#given the way i was like throwing the song at everyone i could :'D | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yuzukult · 3 years

Text

dissonance (m) || jjk & reader

title: dissonance pairing: jeon jungkook x reader genre: angst, fluff, smut, rockstar!jungkook, gradstudent!reader wc: 19.4k summary: something that first seems out of reach becomes a reality for him. screaming adoring fans, billboards with him and his band plastered on it, and touring across the globe with venues sold out. he has everything... but all he's missing is you. warnings: explicit protected sex, vulgar language, sexual innuendos, oral sex (female receiving) -- please let me know if i’m missing anything else! a/n: um. oh my god. how did i plan for like 10.0k and ended up with 19.4k, i’ll never know. hopefully this isn’t boring!! :D i’d also like to thank all the beta readers in @/ficscafe discord, and especially @masterninjacow & @latetaektalk (before the smut ofc... i didn’t even write it until like 1hr ago), @koocycle, @cheolbooluvr, @ddaechwita, and @jayhopely!! pray i didn’t forget to mention any of the big beta readers because honestly there was a lot LOL. um. enjoy. yeah.

p.s. if there’s errors, i don’t even know if i want you to tell me bc this shit is way too long and makes both my laptop and phone lag FDJKSALFJA LMAO

He loves it here. It’s his dream to be here, on the stage, with the feeling of the music rumbling underneath the soles of his chunky boots, with the sea of fans screaming and hollering out his name, with his self-produced songs booming through the speakers of the venue while his band stands by his side, just as passionate for this as he is.

It’s his dream; he reiterates this constantly as a reminder that this isn’t something everyone gets the chance to breathe the opportunity of. He’s been manifesting this scenario his entire life, wishing and praying to the potential Gods to help make his aspirations become a reality. He’d work his ass off to make ends meet, be able to afford the necessities all while chasing this goal that many claimed to be unrealistic or unattainable. But he’s here right now, supporters that flood the building to the brim for a concert that’s been sold out in thirty cities so far. He has everything he could ever want. Girls, money, music…

But why does he feel like there’s something missing?

Another pair of panties gets thrown at the toes of his boots—it’s probably the sixth one that night but he’s grown used to this already. In some performances, girls would throw themselves at his feet instead of undergarments, yelling at the top of their lungs so ferociously that the security guards had to hold them back in fear of what they were capable of. And sure, if he really wanted to, he could ask them out or invite them back to his hotel room for a quick bang, and it was what he’d been doing for the first couple years, and maybe they’d make him feel a little less like this.

It doesn’t quite hit the same way anymore.

He’s left with this feeling of emptiness when he says his goodbyes and shuts the door behind them; there’s a gap in his chest like he’s forgotten something, yearning for it to be filled but those girls aren’t the ones to do it. His dreams used to be able to—but what are accomplished dreams when you have no one to share them with?

His friends/band mates are great, supportive and understanding, he’s admitted that he’s gotten lucky in that department, but part of him believes that it’s not friendship he’s lacking.

It’s love.

It sounds sappy to the ears of strangers, especially because ideally, you’re not supposed to depend on love to have that stuffed-to-the-brim emotion in your chest, to feel complete and whole because a pretty person fell for you and vice versa. But to Jungkook, being in love had been something he thought he could toss under the rug for another day when he’d given up the girls he'd been infatuated with for this unobtainable aspiration, yet instead, he finds himself back in the same spot years later. Missing a lost sentiment he had to let go to make a dream come true.

He loved the chase—he’s a hopeless romantic kind-of-guy. After all, how would all of his songs be so full of raw emotion? It’s because Jungkook lives it—or well, lived it because everything he knew about love had been left on a shelf to collect dust. He’d deserted the last one back in his hometown. And he’d try to convince himself that he didn’t need someone, but he’s grown… lonely.

And quite frankly, finding someone genuine has proven to be difficult.

Don’t mention Tinder, Jungkook has already tried that. It promptly made headlines the moment he logged into that app with a selfie he’s never used before, and still then people actually thought he was catfishing, and wasn’t the real Jeon Jungkook. He should’ve known. But in all fairness, Jungkook isn’t much of a ‘future thinker’.

Then there was trying to date a staff member—worst idea yet. That noona ended up pissed at him when he realized that this wasn’t what he wanted (he’d learn she was quite the control freak) and she flipped shit to the point that his managers fired her on the spot, then informed the security that she was on the “do not enter” list.

After that, Jungkook just thought maybe he was going about this wrong.

Maybe women weren’t actually of his interest.

Possibly, he was into men.

So, he tried. He ventured out a little, got a little taste here and there. Jungkook even found someone who fit him perfectly. His name? Kim Hyunwoo.

God, Kim Hyunwoo was a very gorgeous man.

Hyunwoo was tall, lean, with black hair that matched the midnight sky. His jawline was sharp without the need of Photoshop, skin so smooth that it felt like butter underneath his fingertips, and had a smile that was so fucking bright, you’d see it from lightyears away. He’s always got that hooded sultry gaze like he’s in the middle of a photoshoot; chin up, sleepy eyes, and slightly parted lips, Jungkook was confused whether his boyfriend was just standing beside him or modelling for the camera. Hyunwoo also had this deep, husky voice that swooned all the girls he’d encountered, the majority practically begging for his phone number, but he was simply into boys. Jungkook thought he was lucky to even be able to snag up a guy like him in the first place. He had a lot of competition, apparently.

It worked out for a little while, Jungkook confesses, because Hyunwoo was overall a great boyfriend. He looked out for Jungkook, treated him well and they shared the same interests.

But… that was the problem.

They got along very well. As if they were best friends.

He found himself getting a bit uncomfortable when things got a little too serious—don’t get him wrong though, he wasn’t embarrassed to be dating a guy. Hyunwoo was the definition of a model with all those sharp facial features. He’d even been stopped and recruited several times during their dates, and truthfully, it made Jungkook feel a little awkward. He was the celebrity here, yet standing beside Hyunwoo only made him feel small.

And in all honesty, he shouldn’t feel this way about the success of his significant other. But it wasn’t even just that. He found himself unable to pass first base with the guy—something about the action itself made him feel… unnerving. But he’s attracted to Hyunwoo. So why can’t he push himself to kiss him?

Jungkook learns that maybe he finds men appealing but he couldn’t have anything more than a friendship with them.

So, he dove head first back into the dating game. Met girls all over during his tour stops; he ran into a foreigner named Lily, a gorgeous girl with pretty blonde hair and pale skin. But they didn’t click. He oddly felt like they weren’t ever on the same page. Then he went to dinner with a gal named—okay. He’d forgotten her name. But the way her dress hugged her ass made his mind go blank, so could he really be blamed? (The answer is yes.) Oh! What about that girl whose name is similar to a hurricane? She had long, dark hair that matched her lengthy lashes and fluttered over her supple cheeks when she sucked his—

Nonetheless, it was a dud, again. He’s still lonely, he sadly confesses, but all of this is too much for him to process. He’s tired of getting his heart broken. He’s exhausted from meeting girls who first claimed that they’re not obsessed then actually are. He’s worn out of the ones who don’t love him for him, but love him for his fame.

Jungkook just wants to be loved for being… Jungkook.

And when he encounters you, some graduate student who spends majority of her days in between the activities of your face dug into a textbook or eyes glued onto a computer screen, he thinks he’s back to where he was before this lifestyle. Jungkook finds himself swooning, desperately wishing for your touch and kisses, but there’s just one thing he doesn’t quite know.

Do you like Jungkook for Jungkook? Or do you like the ideal version of him that sings on stage, tossing off his shirt with his abs flexing while the crowd screams his name once more, all while the veins in his neck pop when he reaches that high note?

Or do you like Jungkook, the one who still doesn’t understand the difference between an orange and clementine, the one who still has trouble knowing when a potato is thoroughly cooked, and why his socks came out of the wash in this weird pinky shade when they definitely went in as white.

So… which is it? Which Jungkook are you interested in?

Jungkook recalls the first meeting so vividly. People always call their initial brush of contact with the person they have feelings for a “meet-cute” (he learns this from his bandmate Jimin) but truthfully, he’s not sure what to call yours.

For one, you’re a very nice person. But he caught you in a bad situation when he landed his eyes on you for the first time; hair disheveled, frantic movements and heavy breaths, you didn’t seem rather… sane. In fact, he actually thought you were one of those psycho fans, waiting inside of the coffee shop, ready to pounce on him and ask for kisses, an autograph, and a hand in marriage, possibly.

Albeit when he spills his coffee onto you (purely accidental, not that he was scared of you or anything), he truly wasn’t sure how to react.

Well, unexpectedly, you blew.

Like the result of a ticking time bomb.

You yelled at him in the middle of that coffee shop (he’s not sure if he could ever show face there ever again)—veins popping along the side of your neck with a furrow of your brows, mouth constantly moving with sharp words that spat out of it. He was startled, completely baffled as to how you were able to formulate such… creative insults.

It ranged from being called a “dumbass with a head that's so big you’d expect it to at least have some knowledge in it, but really it’s just hollow,” to how he should“ go get prescribed lenses because it seems like you’re fucking blind as shit.” Honestly, there were definitely worse ones but he only revealed those two since his feelings might get hurt if he revisited the others.

Although seeing you now, you’re not that person. It was horrible timing, he learns later on, because you actually have the warmest heart he’s ever encountered. You’re beaming with smiles, radiating nothing but positivity on your routes, and when Jungkook has a rough day, just unlocking his phone to see your daily texts is enough to do it for him.

He’s so embarrassed to admit he’s got a crush on you. This simple, casual girl who knows who he is yet doesn’t treat him less than or better than everyone else just because of his career.

But he still has his doubts.

He worries, oftentimes his thoughts seem to stray away from what they’re supposed to be, constantly overthinking all the possibilities of what may happen if the two of you officially got together. He ponders about the what ifs, like how would you even react when this big time celebrity tells you that he has been harboring these feelings for you for months, or if it turns out this entire time, you’ve been devising a plan to date him for his fame and money.

Or, his imagination could be running wild and you would do neither, other than respond surprisingly to his confession.

Nonetheless, he’s still scared. Jungkook has been on so many dates, “broken” so many hearts because they broke his by holding up a facade, by making him feel like they wanted him. And he’s tired, exhausted like he’s run a marathon without the end in sight, when all he’s done is search for someone to love and to love him.

And when he finally gets to know you, the you that wears those baby blue overalls stained with smears of different shades of primary colors from helping your sister paint her nursery room for her soon-to-be-arriving daughter aka your niece, he learns what it feels like to be in love for another time. “You never know what color she likes,” he recalls you saying over a Facetime call, waving around a brush with the ends drenched in a canary yellow, but your pillowy cheeks have marks of blue on them. “Or they. He. Whatever that kid wants to go by later on. So instead, I’m painting her a portrait.”

“I didn’t know you were a painter,” he retorted, but you shrugged as you propped the phone onto a tin-plated steel paint can. “I thought you said you were going to school to become a scientist.”

“Scientists are allowed to have hobbies, Jeon Jungkook.”

Jungkook remembers a laugh effortlessly slipping from his lips, something you’re able to spill out of him with ease, and it’s partially the reason why he sticks by you so often. After he offered to pay for dinner to make up for the coffee spill (which you gladly took simply because you’re a poor grad student), he met with you yet again, but this time, you’re more welcoming when you’re in a better mood (you tell him “obviously” when he mentions this in the future), and that warm smile stretching from cheek to cheek is enough to lure him into the idea of love once more.

“What’s up with you?” Jimin queries, snapping Jungkook out of his trance.

He doesn’t realize it, but he’s lost in his thoughts as usual. On the leather loveseat in the living room of the shared condo he lives in with his bandmates, he huffs out a heavy breath, head thrown back. “I’m just…”

“Thinkin’ ‘bout that girl again?” he asks, but this time with a drink in his hand from the fridge. He pops the can open, a sizzle of the soda hissing through the opening as he brings it up to his lips. “Why don’t you just fucking date her if you’re so into her? I mean, yeah, she ain’t exactly your type, but you’re fucking Jeon Jungkook for god’s sake. She’s gonna wanna date you.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “That’s not the point, Jimin.”

“Then what is?” Jimin shoots back, raising a brow questioningly. “You could get any girl, including her. What's going on with you?”

Jungkook doesn’t like to talk about these things with his members. It’s nothing personal—they just have different perspectives when it comes to things like these. They love the idea of temporary; girls coming and going, barely even staying within the late hours. By the time they’re stumbling out of their apartment, they’re struggling to slide back into the heels they wore for the night out when the sun hasn’t even risen yet. His friends love that, they favor the fact that the girls they encounter never come with any baggage because they never stay long enough for them to unload it.

They’re not hopeless romantics like Jungkook—it’s why they’re never the ones to dip into the lyrics of the song, it’s only him writing it. They don’t have the passion for love like he does. When they see the sunrise, they think of the walk-of-shame, staggering out of the homes of the women they slept with after a show, but when Jungkook sees the sunrise, he thinks of the way your hair blows in the direction of the wind when you’re snuggling into the scarf that wraps around your neck. How your nose twitches at the feeling of the brisk air smacking against your skin, shoulders raising before bouncing to regain the warmth in your coat. He’s reminded of the way your fingers tap against the paper cup with steam coming out of the opening, waving him off about how you have class in a couple minutes and you don’t have time to hear his story about the performance he had just a couple hours before.

“Ugh,” he groans, hopping up from his seat. “Listen, I don’t wanna talk about it. We’re just friends, alright? Nothing more.”

Jimin has his arms out, clicking his tongue irritably. “Aye, come on. You’re not actually upset because I said that, are you? Seriously though. You wanna get in her pants, it’s easy, you just—”

“I don’t wanna just get in her pants, Jimin, I wanna date her.”

“Alright, well, that shouldn’t be a problem either.”

Jungkook scoffs. “You don’t get it, do you?” His bandmate only furrows his brows in confusion as a response. “I want her to date me because she likes me for me, not because I’m some celebrity in a famous band.”

Jimin sighs, placing his drink onto the counter. He has his hands on his hips, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “Then why won’t you talk to her instead of moping around like some sad puppy all day in our apartment? You realize that negativity is contagious, right?” Jimin shakes his head. “We care about you, okay? And we want you to be happy. I’ll never understand what you want right now because I’m not looking for a serious relationship. But I’ll help you if you need me to.” Help with what? Thanks for nothing.

Annoyed, he grabs his jacket from the coat rack, slinging it over his shoulders and sliding his arms into the sleeves. He needs air, needs space from the guys, because although he loves them dearly, he feels like the odd one out these days.

The first person he could think of contacting is you, and of course it is because all this revolves around you. Then again, you’re on shift tonight. But at the same time, you have to welcome customers, don’t you?

Or so, he thought.

If your stare had lasers, he’d be melting right now.

“What are you even doing here?” you hiss as Jungkook grins cheekily while adjusting the black baseball cap on his head. Did he really think he could hide his identity behind a flimsy jacket and some old ass hat? How stupid was he? “And why are you dressed like that?”

“It’s a disguise.”

“And that’s the best you could do? Come on, Jeon. You could do better than that. I thought you had a high IQ.”

“I never said that.”

“Are you sure?”

“I may have mentioned it once.”

“Well, once more than I have ever spoken about my IQ.”

He can’t help but let out a breathy laugh, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m a rockstar now, I think a high IQ is the least of my worries. Plus, no one suspects a thing. I just look like some guy coming to grab a cup of coffee.”

“At 11:32 pm.” You quirk a brow. “You look more like a creeper than ‘some guy,’ Jeon.”

“It’s a 24-hour cafe,” he attempts to justify, and you only roll your eyes.

There’s something about you that’s so simple, yet at the same time makes you even more beautiful than usual. Is it the way your hair is messily tied in a low bun with flyaways that cover your face? Or is it how cutely you scrunch up your nose when your hair brushes over it, shaking your head to get it out of your field of vision? Maybe it’s how the space between your brows crinkle in concentration when you’re tapping orders into the iPad register, trying your best to accommodate to the system that seems to update every couple weeks with a new layout.

Jungkook leans over the counter, some funky latte you whipped up from the specials menu in his hand. “I was feeling a bit… off today. Wanted to see you.”

“Mhm,” you hum, wiping down the caps of the syrups that line the shelves. “Not sure what I could provide for you Jeon. But what’s up with you?”

He chews on his bottom lip anxiously. Is today the day? The day he finally professes his true feelings for you?

Jungkook tests the waters. “I, uh, got into a little argument with Jimin.”

You click your tongue, the same way Jimin did earlier in the apartment. “Why do you keep fighting with my favorite member of your band?”

“I thought I was the favorite.”

“Have you seen his ass?”

Jungkook tilts his head. “You’re not even sure what my band members look like, do you?”

Nose scrunching up, you do an arm swing, feigning disappointment from being caught in your lies. “Oh, darn. How’d you figure that out?”

He lets out a hearty laugh from his chest, warm and full of elation like he always does when he’s with you. For a moment, he doesn’t remember his fame, he forgets the crazy fans, the surfeit of stages he performs on—he just lives in the simplicity of this moment, the calmness before every storm of his shows, and gets to bask in the normal things about life. How the front of your brows dip when you’re using the little ounce cup to measure how much of those weird, sticky, fruity syrups to add into the drinks the customers’ order is probably his most favorite moment to swim in. He loves that you’re able to make him feel alive in this way, a different kind of alive in comparison to when his feet are on the stage of a venue, mic stand in hand while he sings his heart out because instead, he’s got his heart in the palm of his own hands, reaching it out to you.

“Seriously though, maybe you should get along with your boys,” you state firmly, wiping down the counters in unison. “They’re not just your bandmates or your roommates. They’re your best friends; you guys have come a long way from where you started. Don’t turn your backs on them just because you’re slightly annoyed.”

He sighs, rubbing the round of his cap discontentedly. Jungkook knows where you’re coming from, but he hasn’t exactly been entirely honest with you when it comes to why he got upset with the guys because well… it’ll expose this stupid little crush he has on you. “I know that. They just… they just don’t get me sometimes, you know?”

“That’s no excuse,” you quip, tossing the rag into the sink. “You sit down and talk like grown adults. Communicate. Converse until it gets through all of your heads. Don’t fight.”

Jungkook smiles. Again. He’s so infatuated that he knows he’s far gone now when it has to do with you. “The guys would love you.”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t love them.”

With a chuckle, he adjusts himself by leaning against the counter. “I know. You’ve got that thing where you hate irresponsible people. They drink, party, get involved with girls then break their hearts—they’re not exactly the kind of personalities you love to associate yourself with. But forgetting all of that, as friends, they’re great people, and I think you guys would get along.”

“We have different morals.”

“They’re just people, they’re allowed to enjoy themselves.”

“So why do you get upset when they have one-night stands?”

Frozen, Jungkook remains in the spot he’s in, almost like his feet are rooted into the broken tiles of the coffee shop. How did you even figure that out? Was he that obvious? He didn’t think he was, especially since he’s been manually trying his best to control what he says when it has to do with the topic of dating. “I… I don’t get upset.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, come on, Jeon. I hear the way you talk about them. Your voice raises a couple of decibels, your ears get all red, and your jaw clenches. Trust me, I notice. And it’s fine that you get upset, but that doesn’t mean that it’s just them that don’t understand you, but vice versa.”

Were you actually siding with guys you’ve never even met, let alone googled?

“Are you really taking their stance on this?”

“I mean, you can’t possibly think you’re perfect, right?”

His jaw tightens and ears grow heated. He takes a deep breath for a moment before speaking; Jungkook doesn’t get mad at you, at least, not really, but today is slightly different from your other encounters because he came to you to ditch those guys, only for you to bring up the same exact thing? Not the right time.

“It’s not that I think that I’m perfect—”

“So why can’t you try putting yourself into their shoes and see how they’re feeling? They’re also trying to understand you. I mean—you don’t have to tell me that you’re not perfect. You’re a rockstar, but that doesn’t mean you’re smart enough to decide that wearing all black in a public setting isn’t a good idea because I’ve already heard three separate side conversations of girls asking if it ‘really is Jeon Jungkook underneath that black dad hat with a prada logo’—”

Jungkook cowers. “What?”

You sigh. “You should go.”

“I wanted to see you.”

“Yeah, well, I wanna see the Jonas Brothers perform but I’m in grad school, a broke ass bitch, and using every free minute I have to work at this goddamn fucking café.” Then you’re giving him that ‘that sucks’ look he’s all too familiar with. “You can see me when I’m studying at the library. Nobody who listens to heavy rock music studies there on a Sunday afternoon.”

