#I only wish Egg could have been there to see her loved one perform

[nerdish-nostalgia-revived]

"You know, in the theatre we have to examine the internal logic of all our actions."

Sir Charles Cartwright playing detective.

#sir charles cartwright #martin shaw #three act tragedy #my gifs #I could watch him do this all day #he is so animated and enthusiastic about his skills #I just love the way he moves #and so many scenes - not only in this part but throughout his performance in this episode #aren't even talking parts but just him 'talking' with his face - and it's just so damn good and captivating #he is so expressive - and it doesn't hurt that his face is so beautiful and makes it a joy to watch! #he shouldn't be that ridiculously cute at his age #and I want to touch his hair so bad! it's so glossy and looks so soft! #the lighting in this scene was really complicated and made things grainy #also I slowed down the pace and he STILL turned around too fast in that writing gif #but that was a moment I wanted to gif for a long time #so now I have - and I'm willing to share too #I only wish Egg could have been there to see her loved one perform #she probably would have been just as smitten as myself

[apolloanddaphnis]

hi! maybe u could write something where reader and Tim are close friends at first and then one night she sees her ex at a party with another girl and she’s so upset. Timothée comforts her and then says they should make her ex jealous by dancing, flirting, cuddling. Y/n keeps looking to see if her ex is watching at first but then she really starts to fall for timothee and realizes he’s the one she wants so she kisses him and he takes her to the nearest room and they’re confessing feelings for each other and it’s beautiful 🤩

Omg my first anon request, this is so rad I'm literally a nobody!!! Ahhhhhh thank you for requesting me, I hope I got this right ♥.

Disclaimer: kind of obsessive Timmy, around 2k words of not proofread.

I looked up to see my very beautiful best friend straddling my waist, but it wasn't going like how I fantasized almost every night and day. She was wearing my Bauhaus shirt that's been missing, her luscious thighs exposed to my pleasure, and it took everything I had to not slide my hands up the expanse of them, we're touchy but not THAT touchy.

She was holding a plastic, bloody, Halloween knife in my face and an attempt at a merciless expression on her doll-like face.

"Uh…is this how you ask how you like my eggs?" I joked.

"You jerk!" She hit my bare chest with the party city weapon which hurt more than you'd think.

"Ow!"

"You hid my doll!" She whined, she didn't know but her whining always got me hard and that wasn't great especially since I had morning wood.

"Your Dalton doll?"

Dalton was her dipshit ex boyfriend. They met at a club, she said they had an instant connection and was hopeful since they were the same sign. I want to gage his eyes out and pour acid on his dick.

I've wanted her for only since we've met, she thought I was asking her friend out, when I was trying to ask her out and I ended up going out with her friend instead, and well she figured out after a month that it was Y/N that I wanted and promised not to tell.

But Dalton.

The douche who dumped her because she quote wasn't driven enough. Who the fuck says that to someone? Especially someone you were in a relationship with. I wanted to push him off the Brooklyn Bridge and see if he could fly.

She came to my place in tears, crying that she wasn't enough, calling herself stupid and useless and going nowhere. A stark difference for when she first met the wannabe rock star.

He had a band and she was at a show seeing her friend's band play. I wasn't there that night, if I was I wouldn't have let that happen. He was lead singer of some band, doing well enough that they ended up getting signed, and with that he dumped her. Said she spent too much time supporting him, promoting his band, and making t-shirts. He asked her if she wanted to do anything else with her life, she's a dog sitter and he made her feel like a piece of crap under his shoe for it.

She cried in my arms all night when he dumped her. It took her three hours to convince me not to kill him by choking him with chicken wire.

We were at a party last night, and we saw his band there, the classic rock wannabes that performed at the Grammys. He acted like he never knew her, he looked right through her like she never existed, like they didn't spend a year together, like it wasn't the worst year of my life.

We left the party early and Y/N got so drunk, and had gotten her own Dalton voodoo doll, planning to lay many curses on him. I had to calm her down. I thought she forgot that I got rid of that thing.

My silly, whimsical girl. I wish she wouldn't waste her tears on him.

"Let's go out tonight, Pete wants me to try this new club downtown. It's very exclusive, probably won't see he who shall not be named." I attempted soothing my little tempest, rubbing her back.

She narrowed her eyes in thought and suspicion, slowly lowering the knife. "We'll get so dressed up, you love dressing up."

She looked around. "Will you let me dress you up?" She asked almost childlike. I laughed and sat up, causing her to shift in my lap. "Anything you want."

Her eyes lit up a little and she dropped the knife before climbing off of me, and I missed the weight of her.

''You're forgiven, I'll make some breakfast!" Just like that she was fine.

Tonight arrived faster than I was prepared for, and we did go all out. She gave me a little facial, her stroking fingers felt wonderful on my face and I loved having my head in her lap. The lavender mask was nice too. Apparently I have combination skin.

She did my makeup, it took her mind off of the D word. She enhanced my lips with lip liner and gloss, my eyes with eyeliner and highlighter touched my cheekbones, nose, chin, lips, and head. Y/N painted my nails black and dressed me in leather pants, combat boots, and a black sheer shirt. My favorite part about being her Ken doll was all the touching. I know that's creepy but I don't care.

I wasn't prepared for her to come out like that.

I was waiting in my living room and she came out in a tight, black, sweetheart dress with razor thin straps. The dress was practically strapless, enhancing her cleavage and only ended right below her thigh. She grabbed her red heart shaped purse and my eyes went down to her thigh highs black, leather boots.

My heart was beating so fast and I felt like my lungs were going to collapse. "Fuck, y/n–"

She did a seductive little pose. "Is it okay?"

I nodded. "Good, I'm so ready to get fucked up tonight!"

The club was cool, there were 4 levels and the fourth floor was VIP to an already exclusive club.

I ordered myself an espresso martini and got y/n her favorite, a French martini. A club mix of Lana del Rey's blue jeans was playing, men and women's eyes were on my girl and I put my arm around her waist to end their starving stares.

She swiveled her hips provocatively and bounced up and down to the beat, I downed my drink and began to dance with her when she stopped. "Mouse, what is it?" I asked her using the special nickname I had just for her.

I looked her in direction, what rotten luck, it was Dalton, and he was grinding against one of the new Victoria's Secret models. "You know what he used to tell me all the time?" She asked in a monotone voice.

I grasped her hip, knowing I won't like the answer.

"I'm too big, my thighs are too jiggly, I have too many dimples, my arms aren't toned." She sounded casual when she said this but when I turned her around to face me the tears were pouring. I want to put his face in a fucking blender I swear. How the fuck could he say that shit to her? I clenched my jaw so tight I swear I was gonna break my teeth.

"He's worthless y/n, no I'm serious!" I snapped, causing her eyes to widen. "You look like a girl out of a 1960s playboy issue, the kind you'd find stashed away in your grandpa's bathroom. You're not only adorable and smart and funny, I mean you say shit like 'panic at the costco'!" She laughed through her tears. "You're also so supportive, and imaginative, you aren't afraid to show exactly how you feel, you breathe life into everyone you meet, you know more about dogs than anyone I know and you're hot as hell. He's not good enough for you and we're gonna show him that."

Her eyes widened. "Wait-you think I'm hot- what do you mean-"

I interrupted her stuttering and dragged her in the middle of the dance floor. A sexy song came on and I slid my hand up her soft thigh, her eyes widened but she let it happen pressing into me, as I gripped her thigh lifting it so she wrapped her leg half around me. I rolled my hips forward as if we were fuckin, her dress rose and her red painted lips fell open as her hand moved up my chest.

I bucked my hips and moved my body against her. She wiggled her hips nice and slow as she draped her arms over my shoulders, fingers sliding into my hair , our faces so close we were just a kiss away. It was hard. I was hard. And I knew she felt it. Because she grinded down on it and my nostrils flared. I looked over her shoulder and smirked at a glaring Dalton who pissed off his lingerie date. I mouthed 'fuck you' , and to my joy he looked livid.

I went back to enjoying y/n, she smells so good like sex and vanilla. I rubbed my nose lewdly on her neck. She turns her head to see her ex, remembering the purpose of this sex on the dance floor. "Timmy, he looks so mad do you see him?"

She looked back at me for a response and gasped at the intense look on my face instead. She stares at me with something akin to desire and realization, before leaning in closer.

I moved my mouth closer but remained far enough to let her decide her fate. And fuck she chose well. She pressed her mouth against mine and I could breathe again.

I lifted her a little and dragged her off the floor as I sucked her mouth and kissed it open. I slammed her against the wall between heated bodies and licked her mouth, she parted her lips and sucked on her tongue as grabbed her waist and her ass, pinning her with my body. We only stopped kissing so we could breathe.

Her pupils were dilated and my ringed thumb rubbed her lip. "Timmy, don't kiss me like that if you don't mean it. Don't ever do that again!"

Tears filled her eyes and she attempted to rub from me but I grabbed her hips. "Mouse, you better correct me if I'm wrong, are you saying–"

"I've always…it's always been you, but I thought…"

I laughed with relief. To risk sounding like a loser, this was like a dream. My best friend is like my ideal girl, we never argue, we like the same things, we complain about the same things, I hate and love everything with her. She wasted her time with polluting toxic wastes of human beings just to tell me now it's always been me.

"Fuck me slowly with a Chainsaw, was I really thay blind? I blame my obsession over you and not believing anything this great could happen. You're better than any dream which makes it scarier than any nightmare….when did you know?" I rambled, my hands couldn't stop roaming her body.

She sniffled with a smile. "It was that Gregg Araki film, Doom generation, and I didn't have my favorite candy, you ran out to get it for me. I had a crush on you but I fell in love with you at that moment, like I'm talking hoarding your socks and watching your saliva in your mouth as you drink Starbucks, kind of obsessive love."

I pulled her hand with me, I pushed people out of the way and into the bathroom and locked the door. I lifted her onto the sink and claimed her mouth with mine. "I'm so disgustingly in love with you, it's gross and filthy. I love you so much I fantasized about killing Dalton for hurting you and not appreciating you. I want to be your person, mouse." I was almost in tears and she cupped my face so gently. She kissed my eyes and nose. I kissed her mouth and tasted her tears. "I want to be gross with you." She whispered into the kiss.

"Let's go home." I sighed, kissing down her neck.

"Yours or mine?" She raked her nails through my curls, I could drool from how good it felt.

"Ours. Move in with me."

"Tim–"

"I told you I'm gross."

She tilted my head up and licked up my chin to my lips. "It's okay, I love gross. Disgust me please." She said softly before looking into my eyes.

I didn't hesitate, I'll never hesitate again.

#anon ask #anon request #timothee chamalet #timothée chalamet #timothee x reader

[scarriestmarlowe]

ive been thinking a lot about scarri lately

trigger warnings (bcz tumblr fucking nukes this if i put them in the tags): descriptions of eating disorders (weight loss is only briefly touched upon, and the eating disorder that this story is focused on is not focused on wl,) descriptions of toxic parenting, emetophobia, misogyny, and internalized transphobia (towards the self)

there is something rotting inside of her. rotten? something that's long since rotted. she's not sure when it died, but one early morning, she sat up with the sudden understanding that something inside of her was dying, dead, done, and she had had no say in the matter.

(her dad said marlowe boys died young. she knows she's not boy enough to die, so maybe, this was her body's compromise.)

there's a man in her kitchen, making her food. he puts a plate of eggs, fruit, homemade bread, in front of her. he kisses her mother on her way out the door, handing her her coat. when she's gone, and she sticks the first bite her mouth, it's wrong. it's wrong, because she knows, she shouldn't accept this.

(her dad didn't usually make breakfast. even when she asked. the man in her kitchen doesn't have to be asked, and when she takes a bite, he smiles. it's nothing like her fathers, and when she wants to smile back, she knows it's the beginning of the end. because nobody is really dead, not until they're not loved, and if she doesn't love her father, who will?)

(scarri marlowe isn't a murderer yet. she doesn't want to kill her father.)

she takes sips of water in between thoroughly chewed bites, doesn't finish the bread, and doesn't bother to excuse herself when she goes upstairs to run the shower. she can feel the rotten thing feed, as the food digests, but she still waits. just a little longer, as she pulls her hair back. just a little longer, after the first time is a fluke.

(her dad had made jokes about this. pointing at a pretty girl terri had been watching on the street, and making a two finger gesture to his mouth. he'd told terri that it was the lazy way out.)

there's a knock on the door, a gentle calling to her. when she shouts back some cruel response, she's not sure if her voice is rough from the bile, or the tears gathering in her eyes.

he knocks again.

will you please let me in, honey?

she hates him. she hates him so much. the man on the other side of the door lives in her house, loves her mother, loves her, didn't give her an option in making her love him. she wishes she didn't. wishes she didn't so deeply. she hates that she likes him.

(she stopped liking her father at some point. it was hard to, when every moment with him felt like a delicate performance of being his favorite girl.)

she doesn't know what to do. there is wasted food in the toilet, there is something dead inside of her, and the fear rolling over her has made her cold all over.

i'll wait outside. you can open the door when you're ready. or tell me to leave.

she doesn't tell him to leave. she cries, and pulls her hair at the root, and she feels ill enough to throw up without having to put work into it.

it takes a while for her to open the door. when she does, she knows she looks sick, knows she looks like hell warmed over, knows he sees the snot and tears.

and he pulls her in for a hug. and she's crying again, when she'd just been so sure she'd used up the last of the water in her body. coughing, and shaking, and doing these little half gasps for air, like her lungs can't get enough.

i hate you. she manages to weep.

i know. he says, and he doesn't. he doesn't hate her.

i hate you so much. she says, beating her fists weakly against his back.

it's okay. he says, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head, like he'd done once when he thought she was asleep. she thought of it all the time. tried to consider some monstrous motivation she could twist it into, but there wasn't one. you don't have to like me.

why can't you hate me? because he doesn't. no matter what she does, he just takes it.

you're 15. he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. i can't hate you. you're just a kid.

(she'd been a woman since she was 11, and her mother had lent her her first pad. every part of womanhood had been a gift she didn't want, and she had not been given a receipt)

(she wasn't a girl anymore. she had spent her whole childhood seeing how her father treated every woman in his life, she wasn't sure why she'd thought she'd be different.)

i'm not a kid.

for just a little longer, you are. he says, tracing soft circles into her back, just like her mother used to do with her nice, acrylic nails. let yourself be young.

scarri marlowe is not dead, and she is not alive, but right now, she can pretend that there is breath in her lungs. she'll pretend that the man that lives in her home is a necromancer, raising her up from the dead for as long as the delicate spell will last.

(scarri marlowe is not yet a murderer, but she wants her father to die.)

#repost bcz tumblr nuked the last one.. #scarri marlowe #scary marlowe #terry jr #terry stampler #dndads #dungeons and daddies #dndads s2 #dungeons and daddies season 2 #dndads fanfic #fanfic #angst #hurt/comfort

[inner-sakura]

Theoretically Forever

[Adrien POV sequel to Hypothetically Ever After, childhood friends AU, adrienette, fake/pretend relationship]

Adrien Agreste has had a crush on Marinette Dupain-Cheng for as long as he can remember. Unfortunately for him, however, she’s only ever had eyes for his older brother Félix, who’s never so much as looked her way. But when an opportunity suddenly presents itself to turn the tables and rewrite the script on their relationship, Adrien finds himself hard-pressed to turn it down… Especially when it means getting to date the love of his life. Even if it is only fake.

AU where PV Felix is Adrien’s older brother. inspired by the novel “the boys next door” by jennifer echols. hello and welcome back to the brothers AU fic series that no one ever asked for yet i remain obsessed with.

read it here

chapter four

Adrien speared a stalk of asparagus, crunching on it angrily as he glared daggers across the table. 

That was about the extent of the rebellion he could allow himself, since his father was currently seated at the other end of the table, silently demolishing his egg white omelette with the same militant efficiency he did everything else. He would almost certainly be able to pick up on Adrien’s mood, and would no doubt dismiss his displeasure as a side-effect of being forced to spend one of his precious vacation days schmoozing with his father’s business associates and their families. 

Which, admittedly, was partially true. 

Nevertheless, that wasn’t the only thing that had Adrien chewing his breakfast like he had woken up with a personal vendetta against all stemmed vegetables.

No, the reason for his upset was currently seated across from him, looking wan as he pushed the healthy but ultimately flavourless meal around on his plate. 

Although he was as put together as always—as expected of the scion of the Agreste empire—Félix appeared distinctly green around the gills this morning, a side effect of his undoubtedly raging hangover.

Adrien’s eyes narrowed to slits, a grim sense of satisfaction filling him. 

Sure, it might have been slightly vindictive, perhaps even unkind to wish ill on his only brother, but after the performance Félix had put on last night, Adrien thought it only fitting that he be made to squirm a little. 

Aside from his drunken shenanigans—Adrien very deliberately tried not to think about his favourite pair of shoes, currently lying in their ignoble resting place at the bottom of the garbage bin—Félix had other, far more grievous offences to answer for. 

Namely, the look of pure devastation that had flashed across Marinette’s face last night when she’d finally clued into what was happening. 

Adrien couldn’t help but replay the moment in his head, recalling the bright flash of hurt he’d seen in her blue eyes in the instant before she’d been able to mask it. It felt as though it had been permanently etched into the walls of his memory.

It had been brutal to witness because Adrien hated seeing her in pain, and he especially hated it when it involved his dunderhead of a brother, who at every turn managed to throw Marinette’s love and devotion back in her face, whether he knew it or not. 

Marinette would willingly offer him her bloody and still beating heart if given the chance, and Félix simply didn’t give a damn. 

Not that Adrien actually wanted Félix to accept her offer. The thought alone was enough to leave him sick to his stomach. 

Still, it would have been nice if Félix could at least pretend to be grateful about it. Lord knew that Adrien would gladly offer up any of his limbs and even his firstborn child to be afforded the same opportunity. 

The whole situation was endlessly frustrating, and this frustration was what allowed Adrien to give in to his pettier desires that morning.

And so he sat back, and enjoyed watching his older brother attempt to conceal a massive hangover from their father’s hawk-like and all-knowing gaze. 

“Eat up, Félix,” Adrien said, shoving a large forkful of omelette into his mouth. “We’ve got a long day ahead of us...”

He smiled, making sure to showcase the mouthful of half-chewed egg he was sporting. 

The scolding he received for his improper table manners was well worth it, if only for the way the sight of the food between his teeth caused Félix to turn even greener. 

-x-

“Adri-kins!” Chloe squealed as he stepped into the grand foyer of the Bourgeois’s villa. 

He barely had one foot through the door before she was glomming onto his arm, behaving as though they’d been separated for years, rather than a matter of hours. 

To his brother, she delivered a perfunctory, “You look like shit,” accompanied by a steely once-over that would have felled a lesser individual where they stood.   

Félix merely grunted in reply, too exhausted from trying not to hurl during the car ride to muster anything more vitriolic. 

Rather than capitalising on her enemy’s momentary weakness, as she was normally wont to do, Chloe turned her attention away from his older brother, seemingly satisfied at having won this round in their neverending verbal sparring match. 

“Now,” she said, clapping her hands excitedly. “You must let me show you these new centrepieces that Mummy and I picked out!”

Without releasing her hold, she tugged Adrien forward, forgoing the greeting line entirely as she led him further into the house. He had just enough time to nod in her father and mother’s direction before he was being ushered into the elegant dining room and plunked into his seat.  

A seat that was conveniently located right next to hers. 

As Chloe continued nattering on beside him, Adrien sighed under his breath, resigning himself to his role as captivated audience member—a role it appeared he would be playing for the duration of their evening. 

This… is going to be a very, very long day, he mused, already counting down the hours in his head.  

-x- 

Before heading to dinner at the Bourgeois’s, Adrien and his brother had been hauled about town, carted to various lunches and meetings that Adrien had so little interest in he had almost mastered the ability to fall asleep with his eyes open by the end of the last one. 

He made sure to nod and smile and politely answer any questions that were directed his way—of which there were few, seeing how his main role at these meetings was always to sit still and look pretty—all while silently wishing for a swift and merciful end to his suffering. 

By the time they’d made it to the Bourgeois's house, Adrien was exhausted. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how Félix was feeling. It was a miracle he was still upright.

Yet, as luck would have it, Adrien’s day from hell wasn’t entirely without its silver lining. 

His solace was delivered in the form of one Marinette Dupain-Cheng, which really shouldn’t have come as a surprise to anyone. 

Although she wasn’t able to alleviate his boredom with her physical presence, she’d provided him with the next best thing in the form of the text conversation they had been steadily maintaining all day. 

While they would occasionally message back and forth for extended periods of time, they’d never kept a consistent conversation going for quite this long before. Marinette tended to be a horrible texter, often replying hours or sometimes even days later because she either couldn’t find her phone, or she simply forgot. It was something that Adrien had learned not to take personally, cataloguing it as one of the many quirks that made up her endearingly chaotic personality. 

But not today apparently. Today it seemed like Marinette was as glued to her phone as he was, her messages flying in within moments of his replies being sent. Adrien had almost been caught texting under the table several times already, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, so engrossed was he in their conversation. He’d even caught himself grinning like a fool after receiving a particularly hilarious response, which had garnered him a few strange looks from both his brother and Chloe, who were seated beside him at the Bourgeois’s long dining room table. 

Luckily he wasn’t in his father’s line of sight, so the chances of him getting into any real trouble were limited. But still, Adrien knew that he should exercise a bit more caution. The last thing he wanted was for his father to confiscate his phone. Then he wouldn’t be able to message Marinette at all. 

With that in mind, Adrien shoved his phone deep into his pants pocket. Then he grabbed his water glass, downing it in one fell swoop. 

If he drank enough water, then perhaps his frequent trips to the bathroom over the course of the evening wouldn’t look quite so suspicious. Hopefully. 

-x-

Halfway through the second course, Adrien felt his phone buzz against his hip. Unable to ignore its siren song for very long, he slipped it into the palm of his hand when no one was looking. 

His face broke into a grin at the message on the screen. 

[16:45] Marinette Dupain-Cheng:                                         hey can we hang out tomorrow? i have an idea i want to run by you

Adrien brought his napkin to his mouth, pretending to dab the corners of his lips as he tried to wipe the giddy smile off his face. 

He nodded along with whatever the person seated across from him was saying, pretending to pay attention as he quickly typed out a reply and hit send. 

[17:28] Adrien Agreste:                                                                               sure thing!  what time works for you?

Now he had even more of a reason to look forward to this day being over. 

-x- 

In hindsight, Adrien really should have realised what she was up to long before Marinette managed to corner him. 

After all, he was normally pretty good at sussing out her schemes—the benefit of an entire childhood’s worth of experience in dealing with her machinations. This inherent paranoia had served him well on multiple occasions over the years.  

It had saved him from The Great Treehouse debacle, along with a lifetime of GI issues that her brief foray into baking could have caused. Not to mention preventing him from meeting his watery end on the sad excuse for a jet ski her father was continually ‘fixing’. 

Up until now, he’d had the utmost confidence in his sense of self-preservation. 

And yet, these fabled, well-honed instincts had evaporated when he needed them most; abandoning him in the face of Marinette’s pretty, pretty blue eyes, and her sweet-talking mouth. 

Which was how Adrien found himself in his current predicament, hedged in by water on three sides, staring down the barrel of Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s completely unhinged proposition, and reconciling with how well and truly screwed he was. 

“Let me get this straight,” he stared at their clasped hands, willing himself not to hold on too tightly. It wouldn’t do for Marinette to discover just how desperately he needed a lifeline to navigate the treacherous waters of this conversation. 

He tried to focus on the way her fingers tapered elegantly at the ends, rather than the sheer, overwhelming terror trying to claw its way out of his chest. 

“You’re suggesting that I have a fling.” Finally mustering the courage to meet her eyes, Adrien had to summon every ounce of composure he possessed to keep from choking on his next words. 

“With you.” 

Marinette leaned back slightly, her expression mildly affronted. 

“Yes with me,” she said, sounding increasingly annoyed. “What’s wrong, am I not good enough to pretend to date you? Do you think people won’t buy that we could possibly have romantic feelings for one another?” 

Adrien clenched his jaw and looked away, unwilling to let her see just how deep of a blow she’d landed with those words. He had to remind himself that Marinette wasn’t deliberately setting out to hurt him with this proposition. She had no idea how he felt, otherwise she would have known that what she was proposing was the single most agonising scenario imaginable. 

Still, Adrien couldn’t bring himself to dismiss the idea outright, despite the fact that both his head and his heart were screaming at him to run for the hills and not look back. 

“That’s… not it.” He said at last, rubbing the back of his neck with the hand that wasn’t currently entwined with hers. “I just really don’t think this is a good idea. How can you even be sure this will work?” 

“I’m not,” Marinette answered honestly, her desperation plain. “But I have to try something. I can’t let this summer end and still be left wondering what if. This is it... This is my last chance, and I need your help.”

She clenched his hand unconsciously as she spoke, her slim digits slotting themselves more firmly into the groves between his fingers, as though the spaces there had been carved just for her. 

And just like that, Adrien felt the last of his resistance crumble away, reduced to dust in the face of her earnest plea. 

Perhaps sensing his brief moment of weakness, Marinette pressed on, her words tumbling forth in a rush. 

“Besides, what do we really have to lose?” She added with a laugh, her countenance brightening now that she had apparently convinced him to go along with her plans. 

“If anything, this will help us both in the long run. It’ll show Félix that I am girlfriend material, and it will help you get your groove back. And you know what they say—” Here she winked, levelling him with an enthusiastic and completely unironic snap and finger gun combo. “—the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.” 

Adrien gaped at her in disbelief. 

……..did she really just say that? 

Marinette stared back at him, apparently rendered mute.

OH MY GOD SHE REALLY JUST SAID THAT. 

For a moment, Adrien genuinely wasn’t certain who was more mortified out of the two of them. Marinette, for having said such a corny and overtly suggestive line, or him for having had to bear witness to it. 

In the end, he decided that they could comfortably call it a tie, based on the bright red flush that had overtaken Marinette’s features, and the unbearable heat he felt prickling his own skin.

She began babbling, undoubtedly deeply invested in recovering some semblance of her dignity, but Adrien found himself unable to tune back into her words, too preoccupied with contemplating all of the possibilities her statement had managed to dredge up in his brain. And the corresponding mental images. 

Marinette pressed underneath him, her body warm and soft and pliant—

His face grew even warmer. 

“ANYWAY—” Marinette cut in loudly, successfully breaking him out of his brain fog. Adrien sent up a quick prayer that the lecherous direction his thoughts had taken hadn’t been too obvious. 

“—I don’t see how anything could go too terribly awry. We’d both be going into this with our eyes open and our cards on the table. It’s not like we’re hiding anything.” 

Adrien's eyes widened, panic setting in as a new thought occurred. 

There’s no way she knows, right? 

Marinette leaned closer and his breathing picked up. 

If she only knew how much he was really hiding, there was no way she’d be able to gaze into his eyes with such warmth and openness. 

“Please, Adrien. I can’t imagine doing this with anyone else. I don’t want to do this with anyone else.” She admitted, her voice wavering ever so slightly. “You’re the only person I can trust to help me with this. Please.”

She squeezed his hand, imploring him with her eyes. 

And, just like the Roman Empire in 476 AD, Adrien could do nothing but fall. 

I can’t believe I’m seriously considering doing this, he thought, torn between wanting to laugh and cry in equal measure. This is a horrible idea. This is the most horrible idea in the HISTORY of horrible ideas. 

“So, just so we’re clear here: you want to hook up with me in order to make my brother jealous, which will allegedly also come with the additional benefit of signalling to everyone that I’m over my ex and ready to date someone else?” He asked, hoping that by listing it in explicit terms, she might come to her senses and realise how insane the proposition was on its face.

Marinette merely nodded, her expression resolute. 

Okay, he swallowed, very deliberately ignoring his mounting hysteria. So I guess we’re doing this. 

-x-

Later that night, Adrien flopped down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling as he replayed the events of the last few days over in his mind. 

After the fiasco that wound up being Friday’s party, he’d known that Marinette might resort to drastic measures. She was single-mindedly focused in her pursuit of his brother, after all, regardless of the fact that this often wound up being to the detriment of both herself and any and all people that happened to be around her. 

Still, this plan was… A lot. Even by Marinette’s usual standards. She must have been truly desperate to resort to this level of skullduggery. 

His mind flashed with the image of her face crumpling when she’d seen Félix with Bridgette. As much as it stung to consider how deeply her feelings for his brother ran, it had been equally agonising just witnessing her distress. She was hurting, and if there was anything that Adrien hated in the world, it was seeing Marinette get hurt. 

Perhaps that was why he’d been so quick to agree to help her, despite knowing on every level that this plan of hers was a capital B Bad Idea. 

That’s not the only reason, and you know it. A small voice pointed out, and Adrien rolled over, trying in vain to smother it. 

Okay, so maybe his motives weren’t entirely altruistic for agreeing to date her. But was it so wrong of him to leap at the chance to date the girl of his dreams? 

The voice remained silent and Adrien huffed, dissatisfied. 

Although he might not want to, Adrien could certainly acknowledge that the potential for catastrophe with this plan was astronomical. If he was going to agree to go into this, then he would have to make sure to stay one step ahead of Marinette at all times, lest any of his secrets come to light before he was ready to reveal them. 

