#That said she does seem to be using Harris branding for this run

[maeamian]

Look, I'm not saying that the first name thing is never a sign of disrespect, but one reason people call her Kamala instead of Harris is because that's the campaign branding she used in the 2020 primaries. Same thing for Hillary, she decided on campaign branding that focused on her first name because quite simply there had already been a president with the same last name. But at the same time, there's Bernie, there's Beto, there's Mayor Pete, they are known by their first names in politics because that's the political branding that they went with.

Similarly when it comes to last name branding Donald has gone all in to the point that you probably had to think for a fraction of a second to get to Trump when I used the first name. I understand that sexism exists, but I am not positive that these two candidates having their more common used name be their first one is a good example of it.

[kingsansa]

Hi ! I just wanted to say I (cried) so much for PP last night lol such a beautiful story, feels like it's the type of story that has been waiting for me. I normally tend to skip incomplete story simply because I can't bear with waiting (just like now!). I really feel so so close to your Sansa, and at the same time I struggle to understand her and her thoughts. She seems... so sad. Yet, she claims she isn't overall. I wanted to ask if you could talk about her to me, maybe let me know your opinion on her. At times she breaks my heart because I think "she's depressed", other times I think whatever she has in her head would just be fixed in only she said it out loud.. Anyway. Thank you for sharing this story with us. Looking forward to the new chapter! xx

At the moment, a lot of her words aren’t aligning with her actions. She says she’s not sad but she’s in this brand new city and missing home every second that she’s alone. She says that she trusts Jon but she clearly doesn’t trust him enough to talk about things (skating with Edric, Dany, etc) She says that she forgives him but as much as she refuses to admit it, the past is still impacting how she interacts with him in the present. She isn’t being honest with herself. She’s always been an anxious person and that anxiety is manifesting itself in the worst way here and she’s struggling to manage it.

Still, she’s a very strong person. Having a kid isn’t easy. Raising him along for seven months isn’t easy. Deciding to move hundreds of miles away from home isn’t easy. But Jon is her first love. To call what she has for him a soft spot would be the understatement of the century. He’s her “Achilles heart” as Carrie Fisher would say. Aside from the cheating, Harry didn’t get away with half of the shit that Jon did, and the only reason Harry got away with cheating is because she was trying to GET OVER Jon. He’s everything to her. So when we see her not telling him things, holding back, not being upfront with her feelings, it’s all with the hope of keeping him around in mind. He’s told her over and over again that he’s not going anywhere but she can’t make herself completely believe him. And it’s not just because she’s been burned before, but because it isn’t just her life anymore.

And she draws strength from that—having Robbie changed her. In some ways, I do think it restored some of her pride. Right now, we don’t really see that because she’s letting Jon slide on A LOT because she hid Robbie from him, and she’s still beating herself up about that but her threshold for bullshit is a lot lower than it used to be and in the next chapter, we’re gonna start seeing what it looks like when he pushes at those limits.

The cherry on top (to me) is that Jon is completely unaware of this change. Obviously, he knows that it changed her life, just as knowing that Robbie existed changed his, but he definitely still believes he’s dealing with 15 year old sansa, 18 year old sansa, the sansa that he could—for lack of better phrasing—run game on. (No it wasn’t intentional but that’s what he did.) Unfortunately for him, that’s not the case. That girl could afford to give you fiftyleven chances. This woman cannot. Not only that, but she’s been around the block with Harry a couple times now, does he not know she thinks what a lie sounds like? The only reason he’s being allowed to get away with it is because one, she NEEDS what he said to be the truth, and two, she knows she didn’t really have a right to ask in the first place.

tldr: I love her just as much as my other sansa’s and I could write a whole essay on her and Jon is in for a rude awakening and I can’t WAIT

[ramblings-of-a-mad-cat]

Just gonna weigh in on the Hogwarts Legacy drama real quick

If you've dipped your toes in the tag, you've seen what a storm it is. Also, if you follow my posts, you likely already know my thoughts. Still.

I'm someone who's not giving Rowling one cent ever again, and I'm not buying the game for that reason. If at some point, I have the opportunity to play the game without supporting Rowling, then I probably will, out of curiosity if nothing else, but I'm definitely not going out of my way. Of course, I can always use an emulator, which is an easy enough solution, but we'll see.

I've not played, but I've seen footage, including details about the whole controversy with the Goblins. I have my doubts that they were ever intended to be a stereotype, but the stereotype still exists and this game...does not help. One of the primary antagonists is a Goblin and so far as I can tell, they don't make him sympathetic or offer the option to side with him. They should have done that, especially considering how many eyes are on the Goblins right now. This game could have been a chance to at least try and "redeem" them. Seems like it failed on that end. Which probably means it will wind up doing more harm in the long run. (I'm not Jewish, so I'm not really qualified to speculate, but it would follow the pattern.)

There's also the Rowling issue. That being, she's an active transphobe doing real harm and the money that goes into her pocket is then spent on contributing to this harm. Which is why I'm not buying the game and I don't believe you should either. I'm not a trans woman, which is who she primarily targets, but I am nonbinary, so I know where I stand and I choose to stand with pride.

That said. I'm not going to say you're a bad person if you do choose to play the game. (Especially if you pirate it.) I won't decry you or proclaim that you're not an ally, because to be frank...that's not really for me to decide. I can't speak to the actions you've taken in the past, or will take in the future. Only you know if your conscience is clear. Only you know what your beliefs are and what you're willing to sacrifice for them. Some of the more dedicated boy-cotters are drawing a line in the sand, arguing that anyone who plays Hogwarts Legacy has chosen their side, and stands with Antisemites and Transphobes. To me, that's senseless, and not altogether helpful.

To such folks, I have to say that I think your heart is definitely in the right place, and I appreciate the passionate defense. But you're attacking the wrong people. In some cases, I've seen people posting major spoilers online without tagging them, purely out of spite. That's...not helpful, and it's very immature. Punishing the average fan for wanting to play #ThatWizardGame isn't going to do anything but ruin their day. It won't stop Rowling's agenda. Really, I'm not sure what can at this point. Bigots will continue to inflict harm upon the world regardless of whether or not a single video game from an already timeless franchise does well. The Harry Potter brand makes a metric fuckton of money and so does Rowling. That would still be true even if the game bombed. I'm not saying we shouldn't do our parts to fight back, but I live in a dystopian capitalistic society and it's also not lost on me that this was always a rigged fight.

Because there's no ethical consumption under unregulated capitalism.

I realize that's a meme at this point, and I've seen a lot of arguments about this very point. I'm not knowledgeable enough to comment about most of it. For instance, I won't comment on the game developers and whether or not Hogwarts Legacy should be successful for their sake. That's a debate that I don't know enough to participate in. But I have seen allies who make a very good point, that there's a difference between having to buy clothes that were made in a sweat shop because public nudity is not an option...and having to go without a game you want. Those two things are worlds apart. I'm also aware that the idea of "separating art from the artist" doesn't really fly when said artist is still alive, still profiting from our support, and still has a platform with which she is doing genuine harm.

However, it strikes me as odd that this one game is what everything rides on. Because countless people follow mega-corporations that they do not have to, despite being self-proclaimed allies of the minorities that these corporations have always harmed. I'm willing to bet that some of the boy-cotters do as well. If playing Hogwarts Legacy makes you a transphobe, and an antisemite...then it stands to reason that having a Disney Plus subscription makes you a homophobe, and a racist. Nobody has to support them. Oh, but you just really want to watch Star Wars, right? I could say the same thing about anyone who has an Apple device. While Smartphones have become the only real phone on the market, there are other brands available. What about Marvel, and the fiasco with Chris Pratt? See, this is what I mean. This is why I feel like (most of us) have no right to judge other people for a choice that, to them, probably seems as meaningless as watching a Disney movie. Even if you're totally clean and have no metaphorical skeletons in your pocket, I still think judging the people who do is a bad idea, and a waste of your time.

Media is not the same as things that are essential to life, but it's an all-encompassing aspect of our culture and for a lot of people, it's almost like a kind of addiction. I think blaming the people who consume the problematic media is pointing your finger in the wrong direction. Make no mistake, there are bigots who will support this game, and do so proudly, specifically because they agree with Rowling's crap, but that's not going to be everyone. There will be people on our side who play the game, and I think alienating them is just a terrible move, pragmatically speaking. This gets into a bigger discussion about radical beliefs versus moderate beliefs but again, I am a pragmatist. The majority of my political views do fall on the "radical" side, but if we abandon the "moderates" because they're not "doing enough"...the other side will swoop in to win them over. I get that it might be frustrating, that you might not respect someone who claims to be an ally but chooses to play HPHL anyway. But if you can stomach it, you should, because we're much more likely to recruit them.

So that's my advice. Don't die on this hill. Because even if it shouldn't, it makes us look like the bad guys.

One more thing, if you think the game looks objectively bad, then fair enough, but...I have to assume at least some of you are kidding yourselves, or trying to bash HPHL just for the sake of it. Graphically, the game is very advanced, and I don't think it make me a bigot to say that it's aesthetically pleasing. This reminds me lot of the people who pretend the books are retroactively bad and "always were." It makes it very difficult to take you seriously. Cash cows don't emerge from crappy books. Rowling doesn't have to be a good person to be a skilled writer. Bad people can have talents, and there's a reason that Harry Potter took off. It's a great series. For a lot of us, it's more than that.

I'm someone who had a #HardChildhood and I'm (probably, but not diagnosed) neurodivergent in various ways that resulted in fiction being my escapism from the trauma of real life, the Harry Potter books being my first real taste of reading and writing. Stories and their universes have always been my passion, and Harry Potter was the first. It's a part of who I am, and I know I'm not alone in that. I know there are Potterheads out there who can't begin to imagine trying to cut HP out of themselves, and don't feel like they should have to. The books didn't hurt anyone, right? The game isn't responsible for Rowling's bigotry. Well, no, but supporting the game does translate to supporting her, as unfair as that might be. To such people who have dug in their heels, I get it. I really do. It's hard. People mock you for it and infantilize you, but it really is hard. For some of us, it's like grappling with a childhood friend or family member who turns their back on us.

I've struggled with this a lot, wrestled with myself and gone back and forth. What my responsibility is as an ally, what it says about me that I'm still a Harry Potter fan. What I should do about #ThatWizardGame. (Or as some of the critics have dubbed it "Blood Libel: The Game. Which is definitely provocative but I admit, it got a dark chuckle out of me.) For instance, how should we interact with the game? Do we refuse to acknowledge it's existence? Would that even help? Again, it's going to burn across the internet like fireworks, no matter what we do. Giving it the silent treatment won't change that. Anymore than refusing to buy the game will stop Rowling from being rich. (Which is not to say we shouldn't still try, just that it feels a little hopeless sometimes.)

But on the other hand, is talking about the game and engaging with it in the fandom, discussing the plot and characters and so on...is that acceptable? Or is it a slap in the face to the Jewish and Trans communities? For instance, my blog gets a lot of anon messages, and I can already tell I'm going to get several of them about Hogwarts Legacy. (I've already gotten a few.) Is it wrong for me to respond? Does it "count" if I haven't initiated the conversation? What if I feel inclined to craft an OC for this particular era of the Potterverse? Is that bad? It's not as though I'll be making posts saying "And now a word from our sponsor, Nord VPN Hogwarts Legacy!" It's a tricky field to navigate, though I'm sure most people boycotting the game would tell me not to interact at all and stop overthinking it. Still, as this blog has spent the last few years talking about Hogwarts Mystery...is that any better? I can see how giving #ThatWizardGame exposure is a problem. Then again...this is Tumblr. I feel as though Tumblr exposure should probably come with an asterisk. It's a "dead" website that is the antithesis of any other platform building site.

What about Let's Plays? Do I unsubscribe from any channel that plays this game? Because plenty of Let's Players do this for a living and their paycheck depends on playing all of the topical games. I hear that there are Hogwarts Legacy streams that are hosting donations to support the Trans community. Which is a downright hilarious middle finger to Rowling, but on the other hand, that could just as easily be done with a different game. One way or another, I have a friend who's making a Let's Play and she's told me outright that she doesn't want to get involved in the drama. Which I consider to be more than fair. Some people just don't want to get involved in politics. It's true that abstaining from these discussions is lot easier the more privilege you have, but that doesn't erase a person's right to make that choice. Politics can be murder on a person's mental health. Is it wrong for me to support my friend as she enjoys the game? I genuinely don't know.

I don't believe that simply asking questions or engaging in conversations is inherently bad. I'm rarely sure about what I should do and in my experience, people who are always certain can still make mistakes, but they're far less likely to believe they do. I don't believe it makes me a bad person or a false ally to weigh the various factors. Having these conversations, (with each other, not the bigots) and having them politely and in good faith, is how we grow as people. It's how we communicate. It's how we unite against threats like bigotry. Facing these threats can take courage, and integrity. Which isn't always easy, but no one ever said doing the right thing was easy. Doesn't mean we shouldn't do it. Each and every day, we make choices, and we have to determine which ones are good or bad. In this case, though, addressing my fellow potter-heads, those waiting in line to buy the game, those who have an emotional connection to this universe as I do...I can only encourage you to follow the word of a man we're all quite familiar with. A man who is... a lot of things, but he was also extremely wise.

We have to choose between what is right and what is easy.

At the end of the day, here's my point. It's just a video game. To the critics, remember that before you go bullying people for choosing to play it. (Or at least cancel your Disney + subscription first.) Rowling's empire does not live or die on a few nerds sharing head-canons in the back alley of a hellsite like this. But to the players, ask yourselves if engaging with HPHL is actually worth it. If it means that much to you. A simple video game isn't worth supporting antisemitic subtext from a transphobic creator and I think, deep down, a lot of you know that. There are plenty of other open world RPGs you can use to scratch that itch. Go play Witcher, go play Skyrim. If it's the Potterverse you're missing, just reread the books. (I assume you already have them.) But the game also isn't worth infighting among people who are basically on the same side. There's a difference between being a bigot and just being a nerd. Let's all try and remember who the real enemy is here, and do our part to resist them.

Because it really is just a video game. And these problems are much bigger than whether or not you boycott it.

(I welcome discussion in comments and reblogs, or if you want to go into my inbox, feel free. Let's just keep things friendly, or at least civil. So long as you stand with the Trans and Jewish communities, we are all on the same side.)

[bllsbailey]

Kamala Wants to Frame Campaign As Prosecutor Versus Felon: That’s Not Good … for Her

The fledgling campaign for Kamala Harris is reportedly seeking to frame the 2024 presidential election as a prosecutor versus convicted felon narrative.

The initial observation here is that the “felon” in this story is actually not the bad guy.

If the vice president wants to push her record as district attorney in San Francisco and later as California attorney general, she does so at her peril.

Doing so would expose her as an inept investigator, a champion of jailing poor minorities, and an avid supporter of defunding the police while funding criminals.

Let’s take a look, shall we? We’ll start with her issues struggling to connect with minority communities, something Democrats are relying on in making headway in the race against Donald Trump.

A video from an appearance at the Commonwealth Club in San Francisco in 2010 shows Harris gleefully relaying a story about threatening parents with jail time if their kids skipped school.

“I believe a child growing without an education is tantamount to a crime,” Harris told the crowd in attendance. “So I decided I was going to start prosecuting parents for truancy.”

The video shows a smiling and laughing Harris sharing this story, noting that she had the political capital to try and “get those kids in school” by threatening their parents.

Critics were quick to point out that those most vulnerable to Harris’s over-zealous prosecution of parents were low-income minority families.

Harris, in another clip, can be heard describing how she tried intimidating a single homeless mother of three kids.

The Democrat can be seen laughing about sending her office’s homicide and gang prosecutors to school to meet with the struggling woman. 

“When you go over there, look really mean,” she recalled.

Harris would later suggest she was simply trying to connect parents to the resources they needed. Then, the charges would be dropped.

Kamala Harris Is Clearly Burdened by What Has Been

HOT TAKES: California Weighs In on a Potential Kamala Harris Presidency

Another sticking point for minority voters has been Harris's history of expanding convictions of marijuana users in California.

As California attorney general, Harris oversaw thousands of marijuana-related convictions. Critics argue that these convictions disproportionately affected black and brown communities and that Harris's office fought against efforts to reduce sentences or expunge records.

Harris later came under additional fire for that prosecutorial record when she claimed she smoked weed in high school, with some branding her a hypocrite.

While Kamala has little in the way of street cred due to her record as a malicious prosecutor, Trump’s own street cred has been amplified by being the victim of malicious prosecutors.

Craig Scott, who described himself as a "Black Robinhood" in a Newsweek op-ed, argued “Trump’s repeated run-ins with the law, and what seems like an unfair obsession with catching him and punishing him disproportionately for his so-called ‘crimes,’ reminds a lot of us of what was done to us” in the black community.

“He’s literally been in my shoes. No other president can brag on that,” Scott said. “And believe me, he will brag about it.”

Harris doesn’t have near the cachet with certain voting blocs that Democrats hope she does. Bring on the prosecutor v. felon push from her campaign.

When she wasn’t targeting poor minorities in the Golden State, Harris was failing women in her own office. As Attorney General, Harris ignored an accusation and lawsuit alleging sexual harassment by a top aide in her office.

That complaint involved “gender harassment” perpetrated against her aide’s former executive assistant, along with allegations that she was forced into “demeaning behavior.”

The case ultimately led to a $400,000 settlement and the resignation of that aide who had been described as one of Harris’s closest professional confidantes. The then-AG feigned ignorance of the whole accusation and lawsuit despite it being reported years earlier.

Only an inept prosecutor would completely miss a harassment case in her own office. But then, ineptitude defines Kamala.

In 2006, she granted probation to a man who went on to murder two people. At the height of the 2020 race riots, Harris encouraged people to contribute to a bail fund to free violent rioters. One of those freed ended up being charged with murder.

She continues to raise money for that bail fund.

When she isn’t jailing people for minor offenses and bailing out those with violent criminal records, Harris has been a vocal supporter of defunding the police.

She supported the movement and said we need to "reimagine" public safety, even applauding the Los Angeles Mayor for slashing police funding by $150 million as the riots were ongoing.

Kamala Harris Championed California's Sanctuary State Policies and People Are Dead As a Result

Think the Border Crisis Is Bad Now? Experts Say a Harris Presidency Would Make It Even Worse

Harris also backed abolishing ICE, the agency that arrests and deports dangerous criminals, insisting that “we need to probably be thinking about starting from scratch.”

You read that right. The woman Joe Biden tapped as border czar wanted to abolish the one enforcement mechanism for prosecuting criminal illegal aliens.

Kamala Harris was never qualified to be San Francisco DA. She was even less qualified to be California’s AG. It’s not even a question when it comes to the White House.

Even on the heels of one of the most incompetent presidencies in history, Harris's history as a prosecutor and the very few things she was tasked with as Veep illustrates she’s not exactly an upgrade over Biden.

[atlafan]

a/n: A couple of weeks ago I saw a post about ex’s to lovers, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. So basically it’s a story about two people who ended things on a semi-good note, like nothing inherently bad happened between them, but they decided to break up. Sometimes people find their way back to each other, though. That’s what we have here. Harry is a tax attorney, a few years older than our MC, Blair Smith, who teaches jazzercise. (not proofread) PLEASE REBLOG IF YOU READ THIS AND LIKE IT, YALL WANTED ME TO KEEP POSTING FICS ON HERE, SO HERE YOU GO! PLEASE, IT TAKES TWO SECONDS! Check out my patreon for other excursive content.

Warnings: angst, fluff, smut (sub!Harry????), mentions of death, a funeral

Words: 17.8K

Pairing: Harry x OC (Blair Smith)

When Blair Smith became a Physical Education major in college, she never thought that would lead her to leasing a dance studio, and teaching jazzercise. It took her until she was twenty-five to really get it all together. She wasn’t mad about it, she actually enjoyed it more than she thought. She double minored in Dance and in Business Administration, she had never been so thankful to have overloaded herself in her life. She thought she would be teaching gym at the high school level, along with some health and nutrition classes, but when she did her practicum semester at a local high school near her college, she realized that working with younger students was not for her. None of them listened, none of them really wanted to be there, aside from the gym-class-heroes, and she couldn’t stand that the majority wouldn’t even change their clothes for class.

Blair wanted to make her own rules. Luckily, after presenting a well-thought-out business plan to her parents, she was able to get them to co-sign for a loan from the bank to lease a dance studio. She named her studio Just Dance because she offered different types and levels of jazzercise. Some involved use of weights, some involved a little more high intensity, and some involved a little yoga. She was grateful for the couple of marketing classes she took because she was able to really build her brand. She had an Instagram, Facebook Page, and a website. She had an online way to sign up for memberships, and she had daily drop-in prices.

It was easier than she thought to build her clientele. She had a great spot in the city, and there was a small parking lot out back behind the building. Most of her friends from school signed up, and helped her advertise. It was open to men and women, as opposed to a lot of jazzercise places that only offered classes to women. Even though Blair couldn’t afford to hire a second instructor, she was managing things just fine. She offered two early morning sessions, one lunch hour session, and three evening sessions. So, she had plenty of time to relax, stretch, and not over work her muscles. She was strategic about class offerings as well. She gave herself Sundays and Fridays off, since those seemed to be the days with the least amount of people signed up. Monday through Thursday, and Saturday, she made sure to stagger her lessons. For example, Mondays and Wednesdays were weights and yoga infused classes, Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays were the high intensity days. Going into her fourth year doing this, she had it down to a science to say the least.

Business was always really good in January and February, when people were making their New Year’s resolutions, and during the summer months when people were trying to feel better about being in their bathing suits. Blair always preached positivity and inner health as the most important things. It was an inclusive space, which is exactly what she wanted it to be.

She liked working for herself. If she needed to run errands between classes, she could. If she wanted to take a nap in the middle of the day, she could. She didn’t have to answer to a single person. Her parents would sometimes ask questions, but mostly just to make sure Blair was making her loan payments on time. She had automatic withdrawals set up with the bank, so she didn’t even need to think about it. Yup, Blair had just about everything figured out, and she knew she was very lucky for that.

//

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Sullivan, we’ll get everything figured out for your son. Yes, he’s in very good hands with me. Alright, have a nice evening.” Harry hangs up his phone and sighs, rubbing at his temples to soothe the oncoming headache he could feel. It was another complicated trust fund case, but that was the job.

The Law Office of Styles and Associates was a tax attorney office. Harry specialized in cases that dealt with trusts, gifts, and various tax planning structures to reduce the burdens of income taxes and estate taxes, and he assisted in devising investment strategies. His undergraduate degree was in accounting, and he minored in pre-law. After that, he went to law school for three years and passed the bar. His father had been a tax attorney as well. Harry liked living the comfortable life he was able to live growing up thanks to his father, and he wanted the same for himself. Plus, he just enjoyed crunching numbers for people, so it was a win-win. Making nearly $150K a year wasn’t too shabby either.

“Hey, H, you ready to go?” John comes into Harry’s office.

“Yeah, just finished up for the day.” Harry stands up, puts his suit jacket back on, grabs his brief case, and heads out. “Kate, feel free to head home, I’m done for the day.” He tells his secretary on his way out.

“Thank you, Mr. Styles, have a nice weekend.” She smiles at him.

“Same to you.” He nods and keeps walking with John. “I feel terrible, she’s pregnant, you know? Her feet are the size of melons by the end of the day.”

“When’s her maternity leave start?” John asks as they enter the elevator.

“Not for a while, she’s only seven months along. She’s been trying to train some college intern to take her place while she’s gone, but no one’s as good as Kate.” Harry rolls her eyes. “Oh well, I’m happy for her. Her and husband have been trying to get pregnant for a while.”

Harry and John make their way to a bar downtown, one of their usual Friday evening spots. They usually met up with some of their other law-school buddies. It was also a great way to blow off steam from the week. Sometimes Harry would end up pulling a 60-hour week, so he thought he deserved to cut loose, and have a little fun with his friends. Maybe meet a pretty girl he could take back to her place and have a whole different kind of fun with her. Harry was a phenomenal attorney, but when it came to his personal life, well, if you looked up the definition of a playboy, his picture would be there. He fucked around, a lot, without a second thought. Actually, his only thought was to make sure he always had a condom. Harry never went bare back. The last thing he needed was someone claiming he was the father of their child, and suing him for child support. The only time he didn’t use a condom was when he was in a legitimate relationship a couple of years back.

He thought about her from time to time. He never met another girl like her, and there were times he really did miss her. The breakup wasn’t anything dramatic, the pair had just grown apart. Harry was in the process of taking over the practice for his father, and she…wasn’t quite ready to settle down. She wanted to work on her own career and make a name for herself. It hurt that she didn’t see him in her vision for the future, but he understood where she was coming from. She was a few years younger than him, and he didn’t want her to resent him for taking away her time to be young and have fun. So they ended it. Since her, he decided to have some fun himself with his friends.

//

Blair got the call right before her second morning class on Wednesday morning. She nearly collapsed on the floor in tears. Everyone rushed over to her. She had to cancel everything for the rest of the week, and her clients were more than understanding.

“How did it happen?” She asks her mother, Pam.

“He had a stroke, and…god, he just didn’t bounce back.” Pam uses a hankie to wipe her tears. “Most of everything should be all set, he was very specific, but…we’re going to need an attorney. Your father’s biggest fear is that his first wife would claim that she has a right to his pension, that she was promised money or something.”

“God, I hate her.” Blair grimaces. “All she’s ever cared about is making him miserable. She just wants money for her son. He’s not even Dad’s!”

“That’s why they got divorced! She cheated on him with his best friend and got knocked up. You can see how sticky this is going to get. I hate to ask, but…”

“I’ll go see him.” Blair sighs.

“I just think he might sympathize, maybe work the case pro bono. I’m not sure we could afford him otherwise.”

“Don’t worry about it, Mum, I’ll talk to him and figure it out. I’m not going to let Lora fuck everything up for you.”

//

Kate nearly choked on her water when she saw Blair walking towards her. She knew Harry had a meeting with a B. Smith. She should have known better.

“B-Blair, hi.” Kate says.

“Kate! Oh my goodness, you look incredible! You and Roger finally-“

“Yeah! I’m due in a couple more months.”

“That’s amazing, I’m so happy for you.” Blair smiles. “Um, I think I set up a meeting through an intern?”

“Yes.” Kate sighs. “I’m training her for when I go on maternity leave. Um, may I ask why you’re here to see Harry?”

“It’s strictly business. My…my father recently passed, and-“

“I’m so sorry.” Kate frowns. “He was always so nice.”

“Yeah, he was a good guy. Anyways, there’s a lot going on with his will and a trust he set up for my mom. Harry’s the only person I could think of when my mom said we’d need an attorney.”

“Of course.” Kate nods. “I’ll let him know you’re here.” Kate knocks on Harry’s door and opens it. “Mr. Styles?”

“Yes?”

“Your 2PM is here.”

“Ah, great.” Harry squints at his screen to check his calendar. “B. Smith? Why does that sound familiar?” He puckers his lips in thought.

“Um…it’s Blair.”

“Blair!” Harry stands up and bangs his knee in the process. “Why didn’t you tell me she was coming?!”

“I didn’t know! Maura answered when she called to set up the appointment.”

“Fuck.” Harry runs a hand through his hair. “How do I look? Is there anything in my teeth?”

“No, you’re fine. Just relax, I’m going to send her in.” Kate leaves his office and smiles at Blair. “He’s ready for you.”

“Thank you, Kate. We should catch up before the baby comes.”

“I’d like that. I miss going to your classes.”

Blair nods and goes into Harry’s office, closing the door behind her.

“Hi, Harry.”

“Hi.” He walks over to her, leaving about a foot of space between them. “To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you?” Her bottom lip trembles, and his smile fades. “What’s wrong?” He asks softly.

“M…my Dad died.” She says, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He pulls her in for a hug so he can comfort her. “When’s the funeral? You know you could have just called me, you didn’t have to be so formal.”

“Actually, I did.” She sniffles and steps back from him. “I need an attorney, my mom and I do…only…we can’t really afford a good one.”

“Oh.” Harry nods. “Have a seat.” He gestures, and rounds his desk to sit back down in his own seat. “Is this about his ex-wife?”

“Unfortunately.” Blair rolls her eyes, and grabs a tissue off his desk. “My mom is scared she’s going to pull some fake paternity crap with her son, even though everyone knows he’s not my Dad’s. I think my mom just wants to be prepared for the inevitable shit storm Lora’s going to bring.”

“I don’t blame her.” Harry sighs and leans back in his chair. “I…haven���t taken a pro bono case yet this year. I could help that way.”

“Only if you really want to. I’m not asking for a handout, but I don’t trust anyone else to take care of me.” Blair blinks when she realizes what she’s said. “Us, I don’t trust anyone else to take care of us.”

“Right.” He leans forward. “I’d be happy to do it. Um, does your mom want to meet with me, or-“

“I think she’s sort of hoping I’ll take care of all the legal stuff. She’s grieving, you know?”

“So are you.” He frowns.

“You know me, I like to keep busy during these sorts of things. I can get a copy of the will, and the trust information over to you via email if that works, and then we can go from there?”

“Sure, yeah. My email’s still the same, um, and so is my phone number…”

“I still have your phone number.” She rolls her eyes.

“Then why didn’t you call me about this first? Why call and make an appointment?”

“I…I thought if I called…you’d think I was calling for something else.” She blushes. “I wanted you to know it was strictly business.”

“Blair, all you had to say was that your dad died. I could have been there for you. You live alone, all you do is work…your best friend is my cousin…do you and Riley even still talk?”

“Of course we do! Just because we broke up doesn’t mean that she and I did. I met you because of her, I was her friend first. It would be really shitty to stop talking to her because it didn’t work out with you.”

“Okay, Christ, calm down.” He shakes his head. “You’re as hot headed as ever, you know that?”

“I’m sorry, my father just died and I’m trying to keep it together!” Her eyes rim with tears again. “He’s never going to be able to walk down the aisle when I get married, he’s never going to meet his grandchildren, there are so many things…he was too young.” She sniffles.

“How did it happen?”

“He had a stroke, and didn’t recover.” She looks away.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I appreciate that, but that’s not going to being him back, so don’t be sorry. Just…help me with this.”

“I will, there’s no question about it.”

“Thank you, Harry.” She stands up. “I’ll email you.”

“Blair.” Harry stands up. “Look, if you need anything else, don’t be afraid to ask. If you need a friend…I’m here for you.”

“I have plenty of friends.” She sighs. “And no offense, but my friends don’t fuck a ton of women weekend after weekend and treat them like shit.” She smirks.

“I don’t do that.” His face flushes. “I just haven’t met someone I’ve really wanted to continue seeing, that’s all.”

“Harry.” Blair shakes her head as she chuckles. “Not that I ask, but Riley’s told me a few things. You two are close, and when she gets drunk she loves regaling me of your many escapades.”

“I’ll have to send her a very strongly worded text after you leave.” He rolls his eyes.

“Don’t get mad at her, it’s fine. I don’t really care.”

“You don’t?”

“No, why would I? It’s not me you’re fucking, so it doesn’t concern me.” She shrugs. “That’s the beauty of breaking up, Har, I don’t give a shit where you stick your dick at night.”

“Well, obviously you do if you won’t even let me be a friend to you, Blair.”

“I just…I don’t want us getting close again, alright? It’ll hurt when we end up parting way, and I don’t wanna go through that while also grieving my Dad. Can you understand that?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “Don’t worry, we’ll get this all sorted out.” He smiles at her.

“Thank you. I need to go. I told my mom I’d be over to help her pack some things up. She sort of just wants to rip the band aid and put his clothes away.”

“If you need any help at all with any heavy lifting, call me.”

“Harry.” Blair sighs.

“I’ve got that nice SUV, I can help move stuff, that’s all I’m saying.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. I’ll talk to you soon.” She says, and out the door she goes. Kate waits a moment before coming into Harry’s office.

“Scotch?” Kate asks.

“Scotch.” Harry nods, and Kate goes over to his credenza to take out his good crystal and liquor to pour him a small glass.

“You’ll get through this.” She lifts her water bottle to cheers with him, and he downs the brown liquid.

//

Blair was back at work the following week. She needed the distraction. Lora had been eerily quiet. Maybe she didn’t know that Blair’s father passed, but as soon as the obituary hit the papers, she was sure that witch would be out and about to cause some trouble. At the end of Blair’s last Thursday class, she heard the sound of dress shoes on the hard wood. She turns to see Harry.

“You know there’s not supposed to be outside shoes in here. I just mopped.” She puts her hands on her hips and huffs at him.

“Yeah, I’m well aware of the rules. I used to be your best customer, remember?” He smirks. “Anyways, I looked over all the documents, I thought you might like to go over everything with me before the funeral, in case she shows up to cause trouble, you’ll have all the facts.”

“I need to, like, go home and shower…today was an intensive day, I’m soaked.”

“Perfect, I’ve got dinner in the car. We can go there, eat, and go over the documents.” He smiles.

“You’re such a weasel.” She chuckles. “But I’m too tired to argue with you. What did you pick up to eat?” She raises an eyebrow at him.

“Nothing special.” He shrugs. “Just some dumpling curry from that Thai place we both like.”

“I take it back you’re not a weasel, you’re the devil.”

Harry drives over to Blair’s apartment. He didn’t have a key anymore so he had to wait for her. He follows her up to her apartment, and makes himself at home while she goes to take a shower. She hadn’t changed much, but he definitely noticed some different pictures on her bookshelves. They used to be littered with framed photos of them, and she had a ton of scrapbooks for the two of them, but those seemed to be missing now as well. He sighs while he plates up the food for the both of them, and opens up a bottle of wine while he waits. Blair comes out about ten minutes later with her hair wrapped up in a towel, and her long, plush, pink robe around her body. She sits down next to him at the island.

“Wine?” She questions, but picks up the glass to take a sip.

“It’s been a long day, to be honest with you. I’m gonna work from home to catch up on some sleep tomorrow since I don’t have any meetings.”

“You know I have Fridays off, we could have done this tomorrow.” She frowns.

“It’s okay, I figured you’d want everything now. The funeral’s Saturday, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Eat up, and then we can look at everything.”

“We can do both at the same time.”

“Does your nose still run like a leaky faucet when you eat spicy food?” He smirks, and she rolls her eyes. “That’s what I thought.”

“Thank you for picking this up.” She says as she takes a bite. “I haven’t had this in forever.”

“Me neither…I stopped going because I didn’t want to run into you there.”

“That’s why I stopped going. We should have divided up restaurants when we broke up.” She laughs, and takes another sip of wine. “Do you mind if I dry my hair when we’re done eating? I’ll get a-“

“You’ll get a headache if you don’t, I know the drill.” He takes a sip of his own wine, and eats a spoonful of rice.

“Stop remembering things about me.” She swats a hand at him.

“We were together for long enough, Blair, I can’t help it.”

“Yeah, well, quit throwing it in my face, okay? We’re not doing this to go for a stroll down memory lane.”

Harry knew he’d be waiting at least twenty minutes while Blair dried her hair. He walks around her living room, stretching his legs a bit. He was curious to see what she had filled her bookshelves with. There was a picture of her and Riley from their freshman year of college. Harry picks it up and smiles. Harry was in his first year of law-school when Riley and Blair were college freshmen. He didn’t meet Blair formally until their senior year, and he was in his first year working at his father’s firm. He was helping Riley move in after winter break, and Blair had already been there.

“Blair!” Riley exclaimed. “I missed you so much.” She threw her arms around her.

“I missed you too! I’m glad we both agreed to come back a week early.”

“Same here. This is my cousin, Harry. Harry, this is Blair.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” Harry shook Blair’s hand.

“It’s nice to meet you too.” Her mouth had run dry. They held eye contact for a beat too long. “You’re in law school, right?”

“I finished last year, I’m actually working now. I’m a tax attorney.” He explains. “It’s my dad’s business.”

“And it’s super boring.” Riley rolled her eyes. “Har, could you bring everything in for me? I have a meeting with my advisor that I need to get to. We’re going over my practicum stuff.”

“Sure thing. We’re still getting dinner later, right?”

“Mhm, I shouldn’t be too long. Blair, you don’t mind if Harry hangs here for a bit, do you? You’re also welcome to come to dinner with us.”

“Sure, I don’t have a problem with it.” She shrugged.

“You’re the best. See you in a little while!”

“Is there a lot of stuff? I can help.” Blair said to Harry.

“Not a lot, no. But…I’ve never been here before, so if you could just show me upstairs, that would be great.”

“Yeah.” She nodded.

Harry brought Riley’s suitcase in, and Blair led him upstairs. She showed him Riley’s room.

“Is yours similar?” He asked.

“My room? Um, no…it’s a little different.” She swallowed. “Do you wanna see?”

“I’d love to.” He grinned, and followed her down the hall to her room. “Riley’s told me a lot about you over the years, but she failed to mention how insanely gorgeous you are.” He leaned against her wall after she closed her door.

“Well, she failed to mention how hot her cousin is, but I suppose that would be a weird thing to say about a family member.” She smirked. “How old are you, exactly?’

“I’m about to turn twenty-six, what about you?”

“I’m almost twenty-two…in May.”

“Not a huge age difference.” He walked towards her.

“Not at all.” She looked up at him with big eyes.

“Want me to kiss you?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, all done.” Blair says, coming out with her all dry and pretty. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing, just saw this old picture of you and Riley.”

“God, we were babies then.” Blair smiles at the photo. “We took that on the day we met at orientation.” She looks at him. “Wanna sit on the couch?”

“Sure.” Harry grabs his briefcase and takes out all of the documents he needed to go over with Blair. “So, as you can see, your father set up a trust for you that you’ll get access to a year after his passing. That’s pretty standard. Your mother has a different sum of money that she’ll be able to access much sooner. There’s absolutely nothing in his will about Lora or her son. Even if she tries to contest it, there’s nothing in here that would indicate he was hiding anything. I looked over their divorce settlement as well, she stopped getting alimony when she remarried. She literally has no case. You and your mum can take a breather.”

“Oh, what a relief! Thank you, Harry. She’ll be able to let herself relax for the first time in a while.”

“Are you going to take any more time off from work?”

“Well, I’m closed Saturday, and I’m off Sunday, and I’m closed Monday as well. Then I’ll be back to it Tuesday.”

“You’re only giving yourself a long weekend?” He frowns.

“Harry, I can’t afford to keep closing. I make enough with the memberships, but I won’t be making the extra I do from the walk-ins.”

“Look, if you need some money-“

“Don’t you dare.” She stands up. “I don’t want your money, Harry, I never have, and I never will. I’m not your goddamn sugar baby!”

“I never said you were!” He says, standing up.

“But you used to make me feel like that all the time! You were always paying for every little thing. You never let me pay for a single thing. It was like you had zero confidence in me, even though I was running a successful business!”

“You were just starting out! All I wanted to do was help you, make it a little easier for you. You’re the one that went to their parents for loan help when I would have done it in a heartbeat! You crushed me.”

“We weren’t even living together, and you were ready to drop that amount of money on me?! That would have been so weird!”

“We were both working odd hours, and we had only been together a few months at that point, moving in would have been weird! A loan is totally different, I would have been investing in something great.”

“Well, I didn’t need your investment! We were together for nearly three years, Harry, what’s your excuse for not living together after all that time, hm?”

“I would have felt guilty. I was never home, I didn’t want you waiting up for me. It was easier when I could just come here and crawl into bed with you after a long day. And you always had to get up so much earlier than me. I thought…I thought it was better that we weren’t living together. You had never lived alone before, I wanted you to enjoy the freedom.”

“Was that it, or did you just want to keep your own?” She huffs, crossing her arms. “You know what, this fight is useless, it doesn’t matter because it’s not going to solve a single fucking thing. Thank you for your help, I really do appreciate it, but now that I know everything’s fine, you can go. If I need anything else from you down the line, I’ll reach out. I’m sure Lora will make a stink, and therefore I’ll need an attorney. But it’s all professional, Harry.”

“You’ve made that plenty clear already, thanks.” Harry packs up his things, and Blair walks him to the door. They look at each other. He just sighs and heads out the door.

Blair would be lying if she said that she didn’t miss Harry. They had a really special bond that was hard to find with just any one. All they did that first day they met was kiss, have a passionate make out, but that was it. Blair didn’t want to go too far with him in case Riley wasn’t comfortable with it. But Riley was overjoyed when Harry asked if she would mind if he asked Blair out on a date. It was a whirlwind from there.

He took her on some of the nicest dates she had ever been on. Most guys would take her out for coffee, maybe a movie if they could scrape the money together, but Harry took Blair out to nice restaurants, and to the movies that had lux levels. Not to mention his condo, god, she loved his condo. He liked that she kept things simple. Crockpot dinners at her place, watching TV curled up in her little full-sized bed, and clipping coupons together on Sunday mornings. That was where they had sex for the first time, in her little bed after their fifth date. He told her he loved her for the first time on the top of a Farris Wheel during the spring carnival her campus held, and she wasted no time saying it back. After that, a deeper trust formed between the two of them. One that not a lot of people would understand. Harry didn’t quite understand it himself since he was usually the one who was a little more dominant in bed, but with Blair…well, needless to say after a long week of working cases, his favorite thing was to come home, find her in his bedroom with some lingerie on, and letting her tie him to the bed posts for a little while. It was a release he didn’t even really know he needed. And with her, having been a college student about ready to graduate and enter the real world, it felt like so many things were out of control. Harry gave her that control back.

Harry wonders if that’s why they breakup seemed so much harder on him than her. It seemed like Blair was able to let go so easily. Yes, he started fucking around afterwards, but he just couldn’t get that same high from anyone else, nor did he trust some random girl at a bar to do the things for him that Blair once did. Blair was just better at hiding her emotions. She missed Harry, she’s missed him for a long time now. She cried for weeks, feeling this undeniable ache in her heart without him around. But, she had her studio to throw herself into, a brand to keep building. It was the perfect distraction, and even though she missed Harry, she didn’t hate being single for the first time in a while. For three years, Harry had been like her security blanket. The way she looked at it, every kid eventually stops sleeping with their security blanket at some point. It was time to be independent.  

//

The funeral was a graveside service. It was cloudy, but there wasn’t rain, which was probably the only upside Blair could think of. She was there, sitting next to her mother, other family members in the row behind them. Her mother was holding Blair’s hand, but this is one the few times Blair wished someone was there for her. Just as the service was about to get started, someone sat down next to her. She looks to her right and sees Harry, dressed in black from head to toe. He doesn’t say anything, he just puts his arm around her, and rubs his shoulder. He gives Blair’s mom a soft smile before sitting back in his seat.

“Harry…you weren’t supposed to come until afterwards…” Blair says.

“I know.” He looks at her. “I just wanted to be here for you.”

Harry gave Blair his extra tissues while she cried during the service. He held her the entire time, and stayed back once it was over. Then, he offered to drive Blair and Pam back to Pam’s home. Neither of them were in any condition to drive. There were a lot of people that came back to the house afterwards. Blair was able to calm down a bit, but her mother was really taking it hard.

“We don’t have to do this today.” Harry says to Blair.

“No, we should just rip the band aid. Then she can just…” Blair’s eyes widen when she sees Lora walk through the door. “Oh, you miserable cunt.” She says.

“What?” Harry asks, confused.

“Not you, Lora’s here.” Blair storms over to her. “What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too.” Lora smiles. “I’m here to grieve the loss of my first husband.”

“You weren’t at the funeral.”

