#doodled this as I was writing the chapter and giggling to myself

[scrunglepaws]

Tails busting out the big guns for his fight with Kit: Tomfoolery!

From Kaleidoscope Act 3: Ch6

[goldenlaurelleaveswrites]

Juleka vs. the Forces of the Universe

Ch16 Juleka vs. the Forces of Alya Césaire

Juleka vs. the Forces of the Universe (AO3)

There are a couple of people I need to thank for this chapter.

First of all, a big thank you to @mintaka14, for letting me borrow Roarr's name for makeup from Living Arrangements (It's such a good read and I highly recommend it).

And a huge thank you to @verfound for helping me through the crisis of confidence this chapter gave me, and for beating some sense into me (with love and giggles as you pointed out all my dumb typos 😂). I would still be spinning myself in circles if it weren't for you, so thank you for beta reading this!!! 💖💖💖💖 And for letting Dingo and Bri stay when they insistent on being mentioned in this chapter 😂

Finally, a huge thank you to all of you for the ongoing support and kindness. It really means so much to me, and I can't thank you enough.

A little bit of house keeping now. The next chapter is likely going to take quite a bit of time, especially because I have bits and pieces of it written and it always takes longer to write a chapter that already has pieces I need to integrate in.

Also, I'm issuing a content warning for this chapter. Juleka's anxiety is very prevalent in this chapter. I don't describe it in detail, but it is present in the majority of the chapter. Please use your best judgement when deciding if this is something you're comfortable with. I would much rather you take care of yourself and skip a chapter than read something that might upset or trigger you. 💖

With all of the being said, I hope you enjoy the chapter!!! 💖💖💖💖

__________________________________________________

The classroom was warm, just shy of uncomfortably so. And Bustier’s voice was nothing but cloying white noise; she had no idea what her teacher had been droning on about for the past half hour, and she sincerely doubted anyone else did either. 

All of their year end tests were written and done. Their projects submitted. Their lockers mostly cleared out. 

Now all that was left to do was make it to the end of the second last day of classes. 

Sleepily, she blinked her eyes and let her attention wander to the rest of the class. It seemed they were all paying as much attention to Bustier as she was. Ivan was drumming out a beat on his desk with his fingers, bopping his head along to the nearly indecipherable sound. Alix was leaning back in her seat, and was barely making an effort to hide the fact that she was playing on her phone. Kim was out cold, and Max and Markov were reading something on Max’s phone. Nathaniel was drawing, and beside her, Rose was doodling. 

She let out a sleepy sigh as her gaze drifted towards the front of the classroom. Chloe and Sabrina’s seats were empty; apparently they were skipping again. It wasn’t like they were missing much. She propped her cheek in her hand as her gaze travelled across the aisle. 

Adrien had been in a funk all day. He had tried to hide it, but little cracks in his facade had let it shine through. But it seemed everyone had assumed it was because the school year was almost over, and he wouldn’t see them every day anymore. At lunch, most of the class had tried to console him, assuring him that when he wasn’t busy or travelling over the summer that they would all hang out and that they would call and text. Maybe that was contributing to his funk. But given the argument he had had with Ladybug last night… well, her money was on that. 

She was still on edge from last night. 

And given the look Chat had given her last night… In all honesty, they were just lucky Shadowmoth needed time to recharge between akumas. That, and that—according to Roarr—wearing a miraculous provided some protection against akumatization. Otherwise… 

Well, they were all lucky they were just dealing with a moping classmate. That, and… 

Marinette had been uncharacteristically quiet today. Her mind had very obviously been elsewhere for most of the day. She assumed everything that had gone down last night was what had Marinette so preoccupied. Pensive even. 

During morning break, after Marinette and Nathaniel had gone to the art room to discuss some costume ideas for the comic with Marc, when she had been coming back from the washroom she had overheard Alya telling the rest of the girls Marinette was obviously thinking about summer break and Adrien. 

She turned her attention to Alya and Nino. 

They were very obviously texting each other. Which, to be fair, wasn’t exactly uncommon. Or something to be suspicious about. But considering the way Alya had been acting the past couple of weeks… 

That, and every so often, Nino would sneak a glance back at her. 

Well, sneak was being generous… It was obvious he was either trying to be subtle, or that he thought he was being subtle. Either way, he wasn’t. M. Damocles always gave her grief about her hair, asking her how she could see with her hair covering half her face. What he—and many people for that matter—seemed to forget was that hair was hardly a brick wall. Sure, it obscured her vision a bit. But she could see through her hair well enough to see Nino glancing back at her over his shoulder every time he thought she wasn’t looking. Just like she saw Alya kick the back of his bench every time she caught him looking back at her. 

Really, it was a wonder Bustier hadn’t noticed what was going on. 

Honestly, she had to wonder if Bustier had noticed her class wasn’t paying attention and was letting it slide, or if she actually was that oblivious.

She stifled a yawn as she directed her gaze to the clock. The time was crawling by. She could swear that clock had said twenty after three for the past half hour. 

Sighing, she dragged her gaze away from the clock. It seemed a watched clock didn’t move anyways….

Her frown returned as her eyes settled on Adrien once again. 

The past few weeks had been hard, having to be civil to Adrien in class when she knew he was Chat. When he was making her life a headache with his constant whining and tantrums. But coming into class this morning… it had been really hard to act normally towards him. Thankfully, he never really interacted with her all that much anyways, but he hadgreeter her along with the rest of the class when she had come in. 

And she had done her best. 

She really had. 

But she had maybe been a little… cool with her greeting. Which was frankly way more than he deserved. The good thing about being quiet was that people generally didn’t take note when she was extra quiet, and they didn’t tend to pick up on the nuances of her voice. Rose would have, and so would Marinette. But neither of them had been there when she had entered the room. So no one had really seemed to notice. 

Except… 

Alya’s eyes had narrowed as soon as she had mumbled her reply to Adrien. It was hard to tell if Alya knew she had seen the way her eyes had narrowed, given she had caught it out of the corner of her eye herself. But she knew she hadn’t imagined it, because as soon as she did look directly at Alya, her expression had shifted into a casual smile.  

But she had felt eyes on her as she had made her way back to her seat. 

She didn’t like it. All the hidden looks and glances from Alya. Coupled with those messages- the curt and deleted ones, And the pushiness and insistence on her voicing her support for the schemes… 

It was weird. 

But Nino… 

She cast a surreptitious glance down at Nino. He quickly turned away, his hat slipping with the movement. Subtle indeed. He couldn’t have been more blatant if he had tried. 

As weird as Alya had been the past couple of weeks…well, it was even weirder coming from him.

She sighed. There was no real point in dwelling on it though. Alya… she didn’t like to think about it, but Alya was definitely getting suspicious. That was the only explanation- though if Alya was suspicious, why was she still insisting on her helping with the schemes? 

It didn’t make sense. 

Regardless, if Alya was suspicious, well, it was safe to assume she had shared her suspicions with Nino. 

This… complicated things. 

She would need to be even more careful going forward.

Sighing to herself, she folded her arms on her desk and rested her chin on them. At least, if she was deep in thought, she would look like she was paying attention if Bustier clued in to the fact her lesson was going unheard. 

***

They were gathered at the base of the front steps to the school, a little off to the side so as not to end up trampled by the steady stream of students emerging from the building, clearly excited by the prospect of only one day left in the school year. 

“And you’re sure you don’t have time for ice cream?” Alya wheedled. “I can text Nino. He and the guys were going to shoot some hoops, but I’m sure they wouldn’t mind a change of plans. You know Adrien loves Andre’s ice cream.” 

She had to fight to keep herself from rolling her eyes. 

Even if  that particular ploy was weak by Alya’s standards, Alya was never one to miss an opportunity… 

Marinette shook her head, and she could have sworn she caught sight of her rolling her eyes… “No, I need to head home. I still need to finish my dress.” 

“Are you going to finish in time?” Mylène asked worriedly. 

Marinette nodded. “It’ll probably be cutting it a bit close, but I’ll have it done.”  

“I can wait to see it,” Rose sighed dreamily, “I can’t even imagine what you’ve cooked up this time!”

“Neither can I,” Alya agreed. “And it doesn’t help that my bestie won’t even give me a sneak peek,” Alya added in a playfully pointed voice. 

Marinette let out a semi-exasperated sigh. “I told you, it isn’t ready to be seen yet. Besides, you’ll all see it tomorrow.” 

“Fine, fine. But you can’t blame a girl for trying,” Alya laughed. “But you’re going to look amazing, I just know Adrien won’t be able to take his eyes off of you!” 

Marinette’s smile faltered for a second at Alya’s words, before returning. But it was tighter than before. Less genuine. 

“I’m just looking forward to wearing it,” Marinette said noncommittally. 

“I sure hope so, given how much time you’ve been spending on it. You missed one heck of a race last weekend. You should have seen how close-”

“I’m sure there will be plenty more races for Marinette to watch,” Mylène said, gently cutting Alix off before she could get too far into regaling them with every detail of the race. Again. 

“When’s the next one?” 

“Third day of break,” Alix grinned, “We both figured we would want to sleep in after the dance and Max has a dentist appointment the second day of break.” 

“I think that should work! We could do a picnic?’ 

“A victory picnic, I like it!” 

“You haven’t won yet,” she mumbled with a chuckle. 

Alix stuck her tongue out at her. “Yet.” 

“Anyways, I should get going…” Marinette said, taking an awkward little half-step back. “The dress won’t finish itself after all.” 

“Of course. Text if you need anything?” she asked.  

“Or if you’re bored!” Rose added as she stepped in to hug Marinette as well. 

“I will,” Marinette promised; there was a hint of laughter in her voice. She may have have been responding to Rose… but Marinette’s eyes were on her. With a smile, Marinette stepped forward and hugged her goodbye. 

Over Marinette’s head, she caught what looked like a frown flickering across Alya’s face. But then Marinette was pulling away, and once she had stepped back out of the hug, the look on Alya’s face was gone. 

Once all the goodbye hugs were exchanged, and Marinette was out of sight, Alya turned to the rest of them. “Ok, since ice cream was a bust, we can head straight to my place. It’s probably a good thing anyways, we have lots to get through.”

She fell into step with the rest of the group as they made their way towards Alya’s place, though she lagged a little behind Alya, Alix, and Mylène. As they made their way through the streets, Alya began going through a list of things they would need to prepare for one of the many plans they had cooked up for tomorrow. 

Because of course it couldn’t just be one plan.  

Alya had insisted that they plan multiple schemes. 

Each of which, of course, had a ridiculous name. 

“So for phase ‘Belle of the Ball,’ we’ll need to make sure…”  She only listened with half an ear as she followed along behind the rest of the girls. They had spent the past two weeks cooking up all of these plots, she knew them like the back of her own hand. They all did, as Alix had pointed out when protesting to this last scheming session. 

But Alya had insisted. 

As Alya had pointed out—while casting a glance in her direction—something always went wrong with the plans. And that meant they had to be ready. 

Under other circumstances—before she had found herself going toe to toe with Alya—she found Alya’s tenacity and determination admirable. She was bold and willing to do whatever it took to reach her goals. She was the very definition of if at first you don’t succeed…

The thing was, she couldn’t help but wonder… it wasn’t just that Alya’s scheming was bad for Marinette… at times… most of the time, the more she thought about it… it felt like it was bad for Alya. 

Alya was tenacious. Determined. Though some people might say headstrong or even pig-headed. Alya wasn’t afraid to go after what she wanted. And, despite what her actions may have screamed, she cared about her friends’ happiness. 

The problem was, Alya had something of a tunnel vision problem. She was so fixated on the idea of Marinette liking Adrien that she couldn’t—or maybe wouldn’t—acknowledge the fact that Marinette had moved on. Just like how she was so caught up in the pursuit of Ladybug’s identity, and the idea of Ladybug and Chat Noir being destined soulmates that she couldn’t see what was staring her straight in the face. 

“You ok?” Rose’s voice jolted her from her thoughts. She looked down at Rose, who had fallen into step beside her. “You looked far away,” Rose said as she slipped her hand into hers. 

“Yeah,” she tried to muster a smile. The feeling of Rose’s hand in hers made it much easier, despite the dour thoughts clouding her mind. “Just thinking,” she said as she laced her fingers with Rose’s. 

***

She sat in silence as Alya stuck a pin into another colour-coded scrap of paper to fix it to her cork board. The cork board was covered in a rainbow of scraps of paper, each colour indicating a different person, with the scheme name, details, and phase number outlined on them. 

It was a technicolour disaster. 

And the more of the schemes—which were all phases in the ‘Operation Fairytale Ball’ plot—Alya added to the board, the more she could feel a headache brewing. 

It was honestly impressive how Alya managed to keep track of all the details of the various schemes and plots. If journalism didn’t work out for her, Alya had a bright future in tactical mission planning ahead of her. 

“…so then when he sees the punch ladle is missing, he’ll have to ask her where the spare ones are. And then when she offers to go, Rose, you mention we need more napkins too and suggest Adrien help her.”

Rose made a sound of agreement, not looking up from the plethora of nail polish bottles she had spread out on the floor in front of her. 

“And then Juleka, while they’re gone, you’ll find Luka and keep him busy. By the time they get back, we’ll be ready for Phase: Glass Slipper.” Alya finally peeled her gaze away from the cork board to stare at her. Hard. “You’ll be able to do that, right?” There was a challenge in the way Alya was staring at her. It was almost like… like she was testing her. 

“It’s a plan,” she murmured. It was a plan. A terrible one. One she had no intention of carrying out. But it was a plan. 

Alya’s eyes hardened at her words. She had been careful to phrase it as the truth. Well, a half-truth. The words were true. But the intention behind them had been a lie. 

And Alya did not look satisfied: her eyes were hard and narrowed behind her glasses.

Alya opened her mouth to say something, but Mylène of all people interrupted her. “And that’s where the faux flowers come in, right? And what flowers were you thinking?” 

She could have answered those questions: yes and red roses. Because they symbolized ‘true love.’ 

At least all the other colours of roses hadn’t been ruined for her… 

Alya shot her one last look before turning to Mylène. “We need red roses; they’re the most romantic flowers. And yeah, once they come back they’ll…” 

She fought back a frown as best she could as Alya launched into going over every excruciating detail of the next phase of the operation. 

After the countless hours they had spent cooking up and reviewing these schemes, how could Mylène not remember the flowers? The flowers she was in charge of?

She shook her head to try and clear her thoughts. But as Alya continued on her tirade of the operation, her mind couldn’t help but wander. 

And it seemed she wasn’t the only one… 

Alix was paying barely—if any—attention to the whole conversation. She was flopped out on Alya’s bed with her legs up the wall and her eyes glued to the screen of her phone. 

Rose was on the floor, surrounded by an army of nail polish bottles. All in varying shades of pink. It seemed she still hadn’t decided on which shade of pink would go best with her outfit for tomorrow. 

Mylène was sitting beside Alix on the bed, though she wasn’t upside-down. She was sitting cross legged, with a pillow in her lap and her chin propped up in her hand, a bored look on her face.  

“And then you’ll keep Luka occupied so he doesn’t interrupt them, right, Juleka?” 

She jumped at the sudden sound of Alya—very pointedly—saying her name. “Sorry, what?” 

“You’ll make sure Luka- or anyone else for that matter, doesn’t ruin the moment.” 

“I’ll do my best.” 

Alya didn’t look satisfied by the answer, but she continued on. Time seemed to drag by as they went through the next four phases of the operation. And it didn’t help that it felt like Alya was asking her something every other minute. 

And she did not like how loaded the questions felt. 

She did not like it one bit. 

“…and because Nino isn’t doing the music, you’ll probably need to stall for a while, Alix, while I-” 

“Y’know, I really don’t see the point of this,“ Alix groaned. 

“What? What are you talking about?” Alya demanded as she turned to look at Alix as she crossed her arms. 

She followed Alya’s gaze, and watched as Alix rolled to right herself and sit up. “We’ve been over these plans a billiontimes, Alya,” Alix complained before looking back down at her game.  

“We have been reviewing them a lot,” Mylène quietly agreed. 

“But we have to!”

“Do we?” 

Alya’s gaze snapped to her so quickly, it was a miracle she didn’t have whiplash. “Of course we do. Don’t you want Marinette and Adrien to be happy?” 

She hesitated; it suddenly felt like she was standing in the middle of a minefield. She needed to weigh her words carefully. “Of course I want Marinette to be happy. But she’s already going with Luka.  Can’t we just let them enjoy the evening? Can’t we just enjoy the evening? Without scheming?” She certainly wouldn’t object to a scheme free evening. 

“Juleka does have a point-“ Rose started to say. 

“You’re only saying that because she’s going with your brother.” 

Back before she had seen Marinette transform, had she found herself on the receiving end of such a glare, she would have shrunk in on herself. She would have faded into the background. Even a month ago, before she had become a tigress, she probably would have. It was the easy thing to do. Far easier than standing up to anyone.   

But she was a tigress now. 

And tigresses knew how to fade into the background. To move about unseen and undetected. 

But they also knew how to roar. 

“No, I’m not. I just want her- everyone to enjoy the night. I want Marinette to be happy and-”

“And that’s what I want!”

“That’s what we all want-” Rose started to say, only to be cut off again. 

“After all the time she’s spent pining over Adrien, trying so hard to get him to notice her, you just want her to give up?” She met Alya’s glare with stoney silence. But before she could muster up words to redirect this conversation, or at least stall it, Alya’s eyes narrowed even further. “I knew it!” she hissed. “I knew something weird was going on-“

“Oh not this again,” Alix groaned. 

“Not what again?” 

Mylène—who at some point had gotten up—stepped forward tentatively, hands held out as if trying to placate. Though she wasn’t sure if it was her or Alya she was trying to calm. “Alya thinks-“

“I know-“

“Alya thinks you’ve been messing with the Adrien plans…”

Shoot. “What?”

“I told you it was dumb, Alya,” Alix said pointedly before looking up from her game to look at her. “She thinks you’ve been plotting against us.”

Shoot shoot shoot shoot shoot. 

“We told her it was just little miscommunications and accidents-“ Mylène started to say, only to be cut off. 

“But I know it’s been more than that!”

“But Juleka wouldn’t lie to us!” Rose cried out indignantly, knocking over one of her bottles on nail polish as she stood up.

“Everybody lies. Right, Juleka?” 

Alya was right. She would lie. She had lied to them. For months.  But she had done it for Marinette’s sake! 

And now this left her with a dilemma…

Was it better to come clean and tell them? Or was it better to stay quiet?

If she told them, she would have to tell them that Marinette had told her that she wanted to be with Luka. But Marinette had sworn her to secrecy, and she couldn’t betray Marinette’s trust. But if she didn’t come clean, she would be lying to them, which, granted, she had been doing every time she meddled with a plot… but those had always been little white lies! 

Hadn’t they? 

What was the right thing to do? 

She could hear the blood rushing past her ears.  It was the only sound she could hear. Everything - everyone - was silent. They were all just… just silent. Staring at her, waiting for her to- were they waiting for her to respond? Were they waiting for Alya to say something? 

She was suffocating in the weight of the silence. 

What was she supposed to do? 

How did she get herself out of this? 

“Come on Alya, that’s enough,” Mylène reprimanded. Her usually quiet voice was like thunder in the silence room. Suddenly, they were all talking

“Just let it go, it’s a stupid thing to fight about-” Alix added, only to be cut off.

“It’s not stupid! It’s-”

“Bijou, it’s ok. Just breathe…” 

All of their voices were overlapping. Blending into each other until they were an almost indistinguishable cacophony. All muffled by the blood rushing past her ears and the thoughts ricocheting around in her head. 

What was she supposed to do?

She needed quiet. Peace. To think. 

She needed to get away.

But how?

For once, Shadowmoth was her saving grace. 

The akuma alert blared from all of their phones. She jumped at the sound.  Alix was the only one who hadn’t, actually. Then again, Alix had been the only one to be somewhat disengaged in the growing tension over the Adrienette plots. As Alix had said when they had settled into the meeting, she had mostly been there for the snacks. 

Quickly, she scanned the akuma alert. There wasn’t much information about it, but it was by the tower. 

Why was it always the tower? It was like akumas and tourists thought that was the only important place in Paris. 

But it didn’t matter. 

She needed to leave. She needed to be somewhere Ladybug could easily find her if she needed help with this one. And given last night… it was a pretty good possibility. 

She froze when she looked up from her phone, her words dying on her lips. She could also see Alya’s desperation to go to ground zero of the akuma battle. 

But Alya also looked like she wasn’t done arguing yet. 

As it was, Alya was at an impasse. Both with herself and with her. 

Because Alya couldn’t stay to argue with her and go get footage for her blog. 

Or at least, she would be at an impasse with Alya. If she wanted to continue arguing with the equivalent of a brick wall that was. 

“I gotta go. Need to check on Luka and Ma.” The lie was bitter in her mouth as she dashed towards the door.  

“But bijou!” 

“I’ll be careful!” 

She was already out the door before Alya’s spluttered protests could reach her ears. 

***

Her feet pounded against the pavement as she ran towards the Liberty. 

If Ladybug needed her, she needed to be somewhere she would be easy to find. 

At least her story- her lie about needing to check on Luka and her ma was believable. Of course, neither Luka nor her ma were supposed to be onboard right now. Luka was hanging out with his friends at Aimee’s place, and her ma was staging fight choreography at a community theatre in a completely different arrondissement. None of the girls knew that though. And the Liberty was docked close enough to the tower that, while not directly in harm’s way, was close enough that under other circumstances she would be worried. 

But Juleka wouldn’t lie to us!

Rose’s words echoing in her head almost brought her to a halt. 

She needed to keep going. 

But the words weighed on her. 

Rose had been wrong. She had lied to them. She had been lying to them for months now. 

It had never felt great to lie. But they were harmless, small little lies. Or at least… 

It had started with little lies. Little white lies. About texting the wrong time or texting the wrong person… 

But the lies… they had become bigger. 

And so much easier. 

And the more she lied- whether by omission or fabrication, the harder it was to tell where the line between a half-truth and a lie lay. Was it even really a line anymore? 

Had there ever been a line? 

And with how easy the lies, the half-truths, the misdirections…  how easy it had become to lie to her friends, her family… how easy it had all become… 

The fact that she had so easily brushed off all of her lies until now… until she had been confronted and questioned point blank… 

What kind of person did that make her? 

She needed to keep going. 

She didn’t have time for this. 

But how was she supposed to move forward now?  

She pumped her arms and legs even harder.  Her lungs were starting to burn as she sprinted along the sidewalk, dodging dawdling tourists and ambling people left and right. With every step she took, the same question pounded through her head. Echoing the sound of her feet against the pavement. 

What was she supposed to do now? 

Finally, the Liberty came into view. She had barely made it on board when she saw a flash of red drop from the sky, down into the clutter of the meeting place they had hidden amongst all her ma’s chaos. 

She darted over just as Ladybug peeked out from behind a crate. 

“Good, you’re here. Are you free to help?” 

“Always. So what are we looking at?” she asked as Ladybug pulled the bracelet from her yoyo. 

“Not sure yet, I wanted to see if I could find you on my way there.”

“Well, glad that worked out,” she chuckled as she slipped the bracelet on. “Yeah, I’m free. Roarr, stripes on!” 

***

She stared in disbelief as the ‘akuma’ was loaded into the back of a police car by an officer. 

“…came all the way here, and decided he wanted to pull a prank,” Officer Roger groaned as he watched the door to the police car slam shut. “The embassy will have to deal with him. Tourists,” he added under his breath. 

“Well,” Ladybug sighed as she massaged her temples, “at least no one was actually akumatized. I might need to do a press conference or something to remind people akumas aren’t something to joke about.” 

“I’ll talk to the Commissioner and Mayor about it” Roger sighed before turning back to face her and Ladybug. “Good to see you, Ladybug. Purple Tigress, always a pleasure.” 

“Take care,” she said with a nod before Officer Roger turned and headed back towards the cluster of police cars. “Talk about a waste of time,” she grumbled as she watched the cars drive off. 

“You’d think they’d learn. C’mon,” Ladybug said, nodding towards the rooflines. Wordlessly, she followed Ladybug up. Once they were balanced on the roof, Ladybug turned to her with a wry smile. “Well, I can’t say I’m sorry it was just a tourist. You’re still ok for patrol later tonight?” 

“Yeah.”

“Great. Thank you, Juleka, you’re really saving my butt right now. Hold onto it until the end of patrol,” Ladybug added before she could finish undoing the clasp on the Miraculous. 

She nodded. “I’ll just message you a good place to meet up once we’re done?” she asked as she fiddled with her Miraculous. Ladybug still took it back most of the time after patrols, but she had gotten to hang onto it overnight a couple times. And she would be lying if she said she didn’t mind relinquishing her hold on it. She was going to miss hanging out with Roarr and patrolling the city. 

“That sounds perfect.” She glanced up at Ladybug to find her smiling thoughtfully at her.  

***

She went halfway towards home as Tigress before she ducked into an abandoned back alley. Once she was sure the coast was clear, she dropped her transformation. 

“I was looking forward to a good fight…” Roarr complained as soon as she was out of the Miraculous. 

“I know,” she murmured, holding out her hand to the disgruntled kwami. “But it’s just as well. Ladybug doesn’t have much time left to work on her project, and I’m all out of emergency candy.” 

“I guess…” Roarr mumbled as she settled into her palm. Despite her obvious disappointment at the lack of a fight, the kwami seemed unable to stop herself from purring as she stroked the soft fur on her head. 

“I need to stop by the store on the way home and pick up some more eyeliner-”

“Your war paint,” Roarr corrected. 

“Sure, my ‘war paint,’ but I’ll get you some more emergency candy. And…” she said, a smirk drawing across her face as Roarr’s ears twitched at the shift in her tone, “I’ll get you some anchovies too.” She couldn’t help but wrinkle her nose at the thought of the smelly, canned fish that Roarr adored. “Would that make you feel better?”

“I suppose…” Roarr said, her purr slipping into her voice. 

“Come on then,” she said, gesturing to backpack. As soon as Roarr was safely hidden in her pack, she shrugged it back onto her shoulder and slipped out of the alley. 

Once she stepped into the store, she made her way to the cosmetics aisle. Listlessly, she began perusing the display racks. Normally she enjoyed shopping for makeup—especially when her favourite eyeliner was on sale—but the deal on her favourite brand of eyeliner didn’t muster the usual excitement it would have. 

Getting excited over a good price on eyeliner felt trivial compared to everything that was going on right now. 

“What’s wrong, Juleka?” 

She jumped at the sudden sound of Roarr’s voice in her ear. 

“What are you doing?” she hissed. “Get back in my bag before someone sees you!” She cast a glance around the aisle, but thankfully no one else was browsing the cosmetics. 

“It’s fine, your hair is so thick no one can see me when I’m hidden in it.” She let out a sigh of exasperation, but Roarr continued on, undeterred. “So what’s the matter? Usually you’re happy when you’re looking at all this stuff,” she felt Roarr’s tail flick against her ear, “but you aren’t today.” 

“Well,” she said slowly as she picked up a random lipstick off the shelf and made a show of looking at the packaging. Hopefully, if anyone came into this section of the store, it would look like she was just mumbling over the packing of the lipstick instead of talking to her hair. “Alya caught on to what I’ve been up to…” 

As she continued through the store, she filled Roarr in as quickly as she could, pausing in front of random displays under the guise of browsing to give herself more time to explain everything.  Or at least, everything she could. But even that was only half the truth. Roarr still didn’t know that she knew Marinette was Ladybug, only that she had been interfering with the plots to get Adrien and Marinette together. 

Even confiding about her dilemma was a mockery of it.  

“…and it’s just a huge mess now,” she groaned as she dropped another bag of Roarr’s favourite candies into her shopping basket.  

“So what are you going to do?” 

“I don’t want to keep lying-” 

“I didn’t ask what you didn’t want to do. I asked what you’re going to do?” 

“I don’t know. I mean- Bustier is always drilling it into use that lying is wrong, and they’re my friends…” 

“But…?” 

“But if I tell them, they’ll ask questions. Alya will demand answers. Answers I can’t give without betraying Marinette’s trust. And I would never do that.” 

Roarr let out a satisfied purr. “A good tigress protects her own, and you’re a great Tigress. This Marinette girl is lucky to have you.” 

She bit back a wry smile at the way Roarr distanced herself from Marinette. “But what should I do? What’s the right thing to do?” 

Roarr let out something that was a cross between a yowl and a sigh. “You’re asking someone who’s kept her existence a secret from the world for millennia. As for the right thing… you mortals have such rigid understandings of what those concepts mean. There’s right and wrong, and there’s right and wrong.” 

“So… you think I should lie?”

“A Tigress fights her own battles, whether with her claws or her head.” Roarr nuzzled against the back of her neck. “Trust your judgment. You may not realize it, but you know what you’re doing.”

***

As she began making her way back home, she tried to think of how she would do her makeup for the dance. She already had a pretty clear idea, but there were still a few details she needed to decide on. Same with her hair. And her nails. 

Really, she tried to think about anything except what had gone down during the meeting. But as hard as she tried, her mind kept finding its way back. Relieving every moment of it. 

And dwelling on all of it. 

‘I told you it was dumb.’

Except, it wasn’t… 

‘We told her it was just little miscommunications and accidents.’

There had been nothing accidental about any of it… 

‘But I know it’s been more than that!’

And the one time Alya was right… 

She could tell them. She could come clean and fess up. Tell them- not everything. But she could tell them she had been sabotaging the schemes. 

Except she couldn’t. 

Lying was wrong. 

But right now, telling the truth didn’t feel right either. 

And while Roarr’s advice- well, it felt like a stretch to call it advice… but while Roarr’s words had comforted her, they hadn’t really given her an answer.

If anything, Roarr had only given her more food for thought. And it was tough things to chew on.   

By the time she was trudging across the gangplank, she was still no closer to an answer. If anything, it felt like she had spiralled further away from one. 

“Hey, Jules,” she looked up from her feet, where her gaze had drifted at some point during the walk home. Luka was sitting on the edge of the stage, his guitar in hand. 

“You’re back already?”

“Yeah, Nadine had an audition tonight and Bri had a shift, so we packed it in early. Captain called by the way, she’s going to be later than she thought and the crew is all grabbing a bite so it’s just you and me for dinner. We’re doing takeout, anything you feel like?” 

“I’m good with whatever. Just no-”

“Olives. I know,” he chuckled as he idly strummed his guitar. But then he frowned. He strummed the same notes again before he looked up from his guitar to meet her gaze. “Is everything ok? You sound a little flat.” 

She hesitated. Luka  was always the first person she turned to for advice. But he was… well, he was honest. And she knew honesty and lies were a bit of a sore subject for him, given their ma’s refusal to tell him the truth about his father.  

“C’mon Jules, you know you can talk about anything with me,” he said as he set his guitar aside and patted the empty stage next to him. 

She sighed as she sat down next to him. “What are your thoughts about… about lies? And lying?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Is the truth always better than a lie?” 

He turned to her with puzzlement and concern written all over his face. “What’s this all about, Jules?” 

“Say you weren’t being… entirely honest about something to a friend.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And you were doing it because at the time, it seemed like the right thing to do, even though you didn’t like it. And now some people think you’re telling the truth and others think you’re lying and you suddenly aren’t sure-” 

“Jules,” Luka’s voice was quiet and gentle, but firm. “Take a breath.” She did as he told her, and once he seemed satisfied that she was at least a little calmer, he continued. “Now, why don’t you tell me what this is all about?” 

She sighed. If there was one person she could be straight with about her recent involvement in the Adrien schemes, it was Luka. “You know how the girls and I used to plot all those schemes to get Adrien and Marinette together?’ 

“Yeah I- used to? I thought those were still happening. Or did they stop when I asked-”

“They are. Like Alya would give up.” Luka snorted at that. “But… but I’ve maybe been kind of completely sabotaging them for months now.” She spat the words out as quickly as she could, and she suddenly felt so much lighter. 

“Really? You don’t say…” The sarcasm was practically dripping from his voice. “What?” he added when she snapped her head to stare incredulously at him. “All those times you found excuses for me to spend time with Marinette? You know Couaffines can only be so subtle.” He had a point: she was still her mother’s daughter after all. And maybe subtlety had gone by the wayside when she had been dealing with him… but subtlety only went so far when dealing with her brother’s particular brand of idiot…    

“And you’ve been telling me to ask her out for months. Remember?” She rolled her eyes, but allowed herself a wry smile at the memory of the multitude of headaches he had caused her. “So I take it you’re asking me this because the girls found out?”

“Alya suspects. The rest of the girls think she’s being paranoid.”

“And you don’t know if it’s better to come clean?” She nodded glumly. He sighed as he leaned back on his hands. “Honestly, I don’t know, Jules. It sucks being lied to, and they’ll probably find out eventually.”

“But if I have a reason not to tell them?” 

Really, it was a matter of reasons. 

“It would have to be a pretty good reason. At least, I think so. And I guess that’s where it gets more complicated. Is it better to hide the truth because it hurts? Or will it hurt more when they find out you’ve been lying to them? Will the lies even protect them from the hurt?”

Her gaze dropped down to her lap. 

They would be hurt. 

If she told the truth now, they would be hurt. But they would also be hurt if she told them the truth later.  

If she didn’t tell them, if she kept lying and they found out, they would be hurt. 

But if she told them the truth, Marinette would also be hurt. 

She would be going back on a promise. 

And if she kept lying and they all found out she had been meddling, would Marinette be hurt then too? 

No matter what she did, someone could end up getting hurt. 

She saw Luka shift out of the corner of her eye. She turned in time to see him shift to gaze down at his bracelets. She watched as he flicked listlessly at them. To anyone else, it would look like he was just fiddling with his jewelry. But the way he was flicking at it… it was obvious he was thinking about a particular bracelet.  

“But I think… well, there are some lies that need to be told. I made you promise not to tell anyone about how I felt about Marinette-”  

“Which I didn’t.” 

“But I’m guessing you had to tell lies to keep it a secret?”  

She had certainly been… creative with the truth. “It wasn’t my secret to tell.”   

He turned to her with heavy eyes and a grateful smile. “And I think that makes things more complicated too. Keeping secrets but also being honest.” He had no idea. “Honestly, Jules, I don’t think I have an answer for you. I don’t think it’s an easy black and white problem.”

“I figured as much.” With another wry smile, she stood up. “I’m going to go chill for a bit, and then I have to go out again. Are you ok if we have a late dinner?” 

“Works for me. Tom and Sabine sent Aimee home with a ton of stuff and Nadine brought falafel and fatayers-”

“Did you bring me any?” 

“You really think there was any left by the time everyone had their fill?”

“Dingo ate most of it, didn’t he?” 

“Of course he did.”

“You owe me then.”

“Wouldn’t Dingo-”

“Well, better you had all of that today.” If she was going to bring a dour mood to the boat, it was also up to her to break it. “Wouldn’t want you to have garlic breath for Marinette, now would we?” 

“Jules!” 

She smirked as she walked away; she didn’t need to look to know his ears were probably glowing bright red. 

“Coast is clear,” she murmured once she was in her room. Roarr zipped out of her bag to hover over her shoulder with wide, pleading eyes as she unpacked her shopping bag. With the emergency candy stashed in her backpack and purses, and her new makeup carefully arranged on her dressing table, she rolled her eyes affectionately and pulled out the can of anchovies with only a little disgust.  

“And you said I could watch videos on your phone while you read…” Roarr wheedled, giving her her best puppy—kitty?—eyes as she clutched the unopened can to her. She liked to use her claws to open them. Or, as Roarr called it, delivering the killing strike. 

She pulled her phone out of the depths of her bag; just as she was passing it to Roarr, her stomach plummeted to the bottom of the Seine. 

Two missed texts from Alix. 

Five from Mylène. 

Thirteen from Rose. 

Between the false alarm, her shopping expedition, and her rather preoccupied walk home, she hadn’t thought to check her phone…  

Rose 🌹💗: I wanted to say sorry

Rose 🌹💗: I feel really bad about not telling you 

Rose 🌹💗: I didn’t think Alya would be so intense

Rose 🌹💗: I thought it would be better to just go along

Rose 🌹💗: that she would realize sooner or later she didn’t need to worry  

Rose had sent those messages ages ago. 

And she hadn’t responded. 

Quickly, she began typing. She just hoped Rose didn’t think she was mad. 

Queen of Darkness 🦇: I'm so sorry! I got home but the akuma was a false alarm so I went out to get more eyeliner for tomorrow and I didn’t check my phone! I promise I wasn’t ignoring you  

It wasn’t the full or exact truth. But she had picked up eyeliner. And hadn’t been ignoring Rose—or the rest of the girls—on purpose.   

But it still felt like a lie. 

Dots appeared on the screen immediately. 

Rose 🌹💗: It’s ok!!!!!

Rose 🌹💗: I wanted to say sorry

Rose 🌹💗: actually

Rose 🌹💗: can I call you????

Rose 🌹💗: I want to say it properly 

She pressed the dial button, and Rose picked up before the first ring could even finish. 

“Angel, I’m-”  

“I’m so sorry, bijou!” The anguish in Rose’s voice was palpable. “I should have never let things go so far! I should have told you right away! Or at least sooner! Before it ever came to this! But I thought it would be better to just try and go with it. That maybe she would give up? Or see reason- I don’t know but the point is-”

“Rose. Rose. Slow down. Take a nice deep breath for me,” she waited while she listened to Rose inhale deeply and then exhale. “Can you start at the beginning? Because honestly, I don’t really know exactly what it is you’re apologizing for.” 

Rose sniffled. “Yeah, I can do that. I just, please don’t be mad at me,” Rose’s words tumbled out in an almost incomprehensible stream. 

“Take another breath.” She waited while she again listened to Rose’s breathing. Usually, it was Rose telling her to take a deep breath. “Ok?” 

“Yeah.” Over the line, she heard Rose take in a shaky breath, like she was trying to work herself up to say whatever it was she was apologizing for. “Ok, so you remember when we went shopping? And Luka bumped into the guys while he was out buying guitar strings? And he joined us all for lunch, and asked Marinette to the dance and sat beside her during lunch?”

How could she forget?  

“Well, Alya thought that you had made Luka come. That you had ruined her plan on purpose.”

Which she had. 

“And- well, she told us that she thought it was weird how the schemes with Adrien seemed to be going worse and worse the last few months. And she thought… well, she made this chart…”

Of course she had. 

“It started with that time you texted Marinette the wrong time for the movie. And, well, she was just so sure that you were trying to ruin things with Adrien. We all tried to tell her how ridiculous it was! You would never do anything to ruin Marinette’s love life.”

Technically true. Just not in the way Rose thought… 

“But you know how Alya can be sometimes…”

Try always. 

“And she was so sure that you were sabotaging things so she set up secret meetings without you to plan other schemes that you wouldn’t know about.”

So was that what the unsent message had been about?

“And she said that if the schemes we planned at the meetings you were there for went wrong, that would be proof that you were meddling.” 

“But the plans always go wrong.”

Sometimes, they just needed a helping hand. 