Like the fact that he was hopelessly in love with her, and he’d even gone so far as to date another girl in a vain attempt to both get over her and make her jealous. 

“This is so messy…” Adrien groaned into his pillow, fisting his hands in the back of his hair. After the catastrophic failure that was his relationship with Kagami, Adrien had never felt less confident in his ability to woo a woman. And now he was being presented with the golden opportunity he’d been waiting for—the chance to get to date Marinette and make her realise how perfect the two of them would be together. 

It was both exhilarating and terrifying. High risk, high reward. 

And oh, the rewards there were to be had. 

Adrien’s mind went back to the kiss he and Marinette had shared earlier on the dock, the magic of the moment still lingering as he recalled the way they stood suspended in the sunbeams.

He’d been surprised that Marinette had gone along with his seemingly flimsy excuse of them just figuring out their feelings for one another were reciprocated. As far as cover stories went, it certainly wasn’t his best, and Adrien had been convinced that Marinette would see right through him immediately. Hell, he’d half expected her to toss him into the water the moment he’d reversed their positions, and pressed her up against the wooden rail of the gazebo. 

Yet, she hadn’t. 

Instead, Marinette had gazed up at him wide-eyed, her face slackening with surprise, and if he wasn’t mistaken, the tiniest hint of intrigue as well. 

Adrien had waited with bated breath, giving her plenty of opportunity to back out, even as his heart pounded out a frantic rhythm in his chest, screaming at him to lean forward and do what he’d been dreaming of for the better part of his life. 

Up until the moment their lips finally touched, he’d been waiting for something, anything to happen that might indicate that what he was experiencing had only been a dream after all. 

Because there was no way that he was standing hand in hand with Marinette Dupain-Cheng, kissing her for the very first time. 

He hadn’t been able to bring himself to bridge any more of the gap between them, leaving their only points of contact their joined hands and their lips, softly brushing. 

If he allowed himself to give in to his desire to melt into her and crush her body to his, Adrien feared that he might never be able to uncross that line and go back to the way things were. That he would forever leave some part of himself inextricably linked to her, deeply embedded in whatever material their souls were made of, the same way she was sewn into his. 

As it was, Adrien already knew that a cosmic shift had taken place at the core of his being, and that every moment after that point would be defined by the fact that he now knew the taste of her lips, and the sound of the soft huff she let out through her nose when he leaned into her ever so slightly. 

Adrien squeezed the pillow tighter, feeling his face grow warm at the memory. 

So maybe this whole situation isn’t entirely without its benefits… 

If they were to fake-date, there would be plenty of opportunities for all of the things that he’d always dreamed of doing with Marinette, like holding hands, and going on dates. 

He rubbed a hand over his mouth, his lips still tingling. 

And more kissing. There could be plenty of that too. 

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, after all. Maybe, if he played his cards right, he could somehow manage to make the most of this unexpected arrangement and find a way to turn it around in his favour. He’d basically made a career of hiding his true intentions up until this point, so how hard could this be? 

All he had to do was make Marinette fall out of love with his brother, and into love with him, all within the span of two weeks. 

And without revealing the nature of his own subversively devious plans. 

“I am screwed,” Adrien breathed, his words catching on a hysterical laugh. “I am royally and unequivocally screwed.” 

-x- 

#ml fanfic #miraculous ladybug #adrienette #ml fanworks #adrien agreste #marinette dupain-cheng #ml fic #miraculous fanfic #ml fic recs #no miraculous au #ml brothers au #adrinette #childhood friends au #ongoing fic #theoretically forever #hypothetically ever after #hea verse #my fics

[5sosfanfictioncatalogue]

Magic (2) Masterlist

part one

A Little Magical Assistance (ao3) - orphan_account michael/luke, implied calum/ashton G, 9k

Summary: Luke has known for a while that there is someone in the school watching over him and performing silent spells on him so he doesn’t miss the bottom stair and land on his face or lean too far over a banister only to fall and break his neck. It took him longer than it probably should to work it out, and, actually, Luke doesn’t actually realise himself until Ashton points out bluntly that you can only do a trip-fall-sprawl without actually touching the floor a few times before it’s obvious someone has their wand pointed at you, and it’s not just Peeves being abnormally friendly.

And back (ao3) - wastedheartmuke michael/luke, calum/liam, ashton/ofc G, 33k

Summary: The day Luke got his tattoo was one of his favorites, he just never thought the day will come when it'll disappear.

another human punchline (ao3) - lucashemwow luke/ashton N/R, 21k

Summary: Luke just wishes he could outrun the demons that haunt him. Ashton just wishes someone would finally see him. The crumbling mansion at the edge of the woods just might be the only safe haven they've ever had.

Babylon (ao3) - MonsterAmongCashton (IfWallsCouldMuke) calum/ashton E, 6k

Summary: “I almost pity you,” Calum whispers back calmly. “Promising me things you can’t keep just to have me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Cally,” the nickname alone forces Calum to bite back a moan. “I’m here because of a broken promise. I do not wish to stoop that low.”

could end in burning flames or paradise (ao3) - merlypops luke/calum T, 1k

Summary: People want Luke dead but Calum would give up anything to keep him safe.

every little thing she does is magic (ao3) - merlypops michael/ashton E, 3k

Summary: Mike is trying to perform a ritual but Ash just wants to kiss her skin.

Give & Take (ao3) - Anonymous calum/ashton, ashton/oc M, 13k

Summary: Calum was unsure about a lot of things in his life. School, friendships, the like. What he didn't need, on top of all of that, was the new stresses that came with pack life, something that he had been thrown into with no warning.

And, for the cherry on top, his new alpha hated him with every fiber in his being. And Calum hadn't even done anything to the guy.

So, one could say, things were just peachy for Calum Hood.

give love a try (ao3) - orphan_account michael/luke T, 9k

Summary: Luke wakes up in his bedroom, the one he's slept in for the majority of his life, only to meet himself from 2012.

And maybe Luke from 2012 teaches Luke from 2018 a little bit about love, and maybe Luke from 2018 opens his eyes and decides to face the fact that he really can't hide his love anymore.

How To Train Your Dragon (ao3) - JetBlackSunshine T, 68k

Summary: (5sos Hogwarts AU)

Keeping a baby dragon a secret in the halls of Hogwarts isn't easy...

In which Ashton and Calum come into the care of a dragons egg whilst keeping it a secret from the rest of Hogwarts and the dark forces that are after it.

i'll misbehave if it turns you on (ao3) - horriblekids michael/calum N/R, 18k

Summary: In which Calum is less than truthful with his band and may or may not have accidentally summoned a demon while drunk. Who, coincidentally, takes on the form of the person he wants most to sleep with.

It's Just A Bunch Of Hocus Pocus (ao3) - onceuponatime michael/calum, minor luke/ashton N/R, 10k

Summary: "Ashton’s grin spreads, almost splitting his face in half and Michael starts to feel a little afraid. “I dare you to break in to the old Hood house.”

Michael scoffs, standing from Luke’s lap and popping his spine. Breaking into the old Hood house isn’t that much of a dare. All the kids from Salem do it at least once, and Michael had his turn when he was like, ten. He’s a little disappointed in Ashton; he thought he could do better than that. He’s a little embarrassed for him, too, if he thought that going into that house would phase anyone over the age of twelve. “That’s it?” Michael asks, staring at Ashton with a dead expression.

“Ah, ah,” Ashton says with a glint in his eye. “You gotta break into the Hood house, and you have to video yourself lighting the Black Flame Candle.”"

Michael brings Calum back from hell as the result of a Halloween bet

I Want to Feel Your Love Like the Weather (ao3) - not_just_dreamers michael/luke, calum/ashton T, 3k

Summary: ' “Hmmm,” The boy continued to consider, now with a small smile on his face, “I’ll try a caramel tart then, if they’re good enough to steal.”

“Good man,” Calum grinned, ringing up his total and punching something else into the till, “Alright, that’ll be 50 cents.”

The boy frowned a little, “But it says-”

“I know what it says, I wrote the price cards. But you’re cute, and you looked like you were having a bad day, and I know if I’d left Michael to it he probably would’ve given it to you for free.” '

kiss you once now I can't leave (ao3) - ardenjames michael/luke G, 4k

Summary: harry potter au: Michael and Luke have been dancing around each other for years, but maybe it will take a love potion for Michael to finally admit her feelings for the Hufflepuff (featuring an excessive number of pickup lines and bad poetry).

Silver and Gold (ao3) - orphan_account michael/calum, side luke/ashton E, 40k

Summary: Michael was convinced he was normal. Until, he realized that he was as far from normal as possible. Thrust into a world he'd been forced to forget with powers he doesn't want, Michael is forced to figure out that being the Savior isn't all its cracked up to be, especially when every creature he didn't know existed is counting on his to win a long fought war. But, with a cute , not entirely human boy and two kickass Valkyries, Michael might just be able to save the world and get the boy. (Considering people stop trying to kill him first.)

The Catch (ao3) - allsassnoclass (brightblackholes) michael/luke T, 6k

Summary: Michael Clifford, the town witch and most eligible bachelor, announces that he'll only date the person who manages to get the key from around his cat's neck. Luke Hemmings, the awkward local photographer, keeps accidentally running into the cat, even though he knows he has no chance with Michael.

The Colour Of Our Mood (ao3) - Maluminspace calum/ashton G, 7k

Summary: Ashton's tutoring the current Hogwarts golden boy in charms but ends up getting more than house points out of it.

#5sosfanfictioncatalogue #masterlists #5sos fanfic #5sos #au #magic #magic masterlist

[princesssarisa]

Character ask: Maurice (Beauty and the Beast)

This is for the character from the animated version and the stage musical only. I consider the 2017 live-action Maurice a different character in all but name.

Favorite thing about them: His eccentricity, his bumbling humor, and above all, his love and support for Belle and his brave resolve to rescue her from the Beast. So often for misfit protagonists like Belle, their parents are part of the problem; I love that Belle's father is a misfit too, who fully embraces her as she is, just as she does for him. And since the father in the original tale of Beauty and the Beast has been disparaged by critics for agreeing to trade his daughter's freedom for his own (albeit reluctantly and at her insistence), I love the fact that Disney's version takes the decision out of Maurice's hands, making it entirely between Belle and the Beast, and from then on has Maurice make every effort to get back to the castle and save his daughter, even at risk to his own life.

Least favorite thing about them: Well, he can be clueless and a little inconsiderate now and then. For example, when he plays around with Cogsworth's key and pendulum (to be fair, he hasn't fully realized yet that Cogsworth and Lumiere are alive and not just automatons) and then sneezes in Cogsworth's face, or earlier, when he suggests Gaston as someone Belle could talk to.

Three things I have in common with them:

*I'm a little eccentric.

*I'm chubby.

*I love my family very much.

Three things I don't have in common with them:

*I don't have a daughter.

*I'm not an inventor.

*I've never managed to grow a mustache.

Favorite line:

His response when Belle asks him if he thinks she's odd, which he says as he emerges from under his invention wearing goofy goggles:

"My daughter? Odd? Where would you get an idea like that?"

When he begs Belle not to trade her freedom for his:

"No, Belle! Listen to me! I'm old, I've lived my life!"

After Gaston and his friends toss him out of the tavern:

"Will no one help me?"

And the lyrics to the song "No Matter What" from the stage musical.

brOTP: Belle.

OTP: His late wife. Though I can also imagine shipping him with Mrs. Potts some time in the future.

nOTP: Belle.

Random headcanon: Since we see that he and Belle have chickens and goats in their yard, I imagine that their main source of income is selling milk and eggs. He probably insists that this is just a "supplement" and that inventing is his real career. But so far, all their money has come from the chickens and goats, as well as odd repair jobs where he puts his knowledge of mechanics to good use.

Unpopular opinion: I prefer the original Maurice to the live-action remake's Maurice. Not that I dislike 2017 Maurice; he's a perfectly fine character in his own right and Kevin Kline gives an excellent performance. But I like the character better as a funny, warm, endearingly kooky inventor than as a melancholy bohemian artist. I don't think the original Maurice is the annoying "man-baby" that so many fans of the 2017 version disparaged him as being. I like his balance between comedy and pathos. And I wish the remake hadn't taken the "overprotective father" route by making Maurice afraid to leave the safety of the village. The original Maurice supports and shares Belle's dreams of a new life – that's his motive for seeking fame and fortune as an inventor – and I prefer that.

Song I associate with them:

"No Matter What."

Favorite picture of them:

#character ask #disney #beauty and the beast #maurice #ask game #fictional characters

[huggy-kissy-erozikith]

Daily Writing Challenge: Day 6 - Home

[This lore is a part of Erozikith's story during the three-year peacetime after the events of mortals' meddling in the Shadowlands, a few weeks before the Tarts After Dark.]

TW: Sensual Mentions, Light Eroticism

The leisurely rise in the hustle and bustle of the Headquarters each morning pulls Erozikith gently from his slumber. He blinks -- or whatever the equivalent is with a nictitating membrane -- away the sleep and slowly brings himself out from under the patterned blanket that was growing warm with the early rays from the window. A stretch here, a yawn there, pulling on fresh pants and a Tart vest, he's ready to take on the new day!

He starts in the kitchen, tongue flicking curiously as he picks up the scents of all the various foods to keep the Troupe going. He then focuses a bit more and sees Deagra sipping coffee by the counter and he greets her with a delighted wave. "Hello!"

The Dark Iron gives a polite nod. "Good morning, Erozikith."

Content with the greeting, his attentions return to all the food. He had eaten a turkey earlier in the week, but a snack would keep the edge away until the next week! He spies a carton of fresh eggs and picks one up, carefully cracking it open and pouring the contents into his maw.

Deagra shrugs. 'Must be a cultural things these surfacers do.' She thinks.

Renthios, who just steps into the doorway with another fresh carton, watches for a moment. 'Must be a Sethrak thing.' He thinks, setting the new eggs on the table beside the previous ones.

Erozikith isn't greedy, and gives his puppy smile to his friends (and hugs, of course, if they so wish!) before waving and going on his merry way.

Celedyn is there, too! He's brought Gertrude and the Sethrak is delighted. He loves the little pudgy creature, giving all the pets and very gentle squishes. "Her fur is always soft!" He muses brightly.

"Of course~!" The High Elf responds, watching over the Sethrak and his lovely little pug. "Only the best for Gertrude~ She always looks so darling in her little bath cap~" His sultry tone is broken only slightly by charming giggles.

A little chirp takes the Sethrak's attention and he hums curiously, bringing an iComm from his belt. He presses the button to have the received message read out to him.

“Sarcyon says: Hello, Eroz! Are you in Headquarters? I'm here!"

Erozikith nods, an excited hiss leaving him before pressing the button to respond. "I will sssee you soon!" In his excitement, however, he scratches the screen with his claws and leaves a small mark to join many others. He winces at the sharp sound and pouts only a little. He would have to ask Caythaes for another replacement screen.

Gently, the Sethrak picks up the chunky pug to set her down on the floor so he could stand up. "I'll see you later, Celedyn!" He beams, giving his elven friend a good squeeze before making his way out to meet Sarcyon.

The Illidari, who had been waiting outside his room, is suddenly greeted with a wall of eager snake. He cannot help but to wheeze a bit of laughter, and hug his friend in return. "I've brought ramen! I hope you like it!"

Erozikith would never say no to another snack.

After tasty soup and toasty cuddles, Sarcyon would give one more big squeeze to his Sethrak friend before departing for a bit of performance practice. Sometimes, Erozikith would follow and watch, but today... He needs a new screen on his iComm before he hurts his fingers... again.

On his way to Cay's room, the Sethrak sees a familiar face in the halls. "Hi, Kazuro!" He cheers, running over for a hug.

"Hello, Erozikith." The Orc says with a smile, squeezing back tightly in return and letting go with a hearty slap to the Sethrak's shoulder. "I was just on my way to the kitchens. Want to join me?"

The squishy snake is very conflicted. He always likes more food but... "I can't..." He says with sad puppy eyes before brightening almost immediately, assuring his friend. "But next time!" He then darts off before he can get distracted again.

"See you later!" Kazuro calls after him, shaking his head with a soft smile.

Erozikith skids to a halt before the phoenix's door, toe-claws scratching the floor a little. He knocks and waits, head tipping this way and that as he watches for signs of acknowledgement. The door opens after a bit, revealing Cay in their outfit for a performance. Seems they're ready for practice, too!

"Hey, Erozikith." They greet with curiosity and maybe a bit of hurriedness. "What-- What brings you here?"

The Sethrak's expression turns from happiness to a bit of guilt. He hands over his iComm, the screen covered in scratches. "I need a new screen." He whimpers, looking like a scolded pup.

"A-again?" Caythaes asks, brow raised as they inspect the device. Their eyes shift to the Sethrak's claws, undoubtedly the culprit of the dilemma. "Hmmm." They hum softly in thought before stepping back. "I-I think I have an idea. Come in!" They beckon before turning to their desk, covered in bits and tools.

After a while, Erozikith leaves with a new screen on his iComm and claws coated in Tarts-pink silicone. "This sh-should help!" Cay had said, before all the air in their lungs left from Erozikith's sudden embrace. They weakly pat his back as he thanked them over and over, even giving a snoot boop to their forehead.

"Thanks, Cay! I'll see you sssoon!" He announces as he tucks his iComm away and starts for the practice hall. He hears music! It's the music Dicenne talked about!

He peeks his head in, watching as the stage fills with fog as a song comes to a close. As quietly as possible, scaled feet tip-toe across the floor. The little click-clack of claws don't hide him well.

His head tilts slightly as Dicenne emerges from the mist, clad in skin-tight dark leather. He appreciates the sight, however, his gaze settles on the whip at the Elf's hip. He seems nervous as it's unfurled, and the loud CRACK! makes him yelp and cower, covering his eyes. But then... soft. Many soft touches. He peeks out.

Feathers. He's covered in feathers as more rain down from the split pillow. He sneezes once as one lands on the tip of his nose. He enjoys the softness.

Erozikith's gaze follows Dicenne's and he now notices Sheizara is there too! He resists the urge to wave, not wanting to distract his friends from their practice. When things turn a bit heated, however, his scales flush a bright pink.

Now, he's no shrinking violet, but he doesn't think exhibitionism is for him. Not that he quite knows the words for it, he just knows he couldn't be so bold.

Another SNAP! of the whip, another flinch, but now there's a hat in his lap! He gently puts it on and claps delightedly.

Dicenne had been aware of the Sethrak's aversion to hard touches on his head, though he knows not why.

Out of the corner of his eye, Erozikith spots another friend! Ryland! But Ryland seems to be a part of Dicenne's performance as well, and... whoa. The Sethrak places his hands on his face, trying unsuccessfully to hide the deep red blush rising under his scales, but he can't help but watch. Stunning acrobatics and the vigorous removal of clothes, it's certainly a sight. Dicenne's only left in mesh shorts, and...

Oh, right, some elves have their mating parts on the outside. Huh.

At the end of the practice, Erozikith watches the see-through cloth fly from behind a curtain and he blinks as it lands on his snout. He gives a hearty round of applause, enchanted by the performance and eager to show his support.

His friends are so talented!

At the end of the night, Erozikith cannot hide the gaping yawn he gives. With a handful of enthusiastic good-night hugs and many promises for the morrow, he returns to his own room. Tired eyes glance over the knick-knacks and souvenirs from his friends, and it brings a smile to his weary snoot. Awaiting by his window, his favorite blanket sits amongst a cloth puddle, a gift from Pheonix and Barry during his first Winter's Veil with the Tarts.

The Sethrak wanders over and curls up, pulling the blanket over him and reveling in the warmth remaining from the day's sun. One last thought whispers in his mind as he falls asleep:

'This is the best home I ever had.'

~ @daily-writing-challenge​

Mentions: Deagra @deagra-wra​ Renthios @renthios-duskblade Celedyn @celedyn​ Sarcyon @chillidari​ Caythaes @mekandawn​ Kazuro @kazuro-jadefist​ Dicenne @dicenne​ Sheizara @sheizara​ Ryland @rylandfalkov​ Pheonix @straightouttatheashes​ Barry @disruptanddisturb​

#Ssstoriesss #DWC 1122

[amethystunarmed]

F, L, M, and O for the fic ask meme?

Ahh!!! Hi Mary! Thank you for asking!!!!

Fanfic Ask Game

F: Share a snippet from one of your favourite dialogue scenes you've written and explain why you're proud of it.

Ooh this was a hard one!

I went through so many of my fics but decided to share a bit from a future scene in the "Would You Like to Add Another Member to Your Party?" series, because it has taken over my whole brain. This is set in an AU of season 3, where Eddie gets captured by the Russians with Steve and Robin.

~~~

“You laugh. Why?” The Russian asks.

Eddie snorts again. He smirks. Cocky, confident, like he is too dumb to know this just eggs the bullies on. “It’s just... You really think he knows anything?”

“He seems like the leader of your little group, no?”

Eddie makes himself laugh again, even as heart pounds in his ears. “Sailor hat over there? Please. He barely graduated. He’ll be lucky to keep a minimum wage job for the rest of his life.” There’s a wounded noise from the floor and a part of Eddie wishes that one of the guards hit Steve again if only so that Eddie isn’t the one who pulled that noise from him. But he knows better.

I’m sorry, Steve, I’m so sorry.

He doesn’t have time to think more. The general is smirking. 

Take the bait, you dumb motherfucker.

“So...” He drawls, like he is smart. Like he is the one playing Eddie here and not the other way around. “You would be the better choice?”

Gotcha.

~~~

This scene was fun to write because I love writing a character with an angle, who is just blatantly lying, while also making it so the other side would believe the lie. Eddie has to betray Steve as well, act like he doesn't care about him, in order to protect him. It's a lot of emotions to balance!

This was definitely one of those scenes that possessed me and I wrote the whole thing in one night!

L: How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting?

Never enough! I get too excited to share it! I usually look it over as I'm going and then force myself to read over it, have a beta look over it, force myself to look over it again, then post.

M: Got any premises on the back burner that you'd care to share?

Hmmmm I definitely have been firmly back on my stranger things bullshit.

Add Another Member to Your Party has grown so much more massive than I expected but...

I was thinking about ways to involve Eddie even earlier, so he could be involved in seasons 1 and 2. So Tommy Hagan inviting Eddie over to replenish his stash. Steve is afraid Nancy will bolt if drugs are involved so he banishes him to the backyard where he talks to Barb Holland. She moves off the diving board just as a monster lunges out to get her. Now she, Eddie, and Jonathan Byers, who was watching from the woods, have to convince the others of what they saw, before it comes back...

Idea two is a Julie and the Phantoms au. Corroded Coffin is a metal band that has a tragic accident in the 80s. Their ghosts show up Steve Harrington's garage in the present day. And he is the only one who can see them, unless they're performing on stage. Can they teach Steve to reject the status quo of his high school crown and help him love music again? Inspired by Joe Keary's singing voice and the inherent angst of the Unsaid Emily scene with Uncle Wayne

O: How do you begin a story—with the plot, or the characters?

Honestly, I usually start with dialogue. I tend to write a back and forth between a couple characters and just build it from there! So i guess both? I put two characters in a situation and then it tends to evolve from there.

This got very long! Thank you so much for letting me talk about this stuff.

#my writing #stranger things #ask game #steddie #my fanfic #my st fanfic #marypsue #long post #amethyst speaks

[masschase]

idk if you’ve answered any of these before, so sorry if you have, but 9. 12. and 16. for the boss ask meme

- snail-eggs :)

Boss ask meme

Thank you for asking. I really wanted to do some more asks for inspiration but didn't take into account that my brain is all over the place at the moment so I hope my answers are adequate 😅

9. What family does your Boss have or if they have a lot, what family are particularly important to them?

Blood family... yikes is all I can say. I have written about her parents elsewhere (i will find and rb the post soon) but the only person who is particularly important as in she still misses/is upset about once the earth blows up is her older sister Phoebe, who was more or less responsible for raising her when her mom went off the rails. They lost touch after Phoebe left home and Casey regrets that deeply. Matt made the time text/voicemail thing primarily because of seeing her go through this.

She has an uncle on her dad's side who taught her to shoot and fight, and cousins she doesn't know. She realises her mom might have kept that side of the family away from her.

Anything else I say in this regard is massive spoilers for written but unposted!

Of course she finds familial connections elsewhere, her friend Mori's mom is more like a mom to her than her own parents, Johnny is very much like a brother to her and Julius was a poorly chosen father figure.

She sees Kinzie as a sister, and that actually mirrors her experience with her blood sister: they have a 4 year gap, the oldest has a lot of responsibility on them but can be a little silly and comes across as quite carefree, the youngest comes across as more intelligent, more socially awkward, more highly strung but overall they are not under the same amount of pressure. Might make a longer post on this at some point. I noticed when they meet they even have some physical resemblance since Casey had red hair and wore a purple hoodie near-permanently.

12. One or more ways your Boss is different to you.

I seem to recall I put a few for reasons she's the same, so... I'm going to do a few for ways she's different, especially because I find that more interesting!

She's a woman, she's American, she's anti-love whereas I'm a hopeless romantic.

More interestingly, once she gets over her teenage awkwardness she's quite friendly and sociable but doesn't much like the side of fame that comes with her wealth and power whereas I'm shy and socially anxious but secret(ish)ly an attention whore! I like public speaking, performing etc. but can't make friends for shit!

Pretty much her entire family/backstory is considerably different. And she likes Jane Austen and other period romance type authors! I've just never been interested in that kind of thing. Had to do some serious research there!

I'd consider myself a "grown up but not grown out of it" goth so I'm pretty lazy with it now, whereas Casey was always interested in that aesthetic but only really has a chance to get into it later in life. I'm a decent cook and I'm not completely hopeless with tech, though I do have my moments! But I can't brag too much because put me in any sort of gang battle and clearly I'd be dead within 5 seconds.

16. Is there anything from the games you've drastically avoided or downplayed in your headcanon?

Ooh so as many people will know, I tend to swing towards using the canon so I needed some time to think about this one and I'm still struggling!

I'm going to go with the obvious: she's a cis woman (though I often wish I'd made her trans because narratively that makes so much sense!). Although percieved as a boy, her voice was never any of the SR1 voices and I doubt she could be made effectively on SR1's character creator, even though the events of the game are canon to her. This is my attempt on SR2 but when you compare to her SR4 self it doesn't really look like the same person:

Sorry, any excuse to use that adorable shot of her in the hoodie 😊

There are some lines by 'her' voice about being in college and being in a co-ed curling team, and she definitely didn't make it to college, but I can see her doing some form of online study during some of the downtime/gaps between big in-game events.

She is a SR4 Boss at heart and because of where her story starts, I feel like her SR1-3 history is pretty downplayed in my fanfic, in a 'we already know this so I'm not going to talk about it too much' kind of way. But I'm sure over time I will get into it more on here. I might even write some oneshots, I'd like to get one about the familial bond she felt with the original Saints because it's really very sweet.

Thank you for asking!

#ask meme #saints row boss #saints row #casey clark #so fucking tired today

[hotteaandhistory]

Hello!!

I wanted to give you questions for the fanfiction asks! 1)🎁 have a quote from a WIP? 2)🎤fave line in a fic you wrote? 3)🍄how do you get yourself in the mood to write? ^^ have fun answering! 😂

Thank you so much for the ask! This is my first one! (Yaaaaaaay!!) Here we go!

1) Quote from a work in progress: From Chapter 1 of A Rerik Tale

Christine Daae and Malik Rasi had been gone for some fifteen minutes before either Erik or Raoul moved from the spot where they stood in the sitting room of Erik’s house five stories below the Paris Opera House. It was Erik who was the first to speak.

“What…what just happened?”

Raoul slowly turned his head to look at him, as though his skull sat upon a pinion that needed oil in order to function properly. He took in the man who, until so recently, had been his rival but only saw his own confusion reflected back at him from the face that looked like a death’s head.

“I thought maybe, perhaps, you could explain it to me.” He replied, his voice as numb as his brain.

“You aren’t used to being rejected, are you?” Erik probed. “You look like hell, by the way.” He noted, taking in Raoul’s torn clothing and sunburned fair skin, his blonde hair mussed and, to Erik, his fair little moustache looking particularly ridiculous.

“Well, I think that might be your fault, if you want to know the truth of it. You aren’t looking particularly sunny yourself.”

Erik began to unconsciously stretch his long limbs, the tension of the night that had gathered in his joints and muscles finally making itself known to him.

“I did put you through it, didn’t I?” He admitted with weary resignation. “You don’t look well, really. Why don’t you sit down and I’ll make us eggs. It’s coming on morning.”

“Eggs?” Raoul echoed, shaking his head as though trying to wake himself from some peculiar dream. “Just hours ago, you tried to kill me, and now you are offering to make me eggs?”

“Not offering. I am going to make you eggs and you are going to eat them. And coffee, as well.”

“I don’t understand.”

Erik rolled his eyes and sighed.

“It would seem that your status in my home has changed from that of a prisoner to that of a guest, and I am nothing if not a gracious host. So, please, have a seat, I will make you breakfast, and then we can figure out how to get you some proper clothing and determine where along your trek to kill me you misplaced your shoes and socks.”

2) Favorite line in a fic I wrote: It’s a couple of lines, but I have a bit of a crush on Philippe. The Opera Ghost, Chapter 33

“And how is Mlle. Sorelli?” Raoul asked, his mouth cocking to a half smile at the suggestion of Philippe’s mistress.