“I didn’t want to upset anyone.” Lora shrugs. “So…have you read the will yet? I think I should be in on that.”

“Lora.” Pam says when she walks over. “Alright, let’s get this over with.” Pam sighs, and has everyone follow her down the hall to the guest bedroom. Harry takes out the paperwork.

“There’s been-“ He starts, but he’s cut off.

“I’m sorry, but how is it legal if her boyfriend is reading the will?” Lora asks.

“We’re not together anymore. We haven’t been for a while. He’s here as our attorney, that’s it.” Blair says.

“Anyways, been a trust set up for Blair a little down the road. Everything else, including the house, has been left to Pamela Smith. There is no mention of anyone else’s name.”

“That can’t be right.” Lora scoffs. “I was promised-“

“He would have never left you anything.” Pam says. “And I’m sick of dealing with you. He’s gone, he’s left you nothing, you have no ties to us now. It’s clear as day that Derek is not his. He owed you absolutely nothing, you gold digging bitch.” Pam steps closer to Lora. “Now, get out of my house before I have you removed. I buried my husband today, I am in no mood to be fucked with.”

“Fine.” Lora says, turns on her heel and leaves.

“Way to go, Mum.” Blair gives her a high five. “I thought she’d put up more of a fight than that.”

“With your father maybe, but not with me. I’ve ripped her cheap extensions out more than once, and she knows I’ll do it again.” She takes take a deep breath. “I think I’m about ready to be done for the day. I need to lay down.”

“Do you want me to stay tonight?” Blair asks her.

“No, honey, thank you. Auntie Fay is staying, I’ll be alright.” She looks at Harry. “Harry, I can’t thank you enough for helping with all of this.”

“Don’t mention it. If there’s anything else I can do, anything at all, don’t be afraid to ask.”

“Drive Blair home.”

“Mum.”

Pam raises her hands in defense and leaves the room.

“I can drive you back if you want. I took an uber out here as it was.” Harry says, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“You’ve done enough for me today, it’s alright…I can make it back on my own. Riley’s flying back in from Chicago tomorrow and we’re gonna have a girl’s day, so-“

“Blair, I still have your keys in my pocket, I’m driving you.”

“I don’t need you to swoop in here and act like superman, Harry.” Her bottom lip trembles. “I know my dad’s not around to do it anymore, but-“

“Hey.” He takes her in his arms. “I wish I could take it all away, I really do. I wish you weren’t going through all of this, baby.”

“Harry.” She sighs heavily into his chest.

“Sorry.” He rests his chin on the top of her head. “Some habits are hard to break I guess.”

“Have you called anyone else baby in the last year?” She nuzzles in close to him.

“No.” He tilts her chin up to look at him. “I never could.”

“Okay, you can drive me home.” She sighs. “I’m about ready to pass out as it is.”

Blair takes a few minutes to say goodbye to the people still at the house before her and Harry get into her car. He keeps the music volume low, and her eyes start to droop. Harry can’t help but feel soft and warm knowing she was so easily able to fall asleep with him there still. She’d always fall asleep on long car rides.

“Blair.” Harry says, trying to wake her up. “We’re at your place, love.” She groans at him, and he sighs. “Are you really going to make me carry you up?” She groans again and he rolls his eyes. Blair would always pretend to be asleep so Harry would carry her inside. He unbuckles her, gets out, and opens her door to lift her out. “You’re killing me.” He grunts as he carries her to the front door. He keys in, and carries her up the stairs to her door. “I know you’re awake.” He says as he brings her to her bedroom.

“Mm, but you’re so strong and warm.” She mumbles.

“Okay.” He chuckles and lays her on her bed. “Are your pj’s still in the third drawer of your dresser.”

“Harry.” She sits up. “You don’t have to do all that…”

“I was just gonna grab you a shirt and get out of your hair.” He says innocently.

“God, I’m so confused.” She pinches the bridge of her nose.

“About what?” He grabs a bed shirt for her, and sits on the edge of her bed.

“I think I’m just feeling vulnerable, I don’t know.” She looks away from him. “I don’t want you to go.” She mutters, and then looks at him. “But I also don’t want to get your hopes up.”

“If you need me to stay as a friend, I can do that.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’d never leave you like this.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I was just gonna pretend to leave, and then crash on your couch.”

“Well, you don’t have to do that. Got a queen sized bed now, plenty of room.”

“I can see that.” He smiles. “There was nothing wrong with your old bed. It was kinda fun when we were practically sleeping on top of each other.”

“Yeah, but your bed was better for…well…never mind.” She clears her throat. “Um, I still have some of your old pajama pants in my drawer, you can wear those if you want.”

“I’m good with just boxers if that’s alright with you.”

“Oh, um sure.” She gets off the bed to stand up. “I’m just gonna go wash up and change.”

Harry nods and gets undressed. He goes over to her bathroom door to wait his turn. Blair’s eyes widen when she sees him standing there in his underwear.

“You don’t have a spare toothbrush, do you?”

“Um, you can use one of the extra heads I have for my electric brush.”

“Thanks.” He steps into the bathroom as she leaves to go back to her bedroom.

“Oh my god.” She says to herself. He had beefed up a bit. Harry was already sort of beefy, but he used to be leaner. Had he been getting a lot of protein? She shakes her head as she crawls into bed. Harry comes in shortly after and gets in on the other side. She turns her head to look at him. “Thank you, Harry.”

“You don’t have to thank me.” He looks at her. “I’d be a pretty shitty person to leave you in a time like this.”

“Yeah, but you could be catching tail at some bar with your friends.” She smirks at him.

“You make me sound like I’m promiscuous or something.” He chuckles and turns fully on his side towards her. She does the same. “It’s a stress reliever, and I always wrap it up. M’not doing anything wrong.”

“Do you, um, do what we used to do with any of these hookups?”

“No.” He smirks. “No, I don’t think I could ever trust someone in that way again even if I tried.” He chews his bottom lip. “What about you?”

“Harry, to be honest with you…I haven’t slept with anyone since we broke up.”

“Blair, that was a year ago.”

“I’m well aware.” She rolls her eyes.

“That’s a long fucking dry spell.”

“It’s not a dry spell, it’s a personal choice. I threw myself into the studio, I worked on choreographing a ton of new dances. I was building my brand, bringing in more clientele. Plus…anytime I’d use a dating app or go out with Riley to a bar…no one was ever you.”

“I know things seemed mutual and we didn’t end in some big blow up…but I was so hurt that we couldn’t make things work.” He reaches to tuck some hair behind her ear. “I thought we were going to be together forever.”

“So did I…but I don’t know if I was ready for something so long-term yet, which I know sounds stupid because three years is a long time to be with someone.”

“It’s not stupid. I would have felt the same at that age. It was sort of selfish of me to try to lock you down the way I was.”

“You weren’t being selfish for wanting to be with me, Harry.”

“You know, the last thing I expected when I helped Riley move in that semester was falling in love with her roommate. You just looked so cute that day.”

“You remember how I looked when we first met?”

“How could I forget? You were wearing these sweater leggings that had snow flakes on them, and you were wearing this oversized sweater that was hanging off your shoulder, and you kept trying to tug it back on. You seemed so flustered around me.”

“I was.” She laughs. “I thought for sure you just wanted to fuck me and then leave with the way you pushed me up against the wall when you kissed me.”

“Yeah, you nearly shit yourself at dinner afterwards. Poor Riley had no idea I frenched you for a solid thirty minutes.”

“My lips were so swollen, she had to have known. I was more in shock when you came by a week later to ask me out. God, you were so cute, you were waiting outside my apartment with hot apple cider, and I had such a shit day at my practicum. I was in dingy sweats too, and you still told me I looked beautiful.”

“And I meant it.”

“Then you said I looked tired, and right before I went off on you, you pulled me inside and said that you were going to make me dinner so I could go upstairs and take a long hot shower.”

“Mhm, made you spaghetti and meatballs.”

“And that really yummy homemade garlic bread.” She smiles.

“Then we cuddled up and watched Ratatouille.” He chuckles.

“I was so mad that you had never seen it! And then you ended up loving it.”

“It’s a great movie, honestly.” He says, smiling at her. “Best first date ever.”

“Yeah, it was. When I went to sleep that night I couldn’t believe that a real man wanted to be with me. I don’t think any of the guys I dated in college knew how to cook.”

“Pretty sure I did a good job making you forget about any other guy you had ever been with.” He smirks, and she nudges his shoulder.

“Maybe…maybe when I’m in a better mindset…we could talk about…I mean…I’ve been thinking about you a lot ever since we started talking again, sorry, I’m rambling.” She sighs. “I don’t want you to think that I wanna give things another shot because you’ve been helping me and my mom, but it’s been hard not to think about it…especially after today.” She blinks away a few tears. “I wasn’t expecting you to come to the service. Riley felt awful that she couldn’t be there, and I felt so alone, even being with my mom. You’re so selfless.” She pouts at him.

“I would love to talk about potentially getting back together. I…I don’t think I realized how much I missed you until you walked into my office. I thought I was out having the time of my life, but I wasn’t. Nobody could ever compare to you.”

“I think I just need some time to make sure I’m not…I’m not just feeling this way because you’re being so sweet to me when no one else is.”

“Take all the time you need.” He strokes her cheek. “M’gonna turn over now. If you just so happen to feel like spooning me, I promise not to question it.”

“Please, snuggling sounds like the perfect medicine after today. Assume the position, Styles.”

He chuckles and rolls onto his other side. Blair slots a leg between his, and wraps her arm around his stomach. They both sigh, and wiggle closer to one another. Blair hadn’t felt peace like this in quite some time, and neither had Harry.

//

Blair woke up in a fog the next morning. Her eyes still felt puffy and swollen from crying, and even though the clock read 10AM, she felt like she could stay in bed for at least two more hours. She remembers Harry staying and falling asleep with her, but he wasn’t there next to her now. Where he laid was still warm, so he couldn’t have left too long ago. When she smells coffee, she wakes up a bit more. There was a coffee cup from Dunkin’ on her side table, along with a small bag that she knew had to be a coffee cake muffin. She sits up and sees a note next to the casual breakfast.

Had to rush off to the office this morning. Got a call that one of my major clients passed, and his family is already fighting over the money. Had to time to run out and get you brekkie though! I’ll call you later. – H

Blair pouts at the note, and takes a sip of her coffee, which had cooled down just enough for her to sip it without burning her tongue. She texts Harry a quick “thank you” before diving into her muffin. This was his signature “sorry for not being there when you wake up” breakfast treat. There had been many mornings Blair had woken up alone after spending the night with him. It wasn’t because Harry liked scooting out, he just usually got pulled away due to something work related, and he knew that Blair liked being able to sleep in when she could on the weekends, especially when she was still in school. She never minded because she knew he was busy. She used to just lounge around for an hour or so in his large bed before getting up and making it. Then she’d take an indulgent bath in his Jacuzzi-tub. He’d usually get back to her sometime in the afternoon, and they would snuggle up to watch a movie before he brought her back to her apartment. It worked for them.

There were plenty of times Blair had to scoot early as well. When she was doing her practicum, she needed to be at the high school no later than 7AM, which sucked because at the time she was a major night owl. It’s taken her years of discipline to get herself to fall asleep at a reasonable time so she wouldn’t be so groggy and grumpy in the morning. That was something that Harry helped with as well. He told her about this sleepy time playlist on Spotify that he would listen to on the nights he needed to go to bed early. Blair had told him she couldn’t afford the premium membership and she didn’t want to be jolted awake by ads. So what did Harry do? He bought the subscription plan that allowed for two people to be on it, helped her shift her account, and even though she protested, he insisted. The music sounded like something a masseuse would put on, and it always put her right to sleep. Harry was a genius, at least Blair thought so.

“How do you always have an answer for everything?” She had cried to him on a particularly stressful evening. It was after she graduated, and she had just gotten her business up and running. She felt overwhelmed and scared. “You always stay so calm, it’s like you don’t even care!”

“I just know that this’ll pass, baby. You just graduated from college, you’re going through a major life change. You’ve had the same routine all your life, and now it’s completely different. In a few months things won’t feel as scary.” He smiled at her, and wrapped his arms around her mid-section. “Went through the same thing myself not too long ago. I promise, it gets a lot better. Your early twenties fucking suck.”

“Yeah? How are things looking in the world of mid to late twenties?” She pouted up at him.

“Well,” he moved some hair away from her face, “I’ve got an incredible girlfriend who loves me, and I just so happen to love her, and I’m feeling settled in mt job, and I have a great place to live, and oh! Finally stopped having stress dreams about missing a big exam. Can’t complain too much.”

“I…I’m gonna be really busy at the studio. I have to choreograph all these dances, and start advertising, and-“

“Hey, I’ve got an idea.” He tugged her along down the hall to his home office.

“Harry, I’m not in the mood to fuck in your office…” She said, and Harry chuckled.

“As much as I love it when you let me bend you over my desk, that’s not what this is about.” He took her inside and took out a few sheets of blank paper and some pens. He sat down and pulled her into her lap. “Alright, this used to help me all the time when I was super stressed, still does, actually.” She watched as he drew three large circles, and wrote CHOREOGRAPHY in one, SOCIAL MEDIA, in another, and BUDGET

in the last. “Alright, so these are some rather large cookies, wouldn’t you say?” He looked up at her, and she looked down at him and nodded. “Okay, so what are some ways we can take little bites out of these?”

“Like a checklist for each?”

“Sort of, yeah.” He drew a few stems from each circle. “Almost like a backwards flow chart.”

“Is this what you do with your clients when they ask for financial advice?”

“Sometimes.” He nodded. “But more importantly, I want to help my girlfriend who is insanely frazzled. I hate when people try to be problem solvers…so hope you don’t think that’s what I’m trying to do…”

“No.” She shook her head. “This is great. I think if I have it all laid out in front of me…and can check certain things off…take smaller bites, like you said, I can handle things better.” She grabbed a pen and started writing, and making more stems, color coding a few of them. “My parents are gonna help cover the loan payments for the first year so I can save up, and start paying off my student loans.” She chewed her bottom lip. “And I can set aside some time in the mornings to do the social media stuff, and use the afternoons for choreography…evenings I can work on my website.”

“Just think of how sweet it’ll all taste by the time you finish.” He smiled up at her, and she leaned in to peck his lips.

“I love you, Harry, thank you.”

“I love you too, baby.” He kissed her again, ever so tenderly and soft. “Don’t let this stuff build up, you know you can talk to me about anything.”

“I just feel like my problems are so trivial, like, there are people that are starving, and I’m crying about being overwhelmed.”

“Your feelings are valid, don’t compare it to what someone else might be going through.”

“Do you think, um, could you just hold me for a bit?” It was so rare for Blair to be this vulnerable. Usually she was the one to hold Harry, but once in a while she just really needed him.

“Of course.” He shifted in his seat to cradle her to his chest. He was so warm and inviting, he always made Blair feel safe.

Blair sighs, and shakes herself from the memory. She couldn’t bask in the good times and act as if there weren’t also bad times. Although…there really weren’t that many bad times. She finishes up her muffin and gets out of bed. She grimaced when she saw herself in her bathroom mirror, and decided a long, hot shower would do her some good. She didn’t have the energy to wash her hair, so she grabs a scrunchie to put it up in a bun on the top of her head. As the warm water cascades over her body, she can’t help but continue to let her mind wander to other old memories.

“Harry! I told you I’d be five minutes.” Blair whispered to Harry as he entered the bathroom. He locked the door behind him and smirked. “Riley’s home! Just down the hall sleeping.” Harry pulled back the shower door, and walked into it with her. All he did was put a finger up to his lips.

“Then we’ll need to be quiet.” He whispered to her, ghosting his lips over hers.

“I…I’ve never had sex in the shower before. I always heard it wasn’t as cracked up as it looks in the movies.”

“That’s because people try too hard to do it full on.” He stepped into the water, getting his hair wet, and then moves her so she’s pressed up against the wall. He knelt in front of her, and looked up at her wet body. “Can I make you feel good, baby?”

“Y-yes.”

He grinned, and lifted one of her legs over his shoulder.

“Now, you need to stay quiet.” He pressed his lips to one of her hip bones, and kissed across her pelvis. “So, if it gets to be too much, just suck on your fingers or something, pull my hair, whatever you need to do.” She watched as his eyes darkened when he licked over her clit. His tongue moved to her slit and licked up. He moaned, letting his eyes flutter closed before looking back up at her. “You have no idea how fucking good you taste.”

“Blair!” Riley exclaims as she comes into the apartment. Blair’s taken from her thoughts just as she was whimpering out Harry’s name.

“I’m in the shower!” Blair yells back, and finishes cleaning herself up. She meets Riley out in the living room once she’s thrown some sweats on. “Hi.”

“Oh, god, I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there.” Riley wraps her arms around her friend.

“You couldn’t have known.” Blair hugs her back. “A month in Chicago, I can’t wait to hear all about it.” They let go of each other.

“Are you sure you wanna talk about all that?”

“Yeah, I need the distraction.”

“Alright. I brought coffee and doughnuts.” Riley smiles.

“Thank you, but I might save that for later. I had coffee and a muffin earlier…um, Harry spent the night last night.” Blair blushes as they both move to sit on the couch.

“Holy shit! Pleas don’t tell me you called him for a booty call.” Riley frowns.

“No, it was nothing like that. I told you he was helping with all of the legal stuff…he ended up coming to the funeral unannounced. He was there for me…he drove me home and I asked him to stay. We just slept, and he was gone before I woke up because of a work thing.”

“Ah, and he brought you the old comfort breakfast to make up for it.” Riley shakes her head. “Well, I’m glad he was there for you. I always hoped you would become friends at some point after you broke up.”

“I don’t think I realized how much I missed him. I’ve been so independent for the last year, it felt kind of nice to lean on him for a change.”

“Do you think you wanna get back together?”

“I don’t know…I was definitely feeling something yesterday, even this morning, but I don’t know if it’s because I’m just sad and vulnerable, or if it’s because I really wanna give it a second go. I don’t really know what would be different this time. He still works crazy hours, and-“

“He’s dialed back a lot.” Riley cuts him off. “Ever since he’s taken over, and once he really got settled into it, he hasn’t been working himself to the bone like he was. Are there still some sixty-hour weeks? Sometimes, but not like he was, I swear.”

“He didn’t seem to think we still spoke…so that made me think you weren’t as close with him…”

“I don’t hang out with him as much…I speak with his friend John quite a bit, though.” Riley blushes.

“Speak to or fuck?” Blair smirks.

“Don’t. If Harry knew I was messing around with one of his boys, god, I don’t even wanna think about it.”

“Oh, so he can go out with your friend, but you can’t go out with his?”

“John and I aren’t going out. We just…meet up to fuck sometimes, but we both still hookup with other people. I mean, I’m sure he slept with his share of people while I was away.”

“Did you?”

“There were a couple of people I let take me back to my hotel, yeah.” Riley nods. “Don’t say anything to Harry, okay?”

“Christ, I’m not his best friend all of a sudden. I think I was just emotional last night. I doubt we’ll even-“

There’s a jingle of keys, and then Harry’s entering the apartment. He freezes when he sees Riley.

“Hey! You’re back.” He smiles at his cousin. “How was Chicago?”

“Windy.” Riley says. “But fun, I made a ton of sales.”

“That’s great.” Harry sets the keys on the kitchen counter and then comes further into the living area. “How are you this morning?” He asks Blair.

“I’m okay, um, thanks for breakfast.”

“Yeah, of course, sorry I had to skip out. Uh, I just came back to see how you were, but I can see your girl’s day has started, so I’ll head out.”

“You can stay, Har, we were just gonna paint our nails, nothing you haven’t done with us before.” Riley says. “You don’t mind, right, Blair?”

“S-sure, you can stay, Harry…if you want to.”

“I’d love to stay.” He comes over and sits down on Blair’s other side. “Nothing like giving you a Styles sandwich to make you feel better.” He smirks. “Alright, Riles, what colors did you bring?”

The three ended up having a great day together. It felt like old times. They painted their nails, ordered Chinese, and watched Mystic Pizza. Riley was starting to get tired, so she left around six. The jet lag was catching up with her. So it was just Harry and Blair sitting on the couch watching Wall-E.

“Do you remember the first time we watched this?” Harry asks her a few minutes in.

“Mhm.” Blair smiles without looking at him. “It was that weekend we went away Hampton Beach, and it rained in the evening, so instead of being annoyed, we got all cozy and watched this.”

“After…” He looks at her, a smirk growing on his face.

“Harry.” She rolls her eyes.

“Come on, what did we do just before settling in to watch this adorable film?”

Blair sighs, but gives in, “We made hot fudge sundaes, and, um, I let you lay me on the counter and lick chocolate sauce and whipped cream off my body.” She swallows. “Then I did the same to you. We made a mess of the Air BnB.”

“We cleaned it up. Then we got into that big, comfy bed and just vegged out. Think this is one of my favorite Pixar films that you showed me.”

“You really liked Cars too.” Blair chuckles.

“Yeah, I did. That was a good one.” Harry leans back on the couch, crossing his arms behind his head.

“You don’t need to do this, you know?”

“Do what, love?” He says without looking at her, eyes focused on the screen.

“Babysit me.” She mutters.

“S’not what I’m doing.” He scoffs. “I’m enjoying spending time with you, Blair.” He looks at her. “And I’m worried about you, but I’m not babysitting you.” He puts his hand on her knee and gives it a squeeze before taking it away. “Just relax, yeah?”

“Thanks.” She pauses for a moment. “Harry…would you be taking care of me like this if you had a new girlfriend?” Her eyes start to well up with tears. “Because-“

“Why are you asking a what if like that?” He reaches to wipe her tears with his thumbs. “At the risk of sounding totally lame…I was sort of just waiting on you. Sort of hoping you’d wanna get back together at some point. I tried dating, but it’s like I told you…no one was ever you.”

“So you just kept fucking strangers?” She was so confused.

“It was all meaningless. I figured if you were out there living your life, then I should do the same.” He shrugs.

“Harry, I know you think we broke up because you thought I needed time to be young or whatever, but I wasn’t out there fucking a ton of different people. I just…I don’t know, I wanted to be on my own.”

“And I understood that, as much as it upset me. What was I going to do, beg you to stay my girlfriend?” He moves a bit closer to her. “If we were to get back together, what would you want to be different? Obviously things stopped working…”

“It’s not that they stopped working, I just…I think I just grew up a little bit. You gave me plenty of room for it, but I just sort of realized that there were other things I wanted to do and I didn’t wanna be totally tied down. If we were to get back together, I wouldn’t want you paying for things all the time, or thinking you need to fix all of my problems. Sometimes I just want someone to listen without making suggestions, you know?”

“I didn’t even realize I was doing that.” He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I know you always meant well, and you were just trying to help in your own way.” She gives him a reassuring smile. “It didn’t always bother me, but sometimes it did. I wasn’t perfect either, I know how closed off I could get.” She furrows her brows. “I’ve been trying to work on that. I added the yoga into my routines…so that’s been helping. You sort of inspired that.”

“I should start my membership back up.”

“Yeah…it would be nice to see you in class again.”

“Remember when I started coming on Tuesday evenings, and then we’d go to the Thai place for dinner afterwards?”

“Mhm, and then you’d take us back to your place, and set up a bath for us.” She sighs dreamily. “And then you’d massage my calves for me, ugh, I always loved that.”

“Couldn’t have my baby being sore the next morning, could I?” He pouts playfully at her, and she giggles.

“You were always so good to me.” Her face was only a few inches from his now.

“Fucking worshiped you.” His lips ghost over hers, and she whimpers.

“Kiss me, Harry.”

His lips slot over hers immediately, and cups her cheeks to pull her even closer. He sucks on her bottom lip, and she whimpers again. Blair tugs on Harry’s shirt, and then pushes his back to the couch. She moves to straddle him, and he wraps his arms around her body. They’re both grabbing at different parts of one another, and she shifts so she’s only straddling one of his thighs, rolling her hips down onto it. Harry groans, and starts kissing on her neck. She gets a fist full of his hair, and yanks his head back.

“Harry, I don’t think this is a good idea.” She admits. “I mean…we haven’t agreed to anything. I think we should take this slow, don’t you?”

“You just told me to kiss you, and then you climbed into my lap.” He smirks, and she starts laughing.

“Yeah.” She grips his chin with her other hand. “You’re always good at doing exactly what I say.”

“Always.” He agrees. “If you’re not planning on having your way with me then you should get off. You’re only gonna rile me up, and I’ve not done anything to deserve that.”

“No, I suppose you deserve a reward instead of a punishment.” She presses her forehead to his and lets her hands fall to his shoulders. She sighs heavily and then looks at him again. “I need a little more time. I wanna make sure that this really makes sense. The last thing I wanna do is hurt you again.”

“I don’t want you to feel hurt either.” He squeezes her hips. “I wanna give you the time, Blair, but you’ve also had a year to sort your feelings. You either wanna do this or you don’t.”

“I really hate it when you’re right.” She huffs. “But I know what you’re saying.”

“How about this…why don’t we go out Saturday night? We could go on a date, and see how it feels.”

“Why not Friday?”

“Because you work early on Saturday mornings, darling, and you’re just going to be getting back to it again.” He tucks some hair behind her hear. “Can’t have you being sleepy.”

“You’re so sweet.” She smiles. “Okay, yeah, I’d like that. Um, did you want to just go out for dinner?”

“If that’s what you wanna do, baby. I’m down for whatever.”

“I haven’t been to that grill we used to go to all the time in forever. Feel like I could go for a really good burger.”

“Alright, we’ll go to Benson’s. I’ll pick you up around six, how’s that sound?”

“I think it sounds like a date.”

//

On Wednesday evening, much to Blair’s surprise, Harry walked into one of her evening classes with Riley. Riley had a cheeky smile on her face, and Blair just shook her head at the two of them. It had been ages since Harry had been to one of her classes, and he had picked a yoga day.

“Good evening, everyone!” Blair says once everyone gets there. “We’re gonna start off with our warm up, and then get in to it. We’ll work a little with the weights, and then we’ll cool down with the yoga like always. Does everyone have their weights?” She hears a collective yes. “Alright!” She hops up onto the small stage and gets the music playing.

When the class is over, a few people hang back to talk to Blair. Riley would usually grab a quick bite with her after class. A guy was talking to her now.

“Hey, who is that?” Harry asks Riley as they clean up their stations.

“Hm? Oh, that’s Rich, he has a thing for Blair.” Riley rolls her eyes. “He refuses to take a hint. The second he found out she was single he was all over her. She’s nice to him, but she doesn’t like him back.”

Harry narrows his eyes, and reads Blair’s body language like a book. Her arms were crossed, and she was casually trying to step away from Rich.

“I’ll get him to leave her alone.” Harry says.

“Harry, don’t.” Riley grabs his wrist. “She can handle herself.”

“I know she can, but she looks so uncomfortable. What if they were left alone here, and he tried something. He needs to know she has some backup.” Harry walks over to the two, and Blair can’t help but smirk because she knows exactly why Harry’s walking over. “Hey, sorry to interrupt, but we should get going if we want to make trivia night.”

“Right! Yeah, sorry, Rich, I need to get the studio cleaned up so I can head out.” Blair was thankful. Harry was always good at coming up with excuses for them to leave places early. Usually it was because he needed to get her home so she could fuck him, obviously now that wasn’t the case.

“Oh…alright, well, I’ll see you next week. Have a good night.” Rich looks Harry up and down before leaving.

“Thank you.” Blair sighs. “He’s a nice guy, but I’m not interested.”

“Obviously.” Harry scoffs. “Have fun with Riley.”

“You don’t wanna come with?”

“Nah, I need to get home. I have some stuff I need to do before tomorrow. Still on for Saturday?”

“Mhm.” She nods with a smile.

“Good.” He kisses her cheek. “I’ll call you Friday.”

Harry leaves and Riley helps Blair cleanup before they head out to a Panera for dinner.

“So, you two are going out on Saturday?” Riley asks her when they sit down with their food.

“Yeah, it’s sort of like a first date. I wanna make sure things feel really right with us. I have a feeling we’ll get back together officially, though.”

“Yeah? What makes you think that?” Riley smirks.

“Well…we kissed on Sunday night when he was still over. It was a really good kiss too, it was familiar, but there was still that, like, passion, you know?”

“I would love it if you got back together. I never really liked the other people he dated, and I was so excited when you both got together. He’s like the brother I never had, and I want him with someone that really cares about him. I never doubted that with you. You guys got together at a weird time in your life where you were sort of at different places. Now…well, now you might mesh better. You grew up a lot during the time you were together, I know that was tough on you both.”

“Yeah, it was.” Blair sighs, and bites into her piece of bread. “I feel like I could handle things better now. He’s been there for me during so many tough times, he’s seen me…at my absolute worst, and still loved me through all of it. I can’t wrap my head around him turning into such a playboy.”

“I couldn’t believe it myself, but I honestly don’t think he really knew how to deal with not having you around, and then…I don’t know.” Riley shakes her head. “He always wrapped it up, that’s what John told me, anyways.”

“He mentioned that to me too.” Blair rolls her eyes. “I’m not going to hold anything against him, we weren’t together. I don’t have the right to judge him about it.”

“He only wanted you, B.” Riley smiles.

“I really have missed him.” Blair smiles. “I’m really looking forward to going out with him Saturday night.” She bites her bottom lip. “Wanna come with me to Victoria’s Secret during the day? I think I should pick out something new…”

“Yeah! I’ve got a coupon to go there, actually. I need some new undies.”

“Oh, yay! We haven’t been shopping in forever.”

“I know! I hope I’m not on the road for an entire month like that again. It got old real quick.”

//

On Friday, Harry was in his office wrapping some things up, going over some paperwork. Then he looked over his calendar for Monday, just to see what meetings he had, and if he needed to do anything over the weekend.

“Mr. Styles?” Kiley, the intern training with Kate comes into his office.

“Miss Stewart, what can I do you for?” He asks, giving her his full attention. She pouts slightly at him.

“You can just call me Kiley…you call Kate by her first name.”

“I’ve known Kate for quite some time, Miss Stewart.”

“Well, we’ll get to know each other pretty well once she’s on maternity…right?”

“Most likely.” He nods. “Did you need something?”

“Yes, sorry.” She pulls a paper out of her bag. “Um, I just need you to sign off on the hours I worked this week since Kate left early. I forgot to ask her before she stepped out for her doctor’s appointment.”

“Oh, sure.” He gestures for the paper. “They’re really on you guys about the hours, huh?”

“Yeah.” She sighs. “I don’t mind, though, because I have to write a paper explaining what I did, so having an account of that will be helpful.” She shrugs. Harry hums his response as he signs the paper and hands it back to her. “Thank you…any fun plans for the weekend?”

“Just laying low tonight. I’ve got a date tomorrow, though.” He smiles.

“Oh! That’s nice.” She smiles. “Did you just meet someone?”

“No.” He shakes his head with a chuckle. “Might be starting over with my ex, which I’m pretty excited about since I’m still hopelessly in love with her.”

“Well in that case, I hope it goes super well.” She beams at him.

“Thank you, Kiley.” Her smile widens at him even more. “Feel free to head out, enjoy your weekend.”

“Thank you, Mr. Styles. I expect a full report of your date on Monday morning.”

Harry chuckles and nods as she leaves. Just when he thought his door was going to close, John enters.

“Wrap it buddy boy, we gotta meet the guys soon.”

“About that…I’m going to skip out on tonight.”

“Seriously? Why?” John frowns.

“I…I have a date tomorrow night with Blair, and-“

“You can’t be serious.” John rolls his eyes and sits down. “Why would you even entertain the idea of getting back together with her?”

“Because she seems ready for a relationship again. I still love her, and I think she still loves me. There’s still a chemistry between us, physically, so we’re going to Benson’s for a burger tomorrow to see if everything else is still there.”

“So that means you can’t come out for guy’s night?”

“You know as well as I do that guy’s night never stays guy’s night. I don’t want to be tempted by anything that could fuck me over. Besides, it wouldn’t kill me to stay in for a change. There’s a book I’ve been meaning to get back to. I wouldn’t mind just taking it easy, you guys have a good time without me.” Harry smiles at his friend. “It’s nothing personal…”

“I know.” John sighs. “You’re just fun, that’s all…” John looks down at his phone and smirks.

“Maybe you’ll meet up with that girl you see on the regular. Seems like she just texted you.”

“Maybe she did.” John nods.

“How come you don’t just date her? I’ve watched you turn down other girls to go meet up with her a dozen times.”

“It’s a little complicated. She travels a lot for work, we’re both just looking for someone familiar to hookup with right now.”

“Guess that makes sense.” Harry shrugs. “You’re pretty busy yourself”

“Exactly, so when’s around I see her more, and when she’s gone, I see other people. She does the same. We’re pretty open about it.”

“Good.” Harry smiles. “Have a beer for me tonight, yeah?”

“Alright.” John sighs and stands up. “Have fun with Blair, I guess.”

“You could sound a little more enthused.”

“I’ll be enthused if she doesn’t string you along.”

“She never strung me along.” Harry shakes his head. “We were a great team.”

“Seems like you were always doing everything for her.”

“No, she did plenty for me.”

“Babe?! I picked up a pizza!” Blair shouted as she entered Harry’s place, putting her key in the bowl by the door. “Baby?!” He wasn’t in the kitchen like she thought he’d be. She set the pizza down on the counter and walked down the hall to his home office. Her jaw dropped when she saw him knuckling at his eyes. “Harry, are you crying?” She asked softly.

“Blair.” He said, almost surprised. “Hi, I lost track of time, I’m sorry. Let’s eat.” He stood up, but she went over to him and urged him to sit.

“What happened, what’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing, baby.”

“It’s not nothing if you’re crying. Talk to me.”

“I’m just really stressed.” His voice cracked. “I was looking forward to taking over for my dad, but there’s so much other shit that’s been added to my plate that he didn’t really prepare me for. Now he’s down in Florida living it up with my mum, and I can’t even talk to him about it because I don’t want him to be disappointed in me. He’s trusting me with everything.”

“That’s a lot.” She wipes=d his tears away. “I’m so sorry you’re feeling like this.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “Is…is there anything I can do to help? Anything I can do to help take your mind off things for a bit? I brought pizza…”

“Um…yeah, I think there is something you could do for me, but it doesn’t involve food.” He stood and took her hand, leading her out to the living room. They both sat down. “Sometimes when we’re having sex…I let you take the lead, have you noticed that?”

“A little.” She shrugged. “I mean, I like that you’re not super dominating, it makes me feel safe.”

“Right, but before you I wasn’t really like that. I was always in control, but with you…I feel really safe too. So safe…that I’m able to just let everything else slip away when we’re doing what we do.”

“What are you saying exactly?”

“I…I sometimes I think I want you to really be in control. I’m not saying all the time, but I have to be in control of so many things, and I think it would be nice to not.”

“Okay, so I could ride you more if you want.”

“Well, that would be nice.” He smirked. “But I’m talking more like…like maybe you could blindfold me once in a while, or you could cuff me to the bed?” His was flushed with embarrassment. Her eyes widened as she finally started to understand what he was trying to say. “I’ve totally freaked you out, haven’t I? I know that stuff isn’t for everyone. I was just thinking we’ve been together a while now-“

“Harry, calm down.” She smiled, squeezing his hand. “I think it’s kind of hot that you wanna explore some different things.”

“You do?”

“Mhm.” She nodded. “I…just don’t ask me to, like, whip you or anything. I don’t think I could hurt you.”

“No, I’m not looking for pain.” He chuckled. “I just…wanna clear my head sometimes, that’s all.”

“Okay, I think I could be into that. You know how much I love all your ties, I’d love to tie you up with them.” She grinned, and he groaned softly.

“What do you say we leave the pizza for later, and we head into the bedroom to explore a little bit?”

“I say we’re in for a fantastic weekend.”

“Whatever you say man.” John says. “See you Monday.” John leaves Harry’s office, and Harry sighs. He never told anyone about what he and Blair did, it was no one’s business. He certainly wasn’t going to let it slip now.

//

At around 10AM Saturday morning, Blair picked up Riley so they could go shopping. Riley had bags under her eyes, and a fresh hickey on her neck. Blair’s mouth fell open the second Riley got in the car.

“Don’t.” Riley mumbles.

“I didn’t say anything.” Blair chuckles.

“But I know what you’re thinking.”

“Did you meet up with John last night?”

“Yeah, I guess Harry didn’t feel like going out last night, so I met up with him at some bar, and then he came back with me to my place.”

“Oh shit, is still there?”

“No, he left at, like, seven.” Riley rolls her eyes. “But not before he fucked me again.” She shakes her head. “We’ve fucked so many times, I don’t know how he’s not sick of me yet, or how I’m not sick of him.”

“Maybe it’s a sign you two should be more.” Blair smirks.

“I mean, we’re basically just in an open relationship, that’s the way I look at it anyways.” She shrugs. “We were up most of the night.” She yawns loudly.

“You could have stayed home.” Blair frowns as she keeps her eyes on the road.

“No, it’s okay, I wanted to go shopping with you.”

The girls make their way to a Victoria’s Secret, and start shopping around. Just as Riley hoped, there was an underwear sale. Blair indulged in it as well. Nothing wrong with getting some new undies to replace some old ones.

“Oh, these are cute!” Blair says, holding up a cheeky pair of panties.

“Yeah! I’ve been way more into the lace cheeky bottoms instead of thongs lately.”

“Me too! It’s way more comfortable. To be honest, I wear boxers a lot around my apartment. They’re more breathable than athletic shorts, and they don’t ride up.”

“Of course men have more comfortable underwear than us.” Riley sighs heavily. “Oh! Look at these white ones! Can never have too many white pairs.”

“Snag me a pair, please.”

Once the girls are done picking out their underwear, and a couple of bras that were two $50 (yes, way overpriced, but necessary), they head to the part of the store where the lingerie was.

“What are you looking for exactly?” Riley asks as she looks over some babydoll nighties.

“I don’t know, nothing crazy, but if things go well tonight, which I think they will, I wanna surprise him with something fun.”

“You’d really jump into bed with him right away?” There was no judgement in Riley’s voice, more so surprise.

“I mean…I know he’s your cousin and all, but he’s pretty hard to resist, Riles. He had me wrapped around his finger from the second we met.”

“Fair enough.” Riley shrugs. “I might try one of these on…surprise John one of these nights.”

The girls giggle as they pick out different things. Blair ends up finding a black lace bralette and matching panties that she thinks will work well under an outfit. The only thing was the bralette didn’t have any support, like, at all, but she was able to adjust the straps on it a bit to give her a slight lift.

“God, I wish I danced as a kid.” Blair huffs as she leaves the dressing room to meet Riley out at the register line.

“Why?”

“Because then maybe I wouldn’t have these fucking honkers on my chest. I’d love to be able to wear a bralette without worrying. My boobs are so saggy, I look like a granny when I don’t have the proper support.”

“You’re being dramatic.” Riley chuckles.

“Easy for you to say, Miss B Cup.”

“Hey, I’d kill to have boobs like yours. I always feel like mine are too small. I have to wear pushups all the time. Besides, your boobs are not saggy, they just sit a little lower on your chest.”

“When I really started dancing I thought they’d get smaller since I was working out all the time, but nope. The worst part is, it’s all right here.” She lifts her arm slightly and rubs just under her armpit. “I’m only a C, but I feel like a double D sometimes when I put a bra on, it takes all the side boob to the front.” Blair puts her things up on the counter, and Riley goes to the next register.

“Find everything okay?” The girl behind the register asks.

“Mhm.” Blair smiles. “I have some coupons too.” She takes her phone out so the girl can scan the barcodes on Blair’s screen.

“Oh, that’s a good one! Took off 25% of your total.” The girl puts everything into a bag for Blair, and she heads out with Riley.

“So, when will John get to see that babydoll?” Blair smirks at Riley.

“When I feel like he deserves it.” Riley grins. “If he invites me over tonight, I might bring it with me.”

“Do you usually see him two nights in a row?”

“Sometimes, but not often. I think he missed me a little since I was gone for so long. Kinda missed him too. He told me he’d call me later today.” She shrugs.

The girls grab a quick lunch before heading home. Blair didn’t want to eat anything too heavy since she was going to be eating out for dinner, so she just had a salad. She spent some time doing some social media work for her business, and then spent some time putting a new dance together. Her customers had been asking for some more throwbacks, so she was crafting some choreography to a couple of Ricky Martin songs. They could be used for the high intensity days. She always recorded herself so she could go back later to review the steps.

When she was done she was drenched in sweat, so she hops into the shower to freshen up. She sort of ends up pampering herself a bit. She shaved her legs, so she massaged some lotion into them, and used some cocoa butter on her thighs because she liked the way it smelled. After that, she grabbed her electric razor to trip her bikini line, having exfoliated first in the shower, so she was plenty smooth where she wanted to be. She spritzes some perfume into the air and walks through it, then she gets to work on her hair. She had been sporting a shoulder length look lately. Her hair used to be really long in college, but in recent years she had been keeping it a tad shorter. It was up in a braid or bun most days, but she decides to wear it down tonight. She puts on some makeup, and then goes through her closet to find something to wear over her new lingerie. She decides on a pair of black jeans that could easily be word with some booties. She pulls on a blush pink tank top and a tan cardigan to complete the look. You could just see the lace top of the bralette, and she sort of liked that look. Her phone goes off just as she’s putting some lipstick on.

“Hello?” She answers brightly.

“Hey, baby, I’m downstairs.”

“Okay, be down in a sec!” She throws some makeup remover wipes into her bag, and a spare toothbrush, then she heads out. Again, she didn’t quite know what would happen tonight, but she wanted to be prepared. Harry was standing outside his car. He smiles when he sees her.

“Hi.” He says, and opens the car door for her.

“Hi, thanks.” She smiles back and gets inside. They head towards Benson’s, being silent in the car at first. “How was your week?” She asks him.

“Good, had a pretty good workout Wednesday.” He grins, looking at her for a moment before looking back at the road. It makes Blair giggle. “Work wasn’t too stressful for a change, although I’m getting anxious about Kate going on maternity leave.”

“Is the intern no good?”

“No, she just doesn’t have a lot of experience. She’ll get the hang of it.” He shrugs. “How was your week, how are you feeling?”

“I’m okay. I spoke with my mom last night, she’s doing alright. My aunt’s been staying with her, so that’s good.”

“Do you think she’ll sell the house?”

“Nah, she likes where she lives, but I think she’s going to paint and change a few things so it doesn’t feel like such a ghost town, you know?”

“Makes sense.” Harry nods. “I know I’ve offered a ton, but if she needs any help with anything, don’t be afraid to ask. I can hold my own with a paintbrush.”

“Thank you, Harry, that’s very sweet.” She gives his shoulder a squeeze. “It was really nice having you in class Wednesday.” She says shyly.

“Yeah? Would you be opposed if I started coming regularly again?”

“Not at all, I’d really like it, actually.” She smiles. “It…it made it easier to wait to see you tonight.” She blushes, and he reaches for one of her hands. He brings it to his lips to kiss her knuckles.

“You’re cute.” He tells her, resting their hands on the console, not letting go at all.

They get to Benson’s, and get seated in a booth. Harry hesitates for a moment, desperately wanting to sit next to her, but he thinks that might be too much too soon, so he sits across from her. She gives him a funny look.

“What?” He asks.

“Nothing…you’re just far away. You usually sit next to me.”

“I didn’t know if you wanted me to.”