“That’s what we all told her. But she was so insistent. She wouldn’t listen to reason! And we- well, we went along with it. The secret meetings, I mean. The day I said I couldn’t go to lunch…” 

“There was another meeting after the one I went to.” It wasn’t even a question at this point. 

“I didn’t like it. None of us did. But… I guess we thought that maybe we could get her to listen if we humoured her for a bit? Help her realize how silly she was being about the whole thing. I think we all hoped she would realize herself.  Beforeshe could make any accusations like she did. That’s what we wanted to avoid. None of us liked it. Leaving you out that way. Lying and going behind your back. I wanted to tell you. We all did. But- we…” On the other end of the line, Rose descended into a fresh wave of tears and sniffles. 

“Shhh, it’s ok,” she murmured gently. It took a while, but after several minutes of offering quiet, and what she hoped were soothing and comforting, words of encouragement, Rose was able to talk through her tears again. 

“I didn’t like lying to you. But I thought it was the right thing to do. Please don’t be mad at me- you have every right to be- but at least let me make it up to you. Please?”

Her heart twisted at Rose’s words. At the tears in her voice. 

How could she be mad at Rose? Especially when she had been lying for far longer. 

She hesitated. 

She could tell Rose. She could tell her that Alya was right, and that she had been sabotaging the plans the whole time. 

But not without going back on her promise…  

“I know,” she said quietly. “And I’m not angry; I understand why you didn’t tell me.” The words tingled on the tip of her tongue. But… she couldn’t. “Your heart was in the right place. It always is.” Rose sniffled at her words. “I love you. Ok?”

She just hoped she was making the right choice. 

“I love you too, bijou.” 

***

She flew across the rooftops; the speed with which she was running and leaping, it felt like her feet didn’t even touch the ground. 

It was a sharp contrast to the heavy thoughts warring inside her head. 

She should have known going into all of this that it would only be a matter of time before Alya got suspicious. If not of her specifically then at least of all the ways the schemes went wrong that didn’t have to do with Marinette getting flustered or Adrien’s scheduling. She should have suspected this would be a bridge she would need to cross sooner or later. 

But she hadn’t realized later would come so soon. 

And now that she was here… 

She had never enjoyed lying to the girls. But it had been so much easier when they had no idea what was really going on. It had been easy enough to brush off the feeling of the lies in her mouth and the pangs of guilt that echoed in her chest.  

And she had never lied directly. 

Or at least, not often. 

She had just… misdirected and misrepresented with her words. 

She came to a halt at the end of a block of row houses, catching herself against a chimney. 

Wasn’t that the same thing as lying, really? 

If she told the girls the truth—well, part of it—now, would they understand? Would they forgive her? 

Would they believe her if she said she had seen the way Marinette was reluctant to participate in the plans she knew about? That she had noticed how uncomfortable Marinette was around Adrien? Or would they chalk that up to Marinette’s nerves?

Rose, Mylène, and Alix might- they probably would… but she couldn’t see Alya believing her. And even then… would Alya just take that as an admission of guilt anyway? For meddling? Would her friends be hurt? 

Was there even a right answer? 

Her talks with Roarr, Luka, and Rose had just given her more to chew on. 

Roarr had said she knew what she was doing. 

But obviously she didn’t. 

And the kwami’s stance on what the right thing was… was less than helpful. She wasn’t even entirely sure she understood what Roarr had meant. 

Luka had said there were some lies that needed to be told. He had obviously been thinking about his duties as Viperion. 

She had never questioned lying to keep Ladybug’s secrets… 

But Marinette’s secrets were just as important as Ladybug’s. 

And how could she live with herself if she only protected some of those secrets? 

And Rose… 

She wasn’t mad at Rose. How could she be? All Rose had been trying to do was protect her feelings. 

And Alix and Mylène… they had both confessed the truth- the full truth of what had been going on behind her back. They had confessed. They had apologized. And they had checked in on her too, to make sure she was ok after the way the meeting had ended. 

She still wished Rose- that all of them had just told her from the start. 

But that just made her a hypocrite. Her hands weren’t exactly clean… 

She had told Rose her heart had been in the right place. And it had been. 

She liked to think hers was, too. But she had also become so accustomed to lying. To secrets. And everything Rose did was paved with good intentions. 

 Would the rest of the girls be as understanding? Would they see things the same way? 

And worst of all… 

Was she only feeling this way now… questioning all of this now because Alya had called her out? 

Would she have crossed—or, more accurately, gotten stuck on—this bridge eventually? 

Or would she have just continued to lie? 

Guilt and indecision weighed down her otherwise light footsteps as she bounded across the rooftops towards her meeting place with Ladybug. Usually patrol was a good way to blow off steam, but she felt just as tense as she had when she left for patrol. Maybe even more so, knowing she wouldn’t have Roarr curled up under the covers with her tonight.  

Even if the kwami’s advice hadn’t been helpful, the cuddles always made her feel better. 

By the time she had made it to the top of the south bell tower of Notre Dame, Ladybug was waiting for her.

Ladybug was sitting on the edge of the roof. One of her legs dangling over the edge, the other she was hugging to herself, resting her chin on it as she stared out absently over the city. The sun was still in the sky, but it was sinking towards the horizon. 

“Ladybug?”

Ladybug turned, but didn’t stand. “Yeah?”

“You ok?”

“Oh, yeah. I just… I have a lot on my mind.  I’ve had a lot on my mind for a long time. But especially after yesterday…” Ladybug trailed off, her face flushed with the same shade of embarrassment as last night, when she had collected the Miraculous and apologized profusely for having such a heated argument with Chat in front of her.  “You look like you have a lot on your mind too.” 

“Yeah,” she mumbled, kicking a stray pebble, “you could say that.” 

Ladybug offered her a half smile and patted the empty roof beside her. “Maybe we can have a lot on our minds together for a bit? I…” Ladybug smiled shyly, “I wouldn’t mind having a break with a friend.” 

“Yeah, that would be nice.”

They sat in silence for some time. Ladybug had gone back to staring pensively out over the city, her hands uncharacteristically still in her lap. An errant breeze ruffled their hair as she turned her own attention out to the city below her. 

It was almost comical, really. 

That after dealing with countless schemes, ad campaigns, and even akumas, this was what she was getting hung up on. Lying and secrets. 

How could she be a hero if she didn’t even know what the right thing to do was? 

She sighed.  They never showed this in the movies, and none of the interviews with the American heroes that Alya always watched ever talked about this. There wasn’t a guidebook on how to deal with this. 

But… if there was one person who would understand lying and secrets better than anyone she knew… 

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course!” Ladybug said, angling to turn to her. “I’m always here if you need to talk.”

She smiled gratefully at Ladybug, before taking a deep breath. “How do you deal with it?” she asked quietly. “The lying, I mean?” 

“…the lying?” 

“You know, the lies. Akuma attacks, well, they happen without warning and I figure you’ve got to have a life outside the mask so I assumed you must have to make up excuses to slip away.” It wasn’t quite the kind of lying she was grappling with. Though, to be frank, she still wasn’t all that great at coming up with excuses to slip away in case Tigress was needed, too. But it felt close enough. 

Beside her, Ladybug shifted, then sighed. It was a heavy sigh. A sound that expressed the weight of magical jewelry and everything it entailed. “I hate it.” Ladybug admitted quietly. 

Ladybug had her arms wrapped around her knees, hugging them close to her chest. Her eyes were fixed on the horizon, but her gaze was far away. Like she was trying to see something just out of sight. 

She let her own gaze drift back to the sky in front of them as she waited for her friend to gather her words. 

“I guess… I guess it helps that I know I have to. To keep them safe. Telling people, it would put them at risk. And it’s my job- I want to protect them. So I lie. I lie to my friends. To my family. To Lu- lots of people.”

She nodded solemnly, her gaze fixed out on the city below. Somehow, they had come to the silent agreement that this conversation was easier to have without looking the other in the eye. 

It… it was different. Maybe. But it also wasn’t. 

Marinette lied to the people she loved to protect them. 

She lied to the people she loved to protect Marinette’s happiness. 

Sure, she wasn’t exactly out there saving lives with her lies. But wasn’t misery just as much a threat? Especially with Shadowmoth?

“How do you… how do you know when it’s the right time to lie?”

“It’s always felt like lying was the only option. Sometimes it’s just a little lie. Y’know, ‘oh I have to go to the washroom’ or something. But sometimes I need to make the lies bigger. And when I do, well, I try to only do it when I need to. When I need to do or say something, even if it’s hard, to protect someone.”

“I see.” 

“It never goes away though.”

“What?” 

“The guilt. Knowing I’m lying to people I care about and that I’ll keep lying. Even though I know it’s the right thing, I still hate it. But in some ways… I think the guilt is good.”

“How so?” The guilt that had been eating away at her all afternoon and evening… how could such a horrible feeling be good? 

“If we feel guilty about lying, that means we’re still good people, even if we can’t be honest. Or at least,” Ladybug sighed, “that’s what I tell myself to try and stay sane.” 

She frowned. “I… I never really thought of it that way.”

“I don’t know if it’s true, but it helps to tell myself that, at least.” 

“Whoever you are, Ladybug, you’re a good person.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a small smile creep across Ladybug’s face. “So are you, Tigress.”

They settled back into silence, though it was a somewhat lighter silence this time. The only measure of time was the sun continuing its slow descent towards the horizon. 

“I’m tired of lying. I want to tell… people the truth. But I guess I’m so used to keeping secrets- and it’s such a big secret and it wouldn’t just change things for me-“ Ladybug cut herself off abruptly. Tigress turned to look at her friend, who flashed her an embarrassed smile. “I’m sorry. You asked me- you asked for advice and here I am blathering about my own problems. But I wanted to ask… you asked about the lying… is it too much? It know how hard it all is, and if this is getting to be too much-“

“No, no. It’s fine. I- I like being Tigress. And I don’t mind you talking about your stuff. Actually,” she said slowly, “it helped. A lot. And for what it’s worth, I think if there’s someone you trust enough with your secret, I’m betting they’d be happy to help you share the burden.”

“Maybe…” Ladybug said thoughtfully. 

“I guess it’s a good thing I had patrol tonight.” 

“Oh?” 

She smiled wryly. “Misery loves company, especially when it’s over the same problem.” A look flashed across Ladybug’s face that made her pause. “Or… did you have something else on your mind? You know I’m here to talk too, if you need it.” The fury in Ladybug’s eyes from last night flashed in her mind. “Yesterday…yesterday was a lot. Are you doing ok?” 

Ladybug’s face softened into a smile. “I know. And I am. Doing ok, that is.” She must not have looked particularly convinced because Ladybug chuckled. Enough so that the corners of her eyes crinkled, warping the spots of her mask. “Really, I’m fine. I promise,” she said before turning back to look over the city. “Last night was hard. Lying is hard. But sometimes…sometimes… well, I think it’s good. To do the hard things, that is. Even when you really don’t want to.” 

That did not sound… reassuring. 

Maybe it was good to do hard things sometimes, but Chat had made things harder than necessary yesterday. He had been for a long time. 

There was still a hint of a smile onLadybug’s face, but it was caught somewhere between wistful and wry. And the look in her eyes… it wasn’t unlike the look Marinette got when she was studying a piece of clothing, trying to figure out its construction and such. Then the glint in her eyes was gone. 

She shifted beside Ladybug, opening her mouth to say something. But before she could figure out the words, Ladybug broke the silence. 

“I promise, I know what I’m doing. Trust me.” 

“I do.” 

She did. She just hoped Ladybug wasn’t going to make things harder for herself than they already were. 

Speaking of which…

“I’m sorry for keeping you so long. I know you’re working to a deadline.”

“Don’t worry about it. I was probably due for a break anyways and…” Ladybug smiled softly, “it was nice. Talking about all of this. I’ve never really had anyone who got it.” 

Ladybug- Marinette should have had someone who got it. She deserved someone who got it. She should have had someone from the start. 

And she… she hadn’t realized it until now. But she hadn’t really had someone who got it either. Not all of it. Luka… there were some things she couldn’t tell hm. Some things he couldn’t get. But even if she couldn’t talk to Luka about everything, he was always there. And just knowing he was there made all the difference. But… 

She hadn’t truly realized, hadn’t truly appreciated how much it meant to have someone who got it. And it made her heart ache that Marinette had been without someone for so long. 

“I may not get all of it, but I’m here. Whenever you need me.” 

***

“Get all your errands done?” 

“Yep. Get all your love songs written?”

“Nope,” he half sighed. She could hear the eye roll in his voice. “Food should be here soon. I ordered sushi.” 

“Did you get-” 

“Yes, I got spicy tuna. And spicy salmon.” 

“Good. I’m going down below for a bit. I need to figure out how I’m doing my nails for tomorrow- yes, you can borrow my good black nail polish.” 

“Thanks. I’ll let you know when the food’s here.” 

Once she was back in her room, she spread her nail polish bottles out across her dressing table. She probably wouldn’t do a manicure, given she had the lace gloves, but her shoes were open toed so it would be nice to have her toenails painted. 

Plus, she could really use a nice, relaxing pedicure. 

Honestly, she could do with a whole spa day. But that would have to wait. For now, an at home pedicure would have to do.  

She had just gotten her choices narrowed down, and was trying to decide which of the two deep plum shades would better match the lipstick she was planning on wearing when Luka’s voice floated down from above deck. 

“Jules.” She frowned at the sound of his voice. It was… it wasn’t… usually, when he called her to let her know their food was there or he needed her help with something- “Alya’s here to see you.” 

She almost dropped the bottles of nail polish. 

She should have seen this coming, what with the way they—she—had left things at the meeting earlier. Really, when she thought about it, it was suspicious that Alya hadn’t shown up earlier. Like right after the akuma was declared a hoax. Although… maybe there had been another meeting, like the ones Rose had told her had been going on… 

But Rose hadn’t said anything about another meeting taking place after the one she had run out of. And based on the timestamps, Mylène, Alix, and Rose had all started texting her almost right after she had bolted out. 

Grimacing, she set down the bottles of nail polish. Alya was probably the last person she wanted to talk to right now. Except maybe Adrien.  It was probably too late to pretend she was in the shower or something… 

But even if they didn’t have… whatever this talk was going to be now, she would only be delaying the inevitable. 

Sighing, she got up. 

It seemed the time had come for her to cross this bridge. 

She just hoped it wouldn’t end up burnt… 

Luka was standing with his guitar slung over his back and his hands shoved into his pockets. Most people found Luka hard to read; people said he kept his cards close to his chest. Maybe it was a Couffaine thing, or maybe it was just a sibling thing, but she had never had trouble reading her brother. And she did not like the look on his face. 

What most people would mistake for his resting face, she recognized as guarded. And there was something in his eyes- annoyance. And a sudden fatigue. 

Alya was standing across from him. She looked like she was ready for battle, with the tense way she was holding herself. Like she was ready to spring into action at a second’s notice. To say nothing of the hard and determined look on her face. The same look she had whenever she…

What had she said to Luka?

They both turned to look at her as the top step squeaked under her foot. 

Alya’s eyes narrowed behind her glasses, the lenses flashing in the dying light. 

The tension in the air was palpable. 

Luka looked at her with a silent question in his eyes. Luka was perceptive—about most things—and the vibes Alya was putting out right now? Well, Kim would have picked up on them… 

A few months ago, she would have asked him to stay. She would have needed him to. Part of her still wanted him to. But she also wanted- needed to do… whatever this was going to be, on her own. 

She squared her shoulders, and nodded. He gave her one last questioning and concerned look, which she returned with another nod. He nodded and left with a promise that he was close by if she needed him in his eyes.  

As she watched Luka warily head down the stairs below deck, she steeled herself for the oncoming storm.

“I would have come earlier,” Alya said. It was a good thing she hadn’t come earlier, especially as she had come with no warning. “But I got held up.”

Alya didn’t offer anything more, which left her with the distinct feeling she would not like whatever it was that had held Alya up. 

If she had to guess… her money was on a new set of schemes. 

Part of her wanted to ask, but there was no way Alya would tell her if her suspicions were correct. Not after this afternoon. Especially not, given the way Alya was watching her, with her arms folded across her chest and her eyes boring into her.  

“Just as well,” she said carefully, “I was out earlier. I had errands to run.” 

“Oh?” It was impressive how Alya could make it sound like both a question and accusation. 

“I needed to pick up some more eyeliner for tomorrow.” 

Alya’s eyes narrowed even more, and her mouth twisted into a tight line. Part of her couldn’t help but wonder if Alya was about to demand to see her literal receipt. “Speaking of tomorrow, I don’t know what you’ve been- what you are playing at, but it needs to stop.” 

“I’m not playing at anything.” That, at least, was the honest truth. 

When it came to Luka and Marinette’s happiness, there was no playing.

Alya raised her brows. “The movie incident?” 

“I texted her the wrong time for the movie we were going to go see.” 

Technically true. 

“The time we tried to get her to the park to see Adrien and she was out without her phone? You were slow to reply. And your messages never agreed to the plan! I went back and checked.” 

“I was on the way home from the laundromat, I had my hands full! And Marinette forgets her phone at home all the time!” 

“And the photoshoot?” 

“Marinette made an outfit specifically for me to model, and I had the makeup masterclass starting the next weekend-” 

“You were supposed to bail because of the class!” She and Alya both froze at the outburst; Alya’s eyes went wide, like she hadn’t been expecting to start shouting. She folded her arms across her chest as she watched Alya take a breath like Bustier always told them to. Though her exhale was still more of a huff than anything. Alya’s gaze refocused on her. “Luka asked her to the dance.”

“He did,” she agreed carefully. 

“Adrien was supposed to ask her when we all met for lunch.” 

“I didn’t know that.” That was the honest truth. Alya hadn’t told her about that particular scheme. Not that that would have changed anything… 

“You should have known,” Alya snapped, a note of desperation making its way into her voice. “And Luka looked at you before he asked her.”

“So?” 

“You put him up to it. You told him to ask her, even though you know Adrien and Marinette are meant to be.” Alya stepped towards her, a hiss slipping into her voice as she pointed an accusatory finger at her. Pain flared in her hands as her nails bit into her palms from how tightly her hands were balled into fists. But she refused to shrink. She refused to back down or balk. “You’ve been ruining the plans to get Adrien and Marinette together. Admit it.” 

Alya was staring her down. Hard. 

Months ago, she would have wilted under such a look. She never even would have made it far enough into a conflict to reach this precipice. 

But here she was. 

And she was not happy. 

Alya had shown up, unannounced. She had said only the Universe knew what to Luka. Although she had her suspicions. 

And now, Alya was flinging accusations. 

Yes, those accusations were true. 

Yes, she had been meddling and sabotaging at every turn. 

But she had done her best to listen to Marinette and Luka. 

She had respected what they wanted. 

She had never picked a fight over any of this. 

And now? 

She was not happy. 

Familiar heat was bubbling up in her stomach and coursing through her veins. Tension was seeping into every inch of her body. She pressed her lips together as tightly as she could, biting down on their insides to keep herself from saying something she would regret. 

Alya looked just as tense: her chest was heaving and all her weight was on her toes. Like she was ready for anything. And she was staring hard at her. 

It would be so easy to give into the white hot anger running through her right now. The anger at being confronted in her own home. 

At having accusations, as true as they were, flung in her face. 

At having to even be in this position in the first place… 

But she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. 

She had decided a long time ago that she never wanted to be Shadowmoth’s puppet ever again. And now that she had been given responsibilities, had protected Paris, had worked alongside Ladybug? 

Well, that only strengthened her resolve. 

She refused to be used like that to hurt her friends, her family, her home,  ever again.

And part of those responsibilities- part of protecting everything she held dear, was not just fighting akumas. 

It was preventing them too. 

She took a breath to steady herself. “We both need to take a breath,” she said as calmly but as firmly as she could. “Neither of us wants to akumatized.”   

Alya stumbled at her words, like she had been broken from some sort of trance. She shook her head and then blinked at her, like she was startled by the notion that either of them could be at risk of akumatization. 

Without waiting for agreement—or protests—she let her eyes slip shut and began to inhale deeply. A moment later, she heard Alya join in with her. 

She let herself focus on the steady rhythm of her breathing, and the slowing of her racing heart. Once she felt calm enough, she opened her eyes again. 

Alya was staring at her once more.Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, and there were still hints of a glare in her eyes. But at least it seemed her anger had melted back into suspicion. “Thanks,” Alya said quietly. “I needed that.” 

“Me, too.” 

“But you never admitted to it. To any of it.” 

Right… 

The truth was a tricky thing. And lies were just as difficult. 

If she told Alya the truth about her interference, maybe it would help Alya step back and look at things for what they truly were. Maybe it would help Alya let go of her fixation on making Adrien and Marinette happen. 

But she had made a promise. 

And if she told Alya the truth, she would have questions. Questions she wouldn’t be able to answer. Not without breaking her promise and betraying Marinette’s trust. And she would go to her grave before she did that to Marinette. 

Which meant that the truth would just lead to more lies anyways. 

‘I think there are some lies that need to be told.’

‘I thought it was the right thing to do.’

‘I guess it helps that I know I have to. To keep them safe.’ 

Under the guise of taking another calming breath, she steeled herself. 

And lied as honestly as she could. 

“I didn’t tell him to ask her out the day we went shopping. I haven’t done anything to hurt Marinette’s happiness.” 

Alya’s frown deepened as she left out a huff. Behind her glasses, her eyes were once again narrowed with suspicion. For her part, she did her best to look cool and collected. She forced herself to stand tall, but she couldn’t keep herself from fidgeting with the hem of her skirt. 

“I don’t believe you-” 

“-and if you see the dry-cleaners,  then you’ve gone too far.” Luka’s voice and footsteps floated up from the stairs, and suddenly he was standing beside her—but a little ways off to give some semblance of privacy—his phone pressed to his ear. “Sorry,” he mumbled, covering his phone, “delivery guy got lost.” Alya’s face turned to disbelief before settling back into a suspicious glare pointed her way. He shot her a look with a silent question, to which she nodded. “Yeah, Darrel? Yeah, I’m still here. So if you take the next right, you should be on the North bank. We’re the houseboat with the huge stage. I’m on deck, just look for blue hair.” Luka started waving; she and Alya both looked in the direction he was looking. A tall, lanky guy with a phone pressed to his ear glanced at them and his face brightened. 

They watched as the guy—Darrel—bounded down the steps and approached the gangplank. 

“I have no idea how I missed it the first time,” he said as he ambled across the deck, completely oblivious to what he had just walked in on. How he couldn’t feel the tension in the air, thick as pea soup, was beyond her. “Not many houseboats have stages. Anyways, sorry for the delay. That looks like a wicked set up, I bet you could put on a pretty awesome concert…” 

Alya eyed her suspiciously as Luka began to talk shop with Darrel. 

Would Alya want to keep going in circles with her after Darrel was gone? 

Would she- who was she kidding? Alya was not one to give up-

“I should get going. Let you have your dinner.” 

What?

She snapped her gaze away from Darrel and Luka to look back at her friend. Alya was still watching her through narrowed eyes. But the heat that had been behind Alya’s eyes was gone. Replaced by a coolness.   

What…

“Uh- yeah. Sounds good…” 

“I’m sure tomorrow will be the night. The night Marinette’s dreamed about? The night she finally gets together with Adrien. Right?” Ok, yeah. Alya was definitely not giving up. 

As admirable as her tenacity was… it was just as much headache inducing. 

“Yeah,” she said slowly. 

With one last look, Alya turned on her heel.  

She watched as Alya made her way across the gangplank. Just one misplaced step… that’s all it would take… 

If she were a better person, she wouldn’t be having these thoughts. 

If she were a worse person, she probably would have already given into the temptation and pushed her into the river. 

But she wouldn’t. No matter how tempting it was… Sure, out of the girl squad, Alya was the one she was the least close with. And the past couple of weeks—months for her—had certainly put a strain on their relationship it seemed.

But Alya was still her friend. 

And it was the Seine. 

She watched as Alya, now across safe and sound, headed towards the stairs that led to the street. As if feeling her eyes on her, Alya stopped and turned around to meet her gaze. It was hard to tell with the last of the evening sun reflecting off the lenses of her glasses, but based on the way Alya’s mouth was screwed into a tight line… She felt pretty safe on betting that her response to Alya’s parting words had done nothing to quell her suspicions. 

Screwing her courage to the sticking place, she returned Alya’s gaze measure for measure. They stared at each other, caught in a silent showdown. And it seemed neither of them wanted to swerve first. 

Would it be better to just give Alya the win? 

Let her think she had called chicken first? Try and get her to lower her guard? 

Or would it be better to hold firm? 

Stand strong and not shrink back into the shadows? 

Before she could debate herself into any more circles—she had had more than enough of that for one day—the sound of Darel's voice broke the air. 

“Thanks for the tip, man,” Darrel said. She turned just in time to see him pass Luka a large paper bag filled with their dinner as he shoved the cash into a bag clipped to his belt. “Have a good one,” he said as he turned and headed towards the gangplank. Still seemingly blithely ignorant of the showdown he had interrupted.  

Her gaze followed his movement, and then drifted past to the stairs to the street. But there was no sign of Alya. 

“Watch your step,” she half-mumbled, half-called after him absently as her brows furrowed. She jumped at the feeling of a hand on her shoulder. When she turned, Luka was giving her the very definition of a ‘concerned older brother look. 

“Everything ok?” 

She looked back to the empty stairs, and then nodded with a sigh. “Yeah. Let’s eat.” 

As she and Luka headed towards the stairs down below deck, she looked back one last time. 

[gornackeaterofworlds]

🛼📚🥐☁️ for the ask game please!!!

HI LUCKY!!!

🛼 ⇢ describe your latest wip with five emojis

Art? 🦋🐢💜💙🃏

Writing(as in comic, specifically the chapter/events to come)? 🐢💛🦊🕷️🎇

📚 ⇢ what's the last thing you wrote down in your notes app?

Unfortunately I use my notes app for literally everything, so this is gonna be boring. I'd use a notebook if my mom wouldn't read it and mess with it. But "Email for flight info and itinerary", a reminder that my family sent me all my information through my email

Turtle related? A doodle of bay donnies general plastron shape cuz I always fuck them up

🥐 ⇢ name one internet reference that will always make you laugh

Jorts. Stickbugs. Amogus. I don't really find references funny as much as audios, like for TikTok and vine, and I've been rewatching TWD with a friend lately and giggling so bad

☁️ ⇢ what made you choose your username?

This is gonna be a bit sad. I chose it years ago, when I was on iFunny(very conservative echochamber, unfortunately I wasn't a good person and I acknowledge that.) I had an efriend I yapped to way too much. One of the last conversations we'd had was her telling me I should name myself gornack, not bc it exists as anything, afaik it isn't a character or anything, but bc she likes the name gornack. I added the eater of worlds bc I thought it was cute. We drifted apart bc she had actual real friends irl, and stopped talking. I wonder where she is all the time, and my name always makes me think of her and hope she's doing okay. I've used it for so much now, for so long, it's me. I can't part with it. I'll often think in third person and use gornack

I chose TheGreatGornack as a shorter counterpart so I wouldn't have such a long watermark or username for certain sites with a character limit

I had an ai call me Dr. Dornack once, so that's my discord nickname, so I also use dornack:

(this is all satire)

[tojiscrack]

Hiii bestie, how are u? Hope u're having a good day/night/evening🩷🩷. Praying that college isn't sucking the life out of you ( as it did me 🫠).

GIRLLLLL the way ur fic liar liar WHIPLASHED the motivation t read back into me, you wouldn't even believe. I've been having a reader's block for over a year now and I DEVOURED this fic in 3 days in the midst of college midterms. It is INSANELY GOOD like girl you should be HELLA PROUD OF UR WORK. I do not think I have ever laughed as much as I did reading it. The helicopter scene had me shaking. I nearly pissed myself when they were playing dodge ball. Thank you for ur service queen 🙏🙏 ( I really needed that 😭)

I just wanna ask you a couple of questions

1. How is the gang dealing with sukuna's return every month , like do they lock him up in a shed like a werewolf ( my poor boy is getting possessed in every universe 😂) ?

2. Are we getting a nanami × miss B 😏😏 ( feed into my delusions pls I wanna see him happy at least in one universe 💔😭)

3. I know u said u're gonna delve deeper into the relationship dynamic between toji and satoru, but just in case would u consider hinting to their first ever meeting, I'm curious to know what was it that happened between them that had toji like " yeah I hate this man's guts" , I'm guessing it's gojo's big mouth tbh 🙄

4. YOU HAD ME THERE FOR A HOT MINUTE WITH THE TSUMIKI AND KAMO PLOTLINE EVEN THO I KNEW IT WAS GONNA BE KAMO×Y/N FROM THE MOMENT U INTRODUCED KAMO. well played

5. Can I DM ( is that the right word for Tumblr still relatively new) u , probably gonna reread it soooo I'll have plenty to say ( proceed with caution tho , I LOVE to yap and I'll probably bombard u with msgs if agreed )

6. Can I be on the tag list if there's one 🙏

Anwss, sorry this was a bit lengthy. Thank you for this masterpiece again pookie and hope u're doing okay 🩷🩷

HIII mlll 🤭💞 college is absolutely kicking me right up the bum rn, but i took today off to kinda reset and recharge ‘cause the christmas break is soon! (i’ll keep you in my prayers, i hate being a college student ☹️)

you’re telling me that my story, the one i spent hours planning and writing out for shits and giggles, the one i spend randomly doodling about, a piece of work i produced… managed to get you out of a THREE YEAR LONG READING SLUMP? 😭

I DON’T BELIEVE YOU?? ‘CAUSE NO WAY 😭💞💗💜💝💘

UGH, I’M GLAD TO BE OF SERVICE?? ILY?? PLS DON’T DISAPPEAR??

‘you should be HELLA PROUD OF YOUR WORK’ — trust me, if i had any doubts before, they are gone now that i’ve been informed of your three-year-long-reading-slump having disappeared ‘cause of my 150k+ word fic 😳💖

you’re so niceeee and sweet and i’m just overwhelmed rn 😭☹️💗

‘i just wanna ask you a couple questions’ — 🤭 now i’m super duper excited 😋

1. how is the gang dealing with sukuna’s return every month?

i’m gonna touch upon this in one of the filler chapters i have planned (i could be wrong but i believe that it’s the chapter after the next one). honestly, they’re kinda just winging it 💀 the main idea is to keep yuji/sukuna in his room, barricade the doors and windows, and keep anything sharp out of sight 😭

and every month it gets worse and worse, sukuna just gets stronger and stronger, and there have been multiple occasions he’s tried leaving the room to enter wider society. you can imagine what would probably happen if he did manage to escape 🌝

2. are we getting a nanami x miss b?

this isn’t even a spoiler atp, we are absolutely going to get a nanami x miss b endgame 😋 idrk how i’m gonna go about it, seeing as this story is in y/n / megumi’s pov’s, so it’s a little tricky there but… eh, we’ll see.

i saw this one thing on tt where it showed nanami looking at some painting, a man and his wife settling down together, and he is getting his happy ending in this verse (even if some of the other characters here do not) 🤨 and there seems to be only a small community of ppl who actually ship nanami and that baker lady from canon. it’s not a major factor to me, but i do just so happen to be one of them 👀

3. would you consider hinting at satoru and toji’s first ever meeting?

in a bonus scene, perhaps? if anyone’s that curious, but there is some lore behind it, so it probably wouldn’t be small enough to fit in one bonus scene. if you’d like, i could do a separate oneshot on it when i have some free time! 😗 i have some drafts on a lot of scenes (regarding characters in the story) outside of the story, so we’ll see!

you’re actually half right about the reason behind toji hating satoru. half, ‘cause toji’s also to blame 😀 you’ll see what i mean lolol

‘YOU HAD ME THERE WITH THE TSUMIKI AND KAMO PLOTLINE EVEN THO I KNEW IT WAS GONNA BE KAMO x Y/N FROM THE MOMENT YOU INTRODUCED KAMO’ — pls the realisation for everyone was the funniest time for me, it reminds me EVERY time of why i love being a fanfic author 😋 you’re smart for figuring it out before tho! a lot of people didn’t!

4. can you dm me?

OMG OF COURSE??? WHY IS THAT EVEN A QUESTION, MY DMs ARE OPEN FOR EVERYONE, SPAM ME IF YOU MUST, I LOVE TALKING TO EVERYONE 😭

we can talk about anything, literally. it doesn’t have to be the fic! i like learning about who you are, what you enjoy, etc.

5. can you be added to the taglist?

absolutely! welcome to the liar, liar family 🤭💝

DO NOT APOLOGISE ABOUT YOUR MESSAGE BEING LENGTHY, I’VE BEEN INACTIVE FOR A WHILE AND I’VE BEEN OVERWHELMED WITH COLLEGE WORK, BUT THIS HAS REALLY MADE ME MOTIVATED TO CONTINUE WRITING AGAIN, SO TYSM 😭💖💖

[pumpkin-daydreams]

Look, last week while poking through AO3, I tripped over silentwalrus's FMA/HP fic, Snipers Solve 99% of All Problems, and I innocently clicked the link, and then suddenly I found myself blinking from the floor two days later because I couldn't stop reading the thing for -- oh, 36 hours straight, not a wink of sleep in between -- and when I finally peeled myself up off the floorboards (there was a rug in between, at least), I just had to doodle something -- something to feel out a vibe for walrus's Ed. So, like, here are some ~vibes~, no context. I'm gonna reread this glorious monster of a fic, and then draw more things more accurately, and also draw things for Caveat Emptor because that story was the digestif I reached for afterwards, except Caveat ended up trashing me for another, like, 10 hours, and it also demands another reread.

Anyway, thank you for your writing, walrus. It's so damn funny and clever, chapter after chapter, and it does that thing where it leads the reader through these long flights of thought that feel like slow-blooming epiphanies, or else chocolate melting in your mouth. I think the only real thing to say is something like Amen or Hallelujah. but with more giggling and sighing.

[ashiemochi]

Hey Ashie!! I just finished "Aprotitty" and i LOVED it! my favorite chapters were the Matthew's party and the one where Leon takes So Ah for a ride <3 I'm really excited to see what you will bring us next.

I confess that the ending got me kinda shoked- who knew So Ah would become an agent?! nice plot twist lol!

Now, I've got an ask. what kinda of agent you think So ah would be? Like, it would be really nice to see her joking around with Chris and the team, or seeing her undercover for a mission- but imagine if she were undercover on, idk, a bar or a public place and coincidentally leon were also undercover THERE-

pleaSE, IM SO HAPPY YOU ENJOYED APHROTITTY <3!!! Matthew was a fun character to write, ngl skdjahjkd I can't wait to bring him in the sequel again <3 A longer one bc your ask made me smile like an idiot.

So Ah would start as a BSAA rookie of course! Her missions' captain would always be Chris for safety measures. She'd always doodle roughly on her notebook and pencil for her teammates during little free time here and there, becoming flustered as they'd take the paper with amusement in their eyes.

"Holy shit, Han! You captured my hair so well!"

"Your hair? Look how she did my eyes! It's like I'm looking in a mirror!"

"Look how she did my smile! She got my tooth gap too!"

When the mission is successful and they headed to the local bar to celebrate before they catch the flight back, So Ah would be crowded by her teammates, some even attempting to draw and ask for her advice. She'd be giggling and shying away, trying to find a little space to excuse herself to update her lover back home on her mission.

"So... Agent Han, got someone waiting for you back home?"

"Actually, yeah. Speaking of which, I have to excuse myself for a moment."

So Ah sighed heavily the moment she stepped out of the bar, feeling her hands shaking anxiously before getting her phone to call Leon then her eyes landed on Chris leaning against the wall with a cigarette in between his fingers.

His eyes were distant, deep in thoughts and she tilted her head to the side. Slowly, she walked up to him with a soft smile, "Hey, Captain."

Chris blinked, looking at her before chuckling, "Hey, So Ah. Team's giving you a hard time?"

She shook her head, giggling nervously, "No, no... Just too energetic maybe."

Chris huffed light-heartedly, "I'll make sure to tell them to tone it down."

She shifted slightly on her feet and Chris raised an eyebrow at her shy self acting up again before seeing her pull a folded piece of paper from her many pockets and offered it to him.

"Here..." She mumbled, "It felt unfair to me that everyone got something but you so..."

"What's this?" Chris asked as he put out his smoke and unfolded the paper, eyes widened just a tad at the doodle she did of him. It was him talking to one of his teammates about the mission; a moment frozen in time.

"Holy shit..." Chris barely trailed away, looking up at her and she only smiled then her phone began ringing and he knew it was Leon when her smile went softer and her cheeks redder.

"I have to take this... Thank you for your service, Chris."

-

On her FIRST undercover mission, So Ah had to attend a luxurious black market event where an auction will be held by the suspect. She'd be in a long flowy dress with her make-up done so differently from her usual ones.

"Okay, So Ah, just like we practised."

"Chris, that's a lot of people. I feel like I'm going to throw up."

"That's not part of the training - you can do this."

"What am I supposed to do again?"

"Just mingle - you've been to so many events like this before."

"Not where it's a life and death situation."

"You'll do fine."

So Ah would hold a smile to any person who speaks to her; her new name for this mission being Colette Francis, a high-status lady who knows her way around wine.

Honestly, all she knew about wine was chugging that bottle like an alcoholic - anything to avoid triggering another anxiety attack.

She reached the bar to catch a breather, ordering a wine of whatever the bartender's got. Nervously, she bit down on her lip to calm down her fast beating heart as she recalled her mission.

Mingle to avoid suspicion, gather information by talking to other people, wait till the auction starts so she can be sure the suspect would be hosting it with one of the items being a sample of the virus.

All of which poke at her anxious self. She much preferred handling a gun than this because at least she wouldn't have to do so much talking.

Taking a sip from her drink, she nearly choked when a single cold finger tapped her shoulder twice and she turned around with surprised eyes to see a familiar man - same man she last saw three days ago.

"Miss Francis, I didn't know you were coming to this event."

"Leon?" She whispered and the man, Leon, chuckled.

"Think you got me confused with someone else." Leon winked at her, before offering his hand with a smile, "Name's Angelo."

So Ah bit back a giggle, settling her hand on his, blushing as Leon brought it up to his lips with his eyes still trained on her.

"What are you doing here? I thought you were away on an assignment in France." So Ah asked, her own thumb gently caressing his skin, finally feeling a lot better now that there was a familiar face around here.

Leon brought his drink to his lips, "It's connected to the same guy - the tests showed that the same virus used in France came from here so," He gave her a slight shrug at the end.

"Think it's related to Marcus?" So Ah theorized, leaning closer to keep her voice on the low and Leon hummed, subtly bumping her nose with his as a faint eskimo kiss.

"Maybe... I missed you." Leon whispered, grinning at her blush intensifying as she lightly pushed him away, glancing around them to make sure no one was paying attention to them.

"Behave yourself, Leon. We're undercover." So Ah scolded with twitching lips and Leon chuckled.

"Alright, Colette. When this mission's done, think you can stay in those heels?"

So Ah blinked, glancing down at her black heels with bold red coloured flats then back at him, confused, "Why?"

Leon's tone dropped an octave, his smile tilting up on one side more than the other, sultry, "I found an empty bedroom upstairs and I was thinking we could do a bit of overtime; you and me."