“It’s not—”

You wave your hand dismissively at him. “Yeah, yeah, just go.”

This is the twelfth time Jungkook has invited you to a concert of his.

And it’s the twelfth time you don’t come.

It’s not like you give him empty promises either; you make it abundantly clear that the chances of you ever going is slimmer than 0.4%. How do you come up with that particular number? He’s not exactly sure, but he accepts the small percentage with a little glimmer of hope, nonetheless.

“Tae, I need you to help me with my guitar amp.”

“Isn’t that what the staff is for?” Yoongi narrows his eyes at his bandmate and Taehyung immediately places down his Starbucks mocha frappuccino on the stool before rushing over to help him.

Jungkook wishes you were here. This was quite literally the ‘calm before the storm,’ and seeing your pretty face and soothing voice would give him the encouragement to perform on stage, but he knows you’re not the type to come see a band that you’re not interested in.

He sort of hopes you were interested in him, but he digresses.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” Namjoon asks, helping tune one of the electric guitars as he sits comfortably on one of the amps. “I thought you guys were good. Why doesn’t she come?”

“She’s not his girlfriend,” Jimin chimes in, walking on stage. He’s got his earpiece hung over the curve of his ear, and adjusting the mic stand to his height afterwards. “Apparently, Jungkook is a bit hesitant about asking her out.”

Taehyung jolts his head at the younger male. “Why the fuck you scared for? You’re the lead singer of a rock band. You’re fucking racking with money, pussy is literally lining outside your fucking door, and you’ve probably got a big dick—”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Yoongi calls out, furrowing his brows at the kid, “don’t be talking about Jungkook’s dick like that, what the fuck?”

Jimin looks at Yoongi with a confused expression. “Have you seen his fucking dong?”

“Alright,” Namjoon gets up from his seat, propping the guitar back on its stand. “Let’s… How about we not talk about our friend’s genitals, and try helping him with his girl problem instead?”

Immediately, Jungkook waves his hands in dismissal. “No, it’s fine, seriously—“

Namjoon raises his palm up to halt the younger male. “Come on. We may have different perspectives in life, but tell us seriously how you’re feeling and we’ll figure it out together.”

“I just,” he sighs, running his fingers through his already disheveled hair. “I wanna ask her out, but I don’t know if I wanna do this because… she’s great but—“

“You think she’s only into the idea that you’re a celebrity,” Yoongi interjects, nodding his head as if he’s seen it before. “I used to date this girl—I’ve never introduced you guys to her before,” he’s got a finger put down with every word that describes her, “Beautiful. Tall. Sweet. Kind. But she loved that we were up and coming at the time, that we were getting famous so quickly and she loved that lifestyle. Wanted me to bring her as a date to every party. But I was so infatuated, my stupid ass didn’t see it. It wasn’t until that first record deal fell through that she also fell through.”

Jungkook puffs his cheeks. “Then what do you suggest I do?”

“Well, you’ll never know her unless you actually date her.”

Jungkook’s hands are abnormally perspiring way too much. He can’t believe that a girl, not even his first time performing on stage for thousands of people, causes him to feel this nervous. Shaking his shoulders in his bomber jacket, he takes in a deep breath before opening the doors of the library.

2nd flr, your text reads, and Jungkook recalls that you preferred this level since you were still allowed to talk here but in a low volume. You weren’t a big fan of dead silent places, and ever since you found this spot, it’s been your go-to. He’s already rushing up the steel staircases of the building the moment you confirm there’s a spot for him to sit in. It’s not his first time and he’s not even a student here, yet he’s probably been here more frequently than those who were enrolled. He comes to see you, not even to study or anything else. In reality, he finds himself scrolling through social media on his phone or even borrowing your laptop as your face is dug deep into the depths of the pages of your textbook, only to do the same exact thing he was doing on his own mobile device.

When he pushes through another set of double doors, he lets out a sigh of relief. There isn’t one specific reason why he feels this way, but there’s just something about you that releases the burden that sits atop of his shoulders.

“Hey,” Jungkook calls out softly, and your head perks up at the sudden movement of the chair in front of you. Pulling out an AirPod from one of your ears, your sunken eyes meet up with his. “What are you studying for?”

In your oversized charcoal hoodie (the one you got from Artizia that one time; something about how expensive it was but the moment your arms and head slides through the holes, you were already one with the hoodie), you’ve got your hair tied up in a loose, messy bun, stray strands cascading over your face. He takes note that you’ve been breaking out lately; a pimple on your cheek, nose, and chin, black circles darkening underneath those pretty eyes, and you’ve been putting in less effort to apply makeup on in the mornings.

Yet, you still look effortlessly gorgeous.

“What?” you say, half of the energy you normally exhibit.

Jungkook has a soft smile tugging on the edges of his mouth. You’re cute. “I asked what you were studying for.”

“Some specific law class. If I got into the details, you wouldn’t get it.”

He chuckles quietly. “Good call on stopping yourself from explaining.” Slipping the backpack off his shoulders, he unzips it before pulling out a sandwich he bought from the store.

Your face abruptly is three shades brighter.

“Is… is that for me?”

“No,” he retorts bluntly with a straight face until it breaks with a grin. “… Yes. Of course. I even got you chicken salad as the protein.”

You gasp. “Chicken salad? You went all out, Jeon Jungkook. What are you having?”

“Nah, I’m on a diet. I got a performance on Friday night and I’m supposed to showcase my abs.”

Your nose scrunches up, hands reaching out with a grabby-grabby motion. “Gimme gimme. And—do you have to show your abs? I mean, they come for your music, right?”

Jungkook narrows his gaze at you. “Come on, you can’t possibly think that they’re all here for the music. I’ve seen some of them that come backstage with VIP passes. It was like they paid for it to test their chances of fucking me or something ‘cause they didn’t even know the titles of some of the songs.”

Midway reaching your first bite of your sandwich, you cringe again.

“Which… actually is sorta something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Cheeks stuffed with the carbs, his heart is full with love at the sight. You’re so cute like this, eyes widened, smears of the mayo on the side of your lips, and your mouth is filled to the brim with the sandwich that he can see a bit of it protruding out.

“What?” He swears he saw you spit something out of your mouth but he ignores it.

“I… have a confession to make.”

How you swallow that huge ass bite so quickly, he’ll never know, but you wipe your mouth with a napkin, the fronts of your brows dipping at his abrupt statement.

Jungkook inhales a deep breath before releasing it while you eye him curiously. “I… like you.”

You snort.

It’s not the reaction he was looking for—or, well, he wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t this. “What?”

“Well, I don’t see why you’re making it into a big deal. We’re friends, aren’t we? I know you like me. Otherwise we wouldn’t be friends.”

His face contorts in confusion. “No, I meant like… I like you. More than a friend. Boyfriend and girlfriend kind of deal.”

You place your sandwich down gingerly.

“Do you… not like me in return?”

Shoulders dropped, your lips curve into a frown. He doesn’t want to be the type of guy who says you look beautiful even when you’re upset, but… you’re beautiful when you’re upset. “Don’t worry, I like you. You’re charming and handsome, smart at times and dumb at others, but there’s still things I learn from you. Of course, it’s sort of hard not to like you.”

Jungkook beams.

“But,” his face drops; nothing good comes out after the word ‘but’. “I wouldn’t necessarily be interested in dating you.”

He freezes; he’s more frozen than when Captain America is found in that block of ice. “Wh… Why?”

“Because you’re a rockstar.”

“And?”

You roll your eyes. “Jungkook, we both have vastly different priorities.”

Bewildered by your response, Jungkook adjusts himself in the wooden chair, the ones you complain about that make your ass hurt when you sit on them for too long, and clears his throat. “I mean, everyone has different priorities. I don’t see what you’re getting at.”

Fiddling with a piece of the bread, your eyes don’t even meet with his. “Jungkook, you seem to forget that you’re this big rockstar. You have billions of adoring fans, you travel frequently, you drink and get blackout wasted with your band mates, and well… I don’t know how else to describe your lifestyle other than that you’re living the dream. I’m just a grad student. I’m trying to finish school, get a job, one day get married and have kids. If we ever dated, we’d be casual. You’re like an undergrad fling, not a graduate school one.”

Baffled, his mouth is agape. Were you really labeling him as a fling despite the fact that the two of you haven’t even dated yet?

“You… okay, let me get this right. You don’t want to date me because I’m a rockstar?”

“Precisely.”

Leaning back in his seat, he pulls his baseball cap off his head and tosses it on the table before running his fingers through his disheveled tangled locks. “Wh… I’ve never been in this situation.”

You’re already reaching for your sandwich again as if you didn’t just tore his heart to shreds. “Um. I’m sorry. I think we’d make great friends though.”

“You know, girls would kill to date me because I’m a celebrity.”

There’s an empty look washing over your face. “Correct. Which all the more makes me not want us to date.”

“Because what?” he snaps, exasperated.

“Because,” you reiterate, continuing along, “I’d have so many people to compete with. What makes you think I wouldn’t be sitting in the middle of my apartment on days you’re on tour elsewhere, or pacing around my living room, distressed because I have no idea what my boyfriend is up to? Or if he has better options lining up, waiting to get his attention and be his when I’m supposed to be the only one?”

“Because,” he’s mocking you now, “you’d be my girlfriend. The only one that’s on my mind.”

You scoff. “Not the only one in your eyesight that’s half naked though.”

He groans frustratedly, rubbing his face into his hands. “I’ve never had to convince someone to date me before.”

“Jungkook, it’s fine. I think you’re great with an amazing personality. But we’re just not meant to be because I can’t understand your stardom life. That’s all. Maybe in another lifetime.”

“I don’t have control over those girls that strip in front of me or throw their undergarments on stage.”

“I never said it was your fault.”

He sucks in his cheeks, pondering on how to proceed next. Jungkook didn’t prepare for this—he thought he’d either get friendzoned or you’d run into his arms eagerly, excited to be finally his. And somehow, it’s… neither?

Jungkook never knew his job could get in the way of getting his dream girl.

He stays silent, absorbing all of this information. So you did like him back, you just didn’t want to get involved with a rockstar. It makes sense though, and he completely understands where you’re coming from because his bandmates live that same exact lifestyle that you claim is stereotypical celebrity behavior. But he wanted to prove to you that he wasn’t like that, that he saw life a whole lot differently than those guys, and if anything he is solely dedicating himself to you and no other girl if it meant that you’d be his girlfriend.

“How… how do I convince you otherwise?”

This intrigues you. There’s a twitch in your brow, like your face is going to warp into a different countenance, but you’re resuming eating your sandwich again to stall a response.

“Maybe… if you come to my shows, go on a couple dates with me, and hang out with my friends, you’d… get a better glimpse of what that side of me is really like. It’s not like you don’t have feelings for me, right? So this is just… just a trial run. And if it really doesn’t work out, I’ll drop it and we can continue being friends again. I won’t probe you.”

Finishing your last bite, you brush your hands off of the crumbs on the side. He remembers the first time you did that; the remnants of your poptart that spilled onto the table while you were studying were whisked off and onto the floor and when he made a comment about how unsanitary it was, your rebuttal was, ‘if I’m paying this much for University, I’m going to make a mess.’ It’s one of the reasons he fell for you—not that weird thing with the crumbs you did though, he still doesn’t support it, but it’s how bold and honest you were, and he hadn’t met anyone like that.

Finger in your mouth to get the remains of the sandwich off the side of your teeth, you wipe your hand off on the napkin and suck in your cheeks. He cringes, and he knows you’re doing this purposely to throw him off because of his proposal.

“Fine.”

“Fine?” He didn’t think it was going to be that easy.

“Fine,” you reiterate once more, leaning back in your seat. “But if I still feel the same way, I’m moving on and you can’t keep pursuing. I’m giving this a shot in case one day, I look back and regret that I didn’t at least give it a try.”

Jungkook’s cheering inside.

The queue outside wraps around the venue and continues down the street, past a Starbucks, a post office, and some creepy gas station with a couple lights flickering, in need of a replacement. The sight of the amount of people that are waiting just to see Jungkook’s band perform is astonishing, leaving your mouth agape because truthfully, you’ve never truly thought about how famous he was. All you knew was that if you Googled his name, an actual Wikipedia page would show up.

Maybe that should’ve been the first sign that he’s actually a celebrity.

It feels wrong when you passed the people in the line, like you’re cutting them off or something, but this Staff pass that Jungkook gives you lets you slide in both the front and backdoors with ease, and allows way more accessibility than some nutty ass VIP pass that fans have to sell an organ for. So, pulling your jacket closer to your frame, you crouch your head down as much as possible to avoid any attention before flashing that plastic rectangular card with the words ‘STAFF’ printed in bold and caps, and the security guard steps aside without any words coming out of his mouth.

The first thing you could think of the moment you stepped backstage was that it’s… a tad bit hectic.

People are hustling and bustling, all occupied with tasks to tend to, earpieces plugged in and you take note of a couple of the workers with clipboards that are hollering out orders to the rest. It’s chaotic as hell, and you feel like you’re sticking out like a sore thumb just trying to weave through the crowds that are just trying to do their job when you’re here to see Jungkook.

You hate these kinds of places.

They’re so packed and filled with sweaty humans, wet and thirsty for these stupid boys at the same time, and you couldn’t be bothered to even be there. Although being backstage is quite the opposite, instead of those crazy fans, it’s frantic employees that are preparing the stage for Jungkook’s band to perform for those said weirdos on the other side of the curtain.

You [6:45PM]: where are you?

Jeon [6:45PM]: hold on, i’ll come out and get you!

He’s so easy to spot in a crowd full of people.

You ‘stick out like a sore thumb’ because you’re not working like the rest of them.

Jungkook, however, ‘sticks out like a sore thumb’ simply because of his looks.

You meant it when you said that it’s not him that makes you hesitant about pursuing a relationship, it’s his choice of career. He’s always got that pretty smile planted on his face, never failing to turn the heads of many, with charms that emit off him with simplicity, and when he says something even remotely flirtatious, your heart skips a beat. But your stance remains—Jungkook is a celebrity, and you’re not ready for that kind of burden.

Gesturing you to follow him, you don’t hesitate to trail after him in his leather tight pants that hug him in places you never thought your eyes would linger. Were his thighs always that big? You had to quickly shake your head from getting any weird ideas. This is Jeon Jungkook you’re thinking about here, a rocker, a musician, a guy with crazy adoring fans. You would and could never be more. It just didn’t make sense for it to.

When you say there’s a fucking shit ton of people backstage, there’s no exaggeration.

It slowly becomes harder to pinpoint Jungkook in the midst of the employees weaving through the crowds, and the mop on Jungkook’s head barely makes him accessible to find. Yet, he seems to figure this out when you’re not in close proximity—so he waits. He waits until you’re close, then in that moment, his hand reaches for yours and clasps them together.

You’ve never touched Jungkook or been this close in that manner, because when he tugs you closer, you get a whiff of his cologne that practically intoxicates you and has your knees buckling at the aroma. It’s a mixture of citrus with a light spice, some vanilla, and patchouli—then when Jungkook turns to confirm that you’re still there, a smile tugs on the corners of his mouth that tightens your chest even more.

Wait. Snap the fuck back into reality.

Jungkook is a fantasy, one you couldn’t afford to mesh into with your reality. He’s the type of guy that the moment you get involved with, he’ll steer you off your life course and you don’t want that. You worked too hard for your career, for your education, and someone like him could ruin your dreams in a heartbeat because of that gorgeous smile.

He’s like a bad boy meets a sweet boy into one. Tattoos decorate his biceps to his forearms, down to his hands and fingers. He’s got a piercing underneath his tongue, more jewels that adorn the curve of his ears, and he even has an eyebrow one. You never confess to Jungkook that you’ve watched his performances on Youtube before, but you definitely saw it. There’s no dodging those recommended videos on the home screen of the website, so you have been tempted to tap one of them (especially when the thumbnail is of him with those RayBans and that tight shirt).

He flexes his arms like he’s gotta use this strength for something, but it’s all for visuals. Sticking his tongue out his mouth, he uses it to outline his plump lips, moistening them as it glistens underneath the stage lights, then points directly at the camera, stares at it dead eye in the center before wetting girls’ panties just from a simple wink.

But when he’s offstage, he’s got this warmth that radiates off him, kind of like that cute reaction you see in Animal Crossing where flowers emerge with that sparkling sound effect, supposedly expressing joy.

Jungkook laughs with his whole face scrunched up, deep and thick like honey when he’s playing it cool, but higher-pitched and bright when it’s genuinely funny. He does that thing where his hand just stays in the air sometimes, and you’re not sure if he’s going to hit your arm or put it down, but it’s part of his cute laughing habits that you’ll never understand.

It’s hard to tell him ‘no’ after his confession when he’s like this, gleaming with elation when he sees you, but the truth still stands. Jungkook isn’t the guy for you.

When he introduces you to his bandmates, who lounge around in the room with what looks like there isn’t an ounce of nerves in their system, the sound of your name also seems familiar to their ears.

Then Taehyung sports a cocky grin, extending his hand out for you to shake, and the words that leave his mouth only support your observation. “Finally, we get to meet you. Jungkook doesn’t shut up about you.”

Heat rises up to Jungkook’s cheeks. “Alright, enough of that,” he says, glaring at the older male. “Either way, these are my boys.”

His “boys” are what you expect, based on Jungkook’s description of them. Namjoon, the leader, is poised with eyes that curve to moon crescents, mirroring the way his lips curl. He’s gone bleach blonde, you recall Jungkook mentioned, but he wears a beanie that hides it, however the little baby strands that peek through expose him. He’s supposedly mature despite not being the oldest, and always brings order to the chaos.

Then there’s Yoongi, the quiet one with a hardened expression. He’s nice, you learn eventually after having a couple conversations with him, he just has a stiff facade you have to break into. You finally have names to the faces: Seokjin, oldest and loudest, Taehyung, the ‘artsy’ one who dresses accordingly what the current trend is, Hoseok, the cheesy ball of goo who seemingly is always beaming whenever he goes, and lastly Jimin, the big womanizer whose whole personality revolves around having an active sex life.

“You’re pretty,” Jimin compliments, but his tone exhibits a ‘stating-the-obvious’ vibe. “I see why Jungkook is so caught up on you.”

Taehyung snickers.

With a groan, Jungkook shoves Jimin out the way. “Stop,” he whines, “the point is to not scare her away, and you guys are doing just that.”

Namjoon lets out a laugh, and the way he gets up from the armrest of the couch to open the mini fridge to snatch a water bottle for you is comforting. He doesn’t poke fun like Taehyung and Jimin, in fact, he does the opposite. He hands the chilled bottle to you, and the way his eyes match that soft smile dressed upon his lips pulls you in. “Don’t mind them. It’s nice to put a face to a name. We’re happy to have you here, it’s great to finally meet a friend of Jungkook’s.”

“Water?” Seokjin calls out from the corner of the room, finally detaching his eyes from the screen of his phone. “Get her a beer or somethin’. You’re here for a concert, not for an interview. Go grab her that Budlight from the fridge, Joon.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes. “Would you like a beer?”

Seokjin makes a point. If you’re going to at least enjoy yourself (and maybe release some nerves while you’re at it), you should grab yourself a drink.

A drink is an understatement.

You end up having more than just the two cans of beer in their dressing room—you somehow resulted in drinking a couple glasses of mojitos (your favorite), and enjoyed some appetizers leisurely, despite the crowds of people. And it’s all because of that sparkly VIP pass Jungkook gives you.

There’s a box, slightly higher than the rest of the mass of people, but not taller than the stage. It’s got these bars that perimeter the area, seats that are spaced out from each other, including tables so you can put your fancy drinks on. Jungkook mentions that they have this at all of his concerts, and that usually the wealthier fans tend to put in extra money for the comfort during the show, rather than being in that horde with skin on skin contact with strangers who are without a doubt sweating in this hot venue.

Maybe it’s the alcohol in your bloodstream, or is it your heart talking but Jungkook is… different on stage.

When your friends tell you about their concert experiences, you rarely ever truly understand what they mean. There’s a difference between listening to an artist’s song on Spotify or Apple Music, and hearing them onstage, feeling the vibration from the speakers that surround the venue, and that inebriated trance it puts you in. Body swaying to the music, eyes closed to heighten your senses; the thud underneath the soles of your shoes, the heat radiating off your skin—you lose control of yourself and just vibe with the songs that blare into your ears.

