an hour for anything in my life. They started talking about permanent raises, and benefits, 401K, pregnancy leave… and I started thinking… maybe I could stay. Maybe I can stay here for awhile and it won't be so bad now that I'm getting paid actual human wages. Maybe it will be okay.

Life returned to an uneasy normal while we navigated mask laws, sanitation regulations, safety screens, and daily temperature checks. There are stories to tell about some less than great customers we'd had as people realized that they weren't coping with the pandemic as well as they thought, but they deserve their own entries.

We had a revolving door of open positions. If it wasn't a designer it was a driver or both. People weren't ready to come back to work yet but we still had a business to run. People asked if they could perform this job remotely. I'm not sure how one does flowers from home.

It was August when we started feeling the roots of our problems seep into the foundation.

Grandpa's pride and joy was her funerals. She had spent thirteen years building a relationship with the funeral homes in the area to make sure they trust us and our work. If anything was wrong, even a hair out of place, they knew they could call us and have it fixed before the visitation.

"We want unity across the board on our products," Puppet said. "If you're doing the sprays one way and others don't look the same, it doesn't look very good for Oldman Funeral Home, which has locations in all our cities, does it?" He swept his bangs out of his eyes, which was strange tell but we weren't sure for what.

"Okay," Grandpa said. "Schedule a time for me to go down and I'll teach them the way we do them."

"Okay, then."

She went down, prepared to show the crew in the warehouse what 40 years in the business was capable of, only to be met with a strange kind of resistance.

Their head designer greeted her and immediately started instructing her on how he makes sprays. Grandpa, confused, blinked at him with no words. When he was finished, she picked up her clippers and began making her own.

"That's not how we do it," he said. She was met with criticism after criticism. "That's not enough flowers, you're putting them in wrong, you're still making it one-sided. Why did you put the bow there, this looks nothing like our products."

She stood back after his barrage of blows to the ego. "I guess I'm a little confused."

"I'll say."

"Am I teaching you or are you teaching me?"

"I'm teaching you," he said. "Since they're going to all be made here from now on, they want me to show you how we make them in case of emergency."

She let that simmer. "That's not what I was told."

"You didn't think you were supposed to show me how you do it, did you? That doesn't make any sense. Why would we want to look like yours?"

"Oh, I dunno… maybe because we've kept up 30 accounts for 13 years and your location just lost your very last one because you can't make their delivery times and they're across the damn street."

This was how we learned that corporate was planning on taking our funerals from us.

Funerals were something I was immensely proud of. My ability to turn out a thousand dollar funeral order with limited stock was a subject of envy. I could take a phone order, make the flowers, and the deliver it all by myself within an hour. I was good. We were all good. And we trained anyone that stayed longer than two months how to do this because we wanted every person to be able to fix any problem.

And they wanted to take that away from us.

And they did. Because who was going to stop them?

'But what does that matter to you,' I hear you, the reader, ask. 'Surely this meant less work for you!'

Ah, but for the sprays to get to us, they had to come on a truck. Making them in-house meant that we knew we had them. We had to put our trust in corporate to deliver the goods to us by 7 am or we would have to make them day of.

There were days when the truck didn't come, or where only half the pieces were delivered, or a spray got left in the workshop an hour away. At least once a week, often more.

But you know… we adapted. You just schedule more openers to make sure no one is doing it alone and hope to God that you have all the flowers you need to make it. Which you could never anticipate how many flowers you would actually need because them taking our funerals was supposed to reduce the amount of stock flowers we got as well.

Mornings were nightmares, but we adapted.

Another visit, Puppet told Grandpa that she should get all weekends off. All the other managers do. He suggested that I learn to run routes so she can have weekends, and I said okay. I'll learn it.

I got real acquainted with the map of Ohio, and I hated it. I was a weekend manager with no real managerial power. If someone needed a refund, I had to write a note for Grandpa to email the accounts manager because she wouldn't take requests from anyone that wasn't a manager. Everything just waited until Monday. What was the point of me? I couldn't design while managing and I couldn't fix what was broken, so why even have a weekend manager? Let the animals loose in the zoo and it probably would have been a better fit.

But I powered through. I adapted.

Throughout all this, spreadsheets. Spreadsheets, spreadsheets, spreadsheets. Completely pointless spreadsheets that we were bound to fill out all day every day. They had simple purposes: inventory. You filled one out to take count of the specials so you knew how many there were. Then you had to count again to put them in the system so that they knew how much we had. Then you had to go back and count them again and put that number in the computer so they knew how much to make and send tomorrow.

I spent an hour each day counting and recounting the flowers in the far-off and futile hope that the counts would remain accurate to the end of the day (which they did not because the call center consistently used the wrong codes) and that the stock would be replenished properly in the morning (it was not.)

An hour was lost each day to this and it accomplished nothing, yet they always yelled at Grandpa if the counts were off or it was late. Why stress a system that does jack shit?

And every time there was a new feature or there was a new… thing, oh look! Another goddamned redundant spreadsheet that served no purpose.

But we adapted. We created a rhythm.

Show up early at 6:30 to make sure everything got in, make everything that didn't, get the drivers routed, pull routes for the third party deliveries, process same-day orders, data entry for the funeral consolidated. Then at 7, when the phones start ringing…

Okay, so before I forget:

Instead of installing a new phone line and hiring a few more call center people like a normal company would, our headquarters decided it would save us money if call overflow rerouted to the next available phone line, regardless of which location the phone was at. So we would get calls for the Kentucky store asking questions about what that store has and for the sake of preserving confidence in our brand we were supposed to pretend that we were the Kentucky store. We're just supposed to know or assume to know what each store had in stock because there's no way that could ever backfire.

It was… another thing to yell at us for. And boy did they, because they were listening in on our calls. Not to like… coach us on how to do better, but to tell us we were wrong. Sometimes they would call one of us on the other line to tell someone currently on the main one that they said something wrong. They also would straight up lie and scold us for calls we didn't take. The phones system, was simply a mess.

...so when the phones started up at 7am, and one person is designing, one person is taking unending phone orders, Grandpa is doing damage control. By 8, we have most of last nights orders figured out and it's time to start on same day orders and tomorrow's orders. It's too early to do inventory now because they'll yell at us for doing it too early.

By 9 we have our second wave of same day orders and next day orders, the rest of the world realizes we're open and starts walking in. That requires the attention of an entire person. We're at this point also taking out trash, breaking down boxes, disinfecting, sweeping the cooler.

Typically, there were only two openers on any given day, which meant most of this was all being handled by Blue or me.

By 10 we've caught up, we can do the inventory now without getting yelled at by the four heads at corporate. We're on route #3 by now and someone probably had to go to the same place twice because the orders came in late.

At 11, a crisis has probably happened. Something dropped, something wilted, something wasn't what they imagined. Someone has to go fix it, and that someone was usually me because I knew my way around town better than the other transplants.

This typically returned me to the shop around 1pm, which meant it was time for lunch, bringing me to 2. 3 o'clock was the cutoff for any next day orders to be sent to corporate, which meant that if there were any funeral orders taken for the morning, they would have to be made in-house. This included sprays, which takes half an hour to an hour depending on how complicated it was and if we had the materials and how much else we needed to make for the next day. Or how busy we were.

There was always something called in at the last minute, taking us to 4 and then 5 o'clock, when the openers went home and the same-day orders were cut off.

But see, that was when we stopped taking orders, not when we stopped processing orders. So if an order was placed for the same day at 4:59, it may not go through until 5:30. And by 5:30, chances are you've sent your drivers home for the day. Which means calling the customer to apologize and explain why something can't be sent out today, and no one wants to hear that they fucked up by sending it out late.

So, on more than one occasion, I had to personally deliver flowers on my way home from work in my personal car, thirty minutes out of my way because if we miss a delivery by God will we hear about it. And it was always some damn $25 arrangement with 'God Loves You' written on the tag, hardly worth the gas to Johnstown.

The irony of it being delivered by the witch was lost on no one.

If that didn't happen and the screen was clear, the night was easy and all we had to do was clean up and watch the door.

Unless a last minute order for the next day came in, which was about half the time. All of this for $11 an hour. (Once they got rid of the Hero Pay, it went back down to $11.)

That was an average, unexciting day for us. You got used to those kinds of stresses, but every day I came home and I was so tired and sore that I couldn't move. I started walking with a cane, had a low-grade fever most days, and my hands looked like I'd taken to them with a cheese grater.

But I powered through. I adapted.

Then it was December. The owners had always been generous with Christmas bonuses, handing everyone an envelope of cash. Mine was $500. This was the largest amount of cash that anyone had ever handed me (feel bad for me later.)

And then it was Grandpa's turn, but there were no envelopes left. It had to be a mistake, she thought. She didn't get paid very much for all the work she put into the shop, so she was counting on that bonus to buy presents for her grandchildren. It… it… had to be a mistake, right?

"I didn't get a bonus," she said. "I thought the accountability didn't take effect until January," she said to Puppet.

Before he opens his mouth again, I have to explain yet another thing.

In September, there was a meeting. Now that we were working on benefits and bonus programs and other things to make sure the staff stays, they needed to put in accountability measures for the managers. Effective January 1, managers are reflected by the income of their store, the number of returns, accidents in company vehicles, and high turnover rates.

Pick one of those attributes and decide its bullshit to begin with, and I'm about to show you the entire steer.

"We had to make an example of someone," he said. "So that the other managers know we're serious."

She was being personally punished for a car wreck that happened in 2019 even though she fired the guy that was in it. We had too many returns, he said, but most of them were sent to us from corporate. She was personally held responsible for the high turnover rate during an economic crisis AND a goddamned pandemic… because they needed to make an example out of someone.

And her grandkids didn't get presents this year because of it.

She cried. The last time I saw her cry was when we were saying goodbye to the kittens. It's not the same.

But she got up every day and listened to them scream at her while we counted and counted and recounted the fucking Christmas specials because the numbers weren't right and we couldn't make them right because someone in the call center couldn't figure out the codes and in their eyes it was our fault, too- we had to be stealing the flowers or something.

"It sucks and then its over," she said. It was how she dealt with holidays: "It sucks and then its over."

We were all angry for her. I got asked to go to the headquarters and help them mass produce more fucking specials and I offered the beat them up for her and she told me not to get involved. Head down, do the work, get it done.

One of the call center girls died of a heart attack a few days before I was due to help them mass. We were supposed to go to her funeral, but we all missed it because there was so much work to do.

Wait, let me back up… again. The company gave us all life insurance. The number we were quoted on our life insurance policy was $10,000, which seems like a lot but in the funeral business it's not. Your average funeral will eat up most of that, if not all. It's very expensive to die right now.

At least… we all thought it was $10k. I was certainly told $10k.

Turns out it was $1k, which isn't enough to buy you a box for your remains. The call center crew ended up crowdsourcing the rest- she didn't have much family.

And none of us could go to the funeral because we were working.

I worked two twelve hour shifts in that warehouse making the same goddamn centerpiece over and over again while a Frenchman in a scarf told me I was doing it wrong, while everyone was grieving on a time crunch.

I really should have beaten them up.

But we got through Christmas, for what it was worth. We found Grandpa some sales that she could get gifts from and we all worked together to make sure we were okay through it. I mean, we weren't- it was blind leading the blind. But we tried.

And then it ended. "It sucks and then its over," she'd always say.

And into January we go and we're back into the stupidity of trying to fight with hq about funerals. I'm constantly told that if we needed certain things we should have ordered them.

I… did. I did. I ordered everything we needed every damn day and it still never came because the left hand and the right hand can't even coordinate enough to pull off a high-five. But it can't be their fault. It has to be Grandpa's somehow.

Now during the week of Christmas, Grandpa had to take an extra day off because she got sick. It wasn't Covid, thank goodness. I can imagine it was a stress-related issue, but it's not my business. Due to the holiday, this put her at under 40 hours for the week.

So they paid her hourly.

...which is extremely illegal to do to a salaried employee, especially one that works way more than 40 hours a week with no overtime.

And then they told her that she'd already lost her quarterly bonus because of a fender-bender that happened on my watch, and because she lost 39 employees last quarter.

I write everything down. I keep a journal. I cannot find 39 employees, even going back the entire year… during a pandemic. They have to be making this up. They have to be because there is no way they can hold the dude that was fired for literally sleeping in the men's room against her.

And I was close to just telling them all that… when my grandma died.

I'm not getting into it, really. Because you know… she was 96 years old and… it happens. It's sad, but it happens. But the relevant point to make is that I was given an… inheritance. It wasn't a lot. Grandma wasn't loaded. But it would be enough for me to keep afloat for awhile if I ever needed to.

When I told my girlfriend, she said: 'you could quit your job.'

And I didn't want to think about that because the flower shop needed me. I was important there. I was special. And Valentine’s Day was just around the corner.

But I was thinking about it. I thought about it every day.

A week before Valentines Day, Grandpa was inconsolable. She had to leave work because her dog, Jake, wouldn't stop bleeding. She needed to get him to the vet.

Two hours pass and Blue gets a message asking her to come help her move the dog. Grandpa lives alone and she's not very strong.

Blue doesn't like dogs. She was bitten by one the first time she ever made a delivery.

And I am known for exceptional physical strength. So I went.

When I arrived, Grandpa was a mess. I had never seen her cry so much, and it wouldn't stop. And I was trying to be strong, but it's hard. Jake was still alive, but bleeding. He was confused and upset, and blind and deaf. He barked, he growled, and he lunged… but always pulled back when his legs buckled from the pain.

I had her grab a blanket and we rolled him onto it, using that to lift him. He thrashed and growled and snapped at me while we walked him towards the door, but he wasn't getting out of the wrap we had him in.

As we're out the door, I noticed a man at the neighboring house. He raised his hand in greeting, but lowered it in confusion.

"Grandpa, is it alright if I get him to come help while you bring the car around?"

The best she could do was nod.

"Yeah, sorry, to bug you but can I ask for a little help here?" He looks at what we're doing and drops his trash can lid to come help. "Yeah, just take that end there and we're gonna ease him into the car when she comes around."

He nodded, took the ends, and we tucked a very confused Jake into the back seat. I thanked the neighbor, Grandpa sped off, and I went back to work feeling extremely odd about it.

That was the first time that I'd ever met the dog: on his way to be put down.

I know it seems weird to tell that story, but there's a reason. Part of it is symbolic. Part of it has to do with kittens. But we're not there just yet.

So now it's February and it is crunch time for Valentine’s Day. We have no earthly idea what this holiday is going to look like because past experiences have us anticipating a large number of walk ins, but state regulations have put a limit of six customers inside the store at any one time. We were never given any… instructions on how to enforce that rule, so we just kind of vaguely set out roles for who has to be the bouncer at the flower shop.

But before all of that, we had to make 275 two-dozen red rose arrangements in bowls. Based on our sales last year and general growth, we were expecting something close to five hundred deliveries on our busiest day. If I wasn't making them, I was counting them. And I was counting, and I was counting, and I was counting… every hour, just like it was at Christmas. We used up every single red rose in the place and came up short.