“I want you to.” Harry smiles, stands back up, and slides in next to her. She hooks her arms around his and rests her cheek on his shoulder. “Much better.” She sighs. He kisses the top of her head, and a waitress comes over.

“Evening, folks, are you expecting anyone else?” She asks.

“No, love, it’s just us.” Harry says to her, squinting at her nametag. “Becky, is it?”

“Y-yes.” She clears her throat. “Can I get you started with any drinks or appetizers?”

“Definitely two waters.” Blair begins. “And I’ll have a vodka-tonic, please.”

“I’ll have the same.” Harry says. “Do you want an app?” He asks Blair.

“No, I think just the burger will be good.”

“Right, think we’re ready to order dinner.” Harry says to Becky.

“Great! What can I get you?”

“I’ll have the turkey burger with cheddar cheese and sautéed mushrooms.” Blair says.

“And I’ll have veggie burger with avocado.” Harry says.

“Sounds good, I’ll be right back with your drinks.” Becky says, taking their menus before walking away.

“Just a veggie burger?” Blair asks Harry.

“Yeah, I’ve been craving a good one lately, and they make the best here.”

“Very true.” She nods. Becky comes back over with the drinks, and sets them on the table. “So…do anything fun last night?”

“I stayed in.” Harry says, before taking a sip of his drink. “Got caught up on a book I’ve been reading, watched a little TV, nothing special.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t go out with your friends. Isn’t Friday usually your guy’s night?”

“Yeah, I just felt like skipping last night.” He shrugs. “What about you, what did you do?”

“I ran errands all day, and then went to bed early so I could get up for my early classes this morning. Then Riley and I went shopping, and then I did some work at my place. Got ready to go out with you.” She shrugs.

“What does Riley have to say about all this?”

“She’s happy that we’re entertaining the idea of getting back together.” Blair chuckles and sips her drink. “Did you tell anyone we were going out tonight?”

“Mentioned it to my intern…and to John. He wasn’t so enthused.” Harry rolls his eyes.

“He’s never liked me, and I literally have no idea why.”

“Think he was just jealous that I snagged someone as gorgeous and bright as you.” Harry grins. “You know, when we first got together a ton of people gave me shit because you were still in school.”

“I was in my last semester, and I was twenty-one, it wasn’t like I was a child.” Blair scoffs.

“That’s what I said! It wasn’t like I was looking for someone younger than me, it just happened.”

“We just clicked right away, nothing wrong with that.” She inches a little closer to him, her ankle hooking around his under the table.

“Not at all.” His lips graze over hers, but their food is brought over to the table before they can really kiss.

They both giggle and dig into their food, each moaning out at the taste. They continue to talk about things, catching each other on the last year that they weren’t in one another’s lives. It felt easy and natural.

“I don’t wanna be too forward, but would you like to come back to mine when we’re done?” Harry asks.

“I’d like that.” She nods. “Got any sweets at home?”

“Mhm, I’ve got those chewy chocolate chip cookies you like so much.”

“This night just keeps getting better and better.” She smiles. When the check comes, they both reach for it.

“Blair, let go of the check.”

“No, I wanna pay for dinner.”

“I insist, let me pay.”

“Harry, I don’t want you always paying for everything, come on.”

“Fine, can we at least split it?”

“Ugh, fine.” She slaps her card down and so does he.

“So fucking irritating when you do that.” He huffs.

“No, what’s irritating is that you think I can’t pay for stuff.”

“That’s not what this is! I just like paying for our dates, it’s gentlemanly.”

“Yeah, well, it makes me feel like shit.” Becky comes to grabs the cards, and tells them she’ll be right back. “I’m doing well for myself now, I want things to be more equal. I’m not with you for your money.”

“I know you’re not, baby…I just…I can’t help that I wanna spoil you rotten.” He presses his forehead to hers, and she sighs before pecking his lips quickly.

“There are plenty of other ways you can do that, Harry.”

“Am I gonna have the chance?” Becky comes back with their cards, and they both sign their slips before sliding out of the booth. She takes his hand in hers as they walk out.

“Yes.” She says as they both get into the car. “I…I think wanna see where this goes with you, babe. I feel like I’m really ready for you now…”

“That means the world to me, Blair.” Her bottom lip starts to quiver, and he frowns. “Hey, why are you crying?” He reaches to caress her cheek.

“I just can’t believe you basically were waiting for me all this time.” She sniffles. “I feel so shitty. And I feel even shittier because I’m jealous of all the other people you slept with that we weren’t together.”

“Baby.” Harry sighs. “I was so in love with you, still am, none of them meant anything. I’m sorry you feel hurt by it. You don’t need to worry about it now, though, I’m all yours.” Her hand grips the collar of his shirt and she tugs him close to her, only a few centimeters apart.

“Mine.” She says, eyes darkening before her lips crash against his. She nips and sucks at his bottom lip as his hands cup her cheeks, trying to get even closer.

“Fuck.” He breathes, putting his keys in the ignition. “Need to get you home.” He pulls onto the street, and zips them home. His hand grips her thigh the entire time, squeezing it occasionally.

“Thought of you last weekend in the shower.” She says, shifting on her side a little. “Thought of the first time we had sex in the shower.” Her breath is on his ear now, and she nibbles on his lobe.

“Blair.” He warns, but she keeps going, kissing on his neck.

“Made me feel so good, always make me feel good.”

“Blair, I’m going to crash the car, just sit patiently, please.” She sits back normally in her seat. “Thank you.” He sighs. “So, you really thought of me?”

“It was hard not to with you leaving me breakfast.” She pouts at him. “So sweet of you, and I haven’t had a chance to even reward you for being so good to me.”

“You’re still into all that?” He asks cautiously.

“Only for you…do you still like it?”

“Only if it’s you. I told you I didn’t do that with anyone else.”

“You still trust me enough?”

“Course I do, baby.” He reaches for her hand to intertwine their fingers. He drives a little faster to his place, and they finally reach it. “Gonna take care of you first, and then you can do me, alright?”

“Whatever you want, babe.”

They get up to his place, somehow keeping their hands to themselves in the elevator. Before she knows it, Harry’s slamming Blair against the wall of his front hallway, attacking her neck with his lips.

“Gonna mark you up.” He says as he sucks on her skin. “Then everyone will know you’re taken again.”

She whimpers as her response, and pushes his head further into her neck. She wiggles out of her cardigan, and wraps her arms around his neck.

“Jump.” He grunts into her ear, and she does so, wrapping her legs around his waist so he can carry her to his bedroom. He sets her down on the bed, letting her get her shoes off. He does the same before kneeing onto the bed. She takes her tank top off, and his mouth waters at the sight of the bralette. “Christ.” He breathes as he gropes her supple breasts. “Missed these.” He sucks on her nipple through the lace, and her head rolls back. He does the same to the other one, getting it nice and pebbled. One of his hands slides down between her legs and he whimpers. “Need to get these off you, that okay?”

“Mhm, yeah, please.”

He undoes her button and zipper, yanking the jeans off of her. His eyes widen when he sees the matching panties.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Blair. Are these new?”

“Yeah, bought them today, just for you.” She props herself up on her elbows. “Wouldn’t mind you taking them off, though.”

Harry nearly growls as he tugs them down her legs. His hands slide up and down her smooth skin, having missed the feeling of her skin on his. He spreads her legs apart, and starts leaving open mouthed kisses on her inner thighs, sucking some nasty bruises into them. Blair clutches at his blankets and grits her teeth while he has his fun marking her up.

“Can I?” He asks, looking up at her. “Can I taste you?”

“Yes, of course you can.” She reaches forward to push his hair back, and he smiles at her before licking up her slit.

He licks and sucks all around her folds before working his tongue around her clit, sucking on it briefly before bringing his thumb to it. He licks into her center, making her mewl as he essentially just makes out sloppily with the area.

“Yes, fuck.” Her hands rake through his hair. “Feels so good, Harry.” She grinds against his face, and he moans against her. “Harry, fingers, please, use your fingers.” She whines.

He lifts his head from her, and reaches his hand up to her so she can suck on his fingers. She does so happily, and then he slips two fingers inside her. She gasps and lets her body go slack against the bed.

“Baby, shit, you’re so fucking tight, does it hurt?”

“No, feels so god, m’so wet.”

“I know, you’re dripping.” He pulls his fingers out and sucks on them, moaning again before slipping them back inside to the knuckle.

“R-right there.” She whimpers. Her mouth was open, body writhing under his, having not been touched by another man in almost a year, her body was reacting on overdrive. Her back was arching, and she was pushing her head further into the mattress. “Harry, Harry!” She screams as she comes around his fingers, and he fucks her through it, sucking on her clit to prolong it. As she starts to come down he sits up, and starts taking his shirt off. “Fuck, I’m gonna give it to you so good.” She sits up and watches he takes his clothes off. She takes her bralette off, and tosses it on the floor.

“How do you want me?”

“That depends…um…what would you like me to do? Like, how…how hard do you wanna go tonight?”

“I wanna be able to touch you since it’s been so long, and I wanna be able to look at you.”

“Alright, so we can just keep it sweet and easy, save the rest for another time.”

“Yeah…work back up to it.”

“Get on your back, m’gonna ride you.”

Harry gets himself situated, sitting up against the headboard. Blair raises an eyebrow at him.

“Just wanna be as close as possible tonight, baby.”

“Okay.” She smiles, and gets herself on his lap.

“Are you still on the pill?”

“Mhm, are you okay to not use a condom?”

“Definitely don’t want to. Need feel you.”

“Need to feel you too.”

She grips his hard cock, giving it a few pumps before she guides it inside herself. Her mouth falls open as she feels him stretch her out. Harry looks down and watches as she swallows him whole. They both moan out once he’s full inside her. Her fingernails dig into his shoulders as she gets adjusted to him. His hands squeeze at her hips and ass.

“Shit, Harry.” She presses her forehead to his. “Missed you so much.”

“Missed you too.” He cups her cheeks and kisses her as she starts to slowly rock on and off him. His tongue slips into her mouth, and she grips at his back as she kisses him back. “You feel so fucking good.” He says before biting her bottom lip, sucking on it.

She whimpers and moves herself a little faster on him. She grinds herself against him, feeling the friction on her clit start to form. His arms wrap around her back, his fingers digging into her skin.

“Move with me.” She says into his ear before nibbling on it.

He groans as he starts to thrust up into her. She starts to bounce up and down him, moving his hands to her hips. He watches as her breasts bounce in front of his face, and he leans in to kiss and suck on them. Her head rolls back with pleasure. She wanted to feel his tongue all over her. She brings two fingers to his mouth, and he takes them in quickly. He looks up at her as he sucks on them, swirling his tongue around them, and nipping at the pads of them. She takes them away to rub at her clit.

He growls, and moves to pin her on her back, surprising her completely. He was never like this in bed with her. She looks up at him with wide eyes as he throws one of her legs over his shoulder, and replaces her fingers with his own. She groans at his touch. He was driving himself in so much deeper and she could barely handle it.

“Okay?” He asks her, panting slightly.

“Mhm, it’s good, so good.” One of her hands goes to the back of his neck, pulling him down for a sloppy kiss. They breathe each other in and out once they both start panting. “Harry, fuck, I’m so close.” She squeezes around him and he bites down on her shoulder.

“Blair.” He moans into her ear. “Can I come inside you?”

“Yes! Fuck, yes, please!” She screams as she’s coming again, feeling even more turned on when she feels Harry’s hot come start to fill her up. She grinds her hips towards his trying to make her orgasm last as long as possible. “Love it when you fill me up, feels so good.” She says as she continues to squeeze around him.

He slots his mouth over hers as they both start to come down. Their tongues mold together as they kiss lazily. He’s slow to pull out, but he was too sensitive to stay inside her any longer. She squeezes her legs closed to try to not make a mess. Harry scoops Blair up quickly bridal style to carry her to the bathroom, setting her down gently on the toilet, and leaving her to do her business. When she walks out of the bathroom, he’s laying on his bed in a fresh pair of boxers with a dreamy smile on his face. She climbs onto the bed and lays in between his legs, resting her head on his tummy. She buries her face into his soft skin while he starts to card through her mussed up hair.

“So…we’re really back together?” He asks after a few moment of peaceful silence. She looks up at him with a smile on her face.

“Yeah, I really wanna be your girlfriend again.”

“You have no idea how happy I feel right now.” He continues to play with her hair as she sets her head back down.

“You’ve never really taken control like that before…I kinda liked it.” She peers up at him again, grinning. “Maybe I should see what being the sub feels like sometime.”

“Oh, baby, I don’t know if I could switch like that. Don’t think I’d get much pleasure in making you wait for things. Think I’d give in the second you asked for something.” He chuckles.

“You’re so cute, Harry, but I understand what you’re saying. I don’t mind being the one to do that stuff when you really need it, babe.” She moves further up his body so she can be closer to his face. “Do you think in a bit when you’re ready to go again we could…bring out some of your ties?”

“Feel like I’m already bloating back up, fuck.” He groans, and kisses her.

“You know what I’ve really missed doing with you?” She says, moving her lips to the shell of his ear.

“What, baby?”

“Fucking that tight hole of yours.” She says lowly, and he whimpers.

“Yes.” He breathes, and she looks at him. “Still have everything, it just hasn’t been used in a while.”

“Would you really wanna get into all of that tonight? I mean, I’m game if you are…you seemed hesitant before.”

“I just wanted to feel really close with you before, but now that we’ve got that out of our system I’m definitely up for it.” He pecks her lips. “We’ve got the rest of the weekend to do all we want.”

“Mmm, and the weekend after that, and the weekend after that, and maybe sometimes during the middle of the week. Oh! Remember when I used to come to your office at work, and I’d let you bend me over your desk, god, that was always so hot.”

“Or that time we screwed in that bathroom at your studio?” His smile was incredibly mischievous.

“Or the times you sit me up on the counter in your kitchen and fuck me?”

“Or the time you bent me over my own desk her here?”

“I think it’s time we make some new memories.” She says, getting off of him, and extending her hand out to him for him to follow.

“Couldn’t agree with you more.”

Blair leads them inside Harry’s walk in closet where he kept his box of toys. It was still in the same spot as always. She pops the lid off and they both smile at each other.

“How long do you think I could edge you for?” She asks him.

“Um, I should be okay to go for a while since I already came.”

“Excellent.” She picks up a cock ring, the kind that vibrates. “We’ve got a lot of time to make up for.”

[sunflowervolvimp3]

you’re someone i just want around: VIII

Like wolves we've run wild

Let passion get too much

And let ourselves get burned by the fire

We're walking on wire

But nothing feels higher

Then when I see that look in your eyes

Small Talk, Niall Horan

A/N: here she is!! another part!! you’re probably used to this now, but part 8 got a little long, and will continue in a part 9 but honestly!! who cares!! it just means more vampirerry for all of us 😌 here we deep dive into a few more dates with a dash of some good ole jealousy!! love to see it love to hear it!! and andrea and i would just like to say THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO VOTED IN THE 1D CRAFT AWARDS!!!! we cannot believe ysijwa was even nominated, let alone that it won most unique!!! as a thank you, we’re doing a livestream this sunday!! you can send in questions, we’ll discuss the story, and just have a lil chat so please tune in!! details can be found here!! and please if you like what you are reading here!! reblog it!! leave reactions in the tags (we read every single one)!! send a message to andrea and i!! feedback and interaction is what keeps content creators motivated to keep writing and updating!! and that’s a general rule for all content creators not just us!! we do this for free so a lil love note is always appreciated 💌 alrighty now that that’s out of the way!! let’s dive in!!

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

word count: 30k

content/warnings: confessions of an immortal shopaholic, blair waldorf dark au, the glamorization of the sugar baby lifestyle, harry not understanding the concept of sharing, y/n “eat the rich” y/l/n, harry the walking rosetta stone (tw: google translate), an italian chef (and psychic) who will also adopt someone before dessert is served, A Cinderella Story 6: Fifty Shades of Gucci Grey (rated R), an internal monologue of john mulaney’s “now we don’t have time to unpack all THAT!!!”, and a definitive guide on how to get rid of unnecessary parts of an outfit

Harry is aware that he has a taste for excess. 

He wasn’t always like this, truly.  When he was human, everything about his life had been thoroughly middle class.  He was apprenticed to his father, the town’s blacksmith, and spent the majority of his life living in modesty.  He wore plain clothes that had been sewn by his mother with the cheapest and most durable material she could find.  He spent most of his days at the forge, or dutifully completing chores at home.  He prayed quietly in church, took only the bare minimum of what he needed from anything, and, for the most part, kept his head down.  He’d lived his life with no fancies, no frills, and no fun, in the hopes that all his humble modesty would serve him well in his next life. 

And then he ended up eternally damned, so a fat lot of good that suffering had done him.  All he got from following such a plain mode of life was intimacy issues, a newfound bloodlust, and a broken neck. Therefore, when it came to his afterlife, Harry decided to try a different route. 

And that route, lucky for him, always seems to lead him back to Gucci. 

Harry’s tried a lot of styles and a lot of designers in his two hundred and some years of life, but he’s yet to find anything that speaks to him like Gucci does.  Whether it’s a leather wallet, a blue velvet suit, a sheer pussy bow shirt, or a silk neck scarf; if it has the Gucci label stamped on it, Harry probably owns it. 

Whenever he steps foot in the store, sales associates flock to him, knowing that he’ll drop at least five thousand in one visit.  Harry knows he should feel a tad guilty, but frankly, he thinks he’s earned it— more so than those billionaires he compels into making monthly donations to the “charity funds,” also known as his bank account. 

His methods, however, do bring him a bit of flack from his friends.  While Mitch normally does everything with Harry, the laid back and neutrally good-aligned vampire can only spend so much time in a high-end boutique before claiming that he’s “choking on the cologne of the entitled.” Niall, on the other hand, doesn’t let his teasing nature stop him from joining Harry, but Niall’s affinity for polyester usually stops Harry from allowing him inside the store.  And Xander is a non-starter— the last time Harry tried to bring him, the vampire had spent the entire time cracking scathing jokes about Harry being a sugar baby, to which Harry responded with a comment about Xander being jealous of the salesman fitting Harry.  That little argument turned into a three day battle of neither speaking to the other, and had only been settled when they each agreed that the other deserved to lose an eyebrow for what was said.  

Harry could recount more instances of friction caused by his shopping habits, but needless to say, he either frequents the shopping district of Los Angeles by himself, or with Adam, who is wonderfully indifferent to Harry’s methods of obtaining pocket change, as well as how he spends said pocket change, and possesses the bonus trait of having an eye for beautifully tailored trousers. 

It’s Adam who is by Harry’s side as he walks into the Gucci store for the third time in two weeks, his disinterested expression nearly eclipsed by the confident smirk that adorns Harry’s ruby lips. 

It’s almost like they have a censor for him, Harry thinks smugly, as the associates begin to whisper to each other at the sight of him.  Even if he didn’t absolutely love the brand, Harry would come to Gucci just for the boost to his ego. 

Despite having accompanied Harry before, Adam still leans over to his friend, raising a quizzical brow as his eyes scan over the racks of clothing they pass. “Do we have to go to the counter, or—?”

“Oh, I never have to go to the counter.” Harry chuckles lightly, brushing his icy fingers over a smooth silk shirt styled on a mannequin. “They—”

“Mr. Styles!”

The egotistical simper on Harry’s lips grows, and he shoots Adam a smug look before turning around. “They come to me.”

“Mr. Styles, it’s so nice to see you again.” Mr. Koffman, the manager of this particular location, stops in front of Harry after a brisk walk over, fixing the fit of his suit jacket before extending his hand to Harry and Adam. “How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you.” Harry shakes his hand once, enjoying the usual look of bemusement that flashes through the human man’s eyes at his strong grip and cool skin. “And yourself?”

“Oh, I’m just fine.” He replies, shaking Adam’s hand once without moving his attention from Harry. “We’re thrilled to have you back so soon.  I understand we have a suit in the works for you?”

Adam rolls his eyes the moment Mr. Koffman turns away from him, turning his attention to the rack of jackets to the left and running his fingers over the material. 

“Yeah, I got the call this morning to come pick it up.” Harry pauses, giving Adam a sideways glance as his grin grows. “But I was wondering if I could do one last fitting, just to make sure everything’s set…?”

“Oh, uh—” Harry enjoys the frayed tone that echoes from the manager’s mouth as he begins to scramble, a light sweat breaking out on his forehead. “I’m so sorry, but we have another appointment coming in fifteen minutes, and—”

Harry sighs in mock disappointment, clicking his tongue as he gives a slight nod. “Ah.  I see.” He sighs again and lifts his shoulders in a small shrug, glancing at Adam from the corner of his eye.  The other vampire is watching him with a half-amused, half-exasperated expression, and it takes all of Harry’s willpower to bite back a laugh. 

The light sheen of nervous sweat on Mr. Koffman’s brow begins to drip down his temple. “I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Styles—”

“No, no, it’s alright.” Harry waves off the apology with an unconcerned air, glancing at his own statement watch and sighing again. “If you could just have my suit sent down to the Gucci location on Rodeo, I’d really appreciate it— I know they’ll be able to squeeze me in for a last minute fitting.” Harry smiles at Koffman, whose face fades a shade paler as the creature gestures to his friend. “C’mon, Adam.”

“No, no, there won’t be any need for that!” Mr. Koffman says quickly, checking his watch again as his hand reaches for the handkerchief in his suit pocket.  He dabs at his moist forehead while forcing a smile at Harry, who gives an easygoing smile back. 

“It’s alright, Mr. Koffman, really— if you’re unable to make some room for me, I’m sure they’ll be happy to—”

“You’ve been a wonderful and loyal customer to us, Mr. Styles— we’d be more than happy to make room for you.” The human smiles again, the action more strained than before as he tucks his handkerchief away and clasps his hands in front of him. “Just— Just give me one moment to arrange it with alterations, and move some things around.  Please, feel free to browse,” He gestures to the racks of clothing around them. “And I’ll be back in a few minutes once we have everything ready for you.”

Harry hums in the back of his throat, faking hesitation as he replies in a slow voice. “Well...if you’re sure it’s not too much trouble…”

“No trouble at all.  Not for you.” Koffman, to his credit, manages to make the response sound natural before scurrying away, already dialing a number on his phone as he speed-climbs the staircase leading to the alterations department. 

The laugh Harry’s been choking on for the last three minutes escapes the moment the human disappears, echoing off the marble walls around them as Harry turns to Adam with a glint in his eye. 

Adam, on the other hand, looks less entertained and more annoyed. “Was that really necessary?” He asks in a bored tone, crossing his arms as his eyebrows raise in question. “Why do you need to try the suit on?  You had, like, three fittings.  It’ll be fine.”

“I know, but I want to make sure it’s perfect before I take it home— I’m spending way too much money for it to possibly be defective.  And I want you to see it in all the glory of the mirrored Gucci fitting room.” Harry pats his friend’s shoulder as he steps past him, his attention captured by a pair of red leather and snakeskin boots sitting on a pedestal in the corner. 

Adam snorts once, short and harsh. “Were those the only reasons, Mr. Styles?”

“Well, now that you mention it…” Harry drags a finger over the embroidered side of the boots, his cherry lips rising at the corners. “I do enjoy making Koffman squirm.  He’s so easily bothered by the littlest of things; it’s like an open invitation to cause some trouble.”

“Y’know, if I didn’t know what you really were,” Adam laughs once in spite of himself, shaking his head in disbelief while checking out a pair of plaid trousers. “I’d think you were the devil.” 

Harry’s smile twists into something more sinister as he fiddles with his gold cross, twisting the pendant under the overhead lighting so it glints symbolically in Adam’s eye. “It’s a good thing I’m not, hm?  I’d be unstoppable.”

“We’d all be doomed, that’s for sure.” 

“Oh, absolutely. But world-domination aside, everyone knows the devil wears Prada, not Gucci. Get it together, Prendergast.” 

The clicking of dress shoes against the marble steps alert Harry to Koffman’s return before his sputtering heartbeat does, and the vampire turns his head just in time to see him descend down the spiral staircase. 

“Good news, Mr. Styles!” He beams at Harry as he steps off the last platform, nearly tripping over his feet in his effort to get to his client. “I was able to talk to the girls, rearrange some appointments, and we’ll be able to do a final fitting for you.”

“That’s wonderful t’hear, Mr. Koffman.” Harry tucks his cross back beneath his shirt with a pleased grin, catching Adam’s eye over the mortal’s shoulder. “I wasn’t fancying the drive to Rodeo.”

“I wouldn’t either, sir.” Koffman nods solemnly, gesturing to the stairs with a stubby hand. “But we’re always glad to make accommodations for you here.”

And isn’t that the truth, Harry thinks as he makes his way upstairs, Adam hot on his heels as Koffman leads the two of them to the alterations department.  Part of the reason why Gucci— and this location, if Harry’s honest— holds such a place in his unbeating heart is because it reminds him of an era long gone.  When Harry steps through the gold archways of the store, he instantly transforms into a person worth noting, and is waited on as if he were a lord in Victorian England who was set to inherit twenty thousand pounds.  Now, of course, Harry could drop the equivalent of twenty thousand pounds in one shopping trip, but it was a large sum of money back then, when Harry could only dream of such wealth. 

Now, the immortal’s reality involves him being waited on the moment he enters the alteration department, with one attendant handing him a glass of champagne as another shows him a display of accessories to match his custom suit, which hangs proudly inside a garment bag on the wall.  Adam, for all his eyerolls, still accepts the complimentary champagne and appraises the accessories right along with Harry, who gets a chance to roll his own eyes as an attendant named Mara convinces him to try on a platinum watch.

“Would you like to try one as well, Mr. Styles?” The other attendant, Blair— Harry’s favourite consultant at the store, truth be told— bats her eyes at him as she taps a finger over the Rolex already adorning Harry’s wrist. “Could be nice to switch it up, no?”

Harry offers a polite smile as he readjusts the band of the watch on his arm, tutting in reply. “I’m afraid I’m rather attached to the Rolex brand for my watches, Blair.” He sighs before nodding his head at Adam, who’s become enamoured with the platinum band on his wrist. “Best to focus your energy on that one, I think.  He’ll make you some easy commission.”

“It’s not about commission, Mr. Styles, it’s about finding you something you’ll love.” Blair pouts as she leads him behind the dressing room curtain, her lithe fingers unzipping the garment bag covering his suit with one swift motion. “I thought you’d know me well enough by now to know you’re much more than commission to me.”

The smile on Harry’s face only falters for one second, the flicker going unnoticed by the employee as she carefully removes the suit from the bag.  The last time Harry had been here for a fitting, she hadn’t been working— he remembers because the new attendant they’d sent to deal with him had nearly zipped his suit into the garment bag when the fitting was over.  It had been Blair, however, who had originally measured him for the suit, and Harry remembers her wandering fingers that paused at his inseam a moment longer than needed, how she had showered Harry with praise as he modeled the sample suit.  It had done him good then as he strutted around the alterations department, flexing underneath the chandelier light as she’d complimented his every pose, but that had been nearly two months ago.  Moreover, it had been two brunches, four dinners, three walks, and an antiquing trip ago.  A lifetime ago, really.

“That’s very kind of you, Blair.” Harry finally manages to respond, his fingers pausing at the buttons of his shirt as she hangs the separate parts of the suit on their own hangers. “I’d trust no one else with a suit this expensive, you know.”

“Oh, I know.” A light giggle escapes the girl as she hangs the jacket on the wall, stepping back and admiring the pieces with a keen eye. “I’m glad you decided to go with the light grey fabric; it’ll compliment your eyes so nicely.” When she turns back around, Harry doesn’t miss how the same keen eye skirts over the half unbuttoned fabric covering his torso. “I’ll give you a moment to slip everything on.  If you need anything…” The girl tugs the curtain back just enough to let herself out, her pink lips tugging into a simper. “Just call for me.”

Harry’s smile grows tighter as the curtain closes behind her, and disappears the moment he’s out of her sight.  He’d forgotten, really, the effect he has on most mortals.  It had been something he’d paid close attention to before, delighting in how they all unknowingly stroked his ego as their jaws dropped whenever he’d walked by.  In a way, it’s nice to know that he’s still capable of that— he’s still a narcissist, after all— but it’s a little less satisfying when he’s grown so used to that careful attention from Y/N.  When it comes to stroking, he thinks shrewdly, a smirk slowly crawling onto his face as he strips out of the rest of his clothes, there’s no one better than her. 

Once he’s stripped completely, he dresses in the custom suit, pulling the crisp fabric along his muscled limbs and tugging it into place.  He starts with the silk black shirt, slipping his arms into the sleeves and buttoning the two sides together, excluding the top three holes.  After that, he steps into the grey trousers, tucking the shirt in and taking a moment to admire the black stripe that runs down the inseam of the pants, which— to Blair’s credit— hug his thighs perfectly.  Once he’s satisfied with the lay of the article, he slips the suit jacket overtop, adjusting the sleeves over the dress shirt as he fiddles with the cuffs.

“Now, don’t worry about the cufflinks with the suit, Mr. Styles,” Blair calls through the curtain, her voice grating across Harry’s admiration with an irritating cadence as she seems to predict his need. “They’re just some samples given by the store.  I’ve personally selected some more appropriate pairs that match your style much better.”

When Harry tugs back the curtain, Adam has shifted himself to the plush velvet couch in the middle of the room, his champagne glass already refilled as he slouches back against the cushions.  Mara, it seems, has disappeared from the fitting room, but Blair is standing just to the side, next to a table lined with gold accessories for Harry to try.

“Well?” Harry asks, stepping to the platform that sits in front of the mirrored wall, his jeweled hands tugging at the starched lapel of the jacket.  He regards himself in the mirror for a moment, admiring the fit across his sturdy shoulders, before rotating around to face the vampire and mortal. “What do you think, Adam?”

Adam takes a long sip of his champagne, mulling over his reply for so long that it sparks irritation in Harry’s stomach, which is only soothed by his long awaited comment. “It looks good.” He nods, squinting his eyes as he tilts his head to the side. “A little plain, compared to what you normally wear, but it’s nice.”

“I don’t know if it’s proper to call this plain.” Blair scoffs, looping the tape measure in her hands around her neck as she approaches Harry, her heels clicking against the lacquered floor. “Mr. Styles usually has a preference for something more patterned, true, but there’s something to be said for a sleek, simple suit.” Harry watches the way her eyes flicker down his body, pausing at his inseam with a look that’s less than professional. “And that black stripe along the inside of the pant certainly...draws the eye, does it not?”

Although her words are laced with implications, Harry directs a smirk at Adam as he rakes a hand through his curled locks. “It’s alright, Blair.  Adam’s right, it is a little plain compared to what I normally wear, but every man needs a nicely tailored formal suit in his closet.”

“Exactly.” Blair nods in earnest response as she begins to circle Harry, her detail oriented eyes sweeping over every aspect of the suit.  In the reflection of the mirror, Harry catches the way her eyes settle over the fit of his backside, her heartbeat increasing for just a moment until Harry clears his throat.

“The cufflinks, love?” Harry prompts, raising his arms as he begins to fiddle with the cuffs. “These sample ones are horrid.  You said something about gold…?”

The attendant snaps from her objectifying stupor, her eyes meeting Harry’s in the mirror as a light blush settles over her cheeks. “Yes, I, um, picked some out for you here.” Her heels click again as she retrieves the velvet lined tray that’s studded with jewelry, bringing it to Harry for him to examine. “We have a few variations of the Gucci logo— interlocking G’s, some embossed onto gold coins— but I think this pair we just got in might be to your liking.”

Harry reaches for the cufflinks Blair points to, pinching one between his fingers and lifting it close to his eye to examine it.  It’s a pair of interlocking G’s, but instead of a smooth finish similar to the other pairs before him, these have textured engravings all around the letters.  It takes Harry a moment to realize that the engravings are scales, and the G’s are actually—

“They’re engraved to look like snakes, with black Swarovski crystal eyes.” Blair begins her infomercial-like spiel, holding up the other cufflink for her own examination. “They’re 18K gold with an aged finish, and the attention to detail is just extraordinary.  Even the back is engraved with an Arabesque motif.” She twists the cufflink around in her fingers as Harry does the same, examining the engraving with an approving nod.

“They’re lovely.” Harry murmurs, wrapping his fist around the cufflink to secure it before removing the sample cufflink from his own sleeve.  With one swift motion, he’s swapped one piece of gold hardware for another, fiddling with the fit of the sleeve as he sets the new cufflink amongst the fabric. “S’a nice fit, I think.”

“It’s a wonderful fit.” Before he can reach for the other cufflink, Blair snags his sleeve in her grasp, replacing the sample in a motion nearly as swift as Harry’s. “Beautiful, really.  It’s such an understated suit, which works to its advantage, but the pop of gold on the cuffs will really make everything stand out so much more.”

Harry nods seriously, a pensive look on his face as he examines the sleeves once more before raising his arms. “What d’you think, Adam?  Look alright?”

Adam offers a passive nod as he becomes distracted by the rack of watches again, his fingers draping over another platinum band. “Looks good, man.  But you know that.”

“I know.” Harry flashes a blinding smile at his friend, dropping one emerald eye into a wink as he fiddles with the cufflinks. “But I like hearing you say it.”

“It really is a perfect fit, Mr. Styles.” Blair nearly coos the words as she circles him again, her careful fingers tugging and adjusting the lines of the suit just enough that it can be considered appropriate for her job.  “Gorgeous.  The best we’ve done, I think.” Her fingers dance over his lapel as she adjusts the fall of his open neckline, and a flash of warning ignites in Harry’s stomach as her skin grazes the ink of Harry’s chest. “But the suit is only doing half the work, you know.  The rest is all—” Her touch travels up the lapel and across his shoulder, her body taking a step behind his own as her touch settles on the nape of his neck. “You.”

Although her skin barely brushes the back of his neck, the pin-prick touch bursts into a shudder that paralyzes Harry’s entire body, tensing his every limb.  When it releases, his frame spasms one single time in reflex, yanking itself away from the human’s touch.

The shudder doesn’t go unnoticed by Blair or Adam, although each has their own response based on what they know of Harry.  As his jade eyes harden to stone, Harry catches the cautious movements of Adam, who is slowly pulling himself into a tense and careful posture in the corner of Harry’s eye.  Blair, on the other hand, is merely frozen with her hand still hanging in midair, a confused and bewildered expression painted onto her features.

“Is everything alright, Mr. Styles?” She questions, her self-preservation betraying her as she takes another step forward with her outstretched fingers once again reaching for Harry’s shoulder. “Is something in the suit bothering you?”

Harry gives a rough shake of his head as he leans back from her touch once again, forcing himself to take a deep breath through his nose to collect himself.  When he speaks, his voice is low, raspy, and filled with a quiet fury that exceeds the intensity that would accompany a scream. “I think I’ve mentioned before,” He enunciates each word clearly, his delivery cold in every aspect. “I prefer not to be touched there.”

Despite the tense undercurrent of Harry’s voice, Blair’s expression relaxes once she realizes the cause of it. “My apologies.  I was just trying to adjust the fit.” When she places her hand on Harry’s elbow and tugs at the sleeve, her brow creases at the taut joint, but her voice remains as smooth and slick as ever. “I’ll make sure to keep my hands to myself— or at least, wait for your direction on where to put them.”

The smile that curves over her lips begins to fall as Harry’s face stays as stony as ever, his own mouth dragged down into a frown as the implications of her words settle around him.  Part of him wants to snap right there, to give into the instinct to bare his teeth, swell his chest, and show this emboldened employee what she’s really touching, but Adam’s eyes over her shoulder urge him not to. 

His friend knows how sensitive Harry can get when his guard is at full throttle, especially when that issue stems from anything vaguely related to that particularly haunted place the young woman had carelessly touched. Watch it, Adam’s gaze seems to say as he shakes his head just enough for Harry to notice.  It was an accident. You’re fine. 

Harry inhales deeply once again, grounding himself in his human persona with each rise and fall of his chest. “That would be wise, I think.” He finally responds, straightening his back and turning to face himself in the mirror once again. “Just be a bit more careful.”

It seems that Blair has finally gotten the hint, because every touch of her fingers over him for the rest of the fitting is calculated and precise.  Her hands do drift a little further on his body than what’s necessary, but she makes sure she doesn’t graze against his icy bare skin again.  What Harry finds most curious, however, is that every swipe of her fingers against the fabric grates on what seems to be his last nerve.

They’ve played this cat and mouse game before, always teasing, always touching, and just barely staying out of reach.  But it seems Harry has gotten too lax in his ways, he thinks, as his cold eyes watch the movements of the girl in the mirror, because she’s never been this blatant before, especially in front of another customer.  Does she actually think something could happen between the two of them?  Does she really believe that Harry would drag her behind the curtained partition, meticulously remove the suit he’s just paid thousands for, and trace his own fingers over her supple flesh as if he’s fitting her for himself?

The thought nearly pulls a ridiculing laugh from Harry’s chest, but that laugh is replaced with a pondering thought that irks Harry the moment it flickers into his mind.  He could do that, yes.  He’s certainly done worse, and Blair can probably sense that.  If Harry were in her position, of being the mouse that believes it’s the cat, he would probably think that something was going to come out of all their chasing eventually.  And why hasn’t it?

The answer, of course, comes to Harry a moment after the question does.  Even though Blair is, by society’s standards, objectively attractive, and obviously willing to follow any direction he gives her, Harry is smart enough to not draw attention to himself by hooking up and feeding from a consultant that works at his favourite store.  It had been Niall, he thinks, who summed up a simple yet effective rule wonderfully for him once: Don’t shit where you eat.  Plain and simple.  

But there’s a second answer that grinds at the back of Harry’s mind, festering inside every thought as Blair makes final adjustments, blathers on about accessories and additions, and tries to raise her commission by once again showing Harry watches.  Harry doesn’t want Blair, because Harry has Y/N.  Being touched by Blair feels wrong because Harry’s so used to being touched by Y/N.  And Blair grazing over his neck bothered him so much because he can, apparently, only stand someone’s fingers grazing there if Y/N is the one doing it.

And perhaps festering isn’t the right word, Harry muses, because the warmth that’s spreading through him with that realization feels a lot more like blossoming than anything else.  It flowers within him, lavender weaving through every limb, letting him know that maybe— just maybe— he’s not as selfish as he thinks.  He could be a complete monster, and fabricate a relationship for Y/N while still pursuing other people, but he has, at the very least, one shred of decency hidden within him.  Although he indulges his base desires whenever he’s with her, he at least has the power to resist one of them.

With that in mind, Harry finds it easier to pay less mind to Blair’s lingering touches and sly compliments, and instead focuses on cherry-picking the suggestions he wants to take from her.

“Y’think I should change the shoes, then?” Harry steps down from the platform, drifting closer to the full length mirrors to examine the black leather loafers adorning his feet. “Something more colourful?”

“Not necessarily colourful, no— after all, we’ve worked hard to create a cohesive look.  We wouldn’t want to interrupt that with a sudden burst of fuschia.” Blair laughs once, brushing her hair behind her ears as she hums in consideration. “But something with a bit of gold, maybe?  To match the cufflinks?  We could add some gold hardware to those loafers, or just find a new pair for you…”

“New is always better.” Adam chimes in from the couch, tilting his half full glass to Harry with a wry smile. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Styles?”

Harry points a ringed finger at him, winking once in confirmation. “Right you are, Mr. Prendergast.” He begins scanning the room, his eyes catching every pair of shoes displayed and comparing them in his mind. “Do you have some selections we could look at, Blair?”

“If you give me a few moments, I could certainly run to the back and pull some—”

As Harry’s keen eyes settle onto a pair of boots on display in the corner of the room, he raises a hand, cutting the girl off in one swift motion. “That may not be necessary.” He murmurs, walking over to the pedestal and examining the newest object of his fascination.

The boots are made of matte leather with polished snakeskin over the toes of the shoes, both fabrics shining the darkest black Harry has ever seen.  The leg of the boot is relatively short, and would probably only come to Harry’s ankle, with a black heel that would add an inch or two to Harry’s already tall frame.  But the pièce de résistance that draws Harry’s eye the moment he sees them are the embroidered gold dragons that adorn the outer sides of each boot, their bodies coiled in such a way that Harry almost swears he can see them breathing. 

He slides one finger around the toe of the boot, nearly shivering in how pleasurable the silky surface feels against his skin. “How much?” He mumbles the phrase with a reverent look in his eyes, his voice as delicate as his touch.

Blair’s smile twists into one of apology as words Harry has never heard from her before fall from her mouth. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Styles, but those are actually a custom order for another client.  They’re not for sale.”

Harry hums low in his throat, his fingertips dancing over the gold embroidery. “I’ll add another thousand onto whatever they’re paying.” He says, earning a breath of hesitation from Blair and a sigh of exhaustion from Adam.

“Christ, Harry,” The latter groans, rubbing his eyes in a frustrated manner at Harry’s familiar antics. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re bad at sharing?  Did you skip that part of kindergarten?”

“Kindergarten wasn’t really a thing where I grew up.” Harry reminds his friend, shrugging indifferently before turning his attention back to the torn consultant. “So?  Another thousand?  I think that adds on quite a nice percentage of commission for you, doesn’t it?”

“I— Mr. Styles, I’m not really sure if—” Blair stutters over her words as she quickly strides over to him, the clicking of her heels against the marble floor punctuating each pound of her heart in her chest. “I don’t really think we can do that.”

A short laugh echoes from Harry’s ruby lips as a grin dimples his cheeks, the humour of her words apparent only to him. “You know I don’t take no for an answer, Blair.” He raises his eyes to hers and locks their gazes, lowering his voice to a smooth and convincing octave, pupils dilating as supernatural magic flows into his irises.  When her own eyes respond the same, her face falling slack for just a moment, Harry knows he’s alright to continue. “You didn’t answer my question.  How much?”

“Just under four thousand.” The consultant replies immediately as the compulsion settles into her brain. “They would be around five if you wanted to add on the thousand you mentioned before.”

The smile on his face twists into something more conceited, and Harry steps back from the boots with a satisfied sigh. “I’ll take them, then.” Confidence weaves itself through his voice as he meticulously removes the suit jacket from his body. “Call Mara to wrap them up, won’t you?  While I’m changing, I’ll need you to start pulling some more selections for me.”

Blair blinks the compulsion from her eyes as Harry’s stare dips from hers, her tone thick with confusion as she sleepily takes the jacket from Harry’s hands. “More selections, Mr. Styles?  Of what?”

“Yeah, Harry.” Adam’s words are tinged with trepidation as he subtly checks the time on the watch now hanging off his wrist. “Of what?”

“Cocktail dresses, I think.  Although I’m not opposed to a cute little romper, as long as it has a bit of sparkle and shows off some leg.” Harry says thoughtfully, rubbing over his pillowy lips as he ponders the thought. “But I think a cocktail dress would work best.  Black, maybe.  To keep it classy, but not too classy.” He says, shooting a wicked grin at Blair. “I’d like to see a bit of skin.”

“I’m— I’m sorry,” The befuddlement in the human girl’s voice finally begins to clear up, leaving curiosity-tinged jealousy in its place. “What sort of event is this outfit for?”

Harry’s loafers echo around the marble room as he makes his way back to the changing area, a plan already forming in his head as he speaks. “A dinner.  Semi-formal, so no floor length gowns or anything like that.  Maybe bring some matching heels as well, although...” Harry pauses with the changing curtain clutched tight in his hand. “I think a quick trip to Christian Louboutin down the street may yield better results in that department.”