It’s also helpful that you have some rum in your system.

Jungkook and his band make this new adventure worthwhile. There’s no separation between the fans and the performers—they’re so interactive during their concerts, constantly getting the audience to sing along while holding their mic out, even tossing water bottles and sweaty towels in their direction, and winking or pointing to random girls to get them swooning.

And honestly?

That wink from Jungkook may have stirred something inside.

After the concert, a handful of screaming fans come running to his side the second he’s hopped off the stage. His intention was to run to you, give you that sweaty hug that you were oddly longing for, but instead, he’s already wrapped an arm around a crazed fan for a picture.

And suddenly, reality smacks your face like the winter’s brisk wind.

Being here was great in a sense that temporarily, you were able to forget. It was easy to bury all the concerns you had when it came to possibly dating Jungkook, but reality comes crashing like a storm, and you’re back to where you started. You could never date someone like him—the inconsistent schedules, the constant traveling, the careless environment, and the mounds of girls that chase him incessantly were all negatives. You’ll never know what he’s really doing, and wholeheartedly, you’re not sure how long you could do the semi-long distance kind of relationship either.

But Jungkook just wants to try so hard, and it’s making it difficult to tell him ‘no.’ It’s those pretty irises that sparkle with joy every time he sees you, long lashes fluttering over the smoothness of his cheeks, and those pouty lips that have you choking on the words you logically want to say, but the words from your heart spills instead.

So, you decide to run.

Well, not so much run, but ghost him, as the kids say.

When he approaches you after your class several weeks later—in a crowd of people, you note—your heart stops at the sudden intrusion. He's not supposed to be here. It’s too public for him to be here, dangerous too, because he’s without his security team and with his fame increasing, you fear for his safety. Immediately, you have fistfuls of the fabric of his black hoodie to pull him aside, letting his back face the students who move quickly in between classes to block his face and you sigh with relief.

“What the fuck? Why would you come here? Do you see all the kids here? What if they just start fucking bombarding you? What are you going to do?” Exasperated, you let your weight fall against the brick masonry so you could catch your breath from the anxiety with the release of his hoodie from your hands.

“You haven’t been calling me back. Or texting me,” there’s hurt in his eyes, permeating to the point of no denying. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” you reply shortly, pushing the straps of your backpack closer. “Just busy.”

He furrows his brows. “You told me a couple weeks ago that this is the only week you’re free in the semester. It’s Tuesday, you have one class and you haven’t even texted me back. Are you busy? Or are you avoiding me?”

“I’m just—”

Jungkook doesn’t even let you get a word in. “Because if it’s because I confessed to you, I’m sorry. I fucked up, alright? I thought you’d like me back, and maybe we could date—well, honestly, I didn’t know what would happen but I didn’t think it would be this. I didn’t want to lose my friend over it. Why couldn’t you just say you didn’t have feelings back so I wouldn’t just sit by my phone waiting—”

He doesn’t stop, even when your mouth drops open to interject, he doesn’t allow it. Quickly placing a hand to cover his mouth, he muffles a couple words into your palm before tilting his head puzzlingly. “I never said I didn’t like you.”

Jungkook pulls your hand off and you drop the hold with ease. “Then… what was it?”

“If I saw you again, it’d be hard to tell you that we can’t be together,” you solemnly disclose. “And I’m usually the type to control my emotions very well, but it’s confusing being around you.”

His expression softens. “Confusing?”

Shrugging your shoulders, you cross your arms over your chest. It’s a simple act, but part of you always feels like you need a shield to protect yourself around Jungkook because if it’s anyone to break your heart, he’d facilely do it. “You’re a great guy. I love talking to you, and hanging out with you is the highlight of my week. But I never know if you’re going to be out with someone, or if you’re going to be away next week for a concert or for some show appearance. What am I supposed to do when all those things are eating me up inside? We’re not even dating and I have all this anxiety.”

Strangely enough, in his past relationships, he’s never had anyone say those words. It has him wondering if they’ve ever felt this insecurity with him, and when he asked them for a break up, he wonders if they ever felt like they might’ve been right about their theory (even though it wasn’t).

But he didn’t want you to feel that way. He wanted you, without all of those burdens that he would be the cause of.

“You… haven’t even let me try yet. It was one concert. I didn’t even get to show you what kind of boyfriend I could be, the kind of man that could show you what it’s like to be loved.”

And there it was again.

Those gorgeous eyes; how are they brown yet manage to shine brighter than the stars in the sky? They’re hypnotizing when they meet with yours, having you locked in with the key thrown away and you’re left with saying with your heart feels instead of your head for the second time.

With a quiet voice, you say it once more. “Okay.”

Jungkook does try his best when he says he does. He’s a hopeless romantic, you learn, but it’s something he reveals continually and yet you never took seriously until now.

He often comes by after your classes with a cup of coffee, or drops by the library when he knows you have to stay late to do some research for your papers. Jungkook even takes you out on dates at times; once on a picnic, another at some fancy steak restaurant with the lights so dim that you couldn’t even make out the shadow of his face if it wasn’t for the little ass candle in the middle of the table, and sometimes, you’d go on walks in the park or alongside the river. He doesn’t fail to whisper sweet nothings to you from time to time, always reminding you how you’re the one that has his heart stuttering in its beats.

Jungkook sort of makes you feel like you’re dating a… regular guy. (And in a good way).

He even makes visits to your apartment, cooks dinner with you and stays the night. Some days, he has band practice or recordings, so you enjoy the leftovers from the night before, and although it feels empty not to have him in that seat across from you at the dinner table, his presence is faintly there—especially when he’s texting you in between breaks or Facetimes you when he can.

It feels… nice. Being loved like this, so effortlessly, like a soothing cool breeze on those nights in the summertime. There’s no weight on your shoulders, instead, you feel like you’re floating in the air when you’re with him—problems set aside, nothing but calmness instilled, and it’s just the two of you.

When he plants kisses from the corner of your lips down to the side of your neck, your breath hitches at the feeling. He’s so close, and you’re desperate to feel closer, but you don’t want to be another number on his list of women and yet here you were, melting underneath his touches.

You don’t say anything, but the fewer words spoken, the better because Jungkook comes back up once again, abandoning the end of the path of kisses he leaves to press his lips against the crown of your head with a hand cupping the other side of your face. He knows when to stop, understanding that there’s that insecurity that sits in the pit of your stomach, worrying about his past relationships, even though you know you shouldn’t be. So if this is how far you’re comfortable with, Jungkook complies.

The nights that he spends here end up lost with what feels like longer hours; you’re lost in him, inebriated by him, and you’ve even caught yourself becoming clay, with him as a sculptor, molding you into his version of perfection.

Except, you’ve already been created by yourself as the artist, and he’s purely the admirer. He strokes each curve and crevasse of you in adoration, gaze drenched and dripping in fondness, wishing nothing but to bask in your beauty for as much time he has left. Days, hours, minutes, seconds—you were right when you said that you’d never know when he’ll just have to grab his things and go, and Jungkook cherishes each moment he has with you.

He doesn’t want to tell you that what you said was the truth; it means that you’ll push away, that you won’t get to be his, and he’s hardly even fully fallen for you yet. There’s always uncertainty when it comes to being a musician, and Jungkook isn’t the exception.

And yet, he still pushes through, despite knowing all of this information.

Jungkook still cherishes his time with you, and pushes to the back of his mind that he might have to leave one day. You’ve mentioned pumpkin picking once, and although he’s not really the type of guy to go to a farm and pick a huge round orange colored fruit, he does it because you like it. Apple cider isn’t his favorite, but when you bring the drink up to his lips, he breaks out of his comfort zone to try it anyway. (Spoiler: he hates it.) Even though it sucks, he’d take another sip any day if that means he gets to see that bright laugh again.

But good things always come to an end.

With a sunken look on his face, he leans against the countertops of the pick up station at the café. Apron around your waist and a cup in hand, you eye your sort-of-boyfriend inquiringly. You’ve yet to make it an official label, and to be quite fair, the whole idea of him being a celebrity still doesn’t sit right.

He’s got on that baseball cap again, oversized hoodie with ripped black jeans, matching monochromatically from head to toe. Again, you wonder if he’ll ever get caught because this doesn’t necessarily camouflage him.

“What’s wrong with you?” You ask, popping the cup under the espresso machine. “Why the long face?”

He rolls his lips, almost like he’s hesitant about sharing his thoughts, but when your gaze narrows, he swallows. “I’m… going on tour soon.”

“Oh,” you say, mouth in an ‘o’ shape. It wasn’t surprising, after all, you saw this coming anyways. It hadn’t been the first time he's been on tour since the two of you were friends, but it’s the first since you’ve started this… somewhat of a courtship. “When?”

Clearing his throat, he readjusts his position uncomfortably. He can’t fully read what’s going through your mind, but part of him can already guess that you might not be happy with the news. “…Tomorrow?” The tone is uneasy, like he’s going to cower underneath the closest table.

“Oh,” you reiterate, this time softer. It hurts to see you like this, trying to hold yourself together as if you haven’t told him a million times before that this is what it’s going to feel like when he leaves for tour. “I see. Do you know when you’ll be back?”

Jungkook’s shoulders drop. He lets out the deepest of breaths with downcast eyes, evidently avoiding meeting the frown that he knows sits upon your pretty lips. It’s barely been a couple weeks since you’ve let him pursue you, barely enough time to get to know you in ways more than friends should, and he already has to go. And maybe he should’ve listened when you told him how arduous the goodbyes would be, but he selfishly wanted you to be his so badly. This wasn’t the last goodbye, it was a ‘see you again soon’ farewell, and he hopes you’ll see it the same way he does.

“It’ll… be quite some time. The tour is for three months, but we’ve also been invited to perform on the James Corden show.”

Your face brightens—quite the opposite of what he was expecting. “Wait—James Corden? Jungkook, that’s a pretty big platform. You guys would blow up even more with this opportunity. That’s amazing, I’m happy for you!”

But he sees that glimmer in your eyes.

At first, it’s easy to mistake it as one with hope, elation, and love.

He later finds out it was from your eyes watering.

This is his dream.

On stage, with a fandom that grows from thousands to tens of thousands to hundred thousands, and eventually, millions. Singing his heart out, with the songs that he produced and wrote with his best friends and being able to share it with the world.

Yet, it doesn’t feel right.

When he says, “I’ll see you again soon,” with a kiss on your forehead and a hug, your body gives him chills. It’s cold, and he could feel brisk winds in the air, blowing against the back of his jacket, but it’s supposed to be warmer. Before he left for the day, he checked the weather app to make sure.

Why is it freezing when he’s with you?

He calls, as promised, sharing stories of his journeys—from having to be in a cramped RV for hours on end with the boys, sleeping in those bunk beds that remind him of his youthful days at summer camp, and stopping at tourist attractions when they see one. His face is always radiating brightly, eager to talk to you and share his experiences, but his favorites are hearing yours.

The first couple times, you’re candid.

You share freely and comfortably, and he wants nothing more than for you to talk for hours. He loves hearing your voice; describes it as ‘smooth as honey’ yet at the same time ‘light and flowy like a feather’ and compares it to the melody of his favorite song. Jungkook was smitten by you, eyes filled with hearts each time your name popped up on his phone lockscreen. It made him forget the last time he saw you, how distant you felt despite being in his arms.

When he texts you goodnight, you’re off underneath the covers. Cozy, wrapped snugly with your blanket that you bragged you bought for a smacking good deal of twenty bucks, claiming that you’ve seen these go for at least eighty dollars. He misses that smile, the one he’d see before he’d turn off the bedside table lamps on nights he’d stay over at your apartment, and gets a whiff of lavender from your body wash when you toss and turn in slumber. The way you crinkle your nose in your sleep, and the way your jaw tenses and releases (he suggests you go see a dentist about that, but you’re so stubborn), it’s the little things that he begins to notice the absence of when he’s not near.

It was exciting and eventful at first; waiting for the clock to strike three in the afternoon to get a call from Jungkook after he took a break from a recording session, and another one just before bed, you could expect your phone to blow up between the hours of nine and midnight. The text exchanges were rapid fire too, Jungkook never failing to respond back as quickly as possible, sometimes replying to your messages directly or sharing a meme in the hopes of making your day.

Things get harder, you grow to learn, and it’s a mature thing to come to the consensus that this kind of relationship requires a lot of effort. You’re exhausted from your daily activities. From work to school, by the time you’re home, you’re to cook dinner for yourself, clean up your mess, possibly do other chores, shower, and prepare for bed. There isn’t even time for yourself anymore, let alone for somebody else, but you’re also starting to believe that Jungkook can’t even keep up with this lifestyle anymore.

Three months. Three months is a lot of time for a person to be apart from another, and enough time for people to change.

You spot Jungkook just in time for his performance when James Corden comes back from commercial break, and needless to say, he’s always breathlessly handsome. He’s got his hair slicked back, exposing the piercings that embellish the lobes of his ears, makeup that darkens his irises, and lips painted that familiar faint pink. With seven guys in the band, Jungkook stands center beside Jimin, but something about him specifically captures your eyes, although it seems like you’re not the only one.

His name is practically plastered on the majority of the handmade posters in the crowd, and your heart sinks. He’s gotten so popular in the past couple months; from billboards to trending topics on Twitter to magazine covers and endorsements on big name brands on Instagram, Jungkook and his bandmates have increased their fame three times more than what it had been before.

You see him everywhere on social media.

And sadly, you see him less in your personal messages and calls.

Daily video call dates get cancelled. The first couple times, all was forgiven. Things happen, and with his new hectic schedule, it’d be crazy if he didn’t reschedule. But eventually, it became too much. When he was available, you were either working a shift at the cafe, stuck in class, or meeting with your classmates for a group project. It never worked out, and in all truthfulness, your patience was wearing thin.

When Jungkook comes back, it’s like looking at a brand new person.

He’s gotten an uppercut, a couple new tattoos that adorn his arm, and walks with a certain jump in his step that you couldn’t miss. There’s a newfound confidence that he’s gained over tour, like he knows his own self worth, or even inflated the one he’d already had. But Jungkook is still a hopeless romantic. That’s the one trait that’ll never leave him, no matter where he is in life, he’ll always believe in love.

Entering through the double doors of the coffee shop, the bell above the entrance rings, and your sunken eyes barely even look up to see him. “Hey, welcome to Brew-tiful Beans, cold brew let me know your order?”

Jungkook snorts. “Did they… Did they train you guys to do those new greetings?”

Startled by that familiar voice, your ears perk up. Your body freezes, like the soles of your shoes are super glued to the broken dull tiles behind the counter and you can’t even bring yourself to turn to look at him. It’s been weeks since you’ve last talked, someone who was supposed to be chasing you, someone who was supposed to show you what it feels like to be loved. And he didn’t. He didn’t reach out, he didn’t leave a text, he didn’t call. He did nothing.

And he comes back like nothing even happened?

“Um,” you respond uncomfortably, wiping your hands off on the front of your apron despite nothing being on them. “Uh, yeah. New corporate thing. They came down from headquarters and trained all the baristas.”

Jungkook showcases that signature smile that easily swooned you before. It’s a bit different now, especially with how it’s been recently. “You hate all that fancy corporate stuff,” he states factually, and he’s right. You’ve mentioned it a plethora of times before, and part of you is slightly surprised he remembers it. “Experience only matters when it’s special to each person, if I recall that correctly. I know you’re a pro with all that customer service stuff, you told me you’ve been in the industry for most of your life.”

“Yeah,” voice soft and tone slightly off from the one you normally exhibit, Jungkook raises a brow questioningly because this abnormality doesn’t go over his head. “Something like that.”

He crosses his arms over his chest and inhales sharply. You’re different, and whether or not in a good or bad way, Jungkook wasn’t sure but he was going to figure out why. And he’d been so caught up with your punny greeting that he almost didn’t notice your recently cut hair, and when you pull your phone out to place it by the register, there’s a crack on the screen too.

“Something is off.”

You blink, this time, eyes meeting with his own. He makes your legs feel like those silly putty toys you used to play with in your youth, and your heart palpitates like you’ve just ran a marathon. Jungkook reminds you of your middle and high school crushes, the ones that make your hands all sweaty and give you the jitters as if you’re about to take a test you didn’t study for. It’s not fair that he reads you like an open book—were you really that transparent? You thought you did a good job of closing yourself off, but you have to keep reminding yourself that Jungkook is observant when it comes to these things. He’s a hopeless romantic, one that will continuously see nothing wrong with this relationship because he prefers the on-the-surface part of it.

“I’m at work, Jungkook,” you retort coldly, the same way you did when he said his goodbyes. Why is it that you keep up such a believable facade behind a screen, but in person, you’re freezing like a block of ice? “Maybe we can talk later.”

Hurt, he nods and steps away. It makes you feel worse because he’s so respectful, and the reasons you have for wanting to break this off always seem to dissipate when you’re around him. He’s just so… warm, like if home was a person.

At the end of your shift, he sits with tired eyes at the corner of the cafe. He knows better than to do or say anything when you ask for space, and to get out of your hair when you need it.

“Listen,” you begin, after locking the double doors of the shop. “I think… we should end this.”

Startled, Jungkook steps back. “Wait—what?”

Sighing, you rake your fingers through your tangled locks tiredly. All the negative thoughts had been eating you up inside, and staying with Jungkook wasn’t helping. “I can’t get over it. I can’t fucking get past all the things that come with you because you’re a celebrity.”

“Because I chose to follow my dreams, I can’t be with you?” This can’t be happening.

“It’s not your fault—”

He scoffs. “Damn fucking right it’s not my fault. I did everything—I made you feel loved. And… that’s it?”

“I just… I don’t think I could handle all the uncertainty.” That was it. There wasn’t anything else after that, but he couldn’t hear anything else after your last apology over the sound of his heart shattering into a million pieces.

And with that, he watches as you drag your exhausted frame away, head down and dig into the fabric of your hoodie where he doesn’t hear the faint sobs that escape your lips.

“We broke up,” Jungkook snaps, aggressively tossing off the headphones that sit atop his head. “We weren’t even officially together and she fucking broke up with me.”

“Bro, I’m sorry,” Namjoon says, patting Jungkook’s back comfortingly. He knows that Namjoon is trying his best in this situation, one he’s not familiar with himself, but he wants Jungkook to feel better. “I know she meant something to you.”

“This is stupid,” covering his face with his hands, he leans back in his swivel chair. Going through heartbreak should get these juices flowing, get his thoughts moving and the pen scribbling on pieces of scrap paper full of ideas. But he’s got nothing. Empty, clean sheets of printer paper, all stacked nicely upon his work desk with a filled cartilage of ink in his pen. “How the fuck did I get broken up with because I’m a rockstar? I’ve been searching far and wide for a girl to date me for who I am without the whole costume getup. Then when I find her, she doesn’t want the side that the rockstar brings but it’s part of me.”

Namjoon sighs, pulling a seat beside Jungkook. “Well, maybe she isn’t the girl for you.”

“She’s definitely the girl for me,” he corrects, shoulders and hands dropping. “She’s so the girl for me, and the fact I can’t have her because of the consequences that come with my dreams makes me feel like shit.”

“You’ll find someone who will,” the older friend assures, picking up the pen to hand it to him. “Trust me. Don’t settle for someone who would make you consider quitting your dreams.”

But that’s the thing. You don’t ask him to pick between his dreams or you, you made that decision yourself. To him, you all had all the qualities he’d want in a partner—smart, beautiful, kind, and liked him for who he was behind closed doors—but he never stopped to think before if he checked all the boxes for you, and was overly confident despite never saying it.

“She never told me to quit my dreams,” Jungkook snatches the pen from Namjoon’s hold. “She just didn’t think my dreams were fitting for her lifestyle.”

Namjoon nods, finally absorbing in the why of the end of your relationship with Jungkook. “Well, shouldn’t you be grateful? She didn’t continue to lead you on. Told you what she wanted then and there, and moved on.”

He groans, head dropping onto the desk with a thud. “Is it bad that I don’t want that?”

“No, but it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t respect her wishes and do as she asks anyway.”

He knows his leader is right, and he normally always is when he gives life advice, but Jungkook hates that this is what he’s right about. He doesn’t want to let you go, step away from a girl who makes him feel whole again, someone who made him want to keep improving as a person for not just her, but himself too.

But he’s beginning to lose that drive without you by his side.

So, he decides that he’s going to take a combination of both Jimin and Namjoon’s suggestions. Namjoon’s is to move on, and continue to do what makes [him] happy. And Jimin’s is to eat, sleep, record, perform, drink, and fuck.