Her cheeks blazed up, eyes widening at the lustful glint in his azures and before she could stammer out a reply, a heavy Italian accent took her attention.

"Colette Francis! I'm so glad you came!" Marcus exclaimed, oozing in some expensive cologne as he took her hand with a smile.

So Ah snapped back to her 'spy mode', flashing him the same smile but with Leon's - Angelo - words flying around her head, she was nervous but for a different reason now.

"Marcus, I wouldn't miss it for the world." She commented as Marcus planted a simple peck on her knuckles.

"I see you've met Angelo," Marcus said joyfully, patting Leon's shoulder once who only forced a smile that looked so real that even So Ah thought he was Angelo - whoever the fuck that was.

"You know, I was just telling him about you! Your taste in wine is divine!" Marcus kissed his fingers enthusiastically and Leon gave her a quick 'what the fuck' look before Marcus gently shoved him as an encouragement, "Tell her!"

"Yeah," Leon agreed and So Ah stifled a giggle, watching him in the act as she nodded ever so slowly, "My favourite has got to be the cotton candy one."

Her cheeks heated up again at the subtle wink, knowing damn well what he was referencing to and Marcus gasped, light in his eyes at his excitement of meeting the Colette Francis the wine maker; though it wasn't really her.

"Dear Gods, yes! I need to know how you made a wine out of cotton candy!" Marcus gushed as Leon took a slow sip, keeping his playful eyes set on the girl with a cheeky smile.

"Oh, you know," So Ah quickly recovered, brushing her hair over her shoulder as she smiled coyly, "A lady never reveals her secrets."

Marcus laughed before clapping twice, "Ah, that's the Miss Francis I know! Please, I hope you enjoy the wine selection I've chosen! I've got to leave to prepare for the main event."

So Ah giggled, nodding along with the kinder smile, "I'll get there when I can, Marcus."

"Say," Leon interrupted and she thought she saw a little hint of red jealousy in those blues, "When does the auction start?"

Marcus looked at his golden plated watch, humming before answering, "In about 20 minutes."

After Marcus said his overly-happy 'excuse me's, he left to set up the auction and So Ah stood next to Leon, smacking his arm and Leon looked down at her with furrowed brows.

"What was that for?"

"We are undercover, Leon." She scolded, "One slip-up and it's over for both of us."

Leon rolled his eyes, "Jesus, you're beginning to sound like Chris."

"Leon!"

"Okay, okay," Leon set his hand on the small of her back with a tilted smile, "I'll behave."

"Thank you."

A moment of silence came over them, just enjoying the little time they had for themselves before they'd have to be separated once again.

"You know..." Leon started lowly, leaning down to barely brush his lips against her ear as his whispers brought immediate goosebumps up her skin and made her tiny hairs stand up at his words.

"Twenty minutes is more than enough for our overtime."

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: V

“I must admit, I thought I’d like to make you mine

As I went about my business through the warning signs

End up meeting in the hallway every single time

And there’s nothing we can do about it.”

— Only Angel, Harry Styles

A/N: this chapter...it was probably my fav to write, so far!!! i just adore these two clueless morons so much like i just can’t shut up about them. quite a bit happens in this part and it’s all to build that slow burn, friends to lovers shit we all know and love baYBEEEEE!!! and also The Crew make an appearance because hello we love to see it, we truly do 😌😌😌 especially the man, the myth, the legend, Mitch Rowland and honestly?? this is HIS chapter fuck vampirerry!!! but yeah i hope y’all like what’s in store for the Dynamic Duo this time around and remember that feedback is truly, madly, deeply™ appreciated! and if you enjoy it, please reblog it! spreading content keep creators motivated! without further delay, let’s dive in  😼  

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

word count: 34k 

content/warnings: witty banter, some nice fluff, jacuzzi sex, more fluff, a very testing phone call, some face f*cking, a soft shower, rough degradation, the return of The Handcuffs, an unexpected visit from The Three Stooges, more cheeky banter because that’s their brand, and the reveal of jealous asshole Harry 

///   

Y/N giddly accepts Harry’s offer to stay the weekend and the vampire can confidently say it’s one of the best he’s had in the last decade. 

He’d startled even himself when the suggestion had risen abruptly from his mouth, leaving him blinking blankly as a result. He rarely allows anyone to spend more than a day in his condo— his friends being the only exception— because he’s grown to like the quiet solitude that comes with living on his own. He very solemnly has people over whom he hasn’t known for at least a few years, and that rule is reinforced on stricter grounds when it comes to humans. Especially when the only true connection they could possibly carry to him is through the area between their legs. 

But Harry has become strangely fond of Y/N in the last four weeks— fond enough to freely refer to her as a friend and endeared enough to bypass the fact that she’s mortal. She just looks so unbelievably cute padding around his apartment barefoot, wearing nothing but a pair of crumpled, sunflower-doodled panties and his Nike olive green jumper, her hair a mangled mess with traces of his cologne smeared across the bruised skin of her neck. Admittedly, it’s a sight he wants to see more often, which is a stab at his ego because he’s never been one to dwell on sentimentality— not for a while. It’s a bit cliche and gross, in his opinion, but when it comes to this one particular girl...well, maybe it’s not too bad. Indulging some soft pastimes can't do much damage, especially when it aids his plan to keep her interested until he himself grows bored. 

It can only do good, which is probably what had spurred him into asking her to extend her stay. For once, he found himself not craving his usual silent seclusion. Not when that self-imposed isolation could be filled with her loud laughter, warm lips, and sweet moans instead. 

And much to his satisfaction, Harry gets just that. 

For the next two days, the creature gets all of his needs and wants attended to, both recreational and intimate. Y/N seems to enjoy it thoroughly, as well, walking— or rather waddling, really, thanks to some of their raunchier activities— around his flat happily, constantly clad in a pair of his boxers and one of his graphic tees. He gets off on it— it’s hard not to, especially with the way she fits his clothes so effortlessly, almost as if she was made to fill them. Or the way the scent of his shampoo is combed through every strand of her hair, his smell slathered all over her as if she’s unconsciously trying to mark herself as his. Or the way new love bites cover the ones his blood had nearly faded, which she dotes shamelessly by pushing all her hair behind her shoulders so Harry can get a perfect view of every welt he’s left behind on her throat. Or the way she unapologetically giggles at all his jokes and crude humor, and how she paddles his witty banter right back at him with that clever gleam in her irises. 

He gets off on the way Y/N cuddles into him on the couch while they’re watching some mindless Food Network series, her body heat expelling the stiff coldness from his limbs. The way she kisses tenderly along the underside of his jaw, forefinger tracing over his Adam’s Apple teasingly, a smile spreading against his skin when she feels it bob heavily. The way she’ll sneak her hand between his thighs and palm him over his briefs, taking the shell of his ear between her teeth and hissing lowly when his cock twitches against her fingers, her voice soft as silk but heavy with dirty intentions. “Want to make you feel good again, H. Can I?” 

The human girl is a blessing, while simultaneously being a walking, talking sin, and the monster’s never been more willing to damn himself to Hell. And he would gladly do it, if he wasn’t already living it in the form of blood-driven eternity.

It’s an eventful weekend, that’s for sure, and despite the fact that they share an abundance of memorable moments, there are a few that Harry deems especially unforgettable. 

The jacuzzi sex sits at the top of that list. 

Y/N had practically squealed when she’d laid eyes on the glorified tub in his bathroom, pacing over to it excitedly and leaning down to run her fingers over the control panel along the rim. Her voice had come out whispered, full of child-like wonder. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Harry had walked over to stand beside her, his icy digits pressing on top of her warm own, finagling the buttons into his preferred settings. Hot water begins to shoot out of all the polished jets one by one, slowly filling the pool and covering the dark marble wrap-around ledge used as seating. The vampire quickly fetches the bag of lavender Epsom salts he keeps close by, scooping a couple handfuls into the frothing hot tub, along with pouring in a decent amount of jasmine bubble bath. 

His lips jolt when he catches Y/N eyeing the jacuzzi in awe, her hands clasped to her chest in delight as she teeters back and forth ever so slightly on her heels. The water shuts off once it reaches the appropriate level, leaving behind a thick, luxurious sheet of suds that smells of sugary florals and clean linen. The second the jets retract, Harry doesn’t even have time to make a comment before Y/N begins stripping down hurriedly, obviously restless to take on this new experience. 

Harry spontaneously jerks to the side out of habit, averting his sight to allow her some privacy. His tone is soft and amused. “Clean towels are in the hamper along the other side of the tub.” He signals blindly towards where he knows the basket is situated. “Call me back in when you need help with the shower knobs. And don’t—”

The immortal spots something streak across his peripheral vision, cocking his head a bit just in time to see her flower-print panties toss onto the tiled floor. He rolls his eyes playfully, scoffing to himself at the innocence of the article. It matches her persona perfectly. 

He hears a splash crack through the air behind him, meaning that Y/N has submerged herself in the water and that it is now safe for him to turn around without threatening her decency. However, he doesn’t think she’d mind if he did and he finds himself wondering why he’d looked away in the first place. The answer comes to him simply: it was a residual mannerism from the era he was raised in. His default Victorian etiquette can be so fucking annoying sometimes. 

He spins around on his socked heels, lean arms folding casually across his broad chest, naked tattoos glinting under the fluorescent lighting of the bathroom. He slinks his head to the side, entertained at the view he finds. Y/N is sitting amidst the blanket of pink bubbles, covered up to her shoulders as she cups soap into her palms, blowing at it and watching the suds float across the air before popping. The adorable smile that breaks across her face makes Harry’s stomach flutter. 

The vampire steps forward to catch her attention, leaning a hip against the edge of the tub and pursing his lips to hide an adoring grin. The corners of his mouth betray him as soon as Y/N looks up at him, hair slicked back with water and bubbles, matted to the sides of her neck and across her jaw as she beams up at him. 

“Your place is literally an adult playground.” The human states wistfully, her arms floating across the surface of the bath as she drifts closer to him, creating more suds. “You’re gonna have to get me kicked out tomorrow ‘cause I’m not leaving on my own.” 

Harry snorts, ducking down and wiping some soap off the tips of her eyelashes. “I don’t think security detail was part of the lease, so I might have to do it myself.”

“I can easily take you.” Y/N remarks jokingly, waving a hand dismissively. “Better make some space, I’m moving in next week.” 

“I’d say I would start clearing out my storage room for you,” Harry leans forward, ghosting his lips over hers and thumbing over the curve of her chin, batting his lashes sultrily, “but I think we both know you’d end up in my bed either way. Best leave it as is.” 

“Yeah,” Y/N momentarily glimpses down at his mouth, eyes glitzing with the slightest bit of hunger, “I think it's best if we just split the bed.” 

“Oh, we’ll definitely split the bed— split it right down the middle.” Harry grips her jaw firmly and locks her into a wet, sloppy kiss for a few elongated heartbeats, tugging at her bottom lip and biting it jestingly before pulling back. 

Y/N chases after him, craving more of his taste, but the boy draws back fully and pats at her cheek with smug finality. Her begrudging pout makes him release a boyish giggle. “Anyways, as I was saying before, my last rule: Don’t pee in the tub. Cleaning it is a bitch and that’s the last thing I want to deal with.” 

The mortal laughs airily, nodding her head in confirmation that she understands. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

“Thank you.” Her friend huffs, shoulders slumping dramatically in relief. Harry takes on a theatrical ominous edge, quirking his brows warningly. “Didn’t end well for the last person who did.” 

“Is that so?” Y/N inquires daringly, lowering herself deeper into the water until it covers her chin. “What happened? Did you have to take on the role of executioner again?”

Harry thinks back to that instance, shaking his head in amusement at the memory. It had been Niall— anything that has to do with testing his patience almost always leads to Niall— and to make a long story short, the Irish bloke had ended up having to regrow an ear. But he can’t necessarily confess that supernatural event to Y/N, no matter how funny it is, so he just shrugs offhandedly and gives her a dark look full of faux mystery, voice adopting the same affect. “I’ve already said too much.” 

The young woman casts her eyes up to the ceiling humorously. “Moron.” 

“Watch it, love.” Harry tuts, narrowing his eyes at her pointedly in an attempt to suppress the smirk that is about to stem from his next comment. “I’m not the one with the degradation kink here.” 

Y/N scrunches her face at him mockingly, trying to hide the way his quip had made her heart hiccup. She mimics his accent, sticking up her middle finger from beneath a mountain of rosy bubbles. “Piss off.” 

“Gladly.” Harry bites back cheekily in an American accent. He leans down, retrieving his Nike sweater and her underwear from the rumpled pile on the ground, his intentions set on taking them across the hall to the laundry room with the rest of her clothes. That way, her stuff will be nice and clean for when she needs it again Sunday night. “Just call if you need me, yeah?” 

Harry gets about three feet towards the door before Y/N’s soft voice halts him, piping up as gentle and timid as usual. “Wait…”

The vampire glances over his shoulder, eyebrows poised in question as he absentmindedly flips his jumper inside-out in anticipation for the wash. 

Y/N swims across the extent of the jacuzzi until she’s right in front of where he’d stopped, resting her forearms along the rim and plopping her chin atop her folded hands. She gazes up at Harry through her lashes and he can see the manner in which she shifts her footing beneath the small waves, almost as preparing to stand up from the water. “Don’t go.” 

Harry’s eyes go half-lidded in a flat expression as he hangs his sweatshirt over the inside of his elbow. “Didn’t you literally just tell me to piss off five seconds ago?”

“I changed my mind.” 

“Well, that’s just too bad. You already hurt my feelings. No take-backs.” 

“Idiot.”

“Try again.” 

“What’s that one insult British people say? Oh, yeah! Knobhead.” 

“You’re really not helping your case here.” 

Y/N sighs in exasperation, using her palms to boost herself up until she’s standing fully inside the hot tub. Water cascades down her shoulders and out of her sopping hair, following the curves of her bare torso and trickling across her jaw. She teeters forward until her face is only a few inches away from Harry’s, lulling her head to the side expectantly with a certain slyness swirling around her pupils. She chews on her lower lip as she gives him a suggestive once-over. “How about now? Does this help my case?”

Harry keeps his eyes pinned to her own, refusing to submit to temptation. He knows exactly what she’s trying to do, and he doesn’t want to give her the satisfaction of allowing it to work. Not yet, at least. He wants her to beg for it. 

The creature twists towards her entirely, irises bright with the excitement of a new challenge. Even with the slight elevation the jacuzzi provides, Harry still towers over Y/N at least a good four inches. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough that she has to tilt her chin up to maintain direct eye contact. The tip of his cold nose brushes over hers, eyebrows shrugging tauntingly. “You’re gonna have to try harder than that, darling.”

Y/N reaches forward without breaking their stares, taking the clothes from Harry’s grasp and haphazardly chucking them onto the towel hamper. Now with his arms free, the immortal props his hands onto his hips, his biceps and shoulders flexing with the motions. He’s peacocking to try and intimate her, and in any other circumstance, it would probably work, but Y/N knows she has the upper-hand at the moment; she’s naked and wet and docile, and with the way Harry’s handsome features are hardening in determination, she can tell she’s whittling him down. All it would take is one well-coordinated touch here, a lingering stroke there, and maybe a gentle caress of her lips down the valley of his pectorals…

Y/N goes for something better. She reaches upwards to intertwine her fingers around the nape of Harry’s neck, tugging him closer until their chests meld together, the heat from the water radiating off her waxy skin and sinking into his freezing own. His breathing catches as soon as he feels her pert nipples press into his chest and even though he’s keeping his sight trained on her face, he can just barely see the curves of her breasts less than a foot below. Their close proximity is making them swell upwards, urging him to give in and have his way with her however he wants. And fuck, does he want to. But he’s not going to let her bait him that easily— who would he be if he allowed this human girl to toy with him in such a fashion? Harry never lets anyone puppet him— not anymore, not ever again— and especially not when it comes to sex, which is one of his most skilled domains. He certainly isn’t going to let her win. 

Harry grabs Y/N’s wrists from where they are perched around his neck, giving her a hard look that lets her know who’s in charge of the situation. He brings her hands up before her face, flipping them over so she gets a proper view of the faint bruising that lines her flesh, leftover from the previous evening’s restraints. When he speaks, it’s low and throaty with a condescending undercurrent. “Remember what happened last time you acted like a brat?”

Images flash by the forefront of Y/N’s mind like a film on fast-forward, recalling the night to which Harry is referring. The young man had tied her to her headboard and fingered her until she was left a teary mess, refusing to let her orgasm each time she got close. Then, he had tossed the girl onto her tummy and rammed into her from behind until her aged bedframe had nearly splintered. If she focuses intently enough, she can still feel the satisfying ache he had left behind, which had haunted her for days afterwards. 

The mortal swallows heavily, nodding her head a tad. 

Harry raises an eyebrow with an awaiting air. “Remember what I said about using your words?”

Y/N bobs her head again quickly. After a moment, she realizes her repeated mistake, clearing her throat softly in order to fix it. “Yes.”

“Good.” The vampire drops her hands, coasting his palms up her neck to cup either sides of her jaw, thumbs brushing over her cheekbones almost tenderly. “Now let me ask you again. Do you remember what happened last time you acted like a little brat?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Do you want a repeat of that?”

“No, I—” Y/N pauses in hindsight, retracting her previous statement. “Well, actually…”

Harry’s ruby lips string into a coy smirk at her response, well acquainted with where her thoughts are leading. He presses their foreheads together, the damp stickiness of her warm flesh sending a shiver toppling down his spine. “Let me guess. You want a repeat of the part where I shoved your face into a pillow and fucked you until you squirted all over me?” 

He can feel blood surge into her cheeks beneath his fingertips as a result of his vulgar words. “Yes, please.”

Harry gnaws along the inside of his cheek as he recalls that event. He can practically feel her gushing around his cock all over again, her walls tightening around him as her whole body trembled in his grasp, her shattered whimpers stinging his ears as he continued to slam into her until she’d completely drenched both of their thighs. His eyelids fall shut in dreamy recollection and an image skims by of his initial rings marked across her ass; it nearly sends his knees out from under him. “Fuck, that was so hot, wasn’t it?”

“So fucking hot.” Y/N sighs shakily, lashes fluttering as his warm breath washes across her tingling mouth. “Harry, I just...I just want to ride you so fucking bad right now.”

“Yeah? Is that what you want?” Harry touches over her quivering bottom lip, somehow managing to feel her pulse. It’s battering so hard, he could probably sense it through any spot on her body, at this point. “You want me to sit in there with you just so you can bounce on my cock, baby?” 

“Please…” Y/N sounds as if she’s on the verge of crying, all of her desperate need translating into her wrecked voice. Her next phrase is something she doesn’t think she’s ever spoken before, but the intensity of the moment just feels so right to test it out, and Harry feels like the right person to test it with. After another heavy gulp and a lick at her dry lips, she chimes up once again, bashful and pliant. “Please, Daddy?”

The sound of a sharp inhale echoes off the marble and porcelain walls of the bathroom, stemming from Harry’s garbled throat. It feels like the temperature in the atmosphere has gone up twenty degrees, invisible flames lapping across the muscles of his taut back and across the tendons of his tight shoulders. His entire body seems to go into shock, lungs stuttering and stomach hollowing out. His lashes snap shut without a heartbeat to spare, webs of black veins materializing over the whites of his eyes as a reaction to Y/N’s brazen comment. 

He has been indulging fantasies of her calling him that specific name for weeks now, but had never asked out of respect for her boundaries. He figured that if she had an affinity for it, it would eventually make its way out of her mouth during one of their sessions, and he had been willing to be patient enough to wait. It had paid off, it seems. 

Harry releases his grip on the girl’s face, reaching down to messily shove his black briefs down his clammy thighs, eyes flickering open now that he has forced some control into his demeanor. He sets his intent on her expression, the jade of his irises bleeding lust as he catches her gawking at him. Y/N gazes down at where he’s occupied, her lips parting slightly with starved awe as his underwear falls away to pool at his feet, revealing the part of him she has grown so addicted to in the last month. It looks so pretty, with a neatly trimmed pubic area, thick girth, and pleasurable length. She never knew cocks could be appealing, considering she always found their appearance so odd and irrelevant. That is, until Harry. It appears she thought a lot of sexual things irrelevant until Harry. 

He kicks away his clothes, nudging at her boiling cheeks with his nose to garner attention, his tone low and inexplicably strained. “Say it again.”

Y/N’s fingers curl into loose fists against his heaving chest as she gathers her bearings, shuddering with a difficult exhale. She says it a bit louder this time, but still inherently weak, almost as if she’s scared their shadows might overhear. “Please, Daddy?”

Harry’s brows furrow with puncurting desire, a broken groan stirring deep in his lungs. “God, that sounds so good coming from your mouth. Been wanting to hear you say it for ages now.” 

“Really?”

He nods fervently, nose bumping hers with every movement and he takes this chance to peek down at her naked figure, swallowing thickly at how incredible her breasts look flushed to his pecs. “Think about it constantly. Always wondered what it would take to get it out of you.” 

“I wish you’d just told me.” The human mumbles, tracing his cupid’s bow with the crest of her own. “I’ve been wanting to say it for a while now.” 

Harry chuckles lightly, humming in amusement as he snakes a strong arm around the dip of her spine, drawing her closer as much as possible. He just wants to feel every inch of her wet, velvety skin. “Well, now you can say it all you want. Over and over and over, while I make your knees shake and your back arch.” 

Y/N sputters out a bundle of feathery giggles, looping her arms around his neck and carding her fingers into his shiny curls, pulling his lips down to meet hers in a restless kiss full of quiet whines and snippets of laughter. She talks into his mouth, starting to pant as the pace becomes more passionate, full of eager tongues and nipping teeth. “Now will you please get in and let me fuck you?” 

Harry mounts one knee onto the edge of the hot tub, his free hand jutting down against the marble for reinforcement as the other keeps her trapped against his body. “Yeah...Yeah, I think I will.” 

He crawls into the heated water, submerging up to his waist due to his height. Once he’s balanced himself within the pool, the palm pressed to the brim slips away, replacing the cold stone with the simmering skin of Y/N’s jaw once again. He tangles his fingers into her hair as he nurses her face to the side, deepening their prolonged kiss, and the whimper she pours into his mouth makes every cell in his body throb with longing. Y/N’s hands ride down his lean stomach and over his pelvic bones, fingers twitching the closer she gets to his cock. She stops right before she reaches his base, wracked with the slightest bit of shy hesitation. 

“Go ahead, doll.” Harry murmurs softly, hips bucking forward once against the pads of her digits. “I want you to touch me.”

Y/N’s palm disappears below the mounds of bubbles, cupping over his cock and giving it a rough grope. Harry gasps brokenly against her lips at the sensation, the corners of his mouth ticking upwards into a blissful simper when her breathing throttles just a smidge. Y/N gradually begins to work him below the gentle waves of the water, eyes rolling back when she feels him harden in her hold. She’ll never get used to how erotic it is having Harry shatter under her influence.

“I think it's funny,” she begins, voice delicate and humorous, contradicting the insistent actions she’s partaking below, “how you were threatening me with orgasm denial two minutes ago and now you’re being all nice.” 

The vampire thrusts slightly against her strokes, tiny noises escaping his taut throat as a familiar boiling begins to simmer in his veins. His tone is detached and pinched with the effort of maintaining composure. “S’hardly a fair point, considering you caught me off guard with that pet name.”

“Is that so?” The girl inquires playfully, giving the tip of his cock a hard squeeze and scoffing against his mouth when he releases a tight grunt. 

“Mm. You always…” Harry draws back from her intoxicating mouth, looking down at her over the crests of his tinted cheekbones to admire the faint imprint of his teeth along her swollen lips. His mind feels like it’s been pumped with syrup, thoughts swishing around lazily, his emotions still somewhat exposed from the mishap that had occurred during their breakfast serenade. It had been over two hours ago, but the wound was still fresh in his subconscious, causing small pinpricks of anxiety to stain his otherwise carefree personality. He feels as if his chest had been cut open with a scalpel, his insides had been rearranged out of order, and the gash had been resewn brutishly; he feels disarrayed and defiled. And because of some simple human girl who’s as fragile and insipidly transparent as glass. 

The immortal’s voice comes out as a whisper, carrying the weight of his confused, raw state. “You always catch me off guard.” 

Y/N blinks up at him innocently, gnawing on her bottom lip at his sweet compliment, her heart somersaulting within her ribcage. “You catch me off guard, too. Always keep me on my toes, which is something I was never really used to.” 

“Do you...” Harry forces down the lump in his throat, allowing himself to be vulnerable for the sake of seeking an answer. Though their problems are vastly different— she’s referring to her small-town, conservative mentality, whereas he’s shouldering two hundred years worth of emotional trauma— he’s more than happy to absorb any advice she could possibly offer. He needs to know how to shut this off; he hates feeling so unsure of himself. It’s like he’s wading through a forest blindfolded, disoriented and uncalibrated with no sense of direction or purpose. He hasn’t felt this helpless since… “Do you hate it?”

The mortal’s eyes fall shut, lashes dusting the apples of her cheeks in a way that Harry deems almost ethereal. She shakes her head lightly in his grasp, a hazy smile adorning her face. “Do I hate that you take me out of my comfort zone? I don’t think I do, actually. I like it. I like that every moment we spend together is something new. I was so used to following the status quo and retracing other’s steps, I never noticed how boring it all was. But you’re never boring. You make everything fun and adventurous, and it’s just so...” 

Y/N laughs a tad, trying to come up with a word she can’t quite place, too distracted in how her friend’s thumbs are caressing her jaw. The hand she has below the water has stopped its motions all together, her focus placed solely on the young man’s beautiful features. The copper specks in his eyes glitter in the white light of the bathroom, looking like polished amber gems. “Uhm...It’s...It’s so—”

“Scary...but exhilarating.” Harry finishes her sentence, a quivering sigh coaxing out of his tight chest. He feels like he’s going to vomit. 

Y/N bobs her head in agreement, hands drifting to wrap around his dainty wrists, giving them a soft squeeze as if to reassure herself that he’s real. “Yeah, that’s it. It’s...exciting, kind of.” 

The creature swallows heavily and releases her face, peeling his eyes away from Y/N’s for fear of letting her see him so defenseless, brows creasing in burning unsettlement. Instead, he lends his attention to outlining the speckling of white strewn into the dark marble of the bathroom wall, using that distraction to calm the raging in his belly. Out of the edge of his vision, he can see Y/N’s face fall, the grip she has on his wrists loosening. A spike of pain shoots through his unbeating heart— similar to what he had endured earlier— at the sadness behind her gesture, but he stifles it with stubborn spite. This isn’t him. It hasn’t been for decades now, and he’d grown to like it as so. In his experience, attachment leads to suffering, and suffering leads to misery. And with all of the centuries he has ahead of him, misery is the last companion he needs. 

Harry clears his throat emptily, slashing through the tension that had suspended in the air between them. He glimpses down at her, undoing the knot between his eyebrows and putting as much playful ease into his irises as he can muster, urging the corners of his lips into his signature smirk. “I guess we just excite each other, then. Though that’s become pretty obvious by now, I think.” 

Y/N purses her mouth to hide the immature grin his innuendo is attempting to weed out, all awkwardness dissipating from her aura. “I guess we do.” 

The monster ducks down to flirt his lips over the human’s, arms tying around her lower back and hiking her upwards. Y/N yelps in surprise, instinctively clamping her legs around his waist and giggling as he lugs her from side to side jokingly, pretending he’s about to drop her into the pool. “Why don’t we go back to exciting one another, hm?” 

Y/N’s nose rubs across the bridge of Harry’s and she gasps lightly when she feels the head of his cock prod at her entrance, dipping in a bit to tease her, spreading her open just enough to wheedle a soft hiss. She shivers in his arms despite the heat wafting up from the warm water, a very different type of warmth pouring into the area between her legs. The girl clings to the sides of the English boy’s neck, spinning a damp curl around her forefinger— he’d gotten his hair wet when he’d splashed into the jacuzzi, and the manner in which his ringlets are gluing across his flexing neck and sharp jaw is doing her in. 

She gives a small nod, eyes flickering down to his tempting lips and back up at his devious gaze. “Yeah, alright.” 

In Harry’s expert opinion, it’s safe to say they definitely excite each other. It’s pretty evident in the way their bodies mold perfectly, satisfying their own desires while simultaneously fulfilling the other’s. The vampire ends up sitting on top of the ledge that circles the inside wall of the pool, his head hanging over the edge with his mouth parted in an open grin, filthy moans and needy whines pouring from his tongue freely as Y/N rocks onto his slick cock. The girl balances herself on her knees, backside crashing down against his thighs in harsh slams full of reckless urgency— she needs this more than she’d ever care to admit. Her nails dig into Harry’s strong shoulders for stability, head thrown back in sheer bliss as her chest bounces with every thrust, the trench of her tummy rippling with contented heat. He just makes her feel so fucking full.

“God, y-you’re so big.” Y/N mewls, swinging her hips in small circles that draw an array of fractured sounds of pleasure from Harry’s taut throat. “You stretch me out so fucking good, Har.” 

Harry’s hands tighten into fists against the glossy plastic of the jacuzzi, arms slung casually over the sides of the tub in a relaxed posture. He doesn’t want to bother with taking control at this particular moment; he’s too busy reveling in the ecstasy Y/N is pounding into his system. He jolts with every rough dip of her hips, the corners of his raw lips winking his dimples awake as he looks up at her through barely-cracked eyes, the weight of his mounting orgasm heavy on his lashes. “Love that cock, don’t you? Can tell by the way you always kiss it right before you take it down your throat.” 

Y/N grapples onto her friend's neck blindly, one palm grasping the center of his jugular as the other cradles his defined jaw, her thumb smearing across his lips as a result of her choppy movements. Harry cranes his head forward a bit to get a better view, pressing a gentle kiss to the pad of her finger as an appreciative thrum rumbles against the hand she has covering his Adam’s Apple. “You look so beautiful when you fuck me all desperate like that.”

Y/N whimpers as she swivels against his lap eagerly, driving herself towards a climax that she knows will leave her utterly ruined. Harry glances down to where their centers meet below the water, worrying his lower lip between his teeth as he peers through the violently sloshing waves and frothy suds, watching Y/N glide over him easily now that she’d gotten used to his size. He leans forward, slowly planting a trail of suckling kisses up the center of his friend’s tummy and over the valley of her chest, looking upwards through his long lashes and smiling lewdly into her flesh every time her walls squeeze at the action. She’s so snug around him, he’s convinced no one could ever fit him this well. 

His words come out as a raspy growl. “You’re such a tight little thing. Never get tired of that perfect cunt. S’like you were made to take me this deep.” 

Y/N collapses forward, her grip shooting up to trade his face with his drenched curls. She sponges her mouth messily over his, gasping onto his tongue as the motions of the water batter against her sensitive clit. Her brows cinch with hunger, tone pleading. “Touch me. Please? Want— Want your hands on me while I ride you.” 

Harry shakes his head tauntingly, licking across her top lip and teething at the crescent above it. “I don’t think so, angel. I like seeing you do all the work, for once. You look so good using me to get yourself off.” 

The girl fists at his hair almost cruelly, her sanity gradually slipping. “But I...I like it when you use me, too.” 

“Trust me, I’m well aware.” The vampire muses arrogantly, spreading his meaty thighs wider so that her strokes have a more profound impact. His position works as intended, seen in how Y/N slows for a second when she sinks down to the hilt, a breathy, “Fuck, that’s so deep.” scraping past the cracks of her gritted teeth. 

Harry bucks upward symbolically, signaling for her to regain her rhythm; one look at his dominantly smug expression has her abiding instantly. He lays his head against his bare shoulder, studying every clench of her belly and every heave of her breasts, etching this picture into his extensive list of memories. His voice flows out as thick and silky as molasses. “I just can’t get enough of watching you make yourself cum around my cock.” 

“I j-just want you to fuck me.” Y/N is nearly sobbing, her fingertips carving into his scalp as she kisses over his colored cheeks and tinged nose, trying to swindle him into giving her what she wants. “I’ll do anything you want. Promise.” 

“Always so willing, aren’t you?” Harry chuckles darkly, groaning lightly when she suddenly tenses around his length. He can feel his nails breaking the skin of his palms as his fists contract. “You want me to make you scream, is that it? Want Daddy to pound you until you can’t stand anymore?”  

Hearing him refer to himself that way sends electricity coursing down her spine. “Want it so bad.” 

The creature reaches up with his index finger and brushes a sopping strand of hair out of Y/N’s face, tucking it behind her ear and tracing down her cheekbone admiringly. After a few seconds of thought, he appraises her with a decision, licking across his top teeth and pressing his tongue along the inside of his cheek teasingly. “Let’s make a deal, then. How about you get yourself right on the edge for me, and then I’ll flip you around and finish you off. Sound fair?” 

Y/N doesn’t need to be told twice. She regains her previous stride with more fervor and speed, hellbent on pushing herself to the seam of climax so she can let Harry take the reins. The young man watches her with sinful intent tainting the emerald of his irises, the golden smudges around his pupils glinting blood red for a single heartbeat. He decides he’ll lend his expertise just once, extending his arm and fiddling with the settings on the control panel of the hot tub, preparing a surprise he knows his guest will thoroughly enjoy. 

When the jets suddenly rumble to life, Y/N’s jumps in shock, the loud sound startling her clouded brain. But then two concentrated streams of water hit her right between her legs and she nearly faints as newfound bliss erupts through every fiber of her being. The insistent spray toys with her clit in a fashion that is indescribable, revving her closer to release as the overwhelming sensation pairs with the rapture Harry’s cock is hammering into her. She won’t last long, and he knows it. 

The monster eyes her reaction attentively, his forefinger lulling upwards across the water-proof screen of the controls, raising the intensity of the jets. The fragmented moan that betrays the human goes right to his core. He then slides his finger back down, reducing the powerful force to softer bursts. Y/N whines in protest against his mouth, begging him to set it higher like before. And Harry does, giving her exactly what she craves with one easy swoop. Y/N’s forehead falls against his jaw, her shallow breaths puffing down his collarbones and heating his icy skin. 

“Shit, that’s so—so— fuck!” 

Harry continues to play with the settings, teasing her with waves of strong geysers and gentle trickles. Soon enough, he’s perched behind her, her back sticky against his wet chest as she holds herself up on her knees against the marble seat, hands clamped around the metal railing that runs the circumference of the pool. The pole helps her brace his unforgiving pace, her entire body jerking forward with every ram of his hips as small hiccups of pleasure float across the fogged air of the bathroom. Harry takes the shell of her ear between his teeth, biting down with no remorse as Y/N pushes back to meet his adamant thrusts, his coral-lacquered digits sifting between her own around the polished metal. She gets a bleary glimpse of the cross tattoo inked onto his hand as she can’t help but snort softly at the irony. 

“Is something funny, love?” Harry’s deep baritone causes chills to wring down her arms. 

“Your cross tattoo,” Y/N chokes out, a soft grunt interrupting her sentence as the head of the boy’s prick nudges the pit of her abdomen, “it’s just so ironic.” 

It is ironic. Harry had gotten it for that sole purpose— to mock the fact that he was deceased. He didn’t get to have a tombstone, so this is the next best thing: a symbolic one, of sorts, sketched into his skin for the rest of his undead life. A bit morbid, but he quite fancies dark humor, given what he is. 

However, he knows Y/N finds it ironic for much different, much unholier reasons. 

“You wanna know what’s really ironic?” Harry quips, bottoming out harshly and cooing into the back of her neck when the mortal’s shoulders give a spasm in response. His tone is a mocking whisper. “That such an innocent-looking thing like you loves the idea of being my shameless little whore.” 

Y/N’s cheeks boil at his explicit comment, a delicate whimper striking her vocal chords. One of Harry’s hands leaves its post on top of hers, tangling into her wet locks and giving her hair a ruthless yank. He guides her head into the nook between his shoulder and neck, spitting his next words out against the thundering pulse in her temple.

“You’re nothing but Daddy’s little filthy fucking slut. Isn’t that right, baby?” 

Y/N nods frantically in his authoritative grasp, struggling to swallow due to the combination of his unyielding tempo and erotic statements.  

Harry twists her hair around his knuckles, drawing a broken mewl from her raw lips as his teeth skim along the top of her cheekbone. “Words. Now.”

“Yes, Daddy.” 

“Say it.”

“I’m...I’m your filthy little slut.” 

Harry scoffs in entertained disbelief at how willing she is to submit to him, pecking a kiss to the corner of her eye and tasting a salty tear across his tongue. He redirects her head forward, grinning into the side of her scalp. “You should see the way you smile when you say it.” 

Y/N can’t help it. It just feels so right with him— she feels oddly safe, knowing that what they share is something neither of them will ever give to anyone else. Their arrangement is one of a kind; they fit each other so flawlessly, nobody could ever possibly come close. And she doesn’t want anyone to try— doesn’t want anyone attempting to replace him. Harry just fills the gap perfectly, and she wouldn’t dream of letting another man do what he does to her. Not when she has Harry near, willing to mumble as many graphic promises into her ear as she wants, all while he fucks a sweltering throb into the area between her thighs.

The human girl finds herself wishing this could last an eternity. Little does she know that if it wasn’t for her mortal ignorance and Harry’s better judgement, it very well could. 

///

Later in the day, Harry vaguely recalls how the week prior he had made a passing joke to Y/N about how her sexual drive matches that of a rabbit. What happens in the evening makes him stand by that comment. 

They order in Chinese for dinner, and Y/N insists on eating out on the balcony, wanting to get a perfect view of the sun setting over the city skyline. She has never experienced the phenomenon from such a pristine view. 

Harry allows it, but only after parenting her into putting on a jacket to avoid catching a cold, sending her back into the condo in search of one as he sets out their meal atop the multicolored glass table outside. Humans are so sensitive, and the last thing he needs is his booty call nearly dying from a case of the sniffles.

She comes back out clad in his patchwork cardigan, wrapping it around her body snugly as she sits with her legs crossed on the patio chair, fitting her box of takeout into the hole created by her thighs. The fluffy knitwork had been the first coat she had found hanging in his humongous closet, and she’d thrown it on without a second thought, too caught up in the excitement of getting to see such a picturesque sight in real life. It’s warm and smells of Harry’s vanilla tobacco cologne, along with hints of other scents, like his chamomile and mandarin shampoo and spiced deodorant. She’d been more than happy to inhabit it.

Harry isn’t sure why, but seeing her sitting across from him on his balcony in a pair of his maroon plaid Calvin Klein boxers, his Keith Harrington Safe Sex t-shirt, and blanketed within his oversized rainbow cardigan, all while her hair falls across her face and tickles her jaw… It makes a fond smile buckle his cheeks, though he manages to tame it quickly. 

They chat casually as they eat, sharing silly stories and experiences as they pick at their stir-fry, taking periodic sips of the cranberry juice Harry keeps stocked in his fridge. He doesn’t know the science behind it— though he highly doubts there’s any valid scientific explanation behind the magic that runs through his supernatural veins— but he’s come to find that cranberries help curb his cravings. It’s why he always has a liter on hand. 