To which we were scolded: we must have used the roses they sent us for other orders because there was no way the error could have been on their end! Their inventory was impervious to mistakes. Somewhere between the warehouse and our store, twenty-five packs of roses went missing! And why is it only our store that has these problems? Clearly it must be our fault- a store full of thieves and liars and delinquents.

They ended up sending more just because… you know… they care. I guess.

And every hour, they needed a number of something and I counted, and counted and counted…

I think it was February 8 that I started crying every day. When I slept I was stiff as a board because I made so many mistakes throughout the day that the idea of coming to work the next day just to make more mistakes made me lock up entirely. There was no way to relax. There was no winding down from a hard day of work because my body could not move anymore.

I felt like I was made of splintering wood.

I had a dream around this time that I quit my job. I was so happy. I thought about it almost every hour.

So I stayed out of the way at work, picking up cleaning projects because at least there I could be useful and it was dark enough in the cooler that if I started crying no one had to see it.

That cooler was so clean. I wouldn't recommend eating off of it because I used an entire bottle of bleach to clean the floor.

If we're not counting the constant barrage of demands from corporate to count, count, count; Valentine’s Day was worryingly uneventful. Previous holidays were chaotic: filling the requests of the most desperate and clueless men with deep pockets and expensive tastes. Corralling the temporary drivers and make sure no one gets into any crashes or… uh...tries to sell unregulated merchandise from their trunks. Trying to decide what "Malibu Barbie Pink" meant for that one customer who comes in every six months and orders it but has rejected every color pink on the spectrum that our store has ever offered.

On this one… nothing important happened.

We were… slow.

Grandpa started sending people home early because there weren't many orders. We ran out of projects to do.

Sounds great, right?

...heh…

Corporate would like to know why our store is under projected sales by over 200, as if we have any say in how many people buy from us. Like we personally called all our typical customer base and told them not to come to this store. "Yes, hello Mrs. Penderghast? I'm sorry we can't fill your Valentine's Day order this year because we suck balls and don't want your business. Have a nice weekend. Say hi to the grandkids for me."

I don't… fucking KNOW! I don't work in PR! I'd ask the people in that department if they know what happened but… that's the owners. So who really is the fuckup here? Not me, that's for fucking certain! I cleaned the cooler. That's all I did all weekend was clean the Gods damned cooler because there wasn't enough work to go around so I made work for myself.

And then: "Why are the counts off," asked Mt. Rushmore. See, we called them that because between the owners, Puppet, and the head designer we had four white men looking down at us while we did all the work and built their success on the backs of their forefathers. Well… to me it was anyway. To everyone else it was four dudes that looked down on you.

"Why are the counts off?"

Oh, the COUNTS are off? Well, let me just drop everything I'm doing right now and count them for the third time in the past hour because that takes fucking priority.

"There's 95 specials missing from your inventory. Where are they?"

...okay, 95 is a lot. But it was also kind of hard to know how they were 'missing' when we'd sold all of the 275 that we made. How can they be missing if we sold them.

"We need to know where they are."

We don't know where they are. Because we sold all of them. The math didn't add up.

But they hounded us about it like we'd stolen them and resold them on the street corner. Which, to their defense, had happened once (but Sugar stopped doing that when her corner was taken over by the woman who accused Jay of being a demon.) But 95 is a huge number, and these arrangements were a foot wide and two feet tall. Someone would have noticed if a 100x200 foot square opened up in the cooler.

We literally could not know what the fuck they were talking about.

And the truth was extremely stupid: those 95 pieces were redeliveries. When someone has an issue with their order, like it didn't come or it was left out in the snow and got damaged or… someone put the name of their ex on the card instead of their wife… we send a replacement. But depending on who took the phone call, a person might use the wrong code and put it in for 'redeliver' instead- which counts it as another order.

We weren't missing 95 arrangements. We had 95 redeliveries. They hounded us about inventory for two days over a clerical error.

I decided I'd had it. We were going on a full week of crying every time I had a moment alone. They had made us feel like everything that went wrong was our fault: from low turnout to high turnover, missed deliveries and trashed sprays, lost accounts and new grievances…

But did they ever say a Gods damned thing about how hard we worked? How good we were? About how great a team we were under pressure? We once pulled together an entire wedding in fifteen minutes. My ass carried this store through the pandemic. I have done… so much.

So fucking much.

And yet it's our fault.

I had been reasoning with myself that I would stick around for the aftermath when Grandpa was eventually fired: we'd all felt it was coming. But I got that little bit of cash and all my joints were screaming and every time we got negative feedback a part of me died.

The following Tuesday had seen a massive snowstorm. Things that weren't already closed due to the pandemic were closed due to weather.

But we still had to be there. Because someone had to be there to make all the funeral pieces.

Because there wouldn't be a truck the next day, which meant that all of the funeral pieces that we'd sent to the headquarters needed to be made in-house. Which, once again, could have been avoided if we had kept the funeral orders in-house to begin with.

I waited until everyone had cleared out before I said it.

"Grandpa, I have to quit."

I don't think anyone ever looked so disappointed in me in my life.

"Why?"

"The way they treat people here is terrible and I can't see myself doing another Mother's Day for this company. They're so… mean! And for no damn reason! I have cried every day for the past week because I see the way they treat you and I'm… I'm tired."

I thought she was going to cry, but she nodded. "I can't stop you," she said. "I shouldn't stop you. If it's affecting your mental health like this, I'll miss you but its for the best. You know they'll want a written notice."

"And you know I'll tell them the truth," I said.

"...it's not me, is it?"

"If I worked for just you and those fuckers were out of the picture, I would stay. And you can count on me to tell them that."

"Any flower shop you apply to would be lucky to have you."

So I drafted up a resignation letter telling them exactly how I feel: that the way they run this company was asinine and they treated their employees like garbage. They received it on Thursday. Everyone at the shop knew by then. They were upset…

...but they understood.

Puppet did not understand. He emailed Grandpa asking her what she's doing that her people keep leaving.

He didn't see it. He didn't see that he was part of the problem. It always had to be someone else's fault. I explicitly said in my letter whose fault it was and he still didn't take any responsibility.

But suddenly I'm one of their best designers, and he begged me to reconsider, take some time off to think about it. They desperately wanted me to stay and they were willing to bargain, I just needed demands.

No one's ever… begged me before. I don't know if I like that.

This is when it dawned on me that I was next in line. It all made sense now: training me to route, making me do all the extra work, and now they want me to stay?

They were planning on getting rid of Grandpa and promoting me to manager. In a perfect world where Grandpa resigns willingly and I’m promoted on my merits as a designer and the company wasn’t very quickly circling the drain, I would be excited. But I wasn’t. I was frightened. I watched them take a confident, extremely talented woman and turn her into the whipping boy of the flower shop. And if I were in her position, I would have quit. But I don’t have the strength to stand up to the people that are signing my paycheck.

Why… am I at a place where the idea of moving upward makes me more scared than excited?

Flattering, but no. I've seen how you treat your people. My demands are to treat them better.

It was the longest week for me: making lists of pros and cons. I had made a lot of friends there and there's stuff that I will never forget. But the fact that the only people who didn't understand why I was leaving were the people who had the most to lose really hit me in the knees. I could tell them every day for the rest of their lives why they suck and it wouldn't matter because nothing was ever their fault.

And at 7:00 on Friday, I turned in my key.

I didn't have a plan, I didn't have anything lined up. This was one of the hardest decisions I ever had to make and I was just kind of… throwing myself at it.

I don't do that. I always have a plan. I look into every possible scenario and I try to make the smart choice. And this time…

I didn't.

It was probably stupid.

But I slept for 12 hours the next night and I could feel my bones settling into their rightful places. I didn't realize how many health problems were caused by standing for 9 hours a day, 11 days a week until I was home all the time to notice them changing. I will always have a limp from trying to pretend I don't have a limp. I'm pretty sure that ulcer is chronic. But my back isn't seizing up and I don't cry every day anymore.

That's something, I think.

About a week after my departure, I got a text from Grandpa that said:

"Hey guess what."

"What," I replied.

The next text was a picture of a week's old seal-point kitten with terminal eye-goo, wrapped in a towel.

"Pop-eye!?"

"I'm keeping this one," she said. The strays had dropped a litter of identical baby kittens by her pond. Two years later, with Jake put down, she could finally have Pop-eye, even if it was version 2.0.

The next text was a few days later. "Puppet fired me."

"What!? Why?"

"Too many accidents, too high turnaround. The new people suck, he says no one wants to work with me."

"Are you okay? How are you doing?"

"I'm okay." She paused and the loading screen did its little dot dance. "I'm playing with my kitten."

#cw #pet death #death #workers rights violations #if you want to know everything #this is everything

[safespacespence]

SOCKS !!! FOR CHRISTMAS !!! HAPPY REID !!!

COUNTDOWN TO CHRISTMAS: 1 DAY LEFT

[summary] it’s your first christmas together and you struggle to find the perfect christmas gift for spencer. [pairing] spencer reid x gn!reader [warnings] none, i mention leisurely drinking briefly [category] fluff [word count] 1.5k [a/n] i havent watched me before you, but i know there’s that sock gift scene so i thought of that. also, spencer’s christmas gift to y/n is the cutest fucking thing if anyone ever got me id ask them to marry me. thank you. this was also the first one that i wrote, and saved it for last heh. reblogs are appreciated!!

“i’m really excited, i can’t wait to see your reaction.” spencer chuckled.

“and i hope you like mine.” you lied.

spencer gave you a cheeky grin and kissed you on the forehead. as he disappeared into the living room, the panic you hid started to settle in. gift-giving wasn’t your strong suit at all, and seeing spencer so excited for the exchange only made you feel worse about the fact at hand--you had absolutely no clue what to get him. sure, you knew him well, you knew his quirks and little joys in life, but he seemed so absolutely content with life that you had no idea what he could possibly want for christmas. you had less than a week left to find something for him, something that could possibly equal what he had gotten you. so, so, easy.

spencer and the team left on sunday for a (hopefully) quick consultation in los angeles, and you decided that you would properly use the week to find a gift for him.

on monday, you went to a bath store. maybe, somehow, a little bath set would be nice? you knew how much you both loved to take long, quiet baths together to help him unwind after a bad case. but like, baths? wtf are you thinking. you walked out of the store with a candle, a pity purchase after spending an hour pestering the staff with questions on soothing scents and the products they carry.

spencer called you up that night to talk about the team’s jet discussion on dumbledore being a villain in harry potter. harry potter was your favorite, and he read all the books in a day to learn about it because of how much he loved you. darn spencer reid and his ability to show his love language.

on tuesday, you drove to a specialty coffee shop to maybe, somehow, get a custom coffee blend for him. it was one of those pretentious, overpriced, so-called ‘artisanal’ coffee shops. does he even like coffee that much, though? you’re his girlfriend. literally anyone could buy him coffee. exasperated, you debated calling up penelope for help. but that would be the easy way out, and you wanted to give him a gift that was fully your making. spencer didn’t call that night, but he texted that he’d be back on thursday. okay, you have one more day to do find the perfect gift. you spent the night awake, listing things you knew about spencer and how you could translate them into a gift.

at 4:23am, you finally figured it out.

on wednesday, you got up groggily and drove around town to gather what you needed for the gift. it took up your whole day, but after four youtube videos, an accidental nap, and an unhealthy amount of coffee, your gift was finally finished. you packed it away and kept it where he wouldn’t look (your shoe cabinet) and immediately crashed on the couch.

“afternoon nap, huh?” you heard spencer’s voice break the silence of the apartment.

your eyes adjusted to the light and you felt his fingers brush the hair out of your face.

“hi.” he said, seeing that you weren’t as disoriented.

“what time is it?” you asked, slowly sitting up.

“two-thirty pm.” he said softly.

what he said just registered, and you jolted up. “i’ve been asleep for ELEVEN HOURS?”

his eyes widened. “yOU’VE BEEN ASLEEP FOR ELEVEN HOURS?”

you made up an excuse that you were up watching tv and fell asleep, and quickly went to start a bath for the two of you before he could question you any further. you’re not giving him any clues that you crammed his christmas gift.

the two of you spent the day catching up and settling back into your routine, preparing your joint gift for each team member, and buying a cake to bring to rossi’s bau christmas eve celebration.

you greeted each member of the team with a warm hug, with a lingering one saved for penelope.

“oh you look amazing!” pen giggled.

you couldn’t help but smile. “thank you, pen.”

penelope made a face that you easily read as ‘please tell me what you got reid for christmas’.

“i’m not telling you what i got him, you know that.”

“oh darn you!” she huffed. “you’re no fun.”

you laughed and sipped your wine.

you felt spencer’s hand wrap around your waist. “what are we laughing about, here?”

“oh, nothing, nothing.” you responded.

the late afternoon was of flowing wine, endless laughter, and teasing. at nine-thirty pm, everyone started going home slowly to spend the hour countdowns with their families. will and jj left first with their kids, knowing that they’d be asking to open their stockings. hotch too, having to make sure jack got to open his gifts from everyone in the comfort of his own home. derek and penelope left together, derek having to drive a very tipsy penelope. emily left about the same time, too, to partake in her own christmas traditions (most likely with sergio). you and spencer left last, with a ton of leftovers that rossi forced you into taking home.

when you got back into the apartment, spencer immediately got to making hot chocolate and grabbed a sweater each for you and him. you smiled and got cozy, melting into his warm embrace.

“we’re exchanging at exactly twelve, right?” he asked, all giddy.

“yeah, that sounds good.” you nodded.

“five, four, three, two, one!” you cheered.

“merry christmas, my love.” spencer said, coming in for a kiss.

you softened when his lips made contact with yours, and felt your cheeks warm. you could feel his smile forming against your lips, and you slowly pulled back to find an overjoyed spencer reid. in all of his complexity, you couldn’t help but admire the way his face looked when he was genuinely so happy. god, you really love him.

“me first! i can’t wait.” spencer stood up and went into the coat closet to fish out a box or chest. he was dragging it across the living room to get close to where you sat. you were confused, trying to figure out what this could possibly be. probably not a dog, we said we wouldn’t get a dog.

“go, go, open it!” he was elated.

you tore through the wrapping he so-clearly-had-done-himself, as he sat beside you, almost on the edge of his seat, waiting for you to open it. when you finally got to opening the actual box, your eyes were filled with parchment covered books. you picked one up to examine them closely. it was definitely a book, but it was wrapped in brown parchment, so you couldn’t see the title. what you could see, however, was permanent marker in spencer’s handwriting, ‘OPEN WHEN YOU WANT AN ESCAPE’. you processed what it was and a smile involuntarily formed on your face.

he started rambling to explain. “it’s a collection of open when books! if you’re feeling sad, or-or you miss me, or you want to learn about music, there’s a book for it! and there are corresponding annotations inside! so-so if you’re sad there’s a happy book and i put comments to make you happy so that you can be happy when you’re sad because i wouldn’t want you to be sad and--”

you slam your lips onto his. “i love it, spence. this must have taken forever, i-i’m at a loss of words.” you kissed him again. “thank you. so much.”

you hugged him tightly.