And shit, does Jungkook do all those things.

He knows that if you were standing before him right now, you’d tell him that he’d become exactly what you said he would. What else would he expect you to say? He’d then deny profusely, waving his hands in dismissal and sending rebuttals your way until you’d get annoyed enough that you would stop. But you’re not here now, and it’s just him. He doesn’t need to impress you anymore. Although he wants to, there’s no need for it now.

Jungkook doesn’t love this lifestyle, as much as he wants to admit that he does, it doesn’t fit him. These girls that snugly sit on him while he’s seated on the leather couches of this blaring loud club aren’t you, and because he’s gotten a taste of what your petal lips are like, he’s addicted and wants nothing else but that. When he’s standing on the dance floor, girls’ asses up against his dick, grinding and swaying their bodies to the music, he only misses the way you turn around in your sleep, curling up to become smaller and he’d be able to wrap his arms around you like a blanket.

He hates having them on his personal bedroom sheets, so he never brings them home. You’ve never been tangled in them, so he doesn’t even have your scent imprinted on his pillowcases, so why would he have some strange girl’s?

So he takes them to a hotel, every single endeavor, fuck them with his frustrations and leave them without any conversation to exchange. Jungkook didn’t want attachments. He’s too busy being into you.

But during that time apart from you, it only makes him miss you… more. He’s gotten everything he’s ever wanted—a record deal, multiple albums, songs that hit top ten on charts, fame, and all the money he could need. If Jungkook decided he wanted to quit pursuing music now, he’d be able to afford it.

And honestly, he’s starting to reconsider this whole rockstar life. Was it worth chasing all your dreams, having all of these so-called ‘great things’ when during it, you have nobody to share it with? Sure, he had his boys, but if he had been completely honest, the money was slowly changing them all. As a group, they rarely hang out anymore. There weren't any of those Friday night dinners, where they used to eat at bbq joints and have just pork skin because they couldn’t afford the fancy meats. Or when they find a way to stretch their money, and find clever ways to do it together as a group, because the up-and-coming artist lifestyle was brutal. They’d try stuffing as many clothes they could in those washing machines at the laundromat so they wouldn’t have to waste another quarter. Eventually, they ended up handwashing everything, but nonetheless, they did it together.

And now, Seokjin only eats Kobe beef if it’s beef. Taehyung’s clothes aren’t thrifted, they just look thrifted, with name brands printed across the fabric. Yoongi can’t seem to relate to any of the guys anymore, much like Jungkook himself, so he coops himself up in the recording studio for days on end, hoping to produce the next big hit. His best friends weren’t his best friends anymore, and once again, Jungkook is lonely. But not just lonely for love, but his friends again.

If this is what happiness is supposed to be, he doesn’t want it.

It’s been two years since he’s been back here. Here, as in the neighborhood where the apartment he stayed at with the guys when they were just young kids chasing their unattainable dreams was at.

Do you still work in that cafe by the university? Is the cold brew at Starbucks still your go-to? What about those rainy days—is it still the weather you prefer to go driving in? How about your hair? Does it still get tangled in those gold hoops you like to wear? Is Coldplay your favorite band? Or have you already moved on from them like you did with him?

He didn’t know he’d see you here. If he did, he would’ve prepared himself better—maybe wear a nicer shirt, or chose those jeans that he splurged on instead of these sweats that he saw hanging over the back of his computer chair with a t-shirt he definitely put on rotation twice this week. But he can’t turn back now, especially when you’ve spotted him across the room.

You did a double take, he notices, because you even rub your eyes afterwards to see if it’s true.

It’s like time stops. Nobody around him moves, and the room goes silent. You’re somehow exactly the same yet different at the same time—you’ve dyed your hair (some type of balayage, he thinks it’s called), and you look toned (have you been working out?), but the way your mouth curls up at the sight of him, lashes still long and pretty when they brush against the high points of your cheekbones, he knows you haven’t fully changed. You’re still that simple girl he fell in love with.

His trance breaks when you gesture him in your direction, and he’s quick to grab his order from the to-go counter so he can get to you. What’s this weird feeling rushing through his veins? It’s one he hasn’t had in a while.

It's… exciting.

Jungkook’s excited to see you, and he hasn’t been excited to do anything in a while. But seeing you again, in some random coffee shop, in the last place he’d ever think of is… nice. It’s refreshing.

He knows if he tells you how he’s been feeling, you’d roll your eyes and call him a hopeless romantic like you used to. He manages to find the dull, mundane things in life and make it riveting, embellishing it with the “Jungkook-touch” so that it’d seem more fantasy or fairytale-like. But Jungkook hasn’t been able to do anything like that in quite some time, and just looking at you has his heart racing like this only confirms his emotions.

“H-Hey,” he greets, mentally punching himself because how wimpy did he look for stuttering over one goddamn word? “You’re… here.”

You smile so wide that your eyes replicate the shape of your mouth. “Hey! And you’re here. Didn’t think I’d ever see you back.”

Jungkook rubs his nape with an awkward laugh. He still wears that stupid black hat, despite the black now slightly purple in discoloration from overuse. “I… yeah. Needed a break. Wanted to get out of that busy life for a bit.”

You nod with pursed lips with a book laid flat on the table, phone with the screen down, and a cup of iced coffee. “I get that. Took a day off from work to… yeah. Catch my breath.”

“Right,” he says, mostly as a filler for the weird silence. “Um. Yeah, it’s uh… nice seeing you again—“

“Are you single?”

Jungkook nearly chokes on nothing. “W-What?”

You blink, as if your bold question is one people ask casually in a regular conversation. (Spoiler: it’s not.) Tilting your head to the side, you lean back against the booth you’re sitting in with your arms crossed on your chest. “I didn’t stutter.”

“I know that but—”

“Well?” God, even though he hasn’t seen you in a while, the feelings come rushing back like a tsunami. There’s something about you that always has him stuck like this.

“I’m single,” he confirms, although he doesn’t understand why you need this information.

“Great, if you’re interested, I… wanna take you out tonight.”

Something he remembers from your friendship is that if your hair is down, it’s a special occasion.

And well, your hair is let down, cascading over your shoulders and pretty collarbones. He takes note of the new piercings that ornaments your ears when you tuck a couple of loose strands of hair behind, but that’s when he notices that the piercings weren’t the only thing new—you got a tattoo. It’s dainty, small, and hidden behind your lobes from the world to see and it fits you so perfectly.

“Hey,” you greet with no hint of anxiety in your voice. You’ve decided to wear a grey band tee (unfortunately, it’s not his band), baby blue jeans, and a leather jacket. How do you always remain calm and collected every time? Because he’s nervous out of his mind. Who wouldn’t be though? He’s going on a date with a girl he’s had a crush on, despite not seeing her for two years.

Thankfully, this time, he could impress you. His outfit is casual, but not too casual as before because he opts for an expensive pair of jeans instead of the raggedy ones he had since before his band’s debut.

“Should we go for dinner?”

God, he feels weak. You’re even pretty when you’re eating spaghetti, when you twirl the stringy carbs with a fork, bringing it to your lips with a soft moan. It’s delicious, apparently, and he doesn’t taste the pasta but you’re like a walking advertisement for this dish. He can’t help but to notice how lovely you are holding a champagne flute, the sparkling liquid glossing over those plump lips of yours.

He’s distracted. In his mind, he can’t understand what’s going on here because you’re the one asking him out, you’re the one who suggested to have dinner together. What’s the point of all this?

But you remain eating your food and talking just like how the two of you left off your friendship. Not relationship, but friendship.

Jungkook forgot how easy it was to talk to you—you’re just so welcoming and kind without actual judgement, in spite of your teasing words. You love to banter, he remembers, and that’s a trait of yours that never changed, other than the fact you still make his heart swell like a balloon.

Toward the end of your meal, he thinks the night is over. Truthfully, he’s scared. Afraid that whatever this was is another fleeting moment—another chance for you to walk away once more and tear out his worn heart from the last encounter from you.

Then, it’s like you read his mind because you offer to take a walk to ‘burn off the calories from dinner.’

But, unlike the exchanged laughter and stories over dinner, the walk is quiet. It’s like the awkwardness weighs heavy on both your shoulders, and sits atop his lungs because it’s hard to properly breathe with the burden of uncertainty. Did you have something to say? What’s the reason for having dinner with him?

“I’m sorry,” you blurt, unable to even meet with his stare. You keep your vision forward, looking into the river as the cold air weaves through your hair and cools the heat that rises around your neck from all the anxiety of being with Jungkook. “I told you that I didn’t want to date a celebrity, and I left you. Even though you tried, you made me feel special, and you made me feel loved. I said I didn’t want what comes with dating a rockstar, and I made a selfish decision.”

“It… it was an acceptable selfish decision, if that’s what you’re trying to figure out.”

You laugh, shrugging in your big coat. “I guess. But… I forget sometimes that when you love someone, you make some sacrifices.”

Jungkook chews on his bottom lip. Even when he observes you, the little ticks you give away, he still can’t read you. You’re not the same person you were years ago, and yet, he’s already learning to love this version of you. “Do you?”

You tighten your lips into a straight line for a moment. “Yeah. And even though we only dated briefly, I loved you throughout our friendship. I made a choice—one that was solely for myself, one that I thought I’d be happy with.”

He swallows. “And?”

“I’m happy, but I think I’m happier with you.” His heart clenches. Barely able to get a word in, you continue, “And I can keep being happy with myself, by myself, or I can be happy with you too. I forget sometimes that you can chase your dreams while still loving someone.”

Jungkook blinks. “And what about the consequences of my dreams?”

Finally, you turn and your eyes meet his. They melt into his irises like those hot chocolate bombs when they drop into a hot cup of milk—so sweet, so warm, fitting for the winter. “If you loved me back, you’d never do the things I said I’d assume. I would try—the whole long distance thing when you’re away, maybe even travel and stop by shows. Call you daily. Kiss you goodnight, and wish you sweet dreams,” you pause for a moment, scoffing in disbelief at yourself, “I’m… I’m not usually the hopeless romantic here, Jungkook, but you did something to me.”

This… wasn't what he was expecting out of this date but he doesn’t have any complaints.

Now, don’t get it mixed up.

Jungkook is a hopeless romantic. Not easy.

He doesn’t let you in that simply, no matter how tempting you are with those tainted pink lips that remind him of strawberries. Or how you briefly mentioned there’s a cute little tattoo on your hip bone of something sweet, you’d say teasingly, and it’s got his jeans uncomfortable. You’re a walking temptress, and it’s safe to say that he has to put up a shield over his heart in case you’d want to break it again.

Yet, that same insecurity is swirling in the pits of his stomach again. Do you love him or who he is as a celebrity? Especially now, with his fame rising and more people recognizing him on the streets, he can’t help but wonder once more if you love who he is as a person and not this persona he puts on stage.

So, he tests a couple things.

Jungkook knows how bad this sounds, but in all truthfulness, it’ll make him feel better. He still loved you, even from before you gave him a chance, and even still now when you’re standing before him, a different person. All he wants to know is if you love him like that too.

Slouched over on the worn out black leather couch of his recording studio, Jungkook ponders with his shoes tapping against the laminated flooring. He’s been stuck on this ‘new message’ screen with your name in the ‘to:’ section, fear rushing through his veins like every performance on stage. Except, he’s performing in front of you, to test whether or not these feelings you claim to are what you really mean.

Yoongi eyes Jungkook carefully. The kid has been sitting on this goddamn couch for hours, and although Yoongi thought of speaking up several times, he figured if he left Jungkook be, maybe the problem would resolve itself.

It’s been five hours.

Yoongi can’t focus with all that leg shaking.

“Alright,” he says, breaking the silence with a turn of his swivel chair. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

Surprised, Jungkook looks up. “Huh? What?”

Yoongi points to Jungkook’s phone. “You’ve been staring ar your fucking phone for five hours. Not moving your goddamn fingers but instead you keep shaking your leg. It’s distracting. What are you doing?”

“She’s back,” Jungkook announces, except the way he says it makes it sound like a horror movie. Yoongi picks up on who she is, but he can’t make out why Jungkook would be so scared to talk to you again.

“Okay, so what’s wrong?”

“She said… she made a mistake last time,” he begins, and Yoongi raises a brow in curiosity.

“Again, okay, so what’s wrong with that?”

“Well, what if she’s back because I’m famous, and not because she loves me?”

Ah, it was clicking in Yoongi’s head now. It’s like a lightbulb pops above his head, and everything is making sense now. “I get it. So… what are you doing?”

“I’m gonna ask her to come to our show tonight.”

Yoongi blinks blankly. “O…Okay, and… how’s that gonna determine if she loves you for you or your fame?”

Jungkook’s shoulders drop. “Honestly, I don’t know.”

The two sit in silence for a moment, Jungkook’s mind empty but Yoongi’s head is swarming with ideas. His friend is stuck, is what his brain is telling him, and as a natural instinct, he’s coming up with ten thousand ways to make this work.

“Tell her to come,” Yoongi says, shattering the glass of quietude. “And give her the cold shoulder if she comes. Maybe get Jimin to flirt with her and see if she’s interested in him when he gives her the attention.”

Jungkook snaps his finger as if it’s the best idea he’s ever heard. “Good point.”

You reply in less than thirty seconds later.

you [7:52pm]: sweet offer, but it's sunday and i have work bright and early in the morning. rain check? maybe facetime before you get on stage? i’ll give a kiss for good luck.

Jungkook chokes on his saliva .

Yoongi stares at the bright screen, lost for words.

“Well, that backfired.”

“I only had ideas for when she would go. She’s gonna miss out on a free concert from one of the bands on the top of the charts right now?”

Jungkook scratches his head. That’s true. Who would do that if they’re thirsty for clout?

This new plan dawned on him on a Thursday afternoon.

He recalls that you brought up momentarily about how you worked in a research lab at the University downtown, and coincidentally enough, it’s close to his record label.

So he thought… why not?

Why not meet her outside of her workplace with no disguise? Would she like that? If she truly was into this for fame, she’d like being seen in public with him without the hats and jackets.

And the second he sees you pushing through those double glass doors, Jungkook expects your face to brighten at the surprising sight of him.

God, he completely forgot. He completely forgot about his first impression of you—that day at the coffee shop where you ran into each other, spilled coffee, and profanities slipped.

Well, more than just explicit language.

Remember how he said he didn’t want to relive some of the insults that spewed out of you?

He’s reliving it again.

You’re fuming, it’s unbelievable. If he wasn’t in shock, he’d be able to hear the smoke whistling from your ears as you’re attacking him again. Your words are like bullets, and he didn’t wear a bulletproof vest to protect himself from it. Shuffling through your bag, he notices a white jacket stuffed into the opening, and you manage to pull out a black baseball cap out of it.

“Wear this.”

Jungkook stares at you, perplexed.

You shove the hat into his chest. “Loosen the back strap. Wear it. We’re on a fucking college campus, you can’t seriously think you can just walk around here without anything on, right?”

Slowly, he grabs the hat from you and readjust the tightness before putting it over his head. “You’re mad?”

“You idiot, remember when I said that even hats don’t cover your face that well? It’s a stupid disguise. But it’s still better than fucking walking around with nothing on. Jesus, Jungkook, what came over you?”

“Sorry, I just—”

You squint your eyes at Jungkook. “You’re testing me.”

He clears his throat, something caught in his windpipe just like he’s being caught red handed right now. “W-What?”

You cross your arms over your chest, sucking in your cheek as you observe his slightly cowering expression. “You’re testing me. And that’s fine, Jungkook. I come back suspiciously when you’re more famous than before. I get the precautions. But don’t fucking put yourself in a position where you could hurt yourself physically because you’re afraid I’ll hurt you emotionally.”

So, that failed too. And you figured him out.

To be fair, while he was trying to come up with a plan to see what your whole thing was going back to him, it sort of brought him and his friends back together.

Everyone was excited to come up with something—Yoongi had experience dating a girl who was like that, and the rest of the guys just had fun chiming in.

“Video girl syndrome,” Yoongi begins, stealing it from a Jonas Brothers song (the original JB, but he’s not gonna get into that right now), released in 2008, and pretty much describes the girls Jungkook talks about when he says he doesn’t want to end up with them. “is when they live for fame, love the money—”

“You could just recite the whole entire song for us,” Taehyung interjects, and Yoongi whacks him on the back of his head with a newspaper.

“Alright,” Namjoon says, voice louder in volume to get the rest of the boys to stop playing around. “How about we ask you questions about how she’s been acting lately? From our experiences, that is, since I’m a thousand percent sure we’ve all dated video girls.”

“Mm, and see if you’re a victim,” Seokjin raises up the beer can in his hand and Hoseok rolls his eyes.

“I got one!” Hoseok shoves Seokjin to the side and he glares at his band mate from the corner of his eyes before brushing it off. “Does she laugh at your jokes when you’re not even being funny?”

Jungkook tilts his head. Has he ever tried being funny in front of you? Because, he’s never seen you laugh at anything he said. But—other exes come to mind when Hoseok says this. “Mm, no.”

“Has she ever asked you for money?”

“Only because I ordered a drink from the cafe she worked at.”

“What about your famous friends? Does she name drop any of them?”

Jungkook furrows his brows in thought. Did you? Then a quick flashback of you pulling out your phone when he brings up Namjoon, and tapping of characters into a google search before you nod and pull your lips into a straight line with a, “I remember him,” then resuming back to listening to his story.

“She googles everyone I name drop.”

Namjoon leans back in his seat. “So wouldn’t that just prove that it isn’t like that? What are you so worried about?”

Jungkook sighs. “I don’t know I just—”

“He’s worried she’s gonna leave him again,” Jimin adds on, and Jungkook is taken aback because out of all the guys, he thought Jimin would be the least to understand. “But if she’s back now, and she says she’ll try, you should let her. Let her prove to you instead of you having to come up with tricks. She’s chasing you, remember? Because she left in the first place.”

At first, Jungkook thought that the person who wouldn’t have any ounce of input would be Jimin.

But he didn’t realize that during the times he’d been desperate to have a friend to offer a shoulder for him to lean on, Jimin needed one too.

It’s what prompts Jungkook to actually start lifting up that barrier he put up to protect himself from you. He invited you over for dinner at this old KBBQ joint with his friends, the one he was missing after all the time, and the laughter you brought out of them made Jungkook feel like… this is what he was wishing for. This was that puzzle piece in his life that needed to be found. And for the first time, Jimin speaks about his experience with a ‘video girl’ and Jungkook’s outlook on him changes.

The fact that he couldn’t share anything comfortably in front of his so-called best friends, but he does it easily with you spoke volumes. All six boys with their ears perked up gave nothing but undivided attention to Jimin, and it aches Jungkook’s heart knowing he wasn’t there for his friend when it was vital.

It’s why Jimin is the way he is. And honestly, Jungkook can’t even blame him.

But he makes a good point—make you do the chasing.

And, surprisingly enough, it works.

The things Jungkook used to do for you, to make your relationship with him work and prove that just because he’s a celebrity, it doesn’t mean he can’t be a trusting, average boyfriend. Those facetime calls were always initiated by him in the past; now it’s your name that pops up on his lock screen with a cute selfie he saved as your contact photo.

He learns that you don’t love going to his shows, not because you weren’t a fan of his music, but because you just didn’t love loud spaces. It’s why you prefer those special floors of the library, where there’s quiet muttering since it’s not a ‘quiet zone’ but enough sound for white noise in the background. It helped that you didn’t like entirely hushed rooms either.

But you meet him after, wrapped in a coat despite him telling you to stay home because it’s too cold outside. And yet, you ignore his requests with a sweet smile on your face, tugging not on your just lips, but his heartstrings, with a honeyed, “hello,” when he spots you standing outside their van.

“What are you doing here?” He says, voice mixed between anger that you’re standing out in the freezing cold but excited because the girl of his dreams came to see him after a show. “I thought I said stay home.”

“I’m an adult, I can make adult decisions,” you state firmly, bouncing in the soles of your shoes. “I wanted to drop by. Ask if you want to hang out.”

Jungkook lifts a brow. “It’s late.”

“We can hang out at my apartment,” you reason, and Jungkook could hear the giggles from in the car coming from his band mates. He could almost feel the heat radiating off of you that rose to your cheeks in embarrassment, but bold and loving is how you’re trying to present yourself in front of Jungkook since he’d always been the one to give. “So… what do you say?”