Y/N informs Harry on how her work week had gone, and about how one of her friends back home had gotten engaged recently. She says it all seems so surreal and that she doubts the girl will actually go through with it, which makes the monster burst into laughter, much to her confusion. Harry thinks that this is probably the first time he’s ever seen Y/N be so blatantly pessimistic; it’s strangely comical. Just hearing her opinion on the situation is enough to send anyone into a cackle fit, especially when she says it with such a straight face. “Yeah, I just don’t think she’ll do it. She says she loves him, but she always used to complain about his foot fetish, and I’m pretty sure she’d go insane if she had to put up with that for the rest of her life.” 

Harry wards off another bundle of giggles, pursing his twitching lips and bobbing his head once in understanding, using his chopsticks to pop a piece of fried duck into his mouth. “That’s a valid reason to abandon anyone at the altar, if I’ve ever seen one.” 

“I know, right? She told me he likes sucking whipped cream off her toes and, like, not to kinkshame, because I obviously have my own weird shit going on—”

“Yeah, I can attest to that.” Harry shrugs his eyebrows suggestively, picking a small chunk of broccoli off his utensil and smirking as he chews slowly. “Decently weird, actually.”

Y/N gifts him a deadpan expression, shoving a piece of veggie dumpling into her mouth and choosing to ignore his dig. “Anyways, I feel like that one is just on a whole other level. Like...what the fuck?”

Harry shares an anecdote about his own friends, as well, feeling that if he doesn’t open up at least a smidge, she'll start becoming suspicious. He recounts the time when he and Mitch had snuck into a Fleetwood Mac concert and met Stevie Nicks, though he’s careful enough not to tell her the date the event had occurred. He just lets her deduce it was one of their more recent tours, when in reality, it had been back in the eighties. The other detail Harry leaves off is the fact that he had tried to seduce Stevie, emphasis being on “tried.” It hadn’t stuck, unfortunately, and what had made the experience even more mortifying is that his idol had taken an interest in Mitch instead. Harry’s ego has yet to recover from that blow; first, because Mitch had the sheer gall to reject the celebrity on the grounds that he wasn’t looking to get involved in any public scandals, and secondly because his best friend refuses to ever let him live it down. “Hey, remember when we met Stevie Nicks and she wanted to fuck me instead of you? Good times, man.”

When the sun finally begins to dip over the horizon, their conversation dies off, replaced by the serene sounds of distant traffic and a light wind picking up as the temperature begins to drop for the night. Y/N stares at the sky in childish wonder as the bright blue starts to darken, streaking with mellow oranges, pastel purples, and buttery yellows, the colors painting across the clouds and giving the bustling city a timeless quality that can only be truly appreciated firsthand. A small, dreamy smile spreads across Y/N’s lips as the gorgeous canvas reflects off the glossy surface of her irises, her legs drawn up to her chest with her arms hugging her knees. She gazes wistfully over the place she has now grown to call home, taking in all it has to offer for the first time in two months, feeling oddly at ease despite the fact that she usually feels lonely wandering its streets. 

The mixture of drunken hues casts a hazy glow across her skin and hair, dim stars beginning to twinkle in space as the moon makes its debut. Y/N delights herself with watching the scene unfold, surveying the endless stretch of sky and soaking in its natural beauty. And as Y/N stares across Los Angeles during one of its most breath-taking moments, Harry finds himself staring at her instead. 

Once darkness has soaked across the skyscrapers and roads of California for the night, Y/N and Harry turn in, as well. They end up splayed across Harry’s leather couch, entertaining a new episode of Sugar Rush on the ninety-inch flat screen mounted on his glass wall; it’s simply in order to take up the last couple of hours left before bed. By some inexplicable miracle, the vampire had managed to actually fall asleep last night after he and his visitor had finished their regularly scheduled activities. He doubts he’ll be that lucky tonight, but he has no choice but to play the part for the sake of keeping up appearances. 

Maybe if the universe is feeling exceptionally generous, the human will fall asleep while they’re watching TV and Harry can just carry her up to his room without having to put on an act. It’s a favorable alternative to having to fake sleep until she gives into fatigue; lying awake with his eyes closed for an hour would make him feel as stupid as Niall’s golfing addiction. 

However, it appears that for the time being, Y/N has other plans to bring forward some tried and true exhaustion.

There’s nothing particularly sexual about the fashion in which their bodies are pressed together at the moment, given that it’s a pretty innocent snuggling position. Harry is slumped against the backrest of the sofa with his feet propped on his coffee table, comfy in a pair of black jogging shorts and a vintage Rolling Stones tee. Y/N is nestled into his torso beside him, her head burrowed into his chest with his arm slung nonchalantly across her shoulders and down her back, legs intertwined with his. She had done it out of instinct and Harry doesn’t really have an issue with the gesture; she’s warm and soft and the soothing action of her socked foot running up and down his calf helps him unwind from the day’s events. He likes this, he decides. She smells like him— with her usual scent of honey and lavender permeating through— and she’s decked out in his clothes, aimlessly doodling figures onto his tummy as they enjoy the baking show in comfortable silence. It’s strangely mellow. 

Y/N is the one who instigates, as usual. Humans are so horny, it’s ridiculous. But he benefits from this specific mortal’s libido, so he’s not complaining. 

It starts with her drifting upwards from where she’d been tracing over his butterfly tattoo, her warm fingers stroking over the prominent structure of his clavicle, her eyes flickering up to gauge his reaction. Harry doesn’t move an inch, face maintaining a curtain of calm indifference. He figures she’s just extra touchy, as she normally is. Then the pads of her digits skim across the side of his throat and an impulsive flare of panic pricks the back of his skull, but it quickly dissolves, as it tends to do now around her. She’s the only person in the last two centuries who has managed to touch him there without inciting a rampage. 

Y/N coasts across the nape of his neck, twirling a baby curl around her forefinger distractedly, giving it a small tug in the manner she knows he likes. Harry’s body tightens for a split second and she bites into her lower lip to muffle a mischievous grin. She stretches up, dusting a lingering peck to the curve right behind his ear, running her nose across the shell tenderly. The vampire shifts slightly in his seat, the feathery sensation beginning to weigh at the pit of his stomach. She’s teasing him, and it’s working. 

The mortal flushes her puckered mouth fully to the side of his jugular, rubbing the ridges of her skin over one of the veins chiseling into existence, right over the area where a heartbeat used to lie. Harry’s hand balls into a fist against the dip of her spine, itching to grip onto something to keep his cool. Preferably, her throat. 

When Y/N finally speaks, the hot breath of her words makes his cock twitch against his thigh. “Wanna kiss a bit?” 

Harry cranes his head to look at her, eyebrows jumping up in amusement. “You wanna make-out? What are we, fourteen?”

The girl gives him an impassive pout and glances indicatively towards the armrest of the couch, where they had sat the evening prior while admiring his art wall. “You didn’t have a problem with it last night.” 

Harry presses his lips together into a playful simper. She makes a valid point. “Well, I was horny last night. Wasn’t in my right mind.” 

Y/N rolls her eyes at his juvenile answer.

“And you’re not now?” She prods softly, her gaze slinking down to his spread thighs, almost as if to check if he’s hard. Harry snorts as her action and she bats her lashes up at him with fake innocence, muscling down the sly smirk threatening to emerge across her face. 

“Not really, but maybe I could be…” The creature glimpses at her colored mouth for a heartbeat, reaching a hand up and pushing his air-dried ringlets back from his forehead, lips twitching coyly. “Persuaded.”

Y/N leans forward, buttoning their mouths for a fleeting moment. She pulls back a tad, ghosting the crescent of her top lip over his to try and compel him. “Please?” 

“Mm,” Harry licks at the corner of his mouth, eyes half-lidded tauntingly, “I don’t think that was enough. Show some team spirit, will you?”

The girl gifts him another kiss, this one longer and more intense, a palm making its way to cup his jaw. “Please, H?” 

He’s begun to pant lightly, hand flattening across the small of her back as if to guide her somewhere. He blinks down at her smugly, gnawing into his cheek. “You’re not quite there. Maybe a little more.” 

It turns out one more kiss is enough to convince his metaphorical meter. Y/N ends up perched in his lap, both of his large hands groping at her ass as she clutches the back of his neck, their lips sewn together in a filthy kiss full of gentle whines and impatient tongues. It’s going pretty great, and Harry thinks that Y/N is probably one of the most fun people he’s ever had the pleasure of kissing. Her mouth is as sweet as the sugary scent she always dotes, she ebbs and flows to his movements seamlessly, and the enthusiasm she carries makes every nerve in his body fizzle. The noises she makes are incredibly satisfying, as well. All her needy mewls and delicate whimpers string right down to his groin. 

After a few minutes of dry humping and jesting bites placed on overzealous lips, Harry boosts himself up from his relaxed position, feet knocking off the coffee table as an arm snakes around her hips. He sits forward, extending his free hand and waving it around blindly, too occupied to willingly break their embrace. He refuses to pull away, especially when she’s gluing such dirty moans to the roof of his mouth. His palm swings across the air stubbornly until it finally slaps down against the marble surface he’d been searching for, his grip tightening around its rim for confirmation. He proceeds to scoot the counter forward, intent on laying Y/N out on top so he can get on his knees against his furry carpet, get his boxers down her velvety legs, and get his head bobbing between her quivering thighs. 

Harry’s plan is about to pan out ideally until a high-pitched shriek cuts through the tense ambiance of the room. 

Y/N cracks their kiss, gasping and heaving as her head whizzes from side to side, looking for the origin of the annoying trill that had interrupted their playtime. “What—What is that?”

The vampire glances over his back towards where the ruckus is stemming, the insistent chime grating his heightened ears. He spots the culprit immediately, releasing an irritated groan as a result: his phone. 

From his spot on the edge of the couch, Mitch’s contact picture blazes across the screen. Harry loves that photo of his best friend— the way his emotionless expression and skinny middle finger are directed towards the camera makes it a wonderful shot— but he really wishes he didn’t have to see it right now. He has other more pressing matters. Literal pressing matters, if the tent in his mesh shorts is any indication. 

“Just ignore it.” Harry murmurs, turning back to slam their lips together once again. Y/N obliges without a second thought, happily re-engaging her previous activity of smudging her cupid’s bow across her friend’s as he stretches her out across the table 

Ignoring it works the first time. And the second. But by the third call, Harry has no choice but to break away with an exasperated grunt, his brittle patience forcing him to handle the blaring ringtone. 

He slides his thumb across the screen roughly, bringing it to his ear as he slumps back into the couch cushions, holding up a finger towards Y/N apologetically and mouthing a quick, “It’ll be just a second.”

His guest nods in understanding, letting her head fall back against the cold marble and distracting herself by counting all of the lightbulbs situated at the peaks of the chandeliers above. 

Harry turns his focus to the person on the other end of the phone line, voice snipped with aggravated anger. “What?!”

“Whoa, okay… That’s no way to talk to the elderly. Take it down a notch, Grumpy. Didn’t Snow White teach you any manners?”

The monster takes a deep breath to keep his rage in check, gritting out his words through bared teeth. “I’m fucking busy right now. What do you want?”

“Oh, well, I’m so sorry to be a bother, My Lord. I just wanted to check up on you and make sure you have all your stuff packed for tomorrow. Y’know, like the good friend I am.”

Harry blinks blankly, all indignation flooding out of his system, replaced by utter confusion. “You wanted to check if I’m...? For what? Why would I need to pack?”

There’s a pause on Mitch’s end, as if the man is waiting for Harry to come to the conclusion himself, static filling the speaker. When it’s obvious the younger vampire is clueless, his best friend elaborates slowly. “For the trip. The Vegas trip. The one we take every year around the same time. The one that we all agreed we’d roadtrip in your car tomorrow.”

Harry’s eyes widen in realization, his entire face paling. Fuck.

“The trip.” He mumbles, the fingers of his free hand coming up to rub at his temples worriedly as his mistake dawns on him. “God, I completely forgot about it.” 

“You can’t be serious.” Mitch deadpans, a long sigh following his comment. “Harry, you’re the one that booked the hotel this time. How could you possibly forget?”

“I…” Harry glances over at Y/N as guilt weighs into his demeanor. The girl meets his gaze, smiling sweetly and waving, completely unaware of the horrific ordeal he’s gotten himself into by inviting her over. “I got caught up with something.” 

A humorless snort crackles through the stereo of his phone, Mitch’s voice tinged with irked disbelief. “Yeah, that’s what you’ve been saying for the last four weeks now every time you bail on us. I just figured you’d get your head out of your ass for this one, but I suppose I spoke too soon.”

Harry drags his palm down his face, gripping his chin in thought. “I’m sorry. Genuinely. I didn’t mean to let it slip, I’ve just been so occupied during the last couple of weekends that—”

“That you forgot about our yearly trip. How nice. Just perfect.”

“Mitch, I know I fucked up, alright? But what if—”

The immortal’s solution gets cut short when out of his peripheral vision, he sees Y/N climb off the coffee table and onto the carpet below. Harry’s words lodge in his throat as he watches the girl crawl on all fours across the ground towards him, a cheeky smile ticking the corners of her lips as her irises glimmer schemingly. Shit.

“‘What if’ what?”

“What if...Uhm…” Harry finds himself struggling to keep his end of the conversation going, the reason being that Y/N has now reached the edge of the sofa where he resides. She sits back onto her heels, walking her fingers teasingly across his knees and grasping them with her palms, parting them open widely. “I…”

“For fuck’s sake, H, what are you trying to say?” Mitch snaps; even through the distance, he can feel its bite. 

Y/N nuzzles herself between Harry’s opened legs, a hand riding up one of his thick thigh as she sponges wet kisses to his kneecap, grinning into his skin when her fingers duck under the material of his shorts. His cadence comes out strained with the effort of keeping up an unfazed front. “What if I— what if we switch the reservations?” 

“How do you mean?”

The human’s fingers travel up the length of his inner thigh, sneaking below his cotton briefs and giving the tip of his semi-hard cock a gentle caress. Harry writhes in his seat, watching with bated breath as Y/N draws her forearm back out from beneath his clothes, her middle finger covered in a bead of precum— a result of all the grinding they’d done while kissing. She locks eyes with him and pushes the digit past her swollen lips, sucking off the small droplet while her lashes flutter in pleasure. She moans softly, his familiar saltiness always so welcomed. Her next whisper is sultry and needy. “You taste so fucking good.” 

Harry swallows down a groan and his voice suffers the consequences, coming out shaky and high. “Like...Like what if we switch out the n-names. I could call the hotel and put the rooms under your info instead.”

Mitch is quiet for a second, mulling over his friend’s offer. The instance is long enough for Harry to reach forward and snatch Y/N’s wrist, giving it a dominant squeeze as a scolding grimace dips the ends of his lips and furrows his brows. He mouths his words slowly with an ominous hue, making sure she interprets the message. “That’s enough.”

Y/N twists herself free of his hold, eyes gleaming in challenge. She talks softly as to not be heard through the phone, but she might as well be screaming thanks to Harry’s supernatural hearing abilities. “I don’t think so.” 

“Are you really not going, then?”

The gentle tone of Mitch’s question snaps Harry back into reality. He feels bad for flaking on his crew, but he doesn’t really have a choice at this point. Y/N is already here per his request, and kicking her out would be extremely dickish, even by his standards. “I’m booked the rest of the weekend, mate. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

Y/N proceeds to grab onto the elastic band of Harry’s shorts, pulling the front down to expose the clothed bulge that lies beneath. A soiled patch has formed over the material of his underwear, and he can see her irises twinkle in satisfaction, which causes the faint burning in his veins to intensify. The girl palms him through the fabric, preening at the low, tight grunt that escapes Harry’s flexing throat. A shiver pin-balls down his spine and he tries to grab at her forearm to wrench it away from between his legs, but Y/N is determined to work him into a mess, simply groping him more intently and giggling lightly when his hips thrash in response. 

“Alright, I guess that settles it. I’ll just tell the group we’re taking Niall’s car instead, and that Adam and I will take turns driving. Just get the lodging handled, will you?”

“‘Course, I got it, don’t worry.” Harry chokes out, reaching a hand towards Y/N’s hair in a desperate attempt to get a hold of her, but she ducks to evade him. She tugs down his final layer of protection, her mouth immediately finding its way to his large cock and giving it one long lap from base to tip, staring up at him mockingly from beneath heavy lashes. She grasps it in both of her palms, gifting it a few quick pumps and spitting over the head sloppily, rubbing the slit across her bottom lip as she quirks her brows at him in a dare. 

The vampire fails to ward off the fracture in his composure this time. “Christ, you’re such a fucking sl—” 

He stops himself before he finishes the graphic statement, remembering that everything he says is being directly broadcast to someone else on the other end of his phone. Someone who’s oblivious to the filth currently taking place on Harry’s side of the call. “I’m on it, yeah? I’ll talk to you later.” 

“Wait.”

Harry is at the verge of tearing his hair out, his tone teetering at the cusp of sanity. “Yeah?”

“Would you mind telling me why you’re not going? I feel like everyone at least deserves an explanation, especially since you’re dipping on the plans literally the day before.”

The young man quickly clears his throat, forcing himself to keep control as he watches the mortal stick her entire tongue out to run his cock up and down its expanse. “I’ll—I’ll explain when you come back.” 

The textured surface sends zaps of lightning surging through every crevice of Harry’s body, but he somehow enables restraint, as weak as it may be. He silently warns Y/N once again about her actions, carding his fingers into her hair and digging the pads into her scalp. “Stop.”

“Also, why are you breathing so hard? What are you even up to right now?”

The human ignores his command, blowing over the leaking hole of his prick and giving it a playful kiss.

“I’m— fuck— I’m...I’m on the treadmill.”

Mitch goes quiet for a heartbeat. “You don’t have a treadmill.” 

Y/N tosses her hair over her shoulder, leaning down to rest her cheek along Harry’s inner thigh, giving him the perfect angle to view what she’s about to do. She presses her head forward, slipping his entire cock down her throat and gagging when it hits a sensitive spot in the back, her nails raking down his twitching tummy. She keeps him there for an elongated moment, allowing her walls to tighten around his length just how he likes it, toying with his swollen balls and moaning quietly around his prick. He can feel the vibrations burrow into the marrow of his bones.

“I told you to stop.” He doesn’t even bother mouthing his words this time, mood dark and cautious. He can hear Mitch exclaim in confusion through his speaker, but it’s the last thing on his mind right now. 

Y/N’s watery eyes dance with a devious gleam as she grins around his girth, removing him just enough so she can breath properly, rubbing his bubbling tip along the inside of her silky cheek. Her phrase is muffled, but it’s clear enough to completely shatter him. “Make me, Daddy.”

Harry’s features harden. He’s done playing games. 

He directs his attention to the microphone, voice calm and collected to the point where it’s frightening, all the tension and instability crumbling to ash. His brows crease dangerously, accent thicker than she’s ever heard it. “I have to go.”

“Harry—”

“I’ll text you after I fix the booking.” 

The device beeps and the call ends, the phone falling face-down onto the couch.

The vampire roughly jerks Y/N back by her hair, sitting forward until their noses brush, his cold touch sending a prickling across her cheeks and ears. He addresses her with the same type of undisturbed patience he’d shown his friend, aura teeming with quiet power.

“Get up. Now.” 

Y/N ends up with her back pressed into the couch cushions, Harry suspended above her with his knees on either sides of her hips, his cock ramming down her throat harshly as he guides her head with his knuckles twisted into her roots. He’s thrusting forward to meet her mouth, the emerald around his pupils electric with a type of carnal dominance that makes heat pour into her belly. She’s gazing up at him with water streaming freely out of her eyes and spit dripping down her chin, her hands fisting at the leather of the sofa as he fucks her face unrelentingly. 

“You think that little stunt was cute? You think teasing me like that was fun?” He growls as he peers down at her, ramming past her raw lips with no remorse, swimming in the damp choking sounds that bounce back from the furniture in the room. “Open wider. Wider.”

She obeys. 

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To have me down your throat while you gag around it until you can barely breath? To choke on it while you take that heavy load and swallow every drop?”

Y/N bobs her head feverishly, unable to form any coherent sentences due to his violent pace. 

The grip Harry has on the crown of her head tightens, his other hand cupping the back of her skull to push her deeper down his shaft, her nose smearing over his happy trail as his heavy balls bump against her slobbery chin. “Take that fucking cock, then. Take every inch like the filthy fucking brat you are.”

Y/N’s blurry eyes lull shut, the edges of her stinging mouth curving upwards as he hits every single one of her desires with a skill only he possesses. She doesn’t know why— or if it’s even healthy, at this point— but she’s never felt more pleasure than when she’s at Harry’s disposal. She just loves seeing him come undone for her. 

“God, you like that, don’t you? Like being my little plaything?” The grin dimpling Harry’s cheeks is so utterly erotic and sinful, Y/N feels like she’s damning her soul just by glimpsing at it. He delicately thumbs tears off her cheekbones, contradicting his other much less tame motions. “Baby just wants to feel Daddy cum down her throat, doesn’t she?”

Stars begin spotting the girl’s vision, her mind vignetting as a fulfilling ache settles into her jugular. She nods her head drunkenly, coughing dryly as her lungs rattle with shallow inhales. 

Harry gives an exceptionally hard stroke, holding her in place and feeling her constrict around him, her nails digging into the aged leather of his sofa. He takes a pause, broad chest heaving as his head falls back to hang between his shoulder blades, the golden light of his chandeliers reflecting off the red shade inking his irises. His climax begins to tip into his blood. “Say it. Be a good girl and say, ‘please cum for me, Daddy.’”

Y/N’s voice floats out raspy and trembling as she ogles up at the monster wishfully, her ability to speak absolutely frayed from the exertion she’s been put through. Her sentence is barely comprehensible given her full mouth, but watching her try is what gets Harry off. “P-Please cum for me, Daddy.”

Thick ribbons of warmth suddenly erupt down her throat, coaxing a series of garbled moans to pour from Harry’s chest. His whole body tightens as an orgasm floods his system, the muscles of his back drawing taut, his defined biceps jolting, and his lean abdomen clenching in ecstasy. His fern tattoos ripple over his tanned skin as he gives a few more deep strokes for good measure, milking himself to completion and drinking up the tiny noises of sensitivity Y/N makes. He finishes dishing the punishment she’d earned, delivering burst after burst of cum just as he’d promised, feeling her flex around his slick cock as she eagerly swallows every spurt. 

“Every last bit, baby. All of it. Christ, that’s my fucking girl. ”

The boy cranes his neck forward again, taking in her disheveled appearance and humming in needy appreciation. Her hair is a disaster from all of his tugging, her eyes are puffy and red, and her lips are flushed and plump. There’s trails of dried tears tracing her cheeks and across her jaw, the collar of her borrowed shirt is soggy with spit, and he can just barely make out the damp patch she’s stained into his boxers along the insides of her thighs. She’s fiddling with her fingers across her lap, continuously shifting around in her seat and clamping her legs together, and Harry comes to the realization that she’s trying to ride the seam of his briefs in order to get a spoonful of relief. 

In his sexually demented opinion, she’s looks like a proper angel.

Harry gradually withdraws himself from her mouth, watching with empty content as she sputters into a coughing fit and gulps down air as if she hasn’t had it for weeks. She wipes at the lower half of her face messily with the back of her hand, staring up at him all moony and soft, feeling her cheeks boil at his conceited simper. The vampire carefully tucks his drenched prick back into his clothes, crouching down to her level and lilting his head to the side, tucking a strand of tangled hair behind her heated ear. The pads of his digits streak down the front of her neck and perch at the hollow between her collarbones, her pulse thundering beneath her sweaty flesh. He taps at the center of her throat for significance, tone fond and almost caring. “Is it sore?”

Y/N struggles to get saliva down, rattling her head in agreement since her vocal chords are refusing to work. 

Harry folds the hem of his tee over his fingers, reaching forward to help clean up anything leftover across her chin and jaw. Y/N eyes him with a form of detached admiration, enamored with the way he tends to her so gently now that the session has come to a close. 

“You like it, though, right?” 

The young woman doesn’t even try to mask the fact that she indeed does, nodding her head once again. 

“That’s good to hear, pet.” Harry drops his shirt back over his belly, giving her a chaste peck to the nose. Despite the ever-present coldness of his touch, the action sparks a warm glow that surges from the tips of her ears to the heels of her feet. “Want to make sure I wasn’t being too rough.” 

He stands up onto his knees, dismounting the sofa and combing a few rouge curls out of his eyes, nudging at her socked foot jestingly with his. Y/N kicks him in return as she busies herself with combing out the knots from her mussed locks, attempting to distract herself from the gnawing running along the inside of her stomach. She needs to get it sedated, but she’s too timid to ask the vampire outright, which she knows is ironic given what they’d just done. 

Harry sits down along the marble counter of the coffee table with his forearms propped along his knees, toying with his lionhead daylight ring (it’s the only one he wears at home, out of necessity) as he watches her tend to the mess he’d created. He smiles to himself in satisfied amusement— she always looks so pretty freshly face-fucked. 

The monster then notices how the human is still rubbing her thighs together, reminding him that she had been left unattended. He decides that he should do what any gentleman would and provide assistance to the issue; it’s only fair, according to the unspoken laws of their little mutual arrangement. He hooks his fingers along the rim of the table beneath him, dragging it forward until his knees meet the edge of the couch, knocking hers open slightly. He leans back onto his palms as she gives him a curious glance, the olive tone around his pupils glittering with hunger while his fingers tap knowingly along the surface below. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Harry’s eyebrows kink upward. “Can’t a man look in his own home?”

“Of course he can, but just not at me. Staring’s rude. Especially when I’m covered in spit and bodily fluids.”

The boy gives an exaggerated pout, pairing it with a set of puppy dog eyes and a honeyed drawl. “But you look so cute covered in my bodily fluids.”

Y/N stares at him flatly. “Wow. I’m so flattered. I’ll file that compliment right under the one where you said I look adorable with jizz all over my eyelashes.” 

“Well, you do! And that was a great compliment, if you think about it. It’s unique and creative— very avant-garde of me.”

“You need brain cells in order to be avant-garde.”

“Just shut up and get on your hands and knees.” 

///

Harry drinks from Y/N that night. 

He knows Mitch would scold him for it, considering the quota for draft beverages from mortal taps is strictly once a week, per his orders. But the creature just can’t help himself. She smells so sweet, and her neck looks so tempting when her head is turned to the side in sleep; even in the dark, he can see her veins pumping beneath the taut skin. He justifies it by telling himself that any vampire would give into weakness if they were in his place, and it’s not like he’s some uncultured, unhinged newborn who lacks basic control. He’s spent decades refining his impulses and taming his animalistic instincts to the point where he can walk through a butcher shop and not even bat an eye. He’s more than capable of double-dipping without threatening her life. 

However, Harry will admit that he does make some embarrassing sounds while he’s fang-deep in her carotid artery. He can’t be expected to withhold them, especially not with how good she tastes. Y/N’s blood reminds him of so many things that he can’t ever quite place its flavor. Sometimes it reminds him of green grapes and champagne, and others it dawns on him in the form of peaches and cream. There’s instances where she doesn’t even fall into the usual spectrum of taste, but rather reminds him of sensations instead of tangible objects. Sometimes she tastes the way the first breath of spring feels— light and soothing, with hints of fresh florals and dewy mornings. Other times, she tastes like strawberries on a summer evening— warm, tangy, and nostalgic. At the risk of sounding like a brain-dead junky, drinking from Y/N is a magical experience that he wishes could last forever; Harry has never found it more difficult to pull back from someone’s throat than when he has to recede from hers. 

After the immortal has had his fill, he pricks his finger along one of his fangs and smears a drop of his blood onto Y/N’s tongue, watching the two gaping holes on her neck heal instantaneously and leave behind a faint bruise that will likely be gone by morning. He spends the rest of the night twirling stands of her hair around his fingers and counting her heartbeats, vaguely wondering what it feels like to have one. It’s been so long since he’s carried a pulse, he’s forgotten what it’s like to have it thumping in his chest. All he has left is a phantom organ and not a day goes by where he doesn’t miss its steady rhythm. 

The second the first beam of sunlight filters in through the crack in Harry’s window shades, he’s up on his feet pacing around the kitchen, going through his daily morning routine of preparing breakfast with a lively soundtrack to keep him company. That is, until his actual companion awakens; then he happily replaces his playlist with her groggy voice and tired eyes. 

Harry has chosen to prepare parfaits as their first meal of the day, scooping vanilla yogurt into two marbled bowls and setting out an abundant array of toppings, smiling to himself at the way Y/N’s eyes light up the room. She fills her platter to the brim with blueberries, chunks of banana, diced peaches, and crushed walnuts, while Harry loads his with tons of raspberries, slices of mango, scoops of granola, and plenty of honey. He runs into some trouble halfway through squeezing out the last ingredient, proceeding to shake it vigorously to try and get rid of the clump blocking the spout. The bottle refuses to cooperate and Harry turns it towards his face to get a better look at the problem, winking one eye shut to focus better on the cap. He gives it another testing squeeze and much to his luck, the jammed portion squirts loose and he ends up with syrup dripping down his face. 

Y/N doesn’t even attempt to stifle her amusement, nearly choking on a spoonful of yogurt as laughter takes over her entire body. The vampire stands rigidly beside her, glaring at the teddy bear-shaped container with so much hatred, she thinks it might melt. When the human finally manages to tame her giggles, she reaches up and uses her index finger to collect honey right off Harry’s cheek, sticking the digit into her mouth and sucking it off with a loud pop. 

Her friend gives her a deadpan scowl, to which she simply shrugs her brows playfully while gifting him a bright grin. “Now you know what it feels to have a sticky liquid shot into your eye. Doesn’t feel too good, does it?”

“Fuck off.” 

“You look pretty, though. Does that make it better?”

“I will literally pour my yogurt onto your hair.”

“Karma’s a bitch, Winnie the Pooh.”

Harry ends up having to shower in order to successfully get rid of the gooey substance, though it’s hardly a hassle given that Y/N gladly joins him. It doesn’t turn too sexual, surprisingly enough. 

The duo stand under the shower panel covered in suds, steam floating around their naked bodies as water pelts down on top of them, matting hair to their necks and jaws. Harry doesn’t know why, but he likes the fact that they’re now comfortable enough to be nude around each other outside of their usual dynamic. It’s fulfilling, for some odd reason. 

The girl helps the creature scrub off the honey with some facial cleanser, rubbing at his flushed cheeks with her thumbs and fighting off an endeared giggle when he scrunches his nose in annoyance. His voice comes out as a childish whine. “That hurts.”

“Stop being such a baby.” She huffs, going in along his cheekbones and rolling her eyes when he grumbles. “Lean down.” 

Harry abides, ducking down so she can get a better angle, casually coasting his hands onto her hips to keep her from losing her footing to the slippery floor. Y/N leans forward onto the tips of her toes, squinting at him through the foggy air as she continues to wash off the syrup, wanting to make sure she isn’t missing a single spot. Harry watches her quietly with his sopping curls sticking to his forehead and along the nape of his neck, lips twitching fondly at how hellbent she is on getting the mess off. Her brows are creased in concentration and her tongue is peeking out of her mouth; he has to restrain the impulse to surge forward and kiss her. 

Once Y/N is satisfied with her work, she falls back onto her heels, washing any remnants away under the stream and pushing her drenched strands out of her face. “All done. Try not to do it again.” 

“I make no promises.” Harry tuts as he joins her beneath the water, bare chest a mere inch from hers as he quirks his brows coyly. “It got you naked, so I’ll probably do it again.”

“I won’t help next time.” 

“Then I’ll just rub my face against yours and get it all over you. Won’t have much of a choice, then.” 

“You’re a literal child.”

Y/N grabs the bottle of chamomile shampoo from the shelf carved into the polished stone wall of the shower, uncapping it and pouring a glob into the palm of her hand. She sets the container back down and beckons Harry forward with the forefinger of her free hand. The vampire drifts towards her once again and wraps his arms across the dip of her back, lightly swaying her from side to side as she begins working the shampoo into his roots, the pads of her fingers massaging his scalp in slow circles. The groan that betrays him is pitiful. 

Y/N pretends not to hear it, continuing to work a lather into his curls as the boy trails his fingers up and down the center of her spine, the feathery sensation causing her to shiver despite the hot temperature of the water. Harry leans down to nestle his face into the crook of his friend’s neck, laying his head along her shoulder and cradling her to his body as she combs her fingers through his locks. He can’t remember the last time he took a shower with someone just for the sake of it, with no ulterior motive other than to bask in each other’s presence. It’s nice. 

Harry begins sponging his lips across the curve of Y/N’s throat, feeling her tense momentarily before relaxing back into his grasp, the pads of her digits scratching at his scalp. 

“God, that feels so good.” Harry mumbles, tone so garbled in bliss, it’s barely understandable. 

The mortal slowly coaxes him back under the direct line of the shower, thoroughly rinsing the bubbles out of his hair and making sure to carefully wash any leftover shampoo out of his lashes. She then ties her arms around his broad shoulders, gently running her nails up and down the expanse of his muscular back, feeling the tendons unknot under her guidance. Y/N cranes her head to the side and flushes her lips to Harry’s temple, the pattering of the water camouflaging the fact that the area lacks a pulse. She sighs softly in innocent pleasure, the warm air sending a delightful bristling down the young man’s neck and drawing another drunken whimper from his lungs. This all feels therapeutic, almost. Neither had realized how much they missed domesticity until now. 

The human suddenly snorts humorously, talking against Harry’s waxy skin. “I’m surprised you haven’t tried to make a move yet.” 

Harry rattles his head sleepily, the ridges of his mouth tickling her jugular as he does so. His voice is distant and tender, but his words send a pang of electricity to her core. “I’ll fuck you afterwards. Just wanna enjoy this right now.” 

Y/N lets her eyes lull shut, allowing the sheets of hot water to numb her mind the same way it had his, a certain type of mellowness soaking into her bones. Her tone comes out as soothed and detached as her lover’s, all her attention funneled into how incredible his hard body feels pressed to hers in such an intimate fashion, his strong arms clinging to her like a lifeline. “I’m not complaining.”

Even in his distracted state, Harry still somehow manages to wriggle in a smug quip. “Of course you’re not. I give you nothing to complain about.”

“Dickhead.”

Y/N gives his ringlets a spiteful tug, which he responds to with an airy chuckle and a cheeky smack across her ass. The girl jumps slightly with a small gasp and a handful of select curses, which only causes him to cackle even further. “You love that shit, don’t you?”

“Go back to keeping your mouth shut.” 

“Mm. S’what I thought.” 

Harry keeps his sensual promise, as he always does. 

As soon as they exit the shower, he immediately wanders into the bedroom, the only towel in his possession being the one he’s using to shake out his damp curls. Y/N dries off her body patiently as she stands in front of the clouded mirror, rubbing the linen over her softened skin. She handles her hair second, patting and scrunching the water out as she thinks on what Harry could possibly be doing that is taking him so long. She doubts he’s getting dressed, if his earlier intentions are any indication, and he seemed like he had a plan in motion when he’d walked out, so there must be a method to his prolonged absence. 

When the monster pads back into the bathroom, he is just as bare as when he’d left, the towel he’d used on his locks crumpled in his large hands. He chucks it into the linen hamper beside the jacuzzi, sauntering up behind Y/N and she has to force herself not to use the mirror to ogle below his waist. She folds her towel neatly onto the counter, reaching forward and wiping the last bit of condensation off the glass so she can get a proper view of Harry’s face. Maybe it’ll help her deduce what he’s plotting. 

The boy presses up against her backside, pushing her forward until her hips are wedged between his torso and the edge of the bathroom counter, moving all her stringy hair onto one shoulder with the back of his hand. Harry locks eyes with her through the mirror, speckling a few sloppy kisses along the back of her neck and grinning into her flesh when a shiver coils down her spine. He looks so fucking good with his damp ringlets glued along his sharp jaw, his jade eyes glossy with lascivious intentions, and his cheeks and chest still colored from the hot water, tattoos looking as alluring as ever. He nuzzles the tip of his nose across the shell of her ear, taking the lobe between his teeth and tugging teasingly, the warm air of his low, dominant tone causing her flinch in anticipation. 

“Arms behind your back.” 

Y/N obeys without a hitch, bringing her hands together atop the alcove at the bottom of her spine. She feels the unmistakable sensation of cold metal looping around her wrists, tightening with soft clicks and pinching at her skin. The cuffs sift into the designated setting and Harry gives them a quick yank to check for security, tying the excess chain link around his knuckles and pulling down harshly. Y/N’s body contorts to his influence, her arms straightening out as her back arches, chest swelling forward while her hips remain perched to the tabletop, held in place by his own. She can feel the head of his cock dab against the back of her thighs, his irises darkening as he surveys her bust with a type of barely-contained desire that sends heat flooding into her abdomen. 

Harry ducks his head further down to glue more kisses along the slope of her shoulder, nipping periodically and leaving behind a neat row of love bites that he’ll admire in detail later. The words he murmurs against her skin deliver a sweltering simmer in their wake. “Do you want it rough?” 

Y/N swallows thickly, nodding her head several times and whispering a bashful, “Yes.” 

“‘Yes’ what?”

The human licks at her lips tentatively, squeaking a tad when gives the metal hoops an expectant tug, urging a reply. “Yes, sir.” 

Harry’s lashes flutter shut for a second, the corners of his lips twitching in arrogant satisfaction. “You’ve got the filthiest tongue, but you know how to make it say the sweetest things, don’t you, baby?”

“Only for you.”  

“No one else?”

“No one else.”

The vampire’s eyes open slowly, head tilting to the side to assess her with sly amusement. “You wanna know how I can tell that’s the truth?” 

Y/N’s joints are starting to ache due to the position he’s fixed her in, but she doesn’t mind the burn. It feeds into the appeal. “H-How?”

Harry leans forward, brushing his wet lips up her jaw, the tip of his cock spreading her open just a smidge. “Because every time I fuck you, you’re always so bloody tight. Means I’m the only one stretching out that snug little cunt.”

A broken whine escapes Y/N’s sore throat— courtesy of what had occurred the night prior— and she squirms in the brunette’s grip, trying to shimmy her way further down his length. She’s anxious to feel him fill her. “Deeper.” 

“Pardon?”

“Go deeper. Want it all.” 

Harry raises an eyebrow in impressed curiosity. “You want it all in one go? Don’t want me to prep you first?” 

She shakes her head stubbornly, pushing back against him and succeeding in sinking an inch or so. Harry’s entire face hardens as she clenches around the head of his prick, attempting to ride down further to sedate her desperate need. He twists his fist tighter around the chain, his other hand coming up to grip her throat, forearm pressed between her breasts as he gets a decent hold to prepare for what’s to come.  

“If it gets to be too much,” Harry dabs a gentle kiss onto her cheek; it’s to communicate the importance of the message amidst the tense atmosphere, “you know to tell me, right?” 

“Mmhm.”

“Alright. Ready?”

“Always.”