“your turn, your turn!!” he said.

“okay, okay.” you stood to grab a little bag kept inside your shoe cabinet and sat next to him as he opened it.

you were suddenly nervous again, worried that maybe your gift would be too simple.

he pulled them out, ten pieces of socks in a flurry of colors and textures. he went silent. he only stared at them, ten different socks in crazy colors and patterns, some with lines of fluffier cloth, some with small quirks sticking out.

“spence--?”

and a split-second later, you were in his arms in the tightest hug he’d ever given you.

“I LOVE THEM! THEY’RE SO DIFFERENT AND NONE OF THEM MATCH AND THEY’LL KEEP ME OCCUPIED AND THEY’RE PERFECT!”

you relaxed and gave a belly laugh. “they’re from different cloths, so there’s different textures. and this one has beads on the hem, they spell S.R., you see? and this one has a little trinket, it’s a book! i found it at this little bead shop. oh, and this one is kind of a glitter cloth, so it’s texturally different too and you can mix and match, because i know you don’t like matching, so--”

“is that what i sound like when i ramble?” he smiled at you.

you blushed. “um--y-yeah possibly.”

“this is the most thoughtful gift anyone could have ever gotten me. you don’t know how much this’ll keep me occupied when i get all fidgety. it’s perfect. you-you’re perfect.”

he brought you in closer.

“merry christmas, spencer.” you said against his cheek.

“merry christmas, my love.”

read the rest of the series: athena's twelve gifts of christmas

read more of my work read my favorite works send me prompts or requests navigation

join my taglist @sinnxagain @literaila @sheslostinbooks @reidsmilf @pretty-boys-book-club @writer-in-theory @simonsnowsblog @foxy-eva @reidsbookclub @spencerreidat3am @shooting-a-star-at-the-moon @belongwithreid @alexontheinternet @writingquillsandpainpills @lil-stark @fightingdragonswithreid @hoshihiime @samuel-de-champagne-problems

#athena's twelve gifts of christmas #athena has written #fluffy fluffy fluff fluff #fluff #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid #spencer reid oneshot #oneshot #fanfiction #fanfic #spencer x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #imagines #blurbs #christmas fanfiction

[sanghyukstattoos]

SF9's reaction: blowjobs?

Genre: fluff-fluff-fluff; smut (contains oral, praise kink, dom/sub themes, mutual masturbation, semi-public sex) / [Warnings: dumbification, mentions of crying, degrading names (slut), some unprotected sex]

A/N: None of the images in the collage are mine, refer to here for more; For more SF9, read here, for iKON, read here and for optional bias writings, read here

Youngbin:

Since you asked anon, ahaha

You sigh, shifting in your seat, partly to relieve yourself of the ache in your glutes; party in frustration from Youngbin who is seated next to you, dozing off. Truthfully, you find it funny and what's not to about it? He looks cute from the angle you are sitting at, holding himself by the palm of his hand that leans on the other arm-rest of the cinema chair. You don't want to wake him up, empathetic for all those schedules he had, yet he asked you- insisted really, to meet him up here. Well, you did predict with a 100% accuracy that he would fall asleep. You are all the way at the back, it's been long since you've seen him, you want him and you can have him, right now (?). It's not risky, more enticing as you shiver from excitement. You do not know what compels you to do this, perhaps a daring combination of lust and longing. You giggle, eyes drawing to the screen and the people. Oh you are loving this movie but what can you do about it? You carefully get onto your knees, rather quickly, ignoring the ache in between your inner thighs. It's all nimble because of the nervousness, you shakily unbutton his trousers, tug them down and then his boxers. You look up, is he really asleep? Deeper sleep than you thought? You wouldn't be surprised. Make the best out of every situation. You spit on your hands and pump him a few times and there's the bulge that you would have seen as an outline if you were at home. You take him in your mouth, wet and warm and that's when he jerks awake, like a small one, 'I've woken up' is the appropriate saying. You bob your head, increasing your grip on his thigh, holding yourself back from touching yourself, it'd be more pleasurable that way. He takes a couple of seconds but his hands automatically fly to the back of your head, caressing your hand and he wants to tell you, ''Good girl, you take me so well.'' which he does, in a whisper and it does absolutely nothing to quell the ache in your wet core, you clench your thighs together even harder at his words. Your smile grows, maybe in shyness or in a state of bliss, albeit not as much if it was his cock stuffed inside your pussy, you fondle his balls, flattening your tongue to the underside where a vein lies. He's nervous now, undoubtedly as he looks around but he doesn't want to stop you and he does not till you've milked him dry with your mouth.

Inseong:

He's reading something, or rather, he's studying, maybe English, you've forgotten what it was, an hour and then another passing since he's started. He got a little bit distracted at first, quickly getting up from his seat and walking to where you where, entering the room, hovering over you, pressing kisses to your neck and chest, so close to grinding his hips over yours when you pushed him away, hand on his chest, ''Don't you have to study?'' to which he moaned about something- nonsense mumbles and buried his head in your chest (he was in a whining mood). It made you laugh, honestly. ''You're so sweet you know?'' you said, clutching his cheeks and directing his gaze at you and he chuckled, shy, reminding himself and you, that he had to study (unfortunately). You smiled as he left not expecting him for another hour or so, bringing your laptop back to your lap. The comforters smell like him and his rather luxurious body lotion he uses + that, plus you can't stop thinking of his silk pyjamas, should you tease him about it or not? You contemplate that, at approximately thirty minutes past, around the same time he stalks into the room with extra light footsteps. All the while he was studying, he thought of all the encouraging words your gave him when he first told you that he was taking this test and suddenly, one of the memories was of you saying, ''You've done so well you know''- a non-sexual situation with that smile of yours, beaming for him, that made his heart curl up into a ball and continue to do his best for you. He was in that mood, he felt relief when he got up from his seat and made his way to you. You welcomed him with open arms, ''Hey baby'', nuzzling his hair, hovering over him. You needed him too but you were up for something else today. Something a little more dominating, you needed to know if he was okay with it today, feeling like it. There's a lot going on his eyes, he's silent but looking, growing more happy the further your fingers go, trailing downwards to his hips and hooking in the band of his joggers, the loose material- ''Did you finish studying?'' you ask. The words come too suddenly for him, the moment of truth that decides what your actions will be and he gulps, growing nervous. His groin stirs at what you could do but he replies, ''A-almost, almost done you know''. You smile, he's nervous so he hasn't done what he was supposed to; you also think that it is perfect. You bite your lip and pulls his joggers to his ankle revealing his semi-hard cock, ''You sound nervous baby'', you lean down and place a kiss on his lower tummy, not bothering to see the expression on his face. He doesn't want to lie to you and he hasn't- he could wing that test any day. He lies in anticipation, not saying anything like you, you simply smile and pump him, resulting in a slight thrust of his hips into your hand and when he's hard, you spit on his tip and stroke him, hearing heavy breaths and moans, he absolutely loves your mouth on him but he knows that this night won't end as he wants it too- you've got something up your sleeve and he can feel it. You chuckle at the way he has lifted his head to peer at you, the way you swallow his cock but most of all, how your warm mouth feels around him. You bob your head, giving him encouraging squeezes on his inner thighs so he knows that he's doing well till the time he's about to release. You love this part, just to tease him. Tears prick at his eyes when you stop before he is about to release. You come up and take him into your arms at the sight. When you hold him, that's when the waterfall begins and you hold him till you hear sniffles. You wipe his tears and kiss him softly, with reassurance, ''How about this: you go study, do your best while you are at it and then we'll think about we can solve your problem later huh?''. He nods and stays in your arms for sometime, snuggling into you before he leaves for the study room.

Jaeyoon:

You steadily walk through the thick, velvet blue curtains, calming your haste by the soothing clicking of your shoes. Upon entering the wide hall, you pause and marvel at the sight. It's so beautifully decorated, you think, complimenting the production designers and workers on their work and effort. Past the rows and rows of empty seats that, fingers crossed, will be completely filled for the show, you spot Jaeyoon, the main lead and his female lead hunched together, viewing something on a camera. It was rumoured that Jaeyoon was difficult to work with. At first you presumed that it was because of his personal life, uncontrollable perhaps? Or because of his attitude, he could find it hard to cope with the reality of his fame or maybe he had anger issues, because of it or independently, you didn't know for sure. Or it could be false so you kept your prejudices to yourself. No point in being presumptuous you thought, you didn't even know the guy. Then. You watched him perform, eyes gleaming at the whole thing itself. Credit where credit was due, they were amazing and after weeks of preparation, a standing ovation was what they deserved. Backstage, you asked him if he wanted to go for a show, a neighbouring one? ''To see the competition?'' his tone was playful and he was smiling, ''I don't mind''. Palpable, he found his core tightening, ever since last week. How close were the two of you? Well, he had you almost naked under him until you were interrupted by the bell and he had to leave. It had been a week. He had pushed you on the bed, hastily kissing you, hovering over with a buzz in his head- the wine from dinner. Then. Their stage was equally impressive, given your live commentary throughout where the two of you had your mouth continuously open, whether you were gasping or just talking, obviously annoying the people left, right, front and back. They could see two heads touching, whispering something. His cologne invaded your nose, warm breath fanning the shell of your ear, saying something to you. You couldn't respond, sexual tension present, until he shook you, urging himself away from kissing you. A light one, like a peck on the cheek. You were so close and he felt like taking you home, telling you how he felt and undressing you, so many things to unwrap. The former was obvious. In an empty space in the hall, long after everyone was gone, you resumed what you couldn't after being busy all week long. You urgently kiss him, feeling his taste on your tongue, like last week. You only look up to see if there's anyone in there but you brain is running a hundred simulations at once and nothing seems dangerous enough so you continue, breaths and hands, hot and heavy on one another. You gasp, he's pulling the material of your dress up and feeling your backside, pressing you against his bulge. You tug open his belt and slide down on your knees and you are sure, absolutely, that someone has walked through the door just now. It's not the door to the space that you are in but beyond that, somewhere else, you aren't concerned. You leave a trail of saliva on his cock and pump him a few times, looking at him, peering up, knowing the effect you have on him. He's not keen on your teasing, prolonging, he fists your hair and guides his cock into your mouth. All the way to the back, your hands grip his thighs and squeeze, gagging at the intrusion in between your lips but you like it, reaching for your clit and rubbing, sighing in relief at the ache. He pulls out and fills your mouth again and he's thinking of the warmth, how good you feel there but there's impatience in his nature. He can't help it, he pulls you up and wipes the tears from your eyes, bending you over a bare table. It's a rush to take off your underwear and stuff it in his pockets, entering you without warning till he's sheathed to the hilt, having you gasp and cry out at the stretch. He kisses you hard on the mouth and then covers the noises you make, bringing your chest up, back to his chest, thrusting into your heat, saying, ''Be good for me, okay? Keep quiet.'',

trailing off to moan into your ear. You nod, crying in his hand, trying to keep the noises at bay, easy compliance which he finds hot, he didn't know you had this in you. You release your juices around his cock, slumping on the table whose corners you've gripped really hard, loosening it, whimpering, fumbling for his wrists, you feel overstimulated. ''Hold on, I'm there, alright dove?'' he coos, fucking you once, twice and then through his release, milking your insides. He tugs your dress down and his trousers up and you turn over and slip into his arms, kissing him, love over lust, giggling together and going home together.

Dawon I Lee Sanghyuk:

Simple, he's come home from work, exhausted but not too much to drop and you are preoccupied by your thoughts, about him. He takes you into his arms, sitting by the edge of the bed, upright, you grow needier as you straddle him. But you could wait. The kisses grow needier, passionate, like melting your bodies against one another, that feeling is present, every time. He pulls back for a breather and touches your foreheads, it's cute and makes you smile, tugging on his suit jacket which he takes as a sign to remove. ''What'd you want to do?'' he asks. His voice is soft and envelopes only the space between the two of you despite this being your house with no one else in it. ''Sit here'' and his lower belly stirs in arousing mystery, he knows what you have in mind, much more significance present whether or not you put it into words. You get off him and stand less than arm length away, taking off your clothes. He watches hungrily, taking in every detail connected with your body for example the way the fabric moves when you slip it off. You are graceful with it. You could be hasty and he would still find it sensual, he loves you naked. There isn't much to remove, just a shirt, no bra and panties. His mouth goes dry when you are only in your panties. He loves when you sleep like that. You gasp, biting down on your bottom lip, he tugs you closer to him and reaches out for the space between your legs, rubbing your clit over the material, evoking such beautiful sensations that have you curling at the knees. But first, as much as you want to go on, you nod and he takes his hand away, giving you a small smile as you get on your knees, never leaving his eyes, his intense gaze. When you are on your knees, in between his legs, he takes the liberty of grasping the back of your head and kissing you, leaning down to kiss you, he loves doing this every time and explains it as power play. Fuck, you think about how hot it is, his dominance over you. You sit on your heels, hands obediently on your knees, staring at his fingers working on taking his cock out. All the while, he thinks of your behaviour, observing your patience, your submission, heavy turn-ons for him. Your core is aching, in waiting, you had grown more aroused. Has it been the waiting or the change in atmosphere? He spits on his hand and pumps himself a few times and then slowly guides your mouth onto it, not giving you a chance to adjust to the intrusion in your mouth before pulling back and filling your mouth up again. Tears spill from your eyes, you gag on his cock as it hits the back of your throat but you don't object or touch him, instead fisting your hands on your knees and allow him to use your mouth. Next, he will use your core. So many thoughts, you are leaking in your panties when he moans out, ''You're doing so well.'', turning your cheeks pink and urging yourself to do even more better. You look up at his expression, nearly crying from the pleasure you are able to give him. ''Look at yourself baby, fuck, I'm fucking you dumb aren't I? Just a little slut to be used, on my cock.'' he turns you towards the small mirror on the floor, not far from the bed, leaning against the wall and big enough for you to see yourself in it. His words make you nod, he is pleased at the agreement in your eyes. He pulls you off his cock, watching a trail of saliva connect the tip of his cock and your open mouth, greedily sucking in air as if you had not been breathing moments before. He makes you keep silent by having you moan and cry out into his hand that covers your mouth, controlling the volume of your sounds as he pounds into you from behind, fully filling you to the brim, ''I know baby, I like using you.''. When he cleans the two of you up, he joins you in bed where hours later, you cock warms him, giggling and laughing about your day when he tells jokes and pinches your nipples, giving you precious love bites.

