#unexpected visitor

Y/n was cozied up on her couch, the dim light of the TV lighting up the room as she became so consumed by her favorite show on TV. It was so quiet until a loud thud echoed across her house-literally reverberating off the walls-startling her out of her trance.

Confused, she frowned and instinctively looked toward the front door.

Curious, she turned off the show and stood up with a rise in her heart, racing for some concern mixed with curiosity and hesitant steps, she continued toward the door.

She finally approached the door and peered through the small window beside it, trying to get a glimpse of what, or who, could be on the porch.

She opened it and peered out to see nothing but the darkened outline of her house outside, for night had completely shrouded the sky.

Y/n took in a deep breath and unlocked the door, slowly pulling it open. softly, the hinges creaked-but it added to the atmosphere of dread. Her eyes enlarged ever so slightly in shock as she took in the sight before her. What is this? Or what is it…

It was an unfamiliar figure lying sprawled on her porch, its body battered and bruised, the shadows of the night obscuring much of its facial features. And for a moment, she stood frozen in place, her mind racing as she tried to comprehend what had just appeared on her doorstep.

Then, in the tight silence, that figure moved-a little, but it was enough to run a current of fear through the poor body of y/n. She jumped back instinctively, a small scream escaping her lips as she accidentally stumbled backward, her heart pounding so fast in her chest.

The door was ajar, and adrenaline surged through her as she stared down at the strange stranger, a mix of dread and concern coursing through her

His body rose up in such a supernatural way. He groaned as he clutched his side, not noticing the girl on the ground. Then he caught a scent that made him scrunch his nose.

Slowly, he turned, his hair falling into place as he glared down at Y/n. Her eyes widened further with each of his movements.

Your heart pounded against your chest as the figure shifted-he lifted himself up enough so he could plop himself up with one slow, languid movement-his disheveled, blonde hair fell right onto his face, and his dark eyes locked with yours.

Her whole body began to freeze every instinct in her body yelling at you to run, but her legs felt glued to the floor.

And for a moment, he just stared at you, his face unreadable. Then, he realized she was still standing there, he started to move, pushing himself up with a groan. His movements were slow, but deliberate, as if trying not to startle you.

Y/n's breath caught in her throat as he shifted forward ever so slightly, his gaze soft but unrelenting. "Wait, let me explain—"

he started off low and hoarse.

But y/n didn't wait to hear what he had to say. you screamed, her survival instincts kicking in, and without thinking, she lashed out with her foot, aiming squarely for his torso.

Her kick landed with a very satisfactory thud, and the man-or whatever he was-released a strangled groan and collapsed onto his back like a ragdoll. He clutched his stomach, rolling slightly to the side as he muttered under his breath, "Ow, that hurt.”

Panting, y/n grabbed the nearest object-a potted plant-and held it above her head, ready to defend herself. "Stay there!" you began to shout, her voice shaking. "I don't know who you are, but if you move again, I'll-"

"Wait! Wait!" the stranger yelped, lifting one hand in surrender while the other clutched his stomach. His voice was rushed, almost frantic. "I'm not here to hurt you! I swear!

She narrowed her eyes, the plant still raised up high. "You're lying. You were about to attack me!"

He groaned again, shaking his head. "No, no, no. I wasn't attacking! I was just… trying to get closer so I could talk to you without, you know, collapsing." He gestured weakly to his battered body, then looked up at you with wide, almost puppy-like eyes. "You have a really strong kick, by the way. I think you might've cracked something.

Y/n hesitated, her grip on the pot faltering slightly as she took in his expression. Despite the situation, he didn't look threatening anymore. In fact, he looked downright pitiful, sprawled out on your porch like an injured stray.

"I—what?" you stammered, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his demeanor.

He let out a deep sigh, and his shoulders slumped as he sat up again this time, slowly and without jerky movements. "Look, I'm sorry I scared you, okay? I wasn't trying to. I just… I don't know how to handle this kind of situation."

"What kind of situation?" you demanded, still keeping your distance.

"The 'I'm hurt and some human is my only hope of survival' sort," he replied, the tint of exasperation to his tone oddly. It was sorta cute. "You're actually pretty intimidating, btw. I mean, I've dealt with way worse than you, but for some reason this is more daunting." He flashed a wry grin, fangs poking out.

Y/n stared. Surprised, even. "You're. really bad at this whole vampire thing, huh?"

His smile grew wider, and he ducked his head, an apologetic lean like a golden retriever that's just knocked over a lamp. "Not really," he confessed. "But in my defense, I wasn't anticipating getting kicked in the stomach tonight.

A small laugh escaped her lips despite her better judgment. y/n covered it up with a glare the instant it had escaped. "Don't think you're off the hook just because you're bad at being scary."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he replied most sincerely, his eyes alight with relief now that you weren't actively threatening him. "But, uh… maybe we could start over? I'm Jake. And I promise I'm not here to hurt you. Pinky swear."

Y/n lifted an eyebrow, unamused. "Pinky swear? Really?"

Jake nodded gravely, holding up his pinky. "It's a universal sign of trust. Pretty sure it applies to vampires, too."