Philippe looked out the window of the carriage; Sorelli had held his heart for nearly six years, since he had first seen her dance. From the moment she took to the stage during the opening gala at the opera in 1875, she had danced through his mind, and it hadn’t taken long- just a few months and a few sizeable checks written to the opera- before an introduction had been arranged. At first, he had merely been content to whisk her off to dinner after performances, to spend time in her glittering gaze and wonder at her quick mind and engaging conversation. Soon, though, all pretense he held that she didn’t possess his every thought was shattered one evening when they had shared a bit too much champagne, a slightly too romantic carriage ride in the Bois de Bologne a bit too late at night, and a passionate kiss that led to a bit more than a chaste parting of ways before the next morning arrived. It was soon after, when Philippe’s normal facade of calm, staid reserve had been shattered in the face of a love affair he was powerless to resist that he had offered his warning to a sixteen year old Raoul that he should not set his heart on a path to endure the same fate. Sorelli could never be his wife, though if one could look into his heart, they would see that that would be his truest wish. No, men of their class didn’t marry the women they actually loved when those women didn’t have the titles or social standing that constituted a “proper” match. Raoul knew this and knew not to press or joke too openly with his brother on the matter. From all he had witnessed- all Philippe had shared- it was a true and honest love match, and if there was one thing Raoul respected above all else, it was the sanctity of the longings one held in their heart.

“Sorelli is as she has always been.” Was Philippe’s simple reply. Always in the shadows, even when she was in the light. He was certain he would die with her name etched upon his heart.

3) How do I get into the mood to write?

So, this time of year I usually write after dark, when it has cooled down a bit and I can set up shop outside on my patio. I am pretty much always in a mood to write, but I find it always flows a bit more easily when I’m in my favorite spot :-) Aside from that, my biggest thing is that I’m always thinking about what I am going to write next throughout the day, thinking of action and dialog, and that gets me really excited about writing in the evenings. I also avail myself of a favorite caffeine source, depending on the season: tea, coffee, Diet Coke, etc... It’s not really a very regimented ritual or anything, but I find knowing that I can write during a specified time each night helps me to stay focused :-)

[ice-cream-writes-stuff]

So basically the reader/mc/whatever is a beta tester that's supposed to be an easter egg? I love those kind of hidden things in games. Though now I feel like with the short appearance at the city of freedom rumors might start that we are some lost/forgotten god of songs. I can't imagine that at least Venti and Aether are going to be looking for the missing songstress.

Oh my gosh you read my mind!! So as a thank you! Here you go! As a thank you for asking! I love it when people ask! It helps me get a more creative flow to help write more!

The Songs That Traveled The World Au Extra! Character lines and fan reactions headcanons!

(Y/N) Fan Reactions:

Once people had seen your cutscene of you performing. It was very well received!The Genshin Impact Fandom has dubbed you as: {The Second Jun Yin} and a whole bunch of other nicknames. Probably due to the fact that your peformance hits hard just like her's. But some fans don't really enjoy the fact your character is compared to her, some even ship you two together.

In some fanfics, ya'll perform together and are seen as rivals to lovers. The same goes for Ventix(Y/N) shippers! People are BEGGING for a duet for the two VAs and canon interaction.

Yet for the npcs and characters in game. They are freaking out over (Y/N)'s existence. Rumors start to spread like wildfire throughout each region. The story goes like this.. A Songstress, or being? That could sing a powerful song that even Lord Barbatos would hear from the hevans above.

How the air had surrounded her like a cage but was freed after her song. Yet... Mysteriously vanished after she collapsed to the ground when a fan had tired to engage conversation. People say she fainted due to the fact that Lord Barbatos had gifted her a vision after her song as thanks. But the poor girl couldn't handle the power...

It still doesn't explain how she vanished off the streets of The City of Freedom.

Venti:

"Oh Traveler! Would you mind listening to this piece? I have been working it for some time, but it... Who's it for? Oh, just a, well a friend you might say. We met her together, don't you remember?"

"I honestly envy his harmonies, I wish I could sing one of his songs... But I'd think my heart might burst, you know? Maybe one day."

Once those voice lines are released as a small gift to fans that found (Y/N). The fans went crazy. People are waiting for the next appearance and see if Mihoyo is generous enough to provide more character interacting voicelines. There's so many fan covers of you two doing duets to fan music made specifically for you two. The fans dubs the two of you, "Song Birds". It's honestly really cute! Even though you only appear for a second, just the look on the bards face in the cutscene made the Venti simps cry in agony seeing their home-boy remembering his truma.

Travelers, Aether/Lumine:

Since the update, people are hopping to find small crumbs or more appearances of (Y/N). She has a story quest, which is to find her and interact. But for some reason, when you do find her, you can't choose options on what to say. You can only listen to the twin you picked or Paimon talk with her with pre-recorded? voicelines and actions coded into the game? There's a bunch of fan comics of the two doing a shy, cat and mouse romances for both twins.

With Aetherx(Y/N) fans, there fans make it have a angsty trope most of the time. Where Aether remembers his times with Lumine and (Y/N) soothing his fears as best she can. The fans make its SOO Angsty, like when Aether finds his sister and has to leave (Y/N). GOD, ITS SO SAD! YET SO GOOD! Modern Au art and fluff art plus fics is the only way fans cannot cry at some of the angsty headcanons.

Luminex(Y/N) fans make there's so cute. There's barely any angst fics or headcanons. Most the time it's just fluff for you two. Headcanons of Lumine and you being parents of Paimon are actually really common. It's so Floof!Luminex(Y/N) content is seen as Canon. Luminex(Y/N) vs Aetherx(Y/N) fans actually are really nice with one another. No wars, only peace! 🤝

Diluc:

Most fans of this ship make Club Singer Aus out of this, or Mafia Au! The fics are surprisingly superb and hard-core! Like this is almost too realistic type of shit. Yet for just normal genshin, it makes the two give off a Prince and Commoner type troupe. Yet more angst ( ' - '). The comics are very sweet, where instead of Diluc listening to her troubles.

She listens to his own with a smile. People take even the tiniest interactions and turn them to full comics and full on dramatic art.

(Okay, that's all I have for now! I'll add more characters soon, but for now here is what I got! I hope you all like it! Please and thank you! Send in as many asks as you like!)

[♧Mondstat♧]

#yandere genshin x reader #genshin impact #yandere genshin imagines #genshin imapct #genshin x reader #genshin aether x reader #genshin au #genshin kaeya #genshin zhongli #genshin imagines #aether #aether x reader #yandere venti #yandere aether #yandere lumine #yandere diluc #yandere zhongli #genshin venti x reader #venti x y/n #aether x y/n #diluc x y/n #master diluc #lumine x you #y/n #yandere genshin au

[finelinevogue]

HI I JUST WANTED TO SAY I FOUND UR BLOG LAST NIGHT AND IM ALREADY ADDICTED TO UR WORKS. YOURE SO TALENTED !! could u do a blurb where the reader is harry’s gf and watching him perform on stage and he invites her up on stage to dance ?

OMG THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! LOVE YOU ALREADY!!! this one is for you <33 ;

Harry was an absolute beast up on stage.

Night one of Vegas was a complete success so far and you never wanted it to end. From the moment that you woke up in your Vegas hotel room to the moment when he popped up out of the centre stage to start singing Golden, there wasn’t a moment where you didn’t feel an intimate and enormous amount of pride for him. He looked just so happy and that’s all you could ever wish for.

You were stood next to Jeff and Glenne, watching as Harry performed his beautiful heart out on stage. A lot of the fans around you had spotted you and were calling your name to grab your attention and get photos of you, but you were too shy to respond to any of them. So you kept on watching Harry perform.

The funky and even more upbeat version of Canyon Moon started playing and you knew what was coming next. Harry had prompted you that he might incorporate you somehow into this next segment and you were excited at the time, now you were just completely nervous. Shaky hands, goosebumps, the lot.

“Now I know you all loved the dancing for this next one,” The fans started screaming and shouting, because they instantly knew he was on about Treat People With Kindness, “but unfortunately my dance partner Phoebe is not here tonight.” He kept pausing to let the fans scream, prolonging your nerves, “however,” he walked from the main stage down to the B-stage, “there is someone here tonight who knows the dance and how to dance with me specifically.” He smiled, fiddling with his earpiece.

Your heart stopped. You think?

“Oh my fuck.” You muttered, as Jeff nudged your shoulder playfully and people around you started screaming your name even louder.

Then the light shone on you and you were blinded, only to see what was directly behind you and to the sides. You had to squint or cover your eyes if you wanted to see Harry. You shoved your hands inside your blazer pockets, fidgeting with your fingers inside out of nerves. Harry could instantly tell how you felt.

“Now she’s slightly nervous, so please be kind to her. Y/N, my love?” He asked sweetly, making it hard to say no to him. You squinted to see he was wearing a plea full smile and you wanted to wipe it right off his cheeky face. God he was irresistible. “Come on. Please?” He begged.

“Go on!” Glenne pushed you forwards slightly, making you shuffle sing in your cream-white boots that matched Harry’s.

“What am I doing?” You asked yourself, as people began to chant your name and egg you forwards. Seriously, what were you doing?

You started to walk forwards and through the barriers where Harry would run off the stage later. You said hello to a couple of fans on the way, giving them a quick smile and wave. Harry stood at the end of the platform, holding out a hand for you. One of the security guards gave you a leg up and Harry pulled you the rest of the way, embracing you in a tight hug when he got ahold of you.

“Y’okay?” He asked into your ear, even with all the noise throughout the arena you could still hear him as clear as a new day.

“Probably.” You spoke unsure, knowing you were in the direct spotlight now. Harry chuckled and pressed a kiss to your cheek, making the fans go absolutely wild. You both laughed and walked hand in hand back to the main stage.

“Give it up for my beautiful Y/N!” Harry shouted into his mic and you had to bite your lip from grinning like an idiot. He made you feel so safe and loved and you’d have to especially thank him for that later. The fans screamed for you, many of them shouting that they loved you as you walked past them. You blew kisses to a few of them threw your mask and they pretended to catch them.

Harry dropped your hand to go and set up his electrics for TPWK, grabbing a couple of pride flags as he did so. Harry handed you one and he took the other. It was so warm up here and you understood why Harry was so sweaty and hot now, not that you were complaining at all about how he looked because fuck did he look like a God below. You placed the flag between your pink trousered legs that matched your suit jacket, only to start pulling off your jacket, teasingly slow just for Harry, and throwing it off to the side so you were now just in your cream-white bralette and pink trousers. You were excited that you matched Harry.

The fans screamed so loud when it took your jacket off and pointed their cameras towards Harry, either to film his reaction, which was him just shaking his head and looking away from you otherwise he wouldn’t be able to control himself, or to encourage him to whip off his jacket too.

“Off, off, off!” The crowd shouted, you hoped to Harry because you having your tits out fully would probably get you arrested unlike you - double fucking standards just because you were a woman…

“Oh shut up! You can already see everything!” Harry laughed into the microphone, making you and everyone else laugh too. You wrapped the pride flag around you, tying it up so it wouldn’t fall off. Harry just held onto his instead.

The song began and you stood their, kind of awkwardly, waiting for Harry to let you know what you were allowed to do and where to go. Harry came over to you, strutting like he was on a cat walk, and twirled you around with the arm holding the flag. You laughed at how messy and uncoordinated you both were, having never performed this before now. When you were up here with him though, everything else sort of disappeared as if it were just you and him. It allowed you to become more comfortable in yourself and before long you were dancing around like a maniac.

You spiralled the stage, waving to fans and dancing how they were dancing too. You blew kisses and gave air hugs to people, complimenting the fans that you could see with their epic outfits. Harry was always on the same side of the stage as you, wanting to be as near to you as possible in case something went wrong, because then it did.

When the bridge part of the song came, Harry put down his microphone and started doing the dance that he choreographed in the TPWK music video. You quite happily danced along with him, pretending it was just you and him again dancing at home with one another instead of on a stage in an arena in front of thousands. It was going well until you accidentally tripped over a cable, falling over and landing on your bum. Harry was really worried at first, the song still playing in the background, but as soon as he saw you laughing he joined in and pulled you back up to him.

“Y’alright?” He shouted and you nodded, still laughing through the embarrassment and the shock. No doubt that would be trending on twitter tonight. You were just trying to give your best performance though, that’s all.

You and Harry danced through the rest of the song together, twirling around in each others arms and dancing as if nobody else was watching you but each other. It was so fun and you couldn’t believe that you’d actually been nervous at one point. You finished the song the same way the music video ended, Harry leaning over your arms and you holding him to make sure he didn’t fall. It was such a good finish and the atmosphere felt electric. It was charged with so much positivity, you swore you could never not be happy ever again.

Harry stood back up, giving you a kiss to your lips without second thought that everyone could see. You didn’t mind though because he tasted so good and felt even better. He made you so happy and you could just feel him giving off the same energy as you. You laughed as he let you go and took your hand for a bow.

“Y/N, everyone!” Harry shouted through his microphone and everyone cheered for you. You bowed once more to the other side of the stage, before collecting your jacket and running back off stage so Harry could continue the show without you.

He didn’t let you go without telling you he loved you so much, though.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #finelinevogue #harry styles fanfiction #finelinevogue harry styles #harry blurb #harry oneshot #harry styles concept #harry styles las vegas #hslot #hslot series finelinevogue #hslot concept night #finelinevogue masterlist #love on tour fanfic #love on tour blurbs #love on tour series #love on tour

[leossmoonn]

Big Bad and Little Wolf

masterlist

pairing - klaus mikaelson x fem,wolf!reader

type - fluff, angst

note / request - “Hey can you do a klaus x reader where she’s basically the wolf who’s pregnant with hope, basically Hayleys story but she does fall for klaus after hating him” alright so i don’t know too much about haley’s story, so i had to do some research. the beginning takes place in the first ep of ‘originals’ then the rest i made up cause i didn’t wanna have to rewatch the first season lol i hope i got it right. enjoy! 

summary - after getting pregnant with the infamous hybrid, you find you have some feelings for him.

warnings / includes - language, mentions of sex, fighting, mentions of abortion (for anyone who isn't comfortable with that), and klaus being hot but a jackass at the same time :)

————

*gif isn’t mine*

“No, it’s impossible,” Klaus said, clenching his jaw. 

“I said the same thing myself,” Elijah said. 

Klaus glared and pointed at you, Elijah, and Sophie. “This is a lie. You’re all lying. Vampires cannot procreate.”

“But werewolves can,” Sophie said. “Magic made you a vampire, but you were born a werewolf.”

Klaus turned to face Sophie, not wanting to believe what she was saying.

“You’re the original hybrid, the first of your kind, and this pregnancy is one of nature’s loopholes.”

Klaus shook his head and went to lunge at you. “You’ve been with someone else. Admit it!”

Elijah caught his brother from ripping your throat out. You looked at him, hateful and regretful tears welling up in your eyes.

“Hey, I've spent my days held captive in a freaking alligator bayou because they think that I’m carrying some magical, miracle baby,” you said, balling your hands in fists. “Don’t you think I would’ve fessed up if it wasn’t yours?”

“My sister gave her life to perform the spell,” Sophie added. “She needed to confirm this pregnancy. Because of Jane-Anne’s sacrifice, the lives of this girls and her baby are now controlled by us. We can keep them safe, or we can kill them. If you don’t help us take down Marcel, so help me, Y/n won't live long enough to see her first maternity dress.”

The three of you looked at Sophie incredulously. 

“Wait, what?” You asked. 

“Enough of this. If you want Marcel dead, he's dead. I’ll do it myself,” Elijah said. 

“No,” Sophie shook her head. “We can't, not yet. We have a clear plan that we need to follow, and there are rules.”

Klaus gritted his teeth. “How dare you command me. Threaten me with what you wrongfully perceive to be my weaknesses! This is a pathetic deception. I won’t hear any more lies.”

“Niklaus,” Elijah stopped is brother. “Listen.”

Klaus turned to you, looking at your stomach. He began to hear the baby’s heartbeat. You put your hand over your stomach protectively. Klaus couldn’t believe his ears. It was real, the baby you were carrying was real. He didn’t know how to feel, but he knew he wasn’t going to give in. 

“Kill her and the baby,” Klaus said, turning to Elijah. “What do I care?”

Elijah glared at his brother. Klaus walked off, not caring to give you a second glance. 

“Screw you, Klaus!” You yelled out, followed by a choked sob. “I’m out of here.” You started to walk away, but one of Sophie’s friends blocked the entrance. You looked at Elijah for help. He turned to Sophie. 

“No one touches the girl. I will fix this,” Elijah said. 

Sophie let the two of you go. You walked out of the alley, tears streaming down your face. Elijah took your arm gently, having you face him. 

“I will talk to him, Y/n,” Elijah said. 

“What’s the use?” You sniffled. “He wants nothing to do with this baby. He’s a selfish, heartless monster.”

“Y/n, let me try and make him see what this baby brings to the table. I assure you, everything will be okay,” Elijah said. “I give you my word.” You looked into Elijah’s eyes and nodded. “Alright. Thank you.”

Elijah nodded and left to talk to Klaus. You went back to the byou, knowing that the witches were waiting for you.

The next day wasn’t any easier. It didn’t seem like Elijah got through to Klaus at all. You couldn’t help curse at yourself for putting yourself in this position. Why did you sleep with him? And secondly, why didn’t you use a condom?

You shook your head at your thoughts, walking through the French Quarter to where the Mikaelson’s lived. You were going to find Rebekah and try to see if she could talk to Klaus.

You knocked on the door, frowning when you saw Klaus.

“Hello, Little Wolf. What can I do for you?” Klaus grinned.

“Is Rebakah here?” You asked.

“Yes, she is,” Klaus said.

“Great. I need to talk to her,” you said, trying to go into the house, but you ran into Klaus.

You huffed in frustration, looking into his dark-blue eyes.

If we were to have this baby, at least it would have his pretty eyes, you thought.

“Not so fast, Y/n. Have you know, Rebakah already tried to talk to me about not killing you or the baby, but sadly, it didn’t work,” Klaus said.

You scoffed, “Are you really this heartless? I don’t care about you killing me, but a baby? Oh wait, no, I get it. You’re scared that we’re gonna be shit parents like your parents. I get it now.”

You knew you had peicered his heart, becuase he took ahold of your neck and used his vamp speed to take you in the house and slam you against the wall. You groaned in pain, trying to pry yourself from his grip.

“Do not speak to me like that!” Klaus shouted. “You think you can sway me with your little findings? You think I want to be a parent, Y/n? No, I want nothing to do with the horrendous thing growing inside of you,” Klaus growled.

You gasped for air, your hands on is hand, trying to get him to let go.

“Niklaus!”

Klaus and you saw Elijah behind him, a disappointed look on his face.

“Let go of the girl. Now,” Elijah commanded.

Klaus looked back at you, crazy shining in his eyes. He let you go roughly. You fell to the floor, holding your neck and coughing.

“You do not treat a woman who is barring a child like that, Niklaus. Mother would be so disappointed in you,” Elijah said.

Klaus growled, “Do not talk to me about Mother!”

“Fine,” Elijah said. He walked over to you, helping you up. “I will talk to you about this baby, though. If you do not wish to comply with the witches and keep the baby safe, then you shall be killed. If you do comply, you could welcome your first child into the world, Niklaus. I know you felt something when you heard the heartbeat, so think seriously about your decision to leave or care for the girl and the baby.”

Klaus looked between you two. His brother was right. When he heard the baby’s heartbeat, tears of joy had sprung in his eyes. And the thought of you carrying his baby filled his heart with a little love and pride. He knew that if he did comply, then everything would change. He would change. Was he able and willing to do that?

“Let me think about it,” Klaus said.

“Alright. Have your answer by tomorrow morning. Say sorry to Y/n,” Elijah said.

Klaus looked into your eyes, seeing tears fall out of them. It pained his heart to see you cry more than he’d like to admit.

“I’m sorry, Y/n,” he said.

You gave Klaus a forgiving, kind smile, knowing he meant it. “Thank you.” You then turned to Elijah.

“Can I stay here tonight? I hate the byou.”

“Of course. We have plenty of rooms. Do you want dinner?” Elijah asked.

“Sure,” you nodded.

Elijah smiled at you, then looked to Klaus. “Klaus go and cook something for Y/n, hm?”

“Fine,” Klaus rolled his eyes. He went to the kitchen to get to work.

“He acts like he’s 5. Oh, my God,” you chuckled.

“Yes, he’s immature, but if he makes the right choice like I know he will, he will be a great father,” Elijah said.

“How do you know that he will make the right choice?” You asked.

“Well, Klaus loves family. He loves the idea of a perfect family. We never had that as children. I know he would love to have a family of his own more than anything, but his fear of taking care of a child blocks him from admitting,” Elijah explained.

“And his pride. He’s too afraid to become soft,” you snorted.

Elijah chuckled, “Yes, you are right.”

You smiled at Elijah. “Thank you for saving me, again.”

“Of course, Y/n. This baby is going to my neice or nephew. It’s already part of the family, as are you. Now, I should be going. I have some business to attend to,” he said.

“Alright. See you again,” you waved.

Elijah gave you a warm smile and left the house. You sighed and seated yourself in the living room. You hoped to the moon Elijah was right.

The next morning you woke up to the smell of eggs and bacon. You did a big stretch before finding yourself needing to puke You rushed to the bathroom, falling to your knees. While throwing up, you felt the hair around your face lift up. You finished having your morning sickness and took a sheet of toilet paper and wiped your mouth. You flushed the toilet, looking back to see Klaus with a cheerful smile on his face, his hand holding up your hair.

“Oh, it’s you,” you said, standing up. You went over to the sink to wash your face and hands.

“I thought you’d be happy to see me,” Klaus said. “I helped your hair not fall into the toilet.”

You chuckled, “Right. Yeah, thanks.”

You started to brush your teeth, Klaus standing there, watching you. You furrowed your brows and spit out the toothpaste.

“Go away,” you said.

“No, I wanted to talk about the baby,” Klaus said.

You turned around, leaning on the sink counter. “Does this mean you have agreed to help me take care of the baby, and not put me in a chokehold anymore?”

Klaus chuckled and moved closer to you. “Yes, but on one condition.”

You rolled your eyes. “No, I don’t want to hear it. The baby and I are hungry, I’m going downstairs.” You moved past him, but only got out of the bathroom before being pulled back.

“You’ll want to listen to me, Little Wolf. It will make it easier for us,” Klaus said, pulling you so barley had any space between you two.

Your heartbeat spiked up, not feeling totally comfortable with how close you two were. 

“Let me go, Klaus,” you said through a clenched jaw.

“One moment. I will protect you and the baby and do what the witches want, if you agree to do stay out of my way and do whatever I command you to.”

You scoffed, “No! I’m not gonna be one of your victims. I’m carrying your baby, Klaus. You have no right to control me.”

Klaus rolled his eyes. “Fine. Just promise to stay out of my way then?”

“Fine,” you sighed.

Klaus put his hand up to your cheek, brushing a peice of hair out of the way. You looked up into his eyes, feeling a gravitational pull between you and him. Your eyes flickered down to his lips and back to his eyes. Klaus smirked, cupping your cheek.

“Falling, are we?” Klaus remarked.

You puled away, the moment ruined and the feelings you were feeling disappearing slowly.

“You wish,” you said before walking off.

Klaus looked at your retreating figure, feeling a little regretful that he had spoken. If he hadn’t, maybe you two would have kissed.

He shook his head of the romantic feelings he was feeling. He wasn’t supposed to fall in love with you. You were just a little bump in the road in his plan to ruling New Orleans. And this baby you two had, like the witches said, is the miracle baby that would change the supernatural world forever.

He walked down to find you eating some strawberries, smiling and talking to Elijah. Even though he pushed his feelings for you away, he couldn’t deny you were gorgeous, even when just after waking up.

“Ah, good morning, Klaus. Y/n has told me that you have chosen to protect her and the baby. I’m glad you made the right choice,” Elijah said.

“Yes, well, I’m not completely heartless,” Klaus said and sat down at the island table next to you.

“Could’ve fooled me,” you smirked.

“Ha-ha, very funny,” Klaus rolled his eyes, throwing a blueberry at you.

You giggled, chucking a strawberry at him. Klaus smiled at you, catching the strawberry and eating it. You couldn’t help but smile at this. You never had ever seen him like this. He looked joyful and carefree. It was nice to see him like this. You hoped he continued to be like this before and definitely after your pregnancy.

“Hello, love birds!” Rebekah announced.

You looked to the blonde and smiled. “Hey!”

“How is my sister-in-law-to-be?” Rebekah smiled.

“Good since your brother hasn’t been an ass for the last 5 minutes,” you said.

“Wow. Now, that is unheard of. Interesting,” Rebekah smiled.

“You two are friends? I thought you two hated each other?” Klaus asked.

“Well, she’s carrying my neice or nephew. It’s different now,” Rebekah explained.

“Yep. Apparently having your child gets me friends,” you chuckled.

Rebekah smiled. “Well, plus, she is a great person once you get to know her. And she’s the only girl who lives here now. I’m sick of being in the boy’s club.”

“Aw, thanks, Bex. You’re a great person, too,” you smiled.

Rebekah came over and took a strawberry from the bowl in front of you. “I have to go.”

You frowned, “Oh, why? Don’t leave me with them.”

“Ah, Y/n,” Elijah smiled. “I have been nothing but nice to you.”

You smiled at him. “True, but I want some girl time.”

“We will get that time soon, promise. I have to go and meet Marcel,” Rebekah said. 

“No,” Klaus said, standing up. 

You glared at Klaus. “Let her go. She could use some time with someone who is romantically interested in her.”

“I said no. You will not do anything with Marcel as long as you are living with me,” Klaus commanded. 

“Oh, please, Niklaus. I’m a grown woman, I don't listen to you anymore. Ta-ta,” Rebekah waved at you and left the house.

“Jesus Christ,” Klaus muttered. “I’m going to kill-”

“Klaus!” You exclaimed. “Come with me to shop for maternity clothes, yeah?”

Klaus turned to you, “Why would I want to do that?”

You frowned, “Because it’s good for a mother and father to bond, even when they hate each other. We can go and buy you some new shirts, too.”

“I don’t need to buy anything for myself,” Klaus said. 

“Yeah, you do. You wear the same 3 colors. You need to put in some pink in your wardrobe,” you said. 

“Y/n is right. Go and spend time with, as the millennials say, your baby mama,” Elijah smiled. 

Klaus rolled your eyes. “You two are impossible, but fine! Let’s go and get this over with.”

You got up and clapped your hands in excitement. You put on sneakers and grabbed a jacket before going outside. Klaus followed you out to the shops.  “I have a question,” you said. 

“Yes?” Klaus asked. 

“Since you can compel people, do you ever use actual money to buy clothes or compel yourself clothes?” You asked. 

“Sometimes I buy, sometimes I compel,” he shrugged. 

“Where do you get the money to buy?” You asked. 

“I’ve been alive for 1,000 years, I have had jobs before,” Klaus explained. 

“Ah, right. Makes sense,” you nodded. 

You two walked the rest of the way in silence. You two went into a clothing store and went to the maternity section. 

“You aren’t even showing yet, why do we need to buy now?” Klaus asked. 

 “It’s just a fun thing I’ve heard mothers do. Plus, I assume with time, life will be a lot more complicated, and I won’t have time to do these things,” you explained. 

“Hm, interesting,” Klaus said. 

You sighed quietly, looking at a few shirts for 3 months. Klaus followed behind you, observing you. He would never admit, but he enjoyed spending time with you. He did find you a little annoying and a bit of a distraction, but the fact that you were fun to be around and made him feel like he could let go was what made him all the more willing to comply with Elijah and the witches. You carrying his baby also helped, too.

“Why are you staring at me?” You asked. 

Klaus shrugged, “I have nothing better to do.”

You hummed, “Right.” 

You two shopped in silence for about an hour, then going to a nearby restaurant for a snack. Spending time with him wasn’t as bad as you thought. He was more quiet and a lot less whiney than he had shown in the past. He just let you do whatever you want, whatever was safe, of course. He actually was kind to you in the hour. He laughed at your jokes, answered whatever questions you had, and took an effort to ask questions he had to get to know you. 

Maybe he wasn’t so bad, you thought. 

You two went back home, a bunch of shopping bags in your hands. You put them in the living room, yawning and stretching. 

“I’m going to take a nap,” you said. 

“Alright, sleep well,” Klaus said. 

You gave him a small smile and nodded. You went up the stairs, Klaus watching your retreating figure. 

“See how easy it is to be nice?” Elijah’s voice came from the kitchen. 

Klaus glared at his older brother. “I’m not doing it for you or her.”

“I never said you were, but now you have made me suspicious. It seems like you like her, Niklaus,” Elijah smiled. 

“I don’t like her. Not romantically, anyways,” Klaus said. 

“Are you sure? Why did you sleep with her, then?” Elijah asked. 

“I don’t know. It was just a one night stand that ended up turning into something more. Why do you care, Elijah?” Klaus asked. 

“I see the way you look at her, Niklaus. There is no shame in admitting your feelings,” Elijah said. 

Klaus rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Elijah. I have to go.”