Rowoon I Kim Seokwoo:

Seokwoo is hovering above you, smiling like crazy. This is the first time you entrust yourselves to each other, sexually. From stripping each other of one's clothes and feverishly pressing kisses in all the right places, you've held back- in the back of his car while watching the fireworks, on the sofa strapped to the back of his truck when you helped him change house and last week, when he appeared all sheepish, ringing the bell and pressing you against the door with loving, I-want-to-make-love-to-you kisses after you told him that your parents were out. You stare at him, soaking in his expressions. Your clothes are on and as much as the two of you have eagerly waited for this moment, you start to relish it in. To take in all the details of your first night together. How did you end up here? That was a good question now for the night appeared faster than the day. The memories of the morning enlighten but here, here there is a different glow. Particularly the light from outside, bathing it's yellow's and orange's on your precious bodies, day illuminating your sight of one another. He sees a flash of nervousness in your eyes or ''This...'', not sure how you want to put it into words to which he instantly caresses your arms, gently, every so slowly, locking your lips in a soft, passionate embrace like he wants to tell you a million words made of the bright morning star and dark evening silvers combined. It sparks a need within you, in between primal and not, fucking loving. Heat slowly growing in you, you pull him back to your lips, touching your body, lips, legs to his, entangling. There the fire grows or perhaps, the heat. Heart of heart, hand in hand, you straighten up, sitting on your backside instead of laying and conscious of each other's movements, he moves back till he is on his back, head having not met the bed sheets purely in favour of seeing what you are about to do. One could say that he is curious, like a cat with it's ears poking up to the sound of a doorbell or wrapper crinkling. The latter for later, you think, grinning. He bites his lip, mouth almost asking, ''What are you doing baby?'' to which you say, ''Just you wait'', reading the words from lips. ''I can wait'' he says, almost saying, I've waited for so long, I can wait!. You think that he's cute, never more before than at this moment. The last time you were here, he was the one in this position. You move to in between his legs, trailing your fingers over his legs, toppling his nerves over the edge. Before he can move, which the movement resembles a jerk upwards, you push him back down, reassuring him. First with a kiss to his collarbone, travelling to deliver another kiss to his lips, cutting to the chase, ''Relax'', soothingly, ''I've got you.'', relaxing him till you see his expression soften and him nod, holding your arms. Then you go down, never letting go off the link between your eyes, core tingling with the buzzing of arousal as you pull his boxers off his legs, allowing his fully hard cock to spring from the previous confines. It's a sight to behold, right in front of you, mouth parting in awe at his cock. He looks at you nervously for a second and then thinks that he shouldn't have to be, he's safe with you, more than comfortable and he could sink into it; that's how you make him feel. He smiles when you reach for his hand, entwining your fingers, giving a little squeeze before you release, coating spit with your fingers and palm and spreading it across his cock, including his precum with a swipe. When you first touch him, he flinches but not in a bad way, it's a little unexpected but nothing to be worried about. He instantly calms, his heart racing all the same, throwing his head back and letting a groan escape him when he feels the warmth of your mouth envelope him. It's enough to throw him a blissful state, to think that the whole situation makes him giddy. He wants you, loves you and he has to tell you that (again). You suck him off with the bobs of your head, hair swishing with very fill of his cock in between your lip, you

take a look more than every once in a while, twice to know his reactions. To see him pleased makes you chuckle, the vibrations tickling his spine, slightly lifting his lower back off the bed, that type of sensation. It sends waves of the sea to his mind, he's lost in the pleasure you give to him. His eyes snap open when he feels it coming, he hurries to tell you before you let him tumble over the edge, bordering past the realm of intense sensuality, ''Wait-'', ''What is it?'' you ask, already thinking, knowing. ''I want to'', pause, ''be in you before I come'' said with determination which makes you nod furiously, smiling at him with giddiness. ''Huh?'', leaves your lips in confusion but you shouldn't. High standards, you think because you know that he will give it to you. Silver clouds, silver clouds. He nods, forgetting to tell you that he wants to have you on your back and eat you out. ''You know that time, when we were almost about to?'' you nod at his questions, fully aware at the memories that spring, fresh to the mind. They make you even more excited. ''This, I've wanted to do this for a long time.'' he says, eyes losing their innocence that you are so used to, taking on a darker form, not literally but the expression behind them. He wants to devour you and as much as you find that phrase funny, it's true. He's already in between your legs, licking a stripe, much to your back that lifts off the bed in a bed of arousal and that luscious moan that you let out, it fills his ears like music and urges him to continue on, till you've spilled on his tongue, crying out his name.

Zuho I Baek Juho:

He was irked by you, especially at first. ''Be cordial'' he said, the words that his mother always repeated to him when he couldn't instantly connect or figure out someone's personality. He didn't have to understand the world, yet he set out too. And you knew it, his curiosity and you thought that someday, it would land him in trouble. Wrong people, the police would say, sighing at the unfortunate instance of a man that landed in hot waters with the arduous gang in the area. ''Ran his mouth and look what happened'', the other police officer would say, letting out another sigh. But over time, you let this prejudice you had of him, dwindle. Now, you want to protect this person, at least to the best of your ability. His breath was taken away when he first saw you. He was also a fumbling person with a clumsy nature which he couldn't help but he could play his cards right, yes? Around you, he wasn't so sure. He was enticed by you, purely by his perception of beauty. But, not only because you are beautiful, you connect to people like that. Only this time, he felt as if children were deciding your fate, playing and dabbling your meetings in juvenility. You had seen him fall on his backside, getting up in an admirable manner; spill food on himself, did he need a bib? It was minor, cute occurrences to you which he thought of in distaste. He was a sweet guy, considerate because he would always think of other people, like telling you that he found a melody he composed which reminded him of you or bringing food for a heart-broken-by-their-ex-and-crying-terribly friend. You knew each other plenty. Your friends felt as if you needed a push and there came one, in a way that neither of you expected. No one knew about it after the event. Now that you are in bed on your day off, cuddling with Ju while watching a show together, giving live commentary in each other's ears while the mood calls for other things which forget the tv, you chuckle. But to recall, it's from a couple of years ago: at a party, you secure a room, purely by surprise do you stumble in there. You are buzzed, Ju walks out from the bathroom adjoining the room, looking at you with wide eyes, pausing in his step. ''What are you doing in here?'', ''What-?'' collide from your mouths in a frenzy. The room grows hot, maybe it's just your embarrassment that you can't stand straight. But he manages to catch you, taking huge steps with his arms extended just so your bottom does not hit the ground. You thank him and ask him to give you some space which you find comical. He's looking at you with worry plus, you are leaning against the door which he wants to walk past but is he going to say something? probably not. ''I'm good'', ''You sure?'', ''Yea why?'' and then something and then he drops you home. He chuckles to your fast-asleep, softly-snoring self, finding you just a tinsy bit adorable then. ''Thank you Ju'', ''It's okay'' he says, nonchalantly, ''Hey'', ''Yea?'', ''I want to try something'' you are smiling now, he's genuinely curious. You kiss him on the cheek and make your way out, not sure what to say, not sure whether to turn back. The next time he sees you, he kisses you.

Library sex? The most unrealistic because Ju can't keep his breathy moans to himself and the shelf, I don't think they can handle such forces ad the people? 911. But I didn't end up writing a blowjob into that story like I had planned, instead I have something to share: sucking Ju off in a library when's he trying to find a book/reading? It's hot, very, maybe it stems from yours and Ju's excitement, extra energy meshing in such a way that after an intense make-out session by the end of a bookshelf, you get on your knees and suck him off, arousal surging in your body and watching his expressions of pleasure. I guess the equally hotter thing would be if he pulled you up and made you sit on a table, bunching your bottoms wherever and getting on his knees, ''I'll make you feel happy'' which makes you think, is he drunk off excitement?. Surely yes, he chuckles when he hears your whimpers, entwining one hand that you squeeze every time his fingers touch your sweet spots.

Yoo Taeyang:

Because I'm a sap, every story here is more or less a love story anon!

Here's my train of thought: You drop off your keys on the table, stretching your neck from a short journey of driving but a long day of work, hoisting your arms up into the air, discarding your clothes in the hamper or wherever, calling out, ''Taeyang?''. ''I'm in here!'', he responds, namely the bedroom. You can already imagine him on his side of the bed, laptop on lap, maybe picking out a pub to go to and a movie for movie night, in his joggers and lose t-shirt. You are right, after all, it has been three and a half million years since you married this man. You walk right into your shared bedroom with only your underwear on. Taeyang distracts himself by occupying you on his mind, seeing your backside when you bend to pick something up from your closet. ''This isn't a porno Taeyang, I can feel your eyes on my butt.'' you murmur disapprovingly. ''I'm sorry'' he says, ignoring the way his groin stirs. You climb on the bed, moving towards him. Bigger the bed, bigger the journey to your favourite person's arms. A smaller bed would do, smaller distance then. ''How was your day?'', ''So we are doing this huh? It was good, thank you for asking.'', ''Tell me about it.'' he says, laughing, pulling you into his arms. You recount your memories, picking the funny ones. You sink into his arms, almost falling asleep. ''What did you do today?'' you ask, wanting to hear a funny story. ''I went to shop groceries, I met the housewives from two blocks over, I wanted to dash but I couldn't'', ''Why?'' you chuckle, continuing, ''Why did you want to dash?''. Taeyang has no interest in people except the you and neighbours and for a while, you've been encouraging him to make friends outside the radius of your area, if he's comfortable with it. ''They seem to judge very quickly, I can't stand stuff like that. Anyways, we got to know one another and now we have a reservation to eat at their pub next Thursday. If you are not okay, we can cancel it.'', he slows down at the last part ''Really?!'', you exclaim, you are extra-extra-extra happy for him. He's making friends! ''Is it that one we wanted to go to but couldn't?'' you ask, and he marvels at your excitement with a smile and gleaming eyes, thinking suspiciously that he does want to go there but, at what cost? He wants to go with you, not them. It's a beautiful train of thought. After the conversation, you lie in silence, peaceful as he shuts off his laptop and turns his attention to you. It starts with the hands on your waist, ''Pretty'', they move to your back, entering your shirt and snapping open your bra which by then, he's already kissing you, telling you that he wants you, intimately, especially with the way he's moulding his lips against yours, groaning into your mouth. ''Let me have you?'' is his question, you nod. he caresses your backside and then your cheek, legs on either side of your head, filling your mouth with his cock. It's a careful situation, he goes slow and with caution so as to not hurt you, it takes a while to set the rhythm which is fine by both, you want this but not by hurting yourselves. You've got a wide view of him and even a little eye contact sets him off, with a steady rhythm, he is throbbing with arousal, moaning at the way your mouth takes him. When it's the opposite, he prefers you stand or lean against a wall and that he is on his knees with his fingers deep inside of you, plunging in to meet your sweet spots while he sucks and licks your clit. Your view is so pretty, he always starts with little kitten licks, like it's his first time and then he buries his tongue in between your folds, lapping up every little juice he can find. It ends with you either riding him or on your hands and knees as he takes you from behind.

The true ending is when you cuddle after a second round and he refuses to get up because he wants to stay with you but eventually the knowing-better side of him wins and you take a shower together, the equally intimate situation out of everything. He rubs the knots on your shoulders away and gives you the best message to your scalp ever, it's soothing and this time you almost fall asleep (hehe). He also loves it when you do it for him: lather his body in soap and run your hands along it; knead the knots of tension in certain parts of his body, maybe his lower back or calves due to dancing all day and shampooing his hair while he rests on his chest (with his back to your chest or even curled up in between your legs, with his head on your tummy). If the two of you are up for it, he'll pour some wine or champagne or whatever it is that you both prefer and sit on the opposite side of the tub with your legs on his, probably massaging your sore legs after a long day of work and have the best conversations with you.

Hwiyoung I Kim Youngkyun:

Gentle baby

Let me elaborate: It goes without saying that you are his favourite person. Without hesitation (he can't help it), he'll smile when he sees you, even if you are just passing by, perhaps in a hurry or not, he has to smile at you and have a little conversation, ''Hey, what are you up to?'', ''Really?'' when you tell him and just like that, he has every reason to smile, to get that little boost you give him. Every conversation you have with him is fruitful for example, he loves inviting you to drink beer with him and if you don't like it but can tolerate it like me, he's absolutely open to trying new things like a wine tasting session and some people are drunk by the end but he's doing that thing, whereby his hand is hovering behind your back and he's cautious to pull you out of being dashed if a drunk person stumbles in your way. His eyes twinkle when he speaks to you, a gleam not malicious but out of curiosity to know you even more, he likes you, now what? When you weren't officially together, he felt as if he couldn't give you hugs as openly as he wanted to, maybe out of shyness, maybe out of hesitancy especially if you didn't like it. But he got to that point where he was comfortable around you, enough to side hug you when he met you, front hug when he met you but wanted to cuddle and back hugs for surprise. Take those three and apply them to the now, those are his ways of showing you affection. He loves to have you in his arms, close to you, no matter what mood he is in, if he's feeling gloomy, he'll fall into your arms when you pull him in for a hug and lean on your shoulder, nestling his head in between your neck particularly if he's not feeling okay. He loves you with all his heart! When you first have sex and all the times after that, you figure out that he's not rough neither does he have that capability to do that to you. If you want to, he'll try it out but sometimes, he'll slip back into loving you, holding your hands above your head when you release, gently coaxing an extra release one from you when he's eating you out on a day when you came back home tired. There's a lot to unpack here but don't worry, I got it~ On a day when you are tired, he'll love to eat you out, when you are on the sofa and you legs dangle of the edge, he'll sit there and dive his head in between your legs. He'll want to hold your hands when he hears you whimper or cry out his name, squeezing them in comfort as if to say, ''You are so great baby, you're doing so well, release when you want to.'' but don't forget, he going to absolutely tease you! Like, ''baby, there's something on your cheek'', ''huh?-oh'' and playfully push him as he takes you into his arms. It's your tears when he was pleasuring you. He not averted to the idea of you sucking him off when he's tired because he wants to cuddle you but in the morning! oh, if you suck him when you wake up, oh god. How does he handle it? He's moaning in no time, in your eyes it is quite exquisite to see, his expression in a haze, fluttering to the pleasure he's receiving, on some mornings, he comes faster than you've anticipated. To see you with a lack of clothes, he's turning you under him and placing kisses all over your body, slowly removing his jumper on yours to reveal your body. Trust me, he loves your body and if you aren't, he'll try to bring you into your element, it's okay if you aren't comfortable with your body but when you are, he'll move to your beat such as letting you ride his face after you sucked him that very morning. Or if you have a different dynamic, he would also love if you punished him (your dom side makes him nod like a compliant pretty boy, mewling to your orders) by not letting him touch you, he's going to be sulky then, ''I can't touch you?'', ''uh-huh'', ''why?'', ''It's your little punishment'', he proceeds to put his hands all over you, including slipping in between your folds just to prove his point that he doesn't like your punishment. He can be compliant but also act out, he thinks he's a bad boy~~ His favourite is to take you over the counter

but let's not lie here, he's perfectly happy with you sucking him off by the counter too, it's one of his favourite places in the house to have sex with you and he'll gladly return the favour by placing you it, on your back and coax one or two releases out of you. Then he may take you to the sofa, ''I know that you can do this baby'', ''Kyunnie?'', ''do you want to come back to this later on?'', ''It's okay'', ''you sure?'', was your conversation the first time around he had nearly coxed three to four releases out of you. He is proud of you, especially when he enters your warmth and settles beside you, slowly thrusting his hips against yours, filling you up and releasing into you, making love to you all the while.