“Say yes, you idiot!” Taehyung hollers and Namjoon slaps his hand over his mouth.

With a hearty laugh, Jungkook gestures his head to the van. “What Tae said. Sure. I’ll come over.”

You don’t live in the same apartment building as you used to. Just like yourself, you’ve moved on to bigger and better things.

For one, it’s spacious and not cramped like your old studio. Your kitchen, dining room, and bedroom aren’t in the same vicinity, and where you sleep has its own four walls that don't take you to the next room after two steps forward. Instead, you’ve not only graduated with a PhD, but you’ve also graduated from a studio to a one bedroom apartment.

It’s kind of nice seeing you in a different setting—just a few years ago, you were struggling to make ends meet; rationalizing amounts of food, calculating how much of a dollar gets split to what but now you’re asking him if you could treat him out for dinner.

When you slide your jacket off, putting it on a hanger to toss onto the rod in the closet, he grows slightly anxious. It’s not like how it was two years ago, it’s not even close. You’re the vocal one here, taking the lead in this so-called relationship, and once again, you’ve got him feeling weak in his knees for you.

“Are you okay?” You ask, breaking the silence. It’s easy to sense his nervousness, especially when Jungkook doesn’t often get that way around you. He’s usually comfortable, calm, and cool, but tonight, he exhibits the characteristics of the old version of yourself when he was bolder.

Jungkook clears his throat. “Mm,” he hums, as if something really was stuck in there, but the only thing lodged in his throat are his words. “I’m uh, I’m good. We’re… we’re hanging here?”

“Yeah,” you respond, pursing your lips as you extend your arm. At first, Jungkook’s heart starts racing, thinking you’re asking to hold his hand, but you gesture to the jacket over his shoulder and he mentally sighs of relief. “I made some cookies. Wanna drink coke and watch a movie?”

This… makes Jungkook laugh. A laugh that he hasn’t had in a while, one that roars from the depths of his chest, one that’s so genuine and warm, one that he hasn’t caught himself reacting in this way in a while. There’s something simple about how you say it—so harmless, casual and innocent. Dirty thoughts don’t surround your head, just a sweet night with him and junk food.

The night is blissful. He gets to shower in your bathroom, doused in that intoxicating lavender you emit off your skin, and get into his sweatpants instead of those leather pants he always wears on stage.

“I didn’t expect you to be there tonight,” he says, ruffling his damp hair. “It was cold, and I said not to go.”

“I thought we went through this,” snatching the remote from the coffee table, you’re already skimming through your abundance of options on Netflix. “I’m an adult who can make adult decisions.”

He can’t help himself. That grin that pierces through his exterior is hard to control. “And is one of them choosing ‘Soul’ as an option for a movie night? You realize that’s a kid movie, right?”

Flabbergasted, your head jolts to his gaze. “Have you ever even watched it?”

You’re cute. “No but—”

“Jeon Jungkook, just because films are animated doesn’t mean they’re limited to the viewing of only children.”

And, you’re right. He finds himself on the verge of shedding tears, and despite it being the fourth time watching it, you don’t fail to cry every time.

Maybe he shouldn’t do this anymore. Maybe he should stop playing these games, stop testing you and seeing if you truly mean what you say because life is too short to spend wasting it on wondering on the ‘what if’s’ when he has you right here, just fingertips lengths away on your loveseat couch. Because you’re here, you’ve asked him to keep you company tonight, and you don’t run away from your feelings like you used to.

Quite frankly, that’s all he asks.

You’re everything else he hopes for you to be, and yes, you have flaws, but who doesn’t? But with you—he just wanted to understand you, and for you to reciprocate it.

Now that you have, what was he waiting for?

It doesn’t take long for you to get tangled in the sheets with him, Jungkook’s hand finding a way to slide up the side of your face, threading through your hair that falls loose from its bun. Lips locked, sucking and licking, he misses the sweetness of you, how disorientated he gets from just being with you, and how happy you make him.

Hazy, he pulls away with a string of saliva between the two of you. Your irises are swirls of the skies, the ones that lead to an unknown, yet he feels comfortable like this. And part of him finds comfort that you’re just as uneasy and complacent as he is. “Is this okay?” Jungkook asks, and you feel your chest tightening from the motive of the question.

“If you’re okay, I’m okay,” you answer softly, eyelids fluttering closed. Lashes damp, they brush the highs of your cheeks so prettily, so effortlessly, just as you’ve stolen his heart.

“I want you to be okay,” he clarifies, and you nod with a soft, reassuring smile.

“I’m always okay if it’s with you.”

You’ve had previous lovers before. Ones that claimed to love you, and ones that weren’t technically ‘lovers’ but were flings. And comparing this experience with Jungkook to them makes you realize a couple things.

That darkened gaze he has on you, tongue pressed flat against your clit, hands on your thighs to push you down, stopping you from shutting your legs. Fingers raking through his wavy hair, your head throws back with a gasp when he sucks, the sound filling your ears and heat rises up to your face. Were you that wet already? He’s barely got his mouth on you, and the fact he’s got you so weak already makes you slightly embarrassed.

But Jungkook doesn’t care. He just wants to see that pretty face contort in pleasure when he does that thing with his tongue that other girls claimed sent them to heaven. (He won’t tell you they said that though. They’re in the back of his mind.)

Kissing the side of your thighs, you’re woozy, attempting your best to catch your breath, but a finger slips into your opening before you’re able to relax. His lips wrap around your nub once more, and when he thrusts another finger in, you’re unraveling under his touch and you see whites behind your lids with a shutter of your body.

Rising up, Jungkook grins cheekily. He’s glad it’s him that’s got you like this, and he’s so full of elation knowing that he gets to be with you in this way. Pushing away the wet strands of your hair that sticks to the side of your face, he gets to see that gorgeous face a bit better. With a gentle peck on your nose and a rub on your cheek with his thumb, it doesn’t take much for him to ask, “are you okay we go further?”

Yes. Yes! Fuck yeah. Totally. Shit, yeah. But you don’t want to seem too excited around him, no, it’s too early in the relationship. With a cool, calm tone, you reply with an airy, “yes.” If only you knew that your heart skipped a beat because he’s such a gentleman, even with a raging boner in his boxers that was starting to hurt.

He swallows. He’s slept with you, but he’s never had sex with you before. Although there’s going to be many more times after this, the first is always special. Even when he accidentally bumps noses and foreheads with you clumsily, the imperfection of it is what swells his chest. It makes this real.

Pulling away, Jungkook tugs off his briefs before pumping his cock a couple times. The bead that sits atop of his dick gets smeared with his thumb, and even though you’re tempted to suck him off, Jungkook doesn’t even give you enough time to insinuate it because he’s already rolling a condom on and positioning himself in between your legs.

“Last chance,” he says breathily, holding himself back from fucking you apart because this sight of you, with that layer of sweat glistening from the dim lights in the room, has him swooning like some horny teenager. “Are you okay with this?”

Chewing on your bottom lip shyly, you nod.

Those past ‘lovers’ make you feel like the fumbles during sex are bad. They make those moments that seem innocent, despite the not-so-innocent act, feel wrong. The wet bed sheet underneath you are normal, and when kisses get messy, it’s not gross, it’s sexy. And with Jungkook, he makes you feel okay with all these things, even more.

Nose dug into the crook of his neck, you suck on the exposed skin gently before placing a ginger kiss on the flesh. His thrusts are languid, fearing that he’d hurt you, but when you give him the go with a whisper to his ear of all the dirty things you want him to do you, Jungkook doesn’t just have to hold himself back from splitting you apart, but also the fact he might cum too fast from your sultry words.

It doesn’t take long, but he makes sure you reach your orgasm once more.

And when your eyes are clenched shut, brows dipping in satisfaction with your lips opening with a quiet moan, Jungkook pistons his hips several times more before he stills, ropes of cum released into the condom.

Cleaning you up, he then tosses the condom and used tissue into a trash bin nearby before pressing a tender peck on your lips.

With your head resting on his chest and his arm around your frame, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be than in the embrace of Jeon Jungkook. Even if you needed two years to figure it out, you’re glad you did. And him? Although the time apart broke him, the healing made him a better person. A realistic one, one that doesn’t always have his head up in the clouds for love.

With a quick strum of his electric guitar, the sound blares through the speakers of the venue. Jungkook steals a quick glance at Jimin, who mirrors that same content smile as himself, and that sparkle in his eyes returns from a hiatus that he never realized wasn’t there for a while.

The crowd is different tonight, and he could say that he can’t pinpoint why, but Jungkook knows why.

It’s you.

He hates being that hopeless romantic that claims you responsible for all these changes in his life, but you are the reason. He’s never seen his bandmates this… harmonious in the past two years. The way that Yoongi actually laughs, smacking Taehyung’s arm when he’s joking around too much, Namjoon shaking his head when Hoseok chimes in, and Seokjin nagging at them for it—he missed this. And he missed turning around midway through the show, watching their heads bobbing to the music, lost in the tunes and immersed in making their dreams come true.

Jungkook can’t help but let that smile tug from the edges of his mouth, especially when he spots you in the crowd, swaying side to side with a friend of yours, beer in hand and sporting that cute grey t-shirt with his band name on it with a pair of jeans. Everything about this feels right. He doesn’t even care that it’s the third bra thrown on stage in the past twenty minutes. He’s happy to be here.

All Jungkook wants is love. And to share the success of his dreams with the people he loves.

And finally, he gets to.

He gets to share that with both you and his best friends.

#52HERTZ #jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #bts x reader #bts fanfic #gyukultfics #idk what else to tag so

2K notes · View notes

blameitonmy80hdbaby · 2 years

Text

adhd role-playing [board game?] idea for neurotypicals

u are the neurotypical player and u must complete a list of tasks “around the house” (the board is a house split into rooms with tasks )

everyone gets an identical task list, u decide in what area u would like to begin and how u would like to proceed (aka stay in one room to finish all the tasks there, or move from room to room)

Very beginning of the game: roll die to determine if you are medicated or unmedicated. 1-3: no. 4-6: yes (this may come in handy later. Or maybe not 🙃)

before u begin each task, u must roll a die that determines ur motivation level

1-2: low motivation, draw card from red stack to see ur possible turn-losing distraction.

Maybe u wandered around restlessly for an hour, hoping to gain motivation…so u miss a turn.

Maybe you’ll spend 2 hours researching the War of the Roses and miss two ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Or maybe, just maybe, you’ll be so overwhelmed by the enormity of your task that u can’t proceed until u roll a 5!

3-4: average motivation, draw card from yellow stack. Cards are not as punitive as red but still probably suck.

Maybe u realized that in order to do a chore, you had to get another chore done first, so ur moved to another room until u roll a three???

Maybe u forgot to throw out that old fruit a few days ago and now have a bug infestation on ur hands that u need to deal with immediately.

But hey, maybe ur good sleep from last night keeps you energized and focused! Maybe u got motivated from watching a fun and helpful organizational video on YouTube! Or is that a distraction…

5-6: high motivation, draw card from green stack.

Seems great right? Maybe you’ll finish the task immediately and proceed to the next room

Or next two rooms, because u planned out exactly what u wanted to do and didn’t deviate to do auxiliary tasks

But maybe u went too fast and made a mistake, forcing u to return to a room that u were previously in.

Maybe u burned off all your energy on one task and need to recharge with snacks for a turn

Worst of all, maybe ur high motivation just disappeared and u have no idea why 😞, triggering a three turn loss

Possible booster! If ur medicated, u may draw a card from the blue stack every 3 turns

but lol beware meds don’t always help ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

so either u get a booster or u get penalized!

maybe the dosage was too low and didn’t do anything.

Maybe it was too high and u couldn’t eat anything, which drained u of energy and made u take a three hour/three turn losing nap

Sudden death card: can be found in red, yellow or green stacks.

triggers the name 10!, useless trivia!, or what’s that song? event.

If this card is drawn, the player whose turn FOLLOWS URS must draw from the BLACK stack (u cannot draw ur own black card) to see if u get a name 10!, useless trivia!, or what’s that song? card

Name 10! requires u to name 10 of whatever category ur given (types of trees, things you could find in a classroom, pizza toppings, marvel characters) in under one minute!

Useless trivia! Answer the question on the card in under one minute! what are the names of the kardashian/jenner siblings? what are the seven colours of the rainbow? What is (5x5)(6x2)+(22/11)(14-7)squared????!?!

What’s that song: if drawn, a player other than u must sing or hum the song listed on the card. U must guess the song in under a minute. Good luck not getting the song stuck in ur head!

If u cannot complete the task in under a minute, ur turns will henceforth be devoted to its completion (with a loss of three turns, max)

(Now I know you’re thinking this game sounds impossible and pointless and a bunch of people would probably lose all motivation and/or rage quit if it took them this long to complete an errand)

🎉 w e l c o m e 🎉 t o 🎉 a d h d ! 🎉

(Disclaimer: ADHD is not a game, it is a condition whose severity and symptoms range from person to person. This is in no way wholly representative of a neurodivergent individual’s struggle with ADHD, nor is it made to mock or insult those who struggle with the condition.)

#adhd #adhd struggles #adhd symptoms #adhd brain #adult adhd #adhd things #adhd problems #adhd post #adhd tag #can you tell I have adhd LOL #enjoy the disclaimer btw #I’d totally write that if this were a real game #also I don’t deal nearly enough with hyperactive symptoms in this shitpost #bc my experience is primarily inattentive #though I do have hyperactive symptoms to an extensive degree #they’re apparently not profoundly life affecting #but yes #this is an adhd shitpost #experiences may vary

109 notes · View notes

iamthemain-character · 2 years

Note

Hello! I’m like bombarding your inbox I’m so sorry. You can ignore this if you want. Was also wondering if you could do a lestrade x reader wher you’re sherlocks ex. Greg sorta makes sure you’re okay, is always there for you and is a softie like always. Things eventually get relationship like between y’all and as usual sherlock gets v annoyed and starts analyzing everything and figures out you are dating greg. That’s all I have for you. I hope it’s enough for a request! Y’all seriously write for all my fav fandoms thank you 🙏

hi! bombard away, i’m enjoying it! Soft Greg was so adorable to write, I hope you like it! :)

He Led Me To You

greg lestrade x reader, ex!sherlock x reader

Gender Neutral Reader

TW: none, just some heartbreak angst

requested by @danzalladaggers

also i took a lot of inspiration from Taylor Swift’s song “The Moment I Knew” and “Tolerate It” for the whole Sherlock part of this story. I also took inspiration from “Begin Again” and “Everything has Changed” for Greg. :D

Sherlock Masterlist

You should’ve known better than to fall for Sherlock; he was called a sociopath for a reason. While that title might’ve been a bit harsh for him, it was true that he struggled with basic emotions. You were an old friend of Sherlock’s, having met him during an old case. When you developed feelings for him, you were bold and told him. He took it fairly gracefully, asking you out to dinner and giving you a proper date. After that it was just an unspoken understanding between the two of you that you were dating, and that was that.

Sherlock wasn’t really a romantic, but you told yourself you weren’t either. So while you watched your friends receive flowers and go on cute dates, you received odd trinkets Sherlock found on his adventures and take out dinners while doing research. Often you would get pushed out so he could go to his Mind Palace or he would suddenly disappear for a while without a trace. When the detective would come back, he would hand you whatever he brought back and recount the brilliant tale of him solving the mystery.

The days he solved mysteries were the best; Sherlock would be riding the high that comes, and the two of you might actually get out of the house and do things together. There would be a special dinner, or a walk in the park, or going to a movie. But soon enough Sherlock would fall back into his slump and you were back to being the “chill” SO.

And then it was your birthday; your friend’s ended up throwing a surprise party with all of your favorite things. You were the center of attention, but in the way that made you feel good and loved. Your new friends were there too, John, Molly, and even Greg Lestrade. You two had only met briefly, but he seemed like a nice guy and he was honestly fun to be around. Overall it was a perfect night.

Except for the fact that the one person you wanted to be there wasn’t. You had dressed up today and put a lot of effort into your look, and now the person you were trying to impress wasn’t even there. You knew Sherlock had been out of it for the past couple days, deep into a mystery given to him, but he had promised to be there with you on your birthday.

But now the minutes turned into hours and Sherlock still hadn’t showed up. You had blown out the candles and opened presents, and still no sign of your boyfriend. Now as everyone was gathered together to watch your favorite movie, you realized he just wasn’t going to come. Suddenly you felt that you were going to cry, and quickly you excused yourself.

Walking into the bathroom, you looked at your face as tears streamed down your cheeks and dropped down to your chin. Finally you couldn’t keep it together; sliding down against the wall, you sat on the ground and hugged your knees to your chest. Sobs escaped your throat and your shoulders shook as your cried harder. All this time, you had tried to not care, you had tried to be cool, but in reality you did care. Every time you were pushed away or forgotten it hurt, and you wanted to be someone who was loved and adored. But most of all, you wanted a person who would care enough to show up to your birthday party.

Suddenly the door creaked up, breaking your sad line of thoughts.

“Oh, I’m so so sorry to interrupt.”

Looking up, you saw Greg Lestrade’s face peeking around the door. Instantly you watched as his face softened and brows furrow when he saw your tear stained face. He opened the door a bit wider, coming into the bathroom more.

“Are you alright there?”

You tried to nod yes, but as you saw the genuine concern in Greg’s eyes, the pain and tears washed over you all over again. A sob broke free, and you buried your head again. You heard the door click, and suddenly you felt someone sit next to you and put an arm around your shoulders.

“Is this about Sherlock?”

You nodded, unable to form words.

“Oi, that unfeeling basta-“

Another sob escaped you, breaking Greg’s sentence.

“No, no love, I’m sorry. Here, it’s alright, it’s okay, you cry it out.”

And so you did. Greg stayed there, arms wrapped around you tightly as you sobbed your heart out. All the pain and heartbreak from the past 8 months came out, and the whole time the silver-haired man stayed by your side.

Finally your sobs slowly turned to hiccups, and the tears slowed and dried up on your cheeks. You lifted your head from Greg’s shoulder, and he instantly offered a small smile and a handkerchief. You gladly accepted, carefully wiping away the signs of your grief as best as you could. Looking back up, you noticed the fabric of Greg’s shirt was darker from your tears soaking it.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry, your shirt-“

Greg waved his hand as if to wave your apology away. “It’s alright, it wasn’t my favorite anyways, and it’ll dry. Are you alright? It’s not right that someone should cry alone in a bathroom on their special day. Especially someone as brilliant as you.”

Your soul felt so warmed and comforted by your friend’s words, and you found a tiny smile actually gracing your face. “Well, they do say tears are good for your complexion.”

At this Greg threw his head back and laughed; a good, hearty, contagious laugh, and you found yourself laughing along. Together you got up from the cold, tiled floor and walked back to finish the movie. You felt much better, and suddenly it was like your whole world had changed. That night, you didn’t even think of Sherlock again, though another man filled your thoughts.

———————————————————————

The next day you were awoken by a call from Sherlock. Annoyed your dreams were disturbed by the man that had ruined your birthday, you still picked up.

“Hello?”

“Y/n, I’ve got it! I went to the town where the statue first went missing, and then I actually found the man who-“

“The statue case?”

“Yes, anyways he started telling me about he river-“

Finally you were fed up. “Sherlock, I don’t care.”

The person on the other end stopped mid sentence. “Beg pardon?”

“You missed my birthday for that stupid statue case. They told you it wasn’t urgent!”

“Oh yes, I’m sorry I couldn’t make it, but yesterday morning I pieced the clues together! I just had to get there, I don’t expect you to understand, but it was very important.”

“Important? Your case was more important than your significant other?”

“Like I said, I don’t expect someone like you to understand, but-“

You had had enough at this point. “No, you know what, I don’t understand. I don’t understand how someone could get into a committed relationship and not think it’s important to spend time with them. I don’t understand how you think I’m just here at your beck and call, someone to hype you up and tell you how wonderful you are. I don’t understand how you expect me to be happy with a date maybe once a month and then complete radio silence the rest of the time. Maybe you have forgotten Sherlock, but I’m a human, and typically humans have feelings. And maybe “someone like me” won’t ever understand you, but I’m brilliant. And other people do see that. So delete my number, don’t talk to me, I’m done.”

With that you promptly hung up; part of you felt guilty for getting so upset, but another part of you realized you deserved to be treated better. Treated like how Greg treated you last night. With that thought in mind, you picked up your phone again and dialed his number.

“Hello?”

“Hey, are you busy today?”