Elijah smirked, “Alright. See you later, brother.”

“See you,” Klaus said before going back out.

Over the course of the next few months, you and Klaus had gotten closer and became more friendly towards each other. You had learned that he had a passion for painting and reading. You learned that he wished that he had the perfect family and he hoped that one day, his family could reunite and be together once again. He knew how to cook and actually a good man, but because of his chaotic and violent childhood, he became the bad guy. He seeks validation and honesty in others, wanting to be loved and have friendships that lasted a lifetime. 

Klaus had learned that you were adopted and thrown out all by the same family. You didn’t know who your real parents were, and you craved that information and have been searching for it since you first turned. He had learned that you had a passion for baking and helping others. That you were strong, confident, and weren’t afraid to protect your loved ones. He thought it was admirable the way you handled stress and betrayal, wishing he learned your patience. 

Learning about each other more had made you two fall in love with each other, but that was unbeknownst to you two. You both didn’t even realise your own feelings. You personally knew that you liked being in Klaus’s presence. You felt safe and protected, accepted and even loved. He made you feel alive and the fact that he showed interest in you and the baby helped you like him more. 

For Klaus, he enjoyed your presence, too. You always knew how to make him laugh. You made him feel different. Like he could be himself and forget who're or rather, what he was. It was freeing being with you, and he loved it. He was even looking forward more and more to the baby you and him had concieved. In his mind, you two were the family he always wanted and pictured. 

Even though you two didn’t notice your infatuation with each other, everyone else sure did. Rebekah and Elijah decided to make a plan on getting you two together. Every chance they could, they would tease you two, make it so you tripped into him, left you two alone together, etc. 

Like now, Rebekah had placed a golf ball on the floor and you had slipped. Klaus had rushed over to you and caught you in bridal style, immediately looking at your stomach for any signs of injury to the baby and you. He then looked to Rebekah and Elijah who are smiling. 

“What are you two so happy about? Y/n could have hurt herself,” Klaus said. 

“Oh, she’s fine. She and the baby would’ve healed,” Rebekah said. 

“No, seriously, guys. Stop leaving shit on the floor, okay?” You asked. 

Rebekah nodded, “Alright, alright. Sorry.”

Klaus let you go, his hands lingering against the small of your back. You weren't sure if it was the baby or his touch, but your stomach flipped. You leaned into him a little, wanting to be close to him for as long as you could. He was unbelievable warm, which was nice for you and the baby. 

Elijah and Rebekah noticed your body language and smirked at each other. It was a wonder how you two didn’t notice each other’s love and care for each other. The both decided it was time for the two to have a talk with each of them, to try and push them to get together farther. 

“Klaus, I need to see you for a second,” Elijah said. 

Klaus moved away from you, leaving you cold and a little lonely. Klaus smiled goodbye at you before going in the next room with Elijah. Rebekah went up to you, a cheeky grin on her face. 

“What are you and Elijah up to?” You asked. 

“Nothing, nothing. I just wanted to talk to you about Klaus,” Rebekah said. 

“Okay. What about him?” You asked. 

“You’re in love with him, right?” Rebekah asked. 

Your eyes went wide and your face flushed. “Wha-What?”

Rebekah smirked, “So you do. Why haven’t you done anything about it?”

You shrugged, “I don’t know. He only sees me as the mother of his child, another person to call a friend. We are no where near romance right now.”

“You’d be surprised to hear that you’re wrong,” Rebekah said. 

You furrowed your brows. “What do you mean?”  

“He's in love with you, too, Y/n,” Rebekah said. 

“He’s not,” you scoffed. 

“Yes, he is. Do you not see the way he looks at you? The way he cares for you and the baby? How every time you come into the room, a smile is immediately on his face and his aura is brighter?” Rebekah listed off examples. 

The longer she went on, the more your face got red. “Ye-Yeah, I guess. You think he’s really in love with me?” You asked, hope shining in your eyes. 

“Yes. Confront him. If I’m wrong, I owe you a lifetime of favours, okay? But if I’m right, I get a say in your baby’s name,” Rebekah grinned. 

You rolled your eyes with a smile. “Fine. Deal. I’ll confront him tonight after dinner.”

“Great! Well, looks like my work is done. I better see you two trying for another baby after dinner,” Rebekah smirked and winked at you. 

“Bex!” You exclaimed with a laugh before she went upstairs. 

A few moments later, Klaus came back from the living room. 

“So, what did Elijah want with you?” You asked. 

“Oh, just to talk about what we are going to do with Sophie, that’s all. How about you and Rebekah?” Klaus asked. 

“Just stuff about the baby,” you answered. 

“Fun. Well, ready for dinner?” Klaus asked. 

You nodded and sat down at the kitchen table, watching Klaus cook for you. You watched him in silence. You also ate dinner in silence. You two had a feeling that whatever Klaus’s siblings talked to you two about was the same thing, but you two were just too shy to say anything. But as Klaus walked you up the stairs to bed, you had stopped to ask him the burning question you had in your brain all night. 

“Are you… are you in love with me?” You asked him, looking him straight in the eyes. 

Klaus’s eyes widened in surprise. He coughed and averted your gaze. “Maybe.”

Your lips upturned into a small smile. “I’m in love with you, too, Nik.”

Klaus looked up to you, a smile appearing on his face. “Really?”

You nodded and bit your lip. “Yeah.”

Klaus leaned towards you, snaking his arm around your waist, pulling you closer. His other hand went up to your cheek, cupping it. You nuzzled into his hand, your own hands going to cup the sides of his face. You looked deep into his dark-blue eyes, getting lost in them. You two found yourselves leaning into each other, your lips eventually meeting. 

Your eyes closed in an instant, pressing yourself up against him more. Klaus’s hold on your waist tightened and he deepened the kiss by dragging his tongue on your bottom lip. You opened your mouth quickly, giving him easy access to explore your mouth. 

You two felt sparks fly around you two, both of your guys’s skin lighting on fire from each other's touch. Even though you two had kissed before, this time was more special. Almost monumental. 

While you two were sharing your special moment, Elijah and Rebekah were watching with proud smiles on their faces. 

“Such a wonderful couple,” Rebekah sighed. 

“Yes. The big bad and little wolf,” Elijah smiled. 

————

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@randomideass

#klaus mikaelson #klaus mikaelson imagine #klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson x reader fluff #klaus mikaelson fluff #tvd #the vampire diaries #the originals #mikaelsons #fluff #angst #klaus mikaelson angst

[amc-theaters]

i had posts in here before but i deleted them out of Fear but thinking about the movie has brought me back to attempting to place my thoughts somewhere because. i can’t get over that movie. i will not be cured of revue starlight movie disease until i can watch it again.

(this got long and i went off on a million tangents. sorry. anyways, i want to talk about the in-character & meta meanings behind the Murder in the movie, which i don’t do in any of my gargantuan paragraphs in this post. i will make a response another time but for now i’m just recapping what i got from the movie.)

there’s a lot to say that i think many have already figured out but like, it’s just worms in my brain so i think it bears repeating. i was specifically thinking about how the Murder works in the movie, and how it still has that same function as it does in the anime but more intimate. like, when any of the pairs is willing to Murder their partner, it shows that they have both literally grown beyond the precedent that the anime has set for them. the movie turns every character from static to dynamic, regardless of their original roles or situations in the anime. in the anime, you could tell the set course of each character in relation to the plot. karen is the protagonist, hikari is the love interest she needs to reach, nana is an antagonist, junna is like the tutorial character for how things work in this world, mahiru is a supporting character to karen (and hikari), kaoruko and futaba are gay & vibing (also supporting other members of the cast), maya & claudine aren’t necessarily antagonists but they are final bosses in the sense that they are the last obstacles standing between karen and her true stage (hikari).

the point of the anime had a single focus. it told you the rules of the world, and introduced a protagonist who needed to contradict those rules directly in order to obtain her happy ending in the story. it was a critique of that world, based on the world of the hypercompetitive Takarazuka theater. how does someone who thrives only through cooperation and love exist in a world where actors are intended to compete with each other ruthlessly for a single top spot? the anime’s thesis was kind of like that phrase in revolutionary girl utena, “the world is our egg and we are the chick. if we do not break the world, we will die without having ever been born.” (the irony there was that no one in that elevator could actually break the world because they were trying to conform to its rules [princedom, (toxic) masculinity, etc.] rather than actually destroying them like utena did.) nana wants to control that world so it can never hurt her, whereas maya wants to preserve that world as is because she does not believe it can or should be broken (it’s the love of her life, supposedly).

in the anime, this original singleminded thesis is tossed out the window as the story expands to address new, broader themes. we see that when nana says, “this is not an audition.” this is not a competition. this is the point where, after a game has been developed and stageplays have been written and performed numerous times, recordings have been released, and a community has unfurled — this is the point where this story ends, and grows into something bigger than what it was in the anime. the old roles that the cast played die with them, signifying the end of Revue Starlight, and they are reborn into what is essentially a different story (or perhaps not a story at all, depending on whether or not every party is ready to let these characters go and become little fictional people independent of an audience). something that may not even be a story at all, if the audience does not wish it. characters that were designed to be together are now pulled apart, standing alone and joining in new groups that will inevitably face new challenges. if we as the audience were to peek in on whatever mahiru, futaba, and maya were doing in their new troupe now, we wouldn’t be watching revue starlight. it would be a new story, with different themes and topics. i mean, the revues could be brought back into it, and the characters would still be themselves (albeit in a new place in their respective arcs), but the roles of the characters would be different — we don’t even have karen around to be a protagonist anymore! after the movie, everyone in the cast is free to have equal amount of significance. in the anime, this was not the case. but the world of the anime is literally broken, it is no more, we saw it destroyed. i love that as a visualization of the metanarrative of the story as a story that has evolved beyond its original domain, and as a literal representation of the freedom the main cast now has. forever thinking about the art of them running through the sand of the destroyed stage together, in new groups :]

this can be the end of revue starlight as a story (although perhaps not as a brand), and it frees up the creators to move onto the next stories they want to tell. i think that’s lovely, i think it’s a recreation of the journey of theatre which is a recreation of the journey of life. it makes me so emotional. i can’t watch this blasted movie again man but i want to so badly

#rant #revue starlight #gekijouban revue starlight

[holykillercake]

FRIED EGGS

KOBY x Pirate!Reader

word count: 2k

summary: Being infiltrated as a Marine and keeping your feelings under control was easy until you were assigned to work with Marine Captain Koby. How you wished he was a jerk.

highlight: ¨I am kissing you... but I am angry, Y/N-san...¨

warnings: read under the risk of developing diabetes.

notes: Hey, guys! This was a lovely request from @pure-kirarin! <3 I had to stop other projects to make this one because Koby threw me out of my comfort zone hahaha I really hope you like!! ALSO 1) Happy Birthday Sabo-kun! ALSO 2) In order to add more dept to the story, the main character is part of a Yonkos´crew, but I wrote in a way that all fit, so choose your favorite! ALSO 3) ART ALERT!

Leave comments, hearts and love!

¨You have been doing a remarkable job in such little time, Commander L/N. We all have great expectations regarding your transference to our Marine Headquarters.¨ 

The words of the Rear Admiral barely scratched your mind as you discreetly observed the pink-haired boy´s reflection on the crystal clear window. 

He maintained a similar posture to yours: chin up, chest out, shoulders back, and stomach in. However, while your fingers remained paralleled to your trousers, you took a glimpse of his clenched fist, thumb fidgeting the side of his index finger. 

¨Vice Admiral Tsuru was reluctant to sign your transfer. She said you remind her of herself in the past, which is always an excellent compliment to hear.¨ you nodded, acknowledging his words  ¨We´re glad we convinced her.¨

Your heart warmed with his words, and you almost felt bad because you knew the disappointing outcome O-Tsuru-san would have at the end of this. She trained you with the iron face of a merciless soldier, and the elegance that resembled the animal of her name.

It has been three years since you received the green card from your captain to part ways in a long-term solo mission. A journey to excavate the putrid secrets of the so-called defenders of the law. You learned after a short time that justice is not so black and white.

Not that you planned to reveal the dirt, no. That intel your captain could sell to the Revolutionary Army and keep the capital running. You were interested in the arms race, the corrupt diplomacy, and more importantly, the dark pipes where traitors flowed.

Someone from inside the Yonkos was feeding the Marines with crucial information about the Emperors´ activities. And in such a close fight, you could not take those risks.

All other Emperors must have their own undercover agents within the Marines, but even that was a dispute. You could point some names to your boss, who confirmed what was suspected. Those would usually be the best of the best, extravagant and loud.

But not you. You didn't have to make that much noise. You slid between the floors of New Marineford like a snake swimming with the current. Earning the respect of your superiors and being promoted without ringing any bells. You accepted each medal with a firm salutation and relentless performance. 

¨The trip must have been displeasing. Submerging ten thousand meters underwater and rising to these fiendish waters require a good rest. Our Marine Captain Koby will escort you to your quarters, Commander Y/N. The remaining instructions shall be presented tomorrow.¨

You saluted the Rear Admiral in front of you and turned to the exit, passing by Koby, who waited for you to leave first.  When your paths crossed, the pace of your heartbeats quickened, pumping more blood through your body and leaving a burning sensation on your cheeks. 

The involuntary response was instantly interpreted as alertness to danger, which needed to be handled with caution. 

Can´t let my guard down around this one, you thought.

In fact, you planned to keep as much distance as you could from him. An officer let slip that he has been gaining incredible control over his Observation Haki since the Paramount War. 

But the wind seemed to change direction, and you began to swim against the current. When the morning came, you were assigned to be his partner for an undetermined time, and he would act as your superior. The idea of being bossed around by a younger marine got your temper sparked. 

Only he was not like the others, treating you in a patronizing and condescending way. He spoke to you with the same cordiality and politeness he addressed everybody else. 

Slowly, your concrete cold expression began to soothe. You would still remind yourself how annoying his good manners were, though. So annoying, seriously!

¨Good morning, Y/N-san!¨ he greeted as you joined him for breakfast. 

¨Good morning, Koby.¨ 

¨Our Border Force correspondent sent his report early in the morning with information about possible Yonkos´ alliances in the Wano Country. We are arranging a meeting as soon as possible.¨ 

You didn´t like to handle work so early, but this subject, in particular, raised your spirits. ¨Good. It was about time.¨

You noticed that he wore a different headband. ¨What happened?¨ 

¨Hm?¨ he brought the soup bowl close to his mouth. 

¨The bandana. Green, with the fried eggs.¨ he choked on the miso soup, coughing like he had swallowed poison. 

You reached for a paper tissue and handed it to him. ¨K-Koby, are you ok?¨

¨Y-Y/N... Y/N-san...¨ he coughed some more ¨They´re not... fried eggs...¨

¨Oh...¨ your brows raised slightly ¨What are they?¨

A depressive aura grew around him ¨They are flowers, YN-san...¨

The edge of your lips contorted as you tried to hide a smile. You haven´t felt like smiling genuinely for years. Annoying boy!

From that moment on, ignoring him became more difficult. He started to ask you to train with him or invite you to spend some time with him and Helmeppo whenever you had free time. Eventually, he began to ask you how he looked before an important meeting. 

Most of the time, you would reply something like ¨ok¨. But sometimes, the mouth was quicker than the brain, and you would let an ¨impeccable¨ slip out, followed by an awkward throat clearing and blushed cheeks. 

From both sides.

•

¨Oh my-¨ you stopped yourself from finishing the sentence. 

You were chosen to complete this mission due to your excellent skills in hiding emotions and acting calm under stressful situations. No one could break you. 

Within the Marines, no joke could make you crack a smile, and no torture could make you spill secrets. 

Why did you want to ask if he was ok?

Koby had entered his office with bumps and bloody bruises over his face. His always neat uniform was blotchy, and he carried a first aid kit. 

¨Garp-san paid a visit.¨ He sat on the couch and opened the white box, throwing everything on the coffee table. ¨I bet it wasn't like this with Tsuru-san.¨ he chuckled. 

¨No. She would beat me up, wash me and hang me up to dry.¨ 

You shot from the chair, moving towards the clumsy pinkette, who struggled to attend to his injuries. He tried to hold the mirror with one hand and suture his gash with the other. 

¨Thank yo-¨

¨Shh. Don´t move.¨

You leaned closer to have a better look, giving Koby the same chance. Your delicate perfume smelled like it was tailor-made for you. Your breathing was slightly irregular, and your lip twitched with every given stitch. Your fingers felt like feathers on his skin, so much that he didn´t even feel a sting. 

The job was fast and efficient, making Koby wish Garp had put more effort into his Love Fist. Grabbing a piece of wet cotton, you cleaned the dried blood.  

¨Alright...¨ you whispered.

¨Alright...¨ he whispered back.

You were inches apart from his face, your eyes traveling across the scar on his forehead, the pink locks, and kind features. Your mind traced back all the way to the Paramount War. You had very little knowledge about him, but the words he spoke that day have always made your heart pound like cannonballs. 

You will make an excellent Admiral one day, Koby. 

I hope you don´t hate me. 

¨Y-Y/N-san...¨

¨Hm?¨

¨Your smile is beautiful.¨

¨What?¨ The stupid scene of yours was interrupted like a DJ stopping the record player. 

With cheeks getting pinker than his hair, you shot up and marched back to the chair and your newspaper. ¨You clean this up.¨ 

He left a low chuckle out and began gathering the mess. 

Oh, no, Y/N. You have got to be kidding me. 

He is a freaking marine. Breathe. 

There were a vast number of reasons why you couldn´t like him: from him being a Marine Captain and you being a pirate to the fact that your mission was coming to a conclusion.

Meaning that your journey as his partner would be very soon reaching its end. The meeting with this mysterious correspondent regarding the Yonkos´ operations in the New World would be the last move in this chess game. You would be going home. Mission completed. Everything perfect, right? 

Right, perfect. Impeccable! Ugh!

•

¨... confirm secure line.¨

¨This is Border Officer code 404890. Secure line confirmed.¨ you spoke with a low but clear voice through the nail transponder. 

¨What´s the status on our birdie?¨

¨Positive. The birdie is located at 03:24:01.¨ you gave your boss a coordinate to the name of the Marine informant. The answer you took three years to find out remained on file number one, third page, suspect number twenty-four. 

An amused laugh echoed on your end, and you buried the speaker on your jacket to muffled the sound. 

¨At least he is not one of ours.¨ a chuckle ¨Great job, Y/N.¨

¨Thank you, boss.¨

¨I know this mustn't have been easy, but you were impeccable as always.¨

Yeah, impeccable. 

¨You know the protocol now. We´ll see each other in a few days. You´ll have a party waiting for you, kid.¨

¨Aye, aye, boss. But I want the good booze.¨  Both of you laughed. 

You finished the call, and the smile on your lips died as the image of a pink-haired boy invaded your mind. You wished he was a jerk like everybody else. 

It would have been so easy. 

¨Who were you talking to?¨ your chest contracted, pushing the air out of your lungs and sending extra blood supply to your muscles. 

You hid the transponder into your jacket and turned, facing your Marine Captain. 

¨Eavesdropping, Koby?¨

What should I do?

¨Y/N-san, who were you talking to?¨ he repeated himself, offering the benefit of the doubt. You sighed.

¨My captain.¨ 

Why the need to be honest with him?

¨Y/N-san, please don´t tell me-¨

¨I´m sorry, Koby. I wish I didn´t have to do this.¨ you couldn´t bring yourself to face him.

¨A-Are you a pirate? Why?¨

You chuckled ¨Why am I a pirate?¨

¨Why did you do this?¨ his face was pale, making your guts twitch in guilt.

¨I´m on a mission. But I´ll leave soon.¨

¨You are like... Vergo-san.¨ he sounded disappointed.

¨I am nothing like Vergo. You know this.¨ or at least you hoped he did. 

He closed the door slowly, eyes fixed on your figure. The bright light from the window made him look like an ethereal painting.

While you tried to predict his next move, whether he was going to interrogate you or kick your ass, Koby acted calm and collected, not hesitating. He trusted his Observation Haki to guide his next move. Or maybe his heart.

You saw a pink blur closing distance like a missile, and before you could dodge, his hands pulled you by the waist, connecting your bodies and lips. 

He forced your back to meet the thick window with a gasp that was muffled by the kiss. His touch was rough upon the fabric of your uniform, but his mouth felt soft against yours.

Your hands moved to his hair, removing the round pair of glasses and the green bandana so you could get lost in his locks. His grip was harsh under the fabric of your uniform, but his hair felt soft on your fingertips. 

A moan escaped your lips when he parted the kiss with a loud snap and struck the glass with both hands, keeping you trapped in the middle. You let go of his hair and grabbed him by the collar, not letting him go away.

¨I am kissing you... but I am angry, Y/N-san...¨ his breath was heavy and carried with a myriad of emotions. 

¨I know... I am sorry.¨

¨Why?¨

¨Because I like you, Koby. A lot.¨ he paused for a second, fighting the urge to admit the same.

¨What was your mission?¨

This is the last lie, I promise, Koby. ¨The Marines possessed vital information about something my boss wants. I needed to get it.¨

¨Now that I know that you´re a pirate and that you stole Marine´s assets, I´m gonna have to hunt you down.¨

¨I´ll be waiting for you.¨ 

You stared him in the eyes, and he kissed you to stop himself from saying what he really wanted. 

I love you, Y/N-san.

Diary of Koby-Meppo: The Fried Egg Life Crisis.

💕 @vemuabhi

#koby #koby x reader #coby #coby x reader #marines #marineford #new marineford #paramount war #the warof the best #vice admiral #tsuru-san #otsuru-san #garp #monkey d garp #fleet admiral #sakazuki #akainu #rear admiral #four emperors #emperors of the sea #yonko #shanks #red hair shanks #kaido #kaido of the beasts #big mom #charlottle linlin #marshall d. teach #blackbeard #helmeppo

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: IV

“I had a few, got drunk on you

And now I’m wasted

And when I sleep, I’m gonna dream of 

How you tasted.”

— Medicine, Harry Styles

A/N: if i said i’m apologizing for the way i left off ch3, yes i did ❤️ no i didn’t ❤️ it was fun ❤️ as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!! and if you enjoy the piece, please reblog it!!! it keeps content creators motivated!! without further delay, hope you enjoy what’s in store for Sherlock and Watson this chapter cause it’s uhhhh quite a bit of uhhhh ~stuff~ 😌

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

word count: 26.4k

content/warnings: a mild addiction to sexting, some pretty sparkly lingerie, a very interesting photo, a strange but satisfying gift, rough sex and degradation, pillow talk about the validity of the men in Twilight, the satisfying gift being put to even more good use, Y/N going over to Harry’s apartment for the first time, mild mentions of blood, and an impromptu Hamilton re-enactment amidst more lemon blueberry pancakes

///

For the next three days, the sexting grows more frequent. 

Harry feels somewhat humiliated by it, really. He’s an adult— a full-grown, two hundred and nine year old man— and trading nudes with a simple girl shouldn’t be getting him as worked up as it does. He should know how to handle his hormones better, and the thing is, he usually does. But no one in the last few centuries has made him feel as desperate as Y/N does; he hasn’t felt this helpless for someone since he was alive. The vampire just wasn’t prepared to handle the needy responses she so easily yields from his body and he’s horribly rusty on how to skate this thin sheet of metaphorical ice. It’s like he can feel it cracking and crunching beneath his feet, but he has absolutely no power over how to stop it. Any minute, it’s bound to take him under, and he has no choice but to allow himself to drown in it. 

The following seventy two hours are full of so many dirty promises and explicit images, his phone might as well be a porno hard drive.

After coaxing Y/N into a few orgasms through the phone and receiving just as many in return, a dangerous game is set into motion that Harry knows is probably unhealthy not only for his self-worth, but for the sensitivity of his anatomy. He can only get off so many times before his joints are begging for a break. 

He wakes up Wednesday morning with a stiff ache running along his inner thighs and ebbing across the underside of his balls, but there’s an undeniable contentment stewing behind it. He doesn’t truly mind the throb, comforted by the fact that Y/N is probably facing similar issues at the moment. He finds himself smiling coyly as he flips an omelette onto one of his marble-print platters, recalling the events from the night before. 

According to what he’d heard on the other end of the phone, present throughout the array of shaky gasps, cracked whimpers, and wet sounds of pleasure that had echoed from the speaker, Harry had made Y/N squirt. 

That was a tremendous stroke to his already huge ego. The idea that he’d been able to make her cum so hard that she’d soiled her brand new sheets had been circling around his head for the last couple of hours, fluffing his confidence. It’s a milestone achievement, to be honest. He’d done something that very few men have the skill to achieve in person, meanwhile he’d done it just by using his voice and extensive imagination. The arrogance he’s sporting right now is more than justified. His cheeks are starting to ache from how hard he’s grinning.

The vampire is so lost in his recollections that he nearly misses the chime of his phone, the unique ringtone that beeps out being as welcomed as ever. 

Harry scoops up his device while spooning a piece of his green pepper and mushroom egg dish into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully as he swipes into Y/N’s text conversation. He smoothers the giddiness fluttering in his stomach; he’s not a child. 

As it turns out, he’d killed those butterflies for no solid reason because the instant her message pops up, they come right back to life. 

Morning! Thought I’d show you what I’m planning on wearing to work today. 

Harry roughly swallows down his breakfast at the attachment following the caption, a shiver coiling down his spine. “Fucking hell.”

The photo is a mirror shot, taken in her tiny bathroom. It’s a full body image where she’s clad in a matching set of bra and panties, the material sparkly bright red lace. The bottoms are high-waisted, hugging her tummy and hips in a way he deems perfect, the lace decorating her skin beautifully. The bra is see-through, so he has an unrestrained view of her chest and he doesn’t know why, but he thinks he might love the way her breasts look in lingerie more than without it. Make no mistake, he’ll willingly drool over her no matter what, but there’s just such a refined beauty in seeing her figure in such an elegant piece. She’s like a present set out for him to unwrap, preferably with his teeth. 

Then he notices the garters and the next forkful of food lodges in his throat. They hug around her legs deliciously, the bands settled midway down her thighs as the straps run up the sides and clip onto the hem of her panties. Yeah, he would definitely use his teeth. 

After gawking at the artwork for a minute, Harry finally gathers himself enough to type back a decent reaction.

I’m pretty sure that outfit doesn’t apply to the workspace dress code. 

Y/N shakes her head in amusement at his response, giggling softly as she finishes shimmying into her black skinny jeans, buttoning them over the skimpy lace. 

I’ll cover up for the sake of the customers. But it’s just such a nice set, I figured someone else should get to appreciate it with me.  

Harry sets his utensil down on top of his plate, omelet only half eaten. His appetite has molded into a very different type of hunger. He pads out of the kitchen, feeling the ten AM sunlight filter through the glass wall of his living room and warm his bare chest and back. He heads for the bathroom that branches out of the entrance corridor, coming to a stop right in front of its mirror. He begins to clean up his appearance, combing his bed head into a presentable state (he hadn’t slept, per usual, but rolling around his pillows last night while he indulged fantasies about Y/N had done his curls in something fierce), fixing his royal blue briefs along his hips and dragging the waistband down to show off the dip of his prominent pelvic bones.

Once the immortal is done, he taps back with eager strokes of his thumbs. 

I can’t believe you’ve never worn that for me. That’s a criminal offense. Literally worth capital punishment. 

Oh, really? Capital punishment? And who are you to decide my verdict?

I’m the executioner, obviously. I’m in charge of dispensing the verdict and I promise you, I’ll see to it that you get what you deserve. It’s my civic duty.

Y/N scoffs at his quip, tugging her navy polo shirt over her torso and quickly running a brush through her hair. She puts it up into a neat ponytail, sighing lightly as she stares at her tired reflection. She wishes she could ditch work for the day and entertain more conversation with Harry, but she literally can’t afford to.

Well, you’re gonna have to wait while I go perform my own type of civic duty. Making the world a better place, one grilled panini at a time. 

Harry’s lips jolt. She’s so clever and witty, he doesn’t know how she could possibly be from such a dull, monochrome town. 

I understand. Justice calls. But before you go, can I send you a picture of what I’M wearing today? Could use a few style tips. 

That’s pretty ironic coming from someone whose last name is literally ‘Styles.’

I know, I know. But even fashion icons have their insecurities sometimes. 

Fair point, nobody’s perfect. Lemme see your OOTD, then.

The outfit of the day appears to be no outfit at all, according to Harry’s picture. It’s taken on a mirror, like her own, and it depicts him standing with one hand holding his phone in front of his face while the other seems to be doing jazz hands down his body playfully. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of deep blue briefs (probably because he’d completely ruined the maroon pair he was wearing last night, if his broken moans and heavy panting had been any indication) and they hug his frame flawlessly. The fabric is bunched around his lean thighs, tiger head tattoo peeking out to accompany the rest of the collection, which includes all the inkings running the length of his left arm as well as the butterfly and swallows across his torso. His v-line is evident as ever, dipping below the elastic band teasingly. His chest is broad and his biceps are taut, despite the fact that he’s not even flexing. He looks like a Greek statue and Y/N is positive the higher powers designed Harry with that specific thought in mind.

Y/N doesn’t realize drool is gathering in her mouth until it tickles the inside of her bottom lip. She snaps her jaw closed, clearing her throat sheepishly. Over a minute has passed of her just ogling and she can feel heat layering across her cheeks. She knows Harry probably has the cockiest expression on his face at the moment, obvious in the tone of the next comment he delivers. 