Y/N nearly passes out. Even though she’s grown accustomed to Harry’s size and girth, it somehow never fails to shock her into a state of unexpected rapture. He just fits so well inside her— hits every nook and crevice like he was meant to touch every single one. That, combined with his unrelinquishing thrusts and sinful dirty talk...It’s enough to render anyone helpless. It’s certainly enough to have her shaking and screaming against his chest, and it’s definitely more than enough to drive her towards an orgasm that she knows will blow out her legs for at least the rest of the day. 

Harry fucks into her just how she’d requested— rough and vehement. He presses her bare back to his chest by using the hold he has around her throat, her head falling backwards onto his shoulder as he pounds into her belly from behind. His other hand is braided into the chain between the cuffs, controlling how her body seizes up and gives way. She’s standing on the tips of her toes, legs spread open as much as her weak knees will support, scraggly breaths stuttering from her nose and mouth as shattered noises of ecstasy decorate the space the fading steam has left behind. Her hips are ramming forward against the rim of the counter, the marble knocking against her pubic bone to the point where she knows bruises will develop later on. She doesn’t mind it; she loves seeing the memories Harry brands onto her, whether that be in the form of hickies across her thighs, fingerprints over her waist, or his rings fanned out across the swell of her ass. She’ll take anything he’s willing to give. 

The vampire is dismantling just as quickly as she is, obvious in the fractured growls and soft grunts he’s puffing against the side of her face. His pink-polished nails dig into her jugular, fingers twitching as her heartbeat hammers against his palm, sending vibration down his whole nervous system. His cock is slicking into her easily and it’s obvious the anticipation of what he had said during their bath had gotten to her; he can feel how wet she is with every stroke. It’s dripping down her quivering thighs and smearing all over his tiger head tattoo, damp slaps resonating from where her backside hits against his tinted pelvis. 

Harry stares down hazily at where he’s spreading her open, taking his bottom lip between his teeth as tiny mewls itch along the back of his raw throat, her own sounds playing across his ears with each buck of his thighs. They float through the heavy air like a lullaby and he can confidently say he’d listen to her moans forever, if time allowed. 

“I think it’s funny,” Harry starts with a comedic edge to his strained voice, mimicking the introduction Y/N had used the day before when they’d been in the jacuzzi, “that you’re always so willing to let me use you however I want. That you literally beg me to take you this hard. It’s almost pitiful, really, that you never had anyone fuck you right before I came along.”

The girl squirms in his arms, her hands flat against his abdomen, nails carving into his flesh. Her sentences come out cracked and almost pained. “I-I wish I’d met you sooner.” 

“Yeah, I bet you do.” Harry grits against the shell of her ear, smirking when she worries her lower lip beneath her top teeth, trying to keep a tab on what he knows is probably an embarrassingly loud keen. “I bet you wish you’d had me back home, huh? Spent all your time fucking around with those vanilla small-town boys, never had a real man treat you the way you wanted. Bet you didn’t even like those pricks, did you, darling?”

Y/N shakes her head vigorously in response. “They were so boring. You’re so much better.” 

She’s working his praise kink like a charm.

“Poor thing.” Harry scoffs sympathetically, running his grasp upwards until his thumb and forefinger rope around her jaw. He maneuvers her head into place, forcing her to look at herself in the mirror, hissing his words lowly. “Eyes up. See how pretty you look taking every last bit of that cock? And the way your tummy’s bulging? That’s how you know the sex is good— that’s how it’s supposed to look.”

Y/N gazes upon the image her friend is referring, her exhales hiccuping in her chest at the way an obvious bump rises in her belly every time he thrusts inside. Not only that, but Harry just looks incredible, as well, with his heavily inked arm flushed between her breasts, the art flexing to life as he yanks her down against his lap by her neck. She can see the sweat beading his hairline, his freshly-washed ringlets jumping to his movements as he groans into her scalp. 

Y/N’s lips part in a silent moan and the immortal takes this chance to shove his first two fingers into her mouth, weighing them against her tongue and instructing her with a clear, deep accent. “Suck.”

She does so obediently, her cheeks hollowing as she gasps around the digits, swiveling to match his tempo. Between her glistening body, the needy expression painted across her appearance as she conforms to his every demand, and the way her walls are clinging to him like a vice as she eagerly licks and suckles at him…

Harry loses it. 

“Fucking hell.” The monster unclamps the hand he has around her jugular and Y/N drops back down onto her heels, ankles quaking now that she has to carry her own weight. His palm finds refuge along the back of her skull instead, proceeding to shove her head down towards the counter, pulling at the cuffs to finagle her into a folded position. “Bend over.”

Y/N does as told, a small, “mm!” plucking at her vocal chords as Harry pushes her cheek down against the cold marble situated between his two sinks. He pins her head to the surface and she casts her attention upwards to try and get a peek of him through the glass. His eyes look unnaturally dark, though she can’t quite place the shade given her limited view. 

The vampire makes sure the chain link is secured around his knuckles, proceeding to use the toy to bounce Y/N against his cock. He yanks her towards his torso until she thunks wetly against his base, using his hips to push her forward harshly and pulling out until his tip is barely grazing her entrance. He repeats this action over and over, weak whimpers spilling shamelessly from his plump ruby lips as he keeps her face fastened down, maintaining some form of consistent stability. Every fiber of his being sparks with bliss as he watches her jerk against the counter, back caving forward and causing her naked chest to bulge against the stone panel. One of these days, she’s going to drive him mental. He swears it. 

“There’s a good girl, minx.” Harry’s head tips backwards, bobbing back and forth as his sticky chest heaves with the exertion of keeping him tethered to reality. “Take it just like that, yeah? God, you should see the way you’re so snug around me. Love that cock, don’t you? Say it. Tell me you love it.”

Y/N’s fingers curl into loose fists against the dip of her spine, nails digging into her palms. “I love your cock, Harry. I love it so much. Don’t stop, please don’t fucking— oh!” He prods over her g-spot and she shudders below him. “Shit, keep going! Right there, right there, right there— oh my God!”

“Right here? Is that what’s gonna make my dirty little whore cum?” Harry grinds his teeth, ignoring the rouge curls falling into his furrowed brows, jabbing the spongy area with continuous plunges. “More? Look at how you’re shaking, baby. And you’re just so fucking wet. Absolutely soaked and... and fuck, that’s my sweet girl.” 

The boy keeps delivering every plea she chokes out, his climax beginning to froth at the trench of his stomach and along the underside of his balls. A familiar glow starts to pour into his dormant veins. “I’m almost there, dove. Gonna fill you up until it runs down your thighs.”

“Y-You’re so good, I can’t fucking— I’m gonna—”

“Beg for it. Beg for Daddy, princess.” 

Y/N does so with no remorse, confessing to him how much she wants his load, telling him that she needs to feel him spill inside her all warm and thick and heavy. A dark, open-mouthed smirk adorns Harry’s features as he fucks a throbbing ache between her thighs, feeling his mind completely slip. He may be damned with eternal life, but in this instant, the immortal feels like he touches heaven. 

Then, that moment of pure euphoria is stripped away by the sound of his front door clicking open. 

Harry’s eyes snap awake, all his motions coming to an abrupt halt. He shushes a protesting Y/N quietly, tuning his heightened hearing to make sure he hadn’t imagined the sound. 

But no, it’s very much real. It’s followed by the noise of the lock clanking back into its hole, and then three pairs of footsteps begin echoing down the hallway that leads to his living room. He recognizes every single one and unhinged rage suddenly flares around his pupils, potent and bright red. If Y/N wasn’t in such a compromisable position, he wouldn’t have gotten away with that slip-up. 

“Christ, you’ve got to be fucking shitting me.”

Harry carefully withdraws himself from between the mortal’s legs, wincing a bit at the loss of suction and feeling a spoonful of guilt stem from the disappointed whine Y/N sobs. His swollen, leaking cock sways lightly as he takes a cautious step back, testing to see if he’s capable of moving without face-planting the ground. His mind is misty and he’s obviously drenched in the pungent scent of sex, but other than that, he reckons he can manage just fine. Especially with the newfound anger coursing through his nerves— a direct result of the unexpected trio of intruders chatting nonchalantly on the floor below. 

Harry stumbles towards the exit of the bathroom, knees wobbly and head spinning, an unsatisfied gnawing toiling in his groin. He needs to get that taken care of as soon as possible, but he can’t until he gets rid of the three morons milling around his foyer. He snatches his cherry blossom silk robe from the hook on the wall, wrapping it around himself tightly and making sure to cover all his assets to prevent any mishaps. 

He glances up at a pouting Y/N as he ties off the ribbon around his waist, walking back and helping her onto her unstable feet, cooing apologetically. “Just give me a minute, sweetheart. I heard some visitors come in downstairs ‘cause, apparently, they don’t understand the concept of privacy. This is the last time I’m trusting anyone with an extra key.”  

The girl leans back against one of the sinks, blinking up at him emptily as he thumbs over her chin in comfort. Her voice is hardly audible, raw with exhaustion. “How...How did you know they were here? I didn’t hear them come in...” 

Harry pauses for a moment, clearing his throat awkwardly and pecking her on the nose to insert a distraction. He throws some humor into the mix as well, wanting to steer the conversation to safe grounds, opting for using a bit of compulsion to get the job done. His pupils dilate as his sentences swim around her head in a soothing voice, heavy with persuasion. “I heard the door slam shut. I guess you were a little too busy screaming my name to notice.” 

Y/N’s pupils expand to match his, her face going slack as the supernatural magic sews into her thoughts and molds her perspective to his story. Her lashes flutter in mild confusion, brows cinching as her brain recalibrates itself. The creases in her forehead dissolve as all of her doubt melts away, the corners of her plump lips quirking at his snarky remark. “I guess so.” 

“Can’t blame you, though.” Harry taps at her bottom lip cheekily, shrugging his brows. “I was giving it to you pretty good.” 

“Stop being such an arrogant little shit.” Y/N rolls her foggy eyes, but she can’t hide the way her heartbeat spikes— not from him. Then, her face suddenly wracks with embarrassment, eyes shattering with humiliated realization. “Oh my God, that means they probably heard everything…”

Oh, they definitely heard everything, Harry thinks. They’ve got nothing better to do other than pry. 

He nurses her downcast face with his cold palm, one shoulder rising and falling casually to show it’s no big deal. “Don’t worry about it, hm? I’m gonna go kick them out, anyways, so you won’t have to deal with it.”

The pet name and his kind gesture eases her woes a bit, but not much. “Still. I’m never showing my face in public ever again.”

Now it’s the vampire’s turn to roll his eyes at her theatrics. “Just stay here, yeah? It’ll only take a second, and then…” Her friend gives her naked body a suggestive once-over, licking at the corner of his mouth. “Then we can finish what we started.” 

Y/N kicks at his ankle, jokingly chastising him for his wandering gaze as she fiddles with her fingers within the handcuffs. “Just go.”  

The moment Harry’s bare feet step off the last rung of his staircase, he begins spewing venom at the three imbeciles standing around at the mouth of his entrance corridor. 

“Are you fucking dense?” He stomps up towards the group of young men with balled fists and bristling irises, all his spite trained on Mitch. “I told you I was busy! That suggests that you should’ve stayed away for the weekend! It meant, ‘leave me alone,’ not ‘come to my flat unannounced.’”

“Yeah, we know you’re busy.” Niall boasts with a loud scoff, shaking his head as an afterthought. “I think the whole building knows, at this point.”

The Irish bloke grabs Xander, who catches onto what the man is doing and happily takes a part in the action. He bends over while Niall grasps onto his shoulders and begins to mimic thrusting, arching his back forward and shaking his ass. He sucks one of his fingers into his mouth, moaning profusely to add authenticity to their vulgar reenactment. “Oh, Harry! Right there, don’t stop!”

Niall drops his voice a few octaves for symbolism, putting on a shitty British accent as he bucks against Xander’s backside. “Yeah, baby, you like that? Like it right there? Tell me how much you love that cock.” 

Harry’s jaw clenches as he tries to ignore them, refusing to give rise to their taunting. The two boys break into a puddle of giggles at his expense, nudging each other triumphantly and eventually dying down. Harry isn’t normally the type of person to daydream about violence— why would anyone partake in something so barbaric when dismantling an enemy psychologically is so much better?— but he finds himself fantasizing about tearing Niall and Xander’s hands off and using them as ping-pong paddles. 

Mitch shifts his body towards his best friend, arms crossed loosely with an expression of sheer amusement painted across his bearded face, seeming undisturbed by Harry’s rampage and deadly grimace. “It’s nice to see you, too, H.” 

The younger vampire takes a measured inhale, swallowing down the urge to rip the older man’s mustache clean off. He directs his next sentence at all of them, glaring intently as his voice comes out flat and harsh. “Get out.”

Niall raises his palms in peaceful surrender, proceeding to use an index finger to signal hastily between his impromptu porno co-star and himself. “Don’t look at us, this was Mitch's idea. We just came along.” 

“None of you should have come at all.” Harry spits, tightening his lean arms over his chest, biceps rippling under the thin silk of his elegant robe. “What do you want?” 

A soft giggle suddenly bursts from Xander and he momentarily slaps his hand over his mouth to muddle it, but his eyes continue to dance with mirth. “Sorry, I just can’t take you seriously in that.” He juts his chin towards Harry’s pajamas. “I think my grandmother had one just like it.” 

“Yeah, I stole this from her place right after I pissed on her grave.” The brunette snaps with an exaggerated smile, feeling a flare of evil satisfaction at the way Xander’s grin immediately plops. Niall snorts loudly and tries to cover it up, but it fails and he is left having to brace the brunt of the other boy’s contempt. 

Harry turns back to face Mitch while the other two immortals bicker, now aware that he is the mastermind behind this entire coup. “What are you even doing here? Shouldn’t you have left for Vegas already?”

“Yeah, we should have.” He answers pointedly with a soft, dejected sigh. Harry has to keep himself from casting his gaze away in guilt. 

The annual trip had been a tradition he and Mitch had started in the nineties, just them two. As their group had expanded, so had the attendant list, and now it was something special their whole clique did together to put some extra excitement— something stable to look forward to— into the endless years they had ahead. No one had missed out on the trip in the last thirty years, especially not willingly, and no one ever thought Harry— the co-founder of the event— would be the one to break that streak. He can tell Mitch is upset. 

“I’m sorry.” Harry mumbles, squeezing at the inside of his elbows and putting as much genuine emotion into his demeanor as possible. “It just slipped my mind and I made another commitment that I can’t bail on. But it won’t happen again, I promise. Betsy swear.” 

Mitch’s downturned lips jolt slightly at the mention of his old bayonet. He had kept the weapon after the American Revolution had ended, as a tribute to the old life he was leaving behind after he transitioned, naming it fondly after his mother. With all of that history taken into appeal, it’s no wonder the item means a lot to him. That is exactly why the two best friends had developed a dynamic around it. 

They would tie an oath to the object in order to ensure it would be kept, and if the promise was broken, the other would get to stab the traitor with it. The game had been something Mitch and Harry had conjured up decades ago while under the influence of some very strong psychedelics, but it had stuck, for some reason. It’s simply a playful inside joke, and though it’s a tad gruesome, it’s hardly an issue considering they both self-heal quickly. Any damage inflicted is equivalent to that of a rubber band snapping against their skin, so in the end, no harm, no foul. At its core, it’s just a vampire’s version of a pinky swear, hence the term, “Betsy swear.” Harry had thought about getting it patented, at one point. 

The jade-eyed boy feels a weight lift off his shoulders as Mitch indulges one of his signature quiet chuckles. “Alright, fine. Betsy swear, then. The reason we’re here is ‘cause I wanted to check up on you before we left, and ‘cause I wanted to make sure you switched the reservation. You never got back to me about it.” 

“Oh, my bad. I got it done, though. Everything should check out.” Harry reassures, waving away his visitor’s doubt. He’d tended to the job last night after Y/N fell asleep and he meant to send a confirmation text, but forgot when the mortal had begun to stir randomly. He’d had to put away his phone and pretend to be unconscious for a few minutes until her agitation melted away, resulting in the deed going undone, courtesy of the mild panic that had dulled his memory. “Why didn’t you just text me about it?” 

Mitch gives him a deadpan look, pursing his lips to fight off an entertained grin. “Oh, I did. Multiple times, actually. But I reckon you were too busy with the treadmill to notice.” 

The older creature’s reference works as intended, an irritating flush crawling up Harry’s neck and pouring into his ears, garnering a fit of cackles on his companion’s behalf.

“Fuck off.” Harry grumbles as he shoves Mitch’s shoulder, but the insult is hard to take seriously when he’s wrestling a smirk of his own. 

“Is it the girl from the club?” The lanky man inquires curiously, tilting his head to the side with an impressed air. “It’s been, what, four weeks now? That’s a record, I think. You’ve never kept one around that long.” 

“What can I say, the sex is good.” Harry shrugs easily, tucking a couple of rebellious curls away from his eyes, which gleam crimson red as a supporting factor to his next comment. “And the blood is even better.”

Mitch rolls his irises playfully. “Alright, Casanova, pipe down.” He glances over his friend’s rumpled appearance, taking in the slightly damp skin, wild hair, and the plethora of faded hickies peeking through the boy’s robe, littering his chest and collarbones. “She’s got you on a tight leash, I see.” 

“It’s only fair, considering she spends most of that time in my handcuffs. Quid pro quo and all that.” Harry quips back, bursting into laughter when Mitch gags dramatically. 

“You know you could’ve just brought her along, right?” Mitch suggests, tucking his hands into his pockets. “We each have our own rooms, remember? No one would get in the way of your little late night jogs. Though I can’t say the same for the other hotel guests. She’s not necessarily subtle.” 

Harry presses his tongue along the inside of his cheek coyly. “It’s not my fault I’m good in bed. It’s a curse, really. Could never get away with dressing room sex.”

He contemplates Mitch's offer for a second. He thinks it could be a fun time, but then he recalls that the trip to Vegas is a week-long party, which Y/N can’t indulge because she works a regular nine-to-five. Plus, a human in a car full of vampires sounds like the introduction to an ominous joke. Something is bound to slip, especially because no one in the crew is used to having humans around outside of meal hours. He doesn’t want the responsibility of constantly having to wipe her brain. 

Aside from that, most of the vampires that mill around Vegas aren’t as cultured as Harry’s friends. They lack restraint, a conscience, and fear of consequences, given that the city’s crazy reputation provides the perfect cover for all those dangerous behaviors. That makes them deadly predators to someone as trusting and unsuspecting as Y/N, and having to continuously protect her would be too much of a hassle. It’s supposed to be a vacation; the last thing he needs is for it to turn into an episode of Shark Week. It’s best to stay put.

Harry shakes his head after a minute, clearing his throat. “But I think I’m good. Bringing along a human isn’t worth all the trouble she might cause. Thank you, though.” 

Mitch bobs his head in understanding, well aware of the problems Harry is alluding to. “You have a point.” He pauses for a second in thought, shaking his head at the idea of having to deal with the insanity that surrounds their Vegas siblings. “I guess I’ll just see you next week, then, yeah? Better get going.”

The younger vampire mirrors his nod, opening his arms for a hug, which Mitch gladly takes. He’s not one for affection, that much is clear, but he makes certain exceptions here and there, and of course his friends file under that category. And every now and then, Y/N does too. 

“See you next week.” He pulls away from the embrace with a hard pat to Mitch’s shoulder, smiling softly. “Send tons of pictures, okay? And videos of Niall getting shitfaced. I need new blackmail content.” 

“Will do.” Mitch squeezes his best friend’s shoulders tightly, beaming at him in return. He then cranes towards his two fellow guests, whistling to gain their attention from the passionate conversation they seem to be having about Harry’s robe. “Time to head out, Bonnie and Clyde.”

“Who’s who?” Niall questions childishly, raising an eyebrow. “Because I think I should be Clyde. Xander has Bonnie vibes.” 

“No I don’t!” 

“Yes, you do.” The Irish boy reasons, cocking his head knowingly. “You seem like the type who would cheat on a murderer with another criminal from the same jail. You’ve got a knack for drama, like most women.” 

Xander crosses his arms stubbornly. “No, I don’t.”

“You do, actually.” Harry butts in, eyes twinkling slyly as the group starts to wander towards the exit. He decides to get revenge for the teasing from earlier. “You moan just like one, too.”

Xander blushes bright red, diving into the shadow of the corridor to avoid any more ridicule. “I’m leaving.” 

“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out!” 

The other vampires laugh as they follow behind Harry’s ex-fling, waving their final goodbyes. As soon as the front door echoes shut, the immortal turns on his heel and heads back towards the glass stairs, beginning to undo the silk ribbon knotted around his hips. 

He’s got his own partner in crime to attend to. 

///

That night, Y/N and Harry end up bidding each other farewell in the corridor of his condo. 

That seems to be a common theme in their relationship, he’s come to find. It’s usually the entrance to her own apartment instead of his, but the motif is there, nonetheless: They always end up meeting in a hallway, every single time. 

“Thanks for having me over.” Y/N murmurs in her signature gentle dialect, smiling delicately as she skids the toe of her sneaker against the ground of the carpet outside his door, trying to keep the butterflies in her tummy tame. It was an incredible two days— maybe the best weekend she’s ever had, if she’s being honest. “I had a lot of fun.” 

Harry leans his bare shoulder against his threshold, clad in nothing but a pair of royal blue boxers and black ankle socks, freely showing off the collection of love bites and scratches Y/N had so kindly finished gifting him a few hours ago. She’d gone wild the second he’d unlocked the metal cuffs and he’s more than happy with the results.

The stains speckle his broad chest and the expanse of his taut neck, dark and obvious beneath the complex’s buttery lighting. Bruises trace down his stomach and across his ribs, a neat row of four hickies centered vertically between his two fern inkings. They disappear suggestively under the elastic band of his underwear and she can feel flashes of heat layer across her cheeks, her mind recalling all the filthy sounds he’d made when she had created them.

The human peels away from the artwork that is Harry’s marked torso, glancing around nervously at the fact that some stranger might see the fruit of their actions. The vampire’s lips twitch at her concern; it baffles him how she can be such a devil in between the sheets, but such a shy, reserved angel in every other aspect. It’s cute. 

Harry reaches forward and takes her warm fingers into his larger hand, thumbing over her knuckles appreciatively as his irises glitter smugly amidst his lashes, a smirk stringing his pillowy mouth. “We always have a lot of fun.” 

Y/N squeezes his palm playfully, gnawing into her cheek and humming in agreement. “That, we do.”

A moment of comfortable silence suspends the air between them, the only sound being the faint footsteps of people on the levels above and below, alongside the light skidding of the elevator as it delivers patrons to their destinations. Harry is the first to speak up again. 

“What was your favorite part?” 

Y/N blinks up at him blankly, slightly startled at the random question, but moreso at being put on the spot. 

“Oh, uh…” She laughs shakily, struggling to recall everything that had happened in the last forty-eight hours. There had been so much bare skin and desperate tongues involved, she can hardly pick through her memories without her ears prickling. “I think...I think the shower was my favorite. It was nice and relaxing. Helped me unwind.” 

Harry nods in recognition, turning through the pages in his mind and skimming through the instance she’s referring. “It was pretty nice, yeah. You look good in a soap beard.” 

Y/N scoffs at his joking compliment. “Thanks. I’ll grow it out more often. Just for you.” 

The young man reaches up and grips over his chest in fake passion, face contorted into a wistful expression. “That’s all I ask.” 

The pair break into childish giggles and the sensation of Harry rubbing across the top of her hand is starting to make her head fuzzy. “What about yours? What was your favorite?”

Harry mulls over his own topic for a few seconds, lips puckering in thought as his eyes narrow pensively. The comically adorable picture makes Y/N’s heart skip. 

“I think…” Harry lists his gaze downwards back onto his patiently-awaiting friend, lips spreading into his patented dazzling smile. “I think it was probably the Hamilton reenactment.” 

Y/N brows jump, mood slightly unconvinced. “Really?” 

The vampire nods confidently, his own eyebrows inching upwards, voice amused. “Why is that so hard to believe?”   

Y/N shrugs offhandedly, glimpsing down at where the ridges of his thumb are delivering soothing shots of bliss into her veins. “You’re just so...y’know...you… so I guess I just expected you’d have a preference for the more…” She chooses her next words carefully, not wanting to be so brazen with the risk of someone overhearing, “...intimate parts of the weekend.”

“Wow, okay. Just call me a whore to my face, then. That’s fine.” 

Y/N throws her free hand upwards in a fist, slugging Harry on the shoulder with appalled shock overtaking her features. His boyish chuckles echo off the walls of the building as she whips her head around to make sure no one had witnessed his dirty bluntness. “You know what I mean!” 

“Yeah.” He purposefully raises his voice, nearly shouting the following sentence just to get on her nerves. “You’re slut-shaming me!” 

Y/N surges forward, trying to clamp her hand over his mouth and save herself the embarrassment. “Harry, shut up!”

He easily fights her off, his supernatural strength beating hers tenfold. She ends up wrapped in his embrace, flushed against his hard chest as he sticks his tongue out at her mockingly. He drops his tone back down to normal, his two front teeth digging into his lower lip to keep more laughter from bubbling over. “That’s not nice. You should stop conforming to society’s outdated ‘sex is taboo’ narrative.”

“I wasn’t—” Y/N starts insistently, but then she realizes she’s become almost as loud as him so she forces her voice to taper into an alarmed hiss instead. “I wasn’t slut-shaming you! I was simply expressing—”

“You just see me as a toy, don’t you?” The creature cuts her off, lips dipping downwards into a glorified frown. He proceeds to bat his lashes and sniffle, packing as many theatrics as possible into his mopey act. “I have feelings, y’know? My big dick and cunnilingus skills aren’t my only redeeming qualities! You should be ashamed of yourself for objectifying me like that.”

Y/N presses her lips together to ward off an immature grin, rattling her head to get herself under control. She gives him a stern look, warning him to cut it out. “Stop being a child.” 

“Stop using me for sex and making derogatory assumptions about my promiscuity.”  

“Oh, hop of it! You use me right back. It’s mutual.”

“Which is why the slut-shaming is such a paradox.” 

“For fuck’s sake, I wasn’t fucking— You know what? You can’t even pin me on the objectification part because you do it to me all the time!” 

“Oh, is that so?” Harry prods with a humorous tilt of his head, squeezing at her love handles and swimming in the way she wriggles around. “Elaborate.” 

“When you slapped my ass in the shower. Or when you put your hand under my shirt to play with my chest while we watch TV.” Y/N debates, poking at the thorax of his butterfly tattoo. “Very objectifying, if you ask me.”

“Mm, not quite, darling.” The vampire shakes his head and draws her closer, ducking down to flirt the tip of his nose along the slope of hers. “There’s a difference.”

“Oh, yeah?” She digs her nails into his pectorals, discreetly savoring the strong muscles. “What is it?”

Harry glimpses down at where she’s carving indents into his flesh, enjoying the minute pain more than he should. He drifts his mouth closer towards her ear, inhaling the scent of his shampoo wafting from her silky strands of hair. “The difference is that you’re usually begging me to do all those things.”

Y/N’s teeth grind in begrudging defeat, her spine giving a surrendered shiver at his crude point. “Whatever.” 

Harry releases her body, haughty victory written all over his posture. “I rest my case.” 

Y/N’s pride blazes, a threat falling from her tongue sharply, but it holds no true intentions. “Maybe I should just stop asking you to, then.”

“You won’t.” The boy sighs airily, tapping his bare foot against the ground without a care in the world. “You like me too much.” 

“Even if I like you, I’d have enough dignity to stop seeing you if I wanted.” Y/N huffs, making a face at him to emphasize her stance. “It’s this little thing called ‘willpower.’”

“Yeah, well, we both know you and your willpower are gonna end up texting my number Friday night, asking me to come over for some more interior design advice.” Harry snarkily dismisses, presenting a scenario where he’s holding an invisible phone in his hands, pretending to tap out a message. His voice comes out high-pitched, mimicking her own. “Hey, one of the rungs on my headboard came loose. Can you come help me fix it?”

Y/N stares at him with eyes half-lidded in pettiness. “I don’t sound like that.”

“You’re right. You’re a tad more nasally.” 

“Asshole.” 

“I’m just calling it like I see it, love.”

Y/N socks him on the shoulder again as retribution, though it barely has an impact. 

After a couple heartbeats full of vengeful silence, Y/N chimes up with a jesting tone, though the manner in which she’s picking at her nails tells Harry she’s slightly anxious. “Hypothetically speaking, if I were to send out a text inviting you to come over Friday...would you?”

A lopsided simper pops the immortal’s dimples awake. He shifts on his feet, crossing his ankles nonchalantly. “Hypothetically speaking, I think I could very well make it.” 

Y/N chews on her lower lip as the apples of her cheeks jolt. “Ok, well...Let’s say— once again, hypothetically— that I should be home by eight that day. Would that work for you?” 

Harry cocks his head from side to side as if churning the offer around his mind. “I think that, hypothetically, that fits right into my schedule.”

The human’s belly flops in giddy excitement. “Great. It’s booked, then. Hypothetically speaking, of course.” 

“Of course.” Harry agrees, the reply accompanied by a teasing furrow of his sculpted brows and a curt nod. 

Y/N clasps her hands in front of her thighs with finality, giving him a bright smile. “Alright, then. I’ll see you next week.”

“Next week.” Harry confirms with a cheeky wink, running his tongue along his top teeth to keep from bursting into giggles. “Hypothetically.” 

“Hypothetically.” Y/N states with a slight bow of her head, tucking one hand into the back pocket of her dark jeans as she takes a step back from the front door with a small wave. She turns on her heel to face the elevator at the other end of the hall, her foot lifting to take the first step towards the exit. 

“Wait.” 

The mortal looks back towards her friend, eyebrows poised in question. 

Harry scratches at the nape of his neck, smiling softly. “I could really go for a goodbye kiss. Not-so-hypothetically.” 

Y/N blinks at him in wonder. He’s never asked for one before. 

The awkward aura that quickly fills the space between them becomes suffocating. He considers the option of telling her he was just joking to spare himself the humiliation, but he doesn’t get the chance. Y/N lurches forward, teetering onto the tips of her toes and buttoning her lips to his. The spontaneous action makes him swallow his words. 

He fumbles to cup her jaw, kissing her back with just as much fervor and feeling the coldness of his skin fizzle away under her inherent warmth. The gesture isn’t sexual or desperate, but simply sweet and fulfilling. He enjoys it, though it’s not surprising given that he enjoys her lips touching him in any and every way imaginable. He’s not exactly sure why he’d made this particular request— it’s very out of character for him, in every sense of the phrase— but he deduces it’s likely because he wants one more thing to cling onto until he gets to feel her mouth again. It’s not uncommon to want a little something extra to get through the tougher nights, so it’s truly not that big of an occurrence. It’s only reasonable.  

Y/N breaks their exchange, eyes glassy and so beautifully clear as she pecks his chin one last time in a polite farewell. “Text me if you need me...And especially if you need me.”

Harry gulps thickly at the suggestive statement, nodding numbly as her body heat slips away. “Will do. Thanks. And thanks for the kiss. Needed it to tide me over until Friday.” 

“My pleasure. See you later, Holmes.” 

Harry waits patiently until Y/N’s figure disappears behind the gilded doors of the fancy elevator, watching the closed slates of metal glint coldly under the blurry lighting of the condominium’s corridor. He walks back into his apartment, shutting the door gently and slouching into the plush cushions of his leather sofa with a detached sigh. He gazes up at his extravagant chandeliers, once again left in the empty solitude he’d grown so fond of in his extensive lifetime. There’s not a single sound or motion invading his seclusion, not a hair out of place or a wrinkle in his rug, and everything is so still and quiet, it’s almost deafening. But despite every aspect being as it should, he can’t shake the sensation that something is off. Something is wrong. Something’s missing.

And for the first time in years, he finds himself feeling more lonely than alone. 

///

It only takes Harry about an hour of uneventful isolation to realize he’s made a grave mistake. 

He should have gone on the trip. 

Despite the fact that the vampire lives alone, he very rarely spends any time without seeing his friends. Since they all reside in the same building, it’s fairly easy for him to find some entertainment whenever boredom strikes. He’ll either go up a floor to Mitch’s place to watch a movie or mess around with his collection of vintage guitars, or he’ll go a level below to visit Adam and talk about any new art exhibits opening up around the area. He could visit Niall three floors above to play some FIFA on his gaming console and share porn recommendations, or even take the elevator to the twelfth floor to bother Xander and talk some shit while they do each other’s nails. And if Harry’s feeling extra needy for attention, he could always just invite them all over to his place so the group could go out for some Thai food at the restaurant down the street, or go see a movie at the cinema, or take a ride to their favorite local bar. 

No matter the circumstances, his friends are always readily available for him when he needs them, so he very solemnly spends his days alone. That is, until now. 

The entire crew had left for the Vegas trip and— as a result of his own irresponsibility and immature hormones— had left him all by himself for the next seven days. He would never admit it aloud to spare himself the ridicule of being overly sappy, but he misses the group. He misses Mitch’s soft voice and quiet wittiness, and he misses Adam’s cheeky banter and random fun facts, and he misses Niall’s inappropriate jokes and boisterous laughter, and he even misses Xander’s annoying digs and childish pettiness. He didn’t know how much he took it all for granted until it was gone.

For the rest of the week, Harry is practically miserable. The guys don’t text him much, which can be expected since the whole point of the holiday is to enjoy every second of it; there would be no point in traveling four hours just to sit in their hotel and message him. He talks to Y/N a bit, but she is also occupied most of the time with work, given that she had to take on a few extra shifts on behalf of her co-workers. The earliest she goes in is six A.M., the latest she comes out is nine P.M., and by then, Harry reckons she’s probably falling asleep in the entrance corridor of her home. He understands her exhaustion and therefore doesn’t expect her to humor him; it wouldn’t be fair. 

With everyone in his life busy and with his flat feeling colder and emptier than ever, it’s a miracle he doesn’t go mad within its walls. He goes out a handful of times to do some grocery shopping, for a run around a nearby park, and to take a walk along his favorite mall, but that’s it, really. He doesn’t go out to eat simply because he thinks it would be embarrassing having to sit alone at a restaurant; it’s pitiful and sad and he’s not going to subject himself to that. The most stimulating social interaction he has that week is a tie between a bit of flirting with a Target cashier, some suggestive gazing exchanged with a Starbucks barista, and a couple of cheeky caresses from a Gucci store employee taken while measuring his waist for a custom order. None of it satisfies him the way it normally does, though, and he can’t place why. 

By the time Friday evening rolls around, Harry is a hair short from letting his regular case of stir-crazy slip into a full-on psychotic break. That’s why he ends up at Y/N’s complex earlier than the agreed-upon hour, stepping out of his Cadillac with twenty minutes left to spare and with a certain desperation eating away at the back of his skull.

The creature casually jogs up the worn steps to her floor, the only sound being the heels of his maroon velvet boots clicking against the cement ground. He whistles softly to the vague tune of a new pop song that had been playing on the radio— Wet Ass something?— as he tucks his phone into his pocket and brushes a few traces of lint off his freshly-ironed button-up. 

His outfit for tonight is nothing too spectacular, but it isn’t too lazy, either. It’s a long-sleeve black silk shirt with glass buttons and a pair of large swallows embroidered along either sides of his chest, the threads dyed royal and pastel blue, cherry red, and creamy yellow. The top is cuffed up his elbows and unbuttoned down to his butterfly tattoo, showing off his naturally tanned skin and matching swallow inkings, the cross on his delicate chain centered between his pecs and twinkling under the flickering lights. He’d coupled the loose blouse with some black skinny jeans, a dark leather belt, a small golden hoop earring, and his trusty collection of rings and necklaces. In his opinion, it’s a proper look for a planned-out booty call. Formal, but easy to rip off. Especially in a blind hurry. 

Harry figures that he’ll check to see if Y/N is home, just to cover the bases. If she isn’t, he’ll tred back down the stairs and wait for her in his car. If she is, then that’s all the better; there’s no damage in starting a bit earlier than scheduled. It makes for a better recoup period between rounds. 

The immortal turns the corner into the familiar hallway where Y/N’s flat is located, one of his hands already forming into a loose fist with the intention of knocking on her door. He makes it about five paces before he’s slapped with an image that causes him to stop cold in his tracks, his whistling coming to an abrupt halt. 

Harry blinks repeatedly and lowers the frame of his pink Gucci sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, wanting to make sure the scene before him isn’t a figment of his imagination. Much to his displeasure, it isn’t. 

About three meters ahead, situated right in front of her door with her back facing towards him, is Y/N. That isn’t the odd aspect of the picture, though. What’s odd is that her usual grimy work attire is missing, which he had expected to see given that he knows she always goes to the cafe on Fridays. Instead, she is clad in the pastel blue floral sundress she had worn for him all those weeks back, when they had slept together for the second time. And instead of wearing her scuffed up Vans, she is wearing a pair of pretty tan sandals. And instead of having her hair up in a frizzy ponytail, it’s down and fanned around her shoulders in a glossy sheen of tousled curls. And she’s wearing perfume— the same one she had worn the night they met. He can smell it from here and it makes his brows furrow in confusion. She never wears perfume to work; she says it’s forbidden since it can make customers nauseous. 

But aside from all of those unorthodox details, there is one specific factor above all that throws Harry for the biggest loop he’s encountered in the last five weeks of knowing her. 

Y/N isn’t alone. She’s accompanied by another man. 

Harry gives the stranger a calculating once-over, taking in every aspect of the boy’s appearance. He has to keep himself from sputtering into laughter. This has to be some type of fucking joke. 

The bloke is fit, he’ll give him that, at least. He’s handsome and somewhat muscular, but in a manner that is painfully cliche and utterly boring. He has sandy blonde hair that falls across his forehead in a shaggy sideways bang, eyes the color of a Malibu beach, and generally soft features with the exception of decent cheekbones. He’s wearing a dull orange polo, khaki pants, Levi sneakers, and an annoyingly giant watch on his wrist that gives the impression he’s trying to show off. Harry nearly vomits in his mouth. 

Who the fuck would wear a polo willingly? And how brain dead does he have to be to think khakis are still in style? His fashion sense is obviously stunted. It appears his brain is stuck in his middle school phase, when the Justin Bieber haircut and douchey brands were all the rave amongst snotty pre-teens. Also, his watch is an embarrassment. Harry doesn’t know what the guy is attempting— and failing— to show off, considering the accessory is chunky and ugly and not even Versace or Rolex. It’s a disgrace. 

As if the forced posh demeanor isn’t enough, the imbecile actually has the guts to have a fake tan. The vampire isn’t surprised, unfortunately, given that eighty percent of all Los Angeles residents think it’s acceptable to dip-dye themselves into a carrot. He faintly wonders if the man’s balls are colored, as well, or if his ass and sack are as pale as his personality probably is. That would be quite the comedic sight either way. Creamsicles for the win, he supposes. 

Harry may not be alarmed by the blonde boy’s get-up, but he is disgusted. Thoroughly disgusted. Horrifically disgusted. What is Y/N doing with this moron? 