———————————————————————

That was the start of your beautiful friendship; as it would turn out, you and Greg had a lot in common. The two of you started hanging out more and more, getting to know each other better. You realized that Greg had also left an unfulfilling relationship with his ex-wife a few years ago, so he understood you better than everyone else could. You also shared similarly tastes in movies, food, and both loved dancing (even though you were both horrible at it.) It became a common occurrence for the two of you to hang out multiple times a week, just enjoying each other’s company.

It wasn’t very long, however, that things started to shift. Just hanging out became more like dates, and Greg started randomly bringing you flowers. You spent a little more time getting ready each day, hoping to impress your “friend”. And Greg always complimented you, but his eyes starting following your shape from top to bottom, as if taking you in for the first time. You felt your stomach flip and heart flutter when the two of you touched hands or brushed shoulders.

And that’s how it was for a while, casually holding hands or quick cheek kisses as a greeting. Subtle glances turned into long gazes into each other’s eyes, and an ever present blush stayed on both your’s and Greg’s cheeks. This all came to a climax when the two of you were watching a movie at your home. You both were snuggled up on the couch, when suddenly you both turned and looked at each other. Your noses were practically touching, and you felt your heart stop. You weren’t sure who moved in first, but suddenly your lips were on his. Greg pulled you in by your waist, and you cupped his face in your hands.

Things got a lot more serious after that; still, Greg and you were first friends and you never forgot that. Now you just also shared kisses and cuddles in between jokes and dates. And both of you made sure the other knew just how much you loved each other. Greg was constantly doing little things for you, like taking you out during his lunch breaks or bring home your favorite food. You in turn showered your man with love, always saying goodbye with a hug and a kiss, and leaving notes randomly for him to find. Overall it was a very fluffy relationship, and you felt like you were on Cloud 9.

After a while, the holidays rolled around, and with it, the Christmas Party at 221 B Baker street. You were dreading it, having not spoken to Sherlock since you went to get your stuff back, but you knew it was important to Greg so you agreed to go. He had been so patient, trying to balance working and still being friends with Sherlock while also trying to be an understanding and protective boyfriend to you. The least you felt you could do was go to the Christmas party with him.

You picked out a killer outfit, but you realized it wasn’t in revenge. Greg told you on the daily how incredible you looked (whether you were a mess or dresses up, it didn’t matter), but you wanted him to see you and have his breath taken away. You also wanted to feel as confident in yourself as possible, and with your look you felt just that.

Arriving at the party was a little awkward, but as everyone chatted and shared cookies and punch the atmosphere became more relaxed. Reconnecting with old friends was fantastic, and overall the night was going well. That was until an unfortunate circumstance left you and Sherlock alone in the living room. For a while, the two of you sat in silence, not daring to speak. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was looking at you, so you turned around to find Sherlock’s eyes locked onto you. His forefingers were pressed together and against his lips, a sure sign that he was analyzing you.

“Stop that.”

“No.”

“I said stop.”

“Not until I figure out what’s different about you.”

“I’m happier, that’s what.”

You rolled your eyes and threw back the last of your drink. You hated being underneath the gaze of Sherlock, and mentally you begged Greg to come back and rescue you.

“Obviously, but why.”

“What, I can’t just be happy?”

“You can, but you’re just happy. All night your eyes look around, only to return to a certain point. You stay by Lestrade’s side, and your body subconsciously leans into him. His eyes look over you multiple times, and he seems to like what he sees. Lestrade has not stopped touching you all night, whether it be a hand on your back or arm, or just his knee pressed against yours. Now I’m no expert in romance, but I do believe you and Lestrade have a certain romantic connection of sorts.”

You took a deep breath; it was very impressive that Sherlock noticed all that, but it was also incredibly annoying. “If that’s your way of asking if Greg and I are dating, then the answer is yes.”

Satisfied, Sherlock closed his eyes and leaned back into his chair in triumph. You rolled your eyes again and got up, grabbing your jacket from the kitchen. Just as you were leaving to go see if Greg had gotten the car, Sherlock’s voice stopped you.

“You are happier, happier than I’ve ever seen you. And, I’m glad Y/n. You deserve that much, even though it didn’t come from me, it’s good to see Gray makes you happy.”

For a moment you paused at the doorway. The scar that had hurt your heart for a while finally faded away. Sherlock was right, Greg made you happier than you ever had been before. You loved him.

“It’s Greg, Sherl.”

#sherlock #bbc sherlock #sherlock holmes #greg lestrade x reader #greg lestrade #greg lestrade x you #sherlock holmes x reader #taylor swift

114 notes · View notes

4dtk · 3 years

Text

have this absolute shameless drabble of sugar daddy gojo that i wrote in between requests. my fingers have never typed so fast im sorry this is literally self-indulgent at this point ARJGJFFJ.

disclaimer i honestly can't see anyone calling gojo daddy but just for this fic..... ill allow it..... and also bc sugar daddy gojo is just always residing in my mind. did you see how he transferred 10 mil to mei mei!!!!! i will never shut the fuck up about that scene. pls spoil me <3

warnings: praise, public sex, sugar daddy/sugar baby relations, breeding kink, pet names

NSFW UNDER THE CUT, MINORS DNI

sugar daddy!gojo pushes you up against the window of the store, visible for everyone to see you getting fucked senseless. in the gucci store four floors up, it could work both ways. fortunate to be so high up, although people would be getting a treat if they happened to look up.

“you know what you’re doing, baby?” he grunts, hips rocking into your soaked pussy as the staff outside try to ignore the lewd noises coming from behind the curtains.

it was supposed to be a simple trip: get a dress for gojo’s event in a few weeks and get out. with a tight arm wrapped around his, you followed him around like a starstruck puppy, the edges of your lips curled up knowing he’d treat you a million times over if you just asked for it.

gojo wasn’t any different, either. sure, he’s had sugar babies in the past, but not quite like you who’s so easy to please and spoil, knowing you could never say no even if your life depended on it. with your desperate listing for the requirement of monetary assistance, gojo couldn’t resist taking up the offer.

he just hadn’t expected you to be so… pliant. you had taken it like a good little bitch, too, moaning out for everyone to hear because you liked it like that.

“you’re taking my cock so well, princess,” gojo muttered out, lips nibbling on your ear as he continued to pound you. his grin that you feel against your skin plagues your mind, wanting nothing more than to see how he enjoys ruining you.

the catchy, upbeat pop song playing above you seemed to provide some rhythm, the sultry lyrics fuelling you further.

"so needy that i had to buy out the whole store for an hour, huh?" the male slows his pace, delivering deep thrusts into your cunt with the precision of an expert.

all you can reply are in little pants, sentences incoherent from how deep his cock is in you.

"i don't even think an hour is enough to satisfy my pretty little girl, isn't that right?" gojo picks up the speed again, and you're brought back to the many times he's fucked over his counter, washing machine. to the times where he's eaten you out on his office table and in his sheets of his king-sized.

and now, you've got another memory locked away for nights full of loneliness and soaked underwear when gojo's just too busy for you.

a tongue to your nipples and a hand to your clit makes you choke out a moan, writhing against the glass just to feel more of gojo, more of his cock and more of his lips on your neck.

you're struggling to keep yourself up, finding the right time in between muffled moans and whimpers to ask for one more wish.

"daddy... p-please, i wanna see your-"

"what, baby? repeat it for me." goddamn, the man had no problem articulating his words, how much had he fucked you already?

clearly not enough if you're still able to speak.

"w-wanna see your face when you fuck me deep, daddy!"

your wish is taken away when you're already creaming all over gojo as your hot breath creates fog on the glass in a silent scream.

"aw, you're cumming so hard baby~ you didn't even get to see me yet," he coos, enjoying the gush of your juices that coat his dick and your thighs. everything feels sticky and dirty, but you don't hesitate to beg for one more fuck with your eyes.

gojo catches your drift immediately, hips twitching from the idea of pumping you full of his cum. after all, he hasn't come yet.

he grunts at the time with a quick glance to the clock above your head. without wasting any more time, he flips you over, the restraint to cum slowly reaching its limit with your lolling tongue and fucked-out face.

the male doesn't bother to hide the deep groan that rips from his throat when he drags his dick along your folds, strings of both your juices stretching out in a way that hypnotises gojo.

"n-need your cock, daddy! please!" you whine, grinding your hips against the tip to make sure gojo knows of your desperation. that he's the only one to fuck you so good that no one else can satisfy you.

he smiles knowingly before he sinks into you.

gojo knows that he's the only one that can make you feel this way as he picks up the tempo, hitting spots in you that you didn't know was physically possible.

gojo knows that he's the only one you call daddy shamelessly as he writes off his card to help you in your student debts and the sparkly dress you've been eyeing.

he could throw you away the second you're done with university, the second the media's off his ass about his love life but, the sweet, sweet moans spilling from your lips pull him back in every single time, eager to hear it for as long as your bank's empty and his is piled up with money.

"more! satoru, more, fuuuck..." you groan, shying away from the striking blues of his eyes the more he drinks in your current state.

he's barely holding on, not even minding the first name you called him. the short skirt he'd given you flipped up makes him go crazy, your panties moved to the side to receive the dressing room quickie you always wanted.

"you're so de..eep daddy! i need all your c-cum please...!" it's a mix between a whimper and a whine.

"yeah? 'course i am, baby. your pussy is sucking me in all the w-way," gojo's hips stutters at how you squirm in his tight grasp, locking eyes with him as yours fill with want. your pussy is throbbing, stretched out so much that you don't register the thumb playing with your clit.

"s' too much...! s' too much, d-daddy!"

"you're a good girl, aren't you?" the way you nod is pathetic, eyebrows knitted from being stuffed so full.

"pretty little thing- fuuck..." gojo's losing control himself, the way his balls slaps against your cunt resonates around the small space and nothing feels better than being inches deep in you.

you're a babbling mess by then, unable to even scream out as you cream his cock. with head thrown back, you're left frozen for a second as the orgasm washes over you and a violent shudders goes through your thighs.

"daddy has so much, s-shit- cum for you, doll," it isn't long before the other comes undone, a groan escaping his lips before he shoots his load deep into you.

your pussy is stained white from all the cum he's giving you, gasping from how much gojo is leaking into you.

"thank y-you, satoru..." you trembling has affected your voice, too, burying your head into gojo's neck while your body shivers from sensitivity.

"take all of it, baby," gojo whispers, the hand near your middle moves instantly to finger his cum back into you, fixing back your underwear over your pussy.

a cheeky giggle leaves your mouth as you untangle yourself from the embrace, welcoming a kiss from the man as he slowly begins to clean up himself.

"have you chosen a dress yet, sir?"

gojo's smile is mischievous, not missing the way your face flushes at having to face the embarrassed staff outside.

"we'll take everything, thanks," his eyes never leave you as he helps you off the changing room chair, tugging your body flush to his before leaving you with one more hungry kiss.

"you did so well for daddy, doll. i may just have to treat you tonight since you have a day off university tomorrow..."

even if it wasn't in the contract, gojo loved to spoil you, admiring your mettle when it comes to material items. although...

"you know what i mean," it's enchanting, the way his voice travels like silk, "i'll call in sick for work tomorrow, yeah?"

your mind goes to mush at what tonight might entail, losing all train of coherence when his hushed whisper of my baby's so cute reaches your ear.

in a second you're out of there, hand twined with his while you remain giddy with the thought of getting used by gojo until you reach your limit.

337 notes · View notes

jdrizzle15 · 3 years

Text

Her Second Return

Just like all of you, and especially my fellow Penny fans, I am absolutely devastated by the Volume 8 finale. I had been in quite a state these last few days, utterly heartbroken, and actually nauseous at times. It feels strange to me to be legitimately grieving a fictional character, but it’s not a bad thing to feel this way. To me, this just shows that CRWBY loves her just as much as us to have written her so well that we connect so completely with her, that it feels like we lost an actual piece of ourselves when she’s gone.

But as you can probably tell by the title, this mega post isn’t gonna be about accepting this end, not in the slightest! Today I want to share canon evidence that can point towards another return of our beloved quirky red headed cinnamon bun! I’m here to spread this hope that I and others in the Nuts & Dolts dolts Discord server have!

I have this separated into many different sections to keep these thoughts organized. With that said, here goes…

A Father’s Words:

In Episode 7 of Volume 7, ‘Worst Case Scenario’ we learn the origins of Penny’s aura, and thus her soul. We also learn that it takes more aura each time she’s brought back. This leaves open an option that could be used at a later point.

Many people theorized that Pietro could indeed revive Penny one more time, which he would absolutely do. But there also lies the possibility that someone else could donate some of theirs, I’m not sure about this as I feel like it’s akin to blood donation where compatibility matters or there's a high risk of altering her, but the possibility is definitely there.

Now, the conversation in Chapter 5 of Volume 8, ‘Amity’ that Pietro and Penny have is an important moment for both Father and Daughter. It was there to show how her death in PvP all that time ago really did have a heavy impact on him and is still affecting him to this day.

Instead of continuing to pretend that everything is A-okay, like he had done for most of Volume 7, he finally lets his true feelings about how it come out to Penny for what is quite likely the first time. Even going so far as to say "Are you asking me to go through that again?" when she offers to take the risk of trying to lift Amity with her power. He wants Penny to be able to live her life.

This entire scene with Pietro established “this is what will likely happen” even if circumstances are much different now, it doesn’t negate the fact that this is a key part of Penny’s story. Scenes like these have a purpose beyond simply making an eventual death all the more heart wrenching. Her never actually getting to live her life makes those scenes basically moot. It makes them effectively pointless from narrative point of view. Unless there's more to it.

Building Relationship:

The build up between Ruby and Penny the last two volumes has been absolutely phenomenal with a definite destination in mind, and this doesn’t feel like that destination. So much of the arc of this season was to help Penny. This girl that our main protagonist absolutely adores and treasures, it would just be awful to throw all of that out for what amounts to an avoidable end. Why use so much of their precious and very limited runtime on deliberately building up this relationship only to end it abruptly, and permanently, when they’re separated?

In my opinion, RT is definitely smarter now than to intentionally set up what was really looking like a budding gay relationship only to kill one of them for good. If N&D wasn't actually going in a romantic direction, why would they leave in all of the romance-adjacent stuff that they got, that's not how ‘just friends’ act. And that is not something you use such valuable time building up for absolutely no pay off whatsoever...

Representation of Hope:

At its core, RWBY has always been about hope. It’s not at the forefront the whole time, but there's been an underlying theme of hopefulness that has persisted since it began. Some describe the show as a Hopepunk, I personally find this to describe RWBY really well. This genre of storytelling is about caring for things deeply and the courage and strength it takes to do so. It’s about never submitting or accepting the way things are. Fighting for what you believe in and standing up for others. RWBY fits all of this extremely well. How does this relate to Penny? She has been shown to be a sign of hope for everyone, but especially for Ruby, the main main protagonist. A prerequisite for a Hopepunk story is the hope.

Her first death in V3 was something that fundamentally changed Ruby. For the first time in the series, we see our main character all but broken by this event. With the loss of Penny, immediately afterwards, Ruby’s hope followed. She made up for it through determination and force of will. We see it affect her multiple times throughout the journey to Volume 7. But upon her return in V7, Hope reached a high point for everyone, the sheer relief on Ruby’s face is plain to see!

In V8 chapter 5 ‘Amity’, Penny literally raises hope by lifting the arena into the sky so Ruby could spread her message. And when she falls, and Amity with her, the connection is lost and hope plummets again. From there things take a very negative turn with the hack begins to take Penny’s agency.

In chapter 11 ’Risk’ is the point in the arc where everyone is reunited for the moment, so two separate hero stories are no longer a thing at that point in time. For the time being focus seemed to be shifted to care about the characters and how they’re going to solve the current problems. This is also where Ruby reaches her lowest emotional point in the season.

It’s not huge, but it’s interesting how connected this is. Before Ruby and Yang share a good cry over learning the possible fate of Summer, Yang brings up restoring optimism and hope to Ruby after the younger sister storms out of the room in frustration. This is where Penny’s scenes take up the rest of the episode. Getting Penny back in control of her own body and safe again is what makes the ending of the episode much brighter, when just 5 minutes before Ruby had been distraught and scared. This then spills over into the group coming up with the plan to use the staff, putting the main group in a much better mood. Of all the things to go right, it’s interesting that it’s Penny.

Things go wrong with the plan in the end and Penny dies. I find it interesting that once again, Penny got them hopeful in their chances of doing something right. Given said plan succeeded but at the cost of Penny of all people, Penny is shown to be the beginning and end of hope for them

The highest and lowest points for hope seem to directly correlate to when Penny’s around. When she comes back again, hope will return too, just like it had before. And because she’ll likely be back for good this time, the second return will probably be close to when Ruby is nearing the complete abandonment of hope. This would be pretty par for the course of the show honestly.

A little aside, but in a sense, Penny also represents Unity. The CCT in Vale fell after her first death, knocking out global communications and the unifying connection it gave. When it was restored for the briefest moment, she was there. Her body connected so she could allow for its launch, her soul lighting the night to hold up Amity with every ounce of her strength. So of course when the Hack succeeds and she falls, she takes global comms down again with her. At a smaller scale - even at the Hack's second last attempt to control her, she draws everyone in the Schnee Manor together. At the start of the volume, Yang states the one thing that they all agree on is not surrendering Penny.

Unity seems appropriate for one whose first song and wish was for but one friend, who would go on to find so many more in the process, and permit for a moment the possibility of all Remnant becoming friends once more. Where she first died, the name of the episode devoted to her story - Amity, "friendship", from the Latin root amicus, "friend" - she almost lives and dies with the very possibility of a united Remnant. It's no wonder she's a priority target for Salem, the great divider, and it seems natural that her next restoration may very well allow the next bid to bring the world together.

The Void Screams:

Moments after Penny's death, we hear a weird scream in the void space. It was a guttural, pained, angry scream, almost like the void space itself was crying out. All the portals shuddered and flickered when it happened.

Some think that this scream was Salem returning, but that happens earlier than Penny’s death, her return is signaled with cinder's arm acting up. We know this because after the arm finished flailing uncontrollably, Cinder said triumphantly "she's back." If it were Salem screaming, it would have happened after she fixed herself, but it didn't.

And I doubt Cinder would have been surprised or unsettled by it considering she was happy Salem returned not long before it. And why would a Salem scream affect the portals anyway, she has no connection to the staff or it's magic.

Another thing to consider is the fact sound is not transmitted through the portals. Otherwise, they would've heard Oscar and the rest calling for them, or the screams of the citizens of Mantle and Atlas. This lowers the possibility of that scream being from Salem even further.

The sound really seems to be coming from something else entirely within the void, and that something is not at all happy. There’s also the fact that Penny was the only person who died in the void space, everyone else was just thrown out of it like Ruby and Co. The only logical cause to me is Penny. Her body was a product (or byproduct) of the same creation magic that made the void space, her blood seems to have been a trigger.

Now I can't be sure about it, but this makes me feel like Penny is almost a part of creation itself? For whatever this thing is to be so angry, that is the only explanation I can think of currently. But all of this could possibly relate to the Narnia allusion of 'the willing victim killed in a traitor's stead' that others have brought up, which will be covered next.

Narnia Parallels:

Atlas has several parallels and references to fictional places (putting aside real world ones like the United States). One of those is that of Narnia, both on the surface and on a deeper level. It is a land of winter year round, where people struggle to survive and there is a present divide between those loyal to the current Monarch and those who are not. James is a parallel to Jadis, the White Witch, a ruler whose thoughts and cares aren’t exactly centered around the actual well being of the people. The hologram table in Ironwood’s office is designed to look like stone, like the Stone Table which features prominently in the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. He has a handpicked cadre of special agents/secret police, like how Maugrim and his wolves served Jadis. Another key parallel is how Jadis’s winter sets in to oppress and kill everyone in Narnia, but the Witch provides aid and protection to her loyal followers. She has all the power to spare harm to others, and uses it only for the loyal. As soon as Mantle splits from James and Atlas, no care is taken to protect them from the cold of Solitas even though he has every ability to turn the heating grid back on. His protection is only for the loyal.

Now that the parallel is established, let's look into the details. Starting with how James plays the role of Jadis.