Damn, it’s that bad, huh? Guess I’ll have to change. 

No, it’s perfect. Simple, but effective. Very professional. 

Why, thank you! 

My pleasure.

Here, take this as a token of my appreciation. Hopefully it can help get you through the day. 

This specific photo is taken from an above point of view, as if Y/N were looking down at Harry’s body along with him. His pectorals and stomach muscles appear more defined, tattoos darker and skin more evidently sunkissed. Lower down, there’s the obvious outline of what lies within his boxers, snuggled up against his thick thigh and tempting her to let out a soft whine. Then, resting casually against his abdomen is his free hand, sporting a thumbs-up that gives a purposefully goofy vibe to the risky image. He’s such an idiot. 

The mortal’s answer is just as silly and lighthearted as his gesture. 

Thank you, I’ll keep it locked in my heart forever. 

I wouldn’t want it any other way. 

That’s the first interaction of many that further opens the door to their virtual sex life. Things hardly stay that innocent. 

That night when Y/N gets home from work, they undergo another round of phone sex. It starts off the same: cheeky banter that leads to cheeky pictures that eventually leads to utter filth. 

And that’s how they spend the next few days— taking care of each other’s needs digitally until Friday rolls around. There’s plenty of those encounters, but there’s definitely favorites. 

A session during one of Harry’s self-care baths, when he puts her on speaker and she talks him through tugging one out while the scent of lavender salts— which he’d chosen because they smell like her— leave his heated skin feeling soft and supple. Another instance where he makes her orgasm while she has gotten bored watching a scary movie marathon on her couch, the screams of the horror film mere background noise compared to all the sweet nothings Harry huskily mumbles into her ear, his dominant voice filtering through her headphone and instructing her on how to make herself feel good.

Harry messages her at three A.M. at one point, wide awake as ever, all of his thoughts occupied by the concept of Y/N laying on her tummy between his thighs and sucking him off at a slow pace. He can practically see her small hands wrapped around his girth, stroking up to meet her pretty lips, her tongue lapping at his tip eagerly as she whines around a full mouth. She’s always just so eager. Even at the crack of dawn, she’s awake by some miracle, and happily willing to delve into that fantasy with him. Her soft, timid tone drifts across the shells of his ears, explicitly sketching out how she’d take him all the way down her throat until she gags, and how she’d kiss all over the head of his prick just to smear his precum over her lips to then lick it off, and how she’d rock against his lap fast and hard while he takes her nipples between his teeth. How she wouldn’t stop until he’s dripping down her thighs and groaning into her throat. How she’d let him fuck her as many times as it takes to tire himself out. 

Harry obviously repays her, and it comes in the form of him painting out a scenario where she’s gotten home from a long day at the café. He tells her about how he’d be there waiting for her in nothing but his underwear, sitting back on his elbows in her bed, touching himself over his briefs just at the thought of pleasuring her. About how he’d lay her out and taste every inch of her body with his tongue, and how he’d run his teeth across her inner thighs tenderly while his fingers play with her clit, and how he’d have her ride his face deep and sloppy until she’s shaking and sensitive. How he’d tie her to the bed and toss her legs over his shoulders while he pounds her into the mattress, marking bruises across her neck as she sucks on his fingers and tightens around his cock like “the snug little thing you are.”

They even take their fun out of the confines of their houses and into public settings, just to give it an adrenaline high. Those situations are foreplay; it’s how they prep each other throughout the day for when they’re both finally alone and can truly help one another to the fullest. 

It happens Thursday on two occasions. 

First, to Y/N, who is sitting in the backroom on her lunch break, though she’s barely touched her food. She’s much more interested in what Harry has to say. Much more interested in how he says he wishes he could be there with her right now. That she could sneak him in through the back door of the restaurant and they could lock themselves in that tiny supply room, making sure no one would disturb what he’s about to do to her. That he would drop to his knees and drag her jeans down her legs, pressing damp kisses in the denim’s wake, biting hickies in the areas he knows she loves to receive them. He would mount her knees over his shoulders and bury his face between her thighs, looking up at her through heavy lashes as he licks into her desperately. He would have her grab onto his curls and guide his tongue just the way she likes it, and she’d have to bite into her cheek to keep from getting caught. 

He talks about how he’d take her against the supply shelves, one hand clamped over her mouth while he pants praise into her ear, her body jolting roughly upwards against the surface as she clings to his back. How he’d hold her up with the other arm and slam her down onto his cock, cooing things like, “Gotta keep quiet for me, sweetheart. Can’t make you cum if we get caught.” and “Such a filthy girl, sneaking me in here just to fuck you. Baby just wants to walk around the rest of the day full of me, doesn’t she?” 

That fantasy leaves her in a bothered haze the rest of the work day. It’s bad enough that she almost drops her tray three different times and has to ask multiple customers to repeat their orders. 

Y/N gets back at Harry, though. That revenge is the second occasion. 

The vampire had mentioned that he would be going out with his friends that evening to a bar and she takes full advantage of that. When the picture comes through, Harry nearly spits out his Manhattan drink. 

He’s sitting in a booth surrounded by his entire group and he’d been talking shit with Niall about golf. The vampire doesn’t care for the sport, but Niall loves it, and Harry loves getting on Niall’s nerves, therefore it’s all pretty self-explanatory. Mitch and Adam join in, with Mitch obviously supporting Harry, when he randomly decides to check his notifications. Even in the shrunken little banner, Harry can immediately tell the photo is graphic. Xander asks if he’s alright, telling him he looks freakishly pale and to get his eyes under control because they're in public. Harry blinks the red from his irises, hurriedly excusing himself and clambering up from his seat, jetting across the restaurant towards the restrooms. It’s occupied, much to his luck, so he settles for simply pressing his back against the wall of the corridor, leaning his head against the bricks and taking deep breaths to calm the raging in his stomach. He gingerly opens the message and his knees nearly give out. 

The image is taken from the back, probably using a timer. Y/N is wearing one of her big tees and another pair of cheeky lace panties, but this time around, they’re pastel peach and crotchless. She’s bent over with her ass up and spine arched, knees parted for balance, her shirt bunching downwards due to the angle. Her arms are pulled behind her back and her chest is flushed to the bed, wrists crossed submissively as she gazes at the camera over her shoulder. There’s an unmistakable sparkle in her eyes and he can tell she had sent this now on purpose just to fuck with him, knowing good and well that he was out and occupied.

The shot is more than he can handle and he has to swallow down the urge to stomp out of the bar, get into his car, race to her flat, and make her rethink her decision. Preferably, in the form of harsh spanks and overstimulation. He can see everything— the intentional rip at the crotch of the panties are meant for that sole reason. The closer he looks, he comes to realize that she’s wet, which in turn means she had been touching herself. She’d set this up perfectly, knowing that he’d easily be able to deduce that fact and that it would haunt him for the rest of the night. 

The monster releases a quivering exhale, typing back slowly and carefully, sight bleary. 

You’re going to regret that. 

Pinky promise?

///

When Harry arrives at Y/N’s apartment the next night, as he has for the last three Fridays, he doesn’t saunter up to her door and bang on it angrily. He doesn’t grab her by her hair and drag her into her room, how he’d intended. He doesn’t even have a single cinch in his sculpted brows. 

Instead, he raps softly on the door with one jeweled knuckle and waits calmly. 

The human goes to answer, her stomach twisting in excitement at all the possibilities of what punishment she might face for her antics. A small, sly smile buckles the corners of her lips at the thought, her fingers trembling as they wrap around her cold doorknob. She expects to find a furrow-browed, intense-eyed, red-faced Harry behind the threshold, who would shove past her, nab her by the arm, and throw her onto her bed. She expects him to yank his belt from around his hips while a distinct darkness swallows his emerald irises, his mouth curling into a sinister grin. She expects him to roughly command she get on her hands and knees, his palm finding the back of her head to shove her face-first into the sheets while he rips her panties down her legs and drags the cool leather of his accessory over her backside tauntingly.

What she gets is something— and someone— completely the opposite. 

When her door swings open, Harry is standing standing there, sure. But instead of looming over her with flaring nostrils and cruel intent, he’s decided to lean against the door frame with his arms folded casually. His body is completely empty of tension, his ankles are crossed offhandedly, and a small, bright red paper bag full of sparkly black tissue paper is hanging off his wrist. His expression is a relaxed facade of indifference, lips set into his usual signature smirk, no explosive emotions present whatsoever. 

That startles Y/N. This has to be an act; it feels like the calm before a violent storm and it has her shifting in her socked feet. Did he...Did he forget what she did? 

There’s no way he forgot. It was too brazen a move to dismiss.

Harry steps forward into her home, comfortable enough that he no longer has to wait for an invitation. Y/N moves to the side to let him through, hesitantly closing the entrance behind him, contemplating the man as if he were a ticking bomb. She does a quick sweep of his physique, looking for some other clue as to what he could be plotting, aside from the mysterious gift bag in his hand. He’s wearing a pair of flared denim jeans, a white tee with a royal blue cartoon bee printed in the center along with the words Enjoy health! Eat your honey! surrounding it, his white Vans, and an oversized colorful patch-work cardigan. The outfit is surprisingly domestic compared to his usual taste, but she finds it’s easily one of her favorite fits on him. He just looks so boyish adorable. 

The human comes up with nothing suspicious, glancing back up to lock eyes with her guest. Harry beams at her innocently and she knows for sure he’s planning something, but she can’t place what. 

“I got you this.” The vampire speaks up first, holding out the paper bag towards Y/N with his index finger, bouncing it encouragingly. “Take a peek.” 

The girl accepts the gift gingerly, giving him one more hard look before breaking away to investigate what lies beneath the tissue paper. She pulls out a small cardboard box, her eyes squinting slightly as she reads its print and surveys the label. The image on the surface appears to be of five silicone finger gloves, each about the size of a thumbtack, tiny metal plates embedded into the pads. She’s voicing her curiosity before she’s even finished studying the container. 

“What...What are these?”

Harry rolls his eyes jokingly, tapping the object for emphasis. “Read the fine print, love.” 

Y/N focuses on the region he’d pointed out, reciting aloud. “‘Vibrating silicone finger gloves. For the use of personal pleasure or with partners.’”

Then it all clicks. 

“Oh my God, you got me— what?!” Y/N’s head snaps up in shock, mouth parted and brows creased. “Harry, what?”

The young man laughs airily, gently opening the seal of the box in her hands, which she is now holding as if it were a weapon of mass destruction. It’s such a weird present to give in general, moreso all out of the blue, so she can’t be blamed for her reaction.

He uncaps the packaging, rummaging through its contents and pulling out two of the tiny rubbery gloves. They’re transparent and ribbed, obviously meant to deliver as many sensations as possible, and they’re about two inches in length. He slips them onto his index and middle finger, making scissoring motions for the purpose of symbolism, but mainly just to watch Y/N fidget. “I remember how you said you don’t have sex toys because you’d never really thought about buying any, so I went and picked these up down at my favorite shop. Jessi said they’re good for beginners.”

“Jessi?” Y/N’s voice is tight. She’s not sure how to respond to this; she’s never been in this situation before. No one has ever just given her a sex toy as if a were a candy bar. “Who’s Jessi and why do they need to know about my sex life?”

“She’s the manager.” Harry says matter-of-factly. He doesn’t seem to find anything strange about this encounter. “She helped me pick out my first pocket vag, so I trust her with my soul. Here, look. You just slip them on and—” He makes finger thrusting motions in the air, wiggling his digits playfully. “Big O. Not as good as what I can give you, obviously, but close enough.”

“Harry, you do realize this is a little…odd, right?”

The boy blinks at Y/N blankly. “What? Why? Sex is literally the basis of this whole thing.” He signals back and forth between them with his gloved forefinger. “It’s really not that weird at all, if y’think about it.”

“I just...it’s like…” 

Her argument fizzles to an end the longer she stares at him. He has the most wholesome expression painted across his handsome features, his eyes glossy with excitement. He looks genuinely elated about the present and she can’t find it in herself to question him any further. As unorthodox as this may be, it’s the first true act of kindness anyone has shown Y/N since she had moved to California. It’s the first time anyone has given the girl anything without her having to request it. She comes to the realization that Harry really is the only friend she has at the moment, and she refuses to pick and prod at that, lest he retract from her on the grounds that she’s ungrateful. Yes, this is a little atypical, but so is their whole dynamic. In his own twisted way, this is how Harry shows his friendship. 

The more she ponders on it, she starts to understand that this truly is something she should accept. He went out of his way to get her this gift, which solidifies their acquaintanceship. It’s sweet.

“You know what, never mind. Thank you! I love them.” 

The giddy smile that cracks his face melts her heart. “I’m glad to hear you say that.”

Harry then softly grasps her hand with his, tugging her down the entrance hallway, his intentions set on her bedroom. His voice takes on a deeper sultry twang, the corners of his mouth twitching suggestively. “Because on my way here, I was thinking, yeah? And I figured: who better to teach you how to use these than the person who picked them out.”

“Of fucking course.” Y/N huffs in amusement, shaking her head but allowing herself to be guided forward. “I should’ve known you had an ulterior motive.” 

“Heyyyyy!” Harry’s whine is offended, but the coy simper dimpling his cheeks ruins any defense he could possibly try to spin. “This isn’t an ulterior motive, it’s simply a supporting one.”

“Right.” Y/N states flatly, shuffling forward slowly as he backs down her corridor, momentarily glancing over his shoulder to orient himself. “Buying a fuck buddy a sex toy is totally selfless and mutually exclusive of the agreement.”

Harry takes a turn and crosses the threshold into her bedroom, releasing her arm and instead, he opts for wrapping his fist into the loose material of her large Transformers tee, twisting the fabric around his knuckles and giving it a sharp yank. She stumbles into his chest and almost drops the box. 

The vampire gazes down at her with half-lidded eyes, long lashes tempting and plush lips the color of roses. “I never said it was mutually exclusive. I just said it wasn’t meant to be evidently inclusive.” 

He takes the box from her grip, sliding it onto her nightstand so that any obstacles between them are eliminated. He beckons her closer with a flick of his wrist, feeling heat erupt across his chest as her palms slap down against it to steady herself. She’s always so warm, almost like a furnace. It’s a nice contrast to his ever-present coldness.

Harry’s cupped fingers nurse the slope of her jaw, tilting her chin up to level his, Cupid’s bow ghosting over her own teasingly as a grin threatens to betray him. His accent is thick, heavy with condescension. “Now do you want me to fuck you or not?”

Y/N gulps audibly, the sudden jump in her heart rate causing Harry’s cock to give a foreshadowing twitch in his designer jeans. Her eyes soften with a form of weepy desire, head nodding in his grasp. 

Harry’s top teeth catch on his lower lip as he appraises her from over the crest of his defined cheekbones. “I don’t think I heard you, pet. Must be the AC draft.”

The mortal’s eyes fall shut as she composes herself, a shaky sigh faltering past her nostrils. She tips forward onto her toes, connecting her itching mouth to his. Harry allows it, listing his head to the side to grant her more access, his free arm roping across the dip of her spine and pressing her front flushed to his. The kiss is soft and heated, full of drunken tongues and muffled whimpers. It’s tame compared to most of the others they’ve shared, but Harry likes it. It’s sloppy and intimate; only the beginning of what he knows will be a long night. 

Her words sting the ridges of his lips, hot and bated. “I want you to fuck me.” 

Harry speaks into her mouth, tone gentle but packing a punch. “Get my belt off for me, will you? I’m tying you to the bed tonight.”

He doesn’t have to ask twice, a dark chuckle vibrating across his tongue when her fingers immediately begin to fumble with his belt buckle. 

Once Harry has looped the leather tightly around Y/N’s wrists and has knotted them to one of the wooden railings of her headboard, he sits back on his heels to admire his work. Y/N is splayed out across her mattress with her arms suspended above her head, bare thighs clasped in anticipation as her t-shirt gathers around her waist. Her hands are curled into fists, nails digging into her palms as she watches Harry leisurely shrug off his cardigan, keeping eye contact with her the whole way through. His tattoos stand out against the buttery light of the single lamp on the table, tanned arms flexing sinfully. 

He shifts around, laying down onto his stomach and coasting his palms up her quivering legs, kissing over her kneecaps and along the crease of her inner thighs, bunching her shirt further up her body as he goes. As soon as he spots the first garter, he blacks out for a millisecond, vision washing red. 

“Fuck, wait— did you…?” His voice is strained and desperate as he shoves the rest of her clothes up her torso, pulling her shirt over her head and letting it rest at her elbows. He hums appreciatively when he’s met with the full cherry-colored lingerie set from a few days ago, garters and all. “God, you did.”

Y/N’s gaze falls timidly, a sheepish smile brushing over her face. “I thought you’d want to see it in person, since you seemed to like it so much.” 

“Mm...” Harry struggles to swallow, fingers hooking under the straps that clip to the hem of her underwear, pulling the fabric from her skin and letting them snap back into place. He revels in the tiny noise she lets slip, the pads of his digits now toying across the frilly bands encircling her upper legs. After a thoughtful heartbeat, Harry speaks up, wistful but vehement. “I’m going to make you soil your sheets again.” 

Y/N bucks a tad at his promise, wrists stressing against the leather belt, but Harry’s practiced enough bondage in his lifetime to know she won’t be getting out anytime soon. He parts her knees open with his palms, dragging his silicone-covered fingers down her clothed clit and tutting when she lets out a stuttery gasp. 

“Always so sensitive, aren’t you, angel?” The vampire pets at her core patiently, heat pooling at the base of his abdomen as he feels her panties damped with every stroke of his touch. “Christ, you’re already soaking through.”  

“Want more.” The girl’s plead is strangled as she actively forces herself to keep her legs wide open, knowing that if she were to allow them to snap shut, Harry would only pry them apart again. “I’ve been thinking about this all week. Please.”

“All week?” Harry drags tongue across the inside of her thigh, nipping at the flesh tauntingly, the amber specks in his eyes glittering amidst his lashes. He continues to rub through her underwear, drinking up all the little noises streaming from her throat. “Tread lightly, dove. You’re swelling my ego.”

“I just…” Her hips give another jerk when he wriggles two rubber-clad fingers into the crotch of her bottoms, spreading her open just a bit and grinning against her skin at how wet she’s become. “I just need it hard tonight, Harry. Need you to leave me sore.” 

“I always leave you sore.” The monster reasons mockingly, taking one of the garters between his teeth and tugging, releasing so it stings her like before. “You’re gonna have to be more specific.” 

Y/N trembles out an exhale, gathering herself enough to give him what he wants. “I need you to fuck me like you hate me.”

Harry grabs onto either sides of her panties, slowly peeling them down her legs and then scooting closer forward, planting an open-mouthed kiss right onto her bare clit. She mewls in return, her restraints creaking the bed. He continues pressing messy wet pecks to her cunt, feeling her tense up each time his soft lips suckle her fervently. 

“Is that why you sent that picture?” Harry wonders aloud, pausing his motions and raising one eyebrow at her. “Because you wanted me mad?”

The human nods, face wracked with guilt. It’s cute that she feels bad, especially because Harry had, in actuality, enjoyed her little stunt. Seeing her bent over like that, in a position that shows she couldn’t wait to please him— that she couldn’t wait until Friday came around so he could do to her whatever he deemed fit...It was the best form of edging he’s ever experienced. But for the sake of giving her what she wants, he’ll bite the bait. 

Harry rises up onto his knees, parting her thighs further as he fits himself between them, the pads of his gloved digits dancing across the thick of her damp clit. He bends down until his nose smudges over hers, the breath of his low words hot against her parted mouth. 

“Well, it fucking worked.”  

Harry taps his index and middle fingers against his palm in one quick flick and the tiny metal plates situated along the tips purr to life. He sinks knuckle-deep inside of Y/N, cold rings catching on her folds as he curls upwards to get at that special spot that resides along the pit of her tummy. The moan she releases it so raw and broken, it sends a zip of lightning through his veins. 

He fucks her like that for a while, with his strong chest poised against her heaving own as he marks love bites onto the cleavage spilling from her lace bra, his skilled fingers pumping into her at a harsh pace that has her legs shaking on either sides. He thumbs over her clit messily, the silicone molds sending waves of vibrations through her clenching walls as he relentlessly toys with her g-spot, her arms thrashing against his belt. Fragmented sounds of bliss freely stream from Y/N’s mouth without shame, his name intermingling amongst the whimpers as her head throws back against the headboard. Harry grips her throat in one hand, holding her to the sturdy surface as his other bobs between her thighs roughly, the bed groaning as a result of their intense actions. His wrist begins to ache from how hard he’s going, but the tears trickling out from the corners of Y/N’s eyes and the way she’s panting into his mouth are enough to keep him going.

“Look at me.” Harry squeezes her jugular tighter, garnering attention. She forces her eyelids open, inhales hiccuping when he braces his cool forehead to hers, his irises the color of a forest at midnight, pupils blown out of proportion. His teeth dig into her bottom lip just to feel it swell, a growl stirring the gravel in his chest. “Is this what you wanted?”

“Y-Yes.” Y/N boggles her head feverishly, glimpsing down over her sweaty cheeks to see the way his veins are chiseling along the forearm that is flexing between her drenched thighs. “Fuck, it’s so g-good.”

“Yeah? How about we go a little higher, hm?” Harry scrapes the pads of his fingers against that spongy place inside her, pressing the vibrators down and the motion clicks the toy into a higher level of intensity. 

Y/N writhes in his grasp, back arching off the headboard as deeper, more concentrated rumbles lap throughout her body. “Harry— I— that’s— God, just please!”

Harry takes ahold of her jaw as he continues finger-fucking her without remorse, his short breaths warm against her burning lips. “That’s my girl. Taking it hard and loving every second.” 

Y/N’s eyes lull back into her head. She doesn’t know why, but hearing Harry call her his girl satisfies her in a manner so deep, she didn’t know it existed. Just hearing him recognize her as his— as something he claims for himself, almost like an extension of who he is— stirs a foreign form of fulfillment in the back of her mind. 

“I’m—” The girl chokes on her sentence, finding it difficult to concentrate with so much pleasure coursing through her system, as well as with Harry painting hickies across the side of her strained neck. “I’m gonna cum.”

The immortal’s voice is stern and authoritative. “No, you’re not.” 

“I am, I can’t hold—”

“Yes,” Harry’s grip firms, pace sharpening into unapologetic slams, “you can. And you will. If you cum before I let you, you’re not getting anything else from me for the rest of the night. Do I make myself clear?”

Y/N’s cunt tightens around his fingers, warning him that she’s about to peak. “Harry, I’m sorry—but— but I—”

“Do I make myself clear?” 

Y/N has no hope that she can keep it in, but she adores the darkness swirling in Harry’s eyes at the moment and she’ll do anything if it means getting to witness it for a while longer. “Yes.” 

“Good.” She winces when she feels his teeth skim her earlobe, his whisper dripping with arrogant amusement. “I told you I’d make you regret it.” 

And he really does keep his oath. Minutes simulate hours as Harry continues to flirt her just along the seams of relief, pulling her back every time he sees her about to tip. Whenever he feels her begin to spasm around his slick fingers, he gives her a cautionary quirk of his brows accompanied by a testing, throaty, “Don’t you fucking dare.” or a simple, silent shake of his head. By some miracle, she manages to reign herself in every time, but each ruined orgasm makes it harder and harder to stifle the next. She doesn’t know how many times it happens; she stops counting after four. 

After what feels like decades of torture, Harry finally releases his hold around her jugular, allowing her to properly gulp air for the first time in a while. He sits back against his heels, pulling his hand from between her thighs with a sarcastic sympathetic hiss. “Poor thing.” 

He watches as a trail of her juices strings from his digits to her cunt, eventually snapping in the middle as he lifts his hand to study his work. Her release drips down his knuckles and palm, gleaming in the dim lighting. A mildly sadistic glint washes over Harry’s irises and for a split second, they look almost red, but Y/N dismisses it. Her brain is too fogged to trust right now. 

The boy’s sight flickers past his hand to where Y/N lies limply, wrists bruised from the bonds, arms quivering weakly, and legs trembling in overstimulation. He’s never seen her look more beautiful than now. 

He locks his bright eyes to her exhausted own, watching them shatter to pieces when he pushes his drenched fingers past his pillowy blushed lips. His lashes flutter as her taste washes across his tongue, sweet and decadent as always, a soft groan thrumming deep in his throat. God, he can only imagine how delectable her blood must be at the moment, honeyed by the plethora of endorphins he had repeatedly coaxed into her. He can't wait to feel its warmth fill his mouth later tonight.

Harry removes his fingers with a wet pop, licking across the back of his hand with finality and giving her a daring once-over. “Do you still want my cock? Or are you too sensitive for it, darling?”

He sounds so conceited and self-assured, it causes Y/N’s pride to flare. She wants to make him eat his stupid words.  

The mortal licks her chapped lips, wetting her dry throat and clearing it softly, wiping away the sweat on her forehead with her shoulder. “I still want it.” 

An impressed expression decorates Harry’s features. “You think you can take it?”

Y/N’s jaw clenches with dedication, her thighs spreading open a tad more and she wills herself not to flinch. Her chin cocks upwards. “I know I can.” 

Harry’s brows kink challengingly, a borderline evil smirk sewing onto his face. “Let’s see, then.” 

As it turns out, Y/N can take it. However, she knows for a fact she won’t be able to walk right for at least the next week.

Harry lowers his jeans and kicks them off, reaching into his navy briefs and tugging himself out, giving his length a few pumps for good measure as he shifts forward toward her. He flips the girl onto her belly as easily as he’d turn a sheet of paper, tying one arm around her hips and lifting them up as he slides a pillow below. He situates her accordingly onto the cushion, her ass slightly elevated to give him more range of depth. He pats at her backside lightly, telling her to part her knees and she does so obediently, gripping onto the leather strap around her wrists anxiously when she feels the bed shift with his weight. Harry lowers himself over her body, the tee covering his broad chest soaking up the thin sheet of sweat on her back. He moves all of her tangled hair to the side, burying his fingers into her roots and yanking her head back cheekily. He runs his nose across her damp cheekbone and chuckles when she jumps slightly at the feathery sensation. 

“You’re pretty stubborn, aren’t you?” 

Y/N gnaws on her bottom lip as she struggles to swallow, throat taut from the angle he’s put her in. Her voice carries a confident bite, despite her compromisable position. “I like to think I am, yeah.” 

“Well, you know what that makes you, right?” Harry murmurs as he lines himself up with her entrance. 

“Mm-mm. What?” 

The vampire presses a lingering kiss to the tittering pulse in her temple, feeling it thunder below his skin as he forms his next comment slowly with an ominous edge. “It makes you a brat.” 

He feels her heartbeat trip. 

“And you know what I do to brats?” 

Y/N shakes her head as much as his dominant grasp will allow, body tightening in suspense. 

“I fuck them until they break.” 

Y/N learns that he’s telling the truth. The first thrust Harry delivers is swift, hard, and unbelievably deep; it causes her to let out a choked scream that no one else has ever drawn from her before, except for him. It’s like he can tap into certain aspects of her body she was unaware of; parts of her waiting for the right person to come along and reveal them. She feels that stroke rip into her tummy, but the pain of his size is something she’s become accustomed to in the last three weeks. She hardly feels it anymore; it had molded from a sharp throb to a dull ache, due to how often she’s experienced it. 

Harry doesn’t waste any time, quickly picking up a sloppy, adamant pace that has her hips bouncing against the mattress. He twists her hair around his fist, mouth pressed to the side of her head as his hot pants of exertion send a prickling through her scalp. His other forearm keeps him anchored to the bed as he pounds into her with absolutely no hesitation, the sound of skin slapping, cracked whines, and raspy grunts filling the tense atmosphere of her chilly room. 

“Is this what you were hoping would happen when you sent that slutty picture?” Harry grits out, short nails digging into the comforter beneath. “Wanted to get me all riled up just so I’d do your back in?”

Y/N mewls weakly in response, hands clinging to each other within the makeshift cuffs. 

“If you wanted me to fuck you like I hate you, you could have just asked. I’m more than happy to give you whatever you want. You don’t have to tempt me.” The vampire gives a particularly deep slam, laughing breathily when the girl’s back instinctively arches forward, paired with a watery yelp of, “Oh!”

Harry’s tongue grazes across the shell of her ear, teeth catching the skin. “But since you did, I’ll give it to you just— like—that.” His thrusts match to each word, fingers coiling harder into her locks. “You deserve it. Especially when you had the nerve to act like such a spoiled little brat right to my face.” 

Y/N’s not sure what emboldens her to speak, but her snarky remark is already halfway down her numb tongue before she can stop it. “Don’t pretend you didn’t like it.”

Harry hums tauntingly, circling his hips in long strides that urge a series of fractured whimpers to scrape out of Y/N’s sore throat. “Say it again. Go ahead, say it. I want to see you try.”

She remains silent, spine shuddering as she bites down on her tongue to avoid making any more noises that might condemn her.  

Harry roughly cranes Y/N’s neck to the side, buttoning their lips together in a filthy kiss that has her cheeks boiling. “That’s what I thought. The only thing that sharp tongue is good for is licking down my cock.” 