According to what he’s gathered from her personality and the pillow talks they often share, she hates the California stereotype almost as much as he does, if not more. She hates the fake tans and bleached hair and lack of conscience. She hates the outdated teenage brands, cringey jewelry, and fraternity member aesthetic. She especially hates the fact that some of these people don’t understand the basic principles of boundaries. And the thing is, this dude-bro of a man definitely ticks all of those boxes— especially with how close he’s standing next to her, looming above her frame with one arm extended against the surface of her door, trying to look nonchalant and cool as he drawls on about whatever topic they’re discussing. 

He’s practically the poster child for everything the girl despises, from the straightened hair to the alter boy church pants to the stupid forest tattoo on his forearm. So what in the flying fuck is she doing entertaining him? What is she doing standing outside her apartment with this trashy, bacon strip-looking, youth leader knock-off, 2012 Bieber impersonator of a human? 

It has to be a joke. It just has to. There’s no other valid explanation, except maybe a plea of insanity. 

Harry doesn’t realize he’s scowling until the stranger makes eye contact with him. The boy’s face breaks into an expression of unsettled discomfort at the way the vampire is peering at him over his sunglasses, allowing his end of the conversation to falter to dust. Y/N’s brows cinch at the occurrence, her attention peeling away to follow where her date’s had wandered. 

The second her gaze locks with Harry’s intense own, she feels her heart drop to her stomach. Fuck.

Let it be known Y/N didn’t want this. She didn’t want to go on a date with Jacob. In fact, she didn’t know who Jacob was until halfway through this week and she honestly wishes it had stayed that way. She wishes she hadn’t picked up Melissa’s shift with Isabel, she wishes she hadn’t offered to wait that extra table in the back out of the kindness in her heart, and she wishes she hadn’t caught the attention of the customer inhabiting it. 

As it turns out, the young man was Isabel’s cousin. He had come to pick her up since the girl’s car had been stuck at the shop for the last few days, and he had arrived a bit earlier than intended, deciding to sit at the back table to wait out the final ten minutes of his relative’s shift. Y/N had simply assumed that he was a regular customer, so she had gone to give him the usual trained introduction in order to follow the golden rule of customer service: Don’t keep a guest waiting. 

Jacob had explained the situation to Y/N, to which she responded with a light laugh and an instinctive apology. She had told him she’d go fetch Isabel for him and bid the boy goodbye. In her rational opinion, she had thought that would be it— a simple crossing of two paths that would likely never cross again— but evidently, the visitor had a very different idea. 

The human’s shift had continued as planned and everything had been going great until Isabel ducked into the kitchen right before leaving, dancing her way across the room and poking her coworker playfully in the tummy.  Apparently, from what Isabel had giddily told her, Jacob had taken an interest in Y/N. It was a bit ridiculous, if you asked her, considering they’d only talked for a total of about thirty seconds before parting routes. But Y/N hadn’t voiced that opinion; she didn’t want to come off as rude. 

Jacob had asked his cousin to set them up on a date and that is why Isabel had gone into the back before leaving. Y/N’s immediate impulse had been to decline. She wasn’t interested in seeing anyone at the moment. Other than Harry, of course. He handled all her needs just fine and they got on so well, she’d be crazy to replace him with some random guy she barely knew. She had gone to express this to Isabel in a gentler manner with an apologetic tone, but the words had ended up lodging in her throat. The girl had stared at Y/N with so much excitement, she’d immediately felt a wave of guilt erupt into her chest. 

She found it difficult to refuse, given that turning down the offer might come off as bitchy and insensitive. Here Isabel was, trying to innocently play match-maker on behalf of someone she cared about, buzzing with glee and smiling at her so big, her cheeks probably hurt. The last thing Y/N wanted was to upset her by basically telling her that Jacob wasn’t up to par with her standards. Rejecting him could be something her acquaintance took personally and Y/N didn’t want to have to deal with drama in the workplace, especially not with someone whose shifts often mirror her own. 

Y/N had reluctantly agreed to the invitation, her only request being that she had to be home by seven thirty. That would give her enough time to prepare for Harry’s visit. 

Her compliance had landed her where she is now, standing in front of her apartment door with a boy she has no interest in. 

It had been a terrible date, though Jacob took no notice of that. He spent the entire dinner talking about himself, going on and on about his college years, and about how he works at a popular surf shop and could probably get her discounted lessons, and about how he doesn’t think he could survive without his Jeep. How he plays guitar and wants to be a famous actor, how he doesn’t understand why people dislike fake tanning, and how his dad owns a country club in South Carolina. How he loves sports, how he thinks museums are dumb, and how he likes girls who are willing to cook for him after they hookup. How he loves going clubbing and that he misses his ex. 

Y/N had nearly groaned out loud at the last two.

It was cruel and unusual torture, in all honestly, and Y/N is just glad it’s over. She’d fulfilled her role— she’d even been nice enough to dress up, to at least finge interest— and could now go free, never having to hear another word about surfboard wax or college football ever again. If only he’d fucking leave.

Jacob had insisted on walking her to the door, which would be sweet if she hadn’t developed a burning hatred for him in the last hour. It came off as annoying and pushy instead, but she allowed it on the grounds of maintaining a polite front. 

She shouldn’t have allowed it. As soon as they’d gotten to her door, he’d started talking all over again and Y/N had no choice but to stand there and listen. She couldn’t go anywhere, given that this is her place and she’s expecting someone. She figured she’d give him until seven fifty and then make up an excuse about having to go to the bathroom in order to get him to piss off. That plan had crumbled when Harry had shown up twenty minutes early. 

The look of inflamed shock that poses Harry’s handsome features makes her stomach curdle. 

She hadn’t meant for him to see this. She’d only gone on the date to spare herself some petty trouble with a coworker. Nothing was bound to come of it, other than a free meal and a guilt-free conscience. It didn’t mean anything and she had no intention of letting it get in between what she and Harry have going. But from an outside perspective, she knows it looks much different. 

The agreement they have isn’t exclusive by any means, but over the last five weeks, the pair have grown pretty comfortable with one another and had given connotations that they weren’t kindling other possible relationships. There’s a type of silent agreement between them that if they were to seek out other people, they would share that information with each other on the grounds of courtesy, friendship, and respect. But Y/N hadn’t said a word to spare him the baseless stress and now he’d run into her smack in the middle of what appears to be a very compromising situation; things aren’t looking good at all. It looks like she’s losing interest in Harry and couldn’t be bothered to tell him. It looks like she’s out for a replacement. It looks like she doesn’t care about their connection at all. 

This is bad. This is really bad.

Y/N’s voice comes out as a shrill shriek of surprise, her body turning abruptly to fully face his rigid own. “Harry! Uh— hi!” 

Harry blinks at her emptily for a moment and she can practically see the gears turning in his head. She can’t read his mind or his expression, but she reckons he’s probably trying to decide if he should follow through on their rendezvous or if he should just leave and never talk to her again. The idea of him choosing the latter makes her mouth go sour. 

The vampire’s emerald irises flit back and forth between his friend and the unknown man behind her, trying to interpret the tone and texture of the circumstance. She’s obviously on a date, if her appearance is any indication, and it’s obviously coming to a close right now, exactly when he’s scheduled to arrive. 

That’s the determining factor that helps him decide his next move. 

Y/N had invited Harry over last Sunday, meaning that she had made their commitment first. This date had to have come into play later in the week, and she had purposefully planned it around their agreed hour in order to give him her undivided attention when the time came. If she had gone out with this guy and then rushed back home to get to him, that must mean she doesn’t plan on indulging another meeting with the stranger. She hadn’t cancelled his visit, either, so that also suggests she isn’t truly interested in this bloke. That makes sense...right?

But that still begs the question: Why had she gone out with him in the first place?

He knows he isn’t owed an explanation, but he also knows that Y/N isn’t the type of person who would just blindside him like this. She isn’t soulless— she’s sweet and caring and generous, so she would never drop him without any warning or consideration for his feelings. She’d never abandon him without telling him why. She’d never do anything that might run a chance of hurting him. 

The immortal is more than aware he doesn’t have the right to be upset about it, either. Their arrangement is loose and open on both ends and he likes it that way. He likes that their relationship isn’t weighed down by commitment and monogamy; it gives him a sense of freedom and independence he’s known to thrive off of. It lets him be himself without playing her emotions, and without causing a ruckus in the plans she has for her new life. And he gets the same in return— he gets to have his needs attended without sacrificing his core beliefs. Their friends with benefits trope rides along the wings of an official bond, only giving them what they want and nothing they don’t, which is how it was meant to be. How it should be.

So why does seeing her with someone else make him feel sick to his stomach?

Harry shakes off the ball of contempt writhing in his chest, clearing the tightness from his throat and molding his expression into a facade of calm indifference. Jealousy is for idiots. 

The vampire fully wraps his perched fingers around the rim of his sunglasses, removing them from the arch of his nose and tucking the shades along the collar of his shirt. He forces his feet to do their job, his lanky legs lurching forward and falling into a casual stride as he walks towards the two humans awaiting a response. 

Harry comes to a stop beside the mortals, clasping his bejeweled hands behind his back and plastering a dazzling grin across his cheeks. He regards his friend with a slight bow of his head, voice airy and carefree as ever. “Hey, Y/N.”

She almost faints in relief. Thank God he’s not mad. 

Y/N returns his smile, shoulders visibly relaxing. “It’s nice to see you.”

“S’nice to see you, too. Always such a…” He pauses, licking at the corner of his lips suggestively, giving her a knowing once-over that only she can interpret, “pleasure.”

The girl ignores the heat that immediately floods her cheeks. Of course he’s doing this in front of Jacob. Of course he’s peacocking. “Likewise.” 

Harry trains his attention onto the young man before him, pursing his lips into a polite smile. As polite as he can muster, anyways. “And who’s this?” 

Y/N blinks herself back into the present, quickly glancing away from Harry’s sharp jaw, though it doesn’t go unnoticed. He feels his ego swell a smidge.  

“This is Jacob.” The human comments easily, signaling to him with an upturned palm. “He’s Isabel’s cousin. You remember Isabel, right? You met her at the club.” 

“I don’t think I do, actually.” Harry murmurs, glimpsing up towards the ceiling to suggest he’s wracking his thoughts. He has a very vague recollection of the two girls he’d momentarily encountered the day he’d first met Y/N, but it’s hazy and unimportant. 

He looks back down at her with sparkling irises, rosy lips twitching with amusement at his next words, knowing they’re going to have a favorable impact. “I guess I was just too distracted by you to pay much attention to anyone else.”  

He can hear more blood rush into her face and the ecstasy it brings him is immeasurable. He cranes his sight back onto Jacob, who has the slightest crease in his brows at Harry’s compliment. Good. That’s exactly what he wanted. 

The monster unclamps his hands and juts one out stiffly towards the mortal. “M’Harry. Good to meet you, mate.” 

Jacob returns the gesture, grasping Harry’s hand firmly in a way the vampire knows is to try and establish dominance. It tickles him when humans try to be tough, especially because Harry could tear his arm right out of its socket as easily as he could lift a sheet of paper. The creature tightens his grip to match the man’s, purposefully putting a tad more strength in to make a silent point. He has to withhold the urge to crunch the boy’s fingers to dust. 

They both release from the exchange and a wave of dark satisfaction trickles into Harry’s bones when he sees Jacob curl and stretch his digits in mild pain. 

Y/N watches the whole scene with a breath trapped in her lungs. This feels surreal.

The blonde clears his throat softly, mouth jilting into an empty smile and it’s obvious he’s only doing it just to keep things civil. “Good to meet you, too. I take it you’re British?” 

“Pure-bred.” Harry remarks proudly, shrugging his shoulders offhandedly as if it’s no big deal. His gaze slinks towards Y/N for a second, tongue pushing along the inside of his cheek smugly. “It works wonders with the ladies.”

A flicker of spite stains the blue in Jacob’s eyes and the vampire feels like his soul is ascending. This is fun. 

“I can only imagine.” His opponent responds, voice somewhat strained as he directs his next question to the two friends. “So how do you know each other?” 

Harry opens his mouth to make an arrogant comment along the lines of, “A club. A few drinks. Some amazing sex. Y’know, the usual.” but Y/N knows him well enough that she anticipates it, speaking over him loudly before he can even get a syllable out.

“We met at a club and hit it off really well. Been friends ever since.” 

The immortal has to keep himself from adding something snarky to the end of her summary. He only does it because he can see a sharp warning flash across Y/N’s eyes. It’s wordless, but stern nonetheless: Don’t.

Harry swallows down his dig and feels it burn a hole in his stomach. Why is she protecting his feelings?

In all honesty, Y/N is only doing it out of kindness and nothing else. As annoying as Jacob may be, he doesn’t deserve to be embarrassed simply because Harry wants to feed his pride. It may be funny, but it’s pretty immature.

“Right.” Harry sighs happily, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. “Friends. Good friends. Close friends. Intimate friends.” 

Y/N presses her lips into a straight line to keep herself in check. He’s trying to work her over and, unfortunately, he’s succeeding.  

“That’s nice.” Jacob nods casually, the innuendo luckily going right over his head. 

“Yeah, it is.” Harry states, eyes glinting mischievously as he quickly studies the man once again. He can’t help himself, he truly can’t. Not when this terribly-styled buffoon makes it so fucking easy. “I like your tan, by the way.” 

The human looks down at his arms for significance, eyes brightening. “Thank you! I got it done at that new place in—”

“Yeah, it’s pretty neat. Looks almost real.” 

Jacob blinks blankly at the backhanded compliment. “Oh—?” 

“I mean, it’s got a few streaks here and there and your left arm looks a little more orange, but I think—”

“Anyways!” Y/N swiftly cuts in, interrupting her friend’s judgmental spiel and directing her attention towards her date. “Harry and I were actually planning on going to see a movie, which is why I had to be home by seven-thirty— we do it every Friday. And the movie starts at eight and traffic’s a bitch, so that’s why I was in such a hurry to get home.” 

Jacob nods slowly, giving her a sweet, understanding smile that makes Harry’s supernatural blood boil. “I see. Well, I—”

The vampire interrupts him once again, condescension flaring in his chest and dancing across the specks of amber surrounding his pupils. “Yeah, Y/N and I go to the theater every Friday. Recently, we’ve been going to the movies every single day of the weekend. And most times, we see several movies a night.” 

Y/N’s jaw clenches at Harry’s barely-veiled insinuation. She tries to talk over him, but he beats her to the punch. 

“Y’know what I’m talking about, right, Y/N?” He nudges her side playfully with his elbow, ignoring the way her eyes tell him to cut it out. “Remember that time we saw three movies in one night? Or the one that had the jacuzzi in it?”

The girl glimpses over at Jacob, who looks utterly confused and uncomfortable. “Harry—”

“Or what about that crime film, yeah? The one with the handcuffs.” He pinches at her love handle teasingly, reveling in how her entire torso tenses under his touch. “The one where they grabbed the criminal and slammed them up against the mirror? You have to remember that one. It’s hard to forget.” 

“Okay, I think that’s enough talk about—” 

“Oh, c’mon, dove.” Harry slings an arm around her shoulders nonchalantly, squeezing her into his body and feeling Jacob’s glare pierce the side of his face. He stares intently into Y/N’s irises, dimples winking awake at the needy desperation gradually inking its way into their reflection. His tone comes out soft but heavy with authoritative suggestion— the kind he always uses in bed. “Tell me you remember.” 

Y/N gulps quietly, mumbling her words begrudgingly. “Yeah, I...I remember.” 

A coy hum runs along the back of the vampire’s throat as he licks across his top teeth slyly. “I think that was your favorite one, wasn’t it? You seemed to have really enjoyed it. Like, properly enjoyed it. Loved every single second, if I recall correctly.” 

The human forces herself to cast her intent elsewhere, ears simmering and breathing stuttering ever so slightly. Her sight lands back onto a very frazzled Jacob, who is looking at the pair as if they’d sprouted horns, shifting unsurely across his feet. The expression of innocent befuddlement on his face makes guilt twist into her heart.   

The mortal roughly shrugs off Harry’s arm, stepping forward and placing a palm on Jacob’s wrist, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Thank you so much for the date. It was...nice.” 

Harry’s fists clench at his sides, though the action goes unnoticed. 

The human boy nods giddily at Y/N, glancing down to where she’s touching him so tenderly. “‘Course! I had a great time, too.” 

“Make sure to tell Isabel that. Maybe it’ll get her to do some sweeping on my behalf.” The girl jokes, giggling softly right along with the stranger. 

Harry can feel his nails threatening to break into his skin. 

“We really have to get going, though, so I guess I’ll see you around?” Y/N prods, gifting her date one last beautiful smile to ease the awkwardness that had settled into the atmosphere, courtesy of Harry’s antics. 

“Sure!” Jacob bobs his head in agreement, pulling out his phone and swaying it symbolically. “You have my number, just text me whenever.” 

“Sounds good.”

Once the young man’s footsteps have faded down the complex’s staircase, Y/N swivels around on her heel to face Harry, arms falling across her chest in an irritated fashion. Her face pinches with annoyance as he leans casually against her door, his own arms folding over his strong chest with his fingers tapping along the inside of his elbows, attitude depicting not a single care in the world. 

He crosses his ankles easily, brows quirking at the way she’s blatantly glaring at him. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that people whose names start with a letter ‘J’ are bound to ruin your life?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Harry!” Y/N snaps, rolling her eyes towards the ceiling as her glossed lips dip into an aggravated grimace. “Are you serious right now?”

He tilts his head curiously, stifling a simper. “What’s wrong, love?”

“What’s wrong?” She retorts with a humorless laugh, astonished at his ability to act so purposefully dense. “You’re a fucking dick, that’s what’s wrong.”

The vampire sputters into a round of boyish cackling, his entire body shaking against the surface below him as his eyes crinkle shut in mirth. Y/N would be further infuriated if it wasn’t so damn cute. 

Harry’s laughter slowly dies down and once he has himself composed, his shoulders rise and fall once dismissively. “I was just fucking around. I didn’t think much of it.” 

“You didn’t think—?” Y/N chokes out in indignation, stomping over to him and poking him straight in the chest, right over his butterfly tattoo. Her perfume makes his mind swim in the best way imaginable. “You didn’t think for a second, in that big head of yours, that talking about our sex life in front of my date was overstepping?” 

Hearing Y/N officially refer to Jacob as her date makes Harry’s mood drop somberly. He tries to push it down and keep up a comical edge, but it’s harder than he’d care to admit. His accent comes out small and almost fragile, much to her surprise. “Well, I didn’t know you were on a date. Maybe if you had told me, I wouldn’t have come.” 

His words sting for some unknown reason. 

The mortal draws closer to him until he’s hovering above her, arms dropping down to her sides to fiddle with the hem of her dress as she tilts her chin upwards to get a better look at his stoney face. All anger melts right out of her voice, replaced by her usual delicate cadence. “Well, I...I didn’t think you’d care, really.” 

“I don’t.” He replies a little too quickly, a small pang of regret pricking his chest when her face immediately falls. “I mean...I mean it as in, like...I’m not keeping tabs on you or anything. I don’t want you to think I’m trying to limit you.” 

Y/N looks back up at him from under her lashes, tone unreadable. “I didn’t think you were. Limiting me, that is. You don’t...limit me.”

Harry nods his head sharply in relieved confirmation, coughing a bit. His throat feels drier than usual and he knows it’s not for a blood-driven reason. “Okay, good. I just wanted to make sure you knew.”

“I do.”

“Alright.” 

A charged silence befalls the ambiance between them and the vampire comes to the conclusion that getting his neck snapped was less painful than having this conversation. At least that was quick, whereas this is grueling and horribly uncomfortable, ridden with anxiety and too many elongated pauses. They are walking on extremely thin eggshells around one another, which is something they’ve never had to do before. They have always been on the same wavelength about their relationship and not once has such a nerve-inducing instance come to pass. Now a wrench has been thrown into their metaphorical mechanism and the nuts and bolts are dismantling by the handfuls, leaving them barren and closed-off more than ever. He can feel this situation straining their friendship and he hates it more than he hates those stupid tapestries she fancies.

“If you knew you were gonna be busy,” Harry starts carefully, gluing his attention to a random stain on the cement ground as he scuffs the heel of his boot against her dirty welcome mat, “why didn’t you just text me and cancel?” 

Y/N takes a shaky inhale, focusing on tracing the faded cursive letters on her rug. “I...I still wanted you to come.”

Harry’s foot halts its motions, gaze jumping to her for a thoughtful second, brows knotting with mild confusion at her confession. If she still wants him in her bed, why was she indulging someone else? “You wanted me to come?...Why?”

“Because Fridays are our days.” 

The corners of his mouth twitch. Our days. Their days. Theirs.

The brunette clears his throat to try and saw away at the tension, shifting against the door as the subject delves into heavier territory. He’s never been one to stutter— he’s much too confident in himself to ever have that issue— but it seems to have become a new development whenever Y/N is around. “If...If you want— uhm...If you want to see other people, you obviously don’t need my permission or anything. But I’d like a little heads-up, just so I know where we stand.” 

Y/N releases a curt sigh of exasperation and somehow, Harry can tell it’s not aimed towards him. It’s aimed towards herself. 

She fidgets with the tips of her fingers, talking to the floor but directing her message towards her friend. “It’s not what you think, H.” 

Harry pins his intent back onto her face, intrigue fully peaked. “What do you mean?” 

Y/N takes another trembling breath, releasing it through her nose as a tired exhale. She can feel him looming over her, waiting for an appropriate response with his lips set into a detached line, his ever-present aroma of vanilla and tobacco muddling her thoughts. “I...I mean the date. It wasn’t truly a real date, per se.”

The vampire’s eyes bore into her relentlessly as he clings onto every syllable she speaks. He’s clutching to a form of hope that he deems absolutely humiliating. “How so?”

Y/N picks at the chipping lavender polish on her nails and he finds it adorable how the color of the lacquer matches one of the main notes in her scent. 

She speaks up softly and honestly, and he thinks he detects a shred of guilt to her explanation. “Isabel was the one who set it up. Her cousin came into the cafe and when he saw me, he asked her to get me to go on a date with him. I have no actual interest in Jacob, but I said yes just to be nice. I didn’t wanna upset Isabel by making her think her cousin wasn’t good enough for me or something. That’s the only reason I went.” 

Harry slowly twists his lionhead daylight ring around his middle finger, simultaneously thumbing over the opal on his pinky. The stone is cold to the touch, but not nearly as cold as his skin. 

He reiterates her story slowly, wanting to make sure he interpreted correctly. “So...you only went on the date because you felt bad? You don't actually like him?”

Y/N’s hands plop down against her thighs as she tilts her head back up to look at him, her tone and eyes completely deadpan. “Well, when you say it like that, it makes me sound kind of mean.” 

Harry snorts softly, mouth buckling into his signature crooked smirk. “It’s pretty cruel, to be honest— giving that poor bloke hope like that. Very malicious of you.” 

Y/N kicks at his ankle jokingly, her lips toying with a grin. “Shut up.” 

“You should be careful. Something tells me his ego bruises easily.” 

“Oh, is that so? What makes you say that?” 

The vampire sucks at his teeth, tapping his chin in faux thought as he shrugs his brows tauntingly. “Oh, I don’t know. Probably the overly-tight shirt and fraternity ring. Seems to me like he’s trying to make up for something he lacks. Probably in the intimacy department.”

Y/N chews along her cheek to keep from bursting into giggles. “You are cruel.” 

“I prefer the term ‘brutally honest.’ Sounds classier.” 

“Right. Because you’re all about class.” 

“Heyyyy!” Harry whines in exaggerated insult, face contorting with dramatic offense. “I’m a classy guy! I have the English accent and fancy chandeliers to prove it!” 

“Right. Super classy.” 

“I’m a proper gentleman.” The monster huffs with begrudging finality, irises glitzing deviously. “That is, until you beg me to behave otherwise.” 

“Fuck off.” 

He looks down at her over the crests of his sharp cheekbones as she gazes up at him with a humorously flat expression, feeling all the pent-up stress from the previous events dissolve away into nothing. Harry reaches forward, taking a single curled strand of her hair and moving it behind her shoulder to get a better look at her face. The gesture makes Y/N’s heartbeat hiccup. Especially when that same forefinger ends up poised below her chin, his thumb distractedly caressing across her jaw. 

The creature’s next sentence comes out low and almost vulnerable. “So it meant nothing, then? Are you sure? Because I don’t want to get in the way of your dating life if you—”

“It meant nothing.” Y/N confirms, bobbing her head once insistently. She cradles her cheek into his icy palm, keeping their eyes locked as she gives it a gentle kiss, her insides fluttering when Harry’s breathing hitches. “I’m not gonna be seeing him again anytime soon. Or ever, probably. And that’s why I didn’t mention it to you— because I knew it wouldn’t change anything between us. You’re the only person I’m interested in right now.”

“Truly?”

“Truly.”

The young man swallows thickly, leaning down to smudge his nose across the girl’s and the action erupts a certain flood of warmth so powerful, it could very well kickstart the dead organ below his ribs. His voice is tumbling down his numb tongue before he can think to stop it. “I’ve been thinking about you all week.” 

Y/N’s fingers stretch upwards to wrap around his wrist securely, almost as if to tether him and eliminate the chance of his touch slipping away. Her whisper is trembly and raw. “You have?” 

Harry knows he’s allowing this to wade into dangerously grey waters, but he can’t find it in himself to care, at the moment. “Yeah. Couldn’t get you out of my head. Couldn’t stop thinking about how good you felt last time.” 

The mortal teeters onto the tips of her toes, flirting her mouth over her friend’s, a prickling sensation stemming from where their cupid’s bows brush. She glimpses at him amidst her lashes, glassy eyes reflecting his need right back at him. “Tell me more. Please?”

The breath of Harry’s words is hot against her mouth, his eyes lulling closed as he recalls all of the memories from the last few days. “I just couldn’t shake it. You were just so tight and warm and the way you were pushing back against my thrusts...the way you were shaking and whimpering...the way you flipped around and slammed your mouth to mine because you wanted me to moan onto your tongue….It was so fucking filthy, I just— I couldn’t—”

His control begins to shatter and the immortal can feel desperation leak through the cracks webbing across his composure. Y/N isn’t helping any, considering she’s started suckling lightly at his bottom lip, her free hand coming up to toy with the curls at the nape of his neck. 

“Keep going.” 

Harry gulps heavily before continuing. “I touched myself while fantasying about you. Lost count of how many times, honestly. But I came so hard every single one. It was pretty easy to lose myself like that, just sitting there thinking about everything we do. Thinking about how pretty you look with my cock in your mouth, taking it down your throat like such a good fucking girl. How nice your arse feels in my hands, especially when you ask me to spank it. How snug you are when you sink over me, stretching around it like it’s made just for you. How the little noises you make sound so fucking perfect— like a song, really. And...and how good you taste between your thighs. S’like honey. Just so fucking sweet.” 

There’s a pause as Harry’s words sink into the air, his dirty confessions pulling passion taut into existence between the two lovers. They’re all over each other in less than a heartbeat. 

Y/N begins to fumble with the small purse she has strung across her body, frantically fishing for her keys as Harry delights himself with sponging his lips across the slope of her jaw, grinning into her skin at the little curses escaping her throat. He absolutely adores how whipped she gets for him. 

The human manages to retrieve her key, jamming it into the lock blindly as her eyes blur with tears of sheer need, stemming from the tiny shots of bliss Harry is instilling through the sloppy pecks he’s trailing down her jugular. She hastily turns the knob, bumping her full weight into the door and nearly fainting in relief when it swings open. She turns sharply to face him, roping her arms around his strong shoulders and pulling him into her, shuddering at how incredible it feels to have his strong torso flushed to hers so intimately. Harry allows himself to be yanked forward into her apartment, giggling softly when she crashes their mouths together messily, harshly tugging him past the threshold. 

The vampire’s lean arms wrap around her waist as the young woman maneuvers their connected bodies into the narrow hallway of her flat, one of her hands waving around wildly until it succeeds in shoving the door shut. Y/N slams Harry up against the closest wall, feverishly fidgeting with the buttons on his shirt and nearly ripping them out of their designated holes. Her hands quiver as she races down the seams, her eyes tinging darker when Harry leans his head back against the panel and smirks down at her smugly. 

He gnaws on his bottom lip, his half-lidded gaze mocking her hysteria as his voice comes out deep and melodic as always, slathered with self-assured arrogance. “You’re so cute when you’re this eager to fuck me.” 

Y/N pants against his twitching lips, tearing his top down his broad figure and shamelessly groping at his swollen biceps. “Just shut up and kiss me.”  

Harry abides, lulling his tongue along her upper lip and thrumming deeply when her digits trickle down his abdomen. He coos into her mouth as she begins fiddling with his belt buckle. “What, no interior design emergency this time? You’re losing your touch, darling.” 

The girl pulls the leather strap off his pants in a frenzy, scoffing at his stupid quip and breaking their kiss to speckle her mouth down his bare chest, feeling it stutter below her influence. “I got some new chairs for my dining table. Wanna take a look?” 

The boy’s fingers card into her roots as she descends down his stomach with wet pecks, his eyes rolling closed with a strained grunt. She bites along his fern inkings and his hips buck forward in response, his grip on her hair tightening when she palms over the outline of his clothed cock. “You know I’m always a sucker for some good dining chairs.”

As it turns out, Y/N had actually gotten some new chairs, much to Harry’s surprise. 

They’re nice, in his opinion. They seem sturdy enough, with metal backrests and legs that are covered in tarnished gold paint that gives a pleasing rustic look. But in the end, Harry doesn’t really much care for the details of the furniture. All he cares about is if they’ll manage to withstand Y/N’s weight as he shoves her onto her knees atop the chair and bends her over the back. Or if they’ll stay put as he pounds into her from behind with a fist in her hair and his letter rings marking across her backside. That’s all that truly matters. 

Despite having done this countless of times before, this particular instance feels different. Both of them can tell, but Y/N feels it more prevalently. Specifically, in the bottom of her stomach and in the pain sweltering across her ass.

Harry’s just…rougher. He’s still himself, so he makes sure she’s okay with everything he does before doing it, but when he gets the green light, he doesn’t let it go to waste. His grip on her roots is harsh, with his nails digging into her scalp as he jerks her head back to bring her in for a kiss, her spine arching into a semi-circle. The position is difficult given the amount of flexibility required, but Y/N powers through. She quite likes it, actually— it gives him a deeper range of depth, somehow. She can feel him touching the trench of her tummy and she refuses to do anything that might make that stop.

The kiss is upside down, but the vampire doesn’t let that deter him. It’s still dirty and heedless, with lots of biting and overzealous tongues, broken whines and fractured pleas. Y/N freely moans into his mouth, gasping and mewling to his every thrust with a certain type of helplessness that flogs the flames blistering Harry’s dormant veins. He loves that he makes her feel helpless, especially because she makes him feel the exact same way. 

His stride is fast and deep and unapologetic— vengeful, almost, and they both know why. Even though Y/N had told the creature that the date had been nothing but a selfless chore, he can’t seem to let it go as easily as she had. He finds himself wanting to prove to her that he’s better than that insipid stranger. That he can give her everything she wants without a single issue. That he can deliver everything she needs with expert skill and relentless force, just as she prefers. That he can make her entire body tremble in overstimulation and make every fiber of her being tingle with sheer pleasure, just by gifting her a few adamant snaps of his hips and by muttering a couple filthy promises onto her unfeeling tongue. 

“Bet he wouldn’t be able to make you feel like this, huh, pet?” Harry growls against her swollen lips, plunging his thick length into her and nudging at that sweet spot that makes her toes curl. “Bet he wouldn’t know how to handle you— how to handle that tight cunt and that sharp tongue. Could never take care of you the way I do, isn’t that right, baby?” 

Y/N rattles her head in her friend’s grasp, releasing fragmented noises of bliss as he hikes her dress further up her ass and gives it another brutal spank. She can feel his rings imprinting across her sweaty skin and she strives off it more than she should. 

Her voice comes out garbled and weak. “N-No one can make me feel as good as you.” 

“Damn straight.” Harry grits out, breaking their prolonged kiss to rest his chin against her damp forehead, looking down at her from over his sharp, tinted cheekbones. “Nobody can fuck you into a begging mess like I can. Whose pretty cunt is this, angel? Who’s the only one who gets to call you their little slut?” 

The electricity crackling around his pupils is borderlining on unhinged, but she adores it. The fact that she can drive him to the brink like that feeds the affinity she has to win his praise. “It’s yours, Harry. Just yours— it’s always just you. You’re the only one. Nobody e-else— fuck, oh my God!”

“You got all dolled up for him, though. Why’s that’s, hm?” Harry’s hold releases from her hair and fumbles down to her throat, the pads of his fingers leaving bruises across her jugular as he grunts lowly with every hellbent ram. “If you didn’t care, why’d you get all pretty, then? Why’d you wear perfume? And why’d you wear that dress— my dress?”

Y/N’s lashes flutter as he refers to her outfit, which is the same one she’d had on the day they had officially established their loose arrangement. Hearing him call it his— hearing him claim it as his own with so much dominant confidence— makes the pit of her belly froth. It is his. Sure, she’d worn it for the sake of looking presentable, but it was only to satisfy the basic rules of what a date entails. In truth, under the excuse of inherent kindness, she’d worn it because she knew Harry would see it afterwards. Because she knew he liked it. Because she wanted to please him. 

The girl communicates that to him now in the form of a feathery mumble, staring up at his angered eyes with a moony, innocent aura. “I wore it f-for you.”  

The intense jealousy present in Harry’s clenched jaw and furrowed brows dissipates, replaced by soft awe at her wispy affirmation. He pants as he absorbs the real meaning behind her entire appearance, feeling sparks ignite in his heaving chest. “You...You did it for me?” 

Y/N struggles to swallow in his rough grip, nodding a bit as her fingers tighten around the edge of the chair. “I know you like it and, well…I like making you happy.” 

Harry’s lips part in astonished wonder, though he’s not so sure why her admission had caught him off guard. She’s told him plenty of times that she likes giving him what he wants, but this just feels slightly more personal than anything else she’s ever uttered during an orgasmic stupor. It’s tipping along one of the lines they had sworn not to cross. 

The vampire hadn’t even realized his strokes had tapered to a halt, and apparently neither had she. They’re both too busy looking into each other’s eyes with expressions that neither can decipher. The tense pause only lasts maybe three seconds at most, but it feels like they manage to fit an eternity of uncertain silence within that short time frame. 

Harry cuts through the moment by clearing his throat, intent on changing the subject into something much lighter that will allow them to return to their previous activity. However, the words that rasp out of his raw lips are ones he hadn’t consciously consented to. They come from a sincere nature he’d suppressed for so long, he didn’t think it was possible for it to ever resurface again. “I like making you happy, too.”

Y/N blinks up at him with her usual doe-like air, the corners of her lips twitching fondly at his requited compliment. “I guess we just like making each other happy, then, don’t we?” 

The monster has never been more thankful for her witty personality. It gives him the opportunity to stuff his emotions back into the box they belong, allowing him to regain his typical composure and return her banter without a hitch. He bursts into a round of wheezy giggles, tapping at the hollow of her throat playfully. “I guess so. We’ll add that to the list of things we do to each other, right under ‘excite.’”

The rest of the session goes as usual, thankfully. Some more degrading names are exchanged, positions are switched, hickies are stained on fleshy thighs and damp shoulders, and Harry’s array of rings paint an art piece across Y/N’s backside that he thinks is worthy of the Louvre. His initials are signed on it and everything. 

The pair end up splayed across her trusty old couch, catching their breaths from the heavy exertion they’d just put each other through. Y/N is still in her dress, though it’s rumpled, damp, and the thin straps are hanging off her shoulders limply. Harry is bare, as he always is after sex, per his raunchy preference. However, Y/N had made him cover himself with a blanket in order to keep at least a shred of decency between them. Plus, she’d said she didn’t want his “limp dick brushing against my dress while we cuddle.” 

And that’s what they’re doing now— snuggling on her couch with the human pressed up against the vampire’s side, his arm slung around her shoulders casually as she doodles random shapes across the colored skin of his tummy. She has one leg hooked across his covered hips, which he’s more than happy to allow because he thoroughly enjoys rubbing his palm up and down the back of her thigh; it’s soothing and warm. Y/N entertains herself with nuzzling her head against the crook of his neck, sighing contentedly as he props his chin atop her temple and pets at her frizzy hair with gentle strokes. It’s a nice moment, full of slowly steadying breaths and the hum of the air vent at the other end of the room. 

Harry is the first to break the tranquil atmosphere. 

“I give the chairs a ten out of ten. IKEA really outsold.” 

Y/N slaps her hand down against his naked chest, sputtering into a wave of loud laughter that is unbelievably contagious. “I’m happy you like them ‘cause, uh...they were on clearance. Can’t return them.” 

“You lucked out then, didn’t you? Kudos to your ability to pick out decent furniture.” Harry twirls a strand of her tangled locks around his index finger, giving it a playful tug as a grin dimples his flushed cheeks. “Except for when it comes to wall decor.”

“It’s not my fault you're a stuck-up asshole.” 

“And it’s not my fault you have a knack for cringey drapery depicting ClipArt images.” 

“I’m going to strangle you with one of my tapestries, I really am.”

“Be my guest. At least I won’t have to look at them ever again.” The immortal squeezes her thigh jestingly, his smile widening when she squirms and giggles. “I can’t tell you how many times we’ve been fucking and I accidentally glanced at it and almost went soft.” 

“But you didn’t.” She reasons, flicking at one of his nipples in revenge and feeling proud when he hisses softly. 

“But I could have.”

“But you didn’t.” 

“But I could have.” Harry insists stubbornly, reaching up to push a few wet curls out of his tired eyes. “Have you ever had someone go soft inside you? It’s pretty gross. Highly discourage it.”

“Just close your eyes, then.” Y/N states with finality, pinching at his belly button and cackling in satisfaction when he writhes. “You’re real shitty at solving problems, y’know that? You could never be Sherlock.” 

Harry goes quiet for a second and his friend almost looks up to check if he’s alright; he’s too petty to ever back out of anything. But sure enough, his voice comes out a second later, flat and unyielding. “Take down the glorified curtains or I’m never eating you out again.”

“I’ll take down my glorified curtains the day you take down that Stevie Nicks poster on your wall.” 

“I refuse to take down Stevie!”

“And I refuse to take down Amanda!”

“You named it?!”

The lovers chat and bicker childishly for a while longer, talking about anything and everything that will keep them entertained. Harry explains to Y/N how his friends had gone on a trip this week (though he makes sure to omit the fact that he had willingly bailed in order to spend time with her) and he’d been alone most of the time. She responds to his story with an incredulous yelp, telling him that he should’ve come over if he wanted some company. She says she would have been more than happy to hang out with him, but he knows she’d been so busy the entire week with work, she probably would have fallen asleep within ten minutes of him arriving. It’s the thought that counts, though, so he thanks her for the belated support, either way. 

Y/N talks about a weird customer that had come in and ordered a sandwich with nothing but cucumbers and cheddar cheese on French bread, which she had later recreated to taste-test herself out of curiosity. She can confirm it was abhorrent and the way her nose crinkles with disgust makes Harry snort in endearment. She also tells him about how horribly the date with Jacob had gone, simply because she can tell he’s itching to ask. She recounts everything the young man boasted about, from the annoying college stories to his stupid opinion about clubs. She informs him that she’d never had a more terrible experience in her life and that she wishes she could get that hour of her life back. 