Chani:

Expect all the love from him too, anon!

The fan, the acoustic ventilator and the window are all open, letting in fresh air from outside and circulating it in into your room. Not less than a couple of moments ago had Chani woken up and wrinkled his nose, shaking his head in groan that, ''You need to open the window y/n, otherwise the fan is only going to circulate the warm air that is in this room.''. You are fast asleep, feeling extra warm but asleep, regardless. When Chani was content with opening the sources that would cool the room, he sighed in relief and took of his shirt that was stained with sweat, tossing in into the hamper and getting into bed with you. ''It's too hot.'' you mumble, the stickiness of the humidity has perforated any desires of wanting to sleep in his arms. But Chani has other plans, he waits for you to adjust your position to one of laying on your back and then he proceeds to lay on your bare tummy, growing that baby smile of his when you clear the hair from his face and embrace him. ''If we go out, it'll be cooler.'', ''okay'' he mumbles, not liking the idea of moving one bit but he knows that it must be cooler outside, if not staying within these four walls. Neither of you move and moments later, the both of you have fallen asleep, softly snoring. Chani moves up to where your head is, you wake up with his hand splayed all over you. He's awake, only slightly, gazing at you through his fluttering eyelids, cheekily smiling, from one dimple to the other, you decide that you know what's on his mind from the way his hands move all over your body. The heat has simmered down, albeit momentarily before it rises again to make way for the sweltering afternoon heat. He caresses your side, lifting himself to place kisses all over your tummy + if you were doing it for the first time as a couple and if you have stretch marks, he would run his fingers over them and tell you, ''Don't be shy, they are pretty.'', the last words would be said with finality, with determination that you should know about the marks that cover your body make up your beauty as well. You are beautiful, he's trying to say. He would kiss your stretch marks, wherever they are (breasts, hands, legs, hips, back, wherever) even placing a light bite upon the area, proud that he has managed to elicit a chuckle, ''What are you doing?'' is your response and a stress-free posture as you lie in his arms. He wouldn't know how to say it properly but you would understand through his actions that like tattoos, your stretch marks are personal to you, they make up you and that there's nothing wrong with them, that they should be loved instead of following the social taboo against them. He trails kisses to your sex, experimentally lapping at the wetness and warmth you have to offer. He doesn't waste time, simply pulling out lube and warming up your sex with it, adding a finger or two. ''Babe'', ''Hmm?'', ''Stop here'', you say, grasping his hand. With that, he places his hands on the sides of your head, hovering over you, asking, ''How's my favourite girl doing huh?'' while kissing your temple when placing a condom on himself and entering you. He responds to your moans with some of his, revelling in the feeling of his cock within you. It's towards the end when he's got you in his arms, on the bed, facing one another, in an intimate embrace, tuning in to the sounds and immense feelings of one another that he pulls away, chuckling when he hears a whine from you. It's not a little whine either, ''Chani'' you mumble, grumbling yet excited, the latter which he can see all the same, ''Come here baby'' he murmurs in response, with a hint of a command, you know what that it's a give and take. You get on your knees and suck him off, gripping onto to the covers for the position that you are in is not the best because you can't multitask or ask. You go on till he tells you to pull out and you sit opposite each other, ''This isn't our first time trying it'' you laugh out'', you say, laughing which he mirrors, ''I know, I like watching you when we do this.'', ''What the-'', you start, he's laughing again

but

with that crinkly-at-the-eyes and smiling widely, gums-showing, heart-stopping type of laugh that you pause your fingers at your core, not realising that you are smiling as widely as him. It's the effect you have on each other. At the same time, you both call it, automatically. He's sitting opposite you, within an arms lengths, touching himself, stroking himself to the bring of a release and beyond, while you, you that he can see, that he wants to reach out to but is equally content watching you finger yourself and stimulate your clit to a similar, high-energy-taking release. Since the first time you've done this, the both of you have been drawn to watch or not, concentrating with your eyes shut or with encouraging eyes that also stimulate, greatly, ''You can do this babe, you are doing so well'', said by either of you, smiling when you see the other release. Afterwards, he'll just want to collapse into your arms, not letting go, energy spent well in the morning. In the kitchen, he'll brew a coffee or tea for you, cuddling you in his arms, spending this valuable time in silence, occasionally telling you a funny situation that had occurred when he was at work.

#sf9 #youngbin #inseong #jaeyoon #daown #lee sanghyuk #rowoon #kim seokwoo #zuho #baek juho #yoo taeyang #hwiyoung #kim youngkyun #chani #sf9 x reader #sf9 requests #sf9 reactions #sf9 headcanons #sf9 smut #sf9 scenarios #sf9 imagines #sf9 writings #sf9 fluff #sf9 fanfic #sf9 fantasy

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: III

“You can have me tonight or never

I thought you understood

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

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

—Wrong, Zayn and Kehlani

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

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

word count: 24.2k

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

///

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

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

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

Harry still hates clubs. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Very satisfied, yeah. Your help was greatly appreciated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is that so?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The name’s Styles. Harry Styles. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not going.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lock the door on your way out!” 

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

That is, until she met Harry seven days ago. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The first thing he notices is the dress. 

Fuck, the dress. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nice to see you again, Disco Ball.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Far from it, love.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I like your dress.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve been thinking about you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck off.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It felt really nice.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wouldn’t mind it, either.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, y-yes.”

“Want me to keep going?”

“Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We do make quite the team, don’t we?

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

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

Alright, Watson. What time will you be home?

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

I’m off at 6:45. Should be home by 7. 

I’ll see you there, then. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fan came in. Wanna come check it out?

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

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

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

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

Sounds good to me, Sherlock. 

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

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

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

“Shut up.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I— I can’t. I’m—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hands off.” 

“W-What?”

“Hands off.”

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

“Ask for permission.” 

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

“Please what?”

“Please—can I—can I cum?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

The third week is when things escalate for the better. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I need interior design advice. 

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

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

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

Genuinely? 

Yup!

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

Alright, shoot. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Immature? 

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

Another message interrupts his spiraling negative conclusions.

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N ignores the bristling across her cheeks. 

Alright, go head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Did you watch your video before you sent it?

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, whoops. Sorry for the indecent exposure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Touché.

Exactly. 

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

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

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

You did it on purpose, didn’t you?

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

Maybe.

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

Alright, l’ll bite. Tick for tack. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You read my mind.

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

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

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

She practically drops her phone when it vibrates.

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

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

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

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

Hours? You want me down your throat for hours?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m going to call you.

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

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

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

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

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles smut #smut #harry styles series #vampire!harry #harry styles #1d fanfiction #1d fic #one direction fanfiction #one direction smut #one direction fic #1d smut #ysijwa #harry styles one shot #harry styles dirty one shot #harry styles dirty imagine #harry styles dirty fanfiction #harry styles blurb #harry x y/n #harry x reader #harry styles au #vampire au

[justanotherpersonsuniverse]

Game Master Akuma AU by  crisisdparity

Xavier Duchamp was rather proud of himself. What he had before him was an absolute masterpiece of a campaign if he did say so himself. The product of over six months of study, research, and rebalancing efforts followed by two weeks of discussion with his five players to hash out schedules, meeting times, characters, backstories, potential character arcs, and getting them set up with a messaging app that was really good for sending discrete messages between the GM and the players. Valentine and her boyfriend Justin were onboard in an instant. Within days, he’d greenlighted their Half-Elf Bard of the College of Glamour whose spell list was 100% Illusion spells and Half-Orc Fighter (Eldritch Knight) who was focusing entirely on Abjuration as Rena Rouge and Carapace respectively. Olivia had spent a few days coming up with a Halfling Rogue and debating subclasses with him until settling on Scout. Along with some discussion over how her special magic item’s stunning and paralysis effect would work with Sneak Attack, the campaign had its Vesperia. Jeanette had gone back and forth with him for a week looking at various homebrew subclasses for her Gnome Artificer before they both agreed on one particular Master Tinkerer entry that would be balanced and do the character justice. And with that they had their Ladybug. Even Matt was on board with a stealthy human Chat the Barbarian using the Path of the Beast. The class choice was something Matt had insisted on (and that Xavier would have suggested anyway just for the high hit point totals given Matt’s history with characters dying) and he’d even come up with a backstory that Xavier felt was quite compelling compared to Matt’s usual efforts. Morally ambiguous, likely to be tempted by promises of power, but with a great deal of story potential to work with. Which was a relief. Getting a new player into their group to replace Matt was not something Xavier really felt comfortable with. There were too many unknowns with introducing a new person, far too many for him to risk his masterpiece on an unknown factor. He knew Matt. He could work with Matt. Despite the history. He’d put everything he had into this. Every known Akuma ever fought by the heroes had been made into a boss-tier foe. He’d carefully documented each and every power the heroes had shown to craft special legendary magic items based on the Miraculous. Hawkmoth and Mayura themselves were going to be the final bosses of his campaign. In response to criticism about the difficulty of his campaigns (he tried to make them fair, but still challenging enough to be memorable), he’d made several guest NPCs based on every other hero that had ever been called upon, statted out like player characters that might show up in a pinch to help. He even had a genuine Deus ex Machina that he was ready to use to get the players out of a truly impossible jam if they found themselves in one. Not always, but a few times at least. Enough to get them to the point where they wouldn’t need it anymore. —– It was thirty minutes in, right in the middle of exposition from the Guardian NPC, when Xavier got his first message on the app. Matt/Chat - Chat’s going to wait until everyone breaks up and follow Ladybug stealthily. Xavier/GM - Starting party conflict on the first session? Not what I’d advise, but it’s your character. Go ahead and make your Stealth roll now. Matt/Chat - <photo> 17 Xavier/GM - Yeah, that beats everyone’s passive Perception easily. You’ll sneak off handily without anyone noticing. —– “Jeanette, Ladybug is grabbed from behind by an unknown assailant. Roll to resist the grapple.” “Geez, already? Okay, what did my assailant get for their grapple? How screwed am I?” Xavier pretended to roll a die while consulting the message from Matt. “19.” “Okay, difficult, but not undoable… Crap.” “What’d you get?” “Nat 1…” “Hah! I rip off her earrings and claim them for myself! The Wish is mine!” “Seriously Matt?! What the hell?!” “Because it’s payback time! Payback for every character of mine killed in these hellish

campaigns!” “Oh, come on! You’re not the only person whose had a character die at this table! <GM> runs some pretty challenging campaigns, but they’re always fair!” “What about the time he killed Allric the Allmighty in a single round of combat?” “Dude, you tried to Leroy Jenkins straight into melee with a 4th-level Wizard that had a CON penalty. Even at full health you had like 10 hp.” “14!” “Not much better, dude.” “Guys, it’s fine. I can handle this. Okay, Matt. Chat the Barbarian managed to get the earrings-” “Yeah, Ladybug screams bloody murder when he rips them out. Good luck getting out of this in one piece.” “The moment Rena hears Ladybug scream, she bolts for the sound.” “So does Carapace.” “Vesperia too.” “-and with their current locations and movement speeds, I assume you’re all using the Dash action?, you’ve got maybe one round to decide on your Wish before they’re all over you, so choose carefully. And be aware that I plan to grant whatever you wish for in the worst possible way, just as I would if any of the others pulled this.” “Rena screams ‘What the HELL, Chat?! We’re supposed to protect the Miraculous, not use them for our own selfish purposes! Didn’t you listen to the Guardian? Such actions always bring misfortune upon those who misuse the Miraculous!’” “Because I am Chat, avatar of Destruction and I WISH THIS WORLD NEVER EXISTED!” There was dead silence at the table. “Matt… What… just… WHAT?!” “Hah! You like that?! How does it feel now that the shoe’s on the other foot, huh?!” “What the hell is your problem, Matt?!” “My problem? MY problem?! Do you know how much time I’ve spent making characters for these shitty campaigns only to have them turned into paste in one session?!” “Because you made primary spellcasters and played every last one of them like a barbarian, charging in headfirst without thinking! All of us breathed a sigh of relief when you revealed that your character finally matched your playstyle!” “I HATE BARBARIANS! THEY’RE BORING! I SHOULD GET TO PLAY CHARACTERS THAT CAN AT LEAST CHUCK FIREBALLS!” “THEN MAYBE YOU SHOULD STOP RUNNING THEM FACE FIRST INTO ENEMY SWORDS!” “NONE OF YOU COULD EVER HANDLE THE FACT THE I MAKE MORE AWESOME CHARACTERS THAN ANY OF YOU, SO YOU JUST LET THIS DOUCHEBAG KILL THEM OFF SO YOU WOULDN’T GET OVERSHADOWED BY HOW AMAZING I AM! WELL NOW I KILLED SOMETHING YOU ALL WORKED HARD ON, SO SUCK IT! I’M DONE WITH ALL OF YOU FOREVER!” “MATT! HEY! GET BACK HERE YOU JERK! MATT!” “Crap, I think Olivia might actually kill him this time…” “It’s going to take all of us to stop her from getting arrested at least.” Xavier just watched numbly as the rest of the group ran out of his apartment. Over six months of work. Gone in less than an hour. He’d given so much to making sure this would work. He’d apologized to Matt at least twice for every character of his that had died to get him to come back. He’d agreed to demand after demand just to keep a familiar face on board, never dreaming he’d pull something like this. He’d nearly gotten fired from his job trying to rearrange his schedule to fit with everyone else’s. They’d somehow, miraculously, gotten the whole day with no other obligations among any of them and decided to make the first session a true marathon. They’d meet in the morning after breakfast and eat both lunch and dinner at the game table before calling it a night late in the evening. It was barely 10:00 in the morning and the whole campaign he’d slaved over for months was kaput. He never noticed the butterfly landing on his custom Miraculous-themed Game Master screen and being absorbed into it. “Game Master, I am Hawkmoth. Few people appreciate the kind of effort that goes into making something truly grand and memorable. I shall give you the power to bring your entire world to life and in return, I ask only for a few simple things.” This was wrong. Hawkmoth was the worst of the worst. The kind of person who would be at home among all the final bosses he’d ever made for his campaigns. Heartless, manipulative, cruel. “Not