She gasps against his mouth shakily, tears of sheer bliss gathering along her waterline. “You’re such a fucking asshole.” 

Harry can tell her comment holds no true malice behind it; she’s too sweet on him— too whipped on what he gives her— to ever mean it. She’d only said it to provoke him into a power dynamic struggle. But the thing is, Harry’s dealt with feeling powerless before, so he had spent years teaching himself how to win. How to always win. 

“Am I, now?” His next line dismantles her entire plan. “Would an asshole let you cum?”

And just like that, her whole demeanor crumbles. “I take it back. I’m s-sorry.”

Harry releases her hair and nips at her ear mockingly, beginning to withdraw himself. “Oh, I think it’s a bit too late for that, minx.”

“No, no! Harry, please. I’m sorry. Genuinely. I promise I won’t say it again. Just…” She tugs helplessly at the belt restraints, trying to twist around to look at him directly. Her voice is wringed out. “Just please.”

The boy pushes a few stringy curls out of his eyes, pressing his tongue into his cheek coyly as he glances down, suggestively smoothing one hand over her ass. He gives it a firm squeeze, lifting his palm teasingly and feeling her tense in anticipation. “Do you want it?”

Y/N glimpses at his bejeweled hand with hunger, then back at his eyes. “Yes.”

“Tell me you want it.”

“I want it.”

“Sorry, I seem to have forgotten what ‘it’ was, exactly. Jog my memory, will you? What is it you want?”

Her irises harden in spite at his shit-eating comment. He’s well aware of how shy she can be when it comes to admitting she wants a spanking, and he’s playing that to his advantage. He’s swimming in the way she squirms. 

“I...I want you to spank me.”

He tsks, shaking his head as he twists his HS rings around to face inwards. “You forgot something.” 

Y/N’s fingers tighten into begrudging fists. “I want you to spank me, please.”

“There’s a good girl.” His low, accented purr sends electricity through her nerves. “You’re so cute when you beg.”

Harry’s hand comes down swiftly, digits fanned out so that all of his rings print across her backside. It’s not hard enough to hurt, but strong enough to leave a satisfying sting. He loves the way she jolts forward with a hushed curse of surprise, and he adores seeing the shape of his initials marked across her clammy skin. It’s poetic, almost.

“So pretty.” His mumble is wistful as he massages deeply over the region he had just bruised, but it holds unyielding authority. “Whose is it, doll?”

“Yours.” 

“And don’t you fucking forget it.” The creature lifts one palm to do it again, pausing once more just to rev her further. He reaches forward with the other, shoving her face-first into the mattress to get her back to straighten out. “Look forward and don’t make a single sound.”

Y/N obeys, but manages to sneak a peek at his reflection through the waxy wooden surface of her aged bedframe. He looks so good perched behind her with bare heaving shoulders, looking down at her exposed figure over the crests of his sharp cheekbones, brows furrowed into a starved expression that gives away he’s enjoying this probably more than she is. Her voice comes out small and weak. “Yes, sir.”

Harry’s entire face tightens at the word and she feels him throb against her backside. 

“Now beg me to let you cum.”

///

The next morning when Y/N’s eyes flutter open to the grey light streaking in through her curtains, the first thing she senses is a pair of eyes staring at the side of her face. 

She turns her stiff body over toward where the sensation stems and sure enough, she’s met with a pair of sea glass irises filled to the brim with humor. Harry’s laying on his side with his hands tucked below one of her pillows, tousled ringlets sticking up in wild tuffs (thanks to the activities they’d engaged yesterday), he’s completely bare since he likes sleeping nude (though he’d had the decency to cover himself with sheets from the waist down), and his voice is slower and raspier than usual (a result of being dormant for the last eight or so hours). 

“You drool in your sleep.” 

Y/N tucks her hands against Harry’s cold pectorals, snuggling deeper into his chest and pinching at one of his nipples in playful revenge. “No, I don’t.” 

“Yes,” he reaches up and shoos her hand away, proceeding to wipe at the side of her mouth, where dried spit had accumulated. He makes a theatrical gagging face, cleaning his thumb off across the collar of her t-shirt. “You do.”

Y/N sighs in exasperation, making a bold leap to a different topic to avoid talking about her embarrassing sleep habits. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you staring at people while they sleep is weird? Like, serial killer weird?” 

Harry tucks a few matted strands of hair behind the human’s ear, thumbing over her cheekbone tenderly. He hardly ever indulges in such actions, simply because they’re typically reserved for actual couples, which he and Y/N are definitely not. But last night— after he had finally finished being a prick and allowed her cum along with him, and after she had fallen into the bed with exhaustion taking her under, and after he’d had his greedy fill of her blood for the week— he’d gotten bored of playing on his phone. He’d burned through three cold case documentaries on Netflix and played enough Mario Kart to memorize the race charts; it had grown old quickly, and he eventually just locked the device and placed it on her nightstand. He spent the next hour staring at her hideous ceiling, and the one after that fantasizing about taking down her tapestry and burning it in the oven. And finally, after hours of mindless daydreams and letting his eyes chase the city lights dancing across the walls of her room, he had settled onto his side and watched her sleep. 

Harry did it simply because he had nothing else to distract him. He figured it would eventually bore him enough that maybe— just maybe, if he was lucky— he would fall asleep alongside her. But he didn’t, so he just ended up gazing at her slumbering face until dawn. He had been surprised by how oddly beautiful Y/N looked sleeping— how relaxed and tranquil, with her features soft and skin seemingly made of flawless porcelain. That intrigue had bled into the moment they share now, resulting in his touch drifting down the curve of her jaw and across the faint dimple on her chin. He follows the slope of her neck and admires the smoothness of her flesh with the ridges of his fingertips, hearing her breathing stutter ever so slightly. His heightened senses make it feel as if he’s running his digits over velvet and the only concept he can compare it to is touching forbidden artwork at an exhibit. It’s exciting, but he knows that if he keeps going, he could end up getting himself into a crock of shit. 

When the pads of his fingers land on two prominent purple bruises he’d forgotten existed, he’s broken from his soft stupor. He retracts his touch as if she were made of iron, forcing himself to ignore the pout that automatically plumps her delicate lips. 

He clears his throat awkwardly, a tight chuckle stringing his vocal chords. “Staring at someone in their sleep seemed to work just fine for Edward Cullen, though.” 

Y/N snorts sharply, rolling her eyes up towards her headboard. When she sees his belt is still hanging off of it from the night prior, she hurriedly glances back down, pretending not to have seen it. 

“It’s funny you say that because as I recall, he literally admitted to being a murderer. I believe his exact words were,” she exaggerates her voice into an angsty cry, grasping at her chest dramatically, “‘This is the skin of a killer, Bella!’”

Harry bursts into boyish giggles, falling fully onto his back and swiping his palm up his face, fingers remaining perched over his closed eyes as he laughs. He sighs airily, shaking his head as an afterthought. “What a moron.” 

“Truly. His dad was hotter.” 

“Way hotter.” Harry agrees passionately, burying his hand into his messy curls, attempting to comb out some of the tangles. “And he was a doctor. What a man.” 

“Bella really fucked that one up. She had a midlife crisis over choosing between a sad vampire who looked like he had chronic constipation, and a yappy dog with a shirt phobia. All when Carlisle was right there. Brain damage, honestly.” 

“A moment of prayer for the mentally incapacitated. Couldn't be me!”

“Couldn’t be me, either.”   

“Fuck, yeah.” Harry throws his hand up, inviting Y/N to give him a high five. “To good taste.”

She gladly delivers. “Exquisite taste.”

An instance of comfortable silence suspends between the pair of lovers, filled with the soft thrum of the air vent and the distant chirping of birds outside Y/N’s windowpane. She traces her index nail over the wings of the swallow tattoos along Harry’s collarbones, seeming to be deep in thought. She then speaks up once again.

“Emmett was pretty hot, as well.” 

“You know what? I’m happy you mentioned that ‘cause— full disclosure here— I’d ride him like a fucking bull.” 

Now it’s Y/N’s turn to explode in a fit of giggles, nose scrunching and eyes crinkling shut as she loses herself at Harry’s graphic confession. 

“Why are you laughing?!” The fact that he sounds genuinely appalled only spurs her sounds of glee. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t take that chance if you got it. Like, okay, he’s an airhead, yeah? I’m aware. But fuck’s sake, look at his body. I’d happily let him beat me at arm wrestling if it means I get that celebratory dick afterwards.”

The mortal manages to calm down a handful of heartbeats later and Harry feels strangely proud of how he’d made her pulse spike. 

“You’re valid for that, don’t worry. I couldn’t have said it—” A single giggle interupts her sentence, but she reigns it in before it can spiral. “I couldn’t have said it better myself. Literally. There’s no way to express it better than exactly how you stated it.” 

Harry smirks softly up at the ceiling, folding his free arm behind his head as the other wraps securely down Y/N’s back, absentmindedly rubbing in gentle soothing circles. “My mind. It’s amazing, innit?”

“It’s definitely something.” 

Another span of cozy quietness fills the atmosphere of the room, longer than the last. Harry doesn’t mind. He finds it appeasing, and he continues to delight himself with running his touch up and down Y/N’s spine. He’s not sure how much time passes, but he’s aware that it’s probably a bit. His theory is supported by how he witnesses the beam of watery light that filters over the duvet gradually fade from silver to a sunflower yellow, indicating full daybreak. 

Even then, he doesn’t say a word, too caught up in this innocent bubble of domestic bliss to pop it so suddenly. He just lays there and listens. Listens to the birds harmonizing with each other across the branches of the tree outside. To the steady breaths that fill Y/N’s lungs with cool air, faltering past her nostrils in the same manner and fogging the metal of his cross necklace. To the faint sound of footsteps trotting down the staircase outside her apartment, and to the vague spritz of the sprinkler system going off at the front of the complex. To the distant honking of car horns in traffic, and to a random conversation between two friends as they walk past the pavement just under Y/N’s balcony. He hasn’t felt this at ease in eons. 

Harry just allows himself to grow in tune with the world around him— a world he’d been convinced was against him for the longest time. A world he was convinced stole his happiness and replaced it with the shackles of a blood-driven afterlife, for no other reason than because he’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time and met the wrong person. But now, he feels like he’s in the right place, at the right time, spending it with the right person— or at least a half-decent person— and he doesn’t want to let it slip between his fingers so soon. He wants to bask in it, even if he knows it’ll pass. 

And eventually, it does pass, and Y/N is the one who brings it to an end. 

The girl slowly peels away from Harry’s side, his lips dipping downwards slightly at the loss of the warmth she radiates. He thinks she’s about to get up to probably go use the bathroom or to make breakfast, but instead, she just bends her upper body over the edge of her bed to retrieve something from the floor. She comes back up with the box he’d brought her the evening before (which had ended up on the ground as a result of her bed rocking violently), setting it in the small space between their laps. She then returns to her place cuddled into his torso, looking up at him with an expression that Harry can only interpret as expecting. 

The vampire glances down at the container and then back up to Y/N’s face, raising his eyebrows curiously, voice tinged with comedy. “What did I say about bringing sex toys to the dinner table?”

Y/N stares up at him flatly for a second, fighting off a smile. “I just wanted to thank you again. It’s nice of you to bring me a present, even as strange as this one.” 

Harry sucks at his teeth, waving a hand dismissively, blinking down at her with slyness sparkling around his pupils. “What are friends for, if not for buying you vibrating finger gloves and then fucking you with them until you cry?”

Despite having been acquainted with Harry’s crude humor for three weeks now, it still manages to make Y/N’s cheeks sizzle. It could also be the fact that this is the first time Harry has openly accepted Y/N as a friend. It’s the first time he’s ever mentioned her name and that word in the same sentence, meaning that she can now shake a weight off her shoulders— a weight that had insisted he was only using her for sex, that he would eventually grow bored of her, and that he would throw her away once he was done. It’s good to know that’s not the case, and that the friendship aspect of their agreement is true to its name. 

“Right.” Y/N’s smile is full of so much genuine warmth, Harry feels like she could outshine the sun. “What are friends for, if not that. Thanks, Harry.” 

He wonders what she’s thinking, and he finds himself wishing that he had the one valid trait that idiot Edward Cullen possesses: mind-reading. But he doesn’t have it, so he simply returns her gesture and skates the conversation how he best deems fit. “You don’t have to call me ‘Harry’ all the time, you know?” 

Y/N’s brows cinch in entertained confusion. “What would I call you, then? Sherlock?” 

Harry scoffs lightly at the inside joke, shrugging one shoulder casually. “I mean, you could, if you want to. It might take some getting used to, but I think I can shoulder a full-time second identity. Just for you.” 

“How chivalrous.”

“You ain’t ever met a man like me, sweetheart.” He boasts in an over-the-top American southern accent, prying another round of laughter from Y/N, similar to the one before. “But you could also just call me ‘H.’ It’s what most of my other friends use.” 

“H.” Y/N repeats, getting a taste for the new nickname. It’s simple, unlike him, but it somehow fits. She then recalls something from a show she’d watched when she was younger and she can’t help but bring it up. “So, like, just your first initial? Like in Gossip Girl?”

Harry’s face immediately drops at the comparison she makes to the cringey teenage soap opera. “You know what, I take it back. You’re not allowed to use it. Illegal. Banned. By an official court. Gavel and all.”

“I’m just making a point!”

“Yeah, a shitty one.” 

“Oh, whatever. You’re just mad I debunked your little hipster alter ego. ‘That’s a secret I’ll never tell. Xoxo, H.’”

“Restraining order.” Harry pinches at one of her love handles, an evil grin dimpling his cheeks when she squeals. “Actually, nevermind. We’re going straight to the electric chair. Immediately.” 

“You don’t get to decide my punishment, remember?” Y/N slaps at his wrists, trying to ward off his attacks but failing miserably. “You’re just the—stop!— just the executioner.” 

“That’s right. I get to strap you to the chair.” Harry finally lets up on the tickling, his lighthearted grin taking on a slightly seductive hue as he momentarily glimpses upwards towards where his belt is hanging. “Though you’d probably like that, wouldn’t you?” 

“Fuck off.” Y/N smothers her palm against his face, breaking eye contact as she feels her ears bristle with heat.  

“Mm, exactly.” Harry gnashes at her hand playfully, but she manages to yank it away before he gets a bite in. “You can’t even admit you like being called a whore.” 

“Hey!”

“What?” The vampire gives her a cocky look, wagging his head knowingly and then mimicking her voice in a higher pitch. “‘I’m just making a point!’”

“You’re a dick, you really are.” 

“And yet you still ride mine, so who’s the one with the real issues here? Specifically, daddy issues.”

“I’m done with this conversation.” Y/N huffs, returning her attention to the box beside her thigh, muffling the twitching across her lips. 

She takes the cardboard into her hands, tracing over the small flap used to pry the top open. Harry watches her with interest, pondering as to what could possibly be scurrying around her skull that she seems so caught up with the context of the gift. He’d gotten it because he knew they would both benefit from it. It’s as simple as that. 

“You know,” she starts, but her gaze remains glued to the box, “I feel kinda bad ‘cause, like...You got me this gift, I have nothing to give you in return.” 

Harry’s face contorts into a silly frown for a moment, tone humorous. “It’s fine, Y/N. You don’t have to give me anything back. I got it ‘cause I knew we’d enjoy using it together, and because this way, you have something to play with when I’m not around. And you can send me videos of said instances. It’s truly a win-win. A double-ended gift.” 

“I suppose.” She mumbles softly, continuing to pick at the lip of cardboard sticking out. “But I feel like it’s only fair that you get to use it, too, don’t you think?”

And then the reason she’s insistent about this dawns on Harry. The way she’s avoiding looking at him directly, how her heart rate is slowly ebbing upwards, how she is gradually scooting closer to his body, how he can feel her thighs are clasped tightly below the comforter. How the scent of honey and lavender has intensified. How she keeps glancing towards where the sheets are crumpled messily around his hips in a haphazard attempt to remain civil. 

When the monster speaks, it carries all the arrogance brought forward by his discovery. “If you wanna give me a handjob with the toy on, just say so.” 

The human’s head snaps upwards, her expression one of utter alarm at his lewd comment, but he can see right through her act. It’s obvious that was her intention all along— the desire in her eyes is poorly masked. She looks so adorable, pretending not to know what he’s referring to, her palms gripping the box slightly tighter than before. 

Harry twirls a strand of her hair around his finger nonchalantly, giving it a jesting tug. “I just find it funny how much of a horny menace you can be.”

“What—?”

“And it’s not even ten A.M. yet.”

“What do you—?” 

“Y/N,” Harry sighs tiredly, giving her an omniscient look, “I’ve slept with you enough times to know when you want something. It’s written all over your body language and you’re pretty shit at hiding it in your eyes. Just admit you want to and I’ll let you.” 

The faux shock slowly melts off her face, replaced by sheepish humiliation at being so easily sussed out. She chews on her bottom lip pensively, struggling to sew together the appropriate words to communicate the very inappropriate activity she wants to engage in. Harry has to withhold from leaning down and taking a bite from her tempting mouth.  

She inhales a deep breath through her nose, puffing it out slowly and tapping her fingers across the box nervously. Her voice pipes up so softly, it’s almost inaudible. “I want to give you a handjob with the toy.”

Harry gently cards his fingers into the mussed roots along the back of her head, using that hold to guide her sight upwards until it meets his. He leans down, smearing his lips over her own, feeling static pass through the ridges of their skin. “That’s all you had to say, darling. Go ahead, then. Make me cum.” 

Y/N swallows thickly, lashes fluttering bashfully as she pastes her mouth to his in a soft kiss. It’s a simple action with just their lips and nothing else. No tongue, no teeth, no sucking, nothing sloppy or desperate— not yet, anyways. He can tell she does it as a way to ease herself into this. She wants to, that much is arousingly obvious, but for some crazy reason unbeknownst to him, she’s still shy about it. That’s what happens when you come from a conservative raising: you get intimacy issues. He of all people— with his Victorian era background— would know. 

The hand Harry has cupping the nape of her neck shifts over a smidge, ending up splayed across the side of her face. His palm rests on her cheekbone and his fingers in her locks, his wrist cradling the back of her skull as he patiently deepens the kiss. His chest begins to heave slightly, a familiar sensation already frothing at the trench of his stomach. Harry can feel Y/N’s clumsy movements as she unboxes the vibrators, digging through the packaging and trying to slip them on blindly, not wanting to break away from his embrace. The way he’s flirting his tongue along the inside of her top lip is just too consuming to leave. 

After a few seconds of grappling and a string of annoyed curse words, Harry giggles lightly into her mouth, nudging the tip of his nose across the bridge of hers. The jade tint in his irises is waltzing with amusement, all at her expense. “Sometime today, love.” 

“I know, I’m sorry, I just— I can’t— they won’t—” The mortal releases an irritated growl into their kiss, reluctantly splitting away when it becomes clear she won’t be able to get the rubber gloves on without giving the task her full attention. “God, I’m such a...Sorry.” 

Harry rolls his eyes in mirth, pecking sweetly along the angry creases present over her forehead and between her brows. He thumbs over her cheek affectionately to soothe her nerves, his other hand scratching distractedly at the back of his neck. He filters curls through his fingers as he waits, bicep jolting in the process. “It’s fine, I’m just teasing. I’m not going anywhere, babe.”

“Thanks. Just give me—” The girl pauses her actions for a second, jutting her chin back up towards him and locking the vampire into another quick kiss, solely for the purpose of keeping him interested while she figures herself out. She breaks away again, returning to her mission. “Just give me a minute.” 

Now that she can see, Y/N successfully wriggles all five of her fingers into their designated molds. She prods at them gingerly, copying Harry’s actions from the night prior, using that experience as a manual. The mini-vibrators purr to life, a buzzing sensation trickling down her fingers. She glances back up at an awaiting Harry, who gives her such an easy, good-natured smile, she instantly reaches up and glues their mouths together again. 

“You’re so eager.” The boy grins into the kiss, jumping a bit when he feels her tittering fingers duck beneath the covers around his lower torso. “It’s hot.” 

“I just want to make you feel good.” Y/N mumbles, one palm braced to his strong shoulder as the other rides down his bare abdomen. She can feel his grip on her hair tightening the closer she gets to his cock. “That’s all.” 

“Guess I’m just the luckiest— shit.” Harry’s quip is interrupted when Y/N wraps her digits around his length, giving it one slow, testing pump. His jaw drops open and he begins panting into her mouth, the corners of his lips ticking upwards into a smirk as an intense pleasure swells between his thick thighs. “Jesus fucking Christ, that feels— fuck, that’s incredible, oh my God.”

“Yeah?” The human asks timidly, gazing up at him dreamily from below her lashes as his eyes lull back into his head. “Not too much?” 

Harry loves how attentive she is— how she’s checking to make sure he’s alright before continuing. If he had a heart, it would surely be glowing right now. 

Harry gulps down the lump in his throat, voice more strained and needy than she’s ever heard it. “No, I’m good, I’m good. Keep going.” 

Y/N gradually sinks her palm back down to his base, feeling his cock twitch desperately as the vibrators work their magic. She slowly slinks back up to his tip, thumbing over it carefully, pressing the toy on her thumb pad right over his slit. The garbled moan that emits from Harry is a sound her ears will never forget. It’s a sound she wishes she could record and listen to on a loop. 

“Fucking hell, don’t— please, just— oh—” Harry stutters through a plead, voice bleeding, naked chest now heaving wildly against her own. His hips buck forward into her hand, but she maintains a steady grip, keeping the vibrator pressed to the center of his cock’s head. 

“Don’t what?” She whispers into his mouth, suckling at his Cupid’s bow and reveling in the little broken noises he pours onto her tongue. 

Harry’s breaths are shallow and pained, the grip on her hair stronger than she thought possible as the fingers of his opposite hand yank at his own feverishly. He’s barely able to choke out his next sentence. “Don’t stop.”

“I won’t.” Y/N begins to fish for a solid rhythm, her strokes setting into medium pace and gauging the receiver's reaction. “How’s that?” 

Bright colors web across Harry’s eyelids and he feels like his soul is being torn from his body. “Y-Yeah, that’s perfect, baby. It’s so good— you’re so good.” 

“I am?” Y/N swipes her thumb over his tip again, and when he whimpers brokenly against her lips, she does it again. It urges the same exact reaction, but more shattered. So she does it again. And again, and again, and again. And each time it happens, his hips jerk more violently, chasing her intoxicating touch. She can feel Harry’s precum drip down his length and leak between the cracks of her fingers. 

“You are, you’re just so fucking good to me.” Harry’s spewing words at this point, brain half conscious, half floating in bliss. Whatever dam of common sense holds his mind together crumbles, all of his thoughts rushing out in the form of jumbled phrases and cracked whines. “You get me going like nothing else, pet. You get me going so easily, it’s embarrassing. You make me cum so hard, it feels like I’m touching h-heaven. And your mouth— God, y-your mouth. It’s the best I’ve ever had. It’s so soft and warm, and your lips are so pretty and silky. I could kiss you for hours. And your tongue— you know how to use it so well. You lick me once and I’m already on edge. And every time you get down on your knees, I think I’m gonna pass out.”

Y/N sighs shakily at Harry’s string of confessions, staring up at him with wide eyes as his own stay shut loosely, long lashes perched on his rosy cheekbones, handsome features slack with euphoria. She doesn’t halt her motions, continuing to pump him excitedly. The girl passes her thumb over his tip every time she gets to the top, and gives a hard squeeze every time she thunks down against his base, twisting her wrist as she glides back and forth between the two points of reference. That combination seems to work well, evident in the steady stream of vulgarities falling from Harry’s swollen lips as he thrusts upwards to match her pace. His groans splash across her tongue, traveling down her throat and burning into her stomach. She wants him to cum probably more than he does.

Y/N glimpses down, watching her sheets tent as she works Harry over, the outline of her knuckles pressing into the turquoise fabric. It’s such an erotic scene and she knows it’ll be branded across the front of her brain for years to come. She cranes her neck back up to look at the vampire, her breath catching in her lungs. He looks so pretty with his dark pink lips parted in pleasure, his damp ringlets matting along his sweaty hairline, his structured jaw ticking, and his usually sharp traits softened by ecstasy. She’ll do anything to make that image last.  

“Tell me more.” Y/N murmurs, swimming in the praise he is so willing to dish out. 

His eyes flicker for a heartbeat and in that instance, they look oddly darker than normal. Almost crimson, but she knows it’s due to the shadow of his lashes. The words that spill from his mouth next make her forget all about that occurrence, his voice melodic and dark, sticky against her wet lips. 

“Your hands are one of my favorite things about you, I think. They’re smaller than mine and I love how your fingers don’t touch when you wrap them around my cock. I love how they leave my back raw with scratches, and I love how they look tied to the bedpost. I love it when they press flat against my chest when you ride me, and how you lean back on them when I’m on my knees with my head between your thighs. I love how they yank at my hair when you’re about to cum, and how they grip my upper arms when we make-out. I love how your nails dig into my thighs when you're going down on me, and how they look fisting at the sheets when I’m taking you from behind. And I love how they feel tugging me off, like you’re doing now. I just love how perfect they are— how perfect you are.” 

Y/N is left speechless, Harry’s monologue ringing in her heated ears as he gazes at her intensely amidst heavy, barely-cracked eyelashes. His broad chest gasps for air and he takes it upon himself— despite his wrecked appearance— to smush their mouths deeper together, pooling moans across the roof of her own.  

“I’m—” His breathing throttles, voice coming out softer than she’s heard it in the last three weeks. “I’m gonna cum.”

Y/N nods her head numbly, strokes becoming lazy and fast, eager for him to finish. “I want you to. I want you to cum for me so bad. Please?” 

Harry’s hips writhe in a tell-tale sign that he’s about to tip. His whimper tastes sweet on her tongue, the meaning behind it pure syrup to her ego. “You’re the only one who makes me feel this good.”

The mortal whines gently in return, eyes falling shut as she feels him grow heavier in her palm. “You’re the only one I want to make feel this good.” 

The knot of white hot pleasure in his belly begins to unravel, his entire spine shuddering as a result, all strain beginning to wash out of his system in spurts if blissful electricity. He can feel his orgasm racing up his prick, pulling his composure along with it. He gives one last jerk against Y/N’s cupped fingers, feeling her press her vibrating thumb over his slit one more time for good measure. When the first milky ribbon spurts out, that’s when he feels it. 

Harry’s eyelids fly open in alarm as black veins protrude along the whites of his eyes, all his muscles contracting at once, defense mode activated. Y/N’s lips are on his neck. 

His first instinct is to do what he always does and guide her away from that sensitive, highly forbidden area. His fist tightens in her hair and he’s about to yank her back up to his mouth when suddenly, the icy tension present in his veins disappears. It’s replaced by a soothing warmth, which travels through every crevice in his body and kindles his climax, his impulsive hatred for being touched in that specific region funneling away completely. He can’t remember a time where this has happened before. 

Harry’s grip loosens hesitantly as he treads into this unexplored territory, allowing her to continue suckling along his throat. The sensation would usually garner a reaction similar to that of a molten metal brand being placed on his skin, but now— for some startling reason— he doesn’t feel any contempt. He just feels relaxed and cradled in the best way imaginable. The impact is pleasant this time around, and he finds himself wanting more of it. So, he lets her give him more. He lets this strange girl kiss and gasp and lick against his jugular while she finishes getting him off, his own desperate sounds of need bouncing around the brick walls of her bedroom. He lets her coax wave after wave of cum out of him, feeling it splatter against her bedspread and coat over her hand. He whines and grunts into the hair along the crown of her head, tears blearing his eyes as her scent of sugar and flowers clouds his mind. And when his release finally sputters to an end, he lets out an elongated groan so deep, it makes his chest ache.

“Fuck. You’re...You’re an absolute angel.”

Y/N draws her hand out from beneath the bed sheets, turning off the vibrating finger pads by pressing them against her palm. She looks down at the milky substance covering the toys and before Harry can make even a sound of encouragement, she’s already licking it off each individual piece. The girl looks up at the vampire as she cleans every trace of him off her fingers, swallowing it all down with a doe-like tint across her hazy gaze and murmuring a soft, “You taste good.” over a full mouth. Harry just watches silently, heavy breathing slowly starting to even out. God, she really is such a fucking godsend.

The next couple of minutes list by in a blur, all of his focus taken up by the feeling of unsettlement pricking at the back of his brain. Why had he let her touch him there? Why had he let her touch him in a place no one has since before his death?

Y/N puts the toys back in their box, putting them off to the side to thoroughly clean later. She reaches down, bunching up her bedspread in her hand and wiping Harry’s pelvis, thighs, and tummy down until he’s decently clean, as well as whatever is left on her hand. She then snuggles up to his side once again, laying her head into the crook between his arm and pectoral muscles, staring up at the ceiling thoughtfully along with him. The irritating red tint across Harry’s chest, stomach, and neck gradually fades away, and he barely flinches when he feels her sponge her lips against his Adam’s Apple. She lulls the tip of her middle finger up along the vein of his cock one more time for finality, smiling slyly when he hisses in sensitivity.

The immortal tilts his head down to appraise her, sniffling lightly and allowing a weak, watery smile across his raw lips. His tone is feathery and detached. “That was…Christ.”

Y/N giggles softly, nodding along to his unspoken opinion. “It was fun. Really fun. We should do it again sometime.” 