"I had forgotten that you are only a common boy. How should you understand reasons of State? You must learn, child, that what would be wrong for you or for any of the common people is not wrong in a great Queen such as I. The weight of the world is on our shoulders. We must be freed from all rules. Ours is a high and lonely destiny." These are the words Jadis says in the Magician’s Nephew to justify the blood civil war she and her sister had waged for rulership of Charn, before she came to Narnia. She won that war, technically, but only after the last battle had been lost and her sister had marched right up to her so that they were face to face. Jadis’s troops were dead, her followers had surrendered, and the capital was under full control of her sister. But, she still had one card, one ultimate play to win and prove the throne of Charn was rightfully her. The Deplorable Word, a piece of old magic that killed everyone and everything except for her on Charn. It was monstrous, senseless, cruel beyond measure. But it got her that hollow victory. This mindset, the disregard for the people except as tools for her own will, the ultimate ‘aoe’ destructive move that no one had even considered her using, the unwillingness to stop even when by all practical measures the war is over, is a shocking parallel to James. In many ways, he is Jadis in mindset and deed.

Then there is the shared desire for A Thing that both James and Jadis have. For James it’s the Winter Maiden and control over her. For Jadis it’s the Silver Apples from the Tree of Youth. And funnily enough, the Maiden Powers parallel the Apples quiet well. These apples grant power and a life of eternal beauty, but should not be taken or eaten on one’s own initiative. They must be given, a gift granted by another, or only suffering will come from obtaining them. "For the fruit always works — it must work — but it does not work happily for any who pluck it at their own will. If any Narnian, unbidden, had stolen an apple and planted it here to protect Narnia, it would have protected Narnia. But it would have done so by making Narnia into another strong and cruel empire like Charn, not the kindly land I mean it to be.” Jadis’s immortality, and some of her power, come from the fact that she ate an Apple of her own will after stealing her way into the garden where the Tree of Youth had been planted. She gained the eternal life she had wanted and the power along with it, but she did so by taking it and was cursed because of it. Her skin turned pale and her lips blackened as if she were a frozen corpse given life. She will be trapped in a life of misery and hate according to Aslan- oh hey Cinder, how’s having stolen the Power you always wanted working out for you? Cinder had the power she wanted, but she only got hungrier, eager to claim more and increase her might. But in her pursuit she was defeated and humiliated by Raven, had to steal her way out of Mistral, and then suffered defeat after defeat while in Atlas. Only in the end, when she didn’t keep pursuing the Maiden Power, did she get any kind of victory.

The reason these parallels to Narnia are so important is one of the most famous events of the series. The cracking of the Stone Table and the rebirth of Aslan after his death. ‘When a willing victim who had committed no treachery was killed in a traitor's stead, the Table would crack and Death itself would start working backward.’ Well, the ‘Stone Table’ in James’s office has cracked, and Penny strikes me as a pretty willing victim. She has never actually committed any actual treachery or harm, as she was the Protector of Mantle, and fought for its and Atlas’s people until the very end. And because of her death, the actual traitor, Winter, who loyally served James until he had gone too far, was saved. Through Penny’s self sacrifice, Winter was saved. So now Death itself will start working backward.

(Major props to my friend @catontheweb for writing this section, I was getting nowhere with it, if they weren't there this part wouldn't exist!)

Norse Mythology:

The tree we see in the post credit scene gives off some serious Yggdrasil vibes. Also called the World Tree, it is essentially all of creation in Norse Mythology. It connects all nine realms, including the God realms of Asgard, the human realm of Midgard, and the underworld of Hel.

Humans are born from the branches of Yggdrasil. The web of Wyrd is woven for every person once they're born, and their path is set from there regardless of how many times the souls cycle over. But at the end, they're destined to end up in one of the worlds, for a myriad of reasons.

I believe Penny landed closest to this giant tree. She was on the center platform in the void space, so if that space is directly above the island(?) the tree is on, it makes sense for her to fall by the center nearest to the tree. This would not only open up all kinds of possibilities for the volume in general, but it would also create options for Penny.

The whole of Yggdrasil’s representations fit well into Penny’s story. Birth, growth, death and rebirth. We can count Penny’s appearance in V7 as birth for now, her growth is all her development in leaving =the military and becoming a Maiden, her death just happened, and her rebirth would be her revival. And this is a cycle she’s gone through before.

The Norse god Odin and Yggdrasil have quite a connection. In one story, Odin cut out one of his own eyes to gain knowledge from a pool underneath Yggdrasil. The only one that fell whose eyes alone are incredibly significant to the story was Ruby. So, they could choose to have her allude to Odin by having Ruby make some kind of deal with whatever entity likely rules over this magical place. An eye for Penny’s life.

There’s another story about Odin, Yggdrasil and the pursuit of knowledge. Odin so loved knowledge, that he sacrificed himself in a quest to learn the deeper magic of runes. It was believed one could only learn the magic spells from runes in death. So, Odin hung himself on Yggdrasil for nine days as an offering, and teetered between life and death. After he mastered the last spell on the ninth night, he ritually died and all light was extinguished from the world. Odin’s death lasted until midnight, when he was reborn and light returned to the world.

This story doesn’t fit Penny perfectly, but allusions often don’t. So If she really did land near the tree, she could be another loose representation of Odin’s story here. What she did wasn’t for knowledge, but to save her friends and keep Cinder from getting the Winter Maiden power. She believed it necessary that she sacrifice herself to achieve this end. As we established, Penny represents Hope, so her death means the loss of hope. This parallels Odin’s story of his death meaning the loss of light itself. So if this theory holds up, it would make this death temporary, until her rebirth and the return of Hope with her once again.

Alternatively, Ruby has the potential of loosely representing Odin in this story as well. Odin later uses the knowledge of the runes to do many things, but the most relevant one right now is awakening the dead. Both of these stories are about making a personal sacrifice to gain something that is desired. Ruby would absolutely make such sacrifices if it meant saving Penny.

It is said that Odin lived “according to his highest will unconditionally, accepting whatever hardships arise from that pursuit, and allowing nothing, not even death, to stand between him and the attainment of his goals." This sounds like Penny's arc of accepting the WM powers. This is more just a general connection between Penny and Odin, but I found it interesting.

Side Note: I encourage anyone who’s interested to look into RWBY connections to Norse Myth, there’s a surprising amount of things that feel eerily similar to the show. Likely just coincidental, but it’s fun to think about!

(If I got any of this wrong, I sincerely apologize by the way. I researched as best I could, but I admit it could have been lacking.)

Ambrosius and the Staff:

Ruby told Ambrosius "we kinda wanna keep her around longer than that" as part of her very specific instructions. Then Penny died about ten to fifteen minutes, at the absolute most thirty minutes later in-universe. I don’t know about you, but to me that seems very short to be considered ‘longer than that’. Technically it is, but when writing a story and a character says something like that, you typically don’t just kill the character they were referring to basically right away. It makes sense for a week-by-week watch, but in a volume binge, which many viewers do, it becomes ironic how fast Penny dies after being removed from her robotic body.

The first time we see the staff of creation being used, it's to save Penny. Using the staff of creation to help Penny is a sign of how incredibly important she is.

They’ve even got this entire transformation sequence for her, so it wouldn’t make sense for them to throw all that away two episodes later. In a meta context, it’s a massive waste of time and budget considering the asset creation for Penny.

Penny is a character who has already hopped bodies two times. And now we're supposed to just believe that this time it really is a final death? Just two episodes after we were explicitly told her body isn't what matters, that "Her soul is who she is" and that "the mechanical parts are just extra"? From a writing perspective, it feels strange, like your breaking a promise right after making it. And frankly, CRWBY is better than that, which makes me think this is not the actual end for her.

A possible connection between Penny, Ruby, and the Staff (thus Creation) can be seen in the intro. As Ruby is falling and being dragged down into the darkness, she is shown reaching for the staff. In the void space, Penny is the one with the relic. So with Penny having this strong connection to Creation, and the lyrics “fight for every life” playing as Ruby reaches for the staff, it’s a safe assumption to make, with the knowledge we now have, that the Staff of Creation represents Penny in this particular moment. Which could mean that V9 will be about, at least partially, fighting for Penny’s life.

Musical Hints:

In terms of music, Friend, as a song for Penny, is very dissonant from the episode itself. The song is oddly cheerful for Penny’s recent untimely death, and it overall highlights the wrong parts of death. It’s simply too happy to be a song about losing one of the most, if not the most joyous characters in the entire show. The song also abruptly ends. There’s no outro, and while this could symbolize the fact that Penny died young, it could be that the song itself is unfinished in a story sense.

What do we hear just before the song finishes, though? A progression of notes that sounds eerily similar to the last line of the opening of Volume 8. The notes for “Fight for ev’ry life” and “Who fin’lly felt alive'' share a similar melodic structure, they aren’t perfect clones of each other, but they are incredibly similar, to the point where it seems intentional. Penny may very well be the life that the opening song is fighting for. It is also worth noting that the line “Fight for every life” comes just after “Sometimes it’s worth it all to risk the fall,” which is the exact wording used for the description in the Volume 8 finale. Team RWBY risked the fall, yet, strangely the opposite of fighting for every life happened with Penny’s sacrifice. Perhaps the time to fight for every life has yet to happen, and we will see it come Volume 9.

For another thing, the lyrics for Friend are entirely centered on Penny’s feelings for Ruby, to the point where they read very much like a bittersweet love song. The music itself is incredibly cheerful, as mentioned previously, creating a mood whiplash with the end of the volume. Why would we hear a song about Penny’s feelings for Ruby, sounding like a love song, if her death is supposed to be a tragic sacrifice akin to Pyrrha’s? The song may very well be giving a clue into its future use in the show proper.

If this was meant to be a good bye song, why make it so cheerful and romantic sounding? There's only one part about her dying and even then, it's just too accepting and goes right back into cheerfulness. The song is also pretty hopeful, telling Penny's story in a fairly chronological order. And the part where she talks about sacrifice is quite pointedly followed up by one about feeling alive. It also ends with the super cheerful chorus, the word "alive" being the last... (Remember the episode title: The Final Word)

(I want to thank my friend @shadow-0f-x for writing the majority of this section! I was struggling to choose how to tackle it as I am not well versed in music theory.)

What We Didn’t See:

It is likely that Penny understood Jaune's semblance better than him and figured something out about it’s abilities in the same way that she understood Ruby's semblance better than her. She had plenty of time to observe his semblance up close as he boosted her aura to stave off the virus. Because of that intentionally timed cutaway in the finale, we don’t get to hear her explain herself after her strained “Trust me.” All of that seems really suspicious to me.

Pyrrha Parallel:

Pyrrha and Penny both sacrificed themselves to stop or stall Cinder. Jaune tried to convince the both of them to stop. With Pyrrha, he failed, while with Penny he actively helped her sacrifice herself. Doesn’t make sense for the guy who was determined not to let anyone else do what Pyrrha did, unless of course Penny assured him she’d be alright.

The Moment:

RT including the suicide hotline in the description shows that they're aware that Penny basically committed assisted suicide, seeing it as a noble sacrifice worth doing to save her friends. They're aware, and I believe they're smart enough to condemn that decision to hell and back.

The best way to do that in my opinion is to pull her back into the land of the living and let her witness first hand the consequences of throwing her life away so freely. This would show Penny how her actions affected others so maybe she could learn to truly value herself. To not think herself expendable. It would be bold and unwise to portray this choice as something good, unless it was going to be called upon later and be pointed out for how horrible it really is.

On top of this, Penny was way too content with her death, happy even. There's no way team RWBY is letting her stay content with it. It’s almost as though we're supposed to join Ruby and Co. in calling bullshit on what Penny is saying and doing because no, Penny, this is not how things are meant to work. It's as if Penny was basically saying "I want to die for my friends" because most of the volume had been about everyone else making sure she didn't die. She knows it will hurt them. She knows.

At the peak of it all, a choice like this will totally destroy Ruby. It may very well be her breaking point for Volume 9. Curiously, the moment itself is written like it’s the first choice Penny’s ever made, yet the entire Volume shows this isn’t the case. However, this is the first choice that Penny’s made solely independently and it’s rather pertinent that the choice she makes is a mistake. Outside of giving Winter the Maiden gift and saving the day temporarily, this sacrifice will not have any lasting positive effects. Jaune will be saddled with the grief of killing Penny. Ruby will have to live with losing her best friend and not being able to protect her a second time, and Winter now has the burden of the Winter Maiden abilities, making her a target of Cinder. This is a bad thing, and Penny needs to see the long term consequences.

Transfer of Power:

As we all know, colors in RWBY are really important and get a lot of focus in the show. That means the yellow we see as Penny gives Winter the Maiden Powers was intentional and likely important, no matter how insignificant it may seem. It’s possible that the transfer effect being yellow could have something to do with Jaune’s semblance. When Fria gave the power to Penny, the effect was very much blue, so this transfer should have been green since she was the one giving it this time. The weirdness of this transfer and the focus on color in RWBY really makes it look like something’s up with how that went down.

A little off topic, but Penny saying "I won't be gone, I'll be part of you." makes me think... Winter is smart, so when she gets time to think about what Penny said, maybe she'll arrive at the same question many in the audience came to; if she's literally part of Winter, can they be separated again? If Winter starts questioning that, the possibility of Penny coming back just skyrockets.

Fria actually tells Penny "I'll be gone" before giving her powers up, which is an interesting contrast to Penny telling Winter "I won't be gone". She may have gotten that line from Winter be all philosophical in V7, saying Fria was now a part of Penny, but it hits differently coming from an actual Maiden. S5o it’s possible that Maidens usually actually will be gone, but Jaune's semblance did something to change that.

This could go well with the theory that they won't need to find an aura transfer machine, or build another one, because Jaune will have a semblance evolution allowing him to do the transfer instead. It might actually be that this evolution already happened and the golden light we saw was Jaune transferring penny's aura to Winter in some way?

An observation that I find interesting is when Penny gives winter the powers, not only is the aura yellow but penny completely glows yellow too, and she obviously starts to disappear, but she doesn’t seem to fully disappear, she just glows.

It's possibly a fading out effect and she does fully fade but animation makes bright light easier, and so we don't actually see her disappear because she's dead and not gone. But it does once again emphasize the color yellow here!

And the color is coming from Penny, it does go up Winter's arm a bit, but Penny is clearly the source. This transfer is so weird and I’m not really sure how to interpret it. There's just actually no reason that we are aware of to make the effect yellow here is the thing. Unless it has something to do with either Jaune or Ambrosius, or potentially a combination of both...

Jaune’s Aura:

The way we see Jaune's aura break in the finale is strange. His aura shouldn't be breaking here. It had been long enough since he was boosting Penny, he's had time to recharge, and it didn't look like it was a strain on him at all. Plus, we know he has a lot of aura, so there probably wasn't too much to recharge in the first place.

He has a massive amount of aura, it has never broken before as far as I remember. Even if it has though, that doesn’t make this occurrence any less odd. It should absolutely never be a one-hit KO. We didn't see anything that would've drained it, that should not have been enough to break his aura. Unless he did something - something that would require a huge amount of aura - that we just didn't see. That amount of aura drain is far more than just an attempt at healing would do, Jaune absolutely did something with his semblance that took up almost all of his aura.

Pinocchio Allusion:

As any Penny fan knows, her character allusion is Pinocchio, the puppet who became a real boy. Penny deviates from the allusion by having always been a real girl, as Ruby is quick to point out, but she shares many story beats with her original story including multiple deaths. In the original story, Pinocchio dies from being hung by his own strings due to his poor decision making and he dies. Sounds a little familiar, does it not? This is where his tale originally ended. Readers were unsatisfied with this ending however, so the author decided to change the story by reviving Pinocchio and teaching him to be more careful.

Unlike Pinocchio making all the wrong decisions, Penny often makes the right ones, or ones she thinks is right, when concerning others. While usually a good thing, this has meant Penny almost giving herself up multiple times during V8, her last attempt being successful. This is where Penny and Pinocchio begin to share similarities again. They are both very reckless when it concerns themselves. This carelessness comes from different places, but it ends with the same result of them endangering their lives and even sometimes losing them.

In the Disney movie, Pinocchio dies by drowning after going to rescue Geppetto and washes up on the shore (like the beach in V8’s post credit scene). His father is devastated and takes him home to grieve, but as a reward for his selflessness in rescuing his father, the Blue Fairy returns and brings him back to life, as well as granting him humanity. Penny sacrificed her life as well, and it stands to reason that she should be rewarded for it, much like her allusion was.

Penny got her maiden powers from someone with blue aura and then gave her powers to someone with blue aura. So it could be that not only Ambrosius, but Fria and Winter as well represent the Blue Fairy. It could be set up for Winter helping to bring Penny back to life once more. It’s an out there theory I admit, but it’s not outright impossible either. The Blue Fairy in Pinocchio saved him three times that I know of, so RWBY having three representations does make sense.

Geppetto wished for him to live as a real boy, but it depended on what path Pinocchio took. This is very reminiscent of Penny and Pietro. Pietro wants to see her live her life, and surely with him absent in V8C14 that didn't work, despite Penny choosing. Her father did not see her happy enough to live her life, and will only be able to learn her death through others. But Pinocchio's themes were life and being alive. So the likelihood that this is not her end yet is quite high!

A Girl That Fell Through the World:

Penny could be the girl who fell through the world. The girl in the story fled the consequences of a choice. The only person who chose her ultimate fate was Penny. The others were pushed into the void, but she chose to die. The consequence of her choice is Ruby’s grief first and foremost, which Penny won’t see. The girl who fell through the world does come back though, and the world will be changed severely with Penny’s absence. Alternatively, it could also be Penny coming back to Wonderland or wherever they currently are, as long as it’s unrecognizable to her.

What Returning Brings:

Others might say another return would have no story relevant purpose, but I wholeheartedly disagree. Penny gives a profoundly youthful, joyous, and wondrous outlook on the world and story that we hadn't seen since Ruby in Volumes 1-3(not the end), Penny returning would bring a much needed levity back in after the despair they will undoubtedly be going through. While not necessarily a huge thing in most other shows, for RWBY, a show largely about keeping up hope, an ounce of such relief is a necessity.

As much as I hate saying it, Penny’s death does actually make some narrative sense because she had to pass on the Maiden powers. (They could have done this in a number of ways, and I personally think they chose rather poorly, but I digress.) Throughout this whole volume, we can see Penny seemingly being set up to join the main cast, but would have been too strong with the powers. This also accomplishes ridding her of the burden of responsibility that comes with being a Maiden and lets her obtain the freedom that’s so important to her character.

Once she returns, seeing this grief that her actions caused, particularly to Ruby, will get her to realize more that her actions can have serious repercussions. She made a choice, but that choice hurt the people she loves. She must have known that it would but I’m not sure she ever realized just how much.

I didn’t want this post to be heavy in the shipping department, so I largely left it out, but I am going to say this one thing that could have an impact. If Nuts & Dolts is on its way to being canon, which this volume makes it feel highly likely, this could be a catalyst.

It could prompt an arc for the both of them in which Penny learns to live her life fighting for her loved ones, rather than sacrificing it for them. A relationship could potentially start from there. And Ruby seeing Penny learn these things may also help her to stop doing the occasional but very dangerous and reckless things she does. Ruby witnessing Penny coming to terms with what she did to the people that care about her would actually make her stop to think “wait, is this how everyone else would feel if I got myself killed?” That would be a very important moment of character growth for her.

I’m certain there are other significant things that Penny returning can bring to the show. And there are definitely more sections I could add to this. At this point though, assuming anyone even made it this far, I think I’ve been going long enough already. So let’s just roll into the outro!

As painful and hopeless as it seems, I'm choosing to trust them with this because there is absolutely no way they didn't see backlash coming. The way this finale went makes me think that they calculated for backlash and aren’t jumping into something they don’t have a plan to recover from. Whether this trust is unfounded or not remains to be seen, but I don’t think it is currently. I do think, however, that the cause of this backlash was a major misstep. Now that it has happened though, they have a chance to do something good with it.

I know for a lot of you, trust in CRWBY has been damaged, some even irreparably so. And for those that feel this way, I don’t blame you. My trust in them took a hit too, but isn’t broken completely yet. There are many ways that they can bring her back that would make sense with the narrative, they have the ability to make it right, and after going over all of the hints and general weirdness of things many times, I think they will.

I'm feeling pretty confident now and I really didn't expect that to happen at all to be honest. But discussing and theorizing with the discord server seriously helped get my hopes back up surprisingly fast! It’s actually thanks to all of them that this gigantic post even happened! So thanks a ton my fellow Dolts! And a special thanks to!!

@arcana-amicus

@catontheweb

@cosmokyrin

@gaydontmesswithme224

@jammatown919

@shadow-0f-x

They really helped get this thing across the finish line!