enough? Ah, but what is a game without players? How would you like to have the Miraculous heroes themselves run your great campaign? Surely they would be far more appreciative than those ungrateful peons that left you alone with nothing but the broken remains of your efforts.” He knew all these things, but the allure of bringing the world he’d spent so much time on to life… What creator could ever turn down an offer like that? “I, the Game Master, accept… Hawkmoth.” “Excellent. And in exchange, you shall bring me one of two things: The Miraculous, or the identities of their wielders.” “No.” Hawkmoth was silent for a moment. “I beg your pardon?” “I said no. I am the Game Master. I make the world. I craft the challenges. I decide the rewards. But I do not do anything for anyone. If you want these things, get them yourself.” “If you refuse me, it shall be very unpleasant for you.” “No. As Game Master, I decide the limits of all powers within my realm. And I decide that you have none over me.” And with that, he unleashed his creation over all of Paris, drawing everyone and everything within into his sphere of influence. —– Ladybug blinked the spots (ha) out of her eyes as the flash of light died down and looked at herself. She didn’t remember transforming, but she was clearly in her spots. Except her red and black superhero uniform didn’t usually look like it was headed to a steampunk convention. Looking around, she tried to figure out what had happened and her eyes landed on a familiar belt and pants combo. Problem. Whoever this was, their groin was at eye level for her. She looked up. And up. To find a grinning Chat Noir, sans anything resembling a shirt and having put on at least a foot of height and apparently a hundred pounds of pure muscle, grinning down at her. “How’s the weather down there?” Chat Noir chuckled as he flexed his unfairly attractive muscleman physique. “I WILL END YOU!” the heroine snarled, already 100% done with whatever new insanity Hawkmoth had cooked up. Characters: Ladybug - Gnome Artificer (Master Tinkerer - Homebrew) Chat Noir - Human Barbarian (Path of the Beast) —– Vesperia had to admit, as Akuma attacks went, this was pretty dope. She was currently a halfling. A halfling! If it wasn’t for her fantasy ensemble being yellow and black, she’d have thought she stepped straight out of Lord of the Rings. Of course, fantasy setting or not, there were still things she’d have rather left back in the real world. Like racism. And stigma against mixed couples. Not directed at her, but rather at the two walking down the street next to her. “You know, people are staring…” she said as she craned her head to look at her companions. “Let them,” the Half-Elf Rena Rouge (who looked like a cross between a musician and a belly dancer) said from her perch atop the shoulders of the heavily armored (and surprisingly buff) Half-Orc Carapace. “They’re just jealous because their boyfriends can’t carry them everywhere.” Characters: Vesperia - Halfling Rogue (Scout) Rena Rouge - Half-Elf Bard (College of Glamour) Carapace - Half-Orc Fighter (Eldritch Knight) —– Ryuko blinked as she studied the apparent snake-man-thing before her who claimed to be Viperion. She lifted a hand to study it and found what appeared to be bronze scales covering every inch of her skin. She sniffed herself, smelling the sharp tang of ozone. What was she? And why did she appear to be wearing wooden armor? Characters: Ryuko - Dragonborn (bronze) Druid (Circle of Storms - Third Party) Viperion - Naga Sorcerer (Divination Magic - Homebrew) —– Polymouse giggled as her friends ran over her. Okay, she’d freaked out a little to find a swarm of mice (with hair like hers no less) crawling all over her surprisingly mouse-like body when she’d come to in the middle of some forest somewhere. But she’d gotten over it pretty quickly. It helped that her new friends were adorable. It might help more if she could figure out where she was. Or find another person. Characters: Polymouse - Kobold

(rodentlike) Ranger (Swarmkeeper - Reskinned) —– Purple Tigress sighed as she felt the hair (fur?) on the top of her head being shifted around and twitched her new catlike ears in mild annoyance. “Are you quite done?” “Almost!” Pigella’s cheerful voice answered. “Your fur is so comfy!” Tigress sighed. Of course Pigella would end up being a fairy, and having her normal cheerful enthusiasm cranked up to previously unimagined levels. “I love you dearly, but if you start shouting 'hey listen’ I will stick you in a bottle.” “Aw, I love you too! Hey, what’s that?” “I think it’s my character sheet?” Characters: Purple Tigress - Tabaxi Paladin (Oath of Glory) Pigella - Fairy Cleric (Order Domain - Reskinned) —– “According to my analysis, we have been placed into what appears to be a Dungeons and Dragons campaign under 5th edition rules,” Pegasus stated in a mechanical monotone. “I am apparently a Warforged Wizard using the School of Conjuration whose spells create portals to bridge dimensions and summon or banish my intended targets. You are what is known as a Simic Hybrid, with the class of Monk, following the Way of the Drunken Master.” “Aweshum,” King Monkey slurred, his generally human appearance clad in monk’s robes marred by his monkey-like hands and feet as well as the monkey tail swishing behind him. “Why do you keep slurring like that? According to my sensors, your gourd is filled with only water.” “Gotta keep up appearanshes!” King Monkey grinned as he continued faking drunkenness. Characters: Pegasus - Warforged Wizard (School of Conjuration - Reskinned) King Monkey - Simic Hybrid Monk (Way of the Drunken Master) —– Hawkmoth studied the dark red horns growing out of his head in the mirror. The change in appearance was disconcerting, but he felt a rush of power in this new form that he’d never felt before. “Hmm… perhaps I can work with this…” “Speak for yourself…” Mayura muttered off to the side, ruffling her peacock-like feathers in annoyance as she tried to glare at the beak on her own face. Characters: Hawkmoth - Tiefling Dark Lord, Warlock Patron, Contracted by Lila Rossi, Volpina, Queen Wasp, and many others. Mayura - Kenku Assistant to the Dark Lord, Creator of Monsters —– “Oh, come on!” A figure in a cyan and white hooded robe complained as they waved a similarly colored umbrella around angrily. “Everyone else gets to be part of this adventure, why can’t I join them?” “Because you’re too OP. You’d completely break everything and remove all challenge from the adventure.” “But sitting around is no fun at all!” “If you like, I can put you in the position of the main quest giver. Your job would be to direct them towards their enemies and means of becoming stronger.” “That’s it?! I’m on 'mysterious hooded figure’ duty? Boo! Why can’t I fight with them?!” “Because you’re too OP. But if you insist, I’ll allow some Deus ex Machina interventions.” “YES!” “Five.” “I’m sorry?” “I’ll allow five interventions at your discretion to aid them when they are in peril. Once you have come to their aid five times, I will allow no more meetings save to impart quest information.” “That’s it?” “Yes. Choose your interventions wisely.” “So… if I manage to save one for when they fight Hawmoth and Mayura in the final battle…?” “Then I would allow you to join them of course.” “Score!” Characters: Bunnyx: Mysterious Hooded Figure, Deus-ex-Machina (5) Game Master: Akuma Lord of the Miraculous Campaign —– Addendum When the Game Master is finally purified and the damage reversed, it turns out that he took the effort to trap all of Paris in a temporal stasis bubble so that no matter how long passed inside no more than a few moments passed outside. Meaning that after what seemed like months in the bubble, it’s basically less than a minute after he was akumatized when everything is put back. All his friends, minus Matt, come back in bringing a new person named Zack that they vetted themselves to take Matt’s place in case he pulled something like what he did. And while he

has a similar playstyle to Matt, he’s savvy enough to know what kind of characters that is suited for and he loves playing barbarians. They all sit back down and restart the game they were all looking forward to.

—-

oh wow- that’s- wow. good job dude, seems like you worked on this a lot. Next time You should post this on your own account though, as this isn’t getting tagged or anything. Thank you though, you did a good job with this.

#submission

[seasurfacefullofclouds1]

But there is a truth...walls isnt for radio and in fact it wasnt (also cause he hadnt promo sure) but also because the music wasnt commercial you know. And for US... it's late for louis to be market there he tried but for US you need physic presence you need sexy body sexy face (harry styles type you know 🙄) but also you cant only sing there examples: have to take part in jokes on tv, karaoke. To me it's late for him also cause if after 5 years in oned and 4 years as solo he couldnt smash how can now? close to 30? i think too he should focus on uk. And for the others things they said about no have a LT3...i really hope LT2 will go good because media and gp give so much importance to second album and if LT2 will go as walls or worse i will really sad about him, the sophomore album is important he needs good promo

Ugh please. I can’t start to address these points one by one because we are arguing on their fucking stupid terms, with end goals defined by their queerbaiting hungry idol and besotted fans.

You don’t need a billion streams to be a successful artist. By that definition, a “professional, viable musician” is 0.0001% of all the musicians that exist. So all the rest are losers?

The truth is the top 50 Spotify artists in the world are there because they are manufactured. Some are more talented, others are less. None of them are guaranteed longevity, least of all Harry Styles who is flashy and omnipresent, has a good writing and production team, but still makes music of diminishing quality over time.

Walls “isn’t for radio.”

What are you talking about? There are more indie albums being played on radio everywhere. All over the world, even in the United States. Check your ears. More indie bands than Louis are played all over Britain. Oasis — “a dated sound”— is played. Liam G is played. The Lathums are played. Sam Fender, Paolo Nutini, Phoebe Bridgers, Lucy Dacus, Angel Olsen, Mitski, Perfume Genius, Fleet Foxes... all are less radio friendly. All are played on radio. Some of these people are way older than thirty. They don’t have Louis’ fanbase or fame. Still played. Still able to be requested.

We’ve gone over the reasons that Walls singles weren’t on All Access, were not promoted on All Access, were not allowed to be played when fans requested it on radio, Louis wasn’t allowed to do festivals when the organizers asked, wasn’t allowed to accept the MTV EMA award in person, could not accept the iHeart Breakout Artist award in person. What is it about Louis’ sabotage that is not getting through to people?

Four years as a solo artist... with one album because Louis’ presence and music were held back (despite what @portraitofalarryonfire says, there is more than enough evidence of it), and — as Louis himself says— no radio or label support. Today the album gained 400 million Spotify streams (5 months to get to 2 million, 4 months for the next 100 million, 3 months for the next 100 million... so streams are growing). It isn’t setting any benchmarks, for sure, but what professional musician would call this number poor? Louis has over 1 billion streams to his solo name, over 5 years. Again, how is that a benchmark of poor performance?

Louis has finally been played on Most Requested Live these last six weeks, and Louies have been competing with the most active fandoms in pop music. You’ll notice that Larry UAs get Golden played on iHeart even though it has never won.

Why is that? Because Harry doesn’t get enough radio play, as is? Or because iHeart has an agreement with Sony to play this song during MRL, even though Golden is nowhere near the top ten? Look, Defenceless never gets played even if it’s second or third— it must win. This is not a problem for Harry, though. Weird algorithm during those MRL hours, isn’t it!

Still, Defenceless’ winning and being played six weeks in a row, even though Louis is nowhere active, and the album is a year old, must be a sign— as you say— that his music career is doing poorly, right?

“He should focus on the UK.”

Great strategic thinking! Why didn’t Louis or his dumb team think of that? Why are they so ... stupid? It’s almost as if fans are smarter than professional teams. Let’s give them some pointers! Louis’ team just can’t see what Harry or Niall are doing, the stuff that we fans seem to see so clearly. Gosh, Louis’ team and Louis must be really, really blind, eh? Having done music professionally for close to ten years, yet they can’t come up with a better plan than fans. They suck even worse than bands that are starting out.

Maybe... just maybe... Rads are right, and Louis has had restrictions because people with greater power don’t want him to succeed (here is where portraitofalarryonfire says — “He pissed people off. Not Harry.”). I mean... that’s a giveaway, isn’t it? Not Harry. Why would Harry want to take away competition, when everyone else in the business can see it? When in actuality this is what he does, what people who work for him do, how people associated with him professionally feel about Louis?

Think about what you’re hearing, and what their agenda is.

#portraitofalarryonfire #Larries #Rads #harry styles #louis tomlinson

[sneezyminniejo]

Faking Sick, but in Reverse?

I wanted to try a concept I haven’t seen before in the sickfic community. So here it is. Thanks to @yooniestummy for helping formulate the concept and giving me some ideas

TW emeto, 

induced vomitig by way of food

Over the past two weeks every member of BTS had taken at least one day off except for Jungkook. They each had tried individually to get him to take a break, but he had refused, insisting that he had too much to improve upon before their next comeback.

“We need to somehow get Jungkook to take a break before he seriously hurts himself.” Namjoon said, sounding frustrated. Everyone hummed in agreement, then Seokjin suddenly yelled saying he had an idea. “Remember that time that Yoongi faked being sick to get off work that one time?” Everybody nodded, but Yoongi looked a little concerned at the direction his hyung was going.

“What if we convince Jungkook that he’s sick, so he’ll slow down. If he thinks he’s sick, he might actually stay here for a day or two and rest.” The younger five members stared at Seokjin somewhat dumbfounded. Yoongi seemed to understand first. “You’re suggesting that we make some comments, implying that he seems rundown, and maybe make him physically sick as well?” Seokjin nodded. Hoseok chimed in next. “Let’s start with the comments, if he still doesn’t give in to a break, we can try to make him physically sick. But only as a last resort.” The six members all agreed and started making a plan.

Two hours later Jungkook came home, showered, and then sat down on the couch to watch tv with the others. After an hour of watching tv, Hoseok got up to start dinner. As he walked past Jungkook, he gave a concerned look, signaling the others to start their plan.

“Hey Kook-ah” said Jimin, “Are you feeling okay? You look really tired and kind of pale.” Jungkook scoffed “Of course I look tired hyung. I spent the entire afternoon working on the choreography for the next album, and I probably look pale because I took my makeup off.” Taehyung was next to try. Since he was sitting next to Jungkook the entire time, he had been able to discreetly feel jungkook without making it obvious he was looking for a temperature. “You also feel warm Kookie.” Said Taehyung, sounding concerned. “Of course I feel warm, I run hot. I always have. If I take my temperature right now, it’ll probably read around 99.2.” 

Jungkook was getting annoyed at this point and took his temperature to show his hyungs. Sure enough it was 99.3. Jungkook also called up his parents really quick to confirm that he ran hot, and that it had actually caused him to stay home sick quite a few times until they figured out his normal temp was 99.0-100.1 and a fever was anything higher. The other five members in the room relented, and Yoongi excused himself to help Hoseok with dinner.

In the kitchen Yoongi told Hoseok that they were moving on to plan B, giving Jungkook physical symptoms. The two members made bulgogi, but this time they made it a little differently. They added some lemon to it, because they knew that citrus has a tendency of giving Jungkook stomach aches, even though he has yet to figure it out himself..

Nothing terribly interesting happened during dinner, but sure enough about forty five minutes after everyone finished eating Jungkook started complaining of a stomach ache and decided to turn in early. Truthfully, he was absolutely exhausted, but he needed to be perfect for ARMY, so he couldn’t take a break. He appreciated his hyungs’ concern though.

After Jungkook had gone to sleep, the other six began talking about how to get Jungkook to stay home the following day. Since the bathroom is right next to his room, Taehyung offered to take a bath with a new lavender bath bomb he bought. He was initially going to wait to use it because he knew lavender bothered Jungkook’s rhinitis, but since he was sleeping, Jungkook would get the desired congested effect. He would also be none the wiser, as by morning the scent would be mostly gone from the dorm. If there was any left by morning, it wouldn’t really be noticeable unless you had a very sensitive nose. Namjoon and Jimin also made a plan for breakfast.

The following morning Jungkook woke up not really able to breathe out of his nose. He also had a bit of a headache, of which he contributed to the congestion. He went to the bathroom to get ready for the day, when he suddenly felt a very itchy prickling sensation begin to take hold in his sinuses. He tried his best to quell the itch, but it was no use. “Huh-itiew, heh-ISTiew” The second sneeze ended up being louder than the first. Hoseok and Taehyung were walking by the bathroom at that exact moment. “Bless you Kook-ah. If you’re not careful, you’re going to give Taehyung a run for his money on the loudest sneeze in the dorm.” Taehyung laughed at that comment then continued on to the kitchen.