Harry splutters into a drunken laugh, mind still floating around the room. “I don’t think I could survive that again.”

Y/N grins up at him cheekily. “Pussy.” 

Her friend breaks into an expression of utter offense, cheeks still slightly rosy. He shoves her head roughly as vengeance. “Hey! Piss off. Don’t blame it on me, blame it on the male anatomy.” 

The girl shakes her head up at him, eyebrows shrugging mockingly. “Excuses, excuses.” 

“Whatever.” 

A moment passes, and then Y/N speaks up again, her index finger poking playfully into the center of his bare chest, right over the butterfly tattoo. “Also, you’re washing my sheets. Your mess, you clean it up.”

Harry grins against her forehead, scratching lightly at the back of her scalp. “Fair enough…Wait, is that why you wanted to do this? ‘Cause you knew I’d soil your sheets and you could force me to do your laundry?”

That hadn’t been her motive at all, and Harry knows that, but she plays along anyways for the hell of the joke. “Perhaps.” 

“Wow. I feel used.” 

“Too bad. Go do it. Now. Before it stains.”

Harry stares at her like she’s sprouted a second head. “I literally can’t walk right now! I can’t feel anything below my waist.”

Y/N lifts the comforter off her body, symbolically showing off the bruises his fingertips and rings had left the night before. “Well, neither can I!” 

Harry reaches down and touches the marks, chuckling to himself. “How unfortunate. Who’s gonna make breakfast, then, if neither of us can even stand?”

“We could UberEats some iHop.” 

“Who’s gonna get the door?”

“Well, I can’t solve everything on my own, now can I?!” Y/N slaps his hand away from her body. “Contribute! You’re the lead detective, after all.” 

“I am, aren’t I?” Harry cocks his head to the side in recollection, remembering his role in their imaginary dynamic duo scenario. “And because I’m the lead, I say…” He ropes his lean arms around the human and buries his face into her warm neck, pulling her close and intertwining their legs together, trapping her to the mattress along with him. “I say we just bum around for a bit longer. Just until one of us can actually muster up the strength to leave the bed.” 

Y/N makes an exasperated noise in the back of her throat, but makes no apparent attempt to leave his embrace. “Fine.” 

“Mystery solved, then! Elementary, my dear Watson.”

“You’re so dumb.” 

The pair stay cuddled for a bit, with Y/N’s hands loosely gripping Harry’s forearms, tracing across his mermaid tattoo absently. She wanders in her thoughts for a period of time, lost in the sensation of Harry’s warm breath fanning down her neck, his hot lips pressing small kisses behind her ear every once in a while. She likes their morning after routine; it’s innocent and fun and sharing moments like this makes it easy to forget her troubles. She wants more of this, and she finds herself trying to come up with ways to convince Harry to spend the night more often. This is only the fourth time he’s stayed until morning and she wants that number to grow. 

An idea dawns on her and she’s voicing it before her inhibitions can kill it off.

“Do you...Do you maybe wanna stay over the rest of the weekend?”

Harry draws his face from the alcove of her soft neck, eyebrows poised in curiosity. “The rest of the weekend?”

“Yeah!” Y/N shifts her gaze up to look at him, hope swirling around her pupils. “Like, spend the rest of today and tomorrow over, and then leave tomorrow night ‘cause I have work on Monday. Does that, like...Does that make sense?” 

“Yeah.” Harry says slowly, mulling over her offer, thinking back to his schedule. He doesn’t think he has any commitments this weekend that would require him being home— none he can’t cancel easily, anyways. He’d told Mitch he’d go see him play again at the pub later today, but it’s the same set as last time, so he doesn’t think his best friend would mind if he missed it just this once. Niall was planning a barbecue at his place on Sunday, but the Irish bloke does one almost every other week so it’s nothing Harry can’t make up. Plus, what type of idiot would pass up two day’s worth of amazing sex? The more, the merrier.

Y/N watches the vampire’s expression carefully, trying to interpret whether her request was out of their boundaries. She doesn’t want to make him feel like she’s trying to tie him down or suffocate him, she just wants to spend a bit more time in his presence, rather than through a phone screen. Her tone comes out dismissive, with just the tiniest hint of panic. “It’s okay if you can’t, though. Like, if you have other plans and stuff, I totally get it. Or if you just don’t want to, that’s fine, too! I just thought it’d be a fun little thing we can do since we already talk so much on the phone and everything, so I guess I just kinda figured you wouldn’t mind—”

“I get it, Y/N.” Harry interrupts Y/N’s unhinged word vomit, voice amused and nonchalant. “I think I’d like that, yeah.”

Y/N blinks in giddy surprise. “Really?” 

“Well, don’t sound so shocked.” Harry laughs lightly, fingers toying with the pearls laying across his clavicle. “The sex is pretty fucking good and I’m more than happy to have it at my disposal.” 

“Right.” Y/N gives him a deadpan look, shaking her head at his bluntness, reaching forward to fiddle with the chain of his cross necklace for the sake of having something to distract her from smiling like a fool. “Great, then. I have some old boxers that I know will probably fit you and an unopened pack of toothbrushes under the sink, so I think you’re set.” 

Harry’s lips purse at the mention of the men’s underwear, brows creasing a tad. “You just casually have men’s boxers laying around?” 

“They were my ex’s and I kept them out of spite. But don’t tell anyone, I don’t wanna get locked up for robbery.” 

The tightness in his chest— which he hadn’t even realized had formed— melts away. “My lips are sealed.”

“Good, or else I’d have to kill you.” The girl states darkly, a theatrical seriousness to her appearance. 

“Oh no.” Harry wails sarcastically, knotting a fist into her oversized tee and pulling her closer, connecting their lips and grinning into the kiss. “I’m shaking in fear.” 

Y/N gives in without much of a fight, hands still clinging to his forearms, a smile of her own creeping across her cheeks. “Asshole.”

“The only thing I’m relatively afraid of is my dick falling off. You have the sexual drive of a rabbit.” 

“Oh, like you’re any better?” 

“I’m innocent in all this! You’re usually the one instigating. I’m just a mere pawn— a poor, unsuspecting nun led astray.”

“God, I can’t believe I let you fuck me.” 

///

The following weekend, Harry officially invites Y/N over to his house. 

It had been talked about in passing a while back, and he figures it's only fair considering all the time they’ve ever spent together has been solely at her place. Plus, he could tell she was curious to see what his living situation is like, which is valid. You can tell a lot about people through their home, and when you’re sleeping with someone on the regular, you want to learn as much about them as possible. It’s important to know who you’re getting into bed with. Literally. 

Harry’s proud of his condo. He keeps it clean, he keeps it organized, and he keeps it styled in a manner that combines his Victorian gothic roots with modern day aesthetics. The floorboards of the apartment are made of waxed light-wash wood, most of the expanse of his living room covered in a furry dark grey rug. The lightness of the ground is contrasted by the matte mahogany walls, of which the largest is covered in Harry’s collection of first edition artwork. He had picked out every single piece himself throughout the span of the last two centuries, ranging from modern digital technique canvases to nineteenth century oil paintings, all arranged in neat alternating rows from oldest to newest. He can’t help that he’s such a stickler; his mom had raised him so. 

Though his art wall is his pride and joy, the glass wall that overlooks the city skyline comes in at a close second. Harry loves the city, despite the fact that he was born in a seemingly irrelevant town whose only redeeming quality was the bustling public market. Urban regions are just full of so much life, excitement, and potential, which are all concepts he never really got to explore before he transitioned. Cities represent everything he wanted as a young man, when he thought he had prosperous years ahead of him and an entire life left to build; they represent diversity, unique experiences, and endless possibilities. When that was stripped from him, he began to bounce around different countries and cities all over the world, seeking a place that would fill the hole his dreams had left behind. Los Angeles fit that space like a puzzle piece. 

That glorified window just means more to him than anyone could possibly know. Sometimes at night, he’ll just stand by it with his arms relaxed across his chest, watching the city gleam and glitter as individuals from all different backgrounds go about their business, blissfully ignorant to the beautiful concept that they all contribute to something much bigger— a concept that only centuries of wisdom could reveal. When he’s not wracked with jealousy and spite, looking out that window and witnessing the world change and evolve is therapeutic, in a way. It allows Harry to live vicariously through others who get to have what he never did. 

Aside from his art collection and the glass wall, the chandeliers that hang from his cavernous ceiling are third on his list of treasured possessions. They’re special and no one on this earth owns anything like them; Harry made sure of that. They were created by a Swedish interior designer Harry commissioned about ten years ago, so they are custom-made in every aspect of the term. They took months to construct and finalize, which is hardly difficult to believe, given their grandeur. Each chandelier is made of two extensive layers of delicate golden chains, all arranged around a wire center, connected by light bulbs at each peak. It gives his home a chic, avant-garde atmosphere that mirrors his personality down to the last chain link. 

The rest of his flat is tailored to compliment these three major determining factors. The wood paneling all around his apartment is carved with intricate, loopy designs, his two rounded coffee tables are made of the same marble that resides across his kitchen counters, and his kitchen sits directly under the second story ledge with elongated fluorescent poles embedded into the room’s ceiling, eloquently highlighting the creme walls and polished detailings of all his appliances. His sectional couches are made of an off-brown leather, covered in large rectangular couch cushions with a checkered print embroidered across the pillow cases, and weighted fleece blankets litter some areas of the elegant sofas. A wide staircase leads up to the second floor, made of grey glass steps and metal railings. 

The top story of his condo is less Victorian era, more modern composition. The ground is dark maroon carpeting, and the ledge leads to one singular corridor that splits into two seperate rooms at either ends. One is the master bedroom, and the other is an accompanying bedroom which he uses for storage. His room isn’t anything extravagant, per se. It’s big, but his decor is minimalistic, covered in all different muted shades of blacks and greys, from the comforter on his king-sized bed to the tall dresser. A fifty inch flat-screen is mounted on the wall, but he hardly uses it since the one in his living room is larger; it’s only really there as an ornament. Starburst lights hang from his ceiling— smaller, downplayed versions of his chandeliers— and his walk-in closet stands parallel to the entrance of his bathroom. 

The humongous bathroom was meant for two people, pretty obvious in the double-sink set up, but he doesn’t dwell on it much. He isn’t one for dating, and he’s just happy to have that luxury because it comes in handy the morning after one night stands. He has a jacuzzi-like bathtub, lined with water jets and all, and a big walk-in shower with a large overhead panel instead of a regular showerhead. The whole room is made of dark marble and porcelain, and he couldn’t possibly adore it more. Some of his best experiences had happened in this room, explicit and otherwise. 

In the end, Harry has every right to be arrogantly proud of his apartment. It had taken him months to decorate, years to fill with fond memories, and an immortal lifetime to find. He loves it with every trace of his soul, even when others disagree. Namely, Niall, who had mocked his sophisticated relics and old-timey architecture from the first time he’d set foot past the threshold; “You went the dark gothic route? Really? Way to feed into the stereotype, Dracula.” 

But no matter what anyone says, this is who he is, and he couldn’t be happier. After decades of migrating and aimlessly searching the globe, he’d finally found a place he could call home, and absolutely no one could take that from him. Especially not some Irish moron who doesn’t even know the definition of “foyer.”

How Harry manages to afford his flat is a whole other intriguing tale.

It had come up in a pillow talk conversation with Y/N once, and he had told her the story he feeds to any human who asks. He’s a regional manager for an offshore company and it’s mainly a lot of online work. Handling duties through business emails, videochat meetings, job portals, and things of the such. It paints a valid image as to why he’s home all the time. He also claims to be the company’s lone contact stationed in California, so he handles all of the responsibilities that would normally be bestowed upon three or four people. This paints a valid explanation as to how his imaginary position would tether such a high pay grade, which justifies his luxurious living arrangement.

That story is part of the truth. Harry does indeed have ties with corporate businesses. That is, ties to their CEOs’ pockets. It’s surprisingly easy to get past secretaries and security dressed in a nice suit and thousand dollar leather shoes, especially with the help of compulsion and Harry’s golden charisma. Thanks to those tools, he has managed to convince some of the biggest leaders in corporate California to quietly deposit generous sums of money into his bank account once a month. And with his persuasive supernatural abilities, he convinces them to write it off as regularly scheduled charity donations in their minds. That’s how he makes a living for himself— by scamming the rich. Xander likes to take the piss and call him a sugar baby, but Harry sees himself as more of a modern day Robin Hood, instead. 

Mitch says his charade is unlawful, but considering how corrupt the business world already is, the vampire feels next to no guilt. The one percent have always taken advantage of those poorer than them— that was obvious even back in Harry’s time— and he doesn’t see anything wrong with taking advantage of them right back, now that he has the means to. How’s that saying go? “Fuck the bourgeoisie” and all that. 

Everything taken into consideration, Harry’s pretty excited to show Y/N his condo. Watching people’s faces break into awe the second he turns the lights on always gives him such a deep surge of satisfaction. It makes all the hassle worth it.  

The immortal is currently sitting in his vintage car, flicking through his Spotify playlist to find something to entertain him while he waits for Y/N to finish her shift. He had offered to pick her up, knowing that it’s what any courteous host would do, and she had appreciatively accepted, telling him she’d be out by eight P.M. It’s seven fifty-three now and Harry had arrived around seven fifty, taking the slot right in front of the cafe’s entrance so she can spot him as soon as she walks out. These ten minutes are the longest he’s ever had to endure, which says a lot considering he’s endured tons of patience-testing moments in his two hundred years.

Harry swipes his thumb down the glass screen of his phone, sampling songs left and right to see what will stick. After listening to the first few chords of an array of forties dance music, seventies rock and roll, and twenty-first century bubblegum pop, he settles for Rodeo by Lil Nas X. Harry has a very intricate taste in music— it’s one of the traits he’s most proud of— and Mitch often tells him he’s too snotty when it comes to his preferences. He’ll admit it freely that, yes, he can be a piece of work musically, but just because he thinks the industry peaked in the seventies doesn’t mean he hates modern music. He likes most of it, including rap, and Lil Nas X happens to be one of his favorites, much to everyone’s surprise. Most of the artist’s songs are eccentric not only lyrically but also instrumentally, to the point where it’s almost comical— who names a song Panini, of all things?— but the music is catchy and Harry can let loose to it easily. 

The vampire also happened to meet the musician, on one occasion. He ran into him at a club and after a few drinks and some banter, somehow ended up getting invited over to a party at the celebrity’s Malibu mansion. That night is a blur, definitely due to the copious amounts of alcohol and psychedelics, but Harry remembers they had fun and that the guy was worth a listen. In fact, he was the genius that came up with the theme for the rapper’s Rodeo music video. 

A light knocking on the passenger’s seat window brings him out of his memories. Y/N stands outside, hugging her arms loosely over her tummy, decked in her usual work uniform of a navy polo and black skinny jeans. When the two lock eye contact, she gives him a soft wave and a tired smile. Harry lifts two fingers in greeting, returning her polite gesture and swiftly lowering the window. He leans forward across the center console, his grin taking on a playful hue, voice carrying the same effect. 

“Uber for Y/N?” 

The girl snorts and rolls her eyes, but plays along, reaching forward and jiggling the handle of his black Cadillac symbolically. “That’s me, yes. Open up.” 

“Eh, eh, eh.” Harry tuts, wagging a finger in her direction and then making a motion that tells her to back away. “I’m gonna have to see some ID. It’s one of our new safe driver policies. Gotta make sure you are who you say you are, miss.” 

Y/N’s expression drops flatly, eyes half-lidded as he smiles up at her brightly, batting his eyelashes innocently. “Open the door before you end up sucking your own dick tonight.” 

Harry’s shit-eating face falls so fast, it causes her to burst into laughter. A soft click vibrates through the handle below her fingers. “I’ll waive the background check. Just this once.”  

“Yeah, I figured as much.” Y/N taunts, yanking the door open and ducking into the shotgun seat, gently tugging it closed behind her. 

Once the human is situated in her spot, she releases a lengthy sigh, sinking down against the cushions as she grabs her seat belt and clicks it into place. 

Harry puts his cell phone down into the cubby hole below the stereo set, setting the car in reverse and slinging an arm behind her headrest to get a better view as he backs out of the parking space. His gaze momentarily flickers to her slumped form as the car retreats slowly, tone curious. “Long day?���

Y/N glimpses over, giving him a quick once-over and taking in his olive green Nike jumper, ripped denim boyfriend jeans, and pastel yellow Vans. He looks so boyishly cute, which is ironic given the premise of tonight’s rendezvous. The shoes (which he had worn the night they’d met all those weeks ago) and the position he’s in (perched above her with his sharp jaw and neck flexing as he cranes his torso to look for oncoming traffic) flashes her back to the first time she had been in his car. They had been way less acquainted, she had been much less relaxed, much more nervous, but the encounter very much carried the same exact intentions. That recollection makes her lips quirk a bit. The pair had grown so comfortable with each other since then, that Friday evening feels like it happened decades ago. 

“Yeah.” Y/N murmurs softly, gladly indulging a deep inhale of the vanilla and tobacco scent she had become familiar with, allowing it to soothe her nerves and wash away the stress of a hard day. “I’m just happy it’s over and that the weekend’s finally started. Wanna forget all about it.” 

“Well, that’s what I’m here for, love!” Harry plops back into his seat, shifting his car into drive and gifting her his famous brilliant smile, dimples winking to life as he taps his ringed fingers across his steering wheel humorously. “I’ve made you forget your name plenty of times before; I’m pretty sure I can erase one shitty work shift just fine.”

Y/N scoffs at his pompous claim, reaching up and prying the hair tie out of her locks, looping it over her wrist and shushing her stiff roots. She tucks strands behind her ears, the corners of her mouth twitching in endearment at the giddiness of his aura. “Just drive, Sherlock.” 

The mortal isn’t surprised to find that building in which the vampire lives is one of the tallest in the city, and that it’s basically smack in the center, as well. One look at Harry and anybody could immediately tell he thrives off being the center of attention, so of course his home is a direct reflection of that. Refined boy, refined personality, refined environment. It’s practically a law of science. 

Once Harry’s car is parked and the ignition rumbles to a smooth stop, Y/N unbuckles her seat belt and goes to unlock the passenger’s side door. Right as her hand is wrapping around the handle bar, the door swings open of its own accord and she just barely manages to stifle a blood-curdling scream full of shocked fear. When her eyes focus, Harry is standing there holding the door open for her, features painted with cocky amusement. 

“How did you—?” The girl whips around to look at the empty driver’s seat, eyebrows cinching in bewilderment as she turns back to face him. “How did you get around so fast?” 

Harry shrugs his shoulders offhandedly, reaching one bejeweled hand down to aid her out of the vehicle. “I did track when I was younger. Made me a fast walker.” 

Y/N hesitantly takes it, body language still slightly tense from the jump scare. With his help, she gradually climbs out, the door shutting behind her as she sweeps her sight around the parking garage in wonder. This is the first time Harry has ever invited her anywhere, let alone to where he spends most of his life. She doesn’t want to miss a thing. Even the simplest aspect can tell you a lot about a person. 

Y/N jerks a tad when she feels her friend’s cold fingers slipping down her palm, sifting between her own. She glances down at their intertwined hands for a second, a warm glow bursting through her chest. She’s always admired how his are so much bigger. 

Harry tugs her forward toward the elevator at the other end of the parking lot, bottom lip caught between his teeth in a sly smirk. “C’mon, Watson. Let me show you around.” 

Y/N stumbles after him, allowing the boy to guide her to where she needs to go as he weeds through cars effortlessly. She suddenly chimes up from behind, asking a random question to fill the leftover silence their footsteps spare. “That car next to yours had such a weird license plate. What the fuck does ‘craic’ mean?” 

Harry chuckles knowingly, perfectly aware of whose car she is referring to. “It’s this odd thing Irish people say. Utter rubbish, honestly.” 

A comfortable quietness fills the air of the elegant elevator as it shoots up towards the twenty-fourth floor of the skyscraper, the only other sound being the gentle lullaby of a nameless tune wafting through the speakers above their heads. Harry finds himself studying Y/N as she looks out at the city through the glass walls, the lights of the exterior buildings casting a beautiful buttery gleam across her relaxed characteristics, along with a radiant glint over the surface of her glossy eyes. Despite the slightly smeared mascara staining her waterline and the inherent frizziness her hair carries after being pulled into a tight ponytail all day, Harry finds that she looks nice. Pretty, even. 

The girl senses him staring, craning her head to return his gaze, the edges of her lips lilting upwards lightheartedly. He returns the gesture, peeling away to focus on something— anything— else. He deems the control panel a worthy replacement.

As the numbers on the dial drag by, Harry finds himself absentmindedly thumbing over Y/N’s knuckles. She doesn’t seem to notice or mind, so he continues doing it, massaging the crest of each bump and pressing down gently along the troughs. He enjoys the sensation of her silky warm skin heating his icy own, and he ponders whether she likes how cold his touch is, or if she hates it as much as he does. He expels that notion from his mind; he refuses to let such a stupid concept upset him. He just keeps caressing her hand, restraining his mind from ambling too far into its meaning. It’s just to pass the time. 

He keeps the movements going until their ride skates to a joltless halt with a sharp ding! and then he steps out, having to give his full attention to leading her down the long corridor to his flat. Y/N is so caught up in drinking up her surroundings, she almost bumps into the creature when he comes to an abrupt stop in front of the entrance of what she can only deduce is his home. Harry drops her hand, much to her disappointment, fishing into his back pocket for his keys. He patiently filters through his keychain, picking out the right one and working it into the lock, a soft click emitting from the mechanism. 

Harry pushes the door open with his palm, standing off to the side just outside the threshold and tilting his head towards it, posture bowing slightly. “Ladies first.” 

Y/N thanks him quietly, taking a cautious step forward into his hallway. She can’t help the way her heart skips a beat at his gentlemanly tendencies; she rarely meets anyone as respectful as Harry seems to be and she finds his old-timey attributes to be refreshing. Helping her out the car, taking her hand to guide her through the parking lot, rubbing at her knuckles innocently, holding the door open for her— it’s all such an archaic form of chivalry she wishes she’d see more often these days. She doesn’t know if it’s a British thing, if he had just been raised like that, or if he simply does it to get laid, but she’s thankful for it either way. 

With one last glance at her friend over her shoulder, she begins wandering down the dark narrow path unsurely. The sound of the door slinking shut behind her and Harry’s footsteps ease her. 

She stops once she senses the corridor open up into a larger space, which she guesses is his living room. A soft gasp escapes her at the sight before her. The whole area is washed in darkness, the only source of light stemming from the large glass pane that stretches from the floor of the apartment to its tall ceiling. Dozens of buildings and cars glimmer below, the breath-taking image of the lively city looking almost like a snapshot from a professional movie. It’s absolutely gorgeous and she feels like she could stare at it for eons. 

A chilly hand suddenly presses along the dip of her spine, ushering her forward an inch or two, Harry’s invisible voice and warm breath hitting the shell of her left ear. “S’cuse me, dove.”   

The boy reaches behind her for the light switch and the condo bursts into radiance with one simple flick of his wrist. 

“Oh...my God.”

Harry’s home is something straight out of a luxury catalogue. The light floorboards and the mahogany panels. The massive leather couches and hand-sewn cushions. The extravagant chandeliers and glass staircase. The marble kitchen and generously packed liquor shelves. The ginormous wall of priceless artwork, littered with pieces from all different eras of history. It feels like stepping into a decor wonderland.

“Not too bad, huh?” Harry pipes up playfully, anchoring her back into reality from the floaty stupor that had consumed her mind. 

“Not too—? Are you kidding?” Y/N sputters incredulously, whizzing her head to the side sharply. “You were keeping an entire Four Seasons royal suite from me?!”

Harry belts out a bundle of childish giggles, the edges of his eyes crinkling and the tip of his button nose twitching. “I never thought of it much, to be honest. I’d grown to like your place.” 

“Right. Because a creaky mattress and a kitchen the size of a broom closet is so much more satisfying than chandeliers and a fucking glass wall.”

The vampire glimpses around his flat indicatively. “Okay, I see your point.”

“Exactly.” 

Y/N drifts forward, running the tips of her fingers across the backrest of the aged leather sofa and along the corners of the throw pillow, doing a slow circle at the middle of his home, taking everything in a second time around to make sure it isn’t a mirage. “Fuck, this is incredible. Is your boss looking for any more regional managers, by any chance?”

Harry follows after her, tucking his hands into the back pockets of his boyfriend jeans, chewing along the inside of his cheek to suppress a proud smile— a result of her explosive reaction. “I’m afraid my position is the one and only, sorry.”

Y/N droops her shoulders in exaggerated contempt, presenting a shitty English accent to tease him. “Bollocks.”

It garners the designated feedback, her tummy somersaulting at Harry’s exorbitant laughter. 

The boy comes to stand before her, cocking his head to the side questioningly towards his kitchen. “Can I offer you a drink?”

Y/N glimpses over at his bar area, eyes dancing over his extensive array of fancy bottles. “Oh, please do.”

Despite only having known Y/N for a few weeks, Harry has gotten quite acquainted with her tastes, even outside of sexual matters. She doesn't like the taste of alcohol, but she likes its effects. And he likes them, too, if he’s being honest. Her blood always begins to smell more appetizing after just a few sips and the way her cheeks heat up so easily when she’s buzzed always makes his breathing trip. 

He works his extensive skills, pulling from his liquor cabinet and mixing flavored liquids and syrups until he comes up with something that he thinks the girl will enjoy. It’s fruity, with hints of peach, lime, and strawberry, but also warm and fulfilling, with a rich whiskey and a few dashes of bitters. He plunks in a couple of ice cubes and mixes it together with a bar spoon, tapping it against the rim with finality and swiping it over his tongue in a quick taste test. He’s pretty happy with his concoction. 

Harry glances up to where Y/N is leaning against the armrest of his couch, her legs crossed before her as she stares at one of the abstract paintings mounted on his wall. It’s an original, as are the rest of them, which he had purchased some odd seventy years ago from a barely known artist whose talent had gone to waste in the world. It’s a deconstructed sunflower, with the color palette inverted and the strokes of the brush uneven and jagged. Odd and complicated, but beautiful, nonetheless. Its complexity is what makes it significant. 

The vampire slowly wanders over from his kitchen, holding her drink in one hand and a cloth napkin in the other. He takes the spot beside her along the armrest, speaking wistfully as if recalling a fond memory. “It’s a flower.”

Y/N nods slowly in recognition, peeling her gaze away with the corners of her lips jilting. “Mmhm, a sunflower.”

Harry’s brows jump in shock. Barely anyone ever guesses the identity correctly. He’s found that as time passes and humanity becomes more reliant on technology rather than cognizant knowledge, society in general has reduced to a more pea-brained state than ever. As a result, the amount of people who can interpret and understand the meaning behind complex artwork has greatly diminished, unfortunately, so he’s pleasantly surprised to find that one of the few who still possesses that talent happens to be the girl he’s shagging. “Wow, that’s a first. It’s so unusual, no one ever really gets it.”

“I guess I just have an affinity for the unusual.” His guest quips, giving him a jesting shrug of her eyebrows and a suggestive grin. 

You have no idea.

“You underestimated me, Holmes.” 

“That I did. My sincerest apologies.” Harry returns her joking simper, proceeding to then dip an index finger inside the stout glass in his grasp, bringing it up before her face. “Taste.”

Without breaking eye contact, Y/N parts her lips and allows him to coax the wet digit in, the tangy flavor of the mixture making her taste buds tingle. She encloses her mouth around his finger, lulling her tongue along it slowly with a mischievous glint shining across her irises. 

Harry’s prominent jaw clenches as he watches the scene unfold, breath bated and a moan threatening to betray him. She truly wastes no time.

He gradually pulls his finger from her tongue, struggling to clear his throat, missing its texture already. “How is it? More syrup? More biters?”

Y/N gazes up at him drunkenly, though it’s definitely not from the liquor. Her lips quirk cheekily as a result of how visibly frazzled she’d gotten him. “It’s perfect. Better than anything I’ve had at a club, that’s for sure.” 

“Yeah?” Harry taps his opal ring against the bottom of the lowball glass, trying to reign in his previous composure. “Think I could be a bartender?” 

“You don’t hit me as the type of person who has the patience for it.” The girl remarks wittily, slinking her head to the side and biting back a giggle when Harry makes a face at her.

“You make a valid point, I suppose.” The vampire responds with an airy sigh, nodding in surrender. “The stupid blabbing from drunk morons and impending fear of being vomited on would be too much for me. I wouldn’t last a day.” 

“You wouldn’t last a single night, let alone a whole day.”

“Alright, pipe down!” Harry deadpans, bumping her shoulder with his vengefully. “You’re bruising my ego.”

“It’s humongous,” Y/N snorts, shoving him in return, “it can take a few hits.”

The pair sit there in silence for a suspended moment, just taking in the expanse of the art before them. Harry then turns his torso towards her once more, bringing the drink in his grip up to her mouth. “Here, have a proper sip. Put my all into it.” 

Y/N obliges, looking up at him with her signature doe-like air of trusting innocence, allowing him to tip the hem of the cup against her mouth. The cool beverage filters through her taste buds and down her throat, the sweet and sour mixture leaving an enjoyable tingle in its wake. A few streams of the liquid bead out of the corners of her lips and Harry impulsively gathers them with the side of his index finger, the napkin in his other hand completely forgotten. 