“Quick trip,” Adam quotes scornfully, downing the rest of his champagne and setting the glass down on the gold side table with a groan. “That’s what this was supposed to be, H, and we’ve been here for an hour!  We were supposed to pick up your suit, and then head back to Niall’s for the barbecue—”

“So text Niall and tell him we’re running behind; he certainly has no problem doing that to us.” A snort sounds deep in Harry’s throat as Blair walks to the ornate desk in the back of the room and picks up the gold-plated rotary phone, dialing a short number with practiced speed. “And, with the amount of times he’s complained to me about my lack of punctuality, he should be used to it by now.”

The other vampire rolls his eyes again, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers with a groan. “Fine.” He relents, reaching into his pocket for his phone. “But you’re buying me this watch as payment.” 

“Fine.” Harry shrugs as he echoes the word, his voice casual and without a care as he slips behind the curtain and finishes undressing.  

Once he’s hung the suit back up on its hangers and redressed in his normal clothing, he retracts the plush curtain once more to find an annoyed Adam hanging up the phone, his newly purchased boots gone from the pedestal, and the heavy gold accessories that had been picked out for Harry being swapped for finer and daintier pieces.

Harry begins to examine the gold chains, humming in thought over the delicate pendants that swing from them. “How’d Niall take it?” He tosses the question to Adam over his shoulder, not particularly concerned about the answer.

“He told me to call you a wanker and rip off your ear, so,” Adam tucks his phone back into his pocket, shaking his head at the Irishman’s harsh words. “About as well as you’d expect.”

Another hum vibrates through Harry’s throat as he sets a mental note to make amends with his friend at a later date. “So do you want to rip off my right ear, or my left?  I have to admit, my left is my prettier ear, so I’d be appreciative if you left that one alone.”

The laugh that leaves Adam is so genuine that Harry knows he can’t be too annoyed at him.  When his friend joins him in overlooking the jewelry, Harry offers him an airy smile in return, pointing out a detail in one of the pendants to Adam’s interested gaze.

“Explain something to me.” Adam starts after a moment, his own hands grazing over a diamond bracelet. “Why go to all this trouble?  A dress, shoes, accessories… what’s the point?”

If it were any of his other friends asking the question, Harry would take a defensive response, spouting off a justified reply about how he looks so good in the suit that it needs to be seen, and that he can’t wear it and have Y/N not match him in clothing that’s sufficiently up to par.  But Adam’s eyes, albeit frustrated at times, have always been kind, and contain a depth of clarity that Harry can’t resist. He’s always been the most level-headed of the group, second only to Mitch, so the monster always feels safe trusting him with his innermost thoughts. 

“S’nice, I suppose.” Harry replies with as casual a tone as he can allow, lifting his shoulder as the sound of a rolling cart heavy with clothing pricks his ears from down the hall. “I’m taking something from Y/N, so… it makes me feel nice to give her something in return, y’know?  Makes me feel a little less guilty, at least, if she’s having a good time.”

Although Adam’s eyebrows raise at the mention of guilt, he makes no other comment on the surprisingly candid confession from his friend. “I get that.” He says slowly, settling down the gold necklace in his hand with a gentle touch. “I’m surprised you get it, but I get it.”

“Yeah, well,” Harry huffs as Blair rounds the corner and enters the room with a rack laden with black garment bags. “Don’t tell Niall I said that, alright?  He’ll never let me hear the end of it, and if he thinks I’m going soft— which I’m not—” Harry tacks on quickly. “He’ll start trying to fuck with me, and then I’ll have to rip off his ear, and it’ll be a whole thing.”

“My lips are sealed, man.” Adam laughs, gesturing over his shoulder to the clothing cart. “Shall we pick a dress for the lucky lady, then?”

A smirk paints its way onto Harry’s face. “Mhmm.  As long as you’re the one modeling it.”

///

A package arrives the next afternoon.

Like any Saturday when she isn’t working or with Harry, Y/N is home alone, trying to unwind from the previous week’s trials and tribulations.  Although she’s worked customer service jobs at home, working a customer service job in Los Angeles is a whole other demon, and she finds herself more exhausted than she’s ever been more often than she’s not.  It’s probably a good thing, she muses to herself over a cup of tea and her new copy of Sense and Sensibility, that she doesn’t have many friends in L.A., because she wouldn’t have the energy to go out with them anyways.  And honestly, she prefers it that way.  She’s learned to get along with her coworkers enough at her job that she doesn’t feel isolated, and sees Harry enough outside of work that she feels she has a shred of something resembling a social life.  Her quiet afternoons at home by herself are really a godsend, in a way.  They give her an opportunity to recharge to be present enough for social interactions during the week.  Being lonely can be a challenge, yes, but being alone is an entirely different thing, and it’s something that Y/N quite enjoys.

Which is why she’s so confused when her doorbell rings at 2:13 P.M. on a Saturday afternoon.

The moment the sound pricks her ears, Y/N pauses her reading, setting her book down on her lap as she sends a confused look towards the front door.  Her eyes slide to her phone next to her, tapping the screen to make sure she hasn’t missed any messages from anyone.  Harry, surely, would at least text her before showing up unplanned, wouldn’t he?

When her phone screen is found to be predictably blank, and the doorbell rings again, Y/N stumbles her way from her couch to the front door, her chain clanging against the frame as she unlocks it and pulls the door open.

A man she doesn’t know raises an eyebrow at her as she looks up at him, and a spark of fear flickers in her stomach before she realizes he’s wearing a UPS uniform and holding a large brown package in his hands.

“Are you Miss Y/N Y/L/N?” He asks, glancing down at the tablet in his hands. 

“Uh— yeah.  Yes, I am.” Y/N replies slowly, tugging the patchwork cardigan she’d stolen from Harry around her frame. “Hi?”

The UPS delivery man gives her a quizzical look. “Hi.” He repeats back to her in a monotone voice, extending the tablet in his hand. “Sign here, please.”

The urge to argue that she wasn’t expecting anything bubbles up in Y/N’s throat, but she tamps it down as she accepts the tablet, using the pen attached to the device to sign her name.  It’s probably from her mother, she thinks, scrawling her signature quickly before handing the tablet back.  Even though L.A. is famously a city without seasons, her mother has probably knit her two new blankets for the winter months, or sweaters, or some other woolen article of clothing that Y/N will have no use for.

The UPS delivery man swaps the tablet in her hand for the package in his, barely sparing Y/N another glance before retreating back down her hallway.  

“Um, thank you!” Y/N calls after him, shifting the surprisingly heavy package in her palms as she nudges the door shut with her socked foot.  

She carries the box to her living room, setting it down on her coffee table before pausing for a moment to double back and relock her front door (although she’s adjusted to living alone, the fear that’s been implanted in her from a young age about living in a big city still has a hold on her).

The box, she discovers upon further examination, has no return address, but it does sound like there’s multiple items inside when shaken.  And then Y/N remembers that she’s an adult, and should probably not be shaking a box when she doesn’t know what sits inside, so she sits back on her couch with a confused pout— until she once again remembers that she’s an adult, and can open a package addressed to herself.

It takes a moment of struggling to tear off the thick tape lining the seam of the box— a moment which would probably have been shorter if Y/N had retrieved a knife from the kitchen, truth be told— but the opening of the package makes the contents no more clear.  When she pulls back the top of the box, she finds sheets of packing tissue paper, which she tosses onto her living room floor without care to reveal the surprises inside.

And what a surprise the black and white box with Gucci stamped on top is.  Nearly as much a surprise as the second larger black and white Gucci box underneath, or the red and black box next to it labeled Christian Louboutin.

Y/N’s not quite sure how long she sits there staring at the packages in shock, but when she finally manages to unfreeze her limbs to take a sip of her tea, the liquid is considerably colder than it had been when she set it down to open the door.  The packages are so unexpected that it takes her a moment to realize that designer boxes typically contain designer items inside them, and maybe unpacking those will bring her greater insight into what the fuck is happening right now.

Of course, that’s not the case.  

Beginning with the smaller Gucci box, Y/N carefully extracts it from the brown container and sets it on her lap, untying the black ribbon encircling it as if she were dismantling a bomb.  When she lifts off the lid to find a matte black leather clutch purse with a gold Gucci emblem as the clasp, she almost thinks that a bomb would be preferable, because surely, there’s been a mistake.  Y/N certainly hasn’t purchased a Gucci clutch for herself, so it’s entirely likely that this was a gift for someone else, and the UPS man had just gotten the address wrong.  Yes, she thinks to herself, ghosting her fingers over the supple leather in shock, that must be it.  It’s a mistake.  And because it’s a mistake, she should back this all up and call UPS to have them fix it.

And then she remembers the UPS man had said her name, and that’s enough motivation to open the Christian Louboutin box next.

Based on the brand, Y/N suspected that the box would reveal a pair of shoes.  It’s still a shock, however, when she finds a pair of black satin heels that shine even in the low light of her apartment, with a satin ribbon death trap of an ankle tie, and signature red lacquered bottoms.

By the time Y/N reaches the third box, she’s moving on autopilot, her fingers robotically untying the black ribbon and lifting the lid without her instructing herself to do so.  The only words she can manage upon seeing the black cocktail dress is a gentle but emotive “What the fuck?”

The dress, she finds as she cautiously lifts it from the box, is made of satin, and is nothing she would ever purchase for herself in a million years.  The neckline dips into a low V, supported by off the shoulder cuffs, and Y/N can already tell by the cut of the fabric that if she were to slip it onto her body, the knee length dress would cling to her form.  And— Y/N shifts the dress into the light as her eyes widen in shock— as if that weren’t enough, there’s a leg slit that runs so high that Y/N flushes at the mere thought of her thigh peaking through.

It’s that detail, coupled with the suspicion that a single item of the package— let alone all three together— costs more than her rent that leads Y/N to the realization that only one person she knows could have sent all of this.

Folding the dress carefully back in the box and setting it to the side, Y/N fumbles to retrieve her phone from where she had left it earlier.  After unlocking it, she flips to her contacts and clicks on the familiar name, raising the device to her ear with a slow motion.

The phone rings four times before Harry’s voicemail crackles through the speaker. “Hi, you’ve reached Harry.  I can’t talk right now, but if you leave a message at the beep, I’ll try to get back to you.” There’s a moment of hesitation in the recording, and Y/N almost thinks she’s missed the beep before Harry’s accented voice returns. “Unless you’re Niall.” 

The expected beep finally sounds, and Y/N swallows hard as she tries to find the words she needs. “Hey, Harry, it’s, um, it’s Y/N.  I just received your package— I mean, I think it’s from you, because I don’t know who else would send me a Gucci dress— which I can’t accept, by the way.  That’s why I’m calling.  So, um,” She sucks in a harsh breath to give pause to her rambling before continuing. “Just— just call me back, alright?  Thanks.”

While Harry is usually attentive to every call and message from Y/N, her voicemail receives no reply, nor does her second phone call, or her third, or the four texts she sends to Harry in between.  By five P.M., she’s given up on hearing back from Harry at all, and is nearly resolved to pack up the box again and march it to Harry’s apartment when his signature sharp rap echoes on her front door.

Despite her frustration at receiving no reply from him, there’s an air of relief running through Y/N as she tightens the cardigan around herself and strides to her front door.  She unlocks it quickly, her greeting already falling from her lips before the door is even open.

“You better have a good reason for ignoring me all afternoon, Harry, because I’ve been wracking my brain to figure out why—”

And then Y/N’s frantic eyes finally settle on the man before her, and the rest of her beration dies before it can leave her throat. 

Harry is leaning casually against her frame with his arms crossed over his broad chest, as usual, and he’s dressed in a grey suit that clings to his body in a way that is so attractive, Y/N didn’t even think it was possible for a man to look this utterly flawless.  The suit fabric looks soft to the touch, more luxurious than anything Y/N could ever dream of, and the black silk shirt that lies underneath looks even softer. The human tries to not let herself focus on the way the shirt is slightly unbuttoned, showing off the inked swallows that decorate Harry’s muscled chest, as well as his usual cross necklace.  However, letting her eyes drift lower proves to be a mistake, as her gaze is immediately drawn to the black stripe that runs down the inseam of Harry’s pant legs, highlighting the muscles of his thighs in a way that makes her mouth water.  Even his shoes, black leather boots embroidered with gold dragons, are attractive in a way that Y/N doesn’t understand.

“Hello, darling.” Harry’s charming voice and dimpled smile pull the girl’s eyes back to his face just in time to see his lips drop into a discouraged frown.

Although Harry is usually greatly fond of seeing Y/N clad in cozy clothes with her hair in a messy ponytail (especially when his own cardigan is part of the ensemble), the look isn’t necessarily welcome at the moment. Yes, she looks adorable in her pastel blue pajama pants with cartoon sheep scattered all over the fabric. And yes, she looks incredibly cute swaddled in an oversized The Nightmare Before Christmas tee along with his patchwork coat. However, given the premise of the plans he’s drawn for tonight, her outfit is far from appropriate. Especially because he’d expected her to be wearing the dress he’d bought her along with the heels and clutch, dishing out a sexy but classy aesthetic rather than the ever-present lonely couch potato one.

He gives her entire body a quick, judgmental sweep, brows cinching. “I— why aren’t you ready?”

The confusion bubbling in Y/N’s mind molds into indignation at his words, albeit a hint of bewilderment lingers. “Ready for what?” Y/N demands, crossing her arms over her chest as she stares at Harry expectantly. “I’ve been trying to call you all day about the dress, and you didn’t answer a single time, so I don’t know what—”

“The dress?” Harry’s brow draws together deeper, his easy going demeanor twisting to match Y/N’s within a moment. “Why were you calling about the dress?  Does it not fit?”

Y/N’s mouth gapes open at the question. “I haven’t tried it on, Harry, I—”

“What?  Why not?”

“Because I can’t accept it!” Y/N exclaims, the suffix of obviously unspoken between them. “It’s way too expensive by itself, let alone with the shoes and the purse!”

Taking a deep breath through his nose, Harry responds in a slow and careful voice. “Why don’t we step inside, love, and continue discussing this while you get ready, yeah?”

Y/N scoffs at the condescension in his voice, but does as he says, stepping back from the doorway and allowing Harry to walk inside before locking the door behind him. “Ready for what?” She demands again, following Harry’s path down the hallway to the living room. “You still haven’t told me!”

“Christ, Watson, I thought if I sent you a dress and heels, you’d figure it out!” Harry replies with a half-joking sigh, a degree of annoyance beginning to work its way into his tone as he touches the ribbon of one of the Gucci boxes. “You’re losing your touch, huh?”

“Okay, well, apparently I’m a little slow tonight, so fill me in, Sherlock.” Y/N matches Harry’s snippy remark with ease, pinching the bridge of her nose as her head begins to throb in irritation. “What’s going on?  What obvious clue have I missed?”

“I sent you the outfit for you to wear—”

“I figured that much out, thanks.”

Harry’s emerald eyes snap to hers in an exasperated flat glance before continuing. “—to dinner.  I made us a reservation at my favourite Italian place, and I thought that the dress and the shoes would be enough of a hint that I could keep the rest a surprise.” He gathers the ribbon with his fingers again, rubbing the fabric between them as his face drops its usual haughty front. “You really didn’t...you didn’t try it on?  Do you not like it?”

The disappointed hesitation threaded through Harry’s thick accent stops Y/N short, worming its way into her aggravated chest and leaving a spark of guilt behind. When she speaks again, her voice is dulled by genuine warmth, less sharp and pointed and more soothing and grateful. “I...I do like it.  It’s a lovely dress; a little more body-hugging than what I would’ve picked, truthfully, but it’s beautiful.” Y/N offers Harry a soft teasing smile before continuing. “I just...I can’t accept something so expensive from you.”

“Why not?” Harry’s brows re-furrow in sheer confusion as he drops the ribbon from his grip, turning to face her fully. “It’s just a dress, Y/N—”

“It’s a Gucci dress.  And purse.  And Louboutin shoes.” Y/N states with a disbelieving laugh, crossing her arms over her abdomen as she drops her gaze to the rug she’d picked out from IKEA. “It’s too much, Harry.  I know you meant well, but I can never...I could never pay you back for this, or give you something as nice, or…”

A disheartened pout tugs at the corner of Harry’s lips as he registers the mortal’s words.  It hadn’t occurred to him that his gift could be perceived negatively; he’d just thought she’d like it. He likes to think their friendship is in comfortable enough territory now that gifts wouldn't be a turnoff, especially because of how much more time they’ve been spending together outside of the bedroom. However, as he stands here now watching her hug herself in the living room of the tiny apartment she’d told him she was so proud to afford, he can see how wrong he’d been in that assumption.  Y/N is independent, and has been from the moment he met her.  A gift like this— so extravagant and expensive— could come off as him mocking her financial status, almost, even if it had originally been bought with good intentions.

Harry worries his bottom lip between his teeth as something that feels a lot like embarrassment begins to boil in his stomach.  She’ll feel like she owes him something, when that’s the farthest thing from the truth.  If anything, it’s long overdue payment for everything Harry has unknowingly taken from her.  

“I don’t care about that.” Voice dropping quieter, Harry takes a step forward, his cool fingers wiggling their way between hers and pulling her arm from her tummy.  Once her hand is within his grasp, he squeezes it gently, his thumb brushing over the back of her knuckles. He talks slowly, keeping his tone level and honest to communicate the real innocence behind his prestigious present. “I don’t need you to pay me back, and I don’t want you to feel bad.  The money thing— that’s not an issue for me.  And I understand if...it makes you uncomfortable…” His gaze flickers to the ground as well before meeting hers again. “I can take it back if you’d like, if it bothers you that much.  But I was hoping…” 

He rubs his finger over his cherry lips pensively, taking a moment to clear his throat before continuing. “Well.  The reservation is already made, I’m already dressed— and looking like a proper stud, if I may say so myself—” He laughs once in an attempt to lighten the mood, his eyes glued to Y/N’s face to see if she takes to the joke. He feels cool relief flood his veins when she scoffs slightly, the edges of her mouth ticking upwards humorously. “And you’ll match me so well in that dress that it’ll probably put me to shame, dove.”

Y/N glimpses up at him hesitantly, squeezing his fingers with a playful air. “You’re really good with words, y’know that?”

“I like to think I’m good at quite a few things.” Harry grins suggestively, cheekily squeezing her grasp right back. “And I hope I can add ‘getting you all dolled up and convincing you to come along to dinner with me’ to that list. So...what do you say?”

Y/N chews on her bottom lip as she mulls over the suggestion, her fingers grazing over the lionhead ring on Harry’s hand.  He has gone to a lot of trouble, she thinks, glancing over his appearance one more time.  His curls are carefully coiffed, his skin is practically glowing, his trusty cross necklace glints alluringly in the buttery lighting, alongside a small gold hoop on his pierced ear, and the way the suit fits over his body, hugging every flexing muscle and annunciating every hypnotizing curve… 

“What time is the reservation?” She finally asks, eyes flickering to the clock on her wall that reads ten after five.

Harry’s eyes follow hers. “Seven.” He says immediately, licking his lips once as he grips her hand in anticipation again. “We have plenty of time to make it, if— if you want to.”

It could’ve easily been the money Harry spent on the clothing that sways Y/N to say yes.  It could’ve been the humiliation of not realizing what he was planning and ruining his surprise.  But in reality, the thing that causes the next sentence to fall from Y/N’s mouth is the quiet weariness in Harry’s tone— a certain shyness that she hasn’t seen in him before, paired with a specific type of subtle raw hope that makes her heart absolutely melt.

“Alright.” She murmurs, nodding her head once as she draws away from his touch. “I’ll go shower, then, and get ready.  Are you alright waiting out here?”

A relieved smile jolts at the corner of Harry’s lips as he easily nods in return. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.  I’d offer to hop in with you, but…” He gestures to himself vaguely as his grin widens with conceited teasing, shrugging one shoulder offhandedly as if what he says next should be obvious. “We wouldn’t want to ruin perfection, now would we?”

The jesting response pulls an eye roll from the human girl. “Uh huh.” She snorts, snatching her phone from the coffee table as she begins to make her way to the bathroom. “I won’t be long.”

“Take all the time you need, sweetheart.” Harry calls after her, slipping his own phone from his pocket.  The click of the door lock pricks his ears, but he waits until he hears the shower running to unlock his device and dial the restaurant number.

“Bella Vita Ristorante, how many I help you?”

Harry exhales hard as he rubs a hand over his eyes, his head falling back to hang off his shoulders as his mind recalculates the evening’s plans, shifting things out of place to mold everything around this minor hiccup. He tries to keep his voice as steady as possible, swallowing down the instinctive bothered bite threatening to elbow through. “May I speak to Vincenzo, please?”

“Yes, of course. Just a moment, please.” There’s a shuffling on the other end of the line, and Harry’s gaze slides to the Rolex on his wrist as he waits, not nearly as patient as he knows he should be.

“Hello?” A familiar rough Italian accent echoes through the phone speaker, followed by a light clearing of the person’s throat. “This is Vincenzo.”

“Ciao, Vincenzo, é Harry.” Hi, Vincenzo, it’s Harry. He answers in Italian on reflex, gliding his hand over his lips once more as he fights the urge to tug on his styled hair. “Come stai?” How are you?

Friendly excitement breaks into the man’s voice the second the vampire makes his identity known. “Signor Styles, sto bene, grazie! Non vedo l'ora di vedere te e la tua ospite stasera.” Mr. Styles, I’m well, thank you! I’m looking forward to seeing you and your guest tonight.

Harry glances at the bathroom door symbolically, exhaling curtly through his nose. His tone comes out apologetic and unsure. “Sì, chiamo di stasera.  Abbiamo riscontrato un piccolo problema.  C'è un modo per spingere la prenotazione da sei a sette?” Yes, I’m calling about tonight.  We ran into a little problem.  Is there any way we can push the reservation from six to seven?

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and Harry waits with bated breath for Vincenzo’s reply. The waiter’s response flows through the phone with a rueful heaviness that makes the immortal’s stomach plummet. “Siamo molto impegnati stasera, Harry… È un sabato, dopotutto.” We’re very busy tonight, Harry… It’s a Saturday, after all.

A frustrated sigh falls from Harry’s lips as he scratches at the nape of his neck, once again itching to yank at his curls but forcing himself to refrain the impulse. “Lo so, Vincenzo, e mi dispiace chiederti il ​​favore, ma devo. Sai che te lo devo e ti lascio una generosa mancia.” I know, Vincenzo, and I’m sorry to ask you such a favour, but I have to.  You know I’ll owe you, and I’ll leave a generous tip.

When Vincenzo replies, the hesitation in his voice is gone, replaced by reassurance and familiar fondness. “No, no, Harry, non mi devi niente. Per te, non è un problema. Gli amici aiutano gli amici per gentilezza, lo sai. Mi assicurerò che il tuo tavolo sia pronto per le sette.” No, no, Harry, you don’t owe me anything.  For you, this is no problem.  Friends help friends out of kindness, you know that. I’ll make sure your table is ready for seven.

Harry heaves a grand sigh of relief, a wide smile cracking his face in half. His head swings forward as a light laugh falls from his ruby lips, all tension washing out of his strong shoulders in one swift wave. “Grazie mille. Ti devo, lo fare.” Thank you so much.  I owe you, I do.

His friend’s casual demeanor filters through the phone with a dismissive click of his tongue, and Harry can practically see the older man waving his hand passively. “Senza senso. Ci vediamo più tardi, sì?” Nonsense.  I will see you later, yes?

“Sì. Grazie ancora. Ciao, Vincenzo.” Yes.  Thank you again.  Goodbye, Vincenzo.

As Harry hangs up the phone, he feels a weight lift off his chest.  He knows that it wouldn’t have been a problem if Vincenzo had been unable to move the reservation; all it would’ve taken is a few words of persuasion at the host stand, and Harry would’ve been able to waltz right into the restaurant.  But Vincenzo has been kind to him— has been such a good friend, really— and Harry would hate to tarnish that relationship.

With the new reservation secured, Harry tucks his phone back into his suit pocket, turning his attention to the gifts he’d brought Y/N that are still in their boxes.  He removes the satin dress from its packaging, meticulously folding it over his arm as he snags the clutch and heels with his hands and carries them to Y/N’s room.

Harry nudges the door to the bedroom open with his foot, hesitating in the door frame as Y/N’s familiar honey and lavender scent fills his senses, and the vampire’s gaze slinks over a place he’s spent countless hours in as she’s slept soundly next to him.  There’s been a few changes, he observes— warm satisfaction begins to bloom in his chest when he sees the tapestry on the wall has been replaced with the framed Monet print from the antique mall, her half emptied overnight bag is lying on her chair still from her last overnight stay at his condo, and the comforter on her bed hasn’t been fixed back in its usual place.  Harry sets the Louboutins on the ground before tugging the comforter back into order, draping the dress onto the bed and smoothing the creases that formed.  After he lays the clutch down next to the dress, Harry steps back and admires his choices.  It was good that he’d gone with the black satin, he thinks, brushing a hand over the shining fabric with a fulfilled expression.  It’s simple, yet elegant, and matches him perfectly, which brings a flutter of pleasure to his dormant chest like nothing else.

With the dress sufficiently laid out, Harry turns on his heel to leave, and his quick movement blows an unfamiliar scent around the room.  Harry inhales deeply, wrinkling his nose in response to the thick fragrance of carnations and cedar that settle into his senses.  While cedar isn’t one of his favourite scents, he doesn’t usually mind it, but the overpowering presence of carnations nearly gags him, and Harry twists back around to find the source of the offensive stench.

It only takes a second for his eyes to settle on the cause, a new addition to Y/N’s bedroom that he hadn’t noticed when he first walked in.  He takes one stride across the small room to her bedside table, picking up the object with a gentle grip.

The picture frame is made entirely of glass, but has a decorative gold edge lining the small rectangle as both decoration and protection of delicate hands from sharp corners.  In the center of the frame is a photo of three girls dressed in navy blue caps and gowns with red and white sashes around their necks, their arms thrown around each other as their posture curves, and bright smiles on all of their faces.  Although she looks years younger, her hair is longer, and her eyes more naive, Harry recognizes Y/N on the left right away.  The identities of the other two girls, however, stump him.

Of course he wouldn’t recognize them on sight, as Harry has never met any of Y/N’s hometown friends, but his ruby lips drop into a frown when he realizes that he can’t even conjure a name for either of the girls.  No first initial, no general idea— just nothing.  They’re ghosts to him.

Harry traces a finger down the younger Y/N’s face, searching for any part of the woman he knows now in the girl who existed then.  The acne on her cheeks that she’s covered in makeup for the photo match the pattern of light scarring she has on her face, small marks that Harry’s traced in the dead of the night as he listens to her breathe.  Her eyes, while younger, do show a faint glimmer of that stubbornness that he’s been so prone to witnessing.  But it’s her smile, Harry realizes, that is the most different.  While the size and shape of it are the same, there’s a dullness to it that digs into his mind, scraping against his every perception of her.  This is around the time she’d have been with her ex, he remembers, dragging a finger down the edge of the frame.  But what else was life like for her there?  She had friends, obviously, friends who still care about her enough to send her this framed photo drenched in their carnation and cedar scent.  Life couldn’t have been all that bad.

He sets the framed photo back down on her bedside table, scanning the room with a keen eye more closely than he had before.  If he tore through every book on her wall of shelves, would he find any inscriptions written to her from a person in her past?  Notes that had been slipped between herself and others in high school science class, still pressed between yellowed pages as bookmarks?  What if he dug into her bedside table drawer?  Would he find more pictures, letters from those she’d left behind?  It’s strange to think that with all the time Harry has spent in this room, there’s still so many secrets buried within its four glossy walls.

Harry settles his gaze onto the silk dress once again, worrying his bottom lip between his sharp teeth as he does so.  Y/N had been worried that a Gucci dress wouldn’t be a good fit for her, and while Harry had thought she meant she couldn’t wear a designer brand, maybe she’d meant she didn’t want to.  Maybe her hesitation didn’t lie in just the cost of the outfit, but in her not wanting something so extravagant.

Sucking in a short breath through his teeth, Harry clears his mind of the thought.  Y/N wouldn’t have said yes if she didn’t want to, he assures himself, quickly adjusting the hem of the dress on the bed.  And besides, it’s just for a few hours.  She’ll be out of the dress soon enough, and into…

Harry turns back to her vanity, swiping the overnight bag from where he’d spotted it on the chair.  A pair of sweatpants already lies inside, but Harry still tugs open Y/N’s dresser and snags another pair, as well as a comfortable t-shirt for her to sleep in.  He packs two pairs of fresh panties as well, one high-waisted cotton and another a cheeky pretty lace (the latter is definitely for selfish reasons, if he’s being honest) along with Y/N’s favourite pair of fuzzy slipper socks, because he knows how her feet get cold on the tile of his kitchen floor in the mornings.  

The image in his head brings a smile to his face as he grabs a few hair ties from her vanity and throws them into the bag, along with her half empty bag of makeup removers.  She always gets a chill in the morning in general, so she normally emerges from his bedroom with one of his sweaters tugged around her tired body, half mumbling incoherently until Harry slides a cup of coffee into her hands.  In truth, sleeping next to his icy body probably does nothing to help the mortal, but Harry just tries to wrap her in an extra blanket to help remedy the situation.

Just as he’s tugging the zipper on the back shut, he hears the creak of the bathroom door, followed by the soft steps of Y/N’s feet against the runner rug down her hallway.  Harry straightens up just as the bedroom door is nudged open, and whatever sharp comment was on the tip of his tongue dies away as he sees Y/N.

She’s already done her hair, having styled it into soft curls that are pinned back from her face with two gold clasps on either side of her head, and if Harry were in a more comprehensive mindset, he’d be pleased that the gold will match the adornments on the clutch.  But Harry isn’t in a comprehensive mindset, due to the fact that Y/N’s body, still damp from her shower, is wrapped in only the smallest blue towel Harry has ever seen.

After Y/N shuts the door behind her, she turns around and sees Harry standing in her bedroom with a bag in his hand, and she clutches the towel tighter to her chest in surprise. “Harry—” Her heartbeat stutters as she locks eyes with the creature before her, her cheeks immediately flushing with heat. “What are you doing?  I said to wait in the living room!”

“I know.” He licks his lips slowly as his eyes flicker down her figure and back again, the bright emerald darkening to jade when he meets her gaze once more. “I was just laying out your outfit.  Although now that you’re here, wearing only that—” He gestures to the towel with his free hand as the edge of his lips curl. “Why don’t we just cut out the middleman and have a quick shag?”

Y/N scoffs in response, pushing her way past her lover to her dresser drawers. “I already showered, H, and I even put effort into my hair, so we have to go out.  Can’t waste it, y’know?” With her hand wrapped around the handle of her dresser, the human girl pauses, her gaze drifting curiously from Harry’s face to the bag clutched in his grasp. “What’s that?”

It takes a moment for Harry’s attention to turn from Y/N’s glistening cleavage to the object she’s nodding towards. “Oh, I— uh— I packed an overnight bag for you.” He clears his throat as he sets the bag on the bed, taking a step back from the item like it’s a ticking bomb. “It’s not— I’m not insinuating that you have to stay over if you don’t want to, of course. And you don’t have to use it, but I just thought that if you decided to, you’d want something comfy to sleep in.”

“How is it,” Y/N laughs softly, her curls bouncing as she shakes her head in disbelief. “That you can go from saying you want to fuck me to telling me you packed me an overnight bag, all in the span of one minute?”

Harry presses into the inside of his cheek with his tongue as he chuckles, dimples winking awake and eyes glimmering all at once. “S’easy, really, when you look like that.  It makes me horny—”

“Everything makes you horny.”

“—but I’m still a gentleman.”

A low hum echoes from Y/N’s throat as she opens her underwear drawer, surveilling the contents before she begins to rummage for what she’s looking for. “Alright then.  Would the gentleman be so kind as to step outside so I can finish getting ready?”

Y/N hears two quiet footsteps behind her before she can feel Harry’s cool breath on her neck, her damp skin prickling at the sensation.

“Do I really have to step outside?” He groans lowly as his lips graze the shell of Y/N’s ear temptingly, and she shivers when his teeth follow behind. “S’nothing I haven’t seen before.”

There’s a nagging temptation in the back of Y/N’s mind to twist around on her heel, drop her towel to the ground, give into Harry’s half-hypnotic seduction, and let him drag her back to her bed to take care of the heat that’s beginning to swell between her thighs.  But she knows she’s already pushing the seven P.M. deadline, and if she allows herself to take that detour, she’ll never make it on time.

“Yes.” She mumbles, suppressing a whine as Harry’s lips move to the pulse point on her neck, smudging open kisses down her heated skin. “I just need to do my makeup and get dressed, and then I’ll be ready to go.”

A disappointed sigh rustles across the shell of her ear. “Alright.” Harry murmurs defeatedly, smudging one last kiss to her jugular before stepping back from her intoxicating cloud of flowers and sugar that, if the burn in the back of his throat is any indication, is doubly intense from her shower. “I’ll just be outside then, doll.  Take your time.”

Y/N keeps her back to Harry, clutching her towel with a clenched hand until she hears the click of her bedroom door shutting behind him.  She knows that if she looks at him again, and sees that stupidly suggestive smirk on his face, she’d give him whatever he wants— which, considering she’s already trying to do that by going to this dinner, is a bit of a problem.  Once he’s gone, however, she’s free to heave an exhale of relief as she searches for the undergarments she’s pictured in her mind.

While Y/N was in the shower, she’d been trying to picture what she would wear with the expensive dress that Harry had purchased for her.  She only has one strapless bra— a nude coloured cotton contraption, which she’d purchased at a Target last minute for a dinner party a neighbour had thrown back home a few years ago— and she didn’t think that pairing the cheap article with a Gucci dress was going to work.  Some of her friends back home, however, had just mailed her a little care package earlier in the week, and one of the things they’d included was a strapless bustier with a note reading “Here’s to getting L.A.’d!” tucked inside.  They’d meant it as a joke, of course, but as Y/N extracts the lace garment from her drawer, she sends a silent thank you to her friends and their strangely omniscient humour.

Y/N releases her grip on her towel, drying the rest of the dampness from her body quickly before tossing the fabric over the back of her closet door.  After selecting a matching pair of black lace panties, Y/N slips the undergarments on, fidgeting with the bustier to get it to sit right.

A gentle knock echoes from the other side of her bedroom door just as she gets the clothing settled. “How’s it going in there, love?” Harry’s voice floats through the crack in the door, half muffled through the barrier. “Have you got the dress on yet?”

“Not yet,” Y/N calls back, sitting down at her vanity as she analytically surveys her makeup. “Patience is a virtue, Holmes, don’t you know that?”

On the other side of the door, Harry lets out a long sigh, crossing his arms and tapping his fingers along the inside of his elbow. “Yeah, well,” He leans his back against the door, sliding one ankle over the other as he lets the wood support his weight. “‘M not very virtuous, Watson.  I think you can attest to that.”

Harry glances over his shoulder at the wooden door, a smug smile peaking onto his lips as he hears the blood rush to Y/N’s cheeks from inside the room. “What?” He taunts, satisfaction laced into his accent. “Cat got your tongue?”

Pressing his head back against the wood to hear better, Harry is met with the sound of a makeup brush sweeping against Y/N’s silky skin, so quiet that human ears could never detect it.  He focuses his attention a little harder to try and picture the steps of her getting ready routine as she performs them. 

A rustling of fabric that sounds a lot like lace pricks his ears, taking his attention with it as Y/N grumbles a reply. “You’re such an ass.”

“Ah, nevermind, then.  Tongue’s still there, and as sharp as ever, I see.” Harry chuckles lowly as he listens to the nearly silent stroking of mascara over Y/N’s lashes.  

He likes that, he realizes, as he raises one hand from its crossed position to rub over his pillowy lips while he waits.  He likes hearing the muted sounds of Y/N getting ready— the bristling of makeup brushes against her skin, the hushed hums that leave her mouth as she debates over what colours to use on her eyelids, the muffled spritz of her perfume bottle against her neck.  The notes of poppies and vanilla mix with her natural scent of lavender and honey, and Harry’s eyelids flutter when the fragrance rolls under the door and envelops him completely.

It takes a harsh bite of his tongue and digging his fingernails into his clenched palms for Harry to restrain the moan fighting to break through his tightened jaw.  Months ago, when he first smelled Y/N in that club, he’d sworn that she smelled more delicious than any aroma he’d ever encountered, but now… Harry wants to laugh at the naivety of his past self, and probably would, if unclenching his jaw didn’t mean letting a growl fall from his throat.  Now, he’s convinced Y/N’s scent is an aphrodisiac created just for him.  All it takes is one small inhale, and his entire body responds.  Even now, as he presses his pounding head back against the panel, he can feel his mouth flooding with venom, his abdomen tightening, and a subtle throb beginning to bulge his—

“Harry?” Y/N’s voice breaks through the cloud of arousal dulling Harry’s senses. “Can you help me zip up the dress?”

The vampire swallows the excess venom in his mouth in an attempt to clear the lump in his throat. “Uh, yeah.” He replies, his voice strained as he struggles to regain control of himself.  He clutches the door handle in his icy hand, pushing the barrier open with restrained strength. “Yeah, I can.”

When he steps into the room, he expects to see Y/N facing the door, her hands clutching the loose dress to her chest the way she’d clutched her towel earlier.  For a moment, there’s a flicker of excitement in Harry’s belly that beats back the desire rolling around inside him.  He’s been waiting to see her in his dress for only a day, but it feels like an eternity, and he pastes a charming smile onto his face as he lifts his eyes to meet Y/N’s.

What he’s greeted with, however, is the smooth expanse of the girl’s exposed back, a clear line of tantalizing skin running from the nape of her neck to the curve just below her backside, only broken up by a thick band of black lace with satin ribbing.  

While he was able to control himself in the hallway, the inside of Y/N’s bedroom— with her mouthwatering scent surrounding him and her exposed skin in his line of sight— is an entirely different story.  Harry can feel the way his canopy green eyes darken, and it’s a good thing Y/N is facing the wall, or else she’d see the shards of crimson that he can’t stop from flitting across his irises.  With every step he takes towards the human, he becomes more aware of just how mortal she is— how her heart pounds louder with each passing moment, the shallowness of her breathing as he gets closer, the heat radiating off of every inch of her skin.  Even with his centuries of experience behind him, it’s nearly too much for Harry, whose every instinct is screaming at him to lock the door and ravage the girl in front of him in every way he can.

Harry doesn’t stop walking until the front of his chest brushes against Y/N’s back and his breath is hitting her neck.  He unhurriedly skims his palms over her bare shoulders, feeling the goosebumps that form underneath his icy touch as his hands run down her arms and back up again.

“This…” His voice is thick with desire as one hand travels down the trail of Y’N’s spine, eliciting a shiver from her before grazing the edge of the black lace. “This is new.  I haven’t seen this before.”

“I…” Y/N’s speech falters as she feels Harry’s freezing digits trail down the small of her back as his other hand continues to stroke across her shoulder, barely touching the base of her neck with each movement. “I got it from my friends back home.  They, um—” She sucks in a harsh breath as Harry’s hand inches its way towards her throat. “They sent me a package.”

Harry hums low in her ear, the sound vibrating throughout her body before settling in her warming tummy. “Did they?  How thoughtful.” With his palm finally at her neck, he squeezes it once, applying the slightest bit of pressure to her jugular as his lips brush against the top of her ear. “I should send them a thank you note.”

The feeling of Y/N swallowing beneath his grip sends another wave of desire crashing over Harry, and he bites back a low growl as the fingertips of his other hand find the golden Gucci emblem zipper at the back of her dress.  When he does, he tugs the metal tag up slowly, the sound of the zip barely audible over Y/N’s ragged breathing. 

“S’a shame, really.” Harry murmurs in her ear, letting his teeth graze her earlobe just hard enough to catch her breath. “A crying shame.”

“What—” Y/N’s heart pounds out of her chest as Harry squeezes her neck once more, applying just a smidge more pressure than he did previously. “What’s a shame?”

Harry’s lips trail down her jaw, smearing a single kiss along the dip where it curves to meet her neck. His fingers squeeze her one last time before releasing. “That this pretty little piece your friends sent you is going to end up ripped to shreds on my bedroom floor.” 

The blunt reply incites a squeak of surprise from Y/N as Harry tugs the zipper completely to the top of the dress, settling the seam flat against her flushed back before stepping away.

“Fits like a glove.” Harry murmurs as his hands return to his sides, fixing the fall of his own suit that was disturbed during his previous actions.  He raises a single finger and makes a twirling motion as he dimples a smirk the human girl can’t see. “Give me a twirl, will you, dove?”

Y/N inhales a deep breath as steadily as she can, using the moment to calm her racing pulse before turning around to face Harry with a flustered complexion. 

The dress, made of black satin, has a sweetheart neckline that sits off her shoulders, and hugs tight to the curves of her body all the way down to the hem, which sits just above her knees.  It could be considered conservative, really, if it weren’t for the leg slit running so far up her thigh that Y/N is a little worried about flashing her underwear every time she takes a step.

Harry, however, seems to share none of those concerns, as he hungrily drinks in the sight of her with a satisfied grin and lust swirling through his jade irises.  She’s kept her makeup fairly neutral, save for the bold red lipstick adorning her lips, and while Harry feels a prick of sadness at the realization that he’ll have difficulty kissing her throughout the evening, the idea of smearing said lipstick across her face afterwards erases the feeling completely.  And the dress… “Y’look so fucking gorgeous in that dress, angel.” He hums lowly, rubbing his thumb over his lionhead ring absentmindedly. “So much better than Adam did, and without all the complaining, too.”

Y/N stares at her lover with a blank expression “What—?”

“Does it feel alright?” Harry strides around the mortal girl, examining the fall of the fabric with a keen eye. “I took a guess on your size, though I think I did pretty well. I've licked every inch of your body to the point where I practically have it memorized, so it was relatively easy.” He gives her a cheeky grin as his hand grazes her waist. “But Gucci sizing can be a bit tricky.”

“It— yeah.  It feels alright.” Y/N tugs on the hem of the dress as she feels heat crackle across her ears, shooting him an accusing stare as she touches the thigh slit. “This is a little much, but other than that…”

“That’s my favourite detail, actually.” Harry laughs lightly as he walks to her bed, taking a seat on the edge before reaching for the Louboutin box. “But it’ll feel a lot more natural once you have the heels on.”

“Uh, yeah, about those…” Y/N eyes the offending shoes as Harry extracts them from the packaging, doubt painting itself all over her face. “Those look like six inch deathtraps, and I don’t really trust something that uses a ribbon to attach itself to my ankle, so I think I’ll take a raincheck on the heels.  I have some flats I can wear instead.”

Harry scoffs, a snort echoing from the back of his throat as he shakes his head. “You’ll be fine, love.  I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.  You may not trust the shoes, but you can trust me, can’t you?” He unravels the ribbon from one of the shoes and pats his knee expectantly. “C’mere.  I’ll make sure I tie them nice and tight, yeah?”

Y/N nearly chews on her bottom lip before she remembers the lipstick she’d carefully applied earlier. “Alright.” She relents, walking over and lifting her foot to rest on his bent knee. “But if I snap my ankle in half, you’re paying my hospital bill.”

“And I would do so gladly, except it won’t be necessary.” A quiet chuckle rolls out of Harry’s lips as he grips her calf gently, fitting her foot into the sole of the heel with one smooth motion.  Once it’s sitting nicely, Harry diligently wraps the satin ribbon around her ankle, stopping midway up her calf before tying it tightly into a neat bow. “See?  Nice and secure, darling.  You’ll be alright.”