For breakfast Namjoon and Jimin had prepared some of the leftover bulgogi along with bacon. Just like how Jungkook has yet to figure out citrus gives him a stomach ache, he hasn’t figured out eating bacon made him puke. To be honest the other members weren’t sure either, as Jungkook has had no problem with other pork products. Meanwhile Yoongi lit some candles in his room before blowing them out quickly that had the slightest ever undertones of lavender. He lit them just long enough that they would hopefully irritate Jungkook’s sinuses, but not long enough that someone would be able to tell if a candle was lit.

Jungkook was getting absolutely fed up with his nose by the time breakfast had started. It wouldn’t stop running and he had already blown it five times in hopes of getting it under control, but it didn’t work. “Hih-itschh, heh-isiew.” Jungkook groaned as he grabbed another tissue. “You alright there Kook-ah? You've been sneezing and blowing your nose a lot this morning.” Stated Seokjin as he began setting the table for breakfast. “I’m fine hyung. My rhinitis is just really bad today for some reason.”

As irritated as Jungkook was with his nose, his mood was immediately lifted when he saw that they were having bacon for breakfast. He took three pieces of bacon and a good portion of the leftover bulgogi, and quickly devoured his meal.

It was about thirty minutes after breakfast when Jungkook’s stomach started forming knots. He quickly ran to the bathroom and barely made it to the toilet in time for his barely digested breakfast to make an appearance. Taehyung came to comfort his only dongsaeng as he threw up, quietly telling him it would be okay while rubbing his back.

Once Jungkook had finished, Taehyung helped the younger to the couch and told Namjoon what had happened while getting supplies for the sick maknae. Namjoon quickly called the manager to tell him that Jungkook was sick. The call wound up being longer than normal and Namjoon looked very shocked after he hung up. “The manager says that that new policy states Jungkook has to be symptom free for seventy two hours before returning to work and because everything we need to do yet needs to be done as a group, the rest of us also have off until Jungkook is better.” No one knew what to say to that so they just all gathered in the living room and turned on the tv.

Since Jungkook had clearly caught some kind of bug, and was now stuck at home for the next three days, he decided that he would allow his hyungs to baby him as much as they wanted. Truthfully he was glad for a break, he really needed it. He had a pretty bad stomach ache still, and when he said something, Yoongi was quick to give him a hot water bottle. It turned out, his body was more exhausted than he thought as he was passed out on the couch within forty five minutes of receiving the hot water bottle. He had woken up feeling significantly better. However his nose was still bugging him to no end.

“Hih-heh-hih-stiew, hi-ischh.” Jungkook sneezed again gratefully accepting the tissues offered by Yoongi. “Now that my stomach has had a chance to calm down after this morning, I feel a lot better. But my nose just won’t let up.

The rest of the day had gone very much like the morning. Jungkook sneezing periodically throughout the day. Hoseok had made stew for everyone for dinner, in part because Jungkook looked a little wary of eating anything in fear of vomiting it all up later.

The following morning, Jungkook had felt significantly better. Almost like he hadn’t been sick at all. His stomach wasn’t doing any flips or cramping, but that could just be because he hadn’t eaten yet. His sinuses also weren’t acting up to the same extent they had been the day before. Jungkook grabbed a box of tissues just in case and headed for the kitchen.

The six older members decided that the best time to tell Jungkook what they did would be the following morning at breakfast, because by then his body should be fully recovered from what they put him through. When Jungkook sat down at the table for breakfast, he instantly knew they were going to have some kind of meeting. If his hyungs didn’t look guilty, he thought he was going to be lectured about not taking proper care of himself.

Jungkook was about to start apologizing for getting sick, when his nose suddenly interrupted his train of thought. “het-stiEW. Sorry hyungs that one snuck up on me.” Jungkook plucked a tissue from the box and blew his nose. “Anyway, before you lecture me on-” Namjoon quickly cut him off.

“Kook-ah, you don’t need to apologize for anything. We are the ones who need to apologize to you.”  Jungkook was now thoroughly confused. Why would his hyungs need to apologize to him for getting sick? “I don’t understand hyung. It’s not your fault I got sick.” 

Yoongi was the one who spoke up next “We were getting overly concerned that you hadn’t taken a day off in months and that you were potentially going to work yourself to the point of passing out during practice. We wanted you to take a break before you reached that point, so we kind of gave you food we knew would make you sick. We also discreetly used scented items around the dorm to make your rhinitis a bit worse.”

Jungkook just stared at his hyungs, absolutely flabbergasted. “What do you mean you gave me food that would make me sick?” Seokjin responded. “We noticed a while ago that when you consume citrus you get a stomach ache, so we added lemon to the bulgogi.” Hoseok then added on, “You also tend to throw up when you eat bacon for some reason, so we gave you that too.” Jungkook was surprised to hear this, as he didn’t think he had any food sensitivities or allergies. He thought the reason they never had bacon or season food with lemons was because one or more of his hyungs didn’t like it, not because it made him sick.

“I should be pissed at you guys for doing that to me. But in all honesty, I kind of appreciate it.” It was the older members to be surprised this time around. “You guys are right I really needed a break. Even though yesterday was miserable, we have two days to just laze around here and relax. You said it yourself yesterday Joon-hyung, I’m not allowed to work for two more days, and you all were given the next two days off since all we have left are group schedules.” 

Jungkook paused and grabbed a tissue as he felt a tickle come to fruition and quickly sneezed into it. “Sorry, I guess my nose is still a bit unhappy with whatever you guys did  yesterday.” The older members quickly muttered apologies. “It’s okay hyungs. I already told you I’m not that mad at you for making me sick. I am however mad that you guys never told me that I am apparently sensitive to citrus and bacon. Let’s spend the next two days watching movies.”

They all happily agreed to the movie marathon, and let Jungkook pick all of them. Jungkook was still sneezier than he normally was, but he had no problem with eating now that he knew that he didn’t have a stomach bug. In between the third and fourth movies, Jungkook asked a question. “So if we ever want a couple days off and don’t want to flat out lie to management about being sick, I can just eat some bacon, and then we’ll automatically have  three days off?” The other six members laughed. “We could do that, sure, but we shouldn’t do it very often, otherwise they might send you to the hospital for tests.” Jungkook nodded in understanding, “So we do this again in like six or so months then?” Everyone laughed, then Jimin started up the next movie while Taehyung went to make more popcorn.

#sickfic #emeto #sneeze #bts

[440mxs-wife]

Looking a Lot Like Christmas

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: None, really except FLUFFY. I mean, almost tooth-achingly fluffy. Enjoy, y’all! :)

Word Count: 5200+

Early one morning, you were out of the bunker on a supply run, since the fridge and pantry were looking woefully empty. You needed everything, from staples like salt and beer, to some specialty items, like Sam's hair care products. The list in your pocket ran for two pages, and you began to wonder if you'd need two carts.

When you got out of your 1968 Chevy Nova in the supermarket parking lot, you were hit with a chilly gust of wind. You looked up to see an overcast sky, but there was also a familiar scent in the air. It reminded you of when you were younger and your mother had to take you to school in the morning. "Snow," you breathed. "It's going to snow soon," you grinned.

These were the times  that made you think of snow days off from school. Building a snowman in the front yard and snowball fights with your friends. Sledding down a hill at breakneck speed with nothing but a flimsy sheet of plastic between the ground and your butt. Mugs of steaming hot cocoa with marshmallows after time spent  outdoors.

And of course, it reminded you of the holidays. Thanksgiving dinner with your family, decorating the house for Christmas, making cookies and all sorts  of other holiday treats. Life was so much simpler back then, you thought with a deep sigh. Since you started hunting, the holidays and even birthdays have seemed to sort of fly by without a second thought.

This year, though, you had a chance to make things different, and that was because of Jack. This would be his first Christmas in the bunker, or really anywhere. You were determined to share something with him from your memories about the season, no matter how small it was.

As you walked up and down the aisles, you couldn't help but hum along with the Christmas carols playing on the overhead speakers. You smiled as you put your items in the cart and checked them off of your list. Fortunately, you were able to get everything on your list and only needed one cart, overflowing though it was.

Back out at your car, you noticed that the wind had picked up and the sky had become a little darker since you'd been in the store. You hurried to put the bags of groceries in the trunk, then headed for home before the flurries started flying.

You decided to take a quick detour down the main avenue through town, where you saw wreaths fastened to the lampposts. Shop owners had attached strings of lights around doorways to their shops. In the town square, large red bows were tied to each of the six pillars of the bandstand gazebo. The town's decorations made the smile on your face grow at how much it was starting to look like Christmas.

Thirty minutes later, you pulled your car into its space in the bunker garage. You grabbed a few bags then called out for reinforcements as you came down the spiral staircase. Sam, Dean, Jack and Cas all came out to help.

From the bags already in the kitchen, you started to separate the freezer, pantry and refrigerator items. You started humming "Jingle Bell Rock" as you worked. Dean reentered the room with the last of the bags, while Sam had started to help put pantry items away.

"You're in a good mood," Dean observed with a smile.

"And why not? It looks like it could snow any minute, it's the first week in December and they've decorated in town. I love this time of year," you explained. You started humming "Deck the Halls" as you continued to put away the supplies.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A couple of days later, Sam found a case involving a vampire nest near Lexington, Kentucky. It looked like a simple enough job, so it was decided that only the two Winchesters would go.

You stood in the doorway of Dean's room and watched as he packed his duffel bag. "We'll only be gone for a couple of days, three at the most," Dean promised.

"I know, Dean. Just be careful, on the road and with the hunt," you replied. "Weather can be unpredictable this time of year," you warned.

He zipped up his bag and walked to where you were standing with your eyes focused on the tops of your shoes. He stopped in front of you, dropped his bag and hooked his finger under your chin. Dean tilted your face up so that you met each other's gaze.

"You'll be fine, sweetheart, because you know how to take care of yourself. Besides, Jack will be staying with you and Cas is only a prayer away. We'll be home before you know it," he remarked as he wrapped his arms around you. When you pulled back from each other, Dean pressed his lips to your forehead in a warm, soft kiss. Then he picked up his bag and you both headed for the War Room to meet Sam before leaving for the hunt.

Soon it was time for the boys to head out for the long road trip to the hunt. They each said their goodbyes, gave you a hug and then trudged up the staircase to the garage. Once they reached the top, they turned to look down at you and Jack. Sam smiled and waved and Dean did the same, only he added a wink especially for you. The bunker door screeched open then slammed shut, and with that, you were alone with Jack.

Jack went back to his room to finish watching a movie he had started off of Netflix. You thought about curling up in your favorite chair in the library with your book and your blanket. For some reason, though, you didn't really feel like reading.

Along with all of the other supplies on your list, you had thrown some extra items into your cart. Growing up, you used to help your mom make the holiday treats to pass along to friends and family members. Your parents and sister have been gone many years, having been victims of a vengeful spirit attack. With them gone, the holidays got to be too difficult to think about celebrating, so you just didn't anymore.

You were determined to make this year different than the past ones for the boys as well as yourself. You wanted to give Jack the full holiday experience. With Sam and Dean gone, it was the perfect opportunity to start on his Christmas education. You figured that by introducing things little by little, by the time anyone noticed, it would be a full-blown celebration.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

From one of the bunker's storage rooms, you dragged out two of the three red plastic totes you found to the library. On a rainy afternoon while Sam and Dean were out on a supply run, you went exploring. Room 12 is where you found all of the holiday and birthday decorations.

There was greenery that could be wrapped around the railing to the spiral staircase. There were miles of red velvet ribbon that you thought would look festive if wrapped around the pillars in the library. Stockings to be hung on every bedroom door, and you found some twinkling lights that were for more than just the tree.

As you were digging through the totes to see what other treasures lay within, Jack approached you. "Hey, Jack! How was your movie?" you asked brightly.

"It was good. Had a surprise ending, which I never saw coming," Jack grinned. Seeing the red totes, he wondered, "What's going on in here?"

"Well, I found this stuff one day while roaming the halls and other rooms. I think this place needs a little sprucing up, if you ask me," you said as you pulled out a stretch of greenery. Before you started to fluff out the branches, you opened the music app on your phone. After finding the perfect song on your playlist, you pressed 'play'. As the opening notes of "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" rang out, your enthusiasm kicked in and you started to sing.

Jack took out a couple of strings of clear lights from the totes. "What should I do with this?" he asked.

"Well, where do you think they'll look best, Jack?" you countered. "It doesn't have to be perfect, but once it's in place, you'll think it is," you replied with a wink.

Jack's face lit up with a wide smile. "I think we should wrap the red ribbon around the pillar, then the clear lights should go around on top of the ribbon," he declared.

"Sounds perfect, Jack. I'll leave you in charge of doing that. I think there's a long enough ladder around here somewhere," you mentioned.

Over the next couple of hours, you and Jack worked to transform the bunker into a more festive holiday environment. At one point, you both stepped back to admire your handiwork. "Jack, I think we've done a wonderful job with decorating. Thank you so much for all your help," you said.

He turned to you and with his child-like innocence, smiled and said, "You're welcome. What else are we going to do?" he asked.

"We're done for right now. I don't know how Sam and Dean are going to react to seeing this when they get home. Best not to overwhelm them," you replied. At his puzzled reaction, you explained that Christmas hasn't always been merry for the boys. You shared that you were hoping this year could be different, that happy memories would be made. He gave you a smile and a side hug, then helped you put away the red totes.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A couple of days later, Sam and Dean came home from the vampire hunt. When they saw the holiday decorating, they knew it had to have been your doing. Probably with a little help from Jack. Despite their personal feelings about the holiday, they couldn't bring themselves to ask you to take it down. Not when they knew how much it meant for you to have a bit of normalcy in this crazy hunting life.

You came out of the kitchen, drying your hands on a towel. Your eyes lit up when you saw Dean in the War Room, going through his bag. He started to take out the weapons that would need cleaned or otherwise maintained. "Welcome home," you said softly.

"Hey, sweetheart," he replied, holding his arms out for a hug. You dropped the towel on the table and couldn't help but rush to his side. You weren't certain, but it almost felt as if his 'welcome home' hug was a little tighter than usual. You brushed the thought aside as he loosened his embrace and you slightly pulled back from each other.

"I just put the lasagna in the oven a little bit ago, so you and Sam have about 90 minutes to get cleaned up and do whatever else," you remarked.

"Ooh, your lasagna is definitely my favorite," he grinned. "Looks like you and Jack were busy while Sammy and I were gone," he stated, pointing to the decorations.

You shifted nervously from foot to foot. "Yeah, about that....," you started, but Dean laid his index finger on your lips.

"It's fine, darlin'. You and Jack did a great job. We'll need a tree at some point, I guess. Where did you find all this stuff anyway?" he asked.

"One of the storage rooms, number 12. I was snooping around one rainy day and found these red plastic totes. Didn't find any mistletoe yet, though," you pouted.