As he goes to pull back in order to clean up, Y/N leans forward and traps his digit between her lips like before. This time, there’s a more insistent sultry hint sparkling around her pupils. 

“Christ...” Harry pants, watching Y/N work her way down his forefinger with a silent groan hinging on his teeth. 

He doesn’t deny himself from indulging the dirty action this time around. Her mouth is as soft and warm as ever, sending chills racing down his spine despite the sweater hugging his body. His mind slips for a second, reminiscing in all the other ways he’s felt the inside of her mouth before, a faint red tinge splattering across his cheekbones. 

Y/N draws his finger out, kissing messily across its length and over the pad, looking up at him through tension-heavied lashes. She doesn't speak a word, but her intentions are clear in the electricity between them.

He can’t hold back any longer, his next comment coming out as a pained growl. “God, you’re such a filthy little thing.”  

She hums softly in the back of her throat at his explicit compliment, suckling at the center of her bottom lip needily. “I like being your filthy little thing.”

Harry swallows thickly in order to keep himself somewhat tame, fangs suddenly pricking his tongue in warning.

The mortal scoots closer to him, sifting her fingers between his around the drink and bringing it upwards, downing the last couple of inches in one go. She draws the cup from his grasp, reaching over to set it down carefully on the coffee table before turning back and snuggling deeper into his heaving chest. 

Harry scoffs in amusement, but he can feel a certain charring scratching at the back of his throat. “Drinks like that are meant to be savored, darling. You’re not supposed to just pound them.” 

Y/N stretches her neck upwards, taking his earlobe between her teeth, lips wet and cold from the alcohol. His lashes flutter when her warm breath hits his skin, contradicting the sensations from before. 

“Why don’t you let me worry about how I drink, and you can worry about a different kind of pounding.”

And that’s all it takes, really. That’s all it takes for Harry to completely drop any self-control he has left. 

The creature jars his face towards her, large hand shooting upwards to grip her jaw firmly, holding her in place as he crashes their mouths together. It’s all tongue and clacking teeth, desperate whines and stuttered gasps. Y/N’s hands fumble for something to tether to while Harry takes it upon himself to grasp at her opposite hip with his free hand, yanking her onto his lap. She buries her fists in the cotton fabric of his jumper, balancing her knees on either sides of his parted thighs. The boy’s fingers coast from her jaw down to her throat, tightening ever so slightly. The action is minimal, but it reveals that flare of dominance Y/N has become addicted to. 

“Do you want it here?” Harry rasps against her eager tongue, smirking into the kiss when he feels her start to rock along the bulge that is beginning to tent his denim pants. “Do you want me to bend you over the couch and fuck you, baby? With the chandelier making your skin glow? Where we can put on a show for the whole city to see?”

It’s a tempting offer and his words obviously have some form of impact, seen in the way Y/N’s grinding takes on a hungrier, deeper pace against his clothed cock. 

“I want…” Y/N finds it difficult to voice her desires, the responsible party being the manner in which Harry glues cracked mewls onto the roof of her mouth. “I want it in your bed.” 

She doesn’t know why, but she just wants him to take her some place where the moment they share is intimate, unseen by the prying eyes of others. She wants to christen his bed exactly how he had done hers; she craves that strange connection, for some reason. Y/N isn’t naive, she knows she’s not the only person Harry has had in his home and in his sheets. But she wants that experience, nonetheless, even if it doesn’t necessarily mean anything. She knows she’s not his only, but at least she’s one. 

Harry slowly breaks their kiss, brushing the tip of his nose across her own in a small comforting gesture. He blinks at her groggily, the copper specks in his eyes glitzing under the golden hue of the lighting. When he speaks, its soft and low, almost as if he doesn’t want to risk another soul overhearing. “Okay. Whatever you want, it’s yours.” 

Y/N almost doesn’t get anything she wants, given that she nearly kills herself on the trek up the stairs, courtesy of her weakened knees and wobbly ankles. Harry just barely manages to save her, but he finds the occurrence too hilarious to spare her the embarrassment. 

“Stop laughing, it’s not funny!” She exclaims indignantly as he helps her up the last few glass steps, clinging to him like a scared puppy, her hands still shaking with adrenaline. “I could have died!” 

Her shrieking only makes him laugh harder and he nearly keels over, palm clutching his stomach as if to keep it from popping. “I’m sorry, I really am, but it’s just— your face when you— and how you tripped sideways— I—”

Y/N shoves him hard towards the corridor where his bedroom lies, but it’s hard to maintain an angry demeanor when the young man’s giggles sound like bells and when he looks so cute with his curls flopping across his forehead. “Dickhead.” 

They’re almost at his bedroom door when Harry grabs onto her wrist, tugging her roughly so that she lurches forward into his chest. He plants a wet kiss onto the bridge of her nose, expression entertained. “Stop being such a bad sport. It was pretty funny.”

“Yeah, okay.” She huffs begrudgingly, glancing down impatiently at his plump lips as he walks backwards down the hallway with her in tow. “You can invalidate my rage once you have a near death experience yourself.”

The irony of it all. 

Harry kicks the door open, ghosting his mouth over Y/N’s and watching her sight do a quick sweep around the area. “Welcome to my lair.” 

The human likes his aesthetic. The room has different hues of the same color, so it all ties together nicely, and the hanging lights look like miniature versions of the two large ones downstairs. The bed is huge, which is a relief because for once, they won’t have to actively worry about accidentally rolling off the edge mid-fuck. “It’s nice. Very chic.” 

“Thanks.” Harry reaches up and cups either side of her neck with his palms, dragging his damp lips over her chin and down the center of her jugular, smiling against her skin when he feels her shiver. “It doesn't have a bookshelf wall like yours, but I make due.”

“Yeah.” Y/N wisps out weakly, leaning her head back as he speckles his mouth across that sensitive point on her throat he discovered ages ago. “I bet.”

She feels Harry’s touch travel down her torso, cold fingers suddenly smearing across her love handles beneath her work shirt. His grip tightens at the hem with the intention of pulling the polo off, breath hot as it washes over her collarbones. “Wanna find out just how good I make it work?”

Y/N’s arms instinctively raise on command, her reply shaky and fragile. “Yes, please.” 

Harry makes it work. He makes it work so fucking well. He doesn’t need crazy positions or any vibrating toys to make her feel good; he just knows her so thoroughly by now that he’s able to tend to every single one of her needs like it’s his sole purpose. The sex is missionary, with her splayed out across her back upon his mound of feathered pillows, her thighs clamped over his hips as he slams into her at a harsh, curt pace. Her calves are tied around the backs of his thighs, her nails are carving memories into the broad expanse of his shoulders, they’re both panting curse words and encouragement into each other’s mouths, and he’s cradling her to his chest as if he wants to absorb her heartbeat right through her ribs. If only obtaining one were that easy. 

Y/N allows her head to fall back against the cushions, drawing away from the prolonged kiss only because she needs air to continue. Harry’s lips busy themselves elsewhere, running down the valley of her chest and toying with one of her pebbled nipples. Y/N’s back gives a sharp arch the second he brushes across the sensitive nub and the taunting coo he releases goes straight to her core. 

“Liked that, darling? Like it when I kiss you there?”

The girl’s lashes have fallen shut, her eyes lulling around in their sockets as he maintains a steady rhythm between her thighs, ramming into her with so much force, the headboard is knocking into the wall. It’s loud and intense enough that Harry has to fit one of his palms between the railings, bracing the weight of the bed in order to prevent a hole from forming. 

Y/N’s voice fills the dense atmosphere, so shattered and raw, she can hardly understand herself. “It feels so— so good, H.” 

“I love it when you call me that. Sounds so pretty coming from your lips.” The vampire’s tongue flicks over her nipple a handful of times, dark veins momentarily webbing over the whites of his eyes at the cracked whimper she lets loose. “And of course it feels good. I always make you feel good, don’t I? Always make my girl cum so—fucking—hard.” 

Y/N’s trembling fingers card into the curls along the nape of Harry’s neck as he thrusts to his words, twisting them around her knuckles and swimming in the throaty groan he pours over the clammy skin of her breasts. Her whisper sounds distant and dreamy. “Please...Please don’t stop.”

Harry gazes up at her through heavy lashes, lapping at her chest more fervently, accent thick and deep. “I won’t, baby. Not until I have you dripping all over my sheets.”

After a few more minutes of fractured moans bouncing around the panels of the room and the noise of wet skin slapping together, something catches Y/N’s bleary eyes. She wills past the blissful fog in her mind, focusing on the intriguing object hanging from one of the railings of Harry’s bedpost, swaying back and forth wildly due to his strong tempo. 

“Are those...Are those handcuffs?” 

Harry’s attention jumps to where hers is pinned, his powerful stride coming to a gradual stop. He’s heaving and shuddering above her, ringlets matted to his jaw and across his temples, cheeks flushed the prettiest shade of cherry red. His Adam’s Apple bobs once and he gives a short nod. “Y-Yeah. I’ve had them for a while...”

The hope dripping from his voice is practically palpable and Y/N interprets it easily. She glances down at him as he takes quivering inhales against her chest, his eyes bleeding lust. Her mumble is so quiet and soft, he wonders how it’s possible for her to make some of the preposterously loud sounds he’s used to hearing whenever he’s buried this deep. “Use them on me. Please?”

Harry bends to her request without hesitation. He locks her wrists into the restraints, sponging a kiss onto each before giving them one hard tug to check for security. He then regains his rough slams, but with more fervor than before. 

The monster sits back onto his heels, groping her waist roughly and working her against his thighs, watching welts form on her flesh along the pads of his fingers. Y/N unconsciously begins circling her hips to match his speed and the fractured groan that rips out of him makes her walls tighten. He looks incredible looming in front of her, head toppled back between his shoulder blades, bouncing to his every ram. His throat flexes with the weight, jaw taut and inked pectorals glistening with sweat under the dim lights dangling from his ceiling. “That’s it, pet, just like that. Love the way you ride it. You’re so fucking tight and warm and...and just— Christ, just fuck me.”

She wishes she could frame this moment in time and drag it out forever.  

Harry swings his head forward again, blinking the blurriness from his vision to take in the image before him. Y/N just looks so fucking gorgeous like that, tied down at his beck and call, her chest bouncing pertly as her fingers bunch around the chain link, thighs clinging to his waist as she chews her bottom lip raw in an attempt to control her noises. 

The vampire ducks down, connecting their mouths in a sloppy kiss that cajoles her into spilling all the moans she had been withholding. He feels them trickle down his lungs and diffuse into his bones, flames lapping across his insides as their foreheads bump and noses smudge, ragged breaths intermingling. “Let it out for me, hm? Wanna know how I’m making you feel, don’t care who hears.”

As if that isn’t enough, there’s an instance where Harry’s animalistic senses suddenly enhance and he comes to the realization that the metal cuffs have made a tiny laceration along her skin. 

A thin trail of blood travels down her suspended arm, but she doesn’t seem to notice, too lost in the pleasure Harry is pounding into the pit of her stomach. So he simply leans upwards and licks the sweet droplet clean, feeling heat spark across every fiber of his being. He laps up the entire stream and then presses a tender kiss to her palm for good measure, grunting out a gentle, “There’s a good girl.” when she whines at the affectionate gesture. 

The release Harry is getting from between Y/N’s legs mixes with the ecstasy her blood brings, and it shoves him over the edge in a manner he hasn’t experienced since that first time they slept together all those weeks ago. Since the first time he tasted what lies in her veins, while also simultaneously getting to taste the indescribable relief her body so readily brings him.

After all is said and done that night, something peculiar happens. After they both milk their orgasms for everything it’s worth, and after Y/N gives into exhaustion in his arms with her wrists bruised and a content watery smile on her face, and after he gets a heftier drink from her neck and heals the two little puncture wounds with his own blood...The most bizarre, unexpected event occurs. 

Harry falls asleep soundly for the first time in months, and all he dreams about is how Y/N tasted. 

///

Y/N wakes up the next morning to her body covered in Harry’s Nike jumper, to an empty spot beside her in the messy duvet, to a familiar tune tinging her ears from a distance, and to a satisfying ache between her thighs. 

As soon as she cracks the bedroom door open, the smell of pancakes wafts in through the chilled morning air. Specifically, lemon and blueberry pancakes. Her grandmother’s lemon and blueberry pancakes.

A shiver runs down Y/N’s spine the second she sets a toe along the cold glass panels of Harry’s staircase. She takes a deep breath, pulling the extra length of the sweater’s sleeves over her fists and tugging the hem of the article downwards as if she could convince it to cover more than just half her thighs. She carefully works her way down the steps, flinching at the iciness that travels up her legs with every motion. When she finally thunks down emptily onto the light-wash floorboards, her body has grown accustomed to the temperature. As she pads across the furry rug in Harry’s living room, she finds herself wondering why everything connected to him is always so unusually cold— colder than any normal person could withstand. His touch, his lips, the tip of his nose, his forehead, his chest, even his thighs; everything is always freezing, and she doesn’t understand how he can bear it. It’s such an odd affinity to have. 

The human gradually wanders into the vampire’s kitchen, peeking inside the room from behind one of the archway’s walls. What she sees throws her for a loop. 

Harry is cooking breakfast, as she expected from the sweet scent she’d awoken to, but he’s doing it in a manner she never really expected from him. 

Music stems from a portable speaker he has situated at the center of the marble kitchen island, blaring loud enough to fill the entire giant home with high notes, guitar chords, and acapella riffs. The young man is dancing across his kitchen as he cooks, clad in nothing but a set of black Calvin Klein briefs and a pair of fuzzy magenta socks. Y/N rakes down his body, admiring the crimson and purple love bites she had left on his chest and the raspberry red scratches zig-zagging across his back, the marks flexing with the movements of his muscles. They’re strangely faint, for some reason. Practically barely there. 

She chalks it up to the fact that maybe she hadn’t bruised him as much as she’d thought. 

Y/N forces herself to keep her mind from straying onto anymore explicit topics; it’s probably not even ten A.M. yet. She needs to get herself under control.

Grooving while in the kitchen isn’t necessarily weird (she’s guilty of it herself), but Harry’s dancing techniques very much are. The only accurate depiction of it is that for a boy in his twenties, he dances like an old geezer in his eighties. His moves are choppy and old-schooled, almost like what you’d expect to see in a nineteen fifties disco hall, and watching him ebb and flow across the tiled ground to choreography similar to that of Dirty Dancing and Footloose... It would send anybody into a fit of laughter. Especially since Harry is so tall and lanky, so how he manages to move in such a way is beyond her understanding. 

Aside from that, his choice of music is baffling, as well. Not only because she recognizes the soundtrack, but because she would have never expected someone like him— with his cocky behavior and overly-confident caliber— to be into these types of songs at all. She always pegged him for the seventies rock and roll type. 

“You like Hamilton?” 

Harry’s actions creak to a halt and he whips around towards where the disturbance had stemmed, spatula clutched in one hand and a marble plate stacked with pancakes in the other. His face breaks into a bright smile, voice slathered with dramatic friendliness. “Well, look who finally got up! I was starting to think you were dead, Sleeping Beauty.”

Y/N narrows her eyes at him mockingly, walking over to the kitchen counter and propping herself onto her elbows, chin in hand as she watches him set down the platter of food before her. She tips forward onto her toes, taking a deep inhale of the homey, sugary smell, letting it wash over her in flashes of childhood memories. “Are these like the ones I make?”

“Lemon and blueberry, yeah.” Harry bobs his head casually, turning around to place his metal spatula down into the sink, as well as to retrieve a glass bottle of maple syrup from one of his cupboards. “They’re pretty close, I think. I’ve never seen you use a recipe or measuring cups or anything when you make them, so I kinda eyeballed it to the best of my ability. Hope I did your nan justice.”

He pours a decently-sized glop of syrup over the mountain of treats and Y/N watches excitedly as it trickles down all the layers. He then pushes back from the table, pulling open a drawer and rummaging through, continuing to whistle along to the tune of Satisfied as he bops the cabinet closed with his hip and sets down an extra pair of forks and knives beside the plate. 

Harry cuts a neat triangle out of the pancake at the top, pointing at her with his fork as he shrugs his brows nonchalantly. “And to answer your question from before: yes, I do like Hamilton.”

“Hm. Interesting.” Y/N murmurs, going cross-eyed as Harry offers her the forkful of food in his possession, poking at her mouth playfully and getting maple syrup all over her lips. She opens obediently, allowing him to feed her the piece. “You don’t really seem like the type of guy— oh, wow, these are actually really good!”

Harry bites into his lower lip with his two front teeth, a proud smile dimpling his cheeks as the light draft from the air vent ruffles a couple of his sex-mussed ringlets across his forehead. “Yeah? You mean it?”

The mortal nods her head vigorously as she finishes chewing and swallowing, wiping away some of the leftover syrup from her top lip with her middle finger and sucking it clean. “Yeah! You hit it spot on.”

“Aces. I should be on The Great British Bake Off.” Harry makes a small, celebratory fist bump next to his hip and the childish gesture makes Y/N snort softly. 

“Like I was saying, you don’t really strike me as the type of guy who would be into musicals.” The girl comments, watching her friend cut another triangle out of the first pancake and pop it into his own mouth. 

The vampire chews thoughtfully for a second, lifting one shoulder offhandedly and swallowing fully before talking. “I’m really not, to be honest. But this specific musical is pretty good. The songs are catchy.”

He nudges the other pair of utensils across the counter for emphasis, silently inviting her to dig into the dish along with him. She accepts, slicing down the other side of the stack as he leans forward onto his elbows, mimicking her stance. He gives her a curious glance. “What about you? Do you like musicals?” 

Y/N shrugs, poking a few chunks of food onto her fork. “Not really, but I had a major Hamilton phase back in college. That’s why I recognized it.” 

Harry hums in understanding, picking a blueberry off and chewing it slowly, a sly smirk beginning to tweak the corners of his mouth. “So were you, like, a nerd back then?” 

“Well, I wouldn’t say a nerd, but I had decent grades and was pretty quiet.”

He swallows down audibly, blinking impassively. “That’s literally the definition of a nerd.” 

Y/N returns his flat expression. “Fuck off.”

Harry throws his palms up in peaceful surrender, but he still has that shit-eating grin present. “Alright, fine, fine...It’s okay if you were, though. You were probably one of those cute ones, y’know? With the clunky glasses and innocent goody-goody face.” 

“Shut up.”

“Oh, and with one of those short little plaid skirts?” He releases a pained groan, clutching his chest and closing his eyes for a second. She has no doubt he’s sketching some type of graphic image of her in his mind. “God, I bet you looked so good. Do you still have it? Can you wear it for me?”

“I said shut up!” Y/N reaches forward and stabs at his tummy lightly with her fork, ignoring the warmth crawling up her neck and across her cheeks. “Fucking perv.”

Harry smacks her utensil away with his own, giggling lightly as she tries to prick him again, continuing to fight her off. “I’m just asking a question! For science!” 

Y/N twists her fork around his, trying to outmaneuver him into dropping it. “How could my fashion sense in college possibly contribute to science in any way?” 

The vampire easily catches onto her play, slipping himself out of her grasp and trying to trap her makeshift sword down against the tabletop. He purses his lips into a simper, glimpsing up at her through his lashes and quirking his brows cheekily. “Biologically, of course. It contributes to my solo reproductive activities.”

“You are vile.” 

“Really? ‘Cause you seemed pretty happy to help with said activities last night.” 

Y/N drops her fork onto the brim of the platter, reaching up to massage at her temples and keep herself from swatting Harry’s eyeballs out of their sockets. “I’m finished.” 

“Yeah,” the jade of his irises glimmers coyly as he sets down his utensil beside hers in a ceasefire, “you definitely finished.”

Harry chuckles boyishly as Y/N drags her palms down her face, trying to hide away how flustered he’s getting her. She decides to change the subject, not caring to steer the conversation smoothly at all, but rather jumping to another topic right away. “So does this mean you have all the lyrics memorized? Since you like them so much?” 

“I do, yeah.” Harry taps his fingers against the marble counter to the beat of the song currently playing. “Do you?” 

“I was obsessed, so of course I do.” Y/N reasons, her own digits following in tune with the immortal’s. “I think Non-Stop was probably my favorite to sing. It made for a good shower concert.”

“Well, it’s settled then.” Harry quips happily, reaching for his phone and tapping across the screen. “We’re duetting this. Right now. C’mon, Burr.”

Y/N’s motions stop, shyness creeping in from the back of her brain. “Oh, I don’t know, Harry. I never really—”

Her refusal is interrupted by the beginning of the arrangement mentioned, the notes blasting through the speaker as Harry purposefully turns up the volume to drown her out. He taps at his ear symbolically, mouthing, “Sorry, I can't hear you!” and he doesn’t even attempt to ward off the evil grin creeping across his face. 

“Harry, I’m serious—” 

But it’s already too late. Harry juts his hand out in front of him, pointing at his companion with a theatrical edge as he begins to serenade, picking up the slack of her part. 

“After the war I went back to New York. A-After the war I went back to New York. I finished up my studies and I practiced law. I practiced law, Burr worked next door!”

He looks at her expectantly, urging her to jump into the next half as her assigned role. Y/N muscles down her hesitation and recites the lines timidly with her brows creased in hesitation, but at least she’s participating. “Even though we started at the very same time, Alexander Hamilton began to climb. How to account for his rise to the top?”

Harry joins her in the next stanza, grabbing her hand midair in encouragement, trying to shake her out of her rut. “Man, the man is non-stop!”

Y/N is surprised at how well they sound harmonizing together, and she can feel her discomfort slowly begin to melt. She watches as Harry freely boasts his solo with absolutely no remorse, making grand gestures as he slides down the side of the counter, his movements dragging her along. 

“Gentlemen of the jury, I'm curious, bear with me. Are you aware that we're making history?” The boy taps at his chin to symbolize that he’s thinking, acting out the story the lyrics construct. “This is the first murder trial of our brand-new nation, the liberty behind deliberation.”

He points at Y/N once again and she does the supporting vocals, gradually beginning to gain more confidence. “Non-stop!”

“I intend to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt, with my assistant counsel—”

Harry doesn’t even have to cue Y/N this time around; she picks up her half immediately, falling into line with him flawlessly as if they’ve done this a million times before. “Co-counsel. Hamilton, sit down. Our client Levi Weeks is innocent, call your first witness.”

Harry quickly rounds the corner of the kitchen island, giving her body a grand spin as he draws closer, coming to stand right before her. She gives him a fake exasperated look to match the attitude her character depicts, shaking her head in disapproval. “That's all you had to say.”

“Okay…” The creature yanks Y/N forward into his bare chest, leaning down and flirting his lips right over hers tauntingly, eyes half-lidded in amusement. “One more thing—”

“Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room? Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room?” The girl rolls her eyes dramatically, shoving past Harry’s shoulder and she finds it humorous how these lines fit so well, almost as if they were actually directed at him, calling him out on the arrogance he always seems to dote. “Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room? Soon that attitude may be your doom.”

Harry swivels on his heel, following her as she scurries outside the kitchen entrance, running into the living room. 

“Why do you write like you're running out of time?” Y/N grabs onto one of the couch cushions, pretending to scribble over it with a fake pen. “Write day and night, like you're running out of time? Everyday you fight, like you're running out of time.”

Harry swipes at her from across the couch, trying to grasp onto the jumper she’s wearing. “Keep on fighting in the meantime.”

Y/N ducks out of the path of his grabbing hand, chucking the pillow forward and it bonks him square in the face. She sticks her tongue out at him as Harry scowls dully, climbing onto his sofa and scuttling towards her on his hand and knees.

She jumps just out of reach, diving across the other end of the furniture. The vampire throws his weight to try and tackle her to the sofa, but she just barely escapes. He ends up toppling over the backrest due to his over-abundant momentum. 

“Non-stop!” Y/N waves her middle up at him triumphantly as he pushes himself up off the ground, giving her a challenging look as he takes off after her once again. 

The pair continue to sing back and forth, with Harry chasing Y/N around the living room and kitchen as he belts out his part of the song, Y/N always somehow managing to slip from his grasp as soon as her turn hits. They’re a mess of giggles, silly faces, and boisterous actions as they reenact the play and neither can recall a time they had ever had more fun. There’s never been an instance when they felt so comfortable with another soul that they are willing to run around half-naked, screaming lyrics at each other in their underwear, not caring who sees or overhears. It just feels so second-nature.

A section of the song comes up where a woman is singing and Harry immediately takes up the part, placing his hand on his bare hip and standing in the most feminine fashion he can possibly muster, fanning at his face. “I am sailing off to London, I am accompanied by someone who always pays.” 

The exaggeration makes Y/N bend over laughing and her distraction allows Harry to nab her. He pulls her into his embrace by her forearms, cackling through the following stanza as she wriggles and squirms to try and get free. “I have found a wealthy husband who will keep me in comfort for all my days.” 

Y/N finally gives up on trying to thrash herself free, going limp against his chest and glimpsing up at him with begrudged annoyance, but a fond smile is unmistakably buckling her cheeks. Harry leans down, singing right in her face just to flaunt his victory, their noses brushing. “He is not a lot of fun, but…”

And then, there’s a shift in the ambiance between them. 

Harry gazes down at her as she giggles up at him from his arms, full of so much genuine warmth and excitement, she could power the entire city if she wanted. Her shoulders are heaving slightly as a result of all the running, there’s still faint traces of black mascara smeared under her waterline and down her cheeks from the previous evening’s exertions, she has some acne scarring littering her cheekbones that look fairly recent, and her hair looks like it could nest a family of at least ten birds. But despite these imperfections, Harry finds himself feeling oddly endeared by it all. These flaws are all things he’s gotten used to and has grown to treasure in Y/N. They make her who she is. They make her witty, and they make her clever. They make her fun, as well as trusting. They make her likeable, and energetic, and kind. They make her a good friend and a generous lover. They make her... her. Harry gets the feeling that if she didn’t have all of these traits— if even one was missing— this little arrangement they have going wouldn’t have flourished the way it did. 

Yeah, maybe he would have slept with her once or twice more just to scratch an itch, but he most likely would have let it fizzle to an end after the fact. Her personality paired with these small details— albeit, not all entirely attractive— that make up her existence play a key role in the dynamic they share. And he wouldn’t trade them for anything else— wouldn't trade Y/N for anyone else. Not anytime soon. 

A warm surge travels through his chest, filling his veins like kerosine, heating him from the heels of his socked feet to the tips of his ice cold fingers. An unorthodox swelling sensation twists inside his ribs, right where his heart used to beat, and he finds himself reciting the next line in a soft voice packed with more emotion than he’s shown or felt in the last two centuries.

“There’s no one who can match you, for turn of phrase…”

Y/N seems oblivious to all of the unsettling experiences he’s undergoing, her amused expression not changing in the slightest. Harry allows the rest of the song lyrics to pass by, the lump in his throat too heavy to fight. Instead, he just keeps staring down at Y/N with brows frowning in confusion, his breathing coming out bated and shaky, and that knot in his chest continuing to tighten until it becomes painful. He gets the sudden urge to kiss her— to feel her lips press to his and feel her give into him the way she always does. The way she has for the last four weeks. He doesn’t want it to be sloppy or desperate or sexual; he wants it to be intimate, soft, and caring. He wants it to be special. Something they share. Something only they share.

Then, that moment passes. That flicker of weakness that had leaked through vanishes and Harry feels like he can breathe properly again.

He breaks their locked eyes, releasing Y/N from his hold and taking a swift step back, coughing awkwardly to try and rid the tickling sensation in the back of his throat. He scratches at the nape of his neck nervously, fiddling with his baby curls and attempting to piece himself back together after that unexpected and unwelcome intrusion of his innermost feelings. Though, he doesn’t know if that spectacle even files under the category of emotions; from what he remembers, they aren’t supposed to tangibly attack you in such a manner. It felt more like a violation— like someone had gone in and started poking and prodding at his subconscious with a metal skewer. 

“Harry…?” Y/N inches closer to him, concern prevalent in her voice and across her features as she stretches her hand out caringly. “Are you okay? You look like you’re about to be sick.” 

“I-I’m—” His voice comes out higher than usual and quivering, so he coughs once again to get it under control, taking another step back. He's scared that if she touches him, that horrible burning sensation will come back. “I’m fine. Just...Just forgot the lyrics.” 

“Oh, okay…” The girl doesn’t sound convinced with the answer, but she lets the subject falter anyways, her hand dropping back down beside her thigh. “Just checking.” 

“Yeah, I got that. Uh, thanks. But I’m all good now.” He holds up a clenched first and juts out his pinky, wiggling it for significance. “Promise”

Y/N scoffs gently at his playful deed. “Alright, then.” 

Harry eyes her attentively as she returns to her previous spot in front of the plate of pancakes, retrieving her fork and starting to pick at them like before, as if nothing had happened. As if Harry hadn’t just almost had a cardiac arrest, despite the fact that the organ responsible had crumbled to dust ages ago.

“Are you gonna eat anymore?” Y/N signals down at the stack of pastries before her questioningly. “Because if you don’t get some now, I’ll eat them all myself. Don’t think I won’t. They’re better than the ones I make and—”

The vampire suddenly feels like bile is rising up his throat and his words spew out before he can think to stop them, though he’s not so sure he would. 

“Do you want to stay over the rest of the weekend?”

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