Y/N’s cheeks boil as Harry presses a single kiss to the slope of her knee before setting her foot gently on the ground. “Next one, please.” He smiles up at her with a twinkle in his sea glass eyes.

That twinkle, however, darkens the moment Y/N hikes her other bare foot onto his knee, gripping his shoulder for support as she teeters on one heel.  The leg that she’s lifting is the side of the dress with the thigh slit, and she can tell from the expression on Harry’s face that he has quite the view.

Just like he did previously with the zipper, Harry takes his time slipping Y/N’s foot into the second stiletto.  He trails his fingers all the way up her calf and back down before reaching for the ribbon, and is more meticulous in his motions as he ties the satin around her calf.  

Y/N swivels on her other foot as she tightens her grip on Harry’s shoulders, fisting the fabric of his suit between her fingers. “Thanks, H.” She clears her throat as Harry’s cool hands keep their grip on her lower leg, massaging the muscle beneath his fingers with careful and concise motions. “That’s, um, that’s good, I think.”

Harry hums in response, letting her know he’s registered her words, but he doesn’t release her from his grip.  Instead, he bends at his hips, making sure that Y/N can still grasp him for support as he connects his lips to the smooth skin of her calf.

He smudges his mouth all along the area up to her knee, each kiss sloppy and open-mouthed as he inhales more and more of her intense fragrance.  His nose nudges along the tender and dimpled flesh of her thigh, her scent growing stronger the higher Harry gets, and it burns his aching throat with lust and thirst.  He can feel the heat radiating from her core, and he wants nothing more than to burrow his face between her legs and lose himself completely in her taste.  But he’s already come so far, and put so much work into this night; he can’t let it all go to waste because his self-control is particularly weak at this moment. 

With that in mind, he sucks in another long breath, sponging one last kiss to the top of Y/N’s kneecap. “Does it all fit nicely?” He asks, voice gravelly with desire as he squeezes her calf. “The dress, the shoes… is it all alright?”

“Y-Yeah.” Y/N whispers, releasing the fabric of Harry’s jacket before it creases, smoothing it with her palms. “It all fits good.”

“Mmm.  Perfect.” His lips twitch against her skin as he drags another searing breath into his lungs. “Anything I give you always fits so fucking good.”

Another flash of heat rises to Y/N’s cheeks, and she nods weakly in response, not trusting her ability to form words. A quiet hum is the only comprehensible noise she can manage. “Mhmm.” 

Harry straightens up the slightest bit, giving her an expectant look as he releases the grip of one hand on her calf to lightly touch the shell of his pierced ear. “Sorry, pet.  Didn’t hear you quite clearly.” He says, his voice taking on a sterner tone. “Did you agree?”

Although embarrassment begins to crawl up Y/N’s spine, it quickly mixes with irritation.  She knows what he’s getting at, and she can’t afford to let herself give in. “Yeah.” She mumbles, keeping her response as short as she can.

Despite the edge beginning to creep into Y/N’s voice, Harry can’t stop himself from pressing the matter.  He never can, really, when he’s in a mood like this.  When his mouth is filled with venom, when his head is throbbing so much that he can hear a steady drumbeat vibrating through his skull.  He can’t stop.

“M’gonna need to hear you say it, I’m afraid.” He raises his ringed hand to the human girl’s chin, gripping it between his thumb and forefinger as he regards her with a firm and conceited gaze. “Speak up, minx.  I know you have no issue with being loud.”

All it takes is that one reminder for all of Y/N’s resolve to fall away, her entire body flooding with warmth as she lets out a trembling sigh.  She swallows the weight in her throat down as much as she can, pinning her eyes to where Harry is gripping her calf with a strong hand. “Everything you give me always fits so good.” She whispers, her voice higher than it was a moment before.

Harry squeezes the backside of her knee once. “Look me in the eyes when you say it.”

Y/N’s entire body feels as if it’s on fire as sweat begins to bead across her forehead, but her mouth is as dry as a desert. She swallows thickly once more, gathering all the composure she can muster. “Everything—” Her voice cracks once, and she clears her throat as Harry’s thumb sweeps across her chin in an encouraging manner. “Everything you give me always fits so good.”

When she completes the task, Harry gropes her knee once more, but this time the action is a show of satisfaction rather than demand.  He trails his fingers up her bent leg to her thigh, only stopping to dig his fingertips into the crease where her backside begins to plump. “That’s my good girl.”

Delicately setting Y/N’s heeled foot back on the ground, Harry rises from the bed, both of her hands grasped in his own to help her remain steady.  Once he’s eye level with his lover once again, he leans forward and stamps a chaste kiss onto her forehead, his lips already tugging into a small grin before he pulls away.

“Y’ready to go, then?” He questions casually, smoothing the thumb of his right hand over her knuckles as his left hand snags the Gucci clutch from the bed, along with Y/N’s phone.  He unclaps the clutch and settles the phone into its silk lining before handing the bag to the human girl.  

Y/N clears her throat once more as she takes a shaky step towards her vanity, grabbing the lipstick she’d applied before and tossing it into the bag, clasping it shut with a final snap. “I suppose so.” She chews on the inside of her cheek as she shoots Harry a nervous glance. “I might need you to carry me down the stairs of my building, though.”

Harry laughs once as he grabs the overnight bag he’d packed with one hand and reclaims Y/N’s left hand in the other. “Don’t worry, pet.  I’ll make sure Cinderella doesn’t lose a shoe.  Or break an ankle.”

“Thanks, Prince Charming.”

“Considering I’m the one that got the dress, I think the Fairy Godmother role fits just a smidge better.”

///

Although it takes careful steps, more than a few stumbles, and Harry’s hand wrapped securely around her waist, Y/N manages to make it down the multiple flights of stairs in her apartment building to Harry’s car waiting below.  After the ten minute car ride into downtown L.A., the majority of which is spent with Harry’s hand sitting perfectly still on Y/N’s exposed thigh, the vampire pulls the car in front of a large restaurant with a line of well-dressed parties winding down the sidewalk.

The restaurant itself, Bella Vita, is one that Y/N’s heard of in passing, but has never experienced firsthand herself, probably because it holds a reputation for being the premier Italian restaurant in all of Los Angeles.  Shock covers her features as she stares out the car window at the grand glass double doors, but only for a moment; after all, could she have expected anything less from Harry, who seems to indulge in luxuries the way most people do chocolate?

When the passenger side door swings open, the surprise returns as Y/N glances up and sees a blonde man she doesn’t know dressed in a suit holding the door open.  The breast of his outfit is embroidered with the restaurant name, but it’s not until Harry, who has already vacated the driver’s side and is behind him, flips the valet his keys.

“Thanks, mate.” Thinly veiled irritation works its way through Harry’s voice as he steps in front of the valet, clapping his large hand over the employee’s shoulder. “I got it from here.”

The valet nods curtly, releasing his grip on the door as Harry extends his hand to Y/N.  The mortal girl grasps it within her own, eager to receive the help he offers as she swings her exposed legs out of the low car and onto the ground. 

“There we go, love.” Harry’s voice softens as he pulls her to stand, giving her a moment to find her balance on her own before sliding his arm around her hips. “Y’alright?”

“I’m fine.” Y/N nods in confirmation as she folds her arms in front of her body, grasping the Gucci clutch in tight hands while she appraises the packed high-end restaurant. “I see why you insisted on the dress now.”

A low laugh rumbles from Harry’s chest as he shuts the car door with his free hand. “I told you, you need to trust me more.  Have a little faith.” He extends his palm towards the valet, shaking his hand quickly and smoothly while sliding him a bill. “Thanks, Leo.”

Leo retracts his hand from Harry’s icy grasp with another respectful nod of his head, slipping the bill into the inside pocket of his suit. “Of course, Mr. Styles.  Enjoy your dinner.”

Y/N watches as the valet hurries to the driver’s side of the car, sliding in and starting the engine with ease as Harry begins to lead Y/N to the door. 

“So…” She quirks an eyebrow as Harry confidently bypasses the long line of people waiting to be seated. “You’re Mr. Styles here, are you?  Do you come here that often?”

Harry lifts one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug, releasing his grip on Y/N’s waist to open the large glass door for her. “Every once in a while, I suppose.” He quips, the answer as non-committal as most things Harry says.  Once Y/N steps into the restaurant, the vampire follows closely behind, clutching her warm hand in his own as he leans down to whisper in her ear. “But I wouldn’t say it’s too often—”

“Harry!”

An older man that looks to be in his mid-seventies emerges from behind the corner, dressed in a fine suit and with an animated grin on his tan, weathered face.  He waves off the host at the stand who had been about to approach the two new guests, his arms already outstretched towards Harry.

“Vincenzo!” Harry responds with equal enthusiasm as he lets go of Y/N’s hand to clutch Vincenzo’s between his palms.  He leans forward and pecks two air kisses onto the employee’s cheeks as the older man does the same. “È così bello rivederti. Come stai?” It’s so nice to see you again.  How are you?

Y/N’s eyes widen in utter shock at the fluent Italian that easily slips from Harry’s ruby lips, watching as Vincenzo takes a step back from him with the same excitement as when he first turned the corner.

“Sto bene, grazie. È meraviglioso anche vederti.” I’m well, thank you.  It’s wonderful to see you, too.  Vincenzo’s attention lists over Harry’s shoulder to Y/N, who is still standing behind him with her mouth half open in bewilderment. 

“Grazie ancora per aver riorganizzato la prenotazione per noi.” Thank you again for rearranging the reservation for us.  Harry reaches back and intertwines his fingers with Y/N’s again as another Italian phrase slips off his tongue with practiced ease. “Ti devo un favore.” I owe you a favour.

“Te l'ho già detto, non mi devi niente. Gli amici aiutano gli amici.” I’ve already told you, you don’t owe me anything.  Friends help friends.  Vincenzo raises an eyebrow as he gestures to Y/N, who’s still a half step behind Harry as he carries out the conversation. “A proposito di ... chi è questo, Harry?” Speaking of… Who is this, Harry?

“Perdonami, sono stato scortese.” Forgive me, I’ve been rude.  Letting go of Y/N’s hand, Harry drifts his palm to the small of Y/N’s back, rubbing his thumb over the satin of her dress as he gently guides her forward for a proper introduction. “Vincenzo, sono Y/N, la mia ... amica.  Y/N, questo è Vincenzo, il titolare del ristorante.” Vincenzo, this is Y/N Y/L/N, my… friend.  Y/N, this is Vincenzo Genovesi, the owner of the restaurant.

Y/N’s ears prick up when she hears her name, and she smiles shyly in greeting at the older man. “Hi.” She wants to offer a more formal presentation, but is unsure if he speaks English or not, so she simply extends her hand to shake his. 

Vincenzo’s smile grows as he grasps her hand in his own, bringing it to his lips and planting an innocent kiss to her skin before taking a polite step back. “È così bello conoscerti.  Sei così bello!”

With a gentle squeeze to her love handles, Harry lowers his mouth to Y/N’s ear, his lips barely grazing her sensitive skin as he speaks. “He says it’s lovely to meet you, and that you’re very beautiful.” He translates, and Y/N can feel the way he’s smiling into her hair.

A shiver rolls down her spine as his cool breath meets her neck, but she manages to ignore the sensation, and instead sends a grateful smile in Vincenzo’s direction. “Oh… Thank you.  Grazie.” She tacks on, and although she tries her best to mimic Harry’s Italian accent, the way the immortal’s body tenses against her side as he represses a laugh tells her that she didn’t pass the test.

Vincenzo, however, waves off Harry’s amused expression, flipping his hand airily in his direction before taking Y/N’s again. She finds out that he indeed does speak English, and it comes out with a thick accent that holds so much genuine kindness, she immediately takes a strong liking to the aged gentleman. “Wipe that grin off your face, cretino, at least she’s trying!” He pats Y/N’s hand reassuringly, shaking his head with a disappointed scoff. “The last time he brought someone here, they spent the entire time doing a Godfather impression.  And it wasn’t even a good one!”

“How many times do I have to apologize for bringing Niall until you let me forget it?” Harry sighs in exasperation, his hand snaking around Y/N tighter than before. “I’ve already forbidden him from coming back.”

Shaking his head with a hearty laugh, Vincenzo pats Y/N’s hand once more before stepping back to the host stand and grabbing two leather-bound menus from the shelf. “I will never forget, Harry.  But don’t worry; I’ve still reserved your favourite table in the back of the restaurant.  Come, bella donna,” He tucks the menus underneath his arm as he gently loops Y/N’s arm through his own, tugging her from Harry’s grasp as he begins to lead her away from the entrance. “Let me escort you to the table, yes?”

Y/N allows Vincenzo to lead her, but glances over her shoulder to meet Harry’s amused gaze as he trails behind them, large hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks as his eyebrows poise teasingly.  The table in question, she discovers, is tucked away in a private corner of the restaurant, framed by a plethora of flora and candles that reflect back on the stone walls.  

Although Vincenzo releases her arm to retract Y/N’s chair, Harry beats him to it, pulling the seat out smoothly and waiting until Y/N is seated comfortably to push the back of it in.  He brushes his cool hand over her shoulder, nudging a loose curl away from her bare neck while offering her a dimpled smile.

As Harry takes his own seat across from her, the older Italian man gives him a knowing look, his eyes glinting with mirth. “Solo un amica, eh?” Just a friend, eh?

The vampire half rolls his eyes, nodding his head slightly as he lays the cloth napkin over his thigh, voice stubbornly flat. “Sì. Solo un amica.” Yes.  Just a friend.

Vincenzo sets a menu down before each of them, clicking his tongue in unconvinced disbelief. “Non guardi un amica come l'hai appena guardata.” You don’t look at a friend the way you just looked at her.

Flipping his menu open with disinterest, Harry makes a bored sound in the back of his throat, waving off Vincenzo with a leisurely gesture. “Vorrei la carta dei vini, Vincenzo, non la tua opinione non richiesta.” I’d like the wine list, Vincenzo, not your unsolicited opinion.

A laugh echoes from the older man’s belly as he shakes his head in amusement, taking a step away from the table. “Certo, Signor Styles.  Lo farò portare subito dal cameriere.” Certainly, Mr. Styles.  I’ll have the waiter bring it right away.  

Turning his attention back to Y/N, Vincenzo takes her hand and kisses it once more. “Bella donna,” He begins, heaving a long sigh. “It was lovely to meet you.  And if this one ever gives you trouble,” he gestures to Harry with a nod, giving her a playfully wink,  “I have five grandsons that would die for the opportunity to dine with a woman as beautiful as yourself.”

Harry’s face hardens at the comment, but Y/N laughs at the joke, squeezing Vincenzo’s hand before releasing it. “Thank you, Vincenzo.  It was so nice to meet you… Next time I come, you’ll have to teach me some Italian.” She adds, glancing at Harry as the curiosity of what they discussed before burns a hole in her belly.

The moment Vincenzo leaves the pair to their own devices, the mortal girl leans forward, the inquiry already falling off her lips. “Speaking of Italian…” She runs her finger around the stem of her empty wine glass, cocking her head to the side. “What were you and Vincenzo talking about?”

Harry waves off her question just as he did Vincenzo’s comments. “Nothing important.  Don’t worry,” a sly grin works its way onto his lips as he smoothly changes the subject, “he wasn’t offering to set me up with his granddaughters, if that’s what you were worried about.  It seems he only wants you in the family.”

“Who wouldn’t?  I’m a delight.” Y/N remarks, a wry smile raising the corners of her lips. “But seriously, Harry— where did you learn to speak fluent Italian?”

The answer rolls off his tongue as easily as the language did. “Italy.” He states simply, as if it should be obvious.

And it’s not a lie; he really did learn in Italy.  It just happened to be during the early 1900s, when he had been bouncing around between Florence, Venice, and Rome.  He’d liked Italy, actually, and would’ve stayed there longer, but then an Archduke was assassinated, and Harry had to return to Britain to fight in what was then called “the War To End All Wars.” Harry had figured that he might as well, given that he could shrug off bullet wounds as easily as a knick, and could use his blood to help heal other soldiers when travesties struck. The Italian, it turned out, had come in handy as he fought his way through Europe, but considering the bloody conditions under which he did so, Harry much prefers using it to woo a lovely girl in an expensive restaurant.

“Italy.” Y/N repeats the word in a deadpan voice, crossing her arms over her chest as she leans back in her chair, kinking an eyebrow stubbornly. “When were you in Italy?”

Ah, Harry thinks, habitually rubbing his thumb over his ruby lips.  It seems a little white lie is necessary. “During uni.  I did a semester abroad.”

For a moment, he thinks that Y/N doesn’t buy the fib.  Her other eyebrow quirks upwards to meet its partner, but her gaze remains as suspicious as it has been since she first asked the question.  When she finally opens her mouth to speak, there’s a small, irrational part of Harry that thinks she might prod for more. 

“What do you mean, ‘a semester abroad’?” She questions, and Harry is about to over-explain when her posture suddenly relaxes, her arms returning to her sides as an easygoing laugh falls from her mouth, a seemingly entertaining realization dawning on her. “Wait, you grew up in England!  You already lived abroad!”

A breathless and relieved chuckle rolls out of Harry as his shoulders drop, the tension rolling out of him as he leans forward. “I suppose that’s true, hm?” He hums, reaching for Y/N’s warm hand and tugging it onto the table to intertwine her fingers with his own. “I really just went a few doors down the neighborhood, didn’t I?”

“You really did.” Y/N sighs wistfully, drifting her thumb over the back of Harry’s knuckle without a second thought. “I’m jealous, though.  I wish I had gone away for school, even just to a different state.  I could’ve been living in Washington, or Oregon, or New York.  It would’ve been so nice.”

The corners of Harry’s lips weigh down into a frown as he considers the possibilities laced into the comment. “I suppose, but…” He casts his gaze towards their knitted hands.  Hers looks so much smaller wrapped inside his. “If you did, then you might not have moved to L.A.  And then we wouldn’t have—”

“Good evening, Mr. Styles, Miss Y/L/N.” A waiter that Harry hasn’t met before appears beside the table with a wine menu clasped in one hand and a basket of bread in the other.  

The server is younger than others Harry has seen before, but Harry knows Vincenzo hires his staff carefully, and that he wouldn’t send anyone too inexperienced to take care of Harry.  From the sweat beading his brow, the vampire can tell that Vincenzo has given the waiter a speech about Harry’s status with the restaurant owner, and the thought brings a small spark of satisfaction to him.  However, that satisfaction disappears the moment he sees the waiter’s eyes linger on Y/N a moment longer than needed. He nods kindly to both of them, but the immortal can’t evade the small spark of irritation that zips down his spine at the employee’s subtle interest in his companion.  Shifting in his seat, Harry tightens his grasp on Y/N’s hand, but keeps his demeanor neutral and polite.  It’s not like he can blame the poor boy, really.  Not when Y/N’s silky lips are sheathed in such a breathtaking shade of red.

“My name is Luca, and I’ll be your server for tonight.” He shifts his attention back to Harry as he sets the bread basket on the table before extending the small leatherbound menu to him. “Here’s the wine list you asked for, Mr. Styles.  I’ll give you some time to look it over, and then I’ll be back in a few minutes to take your order.”

Although his right hand is closer to the server, Harry reaches for the menu with his left in order to maintain his grasp on Y/N’s. “Thank you, Luca.  I appreciate it.”

Luca nods once as he takes a step back from the table, clasping his hands behind his back. “Prego, signore.” You’re welcome, sir. 

Harry’s eyebrow jolts up in mild surprise. “Oh, parli italiano?” Oh, you speak Italian?  He asks, the flip in language gliding down his tongue without so much as a second thought. Harry hadn’t expected it, given that the young man’s natural accent is as American as can be. 

Pausing on the ball of his foot, Luca nods as colour begins to rise to his cheeks. “Sì, signore, la mia famiglia è italiana.  Mia nonna mi ha insegnato a parlarlo quando ero giovane.” Yes, sir, my family is Italian.  My grandmother taught me to speak it when I was very young.

“Tua nonna è una signora molto intelligente, allora.” Your grandmother is a very smart lady, then.  Harry’s mind drifts back to his own upbringing, when his mother would gather him and his sister around the table on Sunday nights, reading them Latin passages by candlelight.  The memory brings a sad smile to his face. “Grazie per il menu. Lo daremo un'occhiata.” Thank you for the menu.  We’ll take a look at it.

Luca nods again, but there’s hesitation in the motion as his eyes drift to Y/N once more, flickering from her own gaze back down to her crimson lips. “Is there anything I can get you before I go, miss?  Some water, perhaps?”

Y/N sends a bright smile to the young man, nodding her head as a strand of her curled hair loosens from its pin. “Yes, please.  And thank you.”

“Due acque, Luca.” Two waters, Luca.  Harry interjects, clearing his throat quietly as he catches the human boy’s eye, giving a curt jut of his chin that signals he’s done ordering for the time being. “Grazie.”

Y/N reaches for the basket of bread the moment Luca has scurried away, her eyes lighting up as she hears the first slice crackle open. “Ooh, garlic bread.” She thrums happily as she takes a small bite while being mindful of her red lipstick, setting the rest of the bread on her side plate as she chews slowly and indulges the flurry of delicious flavors. She talks lightly over a semi-full mouth, careful as to not give Harry an unpleasant eyeful. “So what’s on the menu for drinks?  I’m assuming you’re, like, an expert on wine, right?”

Harry’s lips twitch as he bites back a laugh at the hint of annoyance in her voice. “What makes you say that?”

“You shop Gucci like it’s Target, you speak Italian, you’re a regular at this place…” Y/N’s eyes sweep over their private corner of the restaurant before sending a teasing glance to Harry. “Being a sommelier on the side just seems like something to add to the list of things you’re infuriatingly good at.”

Despite the small jab, a satisfied smile settles on Harry’s lips as he squeezes Y/N’s hand. “You really are good at stroking my ego, aren’t you, dove?  I suppose we can add that to the list of things you’re infuriatingly good at?”

The familiar comment brings Y/N back to the night the two of them met, in a dark and deafening club that’s the complete opposite of their current location.  She twists her fingers within Harry’s, flipping their hands to examine his palm as memories float through her mind like movie scenes.  How Harry had looked when he first walked over, the soothing and seductive tone of his voice, how she’d done her best to match his flirtatious compliments… how he’d kissed her in his car before taking her back to her apartment.  She should’ve known then, Y/N thinks, that she wouldn’t have been able to let someone like Harry be just a one night stand. 

“I guess I’ll allow you to add it.” Y/N murmurs teasingly as she clasps their hands together once more. “But, unfortunately for me, wine knowledge is not on that list, so… you pick something.  I trust your taste.”

“Alright, then.  No pressure for me.” Harry jokes, snapping his gaze from her hypnotizing irises to peruse the menu once more. “Would you like red, white, or rosé?”

The human hums as she considers the question, pursing her lips in thought, as if the answer she gives is life or death. “Red, I think.” She replies, watching as Harry’s brow furrows in thought while shifting his eyes to the red wine list. 

A moment later, Luca appears again with two glasses of ice water balanced on a tray, which he sets down on the table before each of them.  While both of them offer a murmur of thanks, it’s only Y/N’s show of gratitude that incites a darkening of his cheeks.

Another thread of irritation flares down Harry’s spine, but he forces himself to dampen it down with a reminder that if he were the one waiting on Y/N— rather than being the one sitting across from her— he’d probably be doing the exact same thing. “Penso che abbiamo preso una decisione, Luca.” I think we’ve made a decision, Luca.  He says with a tight smile, snapping the wine menu shut and handing it back to the young man. “Prendiamo due bicchieri del tuo cabernet sauvignon, per favore.” We’ll have two glasses of your cabernet sauvignon, please.

Luca nods as he accepts the menu, his eyes flickering to Y/N’s ruby lips yet again. That’s three times in the last ten minutes...not that the vampire’s counting or anything. 

“Ovviamente. Li prendo per te che scrivi.” Of course.  I’ll get those for you right away. The server answers politely before tucking the menu under his arm and hurrying off.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Y/N says the moment the waiter is gone, her eyes alight with amusement as she pulls her hand from Harry’s to take a sip of her ice water. “But I can’t ignore it.”

Clearing his throat as he reaches for a slice of garlic bread, Harry slinks his head to the side before answering. “Ignore what?” He asks offhandedly, taking a bite of his bread and chewing it slowly.  Had Luca’s fascination with her crimson smile not gone unnoticed?  Or had Harry’s aggravation begun to show on his face?

“The Italian.” Y/N admits, setting her glass down and sitting forward as she rests her bent elbows on the table, propping her head upon her interlocked fingers. “I feel a bit left out, and, truthfully, a little jealous.  I want to learn.”

A playful laugh echoes from Harry’s throat as he taps a ringed finger against the table. “I can’t exactly teach you an entire language over one dinner, sweetheart.  I’m good, but I’m not that good.”

“Hm.  I know.  It’s tragic.” Y/N sighs, giggling quietly at the way Harry’s laughter cuts off completely and is replaced with a wounded sound of protest. “But what about some important phrases?  Just so I’m not in the dark all evening while you play Roman Holiday?”

Harry prods the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “Alright.  Why don’t we start with Mi dispiace?”

“Mi dispiace.” Y/N repeats slowly, trying her best to wrap her red lips around the Italian diction. “What does that mean?”

“It means ‘I’m sorry’, which one could say in reference to, oh, I don’t know…” Harry shrugs lightly, matching the motion with a theatrical dejected sigh. “Insinuating that your date is without certain… talents?”

Although Y/N laughs again, she reaches across the table and wraps her hand around Harry’s, trying to tamp down the mirth in her voice when she replies. “Mi dispiace.” She repeats again, giving Harry her best attempt at puppy dog eyes.

“That’s passable, I suppose.” Harry props his chin up in his palm, rubbing his thumb over his pillowy lips in thought. “And then we have ti perdono— I forgive you.”

“How kind of you, Mr. Styles.” Y/N simpers, biting her tongue between her teeth to hold back more sounds of glee. “Give me another one.”

Harry regards her with a thoughtful air, his hand sliding from his mouth to his hair to tug on his styled curls before traveling back down to rest on the table. His voice comes out a tad deeper, a vein of sultriness running beneath it that she just barely detects. “Sei molto bella con quel vestito.”

One of the words tweaks Y/N’s memory from earlier, but she still traces a finger over Harry’s initial rings as she locks eyes with him expectantly. “What does that mean?”

Swiping his tongue over his lips, Harry peers at her through his thick lashes as he encircles his free hand around the stem of his water glass. “You look very beautiful in that dress.”

A pleasurable flush rolls through Y/N’s belly at the compliment.  No matter how many times Harry pays her a positive comment, she somehow always still feels a rush with each word that falls from his soft lips. “Thank you.” She mumbles shyly, tucking her thumb between Harry’s ring and pinkie finger. “I mean— grazie.” 

“Try saying it back to me.” Despite the encouraging words that are said under the guise of teaching, there’s an undercurrent of command that turns the satisfaction in Y/N’s tummy to anticipation. “Molto bella.”

The mortal’s eyes flicker between Harry’s own emerald irises and his mouth as he curls a ringed finger over her hand, stroking the icy digit over her heated skin. “Molto bella.” She repeats, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Fantastico, tesoro.” The praise slips easily from his lips as he lets himself bask in the warmth her flesh brings to his. 

“‘Tesoro’,” Y/N repeats, a tinge of confusion settling onto her face. “What does that mean?”

“It’s, uh,” Harry scoffs to himself in realization, unaware he had even let the term fall from his mouth. “It— well, it means ‘treasure,’ but it’s kind of the Italian equivalent of ‘darling’.”

The vampire can hear the way Y/N’s heartbeat spikes, sending a new wave of blood to warm her cheeks. “That—” The human girl mimics the way he’d cleared his earlier as she reaches for her water glass. “That’s pretty.”

“It is, yeah.  You’ll probably be hearing it often.” Harry continues to drag the pad of his finger down the ridges of his lover’s knuckles as a fond smile crescents his Cupid’s bow. “And here’s another one you’ll be hearing often— piegarsi.”

Y/N pauses with her water raised halfway to her lips. “And what does that one mean?”

Harry waits until her mouth has reached the rim of the glass and she’s taken a sip of ice water. “Bend over.” 

The response is instantaneous, just as he’d imagined. The mortal chokes on her water, coughing up a storm as she quickly lowers the drink from her mouth, half bending over the table and yanking her hand from his as her cheeks light with fire. “Harry!” She gasps once she regains her breath, glancing over her shoulder to see if anyone else at the restaurant overheard his lewd statement. 

“What?” He asks innocently, but quickly gives into snickering, his body curling over the table as he cackles. “I’m not wrong!  You really will be hearing it often, so you should know what it means!”

“That doesn’t give you the right to say it in public!” Y/N exclaims hotly, shooting him a look of irritated disbelief that’s exaggerated to hide the boiling that’s working its way into her stomach.

Still chuckling every few moments, Harry reaches for her hand once again, interlocking their fingers and bringing her palm to his mouth. “Alright,” He kisses her heated palm while gazing at her through half lidded eyes. “Alright, I’m sorry.  Mi dispiace, tesoro.”

Y/N purses her painted lips, but sighs in defeat after a few moments of Harry’s moony eyes boring into her own. “Fine.  I forgive you.  Ti perdono.”

Although the annoyance has faded from Y/N’s complexion, Harry still keeps her hand flushed to his lips, stamping kisses to a new area of skin with unpatterned frequency.  He’s not certain if her warmth is just her or the residual embarrassment, but he doesn’t care.  It’s just nice, he thinks, his eyes crinkling in the corners as he smiles at Y/N from across the table.  It’s comfortable.

“I have your glasses of cabernet sauvignon, Mr. Styles.” Luca interrupts from beside Harry, who had been so focused on the feeling of Y/N skin against his that he hadn’t noticed the waiter’s return. 

Harry gently lowers Y/N’s hand from his mouth, setting her palm down on the table with care. “Grazie.” Harry says casually, straightening his posture to allow Luca to set the glasses down. 

Y/N does the same, offering the young server a thankful smile once again. “Grazie.” Her voice rings sweetly from behind her lips, her confidence more stable thanks to Harry’s miniature Rosetta Stone lecture. 

“Prego, signorina.” Luca matches the Italian easily, his eyebrows raising in hopeful shock. “Parli anche italiano?” Do you speak Italian, too?

The human girl’s eyes flick to Harry as her mouth falls open without sound, and the immortal reads the distress signal easily. 

“No, lei non—” He cuts himself off in the middle of the address to Luca when he remembers that Y/N doesn’t like being spoken for.  Harry redirects his attention back to her questioning eyes. “I mean— he asked if you speak Italian.”

Y/N gives Harry an appreciative smile before turning back to Luca, the expression turning apologetic. “No, I don’t.  I wish I did, though.”

“It’s a fairly easy language to learn.” Luca tucks his tray underneath his arm as he regards the girl timidly. “And your accent is wonderful already.”

Harry hides his smirk behind his wine glass, stifling the laugh that’s threatening to sound.  The server must be entranced by her beauty, he thinks, because that’s the most blatant lie Harry has heard in a long time.

Y/N, however, accepts the compliment with ease. “Thank you.  It’s not true, but I appreciate the effort to be kind.”

The tips of Luca’s ears redden as he laughs breathlessly. “Are you, um, ready to order?”

“Oh, uh—” Y/N drops her gaze to the unopened menu in front of her before offering an rueful glance at the waiter. “I still need a few minutes, I think.”

“That’s alright, take your time.  I’ll be back shortly.” Luca assures her, turning to Harry and giving one last nod of acknowledgement before leaving them again.

Despite already having the menu of the restaurant memorized, Harry slides the leatherbound cover open, dragging a ringed finger down the smooth pages as he feigns searching for a dish. “You know…” He flits his gaze to Y/N’s face as an amused grin begins to tug at the corners of his mouth. “That’s really not fair of you.”

Y/N looks up from her own opened menu the moment Harry speaks, a bemused shadow falling over her face. “What’s not fair of me?”

Harry reaches for his wine glass as he laughs gently, shaking his head before taking a small sip of the smooth cabernet. “Being so charming to Luca.  The poor boy looks like he’s going to pass out each time you speak to him.”

Her cherry lips curve into an exasperated smile as she rolls her eyes. “I have no idea what you mean.” She states, turning her attention back down to the cursive menu. 

“Oh, you don’t, do you?” Harry replies dryly, quirking an eyebrow as he sets his beverage back down on the table. “So you’re not noticing how his eyes are glued to your mouth every time you say something?”

“Nope,” Y/N pops her lips on the last consonant sound of the word as she reaches for her own wine glass. “Because it’s not happening.  We’re just talking, H.  He’s the waiter; he has to look at me.”

“Right.” Harry drags the word out, completely unconvinced. His own eyes glue to Y/N’s lips as they wrap around the edge of her glass, his throat growing slightly parched as he studies the way they curve in a manner that he deems practically flawless. “So do you think the way he’s staring at your tits is also in his job description, then?”

Y/N snorts at the snarky remark, lowering her glass to rest just in front of her chest. “You’re the one who picked out a dress with such a low neckline.” She unwraps her index finger from the wine glass to point it at him in an accusatory manner. “Why did you get it, then, if you didn’t want my tits out on display?”

Harry takes a swig of his own wine as he fights back a laugh at her bold statement. “Let me fill you in on a little secret, mi amore.” He says, lowering his voice and setting down his delicate glass with a muted thud. “The main reason I got it…” The vampire watches the way Y/N’s breathing hitches when she feels the snakeskin tip of his boot brush against the back of her bare calf beneath the table. “Is because I’m curious to see what it would look like as a crumpled heap at the bottom of my staircase.”

The toe of his boot travels higher up her leg, circling around the bend of her knee before just barely grazing the soft flesh of her lower outer thigh.  Y/N does her best to control her breathing, but the effort is in vain when the cold metal zipper presses against her dimpled skin. 

“Harry…” His name leaves her crimson lips in a warning tone as she glances around the restaurant, eyeing the closest couple five tables away. 

“‘M excited to see it later, y’know? Been thinking about ripping it off ever since I zipped you into it.” Harry drags the toe of his boot back down her leg, coasting it lightly against her ribbon-wrapped ankle in small and concise motions. “But I suppose I’ll just have to be a bit more patient.  At least I’ll be seeing you like that; poor Luca could only dream of it.”

The human girl clears her throat quietly, taking another measured sip of her wine as she wills herself to steady. “The only thing poor about Luca is that he’s going to come back to the table and I still won’t know what I want.” She shifts her attention back to the open menu, ignoring the eye roll she receives from her lover across the table as she looks over the Italian in front of her. “I don’t know what any of this is.”

“Let me help, cara— which means, ‘dear,’ by the way.” Harry says in an amused voice, dropping his gaze to the cursive menu. “Do you want fish?  Pasta?  Red meat?  Chicken?”

“Maybe pasta.” Y/N murmurs in reply, running a finger down the booklet page as she reads over the Italian descriptions.  Her eyes catch the prices next to dishes, and she nearly gasps, but bites back the sound of surprise at the last moment.

“Alright…” Scanning down the pasta list, Harry bookmarks a few dishes he thinks Y/N may like. “You’d enjoy the ‘Spaghetti Cacio e Pepe’, I think.” He muses, rubbing a finger over his chin in thought. “Or the ‘Gnocchi al Vostro Gusto’.  That’s kind of like pasta— it’s a potato dumpling, and you can choose if you want a meat or gorgonzola sauce.”

“That sounds good.” Y/N finds the mentioned items on the menu, her eyes sweeping over the Italian descriptions to try and pick out the words Harry mentioned. “I think I’ll go with the last one, with the gorgonzola sauce.” Taking a sip of her wine to seal her decision, Y/N poses a question to Harry. “What are you thinking of having?”

“I’m not sure…” Harry lifts his shoulder in a careless shrug as he continues to scan the menu. “I have a few favourites, and those are always solid choices.  The lamb is quite good here; I haven’t had that in a while.”

As Harry peruses his decisions, Y/N begins to chew on the inside of her cheek, narrowly avoiding her habit of biting her lips and ruining the raspberry lacquer she’d painted on earlier as an idea forms in her head. 

“Harry,” She begins, waiting until he raises his jade eyes to meet hers before continuing. “When Luca comes back over…” The girl chooses her words carefully, doing her best to voice her question in the most understandable way. “Could you order for me?”

Just as she suspected he might, Harry rests his menu back down against the table, giving his whole attention to Y/N as his brows furrow. “You want me to order for you?” He asks, confusion threaded through his accent as his mind flips back to their first date, when Y/N had nearly skinned him alive for attempting to do just that. “Why?”

She shifts in her seat under his hot gaze, her own eyes dropping to her lap as her cheeks sear. “It’s— It’s in Italian, so it’ll probably be easier if you say it.”

Harry shakes his head in disagreement as he tries to reassure his date. “No, doll, it’s alright if you say it in English.  Luca will get it.  And if worse comes to worse—” He cracks a smile, tapping a bejeweled finger against the booklet. “Y’can just point.  He’ll get the gist.”

Despite the solutions offered, Y/N continues to shift around, her foot bumping against Harry’s boot as a soft sigh falls from her lips.  She’d hoped Harry would’ve just accepted the request on her first try, but he seems determined not to repeat his mistake from their first date, which means Y/N has to get a lot more honest.

“No, H, I want…” She purses her lips as she twists her fingers around the stem of her wine glass, gently swirling the dark liquid inside. “I want you to order for me.”

The smile on his face darkens into a befuddled expression. “I mean, I can,” Harry says slowly, closing the menu and sliding it onto the table as he appraises the girl across from him. “But I’m a little confused on your reasoning.  Last time I tried to order for you, you said I was trying to make decisions for you—”

“And you were,” Y/N can’t help but to defend herself, flashing a stormy look at Harry from beneath her lashes. “That’s why I’m telling you what I’d like now.”

Harry’s mouth gapes open as he stares at Y/N with a blank expression.  A scoffing laugh finally falls from his lips as he shakes his head again, reaching for his wine and bringing the glass to his lips. “You are the most confusing woman I’ve ever met, d’you know that?”

Y/N lets a beat of silence fall between them as she rethinks her question and how best to phrase it in a way that still lets her feel like she’s living in the twenty-first century. “I mean I— you said that it was polite, right?  At that brunch.  Your mom taught you it was a sign of respect.” Her eyes fall to the opal ring sitting on his pinky, sparkling in the candlelight like it always does.

Harry lowers his glass, watching Y/N with a guarded gaze. “Yeah.” He murmurs, licking his lips once as he places his cup back on the table. “She did, yeah.”

“And you’ve gone to a lot of trouble tonight— the dress, the reservation, everything— and I just— I wanted to—” The more Y/N tries to articulate her thoughts, the more tangled her thoughts become, and she sucks in a harsh breath of frustration. “I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”

Although Harry has a suspicion about her meaning, he doesn’t try to finish her sentence.  The last thing he wants to do is make Y/N feel like he’s trying to speak over her. “It’s alright.” He says instead, snaking his hand across the table to weave her fingers through his. “Take your time, tesoro.”

Heeding his advice, Y/N takes a moment to just focus on the feeling of Harry’s cool fingers wrapped around hers, and allows her thoughts to gather themselves together on their own.  When she tries again, her speech is hesitant, but less frustrated than before.

“I think I… understand you more now.” She mumbles the words, keeping her eyes glued to the shining stones that adorn Harry’s rings. “When you do things that I’m not used to… I know you’re doing them out of kindness, and not because you think I’m incapable.” Raising her stare to meet Harry’s entrancing emerald eyes, Y/N takes a deep breath before continuing. “You’ve done a lot to make me comfortable, and I appreciate it, so… I want to do something for you.  It’s no Gucci dress—” Y/N laughs breathlessly, her cheeks flushing again as her intent flickers away from Harry’s own for just a moment before— to his relief— returning. “— but you were taught it was a sign of respect, like opening a door, or pulling out a chair.  So if you want to order for me… you can.” She finishes in a quiet voice. “If you’d like to.”

A slow smile spreads over Harry’s strawberry lips as Y/N wraps up her speech. “Really?” He asks, his voice hushed with delight. “And you won’t accuse me of treating you like you’re incapable?”

Y/N’s eyes flash to him in a darkened glare, but her tone holds a jesting bite. “Not unless you piss me off.”

A soft exhale of air leaves Harry’s nostrils, the beginnings of a laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He quips in return, catching Luca’s eye over Y/N’s shoulder as the waiter approaches the table again.

Although his body is turned towards Harry, Luca’s eyes canvas Y/N once more, the action bolder this time as his irises spend longer resting on her cleavage after observing her tinted pout.  The lengthened look grates against Harry’s nerves, and he clears his throat in a slightly irritated manner to call the young man’s attention back his way.

“Oh, uhm—” Luca’s ears redden as he turns back to Harry, clearing his throat as he steadies himself. “Sei pronto per ordinare, signor Styles?” Are you ready to order, Mr. Styles?

“Sì,” Harry replies curtly, tapping his thumb against Y/N’s soft hand. “Y/N vorrebbe gli Gnocchi al Vostro Gusto con la salsa al gorgonzola, e io prendo il filet mignon, cotto raro, per favore.” Y/N will have the Gnocchi al Vostro Gusto with the gorgonzola sauce, and I’ll have the filet mignon, cooked rare, please. He says smoothly, and he can’t deny the satisfied pleasure that curls inside his belly when he sees the gentle eyes Y/N gives him across the table.

Luca nods once as he takes the menus from the two of them, careful to keep his eyes away from Y/N’s mouth as he gathers her leatherbound copy and scuttles off to submit their orders to the kitchen.

“Okay.” Y/N says reluctantly, squeezing Harry’s hand within her own with a sigh as she watches the waiter disappear. “I will admit, I did notice his eyes drifting a little low there.”

“Sorry, what was that?” Harry asks, eyes widening in dramatized disbelief.  He wills himself to keep a triumphant grin off his face, but knows he doesn’t quite succeed. “Did you just admit I was right?  Did that just happen?”

“Oh, shut up.” Rolling her eyes, Y/N shakes her head as she takes another bite of garlic bread, her tongue poking from her mouth to catch a crumb at the corner of her lip. “If you’re going to act like such a child, I’ll take it back.”

Harry brings her knuckles to his mouth, brushing them against his lips in a tender motion. “I’m just trying to savour the moment, angel.” His cool breath crawls over her skin, eliciting a shiver from the human girl that he adores. “Who knows when I’ll get to experience it again.”

“Never, if I have any say in it.”

“Should we ask Luca to weigh in on this little debate, too? You know, since he’s practically as acquainted with you as I am.” 

“Bite me.”

The monster’s dimples wink at the irony of her insult, and his voice carries a knowing edge that only he can decipher. “Don’t I always?”

They fall into their usual rhythm after that, easily discussing what each of them had been up to throughout the week during their gaps away from the other.  Those gaps, Harry realizes as he listens to a work story from Y/N, are becoming shorter and shorter. He’d swung by Y/N’s cafe for lunch on Thursday to order a mediocre at best sandwich, and indulge in a far from mediocre makeout session in the back of his car.  And watching Y/N hurriedly tighten her ponytail while she stumbled away from his Cadillac, cheeks flaming as she nearly ran to the employee entrance around the back of the building before her break ended, had prompted Harry to call her that night for a long overdue phone sex session.  