Harry can’t help the way his face lights up at how utterly repulsed she sounds. He knew it. He fucking knew she would never insert herself into a romantic situation with such a comedic punchline of a human being. Hearing her confirm his suspicions is almost as pleasurable as what she can do with her mouth. Almost. 

The vampire finds himself lost in his thoughts, thinking about how much better the whole event would have gone if it had been him instead. How he would have picked her up from her flat by actually getting out of the car and knocking on her door, rather than just sending her a text to come down. How he would have helped her into his car like a proper gentleman, and how he would’ve aided her back out when the time came. How he would enter the restaurant with his palm resting at the dip of her back, guiding the girl towards their seats and pulling out a chair for her. How they’d make conversation as easily as they always do, and how he’d have her laughing between mouthfuls of food, and how he’d expertly flirt her into a fidgety puddle. How he’d reach over the table to get a bit of sauce off the corner of her mouth with a cloth napkin, and how she’d thank him with that shy smile he’d grown to admire. How he’d wave off her suggestion to split the bill, paying it all himself and smirking as she scolds him for it because she likes being hard-headed and independent. How much fun she would actually have, and how she would probably be willing to go out on a second date.  

Harry’s comment topples out of his mouth before he can rethink it. 

“I bet I could take you out on a better date.” 

Y/N’s head snaps upwards to meet his gaze, eyebrows jumping in utter shock. She hadn’t been expecting that from him at all. Ever. 

She talks between airy spurts of glee. “That was random.” 

Harry doesn’t return the gesture. In fact, his lips don’t even jolt in the slightest. He simply just stares down at her with seriousness decorating his features, long lashes blinking blankly. He doesn’t know what overcame him to make such a bizarre, uncalled for claim, but he can’t take it back now. And he’s not so sure he wants to, honestly. He knows there’s truth to his belief— he could definitely do a better job of wooing her than that Jesse McCartney wannabe. It’s not like it’s hard.

Aside from that, seeing Y/N out with another man had reminded Harry that their little alliance isn’t anything solid— it’s not bulletproof, and he really shouldn’t be taking it for granted. He’d been so cocky and self-assured about himself and what he has to offer, he’d forgotten that there is always the possibility that Y/N might grow tired of him. It may be a microscopic possibility, but it exists, nonetheless. If he wants to keep her interested, he has to up his game a bit, or she might decide that he isn’t worth keeping around. If he wishes to maintain this favorable arrangement where he gets his intimate tendencies tailored and his supernatural necessities sufficed, he needs to give her a more fulfilling reason to stay. 

Good sex is a very convincing factor, sure, but there might come a time in her life when she wants more than just a no-strings-attached affair. There may come a time when she’ll mature out of this stage and seek something sturdier and safe and anchored. There may come a time when she wants a real relationship, and if he doesn’t keep her occupied, that could be sooner rather than later. And it could be with someone else. He doesn’t want this convenience taken away from him— doesn’t want to lose the thing they have going, which keeps him out of annoying clubs, out of random people’s beds, and gives him the best blood he’s tasted in the last twenty decades. It’s too comfortable and satisfying to let go. He has to keep her hooked somehow, and if taking her on a date can assure that this flawless dream remains intact, then he’ll gladly do it. 

Harry licks his lips slowly, measuring out his next words with immense precision. “I’m being serious. I can definitely do better.” 

A million emotions funnel into Y/N’s eyes at once and he can only pick out a select few: confusion, astonishment, fear, denial, and slight unease. There is the chance that the monster may be interpreting all of the human’s feelings incorrectly because, truth be told, he isn’t the best at gauging or handling sentiments. However, there is one he knows he’s not misjudging— it’s the most evident one of all: Excitement. 

“Think about it for a second, yeah?” Harry starts, shifting in his seat to get a better look at her, raising his eyebrows decisively. “I’ve already gotten in your pants. That means I have no ulterior motive, right?”

Y/N’s own brows kink a smidge. “I...I guess.”

Her friend continues his speech. “Because of that, it means I won’t rush the date, I won’t expect anything from you, and we already get on pretty well, as it is. It’d be a proper good time— a genuine good time.”

The girl’s eyes flicker around different points of his face, trying to make sure he’s not pulling some type of cruel prank. Her tone comes out hesitant and slow. “That makes sense, I suppose.”

Harry squeezes the back of her thigh reassuringly. “It’s all in mathematics, love; everything adds up. It’s truly an ideal situation, if you ask me. Practically utopian.” 

Y/N takes a deep breath, letting it out shakily. This is all so sudden and unexpected, she feels like Harry might burst into laughter any minute and reveal it’s all just a big joke. It’s just not them. It’s out of bound— it scribbles outside the box drawn around their whole dynamic. They were never meant to date, they were just meant to sleep together; they were meant to provide each other with the satisfaction that comes from a real relationship, without all the trials and tribulations. Harry asking her on a date blurs those sacred boundaries in a way she’s not sure she’s ready to face. It could mess everything up. It could not only ruin the fun little arrangement they have going, but it could potentially destroy their entire friendship. Harry is the only person she’s truly connected with since she moved to Los Angeles and risking that bond on an impulsive decision...That’s something she doesn’t think she can afford to do. She can’t survive her new life on her own. This is just too dangerous. Way too dangerous. 

But then again...it’s not like she hasn’t thought about it before. She will admit, there have been instances where she’s pictured her and Harry becoming more than just warm bodies to each other. The two days she spent over at his house the weekend prior had solidified those fantasies and made them more frequent. They just click so well, she knows for a fact they’d make a great team. It’d be like dating a best friend, in a way. They fit one another in a manner she didn’t think was possible, and despite the fact they’ve only been acquainted for just over a month and a half, it feels like they’ve been friends for years. She feels like these types of connections are rare to create and she finds herself wishing it could develop into more. 

But could it really be worth the potential grievance?

Y/N tunes back into reality, gazing up at Harry with reluctant eyes. She’s surprised to find his are full of confident clarity, as if he’s already sold on the idea and had begun planning their outing. He’s simply awaiting her response at this point, thumbing over her knee gently while tucking her hair behind her ear, lips poised into that lopsided simper that makes her heart skip and her nerves glitch. How could she possibly find it in herself to say no to him? 

The mortal clears her throat lightly, gnawing into her cheek as she speaks her next words with airy humor. “So is that your official way of asking me out? ‘Cause if so, that’s not enough. You’re gonna have to do better, love.”

Harry hesitates for a split second, but it’s so fast, his friend doesn’t even take notice. He prays he doesn’t grow to regret this decision. 

The boy nods, pursing his mouth into a small smile. 

“I’m sorry, I don't think I heard you? Must be the AC.” 

Harry rolls his eyes grandly at the stolen joke, which is identical to one he had made two weeks ago when he’d come over for their usual adult pastime and had brought a special toy in tow. 

His mood comes out theatrical, accent heavily exaggerated. “Dear fair maiden, would you be so kind as to do me the impeccable honor of allowing me to bask in your presence by attending a luncheon with me, preferably sometime in the near future? Thank you so much for your consideration. Sincerely signed...” The creature takes a pause, proceeding to sing his next words to the tune of a song they are both familiar with, given their interest in the Hamilton play. “Your Obedient Servant, H dot Styles.” 

Y/N explodes into a series of giggles, shaking her head as she reaches up to peck at his grinning lips. 

“It would be my pleasure.” 

[aalissy]

Seatmates

Another day and another short chapter hehe. I hope you guys like this one!! I wish we had gotten more of this in the show. Oh well, that’s what fics are for hehe. Anyway, lemme know what you think of this chapter <3. I had a lot of fun with it!

AO3

Adrien slowly walked back into school after the most recent akuma attack. Of course Lila had gotten herself akumatized again. Plus, he had slept for about half of the battle after she had kissed his cheek. Shuddering slightly, he entered the classroom just behind Marinette.

Adrien paused, watching as she slowly sat down. Suddenly, all of his anger and frustration disappeared as he looked up at the girl. Her chin rested on her fist as she gazed out the window happily. A soft smile spread across his face as he realized that he would be able to sit next to her. Feeling his grin grow even wider, Adrien sat down next to her, saying, “Good for you for taking the high road, Marinette. Hey, it’s pretty cool back here.”

Marinette simply giggled at him and he took one last sidelong glance at her before turning to face Mlle. Bustier. Once everyone had all gotten settled into their new seats, she began to take attendance. Knowing that his name was usually first on the attendance list, Adrien immediately spoke up when he was called on, “Present!”

After that, he tuned out slightly, unable to stop himself from sneaking another look at Marinette who looked lost in her own thoughts. With a small frown, Adrien turned back to Mlle. Bustier who had just called Marinette’s name. Seeing that she wasn’t going to respond, Adrien nudged her slightly, jerking his head to the front when she looked at him with a shocked expression.

Immediately, Marinette understood and she jumped to her feet to shout, “O-oh, I’m here!”

Mlle. Bustier gave her a small smile. “Are you sure you’re going to be alright back there, Marinette? I can move you to the front if you’re hard of hearing like Lila.”

Adrien immediately froze as the liar raised her hand immediately. “You know, actually, Mlle. Bustier, I’m pretty sure Ladybug cured my tinnitus so I can sit in the back now.”

Adrien felt his heart drop as both he and Marinette looked at each other with horror in their eyes. She then quickly shook her head. “No, no, no! I promise you Mlle. Bustier my hearing is completely fine! I’m alright sitting back here!”

“If you’re sure.” Their teacher nodded her head before resuming her roll call.

Both he and Marinette breathed out a sigh of relief after that. With a quiet snicker, Adrien turned to look at her only to realize that she was already looking at him. Both their eyes twinkled mischievously as small smiles tugged at their lips. 

It was nice. Having a secret that only he and Marinette knew. Like they were secret partners on a mission together. Adrien felt his grin grow as he couldn’t help but compare Marinette to Ladybug. He quickly peeked at her once again before going back to scribble down some of the notes Mlle. Bustier was writing on the whiteboard. It wasn’t that odd that he was comparing two of the most important women in his life. After all, he did call Marinette his everyday Ladybug for a reason.

Shifting slightly in his seat, Adrien couldn’t stop his gaze from traveling to her notebook where he watched her doodle. Soon, a beautiful rose came to life as she sketched in more details. Blinking in awe, he leaned closer to murmur quietly, “Wow, that’s a wonderful drawing, Marinette.” 

Marinette squeaked softly, whipping her wide, bright, blue eyes around to look at him. A red flush coated her cheeks before she ducked her head down shyly. “F-fank you, I-I mean, thank you, Adrien,” she stuttered as she brushed a stray strand of hair back into her pigtails.

 “Where did you learn to draw like that?” Adrien asked softly, forgetting for a moment that there was a lecture going on.

“O-oh, actually I taught myself.” Marinette gave him a bashful grin.

He nudged his shoulder against hers, a light chuckle falling from his lips. “Well, it’s absolutely amazing! I wouldn’t have expected anything less from a talented designer like yourself!”

She opened her mouth to respond when Mlle. Bustier cut in, clearing her throat loudly at them, “Marinette, Adrien, please refrain from flirting in the middle of my lectures or I really will be forced to move the two of you.”

Immediately, they both sat up ramrod straight with dark, red blushes across their cheeks. Together, they then both stuttered out excuses and denials, avoiding the other’s gaze. Rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, Adrien looked down rather pleadingly at his teacher, hoping she’d accept his apology.

Mlle. Bustier merely tsked at the two of them. “It’s alright. I know the two of you are both good students. Just keep your attention on the lecture and not each other. There will be plenty of time to talk after class ends.”

“Yes, Mlle. Bustier,” he and Marinette muttered together before clamping their lips firmly shut.

Immediately, Adrien dove back into scribbling down the notes he had missed. He attempted to shove his teacher’s words down into the back of his mind so that he could properly pay attention, but, for some reason, he just couldn’t. The word flirting kept floating around in his thoughts. He hadn’t been flirting with Marinette. Had he? 

No, that was just ridiculous. Marinette was his friend. And, for that matter, Marinette hadn’t been flirting with him. She wouldn’t do that. At least not with him. He had teased her enough times to know that she didn’t see him that way.

Unconsciously, Adrien’s gaze was drawn away from his notebook over to the girl sitting next to him. Her pencil was tapping rapidly on the table as she gazed out the window, a pink hue still on her cheeks. When Marinette turned slightly to look back at Mlle. Bustier, Adrien immediately snapped his eyes away from her. 

Maybe this hadn’t been the perfect seat choice he had thought it was going to be originally. It was only the first day sitting next to her and he was already getting distracted. With a quiet gulp, Adrien turned back to Mlle. Bustier’s words as he fought to pay some attention to them. With a quiet sigh to himself, he thought, this is going to be a really long year.

Unable to stop himself, though, he snuck another quick peek at Marinette. Her head was ducked down, tongue poked out slightly in concentration as she wrote down the lecture notes. A small, soft smile lit up his face as he looked at her. It may be a long year but at least it was going to be a perfect one.

[the-faceless-bride]

Older Y/n story

[  ] Chapter 1

The little promises with you~

Shu

I walked into the manner closing my parasol and gently placing it down. When I heard little foot patters down the stairs. Then I felt a little hand grab mine. "Y/n look!" He held up a little cassette tape, "I made a new song list for us to listen to today!" He held the tape to my face waving it around. "How fun, lets you go upstairs, lay down, and listen." He nodded his head and tugged me up the stairs. I rush up with him pulling my skirt up a little so I dont trip.

We get to his room and he sat me on his bed crawling into my lap. He put the tape in the player and clicked play. I lay back lightly stroking his hair. Right as the music was at its climax he mumbled to me in his sleepy state, "Will you always be here for me?" He looked at me with lazy eyes "Of course, I always will where is this coming from?" He didn't answer me, "I just wanna lay here and listen to our music forever Y/n... I love you..." I smiled softly and kissed his forehead "I love you more"

Reiji

Just like the last time I walked to the manner. But when I walked in and closed my parasol Reiji stood at the door he took my parasol and placed it down for me. "Let's go to the library." He put his arm out for you to take. You took it and be walked with you.

Once we sat at a desk he took out the book we have been reading together but then he took out a little notebook. "What is that Reiji?" He looked up small dust of pink "well, I have started to write myself." He lightly tapped the cover of the book "I dont think you would like it..I... Tried to create a fairytale, it's out of my element but I wanted ti to try." He said as he pushed up his glasses "im sure with your experience and knowledge in reading im sure it's exceptional" he froze for a moment before sliding the book to you. As I read I quickly picked up on how this was short stories about things I and Reiji have done together with imagination I found it adorable. "This is the best book of short stories I have ever read."  He smiled softly at that it's nice to see him smile even if it's only a little one. But then he looked down and his smile completely fell. "Do you love me?" He asked out of the blue, I looked at him my eyes slightly wide. "Of course I love you. Why wouldn't I?" He looked over his shoulder before looking down "well... My mother has never said that to me. So you saying that makes me... Happy." He slides his hand across the table lightly playing with your fingers. "One day let's write an amazing story together... Ok," I pushed put his glasses for him booping his nose. "I will gladly write a story with you"

Ayato

Today I wanted to spend time with Ayato but he wasn't around his manner so I went looking for him. I finally found him after almost an hour of looking for him at the lake by his home. He was just staring at the water. "Ayato?" He yelped and spun around to look at me. "Oh hi n/n," he says in a sad tone of voice. "Why so blue Ayato? Penny for your thoughts?" I pulled a little penny out of my dress pocket.

He looks at me and takes the coin "well my mother is mad at me again." He said looking back to the water,  "why? What did you do?" I ask walking closer "i- I can't swim," he says his voice no more than a whisper. I sit there quietly thinking, he seems to notice that. And he turns to me "penny for your thoughts?" He says questioningly as he holds out the penny I gave him "would you like me to teach you how to swim?" He looks somewhat shocked at first. He looks back to the water "ok.." He said.

He turns around as I start to take some of my dress of until I was in my corset stalkings and white undershirt. I set into the water letting him know he can look now. He just takes his white shirt off and waddles in kinda scared. I held my arms out and he found his way into them.

He gripped tightly onto me like a koala. After some time and effort of I placed my hands under him as he made the movements of his limbs. I secretly let him go slowly arms hovering under him but not touching him. "You're doing it." I smile at him, at first he didn't get it but then he realized he couldn't feel my arms under him anymore. "I- IM DOING IT!" he shouted happily as he puppy paddled in circles around me. when he was tired of this he clung to my body again. "Thank you n/n, now I won't be stuck at the bottom of the lake forever! Please stay with me forever okay n/n!" He puffed his cheeks out "All okay Ayato I'll stay" that he smiled with his chubby cheeks and kissed my cheek.

Kanato

We sat under the little gazebo together with our tea tray. Kanato happily ate the pudding I had made beforehand. I, Kanato, and Teddy were having a tea party. I was wearing the pink and purple dress Kanato loved so much.

This but the red is pink and the black is purple

He was sitting next to me and Teddy was next to him.  "Kanato, slow down you'll choke if you dont." I giggle as I use a napkin to wipe some pudding off his cheeks. "I want to eat as much of it as I can, you always make the best pudding and sweets." I ruffled his hair and gave him a caring smile I got up to get us more tea but was stopped by a little hand tugging on my skirt.

I turn around questioningly "do you think im odd?" He asked with doll eyes. "What? No, what brought this on?" He lets out a little sigh before answering "well, mother says that the way I speak and act is strange and my relationship with Teddy is odd." This made my blood boil the nerve of this woman! "You're not odd Kanato, I think the way you talk and act makes you special and I love you for it," I say as I cup and pat his cheeks giving his face a little squeeze.

His hands grip my skirt harder and he shoves his face into it his words somewhat muffed "thank you y/n, this is why you will be the only one I will EVER love." I stroked his hair smiling "say Kanato, would you like to keep this tea set?" He perked up looking at me "k-keep it? Really?" He asked eyes holding a little shine in them. "Of course, and we can have tea parties more whenever you wish." He only grew more excited by his hopping up and down "Yay!"

Laito

I walked looking for Laito when I spotted him oh on... He was with his mother she had her hand on his shoulder close to his neck playing with the hair at the base of his neck. Without thinking I power walked over to them, whether I was angry, discussed or both was beyond me. How dare she put her hands on him the way she does! I know about the little affairs with her son and how she turned their relationship incestuous. She is a disgusting sex-based woman.  I was close when she spotted me letting Laito go and waving him away as she held her hand out to me. "Y/n! My dearest" I played into her game taking her hand and taking it close to my lips and kissing her pale knuckle.

"What brings you here love~," she says leaning back more opening her legs ever so slightly in hopes of tempting me. "Im here for Laito" her complexion faded, she sat up and crossed her legs "he's over in the roses over there," she said bored. Without another word, I walk to him.

"Hello y/n," he said as he brought me a single red rose. "Hello, Laito would you like to go inside with me and some water to put this in for now?" He smiles nodding his head yes.

After putting the rose in a small vase and sitting down he crawled into my lap his head in the crook of my neck snuggling into me. "She keeps doing that..." He said into my neck "who keeps Doing what?" I inquired "mother. She keeps talking with this other man but says she only shows her love to me" I felt small wet drops on my neck he was crying "oh Laito, that isn't love, what she does to you isnt love it's lust. There are other ways to show the love you know." He sniffled looking up at me "there is?" He questioned, "yes, like spending time with each other, listening to music reading a book, or just sitting enjoying each other presents it doesn't have to be physical, especially like that." His eyes shifted down in thought before looking up at me again. "So like us? We spend time together and enjoy being together so is that love? Love is what we are?" He inquired "then I love you y/n," he said arms around my neck I giggled and smiled softly "yes, I love you most laito. You deserve the world." I kissed the side of his head and patted his back. "Good to know," he said his voice below a whisper.

Subaru

I sat with Subaru in my lap making a flower crown as he drew in his little book with his doodles. We sat in silence I knew it was almost my time to go. I couldn't die due to my immortality but I knew I would have to let go of these boys soon. They... Didn't need me anymore. 

Shu never talked and pestered his brother.

Reiji was more like an adult than ever, too wrapped up in his work to bother writing short stories with me anymore.

Ayato went out with his friends from school.

Kanato had shut everyone out and stayed in his room most of the time.

And Laito talked with girls he didn't even give me a single rose anymore.

Subaru was the only one that needed me and once he doesn't it will be my time to leave.

By the time I finished with my thoughts I was finished with the flower crown. I gently placed it on his head and he closed his sketchbook. "Am I scary?" He asked as he looked to the floor. "huh? No, you're not. Who said that?" He let out a harsh breath "some kids at school said that no one likes me cuz' im scary and mad all the time."

"Well, for what it's worth I like you." He looked at me skeptical "you- you do?" His eyebrow raised "yes, in fact, I would even say I love you" his eyes went wide before he let out a little laugh "I love you too."

[osita-iza]

Tadashi Yamaguchi: Notes Along the Pages

Summary: Tadashi falls for the bookworm he’s friends with in class. He decides the best way to confess is to leave you notes in one of your favorite books. 

Word Count: 2.5 k

Warnings: Vague spoilers for Jane Eyre lol

A/n: Self-indulgent fluff of someone who enjoyed English class 

A hopeless romantic is a person who holds sentimental and idealistic views on love, especially in spite of experience, evidence, or exhortations otherwise.

Tadashi was one of the first people you became friends with in secondary school. Most people’s eyes would begin to glaze over after two minutes of you raving over books, which was one of your favorite activities. Not Tadashi’s though. Even if he didn’t know any of the characters or plot points, he would nod excitedly as you ranted over how the main character needed to grow a backbone or how the heroine was blind to the love interest’s advances. That was the foundation for your friendship that continued all through to third year. 

That’s why you didn’t question him when he handed you a copy of Jane Eyre, one of your favorite books. He was blushing more than usual, but you knew he could sometimes overthink things and be embarrassed. He had listened to you rave about every aspect of the book for years at this point, and you had borrowed it from the library countless times. “I actually read it,” he muttered. His cheeks burned brighter when your eyes shined as you took in the book. “It was as good as you said it was,” 

“I told you!” You pulled him into a hug. “But you really didn’t have to buy me this Tadashi. This is so sweet,” 

He shrugged, and you didn’t notice how his eyes softened at your excitement. “I figured you’ve read it so many times, you need your own copy at this point. Plus, it’s a classic, so it really didn’t cost that much,” 

You two continued on to class like normal. At lunch, you decided to go to the library to read, a common habit for you. You smiled to yourself as you cracked open the spine. You were almost completely alone, the only companions being students doing homework at the library’s computers. On the first page, a sticky note greeted you. 

This was one of the first books you talked to me about in first year, and I actually bought this that year. You complained about some of what Rochester did, but that you knew that he needed to fall in love with Jane. I remember I could feel the love you had for this book and its characters, and I just wanted to experience that too. I wanted to see what it was about this book that made you love it so much. What was so special? 

Then I read the book. While it is an amazing book, I did realize something. 

You were what was special. 

Your chest felt tight as you finished reading the sticky note. His writing was tiny and scrunched up together, something you always teased him about how difficult it was to read at times. As if he was so shy even his writing was trying to hide. You remembered how he listened to your overenthusiastic ramblings about the budding romance between Rochester and Jane. He was the first one who did, only one in fact. 

Without hesitation, you skipped through pages until you reached another sticky note. It was the scene where Jane met her best friend, Helen; the bright sticky note staring back against the black print. 

Okay I just finished this section and why didn’t you tell me what happens to Helen?!!! That really hurt. 

I get why you love Helen so much though. She’s so calm and peaceful. She’s  an angel, kind of like you. Even though it was her comforting Jane, I kept imagining your face.

I remember when we first met. Don’t tell Tsukishima, but I was terrified of going into high school. There were so many new people, and rules, and things I had to remember. Tsukishima was the only person I knew from my middle school that came to Karasuno, so I was worried about feeling like an outcast. 

And then I got assigned to sit next to you for my first class. I don’t know what stars aligned for that to happen, but I’m really happy that it did. You were so excited that someone would listen to you about a book that you weren’t disappointed when I didn’t know how to respond. I never said it, but I could listen to you talk about books all day. You get so excited; it’s like you’re a battery and I get some of your energy when you do. When I was upset cause I was a coward, you told me that my shyness was cute to you. That me being quiet meant that I had more time to understand people on a deeper level before I spoke. Doesn’t mean I don’t still feel like a coward sometimes, but I always hear your voice reminding me I’m not when I do. You were my Helen. 

There was a bright smile on your face as you reread the sticky note’s sloppy writing on the front and back. You remembered that day too. He had been tense in the seat next to you, and you chose to ignore him until you saw him trying to catch the title of the book you were reading. That observation sparked the strong friendship between the two of you- one that transcended summer breaks, finals, and different schedules. It bloomed into trips to the mall, late night phone calls, and studying with each other on the weekend. 

Skipping through the pages, there were more and more annotations. Comments on the amazing writing, the “expensive” words the author used that he had to look up, and the amazing romance between your favorite characters. You made a note to go back through and read all of them later on. Right now, you were focused on finding more of these sticky notes. 

The next sticky note was during the proposal scene between Jane and Rochester, when they admitted that they loved each other. Large sticky notes that covered almost the entirety of the page were placed there. 

One time I asked you why you liked reading romance books so much, especially because you didn’t watch a lot of romance movies. I was walking you back home from the library because it was dark. You got this dazed look in your eye when I asked you. I wonder if you remember what you said... 

You did. 

You told me, in books, the author can’t rely on swelling music, or a pretty face, or fancy camerawork to make you believe two people are in love. They can only use words. You said that people were forced to use their words, and that reading it was so sweet and intimate, and you loved it. That the idea of someone thinking you’re as beautiful of the stars sooooo strongly that they have to tell you- that they’ll explode if you don’t know- was one of the most passionate and romantic things you could imagine.

You said you couldn’t imagine someone doing that for you, but the idea was really sweet. Ever since I heard you say that, I realized that the idea of you not getting that left a bad taste in my mouth. Because, god, you really deserve it.

You let out a shaky breath as you reread his words over and over again. Tadashi had never hinted that he felt that strongly about you. It felt nice that he thought of you so often, that your conversations replayed as much in his head as they did in yours. That he cared about you a lot, and he needed you to know that. 

Your nerves were going crazy as you imagined Tadashi’s face. His smile and burning cheeks was one of the cutest things you had seen in your life. He was one of the cutest things you had seen in your life. You wondered what his smile would be like when you saw him next. Would his cheeks burn that beautiful rosy pink when he saw you holding the book?

You skimmed the pages, some having doodles in the margin, and you got to a page that had one of Jane and St. John’s conversations on it when you saw another sticky note. You giggled at the first line: 

He is one of the worst people I’ve ever read about >:( 

I understand every single rant you went on about him. I still don’t think that I fully understand everything you said about him because you talked a lot about history and Victorian patriarchy, and it’s sometimes hard to keep up, especially because when you get excited you talk really fast. 

I love when you talk like that. Even if I never understand what you’re talking about ever again, I want you to keep talking to me like that. You look so cute and passionate about it. Your voice sometimes goes to a higher pitch too, god, I love it when you do that. It’s the best thing I’ve ever heard. 

You skipped ahead, catching him comment ‘Thank god’ next to the sentence where Jane decided to go back to Thornfield. It made you smile, happy that he got excited by the plot too. 

The amount of annotations increased, but the comments got smaller and smaller throughout the rest of the book. You were somewhat disappointed until you got to the last chapter. The only visible line was “Reader, I married him.” The rest of the book’s page was covered by a piece of notebook paper that was taped to it, folded up to fit inside the book’s cover. 

Okay, so I saw this book at a bookstore first-year. I bought it, read it, and I planned to give it to you and ask you out at the same time. Obviously, that didn’t happen. I was too shy to give it to you, so instead it built up dust in my bedroom. Then, you said that you never 8thought you would get to experience all of the stuff that happened in your books. 

And I didn’t know how to respond because whenever I read a line that would be considered romantic in this book, or any book, I always thought of you. All of the love songs, rom-coms, books, and cliches became about you. I understood all of those deep metaphors English teachers tried to get me to care about because I happened to sit next to you in class. So I’ll be completely honest with you and all of the ways that I’ve unknowingly found myself romanticizing you.  

In simplest terms, you’re existence is pure poetry. 

Sometimes you would wait for us after practice, and the sunset would come down and reflect off of you in the best way. You’re usually on your phone or reading a book. There’s a moment before you notice that we’re outside, and you’re completely at peace. I think I fall in love with you every time I see the light reflect off of your peaceful face. I wish I was an artist just so I could paint that picture over and over again. 

Your voice is like music, whether you’re whispering snide comments to me in the middle of class, or ugly singing to songs when we’re alone, or ranting about how amazing the couple you’re reading about is. If I had to give up music or listening to your voice, I would give up every song in the world in a heartbeat. 

I’ve spent so much time getting to know you, and I don’t think I could ever associate you with disappointment. All I want is to keep learning about you because there’s always something new to learn. Everything about you, from your personality, to how you speak, to that face that must have been sculpted is just captivating to me. You’re being is a museum dedicated to you, and loving you is getting the chance to explore just a corner of the museum. If it were up to me, I would spend everyday for the rest of my life trying to explore the rest of the art that is you. 

Honestly, I think I’ve been in love with you ever since first-year; it just took me a long time to figure out how to verbalize it. Even if you don’t feel the same way, I need you to know that someone has loved you that much. I love you that much. 

Folding the paper back up, you checked your phone, seeing that there wasn’t that much time left in lunch. You wanted to see Tadashi, but what were you supposed to say to that kind of confession? There was an intense energy in your body, but you had no idea how to utilize it. 

You grabbed the book and your backpack, knowing Tadashi was likely at lunch with some of the other volleyball boys. As you stepped into the cafeteria, heart hammering against your chest, you saw him laughing along with his friends. He glanced over to where you were, as if he could feel your presence. 

His cheeks immediately began to burn pink, and he said something to his friends before leaving the table and walking towards you. All of his friends turned their heads to look at you as Tadashi stepped in front of you. “So... did you read the stuff I wrote?” he mumbled. His eyes avoiding yours. 

“Yeah, I did...” You began running your finger up and down the pages of the book in your hands, sometimes catching a sticky note that was sticking out of the side. 

Tadashi nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry if any of it made you uncomfortable I just want-” 

“Are you free Saturday?” His eyes widened, and he stared at you for a couple of moments. You let out a stilted laughter at his silence. “So... is that a yes?” 

“Yes!” Tadashi said, cringing when he realized how loud his response was. “I mean... of course.” 

You nodded, not knowing what else to say. He looked so adorable right now. You wanted to pull him into your arms, tell him how beautiful you thought he was, how you had been staring at him for just as long, how you loved everything about him. 

The bell rang before you could though. Plus, you weren’t sure if you had the courage to say all of those things to him in the moment. You settled for grabbing his wrist to pull him closer to you. Tadashi furrowed his eyebrows at your action before his face somehow turned redder as you pressed your lips to his cheek. “I think you’re poetry too, Tadashi,” you whispered. 

His body felt like jelly as you said his name. A soft smile came across his face as you leaned back. “I’m glad I told you then,” he said. 

You giggled before holding up the copy of Jane Eyre. “I am definitely keeping this,” you replied. 

“Not too cheesy?” 

“Never worry about being too cheesy with me,” you giggled before you stepped away from him. “I’ll see you Saturday.” 

He nodded, watching you hold the book close to your chest, as if you needed it to remind you of all of the words he wrote. And Yamaguchi promised himself that he would remind you of those words himself at every opportunity he would get. 

[weeklyfangirl]

Frat Boy Pt. 21

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7 (1), part 7 (2), part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13 , part 14, part 15, part 16, part 17, part 18, part 19 , part 20

HI LOVIES. Please enjoy a Friday update on the Frat Boy universe. This one is a bit of a breather after the TUMULTUOUS ANGST of the last chappie. Shorter than my usual, but it’s all the chapter needed. Tons more y/n and Harry interaction on the way in the next! Have a safe and happy day loves xx

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Things I want:

Live a life that helps others

Financial freedom

Experience a great love

Visit the the Pincio Gardens in Italy

To have more dreams and fewer nightmares

Doodle more

Acquire a first edition book, either because an old  friendly man who owns an antique bookshop decides to give it to me in a bonding moment, or because I have accomplished #2 and I am celebrating being a Boss Bitch

To be happy

Please note: not necessarily in that order

 It was taped above my desk, waiting for me to bring it in to the next session. I hesitated to write number 6. It was a dream I hardly entertained after committing my scholarly life to pursue medicine. I used to love to doodle. All the time. Since elementary school. I doodled so much my mom dedicated a wall in the house to my illustrations. She hung a sign above it that affectionately said “Y/N’s Doodles.” Seriously, you couldn’t get me to stop. Even if it was gross sappy sketches of my crush Billy who I would NEVER show on the playground at recess.   

 My doodling stopped how these things normally do. Because life grew busier than anything else, and the sketchpad and easel my dad had bought for me at a garage sale became ignored, collecting dust in the corner of my room. At some point, it’d become a year since I’d drawn anything, and then it was two, and three, and by this point I’d realized I was the one who’d need to create her own stability in life and medicine was the more logical fit. It wasn’t that I didn’t see the value in drawing anymore, I just had other things take up my time. It became a comfort just knowing I used to draw. Paul had paved his way, and now I was on my way to do the same. At least with medicine, my soul felt fed. It was almost comfort enough. 

  “oH WE GOT A ROGUE ONE.” 

 A flying toenail hit my eye. 

 “WHAT THE-” I flailed my arms, as though there were a thousand more coming. Renny’s mouth opened in shock, her guilty body hunched over her bent leg. Clippers in hand.  

 “Sorry!!” Renny burst up laughing.

 “oH MY GOSH CAN YOU DO THAT OVER A TRASH CAN OR SOMETHING?!” 

 “IT HAD A MIND OF ITS OWN!!” she screamed back. 

 I blinked rapidly, my left eye watering up and spilling painless tears. “Well I’m going to have conjunctivitis at the studio later. Or I’ll be stumbling in blind.” I wiped it away.

 I heard another clip and she put up her hands with another giggle. 

 “All done. And you won’t stumble, I’m going to be there.” Renny extended her leg, her perfectly trimmed foot nearly touching the ceiling.

 “You’re just going to solicit Zayn to be his next subject.” 

 “Maybe,” her grin grew devious. “But also because I want to see if he captured the angelic beauty and complex nymph nuances of my best friend.” 

 I put a hand to my chest, still aching from uncertainty. “Honored.” 

 “Want to watch another episode until it’s time to go?” 

 This whole lazy morning had been an OC Housewives bingefest. She’d seen it on my homepage and had a complete spazz, twitching whilst proclaiming but i’ve been trying to get you to watch this show for YEARS!! When she saw the old season I was on, though, she didn’t have to question why her pestering had miraculously worked. She didn’t mention him aloud besides giving me a pointed look. And so, we watched it, even though I wasn’t really in the mood to see anything about Harry right now. It’d hurt more than I thought to walk away from him last night, and to see how sad he looked when I did. 

 After last night, he hadn’t posted anything to social media. He’d called, twice, but I knew he was drunk, or worse, and I was tired, and whatever he would say he could tell me in the morning. Even though I knew he wouldn’t. 

 And he didn’t. 

 And therein lay the problem. 

 It hurt to see his family on my little box of a computer screen, weird to see his life and get glimpses of his childhood. I felt like a hacker spying on home videos. But then I reminded myself that thousands of people had already done the same. At this point, it was just… morbid curiosity.

 “Nah, I don’t know if I can handle any more of that right now. Dr. Rhinecuff is going to yell at me if I don’t return these scanned copies to him by Monday.” 

 “Ew, he smells like meat.” 

 “RENNY!!” 

 “I’m just saying. That one time I went with you it smelled like pastrami in his office. He has a PhD, but isn’t with-it enough to buy air freshener.”

 “He likes pastrami sandwiches, let him live.” 

 She scrolled on her phone, not bothering to respond, and my gaze turned to the window. 

 “Hey Renny?” 

 “Hm.” 

 A bird flew close to the glass, halting just before it hit it, then zooming off in the opposite direction. “What’d you do when your parents were fighting?” 

 “Ummm…” I knew the question registered in her mind when she stopped scrolling, suddenly concerned. “Are your parents okay?”

 “Yeah. I mean, kind of.” I glossed over it, not caring to get into the bitter details. “I was just curious.” 

 “Uhh..” She plucked at the soft cotton of her cotton candy pajamas that were fraying at the knees. “I lost my virginity to Zach,” she half-laughed.   

 “Zach? Neighbor boy Zach?” 

 Renny nodded. She always sounded a little sad when she talked about him. Zach was the hot college boy who shared a backyard fence with Renny, the girl who may or may not have used her kitchen stool to peak over and see him workout on the grass every summer he came home. I’d known they’d slept together. I just didn’t think he was her first. 

 “I just tried to be out of the house as much as I could,” she said. “Found my true love Mary J.” 

 “Oh.” 

 “It was shitty, but I’m glad I got it over with.”

 “The divorce or your virginity.” 

 “Both,” she chortled. “Why what’s up? Are you sad or something? I have a j in my drawer.” 

 “No, no, I’m fine.” Mostly I was just wondering what it must be like to feel so sexually liberated. In my house sex wasn’t talked about. At all. The inevitable sex scene in every other movie would result in my dad blaring out “WHAT KIND OF MOVIE IS THIS!” in an attempt to make it less awwkard, but having it backfire and only make it horrendously more awkward. I wasn’t saving my virginity for anyone in particular, but after all those romance novels, I wanted it to be… something. I wanted to feel something towards the person where it would justify something I’ve kept to myself for so long. I wanted it to be intense. I wanted it to be like the books. Like a Frank Sinatra song that swept up your heart and transported you back to a time of gentlemen and cigars and women in long evening gowns with fur coats and martinis. 

 “I wish I could just get it over with,” I confessed. One half of me screamed YOU’RE IN YOUR TWENTIES HAVE ALL THE SEX while the other half said YOU’VE WAITED THIS LONG DAMN IT HOLD OUT A LITTLE LONGER. I didn’t know which part of me was compromising more. 

 Renny leaned in, quick. “Would you do it with Harry?” 

 Like the flip of a switch, I remembered the sensuous heat of his body against mine, wrapping me up and pressing me against him where we just fit. And I couldn’t imagine how much better it’d feel to be even more connected to him. 

 “Maybeeee…?” 

 But then there was last night. 

 I cringed. No matter how with me he’d seemed… he couldn’t have been present after mixing whatever the hell he took and a handle of alcohol. Did I really want someone like that? Someone who could only give a shell of themselves? 

 “No, I wouldn’t. Or- ugh, I don’t know. I don’t know if it could ever mean as much to him.” 

 Renny nodded. “I mean, don’t let him pressure you, obviously. If he does, I’ll kick his baby maker smack into his prostate. Prostate. See, anatomy. You taught me that.” 