And thank YOU for reading all~ of this! I sincerely wish it gave you some of the hope and confidence that I now have!

#RWBY #rwby vol8 #rwby v8 #rwby spoilers #Penny Polendina #nuts and dolts #mechanical rose #a little #Essay #more like dissertation #I haven't written this much in #probably ever actually #Have HOPE people!

384 notes · View notes

narutogwriting · 3 years

Note

Greetings! It I. Whomever the f*ck that is!

I don't know if anyone's every told you, but your writing is absolute Grade A Quality. And I, as in me, happen to nurse quite the interest for said A Grade writing. Shocking, is it not? Foolish! Of course it is not! Surprising. That is. It IS the best writing afterall! I- Hm... ఠ_ఠ

Okay, I'll stop horsing around, sorry,,,

I have come to make a request if that is alright with you and you do not have too many already!

I recently discovered the song "Heart Attack" by Deni Lovato and would really love a little story with boisterous and playful reader that's had the second longest-standing crush(after Hinata's, cuse, MAN, that girl be the inventor of pinning no jutsu) known to everyone, but Lee, where the crew could be out throwing one of those rare party where a majority of them can be present, eventually ending in a karaoke where the fuzzy warmth of what little alcohol the reader drank gives them the little bit of missing courage(or sensibility) to, just, climb on a table and spill all their feelings, love and frustration into this one song before loudly announcing that This One's For Lee, like a challenge.

If you would have the space/kindness to add the aftermath where the reader immediately sobers up after comfessing and just, absconds through a window, I would be the most grateful gal alive,,, >v<

I'll venmo you a goat.

Okay this was seriously WAY too fun to right Naruto is my one true love but Rock Lee was my first Naruto crush<3

HEART ATTACK

Pairing: Rock Lee x Reader

CW: good old fluff

Length: 3.6+

Summary: Rock Lee has been your not so secret crush for as long as you can remember. You’re determined to take it to your grave, but what happens when you’re drunk at a karaoke bar doesn’t stay at the karaoke bar...

The music was loud, the room was dark, and everyone was there. How long had it last been since everyone was able to get together?

The life of a shinobi was a busy, dangerous one. There was little time for laugh and play, especially as you all got older. It was easier when you’d just graduated from the academy. All of the missions given to new genin were level D to C, little things like gardening or finding lost pets that didn’t take much time or require you to even leave the village. It was easy for everyone to find time to get together and hang out.

But as time passed, things changed. Everyone’s ranks were different, some people like Shikamaru took up more political roles in the village. It was easy to drift apart without even realizing it.

So tonight was one of those rare moments where the stars aligned and the old group was able to get together to hang out.

The venue of choice; a karaoke bar.

It was the first time you were all able to drink together… Well, legally at least.

“Thanks, Kiba.” You giggled, giving him a flirtatious wink as you took the drink he’d just bought you, sipping it. Did you like Kiba? No. But was he fun to flirt with? Absolutely. And if that flirting led to him wanting to buy your drinks for you, well, who were you to deny him?

Kiba was cute; that wasn’t the problem. Heck, most of the guys from the Leaf were cute and way too easy to get along with. You’d known them practically your whole life, grown up together even, but despite all their great qualities, it was only one shinobi who had your heart, and he didn’t even know it.

The first time you’d seen Lee was before the first test in the Chunin exams. He had easily taken on Naruto and Sasuke without batting an eye. He was so swift, so smooth, you’d watched him in awe. He was a bit eccentric, but had a focus and prowess you’d never experienced before. You thought he was amazing.

You were content to watch him from afar until the preliminaries. During his fight with Gaara, you’d held your breath, watched in horror and amazement as he took on the demon of the sand. You didn’t think you breathed once during that battle.

Lee lost, was almost killed by Gaara before Guy stopped him, but it was the best you’d ever seen someone fight in your life.

Timidly and nervously, you visited Lee in the hospital that day. He was unconscious, but in stable condition. You didn’t know what motivated you, but you began to visit every day, leaving flowers and small treats for Lee to wake up to.

When he finally had woken, you were trying to slink out of the room quietly when you heard him speaking, causing you to freeze in your tracks.

“Who are you?”

Apprehensively, you turned to face Lee with a small smile. You’d never been shy, but there was something about Lee that made you weak-kneed.

After introducing yourself, you went back to his bedside. “I just wanted to tell you that I think you’re very strong. You’re so skilled and quick; I think you’re the best ninja I’ve ever seen…”

You were only thirteen, didn’t have much experience in the ninja world, so the words you spoke were true. You didn’t know if telling him that, as a total stranger, would make him think you were weird.

Imagine your shock when Lee burst out in happy tears.

It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

You supported Lee in his recovery, and even when he couldn’t go on missions himself, he cheered you on from the sideline.

From the very beginning, it was evident to everyone in the village that you were head-over-heels for Lee. Your quiet bashfulness when Lee was around was a stark contrast to your usual loud and confident self. Everyone knew about your crush.

Everyone except for Lee.

“Why don’t you just tell him?” Tenten asked you once. “You never know.”

But you’d only shaken your head. “He loves Sakura. Everyone knows that.” You told her. “Besides. We’re friends. I don’t want to ruin that friendship.”

So despite your friendliness, your flirtatious nature, and the fact that you could have just about any of the rookie nine wrapped around your finger if you so pleased, you weren’t interested in any of them.

Rock Lee was the only one that had your heart and he didn’t even know it. He never would.

Instead of focusing on that, or the cute way Lee’s cheeks went red after he took a shot, or how Lee spent a lot of time that night talking to Sakura, you took shots with Ino and Tenten and let Kiba buy you drinks and danced with Choji when he asked.

Overall, the night was going great. Everyone was having a good time and getting along and so far only Naruto had gotten just a little too drunk; everyone else was riding a nice buzz.

Shikamaru had just finished a less than enthusiastic rendition of “The Lazy Song” that had left everyone doubled over laughing at the irony. “Who should go next!?” Naruto yelled, looking around to see who still hadn’t sung a song.

And okay, maybe Naruto wasn’t the only one who had drank just a little too much. Watching Lee sit and laugh with Sakura the past hour had left you feeling just a tad bit jealous, leading you to drink more than you normally would. He’d barely said anything to you that, and the two of you were supposed to be friends.

“What’s so good about Sakura anyways? She’s really not that great.” You swished the liquid in your cup, mumbling the words you knew you would regret the next morning. Sakura had never been anything but nice to you; you knew she didn’t deserve to be the target of your jealousy.

Ino snickered. “Geez you’ve got it bad.” She commented with a roll of her eyes before hearing Naruto’s question. Her eyes lit up, and, grinning, she hurried to the microphone, looking through the book of songs available to sing. She flipped through for a moment or two before turning to Naruto and whispering something to him.

All of this escaped your attention as you were drowning in the misery of your own thoughts before you realized: everyone was chanting your name. You blinked, looking around to see everyone staring at you, pounding on tables and counters as they encouraged you to get up and sing.

Laughing, you shook your head nervously, not wanting to go embarrass yourself before Lee caught your eye. Even he was encouraging you to go up and perform. Well, if he wanted you to, then you would sing your heart out!

You downed two more shots before pushing to your feet, which was an obvious mistake.

The alcohol always hit hardest after you stood up.

“Woah, there.” Tenten laughed, standing to help you. Somehow, you made it to the stage. Naruto snickered as he passed you the microphone. He couldn’t wait to see this.

You held the microphone tightly in your hands as your eyes scanned the room with all your friends staring expectantly at you and cheering you on. You felt good. Really good. Your vision was blurry, head dizzy, stomach warm, and everything about you was giddy. It was your turn, and you were ready to make a statement.

Glancing at the screen, you saw the name of the song appear. Heart Attack by Demi Lovato.

“I’m gonna dedicate this song to someone very special to me,” You slurred into the microphone, giggling. Your friends in the crowd whooped and cheered as the music began.

“This one’s for you Lee!”

With that, you closed your eyes to block out the reactions of everyone and everything, and you sang. You sang your little heart out, put on the drunken performance of a lifetime. Your years of pent up feelings and nerves and fears surrounding Lee all went into that song.

As you sang the last word, you opened your eyes again, taking in everyone’s reaction. Glee, surprise, happiness. You were grinning; you’d killed it.

That was when your eyes landed on Lee. It was hard for you to gage his reaction. More than anything he looked… confused. And that was when the weight of what you’d just done settled on you. Oh shit.

You’d all but confessed your feelings for Lee… Drunkenly… In front of everyone.

The realization was all it took for you to sober up. Quickly, you shoved the microphone back into Naruto’s hands and fled the karaoke bar.

You weren’t really sure how you’d even made it home. Everything was kind of blurry. You remember running from the karaoke bar, a girl’s voice, probably Tenten’s, calling after you. You remember vomiting. A lot. That’s actually what you were doing now. You’d woken up with your head basically in the toilet.

You could have gone for some blissful moments where you didn’t remember what had caused you to sprint home from the bar, but alas, you couldn’t forget.

You’d confessed your years long crush through song.

How were you ever going to face Lee again?

You wouldn’t, you decided. You would spend the rest of your life in that house. You could have your groceries delivered, you weren’t going to need new clothes if you never went outside. You would just lay in your bed until you withered away into nothingness.

“You can’t stay in here forever,” Tenten rolled her eyes, tugging the blanket that you were hiding under off the bed.

“Watch me,” you whined in reply, holding a pillow over your head. “I totally embarrassed myself! He probably thinks I’m so lame!”

Tenten could only snicker at that. “Lee? Thinking you’re lame? Right.”

It took a bit of convincing, and you were basically kicking and screaming, but Tenten was able to drag you out of your home back into the real world. “No one’s going to care,” She assured you as the two of you walked. “We were all plastered. I’m sure no one will even remember!”

If only that were true.

“Hey!” Kiba called as he and Naruto approached you and Tenten. “Have you guys seen Lady Tsunade around here? I have this pain in my chest…”

Naruto grabbed Kiba’s arm in mock fear. “Oh no! Kiba, are you having a heart attack!?”

The two of them doubled over in hysterics; tears were even streaming down their faces. You could feel your face burning red in embarrassment. You’d never wanted to disappear so badly.

“Beat it you two!” Tenten snapped, grabbing your arm and pulling you away. “Ignore them! They’re idiots!”

Head buried in your hands, you shook your head. “God! How am I ever going to live this down! I’m going home!” You pulled out of Tenten’s grip. “I’m going to move villages, change my name, and make sure Lee never sees my face again!”

“Uh, well, if that’s the case you better run…” Tenten said awkwardly, nudging you. “Because Lee’s coming this way…”

And there he was. In his green jumpsuit, bowlcut and all, Lee was heading straight for you. God you were sure you were going to vomit again.

“Good morning Tenten,” Lee greeted, though nowhere near in his usual upbeat tone. “Would you mind giving us a moment alone?” He asked. Tenten glanced over at you nervously.

“Yeah… Sure Lee…”

“I do not understand it, Sakura.” Lee sighed, toying with the drink in his hands as his eyes were locked on you drinking and laughing with Tenten and Ino. “I have never had any issue telling you that I think you are beautiful. But with her… It is different.”

Sakura giggled, feeling the drink in her own veins. “Because, Lee. You like her like her. You should just tell her!” Even drunk, Sakura would never betray your trust by telling Lee the obvious; that you liked him as much as he liked you. But it was infuriating to sit on both sides listening to the two of you cry over your feelings day after day and not tell you!

Lee shook his head, taking a gulp from his drink. “I cannot. I am not like Guy Sensei, as much as I try to be. I am not cool or good looking. I do not think I am smooth. I do not know how to talk to a girl I like.”

It took everything in Sakura not to burst out laughing. Guy Sensei? Cool? Good looking? Smooth?

“This is ridiculous. How much longer do I have to hear about how great you think she is before you finally tell her?!”

Rock Lee could barely hear Sakura; he was zoned in on you. Everything about you entranced Lee from the very first time he saw you trying to sneak out of his hospital room. You were beautiful, of course. Your hair always seemed to fall just right. Your smile brightened up a room. The kindness in your heart radiated from you. He loved how confident and outgoing you were and that you had an energy that could match his.

It wasn’t like Lee hadn’t tried to tell you before. There were plenty of times when it was just the two of you that he was tempted, but he could never get it out. There just weren’t many people that he connected so easily with. Guy Sensei was his idol; he wanted to be just like his sensei! But that wasn’t the same as having a friend. Even with his teammates, there was a level of professionalism to it all--maybe thanks to Neji--that kept him from feeling like he could truly be understood.

But with you, everything was so easy. Laughing came easily, talking and opening up about the things he struggled with… There was a naturalness to it he’d never experienced before. He was terrified to lose it.

So that night at the karaoke bar, he sat with Sakura whining about the same thing he had been for months now instead of doing something about it. That wasn’t like Lee at all, but that was what you did to him. You made him so nervous he couldn’t even be him.

He was sure you knew his eyes were locked on you all night, ogling like a total weirdo. He’d barely even talked to you. He had hoped that the alcohol would loosen him up and spur him into action, but he’d just shut down even more, causing him to wallow in his own self pity.

Why couldn’t he be more like Kiba? He was over there, so smooth and cool, grinning and chatting you up and buying you drinks. Lee wanted to be that guy to you!

“Oh, look! She’s gonna sing next!” Sakura nudged Lee, nodding at the stage where you were grasping the microphone. You were clearly inebriated, and the redness in your cheeks just made you look all the cuter to him.

“I’m gonna dedicate this song to someone very special to me!” Lee’s heart dropped into his stomach. He couldn’t even hope that he would be the one that you would devote a song to. So when it was his name that had left your mouth, he sat in there in a state of shock. It wasn’t even dawning on him. Sakura shook his shoulder excitedly as you belt out the lyrics to Heart Attack.

“Lee, she’s singing to you!”

It just couldn’t process. Was it the alcohol? Was it the absolute surprise at what was happening? Whatever it was, by the time you had finished, Lee had continued to stare at you, open mouthed. It was only when you’d sprinted out of the bar that Lee had come to his senses.

He’d done his best to follow you, but he was drunker than he thought and had stumbled around just a little too long. By the time he’d gotten himself straightened out, you were long gone.

He’d stayed up all night long thinking about it, thinking about you.

The whole night, he turned it over and over again in his mind; what else could that have meant other than you liked him back? It was too good to be true! But it was true? Lee drove himself mad.

The goal with his walk wasn’t necessarily to find you. Moreso, he had just wanted to clear his head, maybe get advice from Guy Sensei. But he’d ran into you and Tenten before he could do any of that.

As Tenten gave the two of you space, he stared at you bashfully. The longer the silence went on, the redder his cheeks became. Just as he was getting up the courage to say something, you broke the ice.

“Lee, look. About last night… I’m sorry. That was so embarrassing! I was just so drunk and… I wasn't thinking straight.” You were rambling on nervously, scratching the back of your head and avoiding his gaze, acting like you wanted to laugh the whole thing off.

Lee nodded slowly, letting your words sink in. So… He had misread the whole thing, then? The thought hit him like a blow to the stomach, taking the breath straight out of him. That sucked. “Right, of course!” He said quickly. “It is okay, really. I had drunk a lot as well!”

How did he get out of here? Lee was tempted to drop the weights from his ankles and take off running as fast as he could.

The discomfort was plain on his face, though. You knew Lee well; you could tell something was wrong.

You had to drop your playful facade. You felt like you’d really screwed things up. “Are… Are you mad at me?” You finally asked him quietly.

The question startled Lee. He frowned, tilting his head. “Why would I be upset with you? You are my friend.” You could only shrug helplessly. You were sad and embarrassed and confused, and now Lee was upset. Of course you thought it was your fault. You didn’t know that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

The silence was heavy, making you sigh and shake your head. “Well, uh, I should go meet up with Tenten again…” You mumbled, staring at the floor. After this, she definitely couldn’t drag you out of your bedroom again.

You lifted your hand, waving goodbye before turning away. You didn’t get more than a step away before Lee was grabbing your arm, his body reacting quicker than his mind. “Wait. Please.”

Of course you stopped, turning back to face him. You were too fearful to be hopeful, unwilling to get excited for something that wouldn’t happen, but you held your breath anyways as you stared up at him.

“I was not completely honest. I am upset, it is just not with you…” When you didn’t respond, only continued to stare at him with those earnest eyes, he had no choice but continue. He dropped your arm, his hand going to nervously rub at the back of his neck instead. He didn’t know how to do this, but he had the feeling it was now or never.

“The truth is, yesterday when you sang that song, and you said you were dedicating it to me, I believed it was because you had feelings for me. So just now, when you said you were not thinking straight, it made me upset because I have feelings for you. I was hoping that you would tell me that you felt the same…”

You didn’t think you’d ever seen Lee so red before. It was like a cartoon, the way it creeped up from his chin all the way to his forehead, shooting up like a thermometer. You could only imagine that you looked the same. Your face felt like it was on fire.

It took a moment for it all to sink in. There was a pause before it dawned on you; Lee just confessed that he had feelings for you! He liked you! The giddiness sent trembles through you as you broke out into a huge grin that you couldn’t stop.

“Lee, you idiot!” You laughed, smacking his arm. “I do like you! That’s the whole reason I humiliated myself in front of everyone yesterday!”

You know that look that Lee gets when he’s happy? His pupils dilate, glistening like googly eyes. The blush dusts the tops of his cheeks, he even gets a bit teary eyed.

All classic Lee and exactly what you got after your confession.

“I cannot believe it!” He cried, pulling you into a hug and twirling you around without hesitation. Now that he had confirmation about how you felt, any inhibitions he had been harboring were gone just like that. He wasn’t going to waste another moment not showing you exactly how he felt. “I have wanted to tell you for so long! I just did not think you felt the same way! This is fantastic!”

Lee’s enthusiasm was as contagious as ever. It didn’t take long before you were hugging Lee back and laughing along with him. When he finally calmed down, Lee released you, taking your hands in his instead and grinning at you.

“So does this mean you will go on a date with me?”

“Is that you asking me?” You giggled. Lee nodded enthusiastically. “Then yes; of course I will.”

Lee pulled you into another hug. “Would you like to know something?” He questioned, giggling childishly, so of course you nodded. “I almost had a heart attack asking you that question!”

The groan was immediate as you pulled away, smacking your forehead. “Lee!” You whined, cringing in embarrassment. “I am also having a heart attack trying to work up the nerve to do this…” For a guy that was so fast, he moved agonizingly slow as he leaned down to press his lips to yours. A heart attack, huh? Yeah, you were never going to live that down. But if this was the price to pay, well then, you didn’t mind all that much.

161 notes · View notes

adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 4 years

Text

you’re someone i just want around: III

“You can have me tonight or never

I thought you understood

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

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

—Wrong, Zayn and Kehlani

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

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

word count: 24.2k

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

///

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

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

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

Harry still hates clubs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Very satisfied, yeah. Your help was greatly appreciated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is that so?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The name’s Styles. Harry Styles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not going.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lock the door on your way out!”

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

That is, until she met Harry seven days ago.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The first thing he notices is the dress.

Fuck, the dress.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nice to see you again, Disco Ball.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Far from it, love.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I like your dress.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve been thinking about you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck off.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It felt really nice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wouldn’t mind it, either.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, y-yes.”

“Want me to keep going?”

“Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We do make quite the team, don’t we?

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

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

Alright, Watson. What time will you be home?

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

I’m off at 6:45. Should be home by 7.

I’ll see you there, then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fan came in. Wanna come check it out?

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

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

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

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

Sounds good to me, Sherlock.

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

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

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I— I can’t. I’m—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hands off.”

“W-What?”

“Hands off.”

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

“Ask for permission.”

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

“Please what?”

“Please—can I—can I cum?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

The third week is when things escalate for the better.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I need interior design advice.

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

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

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

Genuinely?

Yup!

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

Alright, shoot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Immature?

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

Another message interrupts his spiraling negative conclusions.

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N ignores the bristling across her cheeks.

Alright, go head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Did you watch your video before you sent it?

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, whoops. Sorry for the indecent exposure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Touché.

Exactly.

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

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

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

You did it on purpose, didn’t you?

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

Maybe.

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

Alright, l’ll bite. Tick for tack.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You read my mind.

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

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

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

She practically drops her phone when it vibrates.

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

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

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

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

Hours? You want me down your throat for hours?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m going to call you.

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

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

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

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

2K notes · View notes