Even after they had both helped the other reach climax, and post-orgasm photos had been sent (Harry had received a picture of Y/N stretched out on her bed, her face visibly heated and chest sweaty as she wore nothing but his “enjoy health” t-shirt, and in return, he’d sent a snapshot of his cum-covered abdomen, fingers resting delicately at the edge of his butterfly tattoo), the vampire and human had stayed on the line as they both caught their breath.  Harry had followed the nude photo with a picture of him posing with a glass of water and a thumbs up, smiling grandly amidst his colored cheeks and sweaty curls, captioning it “Make sure to hydrate after a workout!” The energy it took to take the self-timed photo was worth it when he’d heard Y/N’s laugh tumble out from the opposite end of the line. 

It’s the same carefree laugh that she’s trying to stifle now, her hand pressed over her mouth and nose as her eyes send an apologetic glance at Luca setting her plate of gnocchi down in front of her.

“Thank you, Luca,” She manages to choke out, wiping her eyes with the edge of her thumb to stop the saltwater threatening to rush down her heated cheeks. “It looks delicious.”

Harry nods in agreement as the waiter sets his own dish in front of him, his mischievous smirk still shining at Y/N from across the table. “Grazie.” He says as he curls his lips around his newly topped off wine glass.

Y/N bites her tongue to hold back the continuous laughter that’s on the verge of bursting from her chest like a dam.  With every moment Harry keeps his eyes locked on hers, the human girl has to press her lips harder and harder together, and barely manages to wait until Luca has left them again to release the wave of giggles that crest out of her chest.

“Something amusing?” Harry raises an eyebrow as he sets his glass down, hardly able to hold back his own laughter as couples seated away from them begin to take notice of the boisterous sounds.

“You—” Y/N sucks in a ragged breath, half snorting once more as she manages to calm herself enough to take a small sip of wine.  The liquid soothes the raw ache in her throat that is practically raw from the convulsed snickers. “You did not say that to him!”

“I did.” Harry answers smugly, adjusting the napkin covering the light grey fabric stretched over his lap before picking up his knife and fork. “He was too certain that no girl had ever faked it with him just because of a leg shake.  I couldn’t let him live in that delusion; it’d be a crime, really.  Just plain cruel.”

“Oh, right, like telling your friend that all the girls he’s been with have been faking it isn’t cruel?” She gently sets down her wine glass at the edge of her plate as she voices the retort, shaking her head in disbelief. “Poor Niall.”

“Not Poor Niall!  I was trying to help him!” Despite the claim, Harry can’t stop himself from chuckling out the words. “How’s he going to fix his ways if he doesn’t know anything is wrong?”

“Alright, so riddle me this, then, Dr. Phil.” Y/N picks up her fork, spearing a piece of gnocchi and holding the chunk above her plate as she issues her challenge to Harry. “How did you become the expert in whether or not a girl is faking it?  Do you have a lot of experience with that?”

“Not in the slightest.  I think you know that much.” Just as he did before, Harry begins to slide the tip of his boot up Y/N’s calf, relishing in the slight hitch in her breath and stutter of her heart. “If I’m an expert in anything, it’s how to make someone cum until their legs actually shake.  That’s why I can tell the fake from the real.”

Y/N takes a deep breath through her mouth, closing her eyes for a moment as she forms a coherent reply. “I guess I do know that.” She relents, opening her eyes just in time to see the simper that’s growing again across Harry’s face as he continues to rub up and down her leg with his shoe.  Y/N lifts her fork, carefully slipping the sauce-covered gnocchi into her mouth. “But Niall doesn’t— holy shit.” The mortal gasps as the flavours burst across her tongue, the perfect mix of savoury and salty and drenched in decadence.

“It’s good, innit?” Harry pokes his cheek with his tongue as he slices off a corner of his steak, checking the rarity of the meat before bringing it to his mouth. “There’s a reason this is my favourite restaurant, and it’s not just Vincenzo.”

“It’s fucking delicious.” Y/N can’t think to censor herself as she meticulously chews and swallows the bite, savouring every second before poking another gnocchi onto her fork. “I understand the price now.  It’s still outrageous, but I get it.”

Harry watches the way Y/N’s lashes flutter as she chews her bites, and the satisfaction growing in his belly increases. “High quality is worth paying for.” He states, slicing off another portion of steak. 

Y/N nods slowly, swallowing the food before pointing the prongs of her fork at Harry’s plate. “How’s your filet mignon?” She asks, spearing another bite of gnocchi onto the utensil. “Worth the price point?”

Dragging the bite on his fork through the sauce that’s pooled on his plate, Harry beckons her forward as he extends the piece towards her. “Open your mouth and find out.”

There’s something about the way that Y/N immediately obeys the command— setting down her own fork and leaning across the table to wrap her lips around Harry’s— that sends a shiver down his spine.  With her mouth closed, she slides the cut of beef off the silverware and leans back in her seat, chewing thoughtfully with a contemplative look on her face. 

A drop of sauce is smeared from the bite, dripping from the edge of her mouth, and although it goes unnoticed by Y/N, it’s all Harry can see as he watches her savor the bite of food.  He leans forward more, collecting the droplet on the pad of his thumb, which he brings to his mouth and licks off casually before settling back in his chair.

“Like it, tesoro?” He asks, an expectant look glinting in his eye as he slices off another bite for himself. 

Y/N cocks her head to the side as she swallows, trying her best to focus on the flavour and not the way Harry had been so careful not to smear her lipstick as he touched her. “I like the sauce.  It’s sweet, but has a bit of a kick to it.  The steak, however…” She wrinkles her nose the slightest bit. “It’s a little too rare for my taste, I think.  I’m not really a fan of anything bloody.”

Harry curls his tongue inside his mouth as he allows himself a single laugh. “No?” He questions, spearing a piece of meat and sliding it past his lips. “I can’t say the same.  I like my steaks cooked rare.  The bloodier, the better.” 

“I bet you’re one of those weirdos who orders blue steak, huh?” Y/N asks, taking a gulp of her wine to wash out the taste of the meat. “Like, still cold in the middle, and looking practically raw…”

“Oh, no.  Not at all.” Harry’s chuckles increase, and he has to hide them behind a false cough to stop himself from drawing more attention. “It tastes much better if the meal is warm.”

Although Y/N doesn’t grasp the full meaning behind his words— and thank God she doesn’t, Harry thinks, because she’d probably run screaming from the restaurant— she hums in acknowledgement as she swirls the wine around her glass.

“But you’re enjoying your meal, right?” Harry changes the subject swiftly, deciding he’s indulged his one-sided humour long enough. “I have no problem sending it back if it’s not to your liking.”

The human’s eyes widen as she swiftly sets down her glass, shaking her head at the question. “No, no, it’s delicious!  Probably the best thing I’ve ever eaten, honestly.” She collects another bit on her fork, twirling the potato dumpling through the gorgonzola sauce before motioning to Harry. “Wanna try?”

When Harry nods in response, they slip back into their former position, both of them leaning forward in their seats to meet in the middle of the table.  Y/N slips the fork into his mouth, feeling the resistance as Harry’s white teeth meet the strong metal of the cutlery. 

Just as had happened to her a few moments prior, a small droplet of sauce gathers at the corner of Harry’s mouth as she pulls her fork away.  Y/N collects the sauce with her thumb as Harry had as well, but before she can sit herself back in her chair, Harry captures her wrist within his cool hand. 

Keeping his canopy green eyes locked with hers, the creature slips her thumb into his mouth, licking the remnants of the bite off the digit with his slick tongue.  His boot continues its climb up her leg, just barely reaching her thigh again before traveling back down to plant itself firmly onto the floor of the restaurant.

A quiet gasp leaves Y/N’s mouth as Harry lulls his tongue around her thumb one last time, and the barely audible sound raises his strawberry lips into a hint of a grin as he extracts the finger from his mouth.  With his hand still wrapped around her wrist, Harry brings her open palm forward and plants a delicate kiss to the center of her hand.

“That’s quite good.” Harry finally says nonchalantly, attentively setting Y/N’s hand back down on the table and releasing her wrist from his grasp. “I’ll have to try it the next time we come.”

Y/N struggles to regulate her breathing as she retracts her hand from the table, setting it down in her lap as her fingers involuntarily clench into her heated thigh. “Um, yeah.” She wisps, clearing her throat once as she reaches for a slice of garlic bread. “Yeah, it’s, uh, it’s really good.  The sauce is— it has a nice balance to it, I think, with the thyme…”

“I agree.” Harry wipes his wet finger off on the napkin laying over his thigh. “You’ve got quite the mouth on you, don’t you, pet?”

“You would know.” Y/N huffs snidely, cheeks blazing as she reaches for her wine again to extract a heavy gulp of the liquor.  

In the moments of silence that fall between them, Y/N allows herself to canvas the restaurant, observing the interactions of those around her.  True to Vincenzo’s promise of a private spot, the couples nearest to them are all at least five tables away, and partially hidden from view because of the positioning of their corner booth.  However, Y/N’s sharp eyes don’t miss how every formally-dressed staff member, from servers to busboys and hosts, cast their eyes in Harry’s direction each time they pass by.  Some even whisper to their coworkers as they turn the corner, their gazes always lingering on Harry with a mix of awe and wonder.

“Have you noticed how all the staff here watch you?” Y/N asks as she catches the eye of a passing waitress, who offers her a tense smile before sliding her stare towards Harry. 

“Do they?” Harry replies curiously, raising his wine glass to his lips as he lightly shrugs. “I’ve never paid much attention to it.”

“I think Vincenzo’s given them all the update on the prestigious British bachelor, Harry Styles.” Y/N pokes fun, tilting her head to the side thoughtfully as she contemplates Harry with an observant eye. “Or maybe they’ve all just noticed the ridiculous amount of designer labels you insist on wearing.” She teases him with a playful grin, tapping a finger against the Gucci cufflinks on his sleeves. “I feel a bit like a celebrity.”

A modest laugh breaks past Harry’s lips as he lowers the glass, keeping his ringed fingers twisted around the stem. “In my experience, I’ve found you’re treated best when you treat the staff best.  I tip well, so I receive better service.  When I receive better service, I tip more.  It’s a bit of a cycle, isn’t it?” He asks rhetorically, the tip of his boot once again exploring the soft skin of Y/N’s bare leg. “But I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.  I thought I’d test the waters tonight and see how well you like the high life before I arrange anything more… extravagant.”

“More extravagant?” Y/N laughs at the idea, propping her elbow on the table and plopping her chin in her hand as her eyebrows raise. “What could possibly be more extravagant than a Gucci cocktail dress, Loubotin heels, and a fifty dollar pasta dish?”

The answer rolls off Harry’s tongue immediately, slathered in a jesting, matter-of-fact tone. “A trip to the Bahamas, obviously.”

Although Y/N’s eyes widen slightly at the comment, it’s not long before she giggles softly, the wine beginning to twist its way through her system.  Harry can smell the way her lavender and honey scent is intertwined with the dark, fruity notes of the liquor, but even if he couldn’t, it would be obvious in the way she draws towards him with a tender smile on her face.  Despite the dewy appearance of her skin amidst the lulled candlelight, it’s the genuine warmth behind Y/N’s eyes that makes Harry feel like her gaze could thaw the ice from his long-frozen limbs.

It’s that warmth that brings Harry to reach over the table after Luca has cleared their bare plates and refilled their glasses, dragging his hands across the linen tablecloth with his palms turned upwards.  He just can’t ever seem to stifle the need to touch her.

The motion is a quiet question in itself, and Y/N gives the desired answer when she fills his empty grasp with her own palms, automatically tangling her bare fingers with Harry’s jeweled digits. For a moment, Harry just sits there, thumbing over her fragile knuckles in the way he’s grown so accustomed to doing, basking in the heat that congregates in his chest and gives him the feeling that he’s glowing.  He almost hates to break the perfect silence between them, which is so understanding, but he’s been thinking about his words too carefully to swallow them back.

“Thank you for agreeing to let me take you out.” He says, his voice gentle and low, a far cry from his usual cocky drawl. “It’s…It’s been a really long time since I’ve done something like this with anyone, let alone had this much fun doing it.” He takes a quiet breath through barely parted lips. “It’s nice.”

His ears prick with the sound of Y/N’s hummingbird heartbeat thrumming in her chest, the pattern bringing an ache to his tummy in an entirely new way, but the ache is quickly soothed by the soft smile that adorns her crimson lips.

“It’s…It’s been a while for me, as well.  Which you know.” She laughs airily, but is too entranced by the vivid color of Harry’s eyes to tear her gaze away. “I’m having fun, too.  I’m glad— I mean—”

Harry continues to rub over her knuckles patiently, keeping his touch as gentle as she is, making sure to gift her an instance to collect her thoughts.

“I’ll admit, I was… worried at first.  When we started to go on actual dates.” The mortal takes a deep breath through her nose, but it hardly calms her down as she inhales the vanilla and tobacco scent of Harry’s cologne. “We were doing so well with just sex, y’know?  And I was worried that adding more would… ruin it.”

The faint grin playing on the edge of Harry’s mouth disappears, and a chill runs through his bones at the possibility of what they have dismantling at the seams. “But it hasn’t… Has it?”

The seconds Harry spends waiting for an answer is agony, but the relief is instantaneous when Y/N replies in a bashful voice. “No.” She whispers, her gaze faltering down to her lap before raising back to him. “It hasn’t.”

“I feel like…” Harry worries his bottom lip between his teeth, nearly forgetting to be mindful of his strength so as to not break his skin. “I feel like it’s made things better, even.  Like… like we work better together, yeah?” He clears his throat gingerly as nerves begin to dip into his dormant veins.  He knows he’s treading on dangerously thin ice, and he’s never been more at risk of plunging into the freezing depths below, but he can’t make himself return to shore.  Not now. “Not that we weren’t working well before, because we were.  We were working really well— incredibly well.  But I just feel like tacking on this little bit of extra stuff makes everything more fulfilling.”

A wry smile breaks across Y/N’s face. “Right, because who doesn’t love getting wined and dined before getting their back done in?” She jokes easily, and Harry snorts in spite of himself, grateful for how she always manages to save him from making an ass of himself.

“I just really like spending time with you, I guess.” He squeezes her hands within his own before the sincere moment disappears. “It feels natural.  Really natural.”

“It does.  And while we’re confessing our innermost confessions over garlic bread…” The mortal purses her lips as a sparkle appears in her eyes, glinting at Harry like the North Star. “I want you to know how grateful I am for what we have.  I was feeling really lonely and out of place when we met, and running into you…” Y/N hesitates for a fraction of a instant, just long enough for Harry’s own breathing to catch. “It really helped me get back on my feet.  It’s just nice to have someone who I mesh with so well, especially after such a big move and everything, so…” A new wave of heat works its way over the apples of her cheeks. “I suppose this is a bit of a ‘thank you’.  Thanks for coming up to me that night at the club.”

Harry’s lips quirk at the corners as the tender confession settles into his chest. “Thank you for letting me chat you up.  It was a two way street, love.  Although—” His signature smirk begins to make a reappearance. “It’s not like I had to try very hard— you practically drooled the second you laid your eyes on me.”

Y/N’s mouth drops open indignantly as she yanks her hands back from his, rolling her eyes heavily while smoothing the hem of her dress. “Alright, that’s enough.  Moment over, dickhead.  Go back to sipping your wine and looking hot in your suit in silence.”

Although Harry obeys her order and picks up his wine glass with nimble fingers, his eyes grow teasingly large over the rim, accent dripping with faux shock. “You think I’m hot?”

“I’d hope you know that,” Y/N says cooly as she grasps the stem of her own glass. “I don’t let just anyone choke me.”

It’s Harry’s turn to cough on his liquor as he registers the comment, and he struggles not to spill the dark liquid down the front of his brand new suit as he barks out a laugh.

“Well, for what it’s worth,” he says after he swallows the drink, setting his glass back down on the table firmly. “I don’t let just anyone use my jacuzzi whenever they want.”

“Right, right, because you allowing me to use your hot tub is equivalent to me letting you wrap your fingers around my throat.” Y/N snorts, drumming her digits against the table top. “Practically identical.”

Harry snakes his hand across the table and cards their grips once more, squeezing her fingers playfully as he taps against her knuckles. “It’s not like you complain while it’s happening.”

“Only because it’s hard to talk when my air flow is restricted.”

“Really?  Because you still manage to moan just fine.”

Harry delights in the way her eyes hurriedly dash to the other diners, her heartbeat stuttering in her heaving chest.  He likes that he can still get a rise out of her with his crude jokes, even after all he’s said to her.

“Christ, Harry, lower your voice!  Don’t let anyone hear you!” Y/N protests, cupping a hand over her sizzling cheek.

“No one can hear me, love.” He chuckles lightly as he reassures her with another squeeze of her fingers. “S’why I always request a private table.”

“Oh, so you have a pattern, then?” She quirks an eyebrow at the comment. “Do you bring women here that often to discuss choking?  So much that you need a private table?”

Although there’s a mocking air to her words, Harry’s laugh cuts off. “No.  I don’t.”

Y/N hums in the back of her throat as she raises her wine glass to her lips. “I don’t believe you.  I think I’ll ask Vinzenco on our way out.  He seems like an honest man.”

Cool relief flushes through Harry’s body, but he hides it behind an incredulous gasp. “So what I’m hearing is that you’re interested in him.  Do you want Vincenzo to choke you instead?” His face breaks into a look of exaggerated disbelief tinged with fake disgust. “He’s married, you tramp!”

Y/N can’t help but laugh when Harry yanks his hand away from hers, pretending to wipe it on his napkin while gagging, as if touching her is a horrendous act. 

“I hate you.” She giggles, shaking her head slowly. 

“I promise you that no matter how much you hate me, Vincenzo’s wife would hate you tenfold.” Harry shakes out his hand before setting it back down on the table. 

“Don’t worry.” Y/N rolls her eyes at the exaggeration. “I don’t plan on breaking up a marriage tonight.”

“How gracious of you.” Harry murmurs, but he leans forward with a mischievous glint in his eye as he shamelessly canvasses Y/N’s body. “You could, you know.  Vincenzo is only a man.  Look how you had Poor Luca drooling tonight.  You in that dress…” He settles his eyes on her prominent cleavage. “Y’look like Aphrodite, almost.”

Despite the heat that flashes over Y/N’s entire body, she keeps her voice dry when she responds. “I don’t know about that; this isn’t much of a grecian look.”

“Well…” A grin creeps onto Harry’s face, igniting his jade irises with humour. “You look like Aphrodite if Aphrodite was a twenty-first century sugar baby.”

Y/N’s mouth drops open before she spits out an indignant reply. “I’m not a sugar baby!”

“Sorry, who bought you that dress?”

“That doesn’t count—”

“And who do you call ‘daddy’?”

Harry can hear the way blood rushes to her cheeks, and it sends a delicious shiver down his spine. 

Y/N, however, glares up at him through her thick lashes, her hands twisting the cloth napkin in her lap. “You’re a prick.”

“I’m simply stating facts, darling.” Harry sighs lightly, ducking one of his hands underneath the table and reaching to give her bare knee a squeeze.  He revels in the way she jumps at his touch. “And I’ve got videos of you whimpering that over and over to prove it.”

“If you keep this up,” Y/N says, forcing her voice to stay steady as she nods to his grasp on her skin. “You won’t be getting any more of them.”

“Is that so?” Harry’s hand travels further up her leg, the metal of his rings icy against the heated flesh of her inner thighs. “Guess you won’t be getting any more videos of me playing with myself either, then.  Fair’s fair.”

The whimper that falls from Y/N’s lips is so quiet that if Harry were human, he wouldn’t have been able to detect it. “Harry—” 

“You don’t like that, do you?” He taunts lowly, continuing to rub over her thigh as he leaves a trail of goosebumps in his wake. “The idea of me taking that away? Of never seeing me lose myself for you on video ever again?”

Y/N clears her throat thickly. “N-No.”

“I didn’t think so.” With his free hand, Harry lifts his wine to his lips, taking a long sip as his darkened eyes stay locked to hers. “So you’d better behave for me then, hm?”

Despite the electrifying way her entire body is starting to fizzle, Y/N still manages to choke out an amused scoff. “You’re starting to sound like a cheap porno, H.  Be careful.”

“Careful?  You want to be careful?” Harry asks, eyebrows poised as he digs his fingertips into the meaty flesh of her thigh. “Alright.”

In one fast motion, Harry snakes his hand completely up Y/N’s dress to cup over her lace-covered cunt, running the pads of his fingers over the dampening cloth.  He hooks one finger into the side of the lace and gives a sharp yank, and although Y/N’s not sure how he does it, or how Harry attained the sudden rush of strength needed to do so, she feels the delicate fabric rip right down the center. 

Before she can even process what’s happened, the act is over as quickly as it started as Harry settles back into his seat, eyebrows cocked in a conceited fashion as he watches her assess the new issue. 

“You’ll have to be careful now, won’t you, minx?  Gonna have t’keep your legs closed like a proper good girl— which I know is hard for you whenever I’m around.” He teases, his hand still clenched under the table as the other raises his glass to his strawberry lips. “Otherwise we might have a little mishap, hm?”

Y/N’s breath stutters in her pounding chest as she clenches her thighs as tight as she can. “You didn’t.”

Raising his hand from beneath the table, Harry opens his palm for just a moment, flashing her the scrap of black lace that had once been her panties before coasting his hand beneath his jacket and tucking the article into his pocket. “Didn't I?”

“Harry!” Y/N hisses, her voice dangerously low as she leans over the table. 

“Yes?” He replies innocently, wrapping his hand firmly around his glass. “Something the matter?”

Y/N gapes at the man across from her in disbelief. “You’re such a dick, you know that?” 

“I promise you, I’m well aware.” Harry laughs lightly as he polishes off the last of his wine. “But it’s not like you don’t like it.  You wouldn’t bounce on my cock if you didn’t.”

Sucking in a harsh breath through her teeth, Y/N clenches the tight satin of her dress in her fists. “God, I’m going to fucking kill you.”

“Yeah?” Harry quirks an eyebrow with a cocky smirk. “Good luck trying to catch me without flashing your entire arse to the kitchen staff.”

“I swear on my life, I’m going to rip off your—” 

“Ciao, Harry! Bella donna!” Vincenzo’s voice cuts over Y/N’s thinly-veiled threat as he approaches the table with arms wide and a smile pasted onto his face. “Come trovi tutto? Possiamo portarti dell'altro vino? La carta dei dolci?” How are you finding everything?  Can we get you more wine?  The dessert menu?

“È tutto delizioso, Vincenzo, grazie.” Everything is delicious, Vincenzo, thank you. Harry drawls, his grin growing as he turns to Y/N with a condescending tilt of his head. “What do you think, tesoro?  Are you in the mood for dessert?  Or have you had enough?”

Y/N’s mouth is too dry for her to answer, especially with the way Harry’s irises twinkle suggestively at his own words, so she finishes the last dregs of her wine before shaking her head tightly. “No— no dessert for me, thanks.”

Vincenzo heaves a dramatic gasp as he turns his full attention to her. “Bella donna, what is this?  Surely you want to try our dessert?  Even just some homemade gelato?”

“Oh, no, Vincenzo, thank you, but I don’t think I could squeeze any more food into my stomach.” Y/N fights to keep herself from sounding flustered, but she knows it’s a losing battle when she hears Harry mutter something about how wonderful she is at squeezing under his breath.

Vincenzo clicks his tongue with a shake of his head, twisting his astonished gaze back to Harry. “Harry, per favore, sicuramente puoi convincere il tuo appuntamento a mangiare un boccone di dessert? È sulla casa.” Harry, please, surely you can convince your date to have a bite of dessert?  It’s on the house.

The vampire presses his tongue into his cheek as he appraises Y/N again, the clenching of her abdomen drawing his eye more than anything else. Harry uses the tip of his boot to once again trail up the back of her calf beneath the tablecloth, giving her a wicked grin. “You’re sure you don’t want anything else, tesoro?”

Y/N jerks her head once more as a shadow crosses over her eyes. “No, thank you.” She reiterates in a strained voice.

With a casual shrug of his shoulders, Harry twists to face Vincenzo again, voice surrendered. “Grazie per l'offerta, Vincenzo, ma sembra che stiamo bene. Accettiamo solo il conto, per favore.” Thank you for the offer, Vincenzo, but it looks like we’re fine.  We’ll just take the check, please.

The restaurant owner sighs in disappointment, but nods in acceptance. “Va bene, va bene, solo l'assegno. Ma la prossima volta che torni, mi amore,” Vincenzo shifts his attention back to Y/N, who meets his smile as best as she can. “Dovrai provare due dolci per compensare la mancanza di uno stasera, vero?” Okay, okay, just the check.  But next time you come back, my love, you’ll have to try two desserts to make up for the lack of one tonight, yes?

Harry leans across the table and whispers the translation low in her ear, his cool breath sending a shiver down her spine as it rolls over her body.

“Yes, Vincenzo.  Next time.” Y/N promises quickly, clasping her hands tightly around the hem of her tight dress as the thigh slit begins to ride up.

Vincenzo motions over his shoulder for Luca to bring the check, chatting happily to Harry in Italian throughout the whole transaction.  Y/N stays quiet the entire time, instinctively hiding her boiling cheeks behind her hands each time one of them casts a glance her way.  Despite the nerves wreaking havoc in her belly, Harry continues to make casual conversation as he swipes his credit card, laughing and joking with Vincenzo like he has all the time in the world.  By the time the restaurant owner bids them both goodbye, Y/N’s certain she’s sweated well through the thin fabric of her dress from her nerves.

Harry, however, looks perfectly at ease as he tucks his wallet back into his suit jacket. “You handled that well, doll.  ‘M proud of you.” He says easily, rubbing a finger down the condensation dotting his glass of ice water. 

“I’m glad you’re enjoying this.” Y/N hisses at him, clenching her thighs together as another waiter passes dangerously close to their table. “How am I supposed to walk out of here without anyone noticing?”

“Like this.” Harry rises from the table and extends a hand to Y/N, who eyes it warily from her seated position. “C’mon, love, you’re going to have to trust me.” He goads her with a sigh, wiggling his fingers until Y/N gives in and settles her palm inside his.

Making sure his own body is hiding Y/N from the line of sight of anyone else, Harry helps pull his lover from her chair before removing his jacket with one swift motion.  He settles the rich grey fabric over her bare shoulders, draping the article in such a way that it covers the deep thigh slit that exposes her bare skin. 

“How’s that?” Harry asks lowly, voice tender as he fixes the collar of the jacket around Y/N’s delicate neck. “S’that better?”

The moment Harry’s familiar and intoxicating cologne fills her senses, all the irritation evaporates from Y/N’s veins, leaving behind only the quiet thrum of attraction that’s intensified by the man’s fragrance. 

“Yeah.” She whispers, the cadence of her voice nearing shyness as Harry tugs a lock of hair from underneath the collar of the jacket. “It’s a bit better.”

“Good.” The vampire leans down and stamps his lips to the girl’s forehead, letting his mouth linger for a few seconds before straightening up. “I promise I won’t let anyone see anything.  And even if someone does see something, as long as you’re with me, nobody will say a word.”

Y/N nods gently as Harry grasps her hand in his own to lead her out of the restaurant and back to his car. “Alright.  I trust you.”

That warmth from earlier begins to spread through Harry’s chest again the moment she utters the words. “I’m glad to hear that.” He snakes his hand inside the jacket, brushing his fingertips against her breast before dipping his hand into the pocket.  When he withdraws it, the lace of her ripped panties is visible for only a moment before he tucks it into the back of his slacks with a smirk. “These are mine now. A little spoil of war for my trophy case.”

Despite his protective stance around her as he begins to weave the two of them through tables, Y/N scoffs at the action. “I still can’t believe you did that, you asshole.”

“Oh, I’m an asshole?” Harry glances over his shoulder as he quirks an eyebrow teasingly. “Alright, then.  I can just drop you back off at your apartment, if you’d like.  Go back to my place alone tonight. Gonna have to unbutton my trousers on my own, and peel this nice shirt off by myself, and crawl in between my sheets rather than in between your thighs. Such a shame.”

Y/N can’t stop the whine that echoes the back of her throat. “No, H—”

“That’s what I thought.” Harry steps back from her just enough to tug open the glass front door of the restaurant, his eyes already settling on the valet.  When he speaks, however, it’s just for her to hear, and her alone. It sends a current of anticipation through her veins as it washes across the shell of her ear, his breath smelling of sweet grapes and notes of cherry from their wine, thick with the tangy scent of liquor and cooler than usual from the chilled beverage. Despite that coldness, his next promise settles into her exposed core with a familiar heat that she knows only he can resolve.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m not done with you just yet. It’s gonna be a long night.” 

[belle-keys]

Reflections: She got better after Clace concerning tropes

(NB... this is gonna be my last Reflections because I've got uni and shit to take on in September 😗)

Okay, so we know Cassandra Clare uses age-old tropes in her books: enemies-to-lovers, strangers-to-lovers, friends-to-lovers, the evil seductress, the fearless warrior, the secret special snowflake, etc. However, this isn’t necessarily a bad thing, becuse it’s sort of impossible to create written media without using any tropes. It’s how you use the tropes that makes written media interesting, and what I’ve noticed is that Cassie has gotten better at using tropes and paragons since TMI in her books by adding little twists and turns to them to avoid them becoming generic.

Starting off with TMI and Clace for example, we see that Clary is the classic “special teen with hidden powers that discovers a new supernatural world”, falling into that category with Bella Swan, Harry Potter, Percy Jackson, etc. Jace is the aloof hottie with a Dark Past, and operates like a modern day Achilles if he made it out of Elysium, lmao. He’s pretty akin to Edward Cullen, Peter Mellarke, Dimitri Belikov, etc. Clace and their character arcs especially in the first TMI trilogy were pretty generic, even at the time they were published. (NB but Jace really is Achilles man like he’s *golden*, has the military-type fighting skills and discipline, powerful daddy issues, best of the Shadowhunters kinda like how Achilles was the best of the Greeks, feared and lauded by everyone, believed he’s destined for tragedy).

But looking at TID, for example, Cassie went with the Love Triangle trope that was especially popular around the time that TID was written, and she was like “oh hell no” and then created the greatest thing in the world known as Herongraystairs *Spongebob rainbow gif*. The late 2000s were kind of a mild time, and the rule of thumb was that the the main girl just had to end up picking one man in the triangle but nawww Cassie decided that Tessa Gray (bless her) would get both of her male counterparts at appropriate times, love them equally AND have it happen without any hostility between them. She completely outdid the Love Triangle trope.

I made a post discussing why Jemma is a great ship and a great spin on the Forbidden Lovers trope already, but I also need to say that Julian is an exceptional character. He, without hesitation, takes on the most traditional of feminine roles in the series yet isn’t feminine at all- he’s a very masculine protagonist. Julian’s more masculine roles (being a leader in a political revolution, being a schemer, being a fighter) are perfectly foiled with the traits which often assigned to female YA protagonists (no sexual experience before Emma, raises his siblings and bakes and shit, isn’t the one who’s snarky and quips or gets violent quickly). In having Julian take on the main parent role in TDA, it allowed Cassie to show a YA male lead who’s secure and doesn’t depend on what others make traditional masculinity out to be in order to dictate his behavior.

Now let’s look at TLH lastly. I’m really partial to this series as you all may know *cough*. The trope here is Secrets and Miscommunication (which I know some of you absolutely hate, but I think some of said miscommunication is actually necessary given the social context of the series but alas, I don’t blame yall for hating TLH because of this at all, lol). See, what works about the whole secrets and miscommunication trope tho is that everyone is not what they seem. Like Matthew’s the Wildean Libertine right, but he’s actually managed to use that branding as a shield from the shame of his guilt (Oscar Wilde’s philosophy laudes beauty and love, yet Matthew himself does not believe himself to be worthy of this coveted love - Matthew’s soul has turned Gothic despite his self-branding as an aesthete). Grace is the Evil Seductress, the Femme Fatale who must be eliminated so the Good Girl can get the guy, but in reality, Grace is inquisitive and inventive and loving when she’s not guarded - the one woman who the world thinks is heartless is actually the one who hurts the most and enjoys hurting the least. Then we have the James who’s the Eligible Bachelor - he’s well read, a leader, good at Shadowhunting, polite, handsome, and desired by the ladies of London. Yet at his core runs Belial’s blood and his inevitable ties to literal Hell. James, who should be the classic charming hero, is running from something very unmistakably rotten within him (even though his heritage is beyond his control). So these societal paragons are all tinged with something unexpected that makes them interesting imo.

So yeah, to conclude: yes, Cassie’s writing uses a lot of generic tropes but I’d argue that her writing has improved to make age-old tropes and epithets interesting and novel as TSC progresses. I think we also could all attribute the creation of the Herondale to Cassie: obnoxiously attractive and poetic young male with a bottomless heart and strong opinions on the proclivities and capabilities of ducks? Yeah, that’s a Herondale.

[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?”

[thedistantdusk]

Invisible Stranger

Written for @clarensjoy‘s Hinny Fic Fest! Prompt #28: “Just... talk to me. Please.” Thanks to Ina for the quick beta :D Summary:  When Ginny Weasley is eleven years old, Tom Riddle changes the course of her life. But she’s only eleven, so she doesn’t see it at first.  TW: Coded/implied assault. Mild smut (later excerpts).  ________________________________________________________ When Ginny Weasley is eleven years old, Tom Riddle changes the course of her life. 

But she’s only eleven, so she doesn’t see it at first. 

All she knows is that Tom talks to her when she’s lonely, although to say they merely talk would be a staggering understatement. She hears his voice more than anyone else’s. She sees his face when she sleeps. She cries to him, bonds with him, pines with him. She thinks of him so often — regardless of if they’re actually talking — that it doesn’t even occur to her that some of these thoughts might not be her own. 

She doesn’t even realize he’s entered her until it’s too late. Until he’s done it. Until he’s made her do things… shameful things. Things she’d been embarrassed to report to her parents. She knows full well she’d only be met with reprimands for making herself vulnerable in the first place. 

When she tries to ask her brothers for help, a tiny part of her is happy they don’t. How can she possibly explain this without feeling a hot, aching brand of shame deep in her soul? She’d have to answer some ghastly questions, ones that would make the whole situation even harder to believe. The thought of taking Veritaserum makes her shudder; she’d have to admit — perhaps to a Ministry stranger — that she did enjoy parts of this. 

She’d have to watch even more of her agency slip away, right in front of her eyes, as her body betrayed her yet again. The mere thought of the sort of mortifying confession that might slide off her tongue is enough to shut her up… enough to keep her from being even more persistent. 

Ginny just lies awake at night and grasps at the straws in her spinning mind until her head pounds from the exertion of trying. She’s desperate to remember something — anything — from the swaths of time that just disappeared. She eventually reaches the conclusion that perhaps she’s forgetting on purpose; perhaps she’s protecting herself. 

She just hopes and prays that the memories won’t slam into her sometime in the future with the force of a freight train.

She ultimately decides it’s a blessing, really, that she doesn’t get help. After all, she’s spent eleven years trying to convince everyone that she’s not a baby. It would be the worst kind of setback to ask for help now, just as she’s gained some independence. 

When she chucks the diary in the toilet, she’s confident she’s handled it herself. Her mother wouldn’t be thrilled that her only daughter found herself in this situation, but Ginny likes to think she’d be proud of her resourcefulness. Proud of her only daughter, who’s finally taken control. 

Still, Ginny keeps her head down, keeps her face impassive, keeps her cloak pulled tightly to hide the deepest blush of regret that crawls up her chest whenever she thinks of Tom.

Then the worst possible thing happens: Harry gets ahold of the diary. The second she sees it with his books, she can almost hear the entire world crumbling beneath her feet. 

She only has a single thought: No. She can’t let him. She can’t let Harry, of all people, have open access to the thoughts that have plagued her for months. The thoughts (the lurid, inappropriate thoughts) that she’s had about him. 

So she steals up to Harry’s room and snatches it back, her heart pounding in her throat. She’s long past the point of needing the diary itself to hear Tom’s voice, but seizing it again — letting him inside of her again — doesn’t exactly help. 

Because right from the off, this time is different. The diary hums against her fingers, throbbing in her palm; Tom hasn’t said a word, but she knows he’s going to punish her. She lets out a strangled choke, her eyes rolling back in her head. He’s going to make her regret her little stunt of chucking him in the toilet, isn’t he? Yes. He’s going to make her rue the stupid, impulsive part of her that thought she’d find a way out.  

Her last thought as she loses consciousness is that maybe death will end it. Maybe in death, she’ll truly be free.

Ginny doesn’t die, though — and to her surprise, she can’t even hear Tom when she wakes in the Chamber. All she knows is that Harry’s there. And Ron. And… Lockhart? Seriously? 

Shit, maybe it would’ve been better if she died. Then she wouldn’t have to endure the remnants of this mortifying, twisted nightmare. Then maybe she wouldn’t have to sit there and sob as Dumbledore and McGonagall explain this to her parents. 

She just lets the tears flow as her father yells, as her mother makes incredulous sounds. With every intonation and raised voice, a single word thumps against her skull: Weak.

Weak. Weak. Weak. 

She’s weak. 

But at least for now, she’s alone in her own mind. At least for now, it won’t happen again… not like it has. In retrospect, she reckons she should’ve known better to think he’d ever truly left. Because Tom Riddle has already become her past, present, and future. She just doesn’t know it yet. _______________

Tom takes a different form during her second and third years at Hogwarts. He isn’t entering her or forcing her to do things or beguiling her with his charm and feigned interest, but he’s there nonetheless. He’s dancing, taunting her in the edges of her periphery… crawling in when the weather changes and everything grows cold and dark. Whenever she does poorly on an exam — especially in the winter months, the anniversaries of when things went from Vaguely Bad to Horrifically Bad — she swears she can feel his sneering lips pressed to her neck as his high-pitched cackle resonates in her brain. 

“You’re a baby,” he jeers, his face split into a predatory grin. “I can’t wait to see how else you fail.” 

When Ginny catches a glimpse of the way Harry peers at Cho, Tom only reinforces how she’ll never compare. “Look at her,” he taunts, and Ginny can almost see the leer curling his lips. “She’s poised and beautiful and perfect. She looks like a woman. Why would Harry ever want a girl?” 

And he says it so much — and Ginny thinks it so much — that she starts to believe it. He’ll never want her, will he? It’s clear Harry likes girls, women, who don’t need rescuing. Why would he want someone who’s been tainted with darkness? 

So Ginny moves on… slowly. She finds strength in other ways. She uses quidditch to regain trust in her own body, the trust she had before Tom made her question her own muscles and movements. 

She even dates, as she feels a normal teenager would. Not that she breathes a word about Tom to any of her potential suitors. She knows they couldn’t handle it; most boys couldn’t, not that she blames them. She knows untainted boys would respond like her friends have: by awkwardly clearing their throats through a whispered, “Oh” or a strangled, “I’m so sorry.” Then they’d treat her like she’s made of glass, and it would ruin things. 

Because if there’s one thing she won’t tolerate, it’s someone making her feel weak. Weak gets you in trouble; weak ruins your life and makes you undesirable. No matter how much Tom loves to bother her in winter, she’ll never let anyone see the resulting weakness.

_______________

Ginny considers herself fortunate, really, that Tom doesn’t outwardly come up when she ends things with Dean. It’s an accomplishment that she escapes from that relationship relatively unscathed. Her darkness didn’t accidentally show itself or lay there, sprawling and naked, for him to pick apart. 

It’s different with Harry, of course. She knows it will be from the second he kisses her in the common room. He’s the first one who doesn’t need to see her in a mask of normalcy and constant contentment. He’s the first one who understands that she’s not asking for an apology or reassurance when she accidentally drops a sad piece of her backstory into a casual conversation. 

On the few occasions when she does say things like that (because, again, she doesn’t have to watch her words with him) Harry just holds her closer, her ear pressed to his beating heart, as he runs his calloused fingers through her hair. 

And Ginny thinks, for once in her life, that perhaps there’s an unspoken value in sharing that sort of darkness. 

_______________

She tells Harry the full details of Tom pretty soon after they start shagging. She knows the war’s over; she knows they’ve kind of won. She also knows a well-adjusted person would have left this bit behind… but she reckons neither of them will ever be well-adjusted, really. They’re the sort of couple who cries when they hear I love you but remains stone-faced at funerals of their friends. For Harry especially, she knows that love presents as something that makes him feel uncomfortably warm, almost smothered. It can be a prickly, painful, cloying sensation… one he doesn’t always know how to respond to. With everyone else, he’s afraid of saying the wrong thing. Of seeming either too flippant or too mindful. 

But as their bodies connect, as they rock together in the dying sunlight, his fingers digging into her hips as he pulses inside her, he doesn’t have to pretend, either. 

Harry’s angry when she tells him… but not with her. He’s angry Tom ever made her feel that way. He’s especially angry with the worst of what Tom said: that on the off-chance Harry did want her, he’d only want her for sex. 

Harry brings it up several months after her initial admission.

“You know what I think about a lot?” he slurs, his finger tracing the curve of her breast as she lies naked beside him. 

She quirks a brow; no, but it doesn’t seem like a rhetorical question. 

Harry sighs, flopping over to his back. “I mean, I know it’s horrible and everything,” he allows, raising his hand in warning, “but seriously, I can’t help but be confused that Tom thought I’d be good enough at sex to use anyone for anything in the first place!”

There’s a moment of silence. 

And then Ginny cackles, shaking her head against the threadbare pillow in her bedroom. Harry joins her, pressing her against his side.

“I’m glad we’re both fucked up,” she says, when the giggles subside. “I reckon normal people are boring.” 

“Probably,” Harry agrees, his hand unconsciously toying with her hair. “Guess normal isn’t really my type, though.”

“Oh, so you prefer funny and traumatized?”

Harry smirks. “I prefer you.”

_______________

Tom doesn’t come back in full force until she falls pregnant the first time. 

Maybe it’s because they hadn’t planned on this— and regardless of how misty-eyed and excited Harry is, they definitely hadn’t planned on it. 

Maybe it’s because she’s certain it’s a boy, which carries certain burdens as the son of the Chosen One.

Maybe it’s because she’s feeling a similar loss of control, like her body isn’t her own. 

But mostly, she reckons, it’s because she’s plagued with the near-constant thought that she’s doing something wrong. 

She had a glass of wine before she found out (strike one, Bad Mum). She trips on her trainers and lands on her bum (very, very Bad Mum). She starts spotting at 12 weeks after she goes for the only jog of her entire pregnancy (horrifically Bad Mum; utterly unfit to raise a child). 

And all of this spins around in her head, faster and faster and faster, until she sees Tom’s face again one night. “You’re fat now,” he mocks, his voice a cruel whisper that slithers into the space between slumber and consciousness. “The nerve of you, thinking you’d do something so selfish as staying in shape at a time like this. I can’t wait to see Harry’s face when you tell him you’ve lost the ba—“

She bolts upright in bed, her heart pounding, and throws the blankets off to peer between her thighs. A ragged chuckle of relief escapes her lips. Nothing. There’s nothing, the baby’s fine, and—

“Ginny?” 

Shit.

She bites her lip and turns to Harry. He’s peering at her, his expression exhausted but alert. She hates that look, she really does; it reminds her too much of when he’d woken from his own dreams, right after the war. 

“A nightmare,” she whispers, brushing his hair from his eyes. “Only a nightmare. Go back to sleep.”