You only rolled your eyes but couldn't stop the corners of her mouth from twitching into a reluctant smile. "Fine. But if you try anything, I'll kick you again.

“Noted," he hastened to say as he raised both hands in surrender again. "But, uh… can I come in? Your porch isn't exactly the coziest spot to crash."

Y/n hesitated for a moment, then sighed. "Fine. But only because you look pathetic."

Jake beamed-his golden retriever energy practically radiated as he scrambled to his feet, wincing slightly. "Thank you! I owe you one. Seriously.”

Y/n stepped aside, watching as he shuffled inside with a boyish grin. "You owe me more than one," you muttered, shutting the door behind him. And for some reason, as she watched him settle awkwardly on her couch, y/n didn't feel quite as afraid as you were moments ago.

You needlessly ply him with kisses to convince him to use his car to get more groceries than you normally would walking on your own. Even though they’re out of season and expensive, you can’t help buying two pints of blueberries, your favourite. You eye the raspberries, but the line must be drawn somewhere with your impulsive spending. John seems to enjoy himself, watching you squeezing and fondling the produce as you wander through the aisles.  

As you pass a hardware store on the way back John tries to convince you to purchase a new lock for your door, which you decline. You know you’re driving the man insane with your resistance to improving the security of your rental, which he brings up at least twice more over the span of the day. You just can’t justify the expense of improving something that doesn’t belong to you. Making it more comfortable and affordable by putting up plastic over the drafty windows – sure. Installing complicated locks and window coverings to a place you don’t own? No thanks, sounds like burning money to you. John thinks you are nuts to not want to be a secure as possible regardless of ownership or cost. You have to ask him to drop it, which he does reluctantly, but you catch him testing the locks on the bathroom window anyway. 

He wheedles you into spending Saturday night at his place, ordering your favourite Thai takeout and lazily making out on his couch with re-runs on in the background. Every inch of you feels suffused with contentment, John taking every opportunity to run his hands over you until you feel like a beloved house cat, well fed and petted. 

When John takes you to his bed that night, he insists on taking your clothes off piece by piece himself, pressing his hot mouth to each newly revealed section of skin. He worships at the altar of your hips and thighs, making you cum with a guttural cry that would have the neighbours calling the police back at your run-down place. You’re more than ready for him but instead of the intense, urgent sex you had in your kitchen he takes his time. He trades hard thrusts for rocking, grinding friction, his face buried in your throat, his lips on any skin he can reach. The steady rubbing contact on your clit and panted whispered praise in your ear makes you writhe under him. He makes you cum twice more before he chases down his own pleasure. You finally fall asleep tucked into his side, your heart feeling tender like a bruised muscle. 

Sunday finds you in no better shape, your throat aching when John serves you breakfast with a side of fresh raspberries. You joke that you must be getting your period soon if you’re getting weepy over fruit when John’s face registers alarm at your reaction to his gesture. The relief that sweeps across it would have made you laugh, if your throat hadn’t been choked off with emotion. 

You make him take you home to your place Sunday night, wanting to get organized before work the following morning. When he makes to follow you in you have to gently explain that he’s too distracting for you to get anything done. His frown softens at the reasoning but he still keeps you in the car for another 10 minutes before reluctantly letting you go. You promise to call him after work and wave him off, feeling another wave of emotion sideswipe you as he drives off. Certainly, your period must be around the corner. 

Monday night comes and you’re almost home when you pull your phone out to call John. You prefer to keep your phone put away when you are on public transport, but now that you’re walking the rest of the way home, you thumb through your contacts. You look up as the call rings, and see someone stepping in to your apartment. The call connects a few seconds later and John’s familiar rumble comes down the line. 

“Did you just beat me home? I didn’t know you were going to stop by.” You ask playfully, not minding one bit if he has. Except he hasn’t. 

“What? I have plans later darling, I can’t stop by.”

“What do you mean? I just saw you go in.” You’re perplexed, pulling your keys out by habit and then stopping dumbly at the door handle hanging at an odd angle. You can hear John moving on his end of the call, but your brain is still trying to understand the angle of the doorhandle. Could someone have fallen into it? Dropped a package on it?

“Love, are you sure?” John’s voice is taking on an authoritative quality that normally would rile you up but you feel frozen, unsure what to do. His tone breaks through your brain fog and you take a step back. And then another one.

“Yeah. The door handle looks all jacked up. I’m going to call-“ 

Your voice is soft, preoccupied.

“NO! No, don’t hang up. I’m coming, right now. You can call the police once I get there. Stay on the line with me.” John’s voice goes from panicked shout to soothing in the course of a few seconds. 

“I don’t know what to do, John.” Your own panic is starting to spiral, and you fight the urge to turn and blindly sprint down the sidewalk. 

“It’s alright, you’re alright love. Head back to the bus stop, I’m just leaving now.”

“All my jewellery!” You cry out suddenly, realizing all your valuables are vulnerable to whoever is in there. You turn to head back, uncertain. 

“Fuck the jewellery, get your ass out of there.” John growls and you reluctantly follow his direction, casting glances back over your shoulder as you retreat. 

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