Dean chuckled. "Oh, we're definitely going to have to fix that. Can't have Christmas without mistletoe and the opportunity to kiss a pretty girl," he remarked, his eyes locked on yours. He noticed the colorful tinge to your cheeks and silently congratulated himself that his words had the desired effect on you.

"A-a-anyway, why don't you set out your dirty clothes in a basket and I'll get them started while you shower?" you suggested.

"I can do that," Dean replied. "Good to be home," he remarked then leaned in to plant a lingering kiss just above your right eye. You stepped out of his arms and excused yourself to go back to the kitchen to make a salad to go with dinner. Dean went the other direction to his bedroom to get ready for his shower. It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas, he hummed to himself.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You went to the fridge and grabbed the romaine lettuce and other vegetables for the dinner salad. You took out your cutting board and selected a knife from the block, then placed the romaine on the board. You raised your knife to make the first cut, but your hand started to shake so you put the knife down.

Get a grip, you told yourself. Dean's just glad to be home, same as he always is, you admonished. But when he hugged you, it felt a little different this time. And looking right at you when he made that crack about mistletoe and kissing a pretty girl? You shook your head as you took out the salad bowl. He couldn't have meant me. He doesn't think of me that way, you thought. Or....Your thoughts were interrupted by Sam entering the kitchen.

"Hey, Sam! Good to see you back," you grinned as he brought you in for a side hug.

"Good to be back, too. Place looks nice, with all the decorations and stuff. You put a lot of work into it," he finished. Sam grabbed a beer from the fridge and offered you one. You shook your head, so he put one back and took a seat at the table.

"Well, Jack helped quite a bit also," you replied. A quick check in the oven told you that there was still over an hour left before the lasagna would be ready. Sam asked if he could help with anything, but you declined his offer. "Chopping veggies keeps me busy, and as weird as it sounds, it's a little relaxing. Besides, you and Dean did the hard stuff, taking out those vamps," you added.

"It wasn't too hard, actually went according to plan for once," Sam chuckled. "You know, I asked Dean if we could take another day and relax before heading home, but he didn't want to. Said he was really looking forward to being home," he said, casting a sidelong glance at you.

You tried to keep focus on chopping the tomato without also taking off your finger. "Oh?" you replied. "Hmm. Usually he's all about that 'relaxing' thing, blowing off steam with some chick," you remarked, trying to keep the jealousy out of your tone.

"Yeah, but I haven't seen him with anyone for a good six months or more, come to think of it. It would've been since after you got hurt on that werewolf hunt. If I'm remembering correctly that is," Sam mentioned as he kept an interested eye on your reaction.

"Really? I hadn't noticed, Sam," you said evenly. "On second thought, could you please slice up that baguette and spread the garlic butter on it?" you asked, trying to change the subject.

Sam must have sensed what you were trying to do, but he let it drop and did as you asked. What you didn't know is that he’d had a conversation about you with Dean on the way home from the hunt. Sam had a feeling that things were going to get pretty interesting around the bunker in the weeks leading up to Christmas.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A couple of days later, you were passing through the library when you noticed a vase of roses on the table. You looked around to ask one of the guys where they came from, but none of them were in sight. A card was sticking up out of the arrangement, so you took it out of the envelope. It read: Sweets to the Sweet - a bouquet of Candy Cane Roses for the sweetest girl I know. From Your Secret Santa.

You smiled at the words on the card, and wondered who may have sent them. You studied the handwriting on the card to see if you could figure it out, but to no avail. You placed the card in the back pocket of your jeans. You continued on with your day with a smile permanently etched on your face.

After you got the flowers, you decided to move on to phase two of your Christmas plan. You wandered down the hall to Jack's room and knocked on his door.

He had been watching some cartoons, but gave you a bright smile. "I was just about to bake some cookies, Jack. Would you like to help?" you asked. He nodded and turned off the TV. On your way to the kitchen, you ran into Sam and Dean.

"What are you two up to?" Sam asked.

"We're going to do some baking, sugar cookies and some gingerbread men," you declared. "You two wanna help?" you grinned.

Sam and Dean nodded enthusiastically. "Woo hoo, count me in darlin'!" Dean stated. Sam echoed his sentiment as you all made your way into the kitchen.

"Don't worry, boys. I'll teach you all--well, most of my secrets, just like my mom taught me," you promised with a smile.

You got to work mixing the batter for the two types of cookies. You called out the ingredients and they were brought back to you from the pantry or refrigerator. Sam used the cookie cutter to make the person-shaped cookies after you rolled out the gingerbread dough.

For the sugar cookies, you went with round shapes to make things easier. Dean and Jack used the colored sugars and various types of sprinkles to decorate the cookies before baking.

Three hours later, all of the baking was finished and dirty dishes washed. You asked someone to pour the glasses of milk, because it was time to sample some of the fruits of your labor.

You got out a large plate and put some of each cookie type on it. Jack broke off a piece of a sugar cookie with some blue sprinkles on it and popped it into his mouth. "This is wonderful!" he exclaimed, digging into the rest of his cookie.

"Thank you boys, so much for the help. This would've taken me all day by myself. I couldn't have done it all without you guys," you remarked.

"Where did you learn to do all of this?" Sam asked.

You took a deep breath before answering the three caring sets of eyes before you. "My mom. This used to be our time together, making cookies, candies and other treats for ourselves and to share with others. I haven't really felt like doing this kind of baking since I started hunting though," you explained.

Dean reached over and covered your hand with his, then looked straight into your eyes. "I, for one, am honored that you shared this memory with us. Thank you," he replied.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

After you all had some dinner, you changed into comfy clothes. You put on your red plaid pajama pants and an AC/DC hoodie that you had "borrowed" from Dean at one point. It was his favorite and you knew it, so you felt a little guilty for stealing it, but it was so soft and comfy. It also smelled like Dean, which comforted you whenever he was gone away on a hunt.

Dean had also changed into his pajamas and decided to watch the movie with you. He saw your choice of evening wear and chuckled at seeing you wearing his hoodie. "So that's where it went, you sneak," he teased. "I've been looking for that," he mentioned.

"Sorry, I can give it back if you want. It's just so warm and comfy though," you replied. Like you are, Dean, you thought.

"Nah, looks good on you, sweetheart," he remarked.

You started the DVD player and put in the disc for White Christmas. It was one of your mom's favorite movies that you had grown to love as well. You and Dean each snuggled into a corner of the couch with your blanket and hot cocoa and started the movie.

As it played, you found it more and more difficult to keep your eyes open. At about the halfway point, your eyes drifted closed and stayed that way while the movie continued to run. You were so deep asleep that you didn't feel it when Dean eased himself to slide behind you on the couch. Your back was leaned up against his chest and he draped his arm protectively around you.

Dean's fingers absently combed through your hair as you slept. Your pink lips were slightly parted and for a moment, Dean wondered what it would be like to kiss them. Instead, he placed a soft kiss to the top of your head and gently stood up. Dean scooped you up into his arms, which caused you to stir a little. "Hold on, sweetheart. I've got you," Dean soothed.

You had awakened just enough to realize that Dean was carrying you to your room. Still half asleep, you smiled and snuggled further into his chest. "Mmm, Dean you smell good," you mumbled. "I really love your sweatshirt, 'cuz it smells like you and I like it," you continued.

Dean chuckled lightly at what you were saying. "S'okay, baby, I got more hoodies where this one came from, so you can keep this one," he promised. The door to your room was slightly ajar, so he nudged it open further with his foot. Dean put your feet on the floor but kept one arm around you to keep you steady. He pulled the covers back, then helped you climb into bed and get comfy.

He tucked the blankets up around you so you were covered and would stay warm. Dean sat on the edge of your bed. He leaned over and brushed the back of his hand against your cheek. "You know, you deserve to have a good man in your life, sweetheart," he murmured.

You half-opened your eyes again and gave Dean a sleepy smile. "But I already have the best, an' thas you, Dean. S'all I need," you mumbled as you reached for his hand over the blanket.

Dean closed his fingers around yours and brought your hand up to his lips and kissed it. "Goodnight, darlin'" he whispered. He gently tucked your arm back under the blanket after he let go of your hand. He took one last look to make sure you were asleep again. Then he turned and went down the hall to his own room.

Once in his own bed, Dean thought about the events of the day, from making cookies to hanging out with you and watching a movie. When he carried you to your room and you burrowed into his chest, it felt like you belonged there. He chuckled at the memory of your half-asleep confession to stealing his hoodie because you liked how it smelled like him.

Dean meant what he said about how you deserved a good man in your life. He wasn't referring to himself, but it warmed his heart to know you thought of him that way. Maybe there was a chance for us after all, he thought to himself. Tomorrow, he would see the results of phase two of his plan, which was already in motion.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next morning, you shuffled into the kitchen to make breakfast for you and the boys. You decided to make scrambled eggs with diced ham, cheese and some assorted vegetables. Of course, no Winchester breakfast was complete without mounds of bacon.

Sam, Dean and Jack filtered in one by one as they woke up to the smell of frying bacon. Sam made coffee, Dean made toast and Jack got out the serving bowl for the eggs. Cas popped in as well, but just for coffee, he'd said.

After breakfast, you showered and got dressed for the day in your dark blue jeans, red crew-neck sweater and black Converse shoes. As you entered the library, the bunker door flew open and in walked one of your best friends, Charlie Bradbury. "Jingle Bells, bitches!" she called out.

"CHARLIE!!" you shouted as you raced up the stairs and wrapped her in a fierce hug. "It's so awesome to see you! Hold up, what are you doing here? Is everything okay? Are you here for a hunt or something?" you gushed out.

"Whoa, whoa, chickie, slow down. I didn't have anywhere to go for the holidays, so I made a road trip out here," she answered.

"Wait a minute. You said you were going to your girlfriend's house for Christmas, Charlie. What is going on?" you demanded.

At that moment, Dean entered the library and Charlie gave him a pleading look. "I invited Charlie and her girlfriend to spend the holidays with us," Dean answered. Then he turned to you and started running his hands up and down your arms. "I know how much the holidays mean to you, so I invited some friends to visit," he finished.

"Really?? Wait a minute, you said 'some friends'? How many more are we talking about?" you asked warily.

"YOO HOO!" a voice called from the top of the stairs. It was Sheriff Donna Hanscum, followed by Sheriff Jody Mills and her daughters, Claire, Alex and Patience and Sam's girlfriend, Eileen Leahy. Charlie's girlfriend, Dorothy, closed the bunker door behind her. Tears sprang to your eyes at seeing all of your friends here to celebrate the holidays with you.

"Sweetheart? What's wrong?" Dean asked, a worried look on his face.

You nodded slowly as a tear streaked down your face. "Can I please talk to you alone for a minute?" you whispered.

Dean nodded and told everyone that the two of you would be right back. You took him into your room and closed the door. "Are you okay? Why the tears, darlin'?" he asked.

You took a deep breath to compose yourself before answering. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cry. It's just....you have no idea what you've done for me, how much it means to me that they're all here. My whole family is here, Dean. You, Sam, Jack, Cas and those ladies out there? That's my family, and that's what the holidays mean to me. All of us together," you finished.

Dean took you into his arms and held you, his hand rubbing circles on your back. You relaxed your hold so you could lean back and look into his eyes. "You said last night that I deserved to have a good man in my life. I know I was half asleep, but I meant what I said, Dean. I have you, and that's all I need. What I'm trying to say is, I-I love you," you declared.

Now it was Dean's turn to be shocked. He reached up and cradled your face in both of his hands. He brushed the tears away as he caressed your cheeks with his thumbs. "Dean, please say something," you whispered.

Dean grinned and gently guided your face closer until your lips met in a slow, lingering kiss. When he recaptured your lips a second time, he was a bit more insistent. You could feel the passion and hunger from him, and he knew only you could satisfy it. "I love you too, sweetheart. I'll bet you have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," Dean remarked.

"Only probably about as long as I've been wanting you to do that," you responded. "You didn't even have to use mistletoe, either," you teased.

"I don't need mistletoe to want to kiss you," he replied huskily, tracing along your jawline with his index finger.

Sam knocked gently on your door. "Is everything okay in there? You kinda left everybody hanging out here, and they're all getting nervous. You guys coming out?" he asked.

Dean opened the door, his hand holding yours with fingers interlaced. "Everything's great, Sammy. Perfect even," he said as he caught your eye and winked.

"Yep, perfect," you agreed as you walked back into the library. Behind you, Sam looked up to the ceiling and mouthed the word, "finally" at seeing you and his brother together.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Later that afternoon, the boys all went out to get a Christmas tree to decorate in the main living area. While they were gone, you helped find available rooms for everyone then you left them all to unpack. The plan was for everyone to return to the library for refreshments after settling in.

You made some hot cocoa and as you waited for the teakettle to whistle, you put some cookies on a platter for snacks. Charlie and Dorothy gathered enough mugs for everyone. You brought out the cocoa, and Eileen followed behind you with the tray of cookies.

Then you showed everyone where the Christmas decorations were kept. This way, all would be ready for when the boys returned with the tree. Donna and Jody untangled and tested the lights, while Claire, Alex and Patience placed some scented candles throughout the bunker.

Eileen was the first. "So....you and Dean, huh?" she asked with a knowing smirk.

You could feel the heat instantly rising in your cheeks as the smile grew across your face. "Yeah. Me and Dean," you answered. Every single woman in the room hooted and hollered her approval.

"I say it's about damn time, and I think a few someones owe me $10," Jody quipped as a new round of laughter erupted.

The boys brought back a beautiful 8-foot tall blue spruce tree to be placed in the library. Lights were added first, then ornaments from the red totes found in Room 12. You also contributed ornaments from your own supply, ones that had been given to you by your grandmother. When the tree was considered to be fully decorated, all of the lights were turned off except for the tree.

You stood in awe of the gorgeous tree before you. The brightly colored lights, the variety in the ornaments and the fellowship of those present warmed your heart. Dean wrapped his arms around your waist from behind and rested his chin on your shoulder. "Huh. Would you look at that?" Dean said.

"What?" you wondered. You followed his eyes upward to find that someone mistletoe had been directly above where you and Dean were standing. "Now, where did that come from?" you asked.

"Hmm, where indeed?" Dean replied with a not-so-innocent look on his face. "You know, I suppose we have a duty of some sort to follow tradition," he remarked.

You turned around in Dean's arms to face him. "I suppose. Wouldn't want 'seven years of bad Christmases' or something by breaking tradition," you responded. You both inched forward until your lips met in a kiss that quickly progressed from sweet and innocent to steamy and passionate by the end.

Both of you breathing heavily after the kiss broke, you rested your foreheads together, grinning at each other. "Merry Christmas, sweetheart," Dean whispered.

"Merry Christmas, my love," you responded softly.

Tags: @janicho88 @yourelivingwrong @akshi8278 @magssteenkamp @swiftlymoniquesblog @lyarr24 @miss-nerd95 @distefano123 @hobby27 @deanwanddamons @jessica-noel94 @wayward-mikaelson @jawritter @gabrielslittleangel @jensengirl83

#Janicho88's 100 Followers Celebration #dean winchester #dean x reader #spn imagine #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #spn christmas