Harry sighs and grips her hand. He knows better. “Just... talk to me. Please. You don’t even have—“

“—It’s Tom,” she cut across, biting her lip. She feels guilty enough for waking Harry when he’s got work tomorrow; she’d better make it quick. “It’s just… stupid pregnancy shit, taking the form of Tom. Or maybe it just is Tom, somehow. I don’t really know.”

She throws her hands in the air before settling back against the headboard. And then, in a small voice: “He just… he’s so great at making me feel stupid.” 

There’s a beat. 

Harry reaches up to cup her cheek; she leans into the warmth, unsure if she’s finding more comfort in the familiarity or the gesture itself. 

“Well,” he says slowly; she can tell from his tone that he’s biting his lip, even if she can’t see it in the darkness. “You’re not stupid. But it’s also not stupid that he still makes you feel like that sometimes. Does that… make any sense?”

Her lips twitch in a soft smile. “It does. It makes sense. I just... I hate feeling weak.”

Harry chuckles and pulls her against him. She sighs into the crook of his neck, her eyelashes fluttering against his skin. 

“I could use a lot of words to describe you, darling.” His fingers dance on the gentle swell of her belly; he always sounds so pleased when he touches her, especially here, like he can’t help but feel chuffed that he’s actually knocked her up. “But I’m afraid that weak doesn’t make the cut.” 

Ginny giggles. “I’ll just have to settle for mad, I reckon,” she manages through a yawn. What is it about his bloody heartbeat that always settles her?

“Mad it is,” he agrees, kissing her forehead.

_______________

“It’s him again, isn’t it.” 

It’s not a question. But if it were, the answer would be obvious. 

Ginny’s staring out the window, her whole body poised and anxious. Every fiber of her being is taut. If she had a bit more self-awareness, she might compare herself to a hunting dog who’s just sensed a pheasant. 

But self-awareness is the furthest thing from her mind. Not when she’s worried about her babies. And she’s worried about all of her babies, yes — but there’s something especially triggering about the involvement of her little girl. Her only girl. Her girl, who’s exactly the same age as she was, right when—

“He’s here!” 

Ginny scarcely hears the words leave her lips as Pig flies through the air and into their open window. Safe. She hasn’t even read the letter yet, but she can tell from Lily’s messy scrawl across the parchment, from the agreed upon symbol of a tiny dragon, printed in the corner, that she’s safe.

Ginny has to draw a deep breath to stop herself from bawling with relief.

“Told you she’d be fine,” Harry murmurs, wrapping an arm around her waist. He rests his chin on the crown of her head as Ginny rips the letter open, nonetheless desperate for the proof she knows she’ll flnd. Desperate for confirmation that her baby’s made it to school all right. Desperate to know another little girl — her little girl — won’t find herself violated and alone. 

Ginny reads the letter through a veil of tears and presses it to her chest when she’s done. Safe. Her baby’s safe. 

A few minutes later, she turns to Harry with an apologetic shrug, brushing the tears from her eyes. “Ready for dinner?” she asks, gesturing towards the door. “Or did you want to stay inside all day and mope about having an empty house for the first time in ages?” 

Harry rolls his eyes, but a smile plays at his lips. He mutters something under his breath that distinctly sounds like not sure which of us was doing the moping, darling. 

But Ginny’s happy to ignore that as she links her arm in his. She’s pleased to go to dinner and drink too much and laugh too loudly. It’s just another reminder of what she has… and how she almost didn’t have it, at all. 

Because while Tom Riddle might be her past, present, and future, Ginny will do everything in her power to ensure he never defines another little girl’s life like that. 

Ever again.

[onewithnomightypowers]

Old Habits

pairing: Tom Holland x fem!reader

summary: Old habits come back when you meet an ex lover after a long time. Conversations feel like you never stopped talking to them. Sometimes you have to see them one last time to say goodbye like you mean it but most of the time it doesn’t go as planned.

warning: drinking

words: 2.1k

a/n: could be read as part 2 of last kiss but is a stand alone. got a bit poetic at the end. hope you guys like it. and as always, love reading your opinions/reactions. also asks are open. (gif not mine)

masterlist 

'@tomholland2013 posted a story'

'@tomholland2013 posted a story'

 She picked up her phone to open Instagram. Yes, Y/N still had notifications on for his account even after they were broken up for months. Classic Tom. 

 He posted two of the same picture on his story. No one understood how that would happen almost every time, not even the people working at Instagram to whom they contacted about the glitch.

 Tom had his hair slicked back, standing in a white t-shirt next to Harry, his brother, giving a million-dollar smile. They were holding a clapperboard together. There was text on the picture too, 'day 1 let's go!!' She smiled to herself. Just because they weren't together doesn't mean that she wasn't allowed to feel happy for his achievements. Even though she wishes to know all these big things from Tom himself she is, unfortunately, left here, watching a small part of his life flash in front of her for less than thirty seconds.

 "Are you listening?" Hope, Y/N's date said.

 "Yeah, I'm sorry. You were saying?" Y/N placed the phone back where it was resting, next to the cold wine bottle.

 "You seem distant," they said.

 When she 'met' Hope (she only really met them 30 minutes ago), Y/N wasn't looking for love, just sex, and that is what online dating specializes in. She hoped Hope knew what they were signing up for, sexual intimacy and nothing else.

 "It doesn't matter does, does it? We both know what we are here for. Why not just cut the chase," Y/N replied.

--

It was early in the morning, the sun had yet to shine in its full glory. Y/N could only think of the first time she stayed over at Tom's old apartment but then she turned her head only to find Hope's naked body next to her. Her heartbeat accelerated with the realization that he was not hers anymore. Being in a foreign environment didn't help her growing anxiety, twisting and turning her intestines.

 It's been four months, her feelings for Tom refuse to quit on her because she knows she could never quit on them, on him, even if he has. He probably has already found someone else in Canada, she thought. She didn't want him anymore but she still needed him, one last time just to teach her stupid heart how to say goodbye.

 Y/N wore her clothes and picked up her shoes, going on a trail to find Hope's door to get out before they wake up. Climbing down the stairs, she took out her phone from the back pocket of her jeans.

 '5 new messages from Sam' 7 hours ago

Sam: hey

Sam: ik it's late

Sam: I am going for a run tmr morning @6

Sam: do you wanna come?

Sam: will go to the new coffee house near my house after that

 Y/N texted him back

Y/N: I'll meet you at the coffee place

Sam: come fast. already here

--

Sam and Y/N were standing in the queue to place their orders. “You look especially shitty today,” Sam said, running his right hand through his sweaty hair.

“I haven’t been home yet,” Y/N reasoned her appearance.

 His mouth formed an ‘o’ shape. The person in front of them left the queue, they moved towards the counter. “One hazelnut latte, double shot with skimmed milk,” Y/N gave her order.

 “And you?” the cashier’s question directed to Sam.

 “I’ll have a matcha latte with oat milk”

 Sam turned to Y/N, “Harrison got me on matcha, and now I can’t go back to coffee”

 They paid their dues and moved over to the barista counter to collect their order.

 “So, what were you doing last night?” Sam inquired.

 “I was on a date, it isn't a big deal though. Just had some needs to take care of”

 “Oh, was it any good?”

 “It was fine. I was distracted the whole time. Saw Tom’s story about halfway into the bottle of merlot. Couldn’t stop thinking about him”

 “Seems…sad. But you know Tom is coming back for the Christmas weekend, I think. He might attend Harrison’s Christmas eve party”

 “One hazelnut latte and one matcha latte,” someone behind the counter screamed.

 “That’s us,” Sam raised his voice.

--

Harrison had a bucket inside his house, under a sign that said 'drop your tracking devices here' with an arrow pointing to the bucket. Y/N dropped her phone on a pile of roughly fourteen others. Debating whether to see Tom's face was something she wanted or not made her late and not very fashionably.

 The house was decorated with empty liquor bottles along with red and green streamers from one wall to another. Everyone was drunk in their best dress. There were no signs of Tom yet. Y/N took a deep breath, walking towards the kitchen to get herself some liquid courage to help her socialize.

 The kitchen was rather scarcely populated. Empty glasses were lined up next to the sink. Are they clean or used? Bending down, Y/N opened the refrigerator to see if Harrison had any chilled wine. No luck. "Hey," a familiar voice was heard.

 She looked up at the familiar stranger.

 "Hey Tom," she smiled. The refrigerator light falling on Y/N made her blush visible.

She grabbed a half-cut lemon placed in the egg tray.

 “How have you been?" Tom asked leaning back on the kitchen counter, observing her movements.

 Y/N walked towards the sink to grab herself a crystal glass hoping for it to be clean. "Just busy with work these days"

 "I heard you got a job at Condé Nast, is that true?" he took a sip from his beer.

 "Well, you heard right. You are looking at their new senior brand manager for digital", she said proudly.

 Tom hugged her from the side she was holding a knife to cut the lemon for her gin and tonic. "That's great darling! You always wanted to work there"

 Darling. The butterflies in her stomach were fluttering like the first time she met Tom.

 "I saw your story the other day. You started filming your script, right?" she dropped the lemon in the glass.  

 "Yup, it was a long time coming," he grabbed the knife she was using and washed it without even knowing. He was so used to Y/N never washing utensils after using them and, he would always have to clean up after her.

 "Congrats on that babe!" The word 'babe' just slipped out of practice.

 Y/N grabbed a Bombay Sapphire standing still on the marble slab. The blue of the bottle shinning even in the dim-lit room.

 "I missed you," Y/N made eye contact, screwing the cap back on. A long, silent pause.

 I miss you too, so very much

 She cleared her throat, "so, how long are you staying?"

 "Going back Monday morning"

 She opened a can of tonic water.

 "Are you seeing someone?" Tom asked.

 "Wouldn't you wanna know" a smirk on her face grew. "I've been out on few dates, nothing serious. What about you?"

 "Met this girl online, dated for a bit but, she wanted something I couldn't give to her"

 Y/N scoffed, "did she have a foot fetish or something?"

 "No, Y/N. She wanted love, not my feet" they both laughed.

 "On that topic..." Tom calmed himself, "...I was listening to this song a few weeks ago and, there was this line, 'the smell of your hair reminds me of her feet' and it made me think of you"

 "I reckon," she took a sip of her gin and tonic.

 "No, seriously, I really related to that line. No matter how many people I hook up with, it will be hard to find the type of intimacy I shared with you. I still relate to it"

 "I hate going on walks alone and having faceless dreams," Y/N blurted, lacking a proper reaction.

 "You're still the face of all my fantasies," Tom confessed.

 None of them knew what to say next. Anything they thought of saying now included walking over the blurry line of exes to lovers.

 "You look pretty"

 "Classic me, had a glow up after getting my heartbroken"

 "You always looked this pretty. You are beautiful," Tom assured her. The 'heartbroken part did not sit well with him. He already felt guilty for taking a job across the pond which was a great opportunity for him to grow but was only possible by severing his ties with Y/N.  

 --

It had just started snowing on Boxing Day. Tom was alone in his cold home, boiling a pot of ramen noodles. He took out his phone and snapped a picture of the burning stove with the pot on top.

Tom: *attached photo*

Tom: I come back after months and my family leaves me alone with no food

Y/N: you should add a poached egg

Tom: Thanks. I shall.

Tom: I think I made too much ramen for me

Tom: do you wanna come over and share?

 Her indecision was visible by the coming and going of the gray dots. Then finally, Tom could tame his anxiety by her simple reply.

 Y/N: sure.

--

There was a loud knock on the door. Tom put two bowls of hot ramen on the dining table and went to open the door. Behind the door, Y/N was standing with her hands inside her brown checker coat. There was dust of snow sitting on her shoulders. Her braided hair was made by the most anxious hands in town.

 The door opened and, Tom’s hands flew to take Y/N in his arms. They hugged like little kids hug their parents after being away from each other, for them, an eternity. It did feel like an eternity to them too but, they hadn’t forgotten each other’s touch.

 “I parked my car at the church, couldn’t find any spot here ‘cause of the snow," she pulled out.

 “The snow seems to be gaining momentum.”

 Y/N hummed in agreement. She took off her coat and hung it in the Holland’s coat closet.

 “Come on, the ramen is getting cold,” she followed tom into the kitchen.

 They sat adjacent on the wooden table in comfortable silence. Tom used chopsticks and, Y/N used a fork. Only the occasional noodles falling in the broth were heard, along with the gushing of wind.

 “It’s really spicy for me,” Tom said.

 “Yeah, I can see your ears turning red.”

She still remembers 

 Y/N raised her hand to cover her mouth while yawning.

 “Since you made the food, I’ll do the dishes,” she got up, grabbed their bowls, and walked over to the sink.

 Wearing the gloves, she turned to Tom, “it was quite tasty”.

 Tom gave her a smile.

 She spread the soap on the dishes and turned the tap on. Tom pushed his chair back to get up.

 “Have you made any friends at your new job,” he jumped and sat on the counter next to Y/N.

 “Yeah, sort of. Kyara works there too so, I have just made her friends my friends,” she washed his chopsticks.

 “That’s good. Have you talked to Emily after the wedding? She told me they are planning on adopting.”

 “They invited me over for dinner when they got the approval from the agency. Kyara made this amazing Hyderabadi biryani, it was her mum’s recipe so, it was obviously better than the restaurant”

 “God! You and your love for Indian food”

 Y/N removed her gloves, “I should go. Thanks for the ramen, by the way”

 “Are you sure you can go out in this weather?”

 “Yeah I think," she started walking out of the kitchen.

 Tom grabbed her hand. “Stay”, his voice was like cotton.

 Y/N turned and made contact with his pleading eyes. She moved closer to him. “Please”, he said. They both were inching in to lock their desperate lips.

--

Y/N did not notice when she had fallen asleep talking to Tom. Their naked bodies were covered by the white comforter. Her eyes slowly opened to a boy with brown eyes and messy hair looking at her.

 “I like it when you sleep. I love watching you sleep”

 She chuckled. “That’s a bit creepy, don’t you think?” She had a sleepy voice.

 “You look so serene, the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I could stare at you for eons”

 “But love, I'm only here till the snow settles,” she caressed his cheeks.

“Then the cold shall frost our limbs," he leaned in to kiss her.

tags: @elios-timotea​

[1ddiscourseoftheday]

Fri 19 March ‘21

Zach Sang’s 25 min of relaxing ASMR wait no I mean celebration of Zayn’s great talking voice wait NO I MEAN his ZAYN INTERVIEW (promised months ago then sadly postponed until NOW) is here!! Zach is such a good interviewer for these guys, you can tell he sincerely loves the music and he asks great respectful questions only, love it. And sure enough, this is a lovely interview and Zayn actually seems totally comfortable chatting and sharing his thoughts. They talk about lots of specifics about the songs on NIL; Zayn says NIL is his fave of his music and that he “tried to go a little deeper into my own personal things,” he said that he recorded the majority of the album at home in Pennsylvania and that yes, it is influenced by being there, that River Road especially is massively inspired by the locale and “I’ve got a very country vibe going on right now with the big beard and the nature, I’m enjoying it, it’s cool.” He says the cover painting is of “the blank expressions you might get when you’re speaking to somebody that’s not listening,” that “my teenage years were very different than I expected them to be and I learned a lot of things … to take things easy and at your own pace.” About Calamity that he often writes poems (zoems) and just takes lyrics out of them later, but friends voted he keep Calamity as is and go for it, that Sweat (the drums specifically) is an homage to Phil Collins, that he’s writing new stuff and will hopefully have something more out later this year, and Zach asks the pressing question we’ve all had: IS THAT A KAZOO ON CONNEXION? Disappointingly Zayn’s answer is only, I don’t really fuck with those fine details, that’s down to the producers. So no confirmation but also: it’s totally a kazoo. And finally this from Z: “I love music, it’s my solace. I love writing, I love being in the studio and being in that space, it’s something I love to do. I feel like as long as I’m alive it’s something I’ll do I’d like to be able to, I’d like people to remain interested for as long as I’m alive, I know that’s a long shot but it’s a long haul, we’re all trying to stay around for as long as we can.”

We got to see Liam today!! I’ve missed that sweet face! He recorded a little video while walking through a park (“on my way to the shops”) to show off his beautiful shaggy long hair and beard to say that he’s just surpassed 5 billion streams and a “humungous massive ginormous thank you to all you guys who are listening.”

Louis tweeted “a lot of these NFT projects are very interesting!” NFTs are unique digital things-- like normally anything online can be duplicated, unlike real objects, this way it can’t (it’s how crypto currency works), or rather: you CAN still copy stuff, just there’s a way to tell the original from the copy (of a copy). People are excited about this because it makes it possible to sell things that previously you couldn’t really charge money for (like unique digital art). The way it’s achieved is unfortunately via the massive and wasteful expenditure of resources though, it’s very bad for the environment; current bitcoin creation alone for example uses more resources than entire countries and the current NFT craze is racing to outdo that. Louis responded to a DM asking about that; “Louis are you aware the average NFT has a carbon footprint equivalent to more than a month’s electricity for a person living in the EU?” Louis says, “I’m aware and it’s something I’m looking to do differently if I do my own project,” then liked a tweet from a company addressing the issue: "Our carbon neutrality pledge is a step toward making NFT digital collectibles and the digital metaverse part of a green, environmentally friendly future.” IDK how realistic that is, but in any case Louis is aware of the issues and the fans’ concerns.

Anyway he also tweeted about football a bunch- because a former Doncaster player was picked for the England World Cup team!! Louis says the player “was at donny when I was training there. Top lad and top keeper,” and “he deserves every bit of success.” And in answer to queries, the official word from Louis’ merch site (responsive as ever, bless that twin) is that they do not plan to restock the album! No CDs! This is likely due to it having been put out by Syco, who no longer exist, but what does it mean in the long run? It’s a major release and I can’t imagine it simply going out of print forever, surely a reprint of some kind will be worked out?

What secrets was Niall hiding in his photodump yesterday? “What are you playing on the piano?” asks a follower, and Niall selected the tweet to, well not answer, but to draw attention to his failure to answer by simply replying with an eyes emoji, like a troll. Then he posted a picture of sunglasses on an electronic piano, but when asked again to spill what was up said only “a pair of sunglasses on a Wurlitzer.” But IS he trolling? “There’s nothing to know hahah it’s literally a pair of sunglasses on a piano!” he protests. He also tweeted “today is a good day!” which ALSO doesn’t tell us anything but you know what, Niall’s out there having a good time and good for him.

Lenny Kravitz tagged Harry in a throwback post of himself in a stunning look- “real men wear boas,” and the deuxmoi / Olivia’s PR team partnership rose to new levels of obviousness with the gossip blog using a supposed blind item about Olivia (you’d think she was royalty, the astonishing number of blind items they JUST HAPPEN to get) to announce a giveaway in partnership with a sponsor brand she is the face of. HARD eyeroll, imagine thinking that blog wasn’t get paaaaid, can’t relate.

[pet-genius]

The Death Eaters as a Cult - Part 3

Follow up to this and this. Trigger warning: Cult abuse.

Draco is vulnerable to being recruited simply because he’s Draco - his father is a Death Eater, and he's eager to prove himself to the master he grew up believing in. I’m not usually sympathetic to Draco, but this line makes me feel for him:

“everyone thinks he’s so smart, wonderful Potter with his scar and his broomstick —”

“You have told me this at least a dozen times already,” said Mr. Malfoy, with a quelling look at his son. “And I would remind you that it is not — prudent — to appear less than fond of Harry Potter, not when most of our kind regard him as the hero who made the Dark Lord disappear.”

This makes it clear that he’s been indoctrinated from a young age into a fringe belief (his belief in the Dark Lord, not in blood supremacy - that’s mainstream), and into hiding it, even after the cult disbanded. This contributed to a sense of isolation from mainstream society, and for someone like Draco, exacerbated his existing condescension and entitlement. The same must be true for Crabbe and Goyle, who on top of being children, are stupid and lacking in critical thinking skills, which means an escape was nearly impossible for them, and indeed, Crabbe died, and who knows if Goyle was clever enough to stay out of Azkaban.

Throughout HBP, Draco goes from boastful to scared for his life.

From DLA:

“What say you, Draco?” asked Voldemort, and though his voice was quiet, it carried clearly through the catcalls and jeers. “Will you babysit the cubs?”

The hilarity mounted; Draco Malfoy looked in terror at his father, who was staring down into his own lap, then caught his mother’s eye. She shook her head almost imperceptibly, then resumed her own deadpan stare at the opposite wall.

Once on top, now the Malfoys are too scared to make eye contact with anyone and protest at their humiliation. Draco is looking to his parents for protection, but they know they can’t provide it, even though Narcissa is trying.

Regulus was in a similar situation to Draco - I think he felt pressured to prove himself after the bitter disappointment Sirius had been. He and Draco were marked before they were of age, whatever being of age means in the wizarding world - meaning Voldemort was not above using minors. He also used children: the Daily Prophet writes that the Ministry has captured a nine year old child who had been Imperiused into murdering his family.

Snape’s vulnerability is glaring. In a nutshell, his extreme poverty and the neglect and abuse played a part in his decision to join the Death Eaters, and there’s a reason why Lucius is seen patting him on the back as soon as he is sorted. Perhaps the policy was to groom all newcomers. Like Barty, he might have looked for a father figure. Harry notices the many similarities between Snape and Voldemort (and himself), and these are all things Voldemort must have used on young Snape as well.

Snape is an example of how disposable Voldemort’s followers were, to him - he sent him to Hogwarts to get the cursed DADA job, meaning he was willing to let a potentially horrible fate befall Snape within the year. Even after Snape ascended to #2 by killing Dumbledore (on Voldemort’s order, no less), Voldemort killed him to gain mastery of the wand Snape became master of by doing Voldemort’s bidding.

Snape also explains the Dark Mark

“There,” said Snape harshly. “There. The Dark Mark. It is not as clear as it was an hour or so ago, when it burned black, but you can still see it. Every Death Eater had the sign burned into him by the Dark Lord. It was a means of distinguishing one another, and his means of summoning us to him. When he touched the Mark of any Death Eater, we were to Disapparate, and Apparate, instantly, at his side.”

A famous cult in my country did this: The leader made his followers tattoo pictures of him and his name on their body. It’s this association that originally made me think of the Death Eaters as a cult. Voldemort branded his followers like cattle, and he expected them to drop everything they’re doing to run to him whenever he wants.

Snape was constantly tested, too. He was assigned a servant he despised, for one, and tasked with killing Dumbledore. Even after he had accomplished that, Voldemort did not fully trust him:

“Yaxley. Snape,” said a high, clear voice from the head of the table. “You are very nearly late.”

This is a threat, since they’re not actually late; I think it’s meant as a “hey, remember when I tortured you once for being late?” It is followed by:

“Saturday... at nightfall,” repeated Voldemort. His red eyes fastened upon Snape’s black ones with such intensity that some of the watchers looked away, apparently fearful that they themselves be scorched by the ferocity of the gaze. Snape, however, looked calmly back into Voldemort’s face and, after a moment or two, Voldemort’s lipless mouth curved into something like a smile.

Voldemort is using Legilimency - he still does not trust Snape, he still needs to interrogate him so carefully that the others are afraid to look.

Next, there is this:

“Do you recognize our guest, Severus?” asked Voldemort. Snape raised his eyes to the upside-down face. All of the Death Eaters were looking up at the captive now, as though they had been given permission to show curiosity.

That the Death Eaters all knew not to look up at the gruesome sight without permission, goes to show, again, how fun it must have been to be a Death Eater. In general, I think the best way to read “Dark Lord Ascending” is to pay attention to where people are looking, and how - it’s important in general, but especially in this chapter.

Lucius is an anomaly. It’s very hard to picture him kneeling, and there is no obvious reason why he should forfeit his dignity. Cults don’t typically target the elite, and in this, the Death Eaters are a bit strange, unless Lucius was also recruited at a young, impressionable age. This can be resolved if you consider that Voldemort is the Heir of Slytherin, and unlike cult leaders, he really is super-powerful, and the person with the most potential to achieve political goals the Malfoy family is interested in.

Privileged as he was, even Lucius had vulnerabilities, and Voldemort was a Legilimens, meaning it was very easy for him to tell what they were.

This is how he treats Lucius in DLA:

“As I was saying,” continued Voldemort, looking again at the tense faces of his followers, “I understand better now. I shall need, for instance, to borrow a wand from one of you before I go to kill Potter.”

The faces around him displayed nothing but shock; he might have announced that he wanted to borrow one of their arms.

“No volunteers?” said Voldemort. “Let’s see... Lucius, I see no reason for you to have a wand anymore.”

How… emasculating.

Lucius Malfoy looked up [so he was looking down until then]. His skin appeared yellowish and waxy in the firelight, and his eyes were sunken and shadowed. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse.

“My Lord?”

Lucius looks like he’s been through a lot. Also, since this scene takes place in the middle of July, why is there a fire? I’m theorizing that it’s for Nagini, or perhaps Voldemort is cold-blooded now, but in any case, he doesn’t care about the others’ comfort level. Maybe he even wants them to sweat.

“Your wand, Lucius. I require your wand.”

“I...”

Malfoy glanced sideways at his wife. She was staring straight ahead, quite as pale as he was, [...] At her touch, Malfoy put his hand into his robes, withdrew a wand, and passed it along to Voldemort.

Voldemort is making Lucius give him the wand himself, to reinforce his submission - he could have used magic.

“Give you my wand, Lucius? My wand?”

Some of the throng sniggered.

“I have given you your liberty, Lucius, is that not enough for you?”

Indeed, Voldemort has given Lucius his (questionable) liberty, but again, he is expecting gratitude for something Lucius would have had in the first place, were it not for him: Lucius was imprisoned because he was caught at the Department of Mysteries fighting for Voldemort.

“But I have noticed that you and your family seem less than happy of late.... What is it about my presence in your home that displeases you, Lucius?”

“Nothing — nothing, my Lord!”

“Such lies, Lucius...”

The soft voice seemed to hiss on even after the cruel mouth had stopped moving.

[...]

“Why do the Malfoys look so unhappy with their lot? Is my return, my rise to power, not the very thing they professed to desire for so many years?”

“Of course, my Lord,” said Lucius Malfoy. His hand shook as he wiped sweat from his upper lip. “We did desire it — we do.”

Remember the fire? Do you notice Lucius sweating? His hand shaking? See how terrified he is, and how awful it must be to be forced to state how much he loves being treated like that?

To Malfoy’s left, his wife made an odd, stiff nod, her eyes averted from Voldemort and the snake. To his right, his son, Draco, who had been gazing up at the inert body overhead, glanced quickly at Voldemort and away again, terrified to make eye contact.

This is what has become of the once mighty Malfoy family.

Legilimency is important - because it means Voldemort typically could spot the mere thought of defection, and manipulate it out of the offender or outright kill them. The DEs know he can read minds, and so averting your eyes could be seen as admitting to a lie, unless you avert your eyes regularly. Breaking eye contact is a gesture of submission, and if one’s body is forced into it enough, it becomes ingrained. Every mention of eye contact in Dark Lord Ascending reinforces that. Their body language in that chapter also shows how controlled they are. I believe Death Eaters are learning to occlude involuntarily, to deceive themselves into only having permissible thoughts and feelings, to ensure their own survival. This makes it impossible to escape.

Finally, there’s JKR’s statement that Snape was the only DE who could produce a Patronus. This can't be because he's not evil (Umbridge can produce a Patronus), and it can't be because he's the only DE who is more powerful than 13 year old Harry. I think it’s because they were not allowed to - I think a spell that requires you to think genuinely happy thoughts would have reminded Death Eaters that their happiness does not come from Voldemort. The rigid mind control screams "cult" to me, and I think it's a much more interesting take on them than "bunch of plot-stupid people who had somehow managed to terrorize the wizarding world despite being incompetent".

Hope you now feel the same and thanks for reading this thesis <3

[imagintheworldaway]

Used Pt 2

Anonymous said: Hello i loved your post “used” with Harry and i just wanted to know if you are planning a part 2 in the future?!?

Anonymous said: Loved your most recent imagine of Harry! Can you plzzzzz make a part 2 of used, where she’s a bad B and becomes even more successful and she’s better off without him? Thank you!

A/N I loved that you guys loved the first one! I went through a few different ideas / endings for this one and I think I'm happy with the outcome! warning it is a long one so strap in!

Used Pt 1 can be found here

Requests are open!

That night at Harrys apartment felt like a life time ago. The breakup wasn’t messy as neither of us addressed it really, I archived all of my posts of him and he had done the same for me and that was about it. It didn’t take the fans to catch on but what can you expect, they know more about me than I do. it had been almost 6 months to the date, not that I was counting or anything but I honestly felt like Harry was my soulmate at the time. Oh how love can blind you. 

The past few months I had submerged myself into my channel and my fans. I had done an array of meet and greets and was interacting more with them, and honestly my love for YouTube was restored and I felt like a whole new person. I had had a full make over and due to this my channel had grown immensely and I had hit 50 million subscribers, a huge achievement which I never though would happen. it was amazing to see the amount of support I was gaining from my fans and how much I had grown, from a naive teenager to a young adult. I had received an overwhelming amount of support from my friends. When Harry and I broke up they tried not to take sides but It was evident that that couldn’t last forever and I was ok with that. 

I had just finished a meeting with my manager at her office. With my new look and attitude brands seemed to swarm at me and I was gaining so many new opportunities it was kind of crazy. It was like I was a completely different person and it seemed to be working in furthering my career. I got in my Uber and made my way to my new apartment, after the break up I felt like starting a new was best and so I moved into my new multi million apartment in knightsbridge. It was nice to be in an area by myself as it meant that I had more privacy and was able to truly live my best single life. Plus a tour of new apartment left many of my friends in awe, and honestly I loved that I could show off all my hard work. 

I thanked my Uber driver and made my way to my apartment, once inside I collapsed on my sofa and kicked off my heels, which I was still getting used to in all honesty. Having changed from living in baggy jumpers and old trainers was a bit of a shock but I loved wearing my more out there wardrobe, with tighter clothes and higher heels, my makeup always done to perfection, I always felt like people had their eye on me and I felt amazing.  My change in personality and look hadn’t gone unnoticed either, although they didn’t say anything I could tell my friends liked my new attitude, after wallowing in self pity for a few months I think they’re happy that I’m back and stronger than what I was before. 

I still thought about Harry from time to time. How I not so secretly still had one of his jumpers and when I was alone id wear it, just to feel his embrace once more. When we had initially broken up it took him less than two days to send Freezy round my apartment to drop off my box of things and to request his stuff back. I know Freezy felt bad but what choice did he have if Harry wanted to erase me from his life then so be it. More fool him, I had grown so much and if he was truly clout chasing then he should’ve stuck around a little longer. 

I woke up to my doorbell ringing. I must’ve fallen asleep on the sofa. I stretched a little when the doorbell kept ringing. “Jeez I’m coming” I mumbled to myself. I pressed the array of buttons for who ever it was to get through the front gate and after a few minutes I opened the door to reveal Talia. “Have you been sleeping?” She giggled at me as she walked into my apartment, propping herself up on one of my breakfast stools. “Hmm, oh yh, busy day” I laughed closing the door and standing the other side of the breakfast bar looking up at her. 

“Soooooo” I edged her to start talking. “Oh right sorry, your release party, Simon was pestering me to ask you if a certain arsehole could come?” She said the last part in a sheepish tone. Fuck, my release party I completely forgot, I had had so much on my plate that I forgot I was opening a club and releasing my own line of spirits. I stood up looking at Talia with a confused look “why the hell would I invite my ex to my release party?”. I reached up and grabbed two wine glasses pouring us each a glass of rosé. Passing over a glass to Talia as she pondered her reply. “Honestly I said the same but apparently all the lads feel bad as everyone we know is invited except for him” she swirled her glass of wine and took a sip as I copied her mentioned. In all fairness it was rude that I invited everyone but him, plus it was going to be the event to beat, and I had a few spaces on the guest list. “T, I don’t know” I shrugged at her sighing. “If I was you id tell him to stick it where-“ Talia started before I cut her off “I know, I know, it does seem a little harsh, I have invited so many people and, well, you know what fuck it, I’ll get my manager to add him to the list if you let him know” I decided. Talia looked gobsmacked, I had never seen her this speechless in our lives. “Are you sure, he’s a dick like you really don’t have to” she said cocking an eyebrow at me. “Look its not fair, plus there’s going to be hundreds of people there and the likelihood of us actually interacting are practically 0” I stated. Which was true, there was going to be just about the whole British YouTube community there, as well as some celebrities and journalists, and I would have my team around me at all times so the chance of him even getting near me is slim. 

That night Talia and I had gotten wasted, watching movies and just have a nice little girly night. However, right now I was shaking in my heels. My hair and makeup had been done to perfection and I was in a body hugging dress which showed off all of my curves perfectly. I looked almost like a model that’s how good I looked. I of Course was going to be the last to arrive at the venue, I needed everyone to be chatting with flutes of complimentary champagne when I entered so all attention was on me, as conceited as this sounds my publicists and manager had worked months for this to run as perfect as possible. I arrived at the venue and I could hear the music from outside “you ready?” My manager, Lucy asked. I nodded my head and made my way through the back entrance. I stood behind the stage door with a mic in one hand and a bottle of my own vodka in another. “Deep breaths, you’ll smash it” Lucy smiled at me, I just nodded and plastered on a smile, I heard the music die down a little and the door opened and I made my way on stage. An eruption of applause and cheering began from my friends and guests. I smiled taking it all in for a moment before I raised the mic to my mouth. 

“Thank you all so much for being here today and supporting me in my new business venture. If you would have told me a year ago that this is where I would be I would have laughed. These past few months I’ve grown more than I ever have, my channel, my business and more importantly myself. I can’t thank you all enough for the continuous love and support, without you guys or my fans I wouldn’t be where I am today. So id like you to all enjoy a complimentary glass of my new Vodka and enjoy yourselves. Because tonight is about friends and loved ones. So let’s get wasted!!!” I recited my speech cheering at the end. I got a mass amount of applause and cheers and I smiled looking over the crowd. I could see all my friends together happy, the way it should be and I smiled until I saw him, he actually came. My smile faltered slightly and my breath hitched in my throat. I quickly shook it off and made my way to the stairs, exiting the stage. I was quickly engulfed in a mass of hugs and bodies, people I knew and some I didn’t all congratulating me. 

I had done it I had made it and all on my own. 

After about half an hour I made it over to my closest group of friends. They all cheered when I went over and I did a mock curtsey, careful not to reveal too much. I got handed a glass of something and started polite conversation. “We’re all so proud of you” Gee gushed “you’ve done so well I can’t believe that you are basically the most sought after name at the moment” freya added. “ I couldn’t have done it without you guys” I smiled. “Oh shut up little miss humble” Ethan who had clearly had a bit much to drink already. “You’re  the queen of UK YouTube, you have your own empire going and you built it all yourself” he grinned at me before smothering me in a hug. “You need to be in more of our vids then maybe we’d be doing just as well as you” Simon commented earning a laugh from the group. “Here’s to Y/N the baddest bitch I know” Talia toasted and everyone joined in. I smiled as we fell into polite chatter. “I’m just nipping outside” I informed my friends smiling at them before making my way to the balcony. I leant over the edge and smiled, nothing could ruin my life right now. I thought to myself. That was until I heard footsteps approach me from behind and the body heat of someone I could recognise in an instant next to me. “Before you say anything I’m here to congratulate you” Harry said. I kept my gaze forward, not wanted tears that I didn’t know still existed for him to spill. “I’m so proud of you, honestly I am, so are my family, they miss you, I miss you” I turned my body and met Harrys gaze. I studied his face, he had bags under his eyes and the usual scruff on his beard was longer than he usually kept it, his hair was also scruffy, not scruffy like usual but tangled and unkept. He was wearing smart trousers and a nice button up shirt, no blazer, Harry hated formal clothes. “Thank you” was all I was able to say as I smiled at him. “You know, with every day that goes by someone reminds me how I fucked up and should have kept a death grip on you, that you were the best part of me and now I’m just some boring kid who plays Fifa” I half chuckled at the end. I felt sorry for him, it seemed that I had grown and succeeded and that Harry had stayed stagnant in his life. “Harry, I, I don’t know what you want me to say” I looked at him with sorry eyes, I think maybe I still loved him, but I had been doing so well without him I just I didn’t know whether I wanted to kiss him or kill him. “No I, I get that, I was a dick. I was in a rut and I took it out on you. And well honestly seeing you do so well without me just shows how I was holding you back. I’m proud of you, I’m happy for you, honestly I am bear, sorry Y/N” we had made eye contact at this point. So many memories came flooding back to me. Our first kiss, our first date, the nights we spent talking about what we wanted to name our children, and how we wanted to have a house in Guernsey and one in London. How we were going to grow old together and never let the other go. 

I broke my gaze when I heard Lucy call my name. I took a deep breath. “I loved you harry, with all my heart, with all my being and I was willing to stay and love you no matter what. I think I still do love you. But right now I need to focus on me, my empire has only just started and I don’t want us to back peddle. The only way for me is forward no mater if you’re there with me or not.” I spilled my heart out to Harry before I heard Lucy call me name again. “Sorry” was all I could say before I headed back inside. I wiped a stray tear from my eye and took one last look at harry, I had left him so broken. But now was time to put me first Y/N is number one in my life and as much as I wanted to fall back into my old self I couldn’t. I had made promises and shown that after heartbreak you can build and make yourself stronger than before. And I was not about to throw it all away.

[birdship]

Leave It In The Sun: Chapter One (a Disco Elysium fanfic)

Warnings: Full game spoilers, eventual spicy scenes, basically the level of adult content in the game itself.

General summary: A slow(ish) burn exploration of life at Precinct 41 after Harry and Kim wrap up the case and Kim makes the move to Jamrock. Mainly just about how Harry and Kim's relationship might develop, and a sort of character study of some of the employees of Precinct 41 in general.

------------

Chapter one summary: Two difficult weeks after leaving Martinaise, Harry finally reaches out to Kim. Chapter length: Approx. 4.3k words

The sun is only just setting over the streets of Jamrock, drenched in rain and neon. The city stops to catch its breath in the intermission between day and night.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: And so do you. You could’ve sworn the nearest payphone was, y’know, nearer than this. Maybe that bone-shattering gunshot wound also isn’t quite as far along in the healing process as you thought either.

PAIN THRESHOLD: Brilliant claws of pain rake down your thigh as you lean against the payphone and try to center yourself.

You glance at the phone resting in its cradle, with some trepidation. Phone calls are always a bit… difficult for you. Especially these days.

SUGGESTION: You can still change your mind.

VOLITION: No. You came here for a reason.

SUGGESTION: Or… you could always just call her instead.

VOLITION: *Focus.*

You take a deep breath. The late spring air is turning chilly in the slowly setting sun. The rain drizzles lazily as it has all day, showing no sign of stopping. A handful of people are still--or already--out wandering downtown Jamrock, laughing and talking and hurrying home and running errands and entirely focused on just about anything in the world *besides* a washed up middle-aged man having a minor anxiety attack and moderate-to-severe hip pain next to a public phone at 6:04pm in the rain.

INLAND EMPIRE: The loneliness knocks the wind out of you. You thought you were used to it by now. It’s worse outside, around people.

DRAMA: The threadbare costume you created for yourself in the privacy of your dark, trash-strewn apartment doesn’t seem quite as convincing with an audience.

VOLITION: Stop the goddamn pity party and pick up the phone already.

The receiver is light in your hand as you fumble for change and the crumpled slip of paper you’ve had in your jeans pocket for the last two weeks or so. You slowly, deliberately dial the phone number written on it, as if some part of you is afraid that your fingers might just automatically fall into the patterns of *her* number instead.

VOLITION: They might. But you’re done hurting yourself.

CONCEPTUALIZATION: Well, maybe not entirely. Yet. But you’re done hurting yourself *with her* for sure.

INLAND EMPIRE: You still feel like you deserve that pain. But it’s wrong to keep using her as the knife you gut yourself with. She deserves better, even if you might not.

LOGIC: In any case, this isn’t about her. It’s about you, and it’s about--

“Hello?” Kim’s voice is muffled and tinny through the old, worn copper wiring. He sounds tired, but you guess that’s not particularly surprising. You’ve been pretty damn tired too.

“Kim, hey, it’s uh, it’s me,” you reply awkwardly.

“Harry? Do you need something?”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: This is the first time you’ve called him since leaving Martinaise, despite carrying that little piece of paper around for the last two weeks. He’s thinking, why now?

“Yeah, no, I just happened to be downtown this evening,” you ramble, “and I thought--”

“You’re drunk,” he says. It is completely without judgment. A stated fact. The sky is blue, the grass is green, and Harry Du Bois is drunk. “Where are you exactly? I’ll--”

“Wait, no!” you exclaim, a little too loudly. A nearby pigeon makes a mad dash in the opposite direction at the sound. “That’s not it! I swear I’m basically sober right now. Mostly.”

A long pause on the other end. “Alright,” he says plainly. “So what can I do for you?”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: Make no mistake, he’s picking his battles here and gingerly stepping *around* that “mostly.”

EMPATHY: He’s just relieved it’s even that much.

COMPOSURE: How embarrassing.

VOLITION: Just start over. Your first sentence was garbage, but you know you’re under no obligation to continue it, right?

You take a deep breath, then try again.

“Well, it’s really more about what *I* can do for *you*,” you say as smoothly as possible. “You know that big motor carriage exhibition in town? It just so happens I’ve got *two tickets* to it.”

Another long pause. “You mean the one that ends today?”

“Yes,” you confirm.

“And are you aware that it is currently around six o’clock in the evening?”

“Is it? I mean, yes. Yes it is,” you say confidently. “I am aware of the passage of time.”

“And you waited until now to do this?” he asks.

EMPATHY: He sounds more amused than annoyed, though you definitely detect a bit of both.

“Uh,” you falter. “Look, it’s open until 8:00, so do you want to fucking go or not?”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: About half a kilometer away, Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi is sitting in the kitchen of his new apartment, already in his pajamas and winding down for the evening. It’s a bit early for that, but he figures he should take the opportunity to rest before he tackles that mountain of backlogged cases he was promised upon making the move to precinct 41.

Two weeks ago, he said goodbye to the strangest man he’d ever met. A man he found himself inexplicably drawn to in the week they spent together, and whom he thought about every day since. Wondering if he would take the lifeline Kim tried to throw to him, or if that little slip of paper would just end up forgotten at the bottom of a vomit-soaked trash can in some shitty bar. Wondering if the dawning trauma of everything that happened in Martinaise and the restlessness from sitting at home recovering from its aftermath would combine to pull him down into a dark place beyond Kim’s reach for good. Wondering and wondering to fill the silence. And now finally the silence is broken, but whatever this cry for help is, it is not the one Kim ever expected to receive.

But he knows one thing for sure: it *is* a cry for help.

“Alright,” Kim says finally. He takes a sharp breath. “Sounds good.”

The walk to his apartment takes a bit longer than you expected. It’s not that far from the downtown payphone, but you still wasted a good 20 minutes on the journey.

ENDURANCE: You are expecting too much of yourself too soon.

INLAND EMPIRE: It’s always one or the other with you, isn’t it? Too much or not enough.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: Twenty minutes to walk a few blocks? Fucking pathetic. What kind of cop are you? Hell, what kind of *gym teacher* are you? Man up.

ENDURANCE: No. It’s a miracle that you’re still standing at all.

PERCEPTION: Beyond the apartment door, you can hear footsteps and soft humming.

You knock, and the door opens almost immediately.

CONCEPTUALIZATION: Shit. You were hoping you’d have a few spare seconds to think of something really cool to say.

REACTION SPEED: C’mon, say something fun and upbeat to prove you’re not a depressed sack of shit who’s been spending the past two weeks drinking alone in the dark.

DRAMA: Showtime!

“Howdy, pardner,” you hear yourself say.

SAVOIR FAIRE: Finger guns! For god’s sake, don’t forget the finger guns. Without them, you just look like a goddamn lunatic.

You do the finger guns.

Kim does not seem particularly impressed as he slowly looks from your outstretched gun fingers to the twisted grimace that now wracks your face.

“Please, holster those things before coming inside,” he says humorlessly.

You blow the pretend, metaphorical smoke from each of your hot weapons before stuffing your hands in your pockets. As you do this, he watches with an appraising look.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: He’s wondering if this is *regular* weird or *drunken breakdown* weird. However, he is intimately familiar with your brand of stupid bullshit at this point and it doesn’t take long for him to place it in the former category.

“We should hit the road soon,” you comment as you peek curiously into his apartment.

“Hit the road,” Kim repeats with mild amusement, “in what?”

LOGIC: Oh. Right. The Kineema is property of Precinct 57. Not Kim Kitsuragi personally.

“Shit, yeah,” you concede. “But hey, if we call a taxi now--”

LOGIC: You’ll arrive just in time to immediately turn around and go home.

HALF LIGHT: You fucked up. You’re a fuck-up. Great job, idiot.

VOLITION: Try not drinking and blacking out all day next time.

LOGIC: Yes, but then…

“Fuck,” you inhale. “Fuckady-fuck-fuck. Shit. Goddammit.”

Kim waits patiently for you to catch up. You’re almost there.

“I should’ve called earlier, sorry,” you apologize. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

LOGIC: What is wrong with you is that you drank all last night, slept off a hangover most of the day today, and woke up in a daze about 45 minutes ago. But what’s done is done. No point in bringing that up now, right?

“Nor do I,” says the lieutenant with a small smile. “But whatever it is, I am no longer surprised by it, I assure you.”

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” you repeat, leaning on the door frame pathetically, a congealed ooze of mental illness and embarrassment. “Sorry for bothering you in the first place. You’re always so nice to me, even when I’m a pain in the ass.”

CONCEPTUALIZATION: Which is to say *constantly.*

Kim says nothing. Just sighs almost imperceptibly.

EMPATHY: Your self deprecation is frustrating for him, and he does not know how to respond to it constructively and compassionately.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: He *does* think you’re a pain in the ass sometimes, but a pain worth dealing with.

INLAND EMPIRE: For reasons beyond your understanding.

“Why did you agree to go in the first place?” you sigh. “You’ve got a brain that actually works, you knew it wasn’t gonna happen. If you’re trying to make fun of me, then, well…”

You pause.

“That’s just fine, I guess. Good job, carry on.”

He adjusts his glasses and looks away. “I appreciated the intention,” he says finally, in a measured voice. “And since I hadn’t heard from you the past couple weeks…”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: ...He was afraid you wouldn’t bother trying again.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “I’ve been kind of busy. You know how it goes after cases like that.”

“I do,” he says. He hesitates for a moment, then adds, “you’re welcome to come in if you like.”

You hobble into Kim’s sparse kitchen and collapse on a dining room chair. It creaks ominously under the velocity of the assault.

“I’m glad we have an opportunity to catch up,” he says politely, pulling up the other chair and gazing at your pained expression from across the table. “Your injury is healing well, I assume?”

EMPATHY: It is obvious that he does not in fact assume this at all.

You shrug, still trying to get a hold of yourself and push back the ache swirling at the edges of your mind.

He watches you struggle for a moment, then gently says, “it will take time to heal, but it *will* heal.”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: *So please be patient and kind to yourself,* is the silent plea left unsaid. It hangs in the air pitifully. You both know it’s there.

“Time hasn’t exactly been a good salve for me in general,” you mumble.

He’s silent for a while. Opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again.

“Harry,” he says finally. “What happened in Martinaise is not your burden to carry alone.”

“I thought you didn’t like *personal issues*, lieutenant,” you say.

“I don’t,” he says with a frown, “but this…”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: This is about me too, he thinks. As much as he hates to admit it. He doesn’t particularly like his *own* personal issues either. But the past two weeks were hard for him, and you didn’t make them any easier.

EMPATHY: He was worried about you, and--although he will never admit it to himself, let alone you--there’s a part of him that selfishly hoped you were worried about him too. At least a little.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: He’s used to this line of work, and so are you despite the holes in your memory, but it never gets any easier to deal with some things.

EMPATHY: There was so much death that day. It haunts you. And now as you sit in Kim’s kitchen, the alcohol slowly filtering from your blood and leaving behind the dregs of a headache, you realize it still haunts him too. You both added perforations you never wanted to make.

ENDURANCE: It’s too much. Your head swims and your entire body aches in the throes of repressed grief fighting its way to the surface of a sea of quickly evaporating Commodore Red.

INLAND EMPIRE: Warning! Trauma containment center has been breached! Evacuate the area immediately!

HALF LIGHT: You’re going to cry, aren’t you? You’re going to fucking cry. Right here in his kitchen. Why can’t you keep your shit together for more than five minutes straight?

You are entirely unable to keep the tears from rolling silently down your cheeks, unbidden.

INLAND EMPIRE: You don’t have it in you to really cry properly, like a normal fucking person. Not anymore. Something has disconnected the wire from your “press here to begin sobbing during your emotional breakdown” button, and you’re not sure what or when.

ENDURANCE: But human beings *cry.* And despite everything inside you that’s broken and rotting, you *are* a human being. You can’t not be.

Kim’s standing next to you now, his hand resting comfortingly on your shoulder. He doesn’t say anything.

EMPATHY: That’s the point of this whole shoulder-touching business in the first place--your disconcertingly unhinged behavior has left him at a loss for words, yet compelled to offer *something.*

This goes on for the longest five minutes or so the world has ever seen. But finally, you’ve wrung it all out of yourself and the tears stop almost as abruptly as they began. His hand gives your shoulder a squeeze, then he sits back down in the chair opposite you, avoiding your eyes. He rummages in his pocket for something, then hands you a blue handkerchief.

“Where the hell do you keep all these?” you mumble as you reach for it. “Fuckin’... infinite handkerchiefs around here.”

“What can I say? I like to be prepared,” he says.

“For drunk idiots who throw up all over crime scenes and have mental breakdowns in your home?”

“Usually to clean my glasses,” he says flatly. “But at this point, I suppose it *is* fair to say that it’s also for your various crises as well.”

“Well, thank God one of us is prepared,” you say. “What would I do without you, Kim?”

He hesitates, a strange wistful expression tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t know. What *did* you do the past two weeks?”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: As soon as the words leave his mouth, he regrets them.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t… That’s none of my concern,” he says quickly.

AUTHORITY: Who the hell does he think he is? You’re not a child who needs to be minded. You’re a grown-ass man who can sit alone in his apartment and get wasted if he fucking wants to. Assert yourself!

“Honestly? Drink, mostly,” you say with a self-conscious chuckle.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: He just stares at you with the bleakest expression you’ve ever seen cross his face.

EMPATHY: He’s so tired. So frustrated. So disappointed.

INLAND EMPIRE: Oh God! He’s *disappointed* in you? This is terrible. Anything but that, please!

“I thought I was doing better,” you say quietly. “Guess not.”

“You were,” Kim says kindly.

INLAND EMPIRE: Tequila Sunset hasn’t happened yet. Maybe it still will. Maybe it’s inevitable. Maybe when you took up that mantle, it was like some sort of alcoholic event horizon. Tequila Sunset is the only way it was ever going to end. What other force in the universe could begin to exert as much gravitational pull over you?

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: From the void we came, to the void we must return.

“Listen,” Kim tells you, “this is not surprising. It’s got to be harder now that you’re back in Jamrock.”

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: It’s *easy,* baby. All your old favorite haunts are here. You know all the cheapest bars, the sketchiest parts of town with the purest amphetamines… You can’t remember the names of half of them anymore, but the muscles in your legs can trace the steps there perfectly. That shit’s burned into your body forever.

“Yeah.” You swallow hard. “Anyway, what about you? How’s Jamrock treating you?”

EMPATHY: The darkness clouding his expression lightens a bit.

“Good so far,” he says. “I’ve actually only been here for a few days. G.R.I.H. wrap-up took longer than I expected.” He pauses and looks out the window. “But I’m glad to be here now.”

“Really,” you say with a laugh. “In this shithole?”

“It has its perks,” he says. “I’m looking forward to beginning work at Precinct 41.”

“You’re not working solo, are you?”

“For right now, yes I am,” he replies. “I’m fine with that. I’ve done it before.”

INLAND EMPIRE: The idea of sharing a workplace with him and yet not being at his side when he needs you… it makes you feel cold, lonely, somehow.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: You have a duty to Jean. Jean is your partner.

SUGGESTION: Fuck it, just say it. You know what you want to say. Say it and get it over with.

“You should work with me,” you blurt out. “We were such a good team in Martinaise. We could keep those good times rolling!”

“I’m flattered, but,” he says, turning his head. “Satellite-Officer Vicquemare…”

“Doesn’t give a shit about me,” you say. “Fuck him.”

EMPATHY: That’s not exactly true. You know it’s not.

INLAND EMPIRE: But the truth is complicated. It’s easier to just boil it down to *fuck that guy.*

LOGIC: Jean is bad for you, and you’re bad for him. Or, you used to be. And has anything really changed? Are you really any different? Maybe it was just the change of scenery that fooled you into thinking otherwise.

INLAND EMPIRE: Same old Jamrock. Same old coworkers. Same old bad habits. Same old *you.*

“I’m not so sure about that,” Kim says delicately.

“Forget about him,” you push, suddenly more serious about this than you intended to be. “I can arrange this shit with Captain Pryce, and I can deal with Jean.”

“I… uh,” he coughs. “I don’t know what to say.”

DRAMA: You’re in control of this show now. Pull an honest answer out of him.

You point at him and narrow your eyes. “I know what you should say: what you *feel* in your *heart*!” You pound one fist against your chest over your heart to drive home the point, then wince.

PAIN THRESHOLD: Please don’t do that.

You break the dramatic pose and lean back in your chair again with a shrug. “Or just tell me to fuck off. None of this wishy-washy noncommittal shit, though.”

He’s silent for a long time, watching and listening to the rain as it picks up outside. Then finally he gives you an apologetic smile and speaks.

“Harry,” he says kindly. “Fuck off.”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: Translation: maybe. But not now.

EMPATHY: He’s not angry, he’s deflecting. This is by far the nicest way you’ve ever been told to fuck off. Don’t take it too hard.

“Alright, alright,” you say. “Forget I said anything.”

You spend a while just making smalltalk at Kim’s kitchen table. None of it means anything, but it’s nice. It’s a nice, good, human thing to do, sitting and chatting with him. Makes your “regular well-adjusted person” costume fit a little better. The rain begins to let up a little in the fading sunset.

“You know, we could do something else if you like,” he says brightly. “Here in Jamrock, I mean.”

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Yeah. Lots of stuff to do in Jamrock. Like speed and hard liquor. Or crying in the bathroom of a dive bar because you’re too fucked up on speed and liquor.

SUGGESTION: He probably wouldn’t go for that.

CONCEPTUALIZATION: There’s got to be somewhere else to go. Something else to do with him. Think. What do you want to do with him?

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Oh buddy, are you sure you’re ready to open that can of worms?

The lieutenant watches you as you rub your temples in an effort to massage the awkward thoughts out of your terrible brain. Then he says, “you know what, don’t worry about it. It’s fine, we can just stay here.”

“Yeah, okay,” you say. “Sounds good.”

“I’m going out on the balcony for a cigarette,” he informs you. “You can--”

“I’ll come with you,” you interrupt.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: He pauses, wondering how many you might’ve had already. Then again cigarettes are, shockingly, by far the *least* detrimental of your *many* vices.

The two of you step out onto the lieutenant’s rather small balcony. It’s still raining very lightly, but this is probably as good as the weather is going to get tonight. Good enough. There’s really not quite enough space for two adult men to comfortably lounge around out here, though. You try to make yourself as small as possible as you fumble in your pockets for a cigarette and lighter.

PERCEPTION: You hear the soft click of a lighter and smell smoke on the gentle evening breeze drifting over from your left.

“Fuck,” you grumble. “I forgot my light--”

You realize Kim is holding out his own lighter wordlessly, still gazing out at the city sprawling out below.

“Thanks,” you say.

He nods. He pockets the lighter again once you’re done with it, then leans on the railing and exhales smoke with a sigh.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: Outwardly, he is silent and pensive. He almost seems anxious in a way. But in truth, he likes this. He’s enjoying standing out here in the rain and the dark and smoking his nightly cigarette by your side once more, just like that first night in Martinaise.

You rest your arms on the railing as well and try to map his sightline. Your arm presses against his in the cramped space, but he does not react.

“Pretty bitchin’ view here,” you comment. “Comparatively.”

“Mhm,” hums the lieutenant. “By Jamrock standards, quite bitchin’.”

PERCEPTION: His hand dangles loosely over the edge of the railing. It’s a bit smaller than yours and much thinner, bonier. Sharp and angled like a marble sculpture.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: A work of art. Just like the rest of him.

SUGGESTION: Wonder what that hand would feel like in yours…?

“Everything alright, detective?” Kim asks, smoke escaping from his lips as he speaks. You realize that you���ve been staring at his hand for longer than is generally considered acceptable by polite society.

“Just spacing out a little I guess,” you mumble, averting your gaze.

“Par for the course with you,” the lieutenant chuckles.

VOLITION: Don’t make this too weird. Don’t think about that cigarette dangling loosely from his beautiful hands, or how soft his lips must be, or how nice it would be to just give up all pretense and embarrass yourself and hug him tightly right here on the balcony. Whatever you do, don’t think of any of those things.

CONCEPTUALIZATION: Shit.

“Well, it’s getting late,” you say, stubbing out your half-finished cigarette in the nearby ashtray. “I should probably go.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. We’ve got work in the morning after all.”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: You do?

VOLITION: Just play it cool.

“Yes,” you say, nodding stoically. “Tomorrow is Monday. I am aware of this, and that is why I said that in the first place, and not for any other reason.”

SAVOIR FAIRE: Nailed it.

“Tomorrow is Tuesday,” Kim says flatly, his face expressionless.

“I know that!” you say defensively. “I was just testing you. Come on, Kim, you don’t think I’m really that stupid, do you?”

He starts to say something, then thinks better of it and instead takes a long drag of his cigarette before trying again. “No, detective. I don’t think that.” Then he puts it out on the bottom of his boot and drops it in the ashtray.

The two of you head back into the apartment as the rain starts up again. You pull on your tarpaulin cloak in preparation for the long walk back home. But as you reach the front door, the lieutenant stops you.

“You know, you could just stay here if that would be easier,” he says abruptly, looking tense. “It’s late, and it’s raining, and…”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: ...And the route from here to your home features at least a dozen bars along the way.

EMPATHY: He’s worried you might not be able to resist the siren song of their garish neon signs and blaring dance music spilling out onto the streets like a red carpet unfurling.

“And your injury,” he adds quickly. “It was causing you some pain earlier, wasn’t it?”

HALF LIGHT: You don’t need his *pity.*

INLAND EMPIRE: Maybe you *do.* He knows you too well already.

EMPATHY: And, for whatever reason, cares about you a little too much. A terrible decision on his part, really.

“Yeah, good point. Plus your place is closer anyway,” you reply. “Thanks. Sorry to impose.”

He gives you a little nod. “It’s no trouble at all.”

Soon, you’re settled in on Kim’s couch under a small pile of blankets that still smell like artificial flowers, cloying and too sweet, freshly laundered.

He says good night and disappears into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. It’s strange somehow, lying here in his living room alone in the dark. Like you’re somewhere you shouldn’t be. Like sneaking into a museum after it closes.

PERCEPTION: In the hazy twilight of impending sleep, you notice a calendar on the wall across from you. You can just barely make it out in the dim light, and you realize something.

“Son of a bitch,” you shout, “tomorrow *is* Monday!”

Just before you retreat into the blanket nest you could swear you hear a muffled apology from the next room.

[qjhughes]

The Beginning of the End

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader 

Word Count: 1,041

Summary: Harry doesn’t know how to get Y/N to realize that he doesn’t hate her. Thankfully, Mitch has the perfect idea.

Warning(s): Some swearing, plotting and planning, Harry being a complete lovesick fool, Y/N isn’t present in this, it’s a hitch friendship moment.

A/N: This is technically part of the The View From Both Sides of The Mirror universe! (If you haven’t read the fic it’s based upon, you can always read that here) Anyways, I am completely in love and entirely invested in their story, so this is just one of the many blurbs that I have planned (as of right now there are two or three others that I’m thinking about writing!!)

As always, positive feedback is appreciated! If you have nothing nice to say, say nothing at all, and make sure to reblog to share with your friends if you enjoy it!

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*

~Approximately two weeks before the beginning of The View From Both Sides of The Mirror.~

Harry audibly groans, drawing the attention of the other man in the room, causing him to snap his attention towards the sound. His long brown hair is almost down to his shoulders again, so the strands sway for a moment after his attention has been trained on the, obviously upset, young man.

“What’s wrong this time, H?” Mitch asks, his soft-spoken manner a stark contrast of the outburst that just wracked through Harry’s body.

“She hates me, man.” He groans, the chestnut curls atop his head falling slightly out of place as he drops his head to his hands. He uses his palms to begin massaging his eyes and his fingertips to knead at the sensitive skin of his temples, trying to soothe the headache that had been plaguing him for the majority of the day.

“Who?” Mitch, of course, already knows the answer to his query, the only thing that the young star had been talking about for the past few weeks was Y/N. 

“Oh, shut it, Mitch. You know who I’m talking about.” Harry grumbles. The older man can’t help but chuckle. He doesn’t understand how Harry can be so adamant on making Y/N think that he hates her when he’s actually head over heels for her.

“Why don’t you just cut the act already?” Harry scowls at the suggestion, already having a thousand reasons why that just won’t work. “The worst she can do is continue to hate you. There won’t be much of a change.”

Harry heaves the throw pillow that he was clutching, almost hitting Mitch square in the face.Thankfully, the guitarist has quick instincts, so he catches the pillow just before it makes contact. 

“Shut the fuck up.” Harry grumbles. Mitch didn’t know what he was talking about. Harry couldn’t just all of a sudden change how he’s been acting about her. That would look too suspicious. And it’s not like he was up for the rejection.

“Just stop being a little bitch and talk to her.” MItch pitches the pillow back at harry, who easily catches it before hugging it back to his chest. “What’s so different about her? What’s so different from the other girls, the ones that you seem to have no trouble talking to?”

“I don’t know.” Harry sighs, rearranging himself until he’s spread across the couch. “She’s just so pretty. And even when she’s arguing with me and hurling nasty comments, she’s still so sweet about it somehow.” To Mitch, this makes absolutely no sense, but he’s going to continue to let Harry ramble, knowing that he’ll feel better after he just talks it out. “And she lights up every space that she enters. God, I don’t know how she does it, but she can make the cloudy thunder storming days seem like it’s sunny outside.” Harry nuzzles his face into the pillow he’s still holding onto. “And the way she looks at me, bloody hell, it’s a privilege to be looked at by her. Her eyes are so fucking beautiful, and the way that she seems to look at who you really are, even for just a moment, makes my heart squeeze.

“I feel like I can’t breathe around her, but in the best way possible.” Mitch is just staring at him now, no more smirks or snide remarks running through his head. The only thing that he can piece together while listening to Harry gush on and on about this girl is, wow, he’s got it bad. Of course, he’ll never say that to him, knowing that he’d immediately brush it off. Harry isn’t the best with emotions, and he’s even worse when it comes to commitment. “And, lord, Mitch, when she brushes past me and her skin touches mine? I feel like every one of my nerve endings are on fire.

“She makes me feel things that I never thought I’d feel again. I thought for a long time that I was unlovable, that I was the problem.” Harry’s throat begins to get closed up, the words sounding more and more forced, but he continues. “And I’ve just started to think that maybe I’m worth it, you know?” Mitch nods, although he knows that Harry won’t bother looking over at him. “And there’s just something about her that makes me want to risk it all.”

“Then do it. If she’s worth it, then go for it.” Mitch can sense his hesitance, so he quickly elaborates on his thought. “You can take it slowly. Try to find ways to be nicer to her. I know you’ll still come off as a dick because you’re used to doing so by now, but just try to ease into it.” Mitch stops for a moment, trying to gauge Harry’s reaction. All he gets is a wave of Harry’s hand, signaling for him to continue. “Just start to find ways to let her know that you care. Don’t rush either of you into it.”

“Yeah, maybe I could do that.” Harry conceded, knowing that Mitch is a lot wiser than him. And if his relationship with Sarah has anything to say for him, he’s a lot better at relationships as well. “I just don’t know when we’ll spend enough time together for me to do anything.”

Mitch is quiet for a moment, thinking it over. “Aren’t you going on that vacation with Sam and Lexi?” Harry just nods, not understanding what that has to do with anything. “And you said there was room for one more person?” He gives yet another nod, still not comprehending what Mitch is trying to say. “Make sure that she goes. Regardless of what it takes, make sure that she is on the flight.”

The realization finally washes over Harry, and he doesn’t think that he’s ever had someone give him such a great idea.

‘Yeah, I think I can do that.” He assures Mitch, who just nods.

And at that exact moment, Harry decides that this trip will be the week that changes the way Y/N perceives him. It will be the end of them as enemies, and hopefully be the beginning of them as lovers.

*

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[missscarletta7]

The Broken Crown- Chapter 4

Enjoy chapter 4!

Summary: All Margaret Shelby ever wanted, was the opportunity to write her own story. Only now is she beginning to realize that her brother may have already written it for her...

OoOoOo

"When your dreams all fail,

And the ones we hail, Are the worst of all,

And the blood runs stale"

~Demons~

OoOoOo

1919

Maggie was so excited. She dragged Cara toward the pub the moment their school day was finished.

"Why are we going into the Garrison?" The blonde asked curiously.

"You have to meet the barmaid who works here," Maggie explained.

"I've seen her," Cara informed her. "What's so special about her?"

"We've become good friends." It was true, after such a long period of time had passed without seeing her older sister, Grace inevitably filled the gaping space that Ada had left behind.

"Should I be jealous?" The blonde teased.

Maggie flashed a loving smile, "No one could ever replace you."

When the dark-haired girl opened the pub door, the first thing they heard was Grace's melodic voice singing. "-As I've never loved before..."

Maggie spotted Grace serving drinks to the regular customers. Unfortunately, one of those customers was Ross, who was sitting with a group of men who would hang around the betting shop. Cara was quick to notice him too, her body immediately tensed.

"Since first I saw you on the village green..."

"Sorry Mags, I forgot my mum wanted me to fix stitching on some dresses," This was one of the few times Maggie had ever seen Cara looking embarrassed, "Maybe next time, yeah?"

"Come to me ere my dream of love is o'er..."

The dark-haired girl nodded, not wanting to refute the her friends claim, and watched Cara hurriedly exit through the doors.

"I love you as I loved you when you were sweet..." Maggie moved herself over to the row of empty barstools and took a seat as Grace was finishing her song. "When you were sweet sixteen."

Grace then walked behind the bar while Maggie applauded at the performance. "Hello Maggie," Grace greeted happily, grabbing a dirty pint glass off the bar. "Don't look behind you,but a handsome young man is staring at you."

Maggie felt her stomach turn, responding, "Let's change the subject."

Grace smirked, "How was school?"

"Dull," The girl said truthfully, "Harry out again?"

Grace nodded, "It's been slow."

"What have you been doing today?"

"I had a meeting with the gentleman who will be installing the pub's brand new phone."

"Neat." Maggie beamed at the thought of the new technology.

"Your brother is trying to go legitimate." Grace informed her, "He wants to make this place seem a bit more respectable."

"Which one?" The dark-haired girl asked.

"Arthur." She answered back unenthusiastically, "Though he doesn't seem too interested in fixing anything. I mean, look at the state of these." The barmaid picked up a carton of cigarettes that was ripping apart. "Where do these even come from?" She asked, hoping this question would lead to where the guns may be hidden.

Maggie just shrugged at her question. "How should I know? I think they have a few warehouses in town."

Grace nodded, taking in the information, before noticing a customer beckon her over, "I'll be back." She told the girl.

Maggie sat by herself for a few moments before she felt a presence inch closer to stand beside her. She knew there would be a confrontation at some point, she had done so well in avoiding him. She didn't have a chance to say anything before Ross spoke first, "I had instructions to give this to you."

Reaching into the pocket inside of his coat he pulled out a folded piece of parchment, placing it on the bar he slid it towards her. She was surprised but nevertheless relieved when he said nothing else and walked back to his table. Taking the note, she unfolded it to read the message that was scribbled out. As she read a smile crept onto her face. The message was from Ada.

OoOoOo

In the parlor, Maggie had been writing in her journal when Polly descended the down the stairs. "Put your shoes on," The older woman ordered, "Johns called a family meeting."

Watching Polly walk across the room, Maggie raised her eyebrow, "Thought I wasn't allowed at family meetings."

"John says it's not that kind of a meeting," Polly said, exiting into the tiny kitchen. Maggie happily closed her book and slipped on her black boots which were resting right underneath the old coffee table, before following her aunt into the kitchen.

"Pol?" Maggie asked worriedly when she noticed the woman standing rigidly by the table. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing." Polly said after a moment, "C'mon, we don't want to be late." Polly moved to enter the betting shop with her niece in tow.

"Where's John?" Tommy asked his aunt, agitated his brother was not at his post.

"John's in the Garrison, says he wants a meeting about a family matter," Polly informed him, placing her hat on her head. "After he's said his piece he'll come back and take his place with Scudboat."

Maggie tried to follow her aunt, but was stopped by Tommy's outstretched arm, "Where are you going?"

"To the meeting. John told Polly I could come," Maggie explained to him.

Though Tommy didn't look completely persuaded, Polly called on the large man taking bets. "John will be here in ten minutes"

"Five," Tommy corrected before the family walked out of the shop onto the cobblestone pavement.

"What does John want to talk about?" Tommy asked his aunt.

"Your guess is as good as mine. Always been one for dramatics, our John" Polly replied jokingly causing Maggie to chuckle out.

"You're in a good mood," Tommy noted to the smiling girl as he pulled out a cigarette to smoke.

"I like going to the Garrison," Maggie responded.

"She likes talking to that barmaid." Polly translated her nieces' words.

"You and Grace seem to chat a lot," Tommy spoke, exhaling a breath of smoke.

The girl shrugged. "I like Grace, she likes my writing," quickly adding, "We're friends."

"You trust her enough to share your work," Tommy said, impressed by the sudden growth of his sister. "I'm thinking of asking her to be my secretary," Tommy suddenly informed the ladies.

"Only a secretary?" Maggie asked, raising her eyebrows cheekily.

He flashed her a ghost of a smile, "Never you mind."

"Secretary, eh?" Polly finally spoke up as the Garrison came into their view.

"We're going, legitimate Pol." Tommy reasoned, "What's more legitimate than a secretary? Or maybe I’ll make her a bookkeeper. Arthur mentioned she’s good with numbers and helped him fix the books." Polly said nothing and this seemed to spark something in the gangster, "Got something to say?"

"Just don't let your cock do your thinking for you Thomas," Polly warned. He remained silent, but a small smirk was fixed on his face causing the aunt to roll her eyes.

When they entered the pub, it was empty, except for Harry, who stood behind the bar drying some glasses with a white rag. They saw Finn leaning against the outer wall of the private room, which Maggie assumed John and Arthur were already in.

"Stay out here Finn," Polly ordered the eleven-year-old who tried to enter with them.

"But Mags gets to go in!" The boy protested, yet his words went unheard. This made him look jealousy at his sister, who had stuck her tongue out at her little brother as she walked into the snug with the rest of the family. Both John and Arthur were already seated, and she took a place right next to Polly.

"All right John, there's only one man-," Tommy spoke, before declining the drink Arthur poured for him continuing, "There's only one man guarding the house. What's troubling you?"

"Aunt Polly, Maggie, you two know what it's been like since Martha died." John began.

Maggie gave her brother a sad smile as Polly took his hand and said, "God takes the best first."

John looked to his sister, "Mags, you've been a big help with them, but the truth is my kids have been running bloody rings around me." With hopelessness in his voice, he continued, "Running barefoot with the dogs until all hours."

Maggie's heart ached for him, but Tommy was not having it, "Pol, give him ten bob for some new shoes. Is that it, John?" He asked his brother impatiently.

"Tommy it would be better to do this without you," Polly scolded before turning her attention back to John. "Now what's your point?"

"What the kids need is a mother." John spoke again slowly, "So that's why I'm getting married."

Everyone in the room exchanged glances of surprise. Polly was the first to speak, "Does this poor girl know you're going to marry her? Or are you just going to spring it on her all of a sudden?"

John replied matter-of-factly, "I've already proposed, and she said 'yes'."

"I think that's great John," a smiling Maggie announced. Finally! She was officially off babysitting duty.

"I think there's a shell about to land and go bang," Tommy stated mockingly, before lighting the cigarette hanging in his mouth.

Hesitantly John spoke again, "It's um- its Lizzie Stark."

"Oh, eww," Maggie breathed out, crossing her arms as her family cackled at her expression.

Polly managed to compose herself, "John, Lizzie Stark is a strong woman and I am sure she provides a fine service for her customers-"

"I won't hear the word! Understand? Do not use that word." He told them angrily.

Tommy sighed out, "What word is that, John?"

"You know what word that is," John growled out.

"Everybody bloody knows" Arthur finally spoke out and pointed at his sister, "Shit, even Mags here knows."

John gritted out, "Everybody can go to Hell."

"Whore. That word?" Tommy finally supplied. "Or prostitute? How about that one?"

Fury flashed in Johns' eyes, "Right I want it known, if anyone calls her a whore again, I will push the barrel of my revolver down their throats and blow the word back down into their hearts."

"Well, that's not dramatic at all," Maggie mumbled out her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Men and their cocks never cease to amaze me." Polly berated, "John, Lizzie Stark never did a day's work vertical- "

"She's changed!" John insisted, "All right?! People change! Like- Like with religion-"

"Lizzie Stark has got religion, eh?" Tommy interrupted.

"No! No, she doesn't have religion, but- well she loves me." John asserted, "Now listen Tommy, I won't do it without your blessing. But of all the people in the world- I want you to see it as brave."

"Oh, it's brave all right," Arthur muttered before taking a swig of his drink.

"Brave is going where no man has gone before. And with Lizzie Stark, John, that really is not what you'll be doing" She told him, unable to hold back the laughter.

But he ignored her, looking back at his older brother, "Listen, Tommy, welcome her to the family, as someone whose had a hard life. All right because I need someone. The kids need someone."

Tommy looked as if he was about to give his reply before Finn pushed open the door forcefully panting out, "Tommy, we've been done over!"

"What?" Arthur asked in disbelief.

Quickly Maggie followed her siblings and Polly, who all practically ran out of the Garrison. Not stopping until they all were back in front of number seventeen, Watery Lane. "You and Finn stay outside," Polly ordered once they were outside the entrance of the betting shop.

Maggie was about to object until Tommy echoed their aunts' instructions and followed the rest of his family inside. The pair of Shelby's eventually moved from the noisy street to the alley where the car was parked. Finn carefully crawled onto the hood and contorted his way over the front window. Maggie followed her brother, stepping up to sit on top of the hood, letting her feet lightly kick the metal of the vehicle that protected the thin wheels.

"Look, Maggie," Finn giggled and the girl twisted her upper body to see her brother playing with the steering wheel, "I'm Tommy!"

The girl smiled, "If you're trying to be Tommy, you should work more on your scowl." She told him jokingly. Overdramatically Finn made a scowl but immediately broke character by breaking out in even more giggles, triggering Maggie to laugh as well.

Suddenly Tommy was at the entrance of the alleyway in front of them, he looked instantly distressed. "Maggie, Finn." He began slowly, "Both of you stay exactly where you are."

"What's wrong?" she asked him worriedly. Did something happen inside?

Raising his arm out to her spoke out cautiously, "Mags, as careful as ya can, I need you to slowly slide off the hood."

She did as she was told, while Finn kept snickering, "I was pretending I was you." The child told his brother, but Tommy ignored him instead he directed Maggie to move against the dingy brick wall.

Once he felt like his sister was out of danger he went back to the child in the car, "Which door did you open to come in Finn?"

"I didn't," He told his big brother proudly. "I climbed in."

"I want you to climb out exactly the same way you climbed in, okay?" Tommy instructed, but Finn disobeyed and opened the driver's door.

Maggie watched as Tommy ran to grab an object that had been on the side of the door, yelling out, "Clear!" before flinging it to hit the brick wall on the opposite side of the street. Maggie yelped out at the sound of the explosion, which caused working men to drop to the ground. "That's why you should never pretend to be me, okay?" Tommy told Finn, visibly shaken by this incident. Tommy then took a deep breath and pulled both of his younger siblings close to him.

OoOoOo

Polly and Maggie had just entered the washhouse Ada had informed them she would be visiting. It was a large space, but luckily there were not very many people who decided to do their laundry at the establishment that afternoon. Alone in the corner of the washroom, sitting on a stool, was a woman with a long brown coat, wide black hat, folding trousers onto the small table beside her.

"Need help?" Polly asked the woman eagerly.

The woman looked up to see her family members and smiled, "You got my letter." Ada grinned and stood up with a bit of difficulty, Polly was the first one to embrace her.

Once the aunt and niece pulled apart it was Maggie's turn. Though the hug was more on the awkward side, due to the sizable stomach that was in the way. She muttered into her sisters' ear, "Fuck, you're huge!"

"Oh, shut up." Ada happily retorted, smacking her sister's arm lightly.

"What's with the glasses?" Maggie laughed and pointed at the large spectacles on her sister's face.

"Freddie wants me in disguise when I go out now." She spoke with a bored tone and pointed to the strange-looking eyeglasses. "Can't bloody see anything with these."

Maggie grabbed a pair of socks, which she assumed was Freddie's, from Ada's hand, "Here let me help you." She told her sister and began to fold the newly laundered clothing.

"Has Freddie got you hiding somewhere near?" Polly asked hostilely.

"It's fucking rat hole," Ada spit out, "the entire flat is about the size of your room, Mags."

Maggie felt sad for her sister. Sure, the Shelby family didn't have much to their name, but they were better off compared to most of the population in Small Heath. "Is that Copper still looking for Freddie?" Ada inquired to which Polly nodded.

Ada cursed and placed a hand on her large stomach, "I just want to live in peace with my family. But instead of thinking of me or the baby, all he cares about is the bloody cause. Freddie even gave someone two hundred bloody pounds."

Polly leaned in closer to the pregnant girl, and with a hushed tone asked, "Who?"

OoOoOo

Maggie walked down the hall from her room to Tommy's, she was hoping she could borrow a pen since hers ran out of ink. Before she opened the closed door, she could have sworn she heard noises. Had her brother come home early?

"Tom?" She asked, opening the door, but that wasn't who was in the room, "John?"

Being caught, the third oldest Shelby stopped his rifling through their brothers' things, though seemed relieved it was only her, "Mags-"

"What are you doing here?" She asked before she noticed that his eyes were watery, "Has something happened?"

"The weddings off," He informed her with an irritated tone and moved to the dresser drawers.

"Oh." Was all she could manage to say awkwardly, "I'm sorry."

"Don't," he told her bitterly, shaking his head then went back to rifling through the dresser flipping over Tommy's clothes. "It ain't your fault I'm a fucking idiot!"

"You're no idiot, John," she assured him yet he just scoffed at her words.

"Never fall in love Maggie, leads to nothing but fucking agony."

“What does falling in love even feel like anyway?” She surprised herself when she asked.

John stopped and turned his red eyes to her for a moment before continuing his search, “You know it… it's like this feeling in your gut.” He told her somewhat uncomfortably, “Your heart beats a little faster, your mind always wanders back to thinking about them, no matter what you're doing; when you eat, when you sleep, when you work… Why the fuck are you asking me this?”

“No reason”, Maggie said quickly. "What are you even looking for, anyway?"

He didn't respond to her question, causing her to become frustrated. "Fine, don't tell me." Maggie walked over to the nightstand, picked up the first writing device she saw and left the room.

OoOoOo

The next evening Maggie had fallen asleep on the sofa in the tiny parlor of their home, at least until she was shaken awake by her aunt. "What's the matter?" she muttered out, quickly sitting herself up. Was something wrong? Had the Lees come back?

"Nothing, love" Polly reassured her, "I left a new dress on your bed, go put it on."

"We're going out?" The girl asked, confused, no one had told her they had prior arrangements.

"Yes," Polly nodded, "Now c'mon, we don't have that much time."

Maggie rose from her spot, "Where are we going, Pol?"

"To a wedding," The older woman huffed impatiently and made her way up the stairs to the bedrooms.

This confused Maggie even more, "Whose?"

Not two hours later Maggie had gotten her answer. She and Polly met Ada near the Lees campground and walked into their enemy's territory with no trouble at all. They approach the crowd of witnesses just as Johnny Dogs begins the ceremony. Ada stopped to stand beside Tommy.

"Let's stand over here, love," Polly said, guiding Maggie past her siblings to get a better view of the union. She watched on as Johnny officiated, taking notice that her brother actually looked happy to be up there. Her attention was taken off the bride and groom when she spotted Ross standing about ten feet away with the rest of the Peaky Blinders. Smiling softly at his familiar face, she waved, her stress alleviated when he did the same.

"I now pronounce you man and wife," Johnny said happily as all the witnesses cheered at the new couple's first kiss.

As the night went on the partygoers were all in a festive mood. Sitting on a wooden barrel, Maggie watched as everyone mingled and danced. Tommy was sitting and chatting with the matriarch of the Lee family, Arthur was in the middle of what looked like a drinking contest, and John danced to the music with his beautiful new wife, Esme. Even she had started to sway to the music as the firecrackers sounded off over the happy noises.

"Mags," Ross greeted her, walking up next to stand next to her seating place.

"Hello," she replied, followed by an awkward pause, "I'm sorry I've been avoiding you." She told him after a few moments.

"Understandable." He responded instantly, "I've been a wanker and not just to you." Taking another puff of his cigarette, he exhaled, "I'll talk to Cara."

Maggie was surprised by this proclamation, "Really?"

"I'll sort it out." He nodded looking at the others dancing, and with a smile continued, "I miss walking with you two."

Maggie returned the smile, "We miss you too."

Ross stuck his hand out, "Care to dance?"

Maggie felt her face flush, and waved her hands in protest, "Oh, no I couldn't."

"C'mon, it's a party." He urged, with his hand still outstretched. Smiling, the girl cautiously took it and was led to the crowd.

Feeling like an idiot, she tried to keep up with the fast-paced music, but it seemed like her feet couldn't move fast enough. She felt someone clumsily bump into her backside nearly knocking her over. "Oi! Watch- Oh sorry love." Ada slurred out.

"It's alright," Maggie assured her sister, regaining her balance.

Ada then awkwardly cupped her little sister's face with both hands, and with a very stern tone warned, "Don't you ever let a man call you a 'Fucking Shelby' you hear me." She then rounded on the man next to her and jabbed a finger close to Ross’s face. "You hear me."

"Don't you worry, Ada," Ross guaranteed her, which seemed to be good enough for the older Shelby girl whose demeanor quickly changed back to her delighted drunkenness, dancing away from them.

As Ross spun her around, she caught a glimpse of John and Esme, sitting together and happily getting to know one another, "Seems like love at first sight." She heard Ross say.

"Seems so," Maggie replied happily. Very soon her attention was drawn to Tommy and Arthur trying to get a drunken Ada under control, "Oh no." She breathed out, walking closer to her feuding family members.

"Come and look, Esme!" Ada shouted, "Come and look at the family you joined!" The music ceased and now everyone's attention was on the intoxicated woman. "Come and look at the man who runs it! He chooses his brother's wives for them!" Ada shouted out for everyone to hear. She wasn't finished though, the woman then pointed at her younger sister, "Have you got some old perverted man lined up for Maggie?!"

Maggie felt her stomach drop at the thought, she felt everyone's gaze turn to her as she remained frozen in place. The only comfort that she felt was when Ross put her arm around her waist, as if to protect her. Tommy just stood in front of Ada looking at her stoically, but the mother-to-be wasn't done yet. "He hunts his own sister down like a rat, and he tries to kill his own brother-in-law!"

"Ada, that's enough!" Arthur tried to intervene.

"And now he won't even let me have a fucking dance! Not even at a fucking wedding!"

"Sit her down!" John barked out.

"Calm down Ada," Polly kept repeating, trying to soothe her. "Holy Shit. Water, right."

"Not now Ada," Arthur whined, obviously devastated the party was now unavoidably cut short. "Bloody hell, you do pick your times."

Tommy rushed over to Ada placing his coat over her and assisted Pol with leading her out of the vicinity and into the family car.

Maggie turned to her friend, "I have to-"

"Go." Ross finished for her.

Maggie rushed towards her family, who all made their way to the car. "It's too early!" she heard Ada cry out as she was ushered into the vehicle. Maggie too jumped into the front seat next to her brother.

"It'll be ok, love." Polly soothed sliding in next to her, before turning to the driver, "Step on it, Tommy."

OoOoOo

"Freddie," Ada kept repeating as she laid down on the sofa in the small parlor. "I want Freddie!"

"I know," Maggie sighed out uncomfortably, moving a sweaty piece of hair out of her sister's face.

"I can't do it, Mags. I can't do it on my own." Ada whimpered.

The younger girl's heart ached, "Hey, look at me, you can do this," She assured her, "You are so strong, if anyone can do this it'll be you."

Luckily for them, Esme had finally arrived moments later.

"Ada!" They heard Polly scream before she re-entered the home. "They're getting the word out to Freddie. He'll be here, love." She assured her niece, who grunted out as yet another contraction commenced.

"I think it might be the wrong way 'round," Esme told them, "I attended three sisters."

"Yeah, I think you're right," Polly agreed.

Maggie squirmed in place nervously, "What does that mean?"

"We should lean her forward," Esme suggested and Polly nodded, helping Ada up.

"C'mon, it's not that long to go, darling," The aunt encouraged the screaming woman. "Push, two, three!"

"Holy shit," Maggie muttered out, as she watched a new life was making its way out of her sister.

"Keep going, that's it!" Polly cheered before pulling out the baby completely. "It's a boy, Ada," Polly told the exhausted woman over the newborn's cries as Esme cut the cord connecting the mother and son with some old scissors.

Polly cleaned the new baby boy off tenderly with a small rag before returning him to Ada, who was beaming at the small life in her arms. Maggie heard banging from the front entrance and if she had not gotten out of the way fast enough Freddie may have run over her. Maggie smiled at the sight of the little family. The feeling didn't last long though, because the front door opened once again, and she felt herself being pushed aside the wall by a copper. Esme could be heard yelling, the baby boy began to shriek, and Ada sobbed, clinging to her newborn to her chest.

"Freddie!" Ada cried out as the group of officers dragged the new father out of the home.

"Tommy," Polly said darkly before letting out a string of curses in Romany before storming out of the house.