 “Haha, no, he’s not like that.” My brows stitched. I was confused why he wasn’t more like that, actually. We’d known each other for several months now and he hadn’t even put a finger in me. When I thought about it, it actually frustrated me. Don’t pressure me to do anything, but I wanted to be pushed to do something. I was never the bold one in areas like this. 

 Not that I should be so willing to do anything with him anymore anyways. Something shifted in me when I’d seen him last night. It wasn’t a shift I could easily describe, but it’d set me a foot apart from my heart. A bit of me was shocked that it had happened so suddenly. 

 But this shift was new, and my heart still wanted what it wanted. I knew that if I watched any more OC Housewives with Harry’s toddler curls and surfer tan, I’d be sucked right back into speculating about what our future kids could look like. And if I saw him? 

 You were right, Harry. You are fucked. 

 I cringed again. That was harsh. That was very very harsh. 

 I didn’t know if I’d have the courage to apologize. What if my pheromones went berserk and magnetized me to his side??

 Renny was right.

 I needed therapy. 

 The clippers were tossed back on my desk.

 “Thanks,” she said. “Have you started on your DG Double P yet?” 

 DG Double P = Renny Speak for DG Pretty Please. 

 I groaned. “No. I don’t know how I’m going to do it, honestly. I have to-”

 “NO!!! Don’t tell me. We’re not supposed to tell each other.” Her hand extended in panic.

 “Fine. I can keep a secret.” 

 I was getting a little too good at that lately.

 She moved onto her belly, splaying her arms out in a dramatic fashion, face squished against the comforter. “Isn’t it just killing you inside.” She was dead serious. 

 “Yeah, more than you know.” 

 And I was serious, too. 

 --------------------------------------

 I wasn’t expecting people to dress up as much as they did. Donned in my only pair of yoga pants and a chunky white sweater, I walked arm-in-arm with Renny past girls in cocktail dresses and guys in button-downs. 

 Something that sounded like a baby’s cry filled my ears, but it was gone as soon as we walked through the doors to the on-campus gallery.  . 

 “Woah did you hear that?” 

 Renny nodded, tossing her head back. “There’s a baby somewhere.” 

 It reminded me of the bodiless screams in my nightmare. In my chunky sweater, I shivered undetectably.

 The on-campus gallery rotated exhibits throughout the year, but this time, student sculptures were on pedestals, nightmarish portraits hung on the walls, and red and orange tapestries swooped down and across the ceiling in a cirque-du-soleil moment as if to secure us beneath fire. Some students had separate booths, but other pieces of work trailed seamlessly into the next. 

 A tree made from photographs and newspaper took up the center of the space. Zayn had been so adamant about his muse having life, I wondered if that was the focus of this exhibit - to capture natural life. But I suppose all art did. 

 “It’s the circle of life exhibit,” Renny stated, as if reading my thoughts. 

 “How’d you know that?” 

 She held up a pamphlet she must’ve grabbed from the entrance. 

 I quickly scanned the room, hoping to find Zayn quickly so I could skip out just as quick. 

 Several of my professors were here, including Dr. Rhinecuff. When he saw me, I raised my hand, but he raised his cup of red wine awkwardly and looked away. 

 My hand wavered. 

 Odd. 

 Zayn was standing by the tree, speaking with an older woman. Her skin was a rich brown, short hair hidden beneath a chic scarf. The man beside her looked around the same age with graying facial hair, a pocket hanky, and beaded bracelets. Art professors. 

 I caught his gaze, and he gestured me over. 

 “Y/N, these are my instructors. David and Ebony.”   

 Their eyes lit up in recognition. “He did you a great justice,” David said, gray moustache twitching with the words.

 Ebony beamed. “Oh yes, a piece was already sold. He’s going to be the next big wig before he graduates,” she gushed. “Zayn, I’m sure you’ll be splitting the profits with the heart of the piece.”

 She gestured to me and his smile widened, but my stomach sank faster. 

 “I didn’t know these pieces were going to be sold.”

 Ebony sensed my concern. The wine in her glass swirled. “We thought allowing the pieces to be shown and auctioned was a good way to replicate what many of them should be doing once they graduate. The whole department gets involved, and these kids put in a lot of work, and the reputation of starving artists isn’t something we want to buy into here.”

 I nodded. “I mean, that’s great. That’s… really amazing.” 

 Zayn couldn’t meet my eyes. He knew. He could sense my hesitance, too. 

 “Now he can finally afford a nice dinner to take you out!” David proclaimed. 

 We were all quiet for a minute. “You know, for a thank you dinner,” David covered up. Zayn’s brows scrunched and he shook his head a bit, not knowing where David’s comment came from. 

 “Do you do this regularly?” Ebony asked, steering the conversation away from an awkward moment. 

 My ears pricked up when I realized she was looking at me. “Excuse me?” 

 “Well I was just thinking…” a light laugh lifted as if her idea would be outrageous. “Would you mind sitting in for one of my classes on Monday? Our model had a sudden death-” 

 “My God,” David proclaimed. 

 Ebony waved her hand. “-in his family. I haven’t called to replace him yet.”

 It quieted as they looked at me, waiting for a response. “Oh, I don’t… I don’t usually do this. At all. It was a chance thing.” 

 “Luck be the artist.” David raised his glass. 

 Ebony followed suit, looking at my empty hand. “You just going to let her stand there without a drink?”

 “Yeah, Zayn. What kind of treatment is this?” I teased. 

 He did a slight bow. “Apologies. We’ll walk to drinks, immediately.” He pulled us away, leading us further into the showroom as his head dipped low to my ear. “Renny just passed us to meet Felix and them. They’re through here.” 

 We stepped under an archway that led into a darker-lit room, but his hand stopped me beneath the nook. “Did yeh notice anything?”

 Yeah. I was noticing how close we were in this archway. He saw my eyes start to squint in thought and he turned me around to face the room we’d just left. 

 “Look closer.” 

 My eyes roamed the crowd, trying to find some sort of person, or pattern he could be referring to. With a brief seize of my heart, I expected to see somebody from the gang. 

 “Look at the artwork, Y/N.” His breath warmed my skin. 

 The paintings all seemed to be bright, though sticking to red, orange, blacks, and grays. Wait, forget a pallette pattern. The next painting had blue and purple, too. One sculpture looked like a writhing ghost, twisting and reaching for something above. Or maybe it was an unearthed tree root. Despite all the bold colors, there was something off-putting about how bright they all were. It wasn’t a soothing brightness. It was almost violent. The orange and red writhing tapestries warped the ceiling into something hot. 

 “Is it hell?” I chortled, but quickly quieted. I expected him to take offense, but his hand went lightly around my waist with a small smile.

 “Could be. See-” his arm extended out to scan the perimeter “-all this art is supposed to represent death, but challenge the notion of it through color.” 

 “How so?” 

 “Yeh know it’s usually your blacks, and your grays, s’depressing shit. But we’re born from death. Before life, there was nothing, but something. It’s bold and necessary and there, and no one really knows whatever comes before. Or after.” He looked at the room, taking a sip of wine. I watched as he swallowed, and I imagined the wine running down. “What is death but an uncertain existence.” He said the thought almost happily, looking at me with a slight smirk. “Could be anythin’.” 

 He took a deep breath, letting his hand touch the top of the archway. It was then that I noticed it wasn’t just plain drywall. A collage of photographs ran all along the inside. 

 He wasn’t as tall as Harry, but his hand still reached the top, scuffing across a picture of an African landscape taped over a toddler eating fruity pebbles. 

 “They’re pictures. Everyone donated one,” he said. 

 A strand of words were painted over the collage, running from one end of the archway to the other, and I tilted my head back to read it. “Things... that…. make... m..e …...feel alive.” 

 “Everyone was able to design their space in order to control, to some extent, how their art was perceived. Everyone was a part of the transition space.” 

 “Very nice,” I noted, slightly put-off. I hadn’t been expecting this art show to be so… professional. “Zayn, this is amazing. Like, really, truly, professional-grade stuff is happening. The presentation, the pieces, everything.”

 His smile grew wider, putting cool hands over my eyes. I flinched, but let him. 

 I felt him come closer. 

“Listen now,” he urged. 

 I listened, but I wasn’t sure for what. There was the familiar busy rumble of people mingling, parents visiting their kids, and professors droning on about the talent of their students. But it was chatter. I couldn’t make out one conversation over another. I shrugged up against his other hand that was atop my shoulder. 

 “Sometimes you need to change where you’re planted to understand.” 

 I hoped he could see my cross expression because I couldn’t tell if he was bullshitting me right now. It’d been a day. It’d been a night. And I wasn’t in the mood for more philosophical ramblings - especially about death. “I don’t know what you mean,” I sighed. 

 “Meaning I have to move you closer to the speakers.” He let out a breathy laugh. “Jus’ keep your eyes closed, okay?” 

 I nodded. His hand moved, tilting my head to its side. Eyes still closed, I became self-conscious imagining people trying to move past me, and here I was, planted, eyes closed in the middle of the archway. My cheeks heated. It was unnerving knowing people could see me when I couldn’t see them. And anyway, I must’ve looked ridiculous. 

 “What do you hear?” he urged. 

 “I hear a lot of people talking,” I griped. 

But right when I was about to open my eyes-  

 I heard a familiar chirping through the chatter. 

 “Birds?” I opened my eyes. 

 “Observance can be taught, sometimes.” Zayn leant back, looking mighty proud of himself. 

 “Why are there birds?” 

 “We’re entering life,” he smiled, backing into the space. I tipped my wine back, several long gulps lightening my step as I followed him. Immediately, I noticed much more natural, earthier tones. For being a room of life, it was surprisingly darker than the prior room.

 Renny, Felix, and Andre were huddled in the center where a makeshift wall-on-wheels covered in vines divided the room in half. 

 My eyes widened, trying to adjust to the dimness. “It’s a lot darker in here.” 

 “All intentional. They decided to play with light in here. People usually think of life being bright ‘n that, but it’s also when we experience varying degrees of darkness. There’s a balance to things and the trouble is finding it.” Understanding laced his voice as his dark eyes bore into mine, almost completely black. One look from Zayn and I was reminded of all the weight I’d been carrying. I fidgeted, uncomfortable seeing myself in his eyes. 

 “Y/N, get over here!” Renny called. My shoulders visibly relaxed. My saving grace. “You didn’t tell me you did this,” she said lowly as soon as I got close enough, shocked excitement barely contained. Her giddy smile gave it away though. “Miss sexy secret keeper over here.” 

 “What do you mean?” 

 She playfully poked my sides, but Andre and Felix avoided my gaze. Something wasn’t right. And it stirred my stomach, my body already knowing, somehow. 

 I turned in slow motion, the charcoal drawings in my peripherals stopping me in place. Framed amidst the vines, my face was etched onto paper, scrunching and twisting in various expressions. But my body was attached and twisting, too. And it was bare, bent over, spread out, laying down… My eyes scanned over them a dozen times in a second. 

 I was naked. 

 In all of them. 

 One was titled “21st Century Love.” In this one, I faced the viewer, but looked past them, sorrowful eyes, brows furrowed, breasts I’d never shown on full display. A hickey or two on my neck. A painful sting gripped my chest. I looked sad. I looked so sad.  

 Tunnel vision, a blurred Renny rushed down to the floor, and a distant part of me registered something wet splatter on my feet. 

 The wine had dropped.

 I’d dropped it. 

 I was trapped in a shell. My body was numb. 

 “Babes, you okay?” Renny asked, her voice somewhere far away. Somewhere outside the shell, her voice drowned in the busy rumbling, with the birds, with the watchers. People were watching me now. I was being watched. “Felix, grab some towels!” she barked. 

 I looked horrified, towards Zayn, but changed my mind just as fast. I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t even breathe. 

 He didn’t know me at all. He could stare at me for a thousand sessions and paint every crevice, sunspot, blemish, and mole and still not see me. How was an artist this blind? How could he not know that this was the last thing I could ever want? How could he picture me so… intimately?

 The paintings seemed to swirl into one before bouncing back out into their separate exposees. 

 Because that’s what it was. 

 An exposure. 

 A stranger could pay to have me in their home. 

 The floor spun, vision spotting. 

 My lungs tightened, tearing me away from Renny, from Felix, from Andre. From Zayn, the artist who painted a confused girl so unashamed. So honestly. Savagely and Unabashedly. 

 “I didn’t want this.” 

 And it was when I was halfway out the door that I realized the voice had come from me, a mantra pushing my shell all the way home. 

part 22

[gaiyofanfiction]

Silent Yearning

Mute!Donghyuck x New Student!Reader

Drama/Fluff

Words: 8.1k

Summery: Ever since a traumatic experience happened to Donghyuck, his depression and anxiety caused him to turn mute as a way to cope. Now, having gone from one of the most popular boys in school to the school’s freak, he cuts everyone out from his life, trying to fly under the radar. That was, until you showed up and turned his whole life around. But was it for the better?

A/N: I’m so sorry I’ve been away for so long. I’ve been going through some shit. I’ve had this idea for this fic for a very long time and finally got around to writing it. It was originally for Hyuck’s birthday but clearly that didn’t happen. So, happy belated birthday to my sun and love of my life! <3 Please enjoy!

Warnings: Bullying, horrible YangYang, mentions of mental illness and death

Disclaimer: This story is pure fiction. Any personality traits/illnesses of Donghyuck, YangYang, Xiaojun and Hendery are made up by me. They in no way reflect the real personalities of these amazing boys.

(Also, Stan NCT ot21 for good grades and clear skin)

~~~

The darkness surrounds him, consuming his entire being. He can't see, can't hear, can't speak.

‘What's going on?! Why can't I see anything?! Why can't I breathe?!’

He clutches his chest, nothing but pain engulfing his lungs. Suddenly there was a burst of light behind him. He spins around to see crushed metal that had burst into flames. Tears form in his eyes, inhaling nothing but smoke as he cries out.

“Mom! Dad!”

“Mr. Lee!”

Donghyuck jolts awake, breathing heavily and sweat beading down his flustered face. He looks around the room, realizing he had fallen asleep in class. He looks up at the teacher, who was hovering over him, shaking her head in disappointment.

“Please at least try to pay attention, Mr. Lee.”

The teacher sighs and walks back to the front of the classroom. Donghyuck hears laughter and looks to his right to see YangYang and his goons with smirks on their faces. Donghyuck rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to the front, his chin resting on his arms. She resumes her lessons but after a few minutes, there's a knock on the door.

The classroom door opens to reveal the school's principal. He bows his head and smiles. “Class, I'd like to introduce a new student that will be joining us for the remainder of the year.”

You stepped into the classroom, your face flushed from being the center of attention. As soon as Donghyuck sees you, his eyes widen and his breath hitches. He's never seen someone so beautiful in his life. ‘She's never going to notice someone like me. Let alone, me.’ However, when the teacher tells you to introduce yourself, Donghyuck pays close attention.

You bow your head to the class. “H-Hello. My name is Y/N. I moved to Seoul from [hometown], so my Korean is a little rusty.” You giggle shyly. “Um, I don't do a lot. I mainly like to read and write. Please take care of me.” You bow your head once more.

The teacher claps and smiles. “How wonderful. Let's see, you can take a seat next to Donghyuck in the back.” She points to the seat on the left side of him, making him slightly panic on the inside.

You smile at the teacher and make your way to the back of the classroom. You take your seat and turn your head to look at the boy next to you.

“Hi, I'm Y/N. You're Donghyuck? It's nice to meet you.” He swallows the lump in his throat but doesn't glance your direction. Your smiles fades into a frown at his rejection. “I-I'm sorry.” You mutter under your breath, turning your attention back to the front. Donghyuck's stomach drops, feeling awful for ignoring your friendliness. ‘It's better this way. She can't be seen with me on her first day.’

The teacher continues her lesson but once again gets cut off by the phone ringing. She answers before nodding and hanging up. “Class, I will be right back, I have a matter I need to attend to. Behave yourselves until I return.” She gives a pointed look at YangYang and Donghyuck before leaving the room and shutting the door.

As soon as the door closes, the class erupts into conversation. You stay quiet, just doodling in your notebook until you feel a presence around your desk. You look up to see three boys, all with grins on their faces.

“Hi there.” You raise a brow at the one talking, who seems to be the ringleader. You already get a bad feeling from these three. “I'm YangYang, this is Xiaojun and Hendery. Welcome to SM high.”

You give the boys a cautious smile. “H-Hi. I'm Y/N.”

“I see you've met little Hyuck here.” Xiaojun gestures to the quiet, observing boy. “You won't get much out of him. He's a mute.”

You turn your attention to the boy next to you. “You're mute, Donghyuck?” A smile grows on your face and you clap excitedly, which confused the boy. “I'm sorry, I don't mean to seem rude. I just thought you didn't like me. But you just can't say anything.” You giggle quietly, the pleasant sound making Donghyuck's heart flutter.

YangYang clears his throat. “We would like to extend the offer of helping you integrate into this school. There is a hierarchy, if I must say. You're cute and have a lot of potential. I would be happy to help you figure out who you should,” he points to himself, “and shouldn't be seen with.” He finishes, sending Donghyuck a look of disgust.

You see the interaction between the two boys, YangYang's little smirk and Donghyuck's sad, but frustrated look, not meeting your eyes. You turn your attention on YangYang and his goons.

“I think I can decide whom I'd like to associate myself with on my own, thanks.” You deadpan, an annoyed expression flashing through your face.

YangYang's smirk turns into a scowl. “Fine, have it your way. You just signed your way to the bottom of the food chain with this freak.” He points his thumb at Donghyuck and turns away, sauntering back to his desk. You roll your eyes and turn to the mute boy next to you. His eyes shift between you and the notebook on his desk. You open your mouth to say something but were cut off by the bell.

The teacher walks back in at the same time the bell rings. “Alright class, tomorrow we will be discussing the next chapter. Make sure to read the homework!” She yells over the hustling of the students trying to leave.

You see Donghyuck pack up his things and book it out of the classroom. “Donghyuck, wait!” You put your notebook away as fast as you can before running after him.

You catch up and start walking beside him. He side eyes you with a confused look. You tilt your head. “What?”

He takes out his phone and starts typing something. He turns to show you.

Why are you walking with me?

You read the words before giving the boy a smile. “Because I want to be friends, silly.”

He looks taken aback before he scowls. He types something else and turns to show you.

You shouldn't. You'll learn that I'm not someone you'll want to be seen with.

With that, the boy pulls his backpack tighter against himself and hurries away, leaving you sad and confused.

~~~

You walk through the cafeteria, looking for a place to sit. Being the new kid, you didn't exactly have a friend group to hang around with. The only person you've talked to so far was Donghyuck and YangYang, and you'll be damned if you ever decide to sit next to YangYang.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Donghyuck sitting alone. A smile plays at the corner of your lips. You make your way over to the boy and sit down across from him. Donghyuck looks up from his lunch and freezes when he sees you. He raises an eyebrow in wonderment. You look at him, tilting your head.

“What?”

He takes out his phone to type something, showing you when he's done.

Why are you sitting here?

You shrug. “I told you before, I want to be friends.”

He rolls his eyes.

But why me?

“Because I like you and want to get to know you.”

Donghyuck's cheeks turn pink, turning his face down at his tray so you don't see. You let out a little giggle before turning back to your food. The two of you sat in comfortable silence, just enjoying your lunch and his company.

“Why is she sitting with him?”

“Doesn't she know he's a mute?”

“She just signed her death warrant, sitting with that freak.”

Donghyuck hears the whispers around him from his classmates. He glances at you, knowing you must have heard them and you must have changed your mind about wanting to be friends. However, when he sees you happily munching away at your lunch and not paying any mind, he's come to the conclusion that you either don't hear them or don't care.

“Hey, Hyuck.” He snaps out of his daze to look at you. You hold out your hand. “Gimmie your phone.”

He raises an eyebrow curiously, tilting his head. You roll your eyes. “Please?”

Donghyuck cautiously hands you his phone, which you happily take. You open it and go to his contacts. You type in your number and then take a cute selfie to put as your contact picture. After sending a text to your phone, so you can have his number, you hand back his phone. His mouth drops open in slight shock at your forwardness. He never expected you to want his number.

You hold up your own phone and point the camera at him. “Say cheese,” you snap a photo. You look at it fondly, a cute surprised expression on his face. Giggling at the cute picture, you put your phone away. “Now you have my number and I have yours!”

Donghyuck stares at you in awe. He's never had someone go to these lengths to genuinely get to know him. Not since…

A bell rings, snapping Donghyuck out of his thoughts, signaling the end of lunch. You swallow the last bit of food before cleaning up. “What's your next class?”

Donghyuck pulls out his class schedule, handing it to you. You scan the sheet of paper and notice you have three classes together after the lunch bell. You smile happily, handing back the paper.

“Oh! I have the same class as you. We can walk together!” Donghyuck raises a brow, looking at you with a weird look at your enthusiasm. You tilt your head, “what?”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes and picks up his pace, walking in front of you, a smile playing at his lips.

~~~

The rest of the day went fairly smooth. You had two more classes with Donghyuck, but he usually did his best to ignore you or push you away. Although, he seems to try less and less, making you hopeful he will accept your friendship.

By the time you got home, you were exhausted from your first day. You said hi to your parents and collapsed onto your bed. After a few seconds, you pull out your phone and pull up Donghyuck's contact. You click on his picture, blushing and giggling at his cute surprised expression. He really was a beautiful human being. You built up the courage to text him, hoping he will respond.

Y/N: Hey Hyuckie! I hope you got home okay ^^

Donghyuck laid in his bed, thinking about everything that happened today. He never expected to have met a girl, especially one so forward as you. Just then his phone buzzes, signaling an incoming message. He picks up his phone to see the cute picture of you had popped up, the message being from you. A smile graces his lips at your picture. It takes a moment for him to build up the courage to reply but he does shortly after.

Hyuck: I did. Thanks for asking.

Y/N: That’s good! Hey, I’m sorry for being so straightforward at school today. You just seem really cool and I wanted to get to know you…

Donghyuck bites his lip, a feeling of guilt washing over him. He didn’t mean to make you feel bad for trying to befriend him. In all honesty, a little crush had developed inside of him for you. But he knew he couldn’t act on it, he couldn’t let you go through the teasing and bullying just for being associated with him. He had to protect you.

Hyuck: It’s okay. Just not used to it. I should really be getting to sleep. Have a good night, Y/N. <3

‘Crap!’ He didn’t mean to accidentally press the heart emoji. He tried to stop the sending of the text but it was already too late, it had gone through. He internally panics for a good 5 seconds before his phone dings again, your cute picture popping up.

Y/N: Oh, that’s okay! I probably should be too. Please sleep well. See you tomorrow, Hyuckie! <3

His heart flutters as soon as he reads your message. Not only did you call him Hyuckie, you also but a heart emoji at the end of the message. Turning his phone face down next to him, he sighs. At this rate, his crush on you will turn into something bigger, especially if you continue to talk to him like that. Donghyuck turns onto his side, facing the wall. He closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep, thoughts of the new, cute and straightforward girl in his class invading his dreams.

~~~

The next day, you arrive at school, excited to see Donghyuck. You make your way to the classroom and see Donghyuck sitting in his seat. You wave excitedly, causing a small smile to play at his lips. You take your seat next to him.

“Hey Hyuckie, how are you this morning?” He shrugs, indicating he was doing alright. You smile and giggle.

“Oh! I have something for you!”

Donghyuck watches as your dig through your backpack and pull out a small whiteboard. You hand it to him, a big smile on your face. He tilts his head in confusion at the gift.

“It's a dry erase board. I thought it would help you communicate easier than to constantly pull out your phone.” You send him a proud smile.

He looks down at the whiteboard, a new feeling engulfing him. He looks up to see your sparkling smile, making him smile back. He writes something on the board and turns it around.

Thank you, Y/N.

You giggle and give him a big smile. “Of course, Hyuckie. I'm glad you like it.”

You suddenly feel a presence in front of you. You glance over to see YangYang, Xiaojun and Hendery facing you. The smile on your face turns to one of annoyance.

“Can I help you?”

YangYang grins, “no, I'm okay, thanks for asking.” You roll your eyes at his mocking response. “We were just wondering, have you gotten sick of this little mute here yet?”

You raise a brow, “no, but I've gotten sick of you.”

YangYang scowls, suddenly gripping your arm harshly. “What did you say to me?”

You whimper at his tight hold and try to pull away. Donghyuck's eyes grow wide, concern eating at him. He opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out. He slowly closes his mouth and stares at YangYang's hand gripping your arm with a pained look on his face.

“Hey, let her go.”

You look up at the new voice. You see an attractive boy your age with pink hair. Xiaojun snickers. “Says who?”

“Says us.” Another boy with light brown hair steps next to him. “Or have you three stooped to a new low harassing innocent girls?”

The three bullies scowl but listen. YangYang releases your arm and gives you a look. “You're on my radar now, new kid. Watch your back.” They retreat back to their desks.

You breathe a sigh of relief. “Um. Thank you…”

“I'm Jaemin and this is Jeno.” The boy with light brown hair gestures to himself and then the boy next to him.

You look at Donghyuck with a brow raised in question. He writes something on his board and shows it to you.

They're harmless.

Jeno glances at the board and chuckles. “Well, thanks Hyuck. Nice to know you think we're harmless.” Donghyuck rolls his eyes. The two boys take the seats near the two of you, Jeno in front of you and Jaemin in front of Donghyuck.

“I'm Y/N,” you smile at them. “You two are in this class? I don't remember seeing you yesterday.”

“Oh yeah, that's because we ditched.” Jaemin waves a dismissive hand. “Us and a few of our other friends.”

“Right,” you nod slowly.

Jaemin turns to Donghyuck. “Hey, Hyuck. How are you doing?”

You watch Jaemin carefully. After how YangYang was with him, you worry for another person to be sarcastic. But the way Jaemin looks at him, you can tell he was genuinely worried.

Donghyuck writes quickly on his board and turns it around.

Fine.

Jaemin glances at Jeno who also had a worried look on his face. Jeno gestures at Donghyuck's whiteboard. “I love the board. Is it new?”

Y/N got it for me.

“Awe! That's so sweet.” Jaemin coos, a sparkle in his eye. You giggle and smile at Donghyuck, making his heart flutter.

“So, Y/N. What are your classes for the rest of the day?”

You pull out your class schedule to show the two boys. Jeno snatches it out of your hands and scans it over. “Oh cool, we have a few classes together and lunch period. You'll get to meet the rest of the crew!”

Donghyuck watches the interactions between you, Jaemin and Jeno. A jealous feeling overwhelms him. His hand tightens into a fist. ‘Of course she'd like them. Why would anyone choose me over two of the most popular guys in the school?’

The three of you chatted with Donghyuck occasionally writing on his board, until the teacher walks in to start class. All during the lesson, Donghyuck kept stealing glances in your direction. Every time you caught him staring at you, you would make a silly face, causing him to chuckle silently. Seeing him smile more often made your heart swell in happiness. You were starting to fall for the silent boy and you weren't sure what to do.

~~~

Finally it was lunch time, your stomach growling, telling you to eat something. You walk into the lunch room and search for Donghyuck, but he is nowhere to be found. Your shoulders slump in disappointment in not finding your boy of interest. You stand there awkwardly, not knowing where to sit. You didn't really have any friends besides Donghyuck. You see an empty table and start to make your way towards it, but not before you hear someone calling your name.

“Y/N, over here!”

You look around to see Jeno and Jaemin waving at you. You smile and make your way to the table occupied by Jeno, Jaemin and four other unfamiliar boys. You take a seat between Jeno and a boy with green hair.

“Everyone, this is Y/N. She's the new girl in the school. Y/N, meet the crew.” Jeno starts pointing at each boy, introducing them to you. “You already know Jaemin. The one with green hair is Chenle, he's a year younger than us. The one with blonde hair is Renjun, he's in our grade. The orange haired giant is Jisung, he's two years younger than us. And that one is Mark, who's a year older.” Jeno finishes up with pointing to a black haired individual.

You furrow your brows. “You're a year older? How are you still in high school?”

“Well, last year he had gotten into a huge fight with Xiaojun and Hendery, resulting in all three being suspended. So they missed quite a lot of class and had to take the year over,” Renjun explains. “Have you met those two yet?”

You roll your eyes. “You mean YangYang's pathetic lackey's? Yeah, I've met them.”

Chenle pats your back with a smirk. “I like her already.” Everyone at the table laughs.

“So, Y/N. How are you liking SM high so far?” Jisung takes a bite of his food, chewing slowly.

“It's okay. The classes are fine. I haven't really gotten a chance to make friends, though. Everyone seems to be avoiding me.” You shrug.

“Y/N here has befriended our little Donghyuck.” Jeno nudges you with his shoulder.

Mark raises a brow. “Really? Well, that explains why. No one really talks to him or anything, so if you associate yourself with him, then you're going to be ostracized.”

“That shit doesn't bother me. People can think what they want about me, that's their problem.” You wave a dismissive hand. “But, if I may ask, why is he a mute? Was be born like that or did something happen?”

The six boys glance at each other with odd looks. You raise a brow in question. Then, Mark speaks up. “No, he wasn't always like that. It's because of something that happened to him about a year ago.”

“Hyuck and his parents were on their way home from a music competition. He was a pianist and vocalist, actually, and he was really good at it. Well, they were almost home, still happy about him winning first place…” Renjun trails off.

Jisung speaks up, his voice soft. “An SUV ran a red light as they were driving and T-boned them. Hyuck survived but his parents… They didn't.”

Your hand flies to your mouth in shock. Jaemin takes over with a sad smile. “He has never been the same since. It was devastating. He stopped singing, stop talking in general. He used to be part of our group but after it happened, he stopped hanging out with us. Eventually everyone started avoiding him and eventually making fun of him. Even though most people know about what happened, they still treat him like he's a hindrance to society. They don't care. They only see someone who's different and automatically becomes a target.”

You stay quiet for a moment, absorbing everything the boys explained to you. You shake your head, trying to hold back your tears. “Humans are so cruel to each other. Fuck, no wonder he's tried to push me away. He probably thinks I'll become like the rest of them.” The boys remain silent. Your voice becomes a whisper. “But I like him. A lot. I am maybe thinking about asking him out?”

All six boys’ eyes dart to you in shock. They weren't expecting you to say that. You fiddle with your fingers awkwardly. “D-Do you think he'd say yes?”

“Yes!” They all blurt out at once, surprising you.

“You should. You should do it. Please.” Mark practically begs. “He needs someone who he can open up to and maybe he'll start talking again and eventually become his old self.”

“I-I can try,” you stutter blushing. You'd love for Donghyuck to open up to you, to trust you with everything. You just weren't sure how long it would take to happen, if ever.

You hear the door to the cafeteria open, breaking you out of your thoughts. You see Donghyuck walk in, a pile of papers in his hands. Smiling, you stand up and wave to him. A smile tugs at his lips when he sees you, but it fades noticing with whom you were sitting. He cautiously walks over your direction.

Suddenly, a foot pops in his way, causing him to trip. He falls face flat, his papers scattering everywhere. You gasp and hurry over to him.

“Donghyuck, are you okay?!”

He ignores your words and hurries to pick up his papers with you helping him. You notice the papers he dropped were in fact sheet music. Before you can ask about them, you hear laughter from the tables around you and then a low voice.

“Doesn't seem like little Hyuck here knows how to walk properly. Guess that comes with the title of being a freak.”

You grind your teeth in irritation. Standing up, you face the person with the irritating voice. It was Hendery, who had a cocky smirk plastered on his face.

“What the fuck is your problem?” You speak through your teeth.

Hendery raises a brow. “Excuse me?”

“You fucking heard me. I said, what the fuck is your problem?” You growl.

“I don't have a fucking problem, little girl. But you seem to.” Hendery takes a step forward, smirking at you.

“Back the fuck off, prick. He hasn't done anything to you.” You raise your hands and shove him back. He stumbles backwards, not expecting you to become physical.

The six boys that were watching drop their jaws in shock. They never would expect you to be this straight forward. “Oh, I like her,” Renjun nods in approval.

Hendery's smirk turns into a scowl. He straightens himself up and takes two steps, suddenly right in your face. You raise a hand to push him again but he snatches it before you can. “Oh, little girl. You're going to regret that.”

Once the boy put his hands on you, Mark and Jisung were next to you faster than you thought possible. Mark pries Hendery's hand off of you and pushes you behind him.

“Don't fucking touch her.” Mark crosses his arms, Jisung following suit.

“Oh look, it's Mark and little Jisungie. How sweet, saving the new girl.” Hendery weighs his options and realizes he wouldn't win in a fight two against one. He turns his scowl back onto you. “Next time you start something, you better finish it yourself.” He sends one more glare to Jisung and Mark before exiting the cafeteria in a huff.

Your eyes burn into his back as you watch him leave. You then turn your attention back onto the mute boy. “Are you okay, Hyuck? He didn't hurt you, did he?” You help him up by his arm.

Donghyuck looks around the cafeteria. Everyone was watching closely, their judgmental eyes boring into him. His anxiety spikes, making him react immediately. He rips his arm away from you, causing you to look at him with concerned eyes. He writes on his board.

Why the hell did you do that?

You furrow your brows. “I was just concerned and wanted to help.”

Just stop. I don't need your help. I don't need your pity.

“I-I'm not pitying you.” You speak in a quiet voice.

I was fine before you showed up. You're making everything worse. Just leave me alone!

You swallow the lump in your throat, trying to hold back your tears. “I'm sorry,” you squeak out in a quiet voice before booking it out of the cafeteria.

Jisung gives Donghyuck a disappointed look before running after you to make sure you're okay. Mark turns to Donghyuck with an incredulous look.

“What the hell was that for?”

Donghyuck ignores Mark and walks out of the cafeteria. Mark growls and follows him. He grabs Donghyuck by the shoulder and turns him around, but there were already words on his board.

Leave me alone, Mark.

“Like hell I will. Why the fuck did you say that to her? She didn't do anything wrong.”

I don't need her pity friendship. I'm not a charity case.

“But that's not what she was doing! She actually cares about you and wanted to help!”

How the hell would you know that?

Mark throws up his hands in frustration. “Because she told me. She told all of us.”

Donghyuck glares.

I don't believe you. You're just trying to humiliate me.

“Donghyuck, Stop! I'm not trying to do anything! Whether you believe it or not, I'm still your friend! We are ALL still your friends, no matter how hard you push us away!” Mark stops Donghyuck from writing, now fully angry. “I understand what you went through was awful. It was fucking god awful and I couldn't even imagine how you feel. But that is never an excuse to block every person who tries to get close to you! Not everyone is out to hurt you!”

Donghyuck grinds his teeth together in irritation but remains still. Mark puts his hands on both of Donghyuck's shoulders and shakes him. “Wake the fuck up, Hyuck. You have a girl who is cute, sweet, confident, and willing to get her ass beat just to be close to you! She really fucking likes you, Hyuck.”

Donghyuck's eyes widen at Marks words. He quickly writes something on his board.

She likes me?

Mark chuckles dryly. “Yeah, she does. She asked us if she should ask you out, if you'd say yes if she did. We told her she should.”

She was going to ask me out? Why me?

“Because you're an amazing person, Hyuck. Anyone would be lucky to have you and clearly she knows that.”

Donghyuck takes it all in, imagining a world where you were his girlfriend. A smile slips onto his lips at the thought but slowly slips away once he remembers what he said to you. The image of your smile fading and the confidence in your voice gone after what he said ate at him. He had to fix this. Knowing he had his next class with you caused him to make a beeline for the classroom, leaving Mark standing there confused.

He bursts into the classroom, hoping to god you were already there. To his disappointment, he beat you to it. Sitting at his desk, he prepared a little note to show you as soon as you had reached the class. However, as time went on, there was no sign of you. Worry started to eat at Donghyuck. This was writing, your favorite course. There was no way you'd miss it.

There was only 20 minutes left of the class and still no sign of you. Donghyuck's anxiety rose the longer he sat knowing he'd had hurt you. Not being able to sit still any longer, he grabbed his stuff and booked it out of the room to search for you, ignoring the protests of the teacher.

Donghyuck walked through the halls, searching high and low for you. He had no idea where he should be looking but that didn't stop him from checking every possible room in the school. His heart grew heavy as he was about to give up after about 10 minutes of searching. That's when he heard something.

It was a voice. Not just any voice, but a very familiar one, that was accompanied by a piano playing. Donghyuck followed the faint voice to a practice room in the music wing of the school. In stealth mode, the boy peaked through the window to see you at the piano. Your fingers danced upon the keys, your beautiful voice flowing from your lips. He was in awe at your talent, never once thinking you'd be into singing. At that moment, Donghyuck had fully and completely fallen head over heels for you, making him all that much more determined to fix what he had broken.

Gathering up the courage, Donghyuck knocks softly on the door, causing you to stop abruptly. You turn to see the boy waving sheepishly through the window, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Opening the door, you raise a brow.

"Oh, Donghyuck. Hi."

He waves gently, his shyness taking over. He takes a step inside and closes the door behind him.

"What are you doing here? How did you find me?"

Donghyuck writes on his board and turns to show you.

I came to apologize. I heard your voice.

Your face pales. "Y-You heard me? I thought these rooms were soundproof." Your voice comes out quiet. "That's really embarrassing, oh my god."

Donghyuck's eyes widen. He shakes his head and waves his hands, indicating you misunderstood. He erases the writing before and replaces it.

No! I didn't mean anything bad. You sound amazing. Your voice is incredible!

A blush settles across your cheeks. "O-Oh, thank you."

I'm so sorry about what I said. I didn't mean it.

You read the words on his board and shake your head. "N-no, don't apologize. You have every right to feel that way." Your voice is quiet. "Just know I don't bug you because I pity you. I like you."

Donghyuck's face turns bright red at your words. He erases the words on his board quickly before writing again with a shaky hand.

I like you too. A lot.

Now it was your turn to blush. To Donghyuck's surprise, you grab his white board and wrote on it. He watches you curiously. You turn the board around to reveal the words you wrote.

Will you go out with me?🖤

Donghyuck's eyes widen once he reads the words, a smile brightening up his face. He suddenly grabs your hands and pulls you close to him. He laces his fingers with yours and nods, forming the word 'Yes' with his lips. You squeal and give him a quick peck on the cheek, causing his face to burn bright red.

The bell rings, signaling the end of the period. You smile at Donghyuck and grab your book bag, pulling him out of the practice room by the hand. The two of you walk through the halls to your next class, hand in hand. It doesn't take long for the students in the halls to notice this act of affection, causing everyone to stop and whisper. Donghyuck blushes, his anxiety rising, not liking the new attention on him. He looks at you out of the corner of his eyes, trying to gauge your reaction but you had nothing except a smile upon your beautiful face. He swallowed the lump in his throat and tightened his grip on your hand. If you weren't scared of the newfound attention, then neither would he be.

Unbeknownst to you, Yangyang watches closely from his locker, a scowl dripping from his features. He didn't like seeing Donghyuck gaining this sudden confidence, worried he'll once again raise up. He had to do something about it if he wanted to stay on top. And quick.

~~~

It's been two weeks since you and Donghyuck had made your relationship official. During those weeks, you could see a big difference between when you first met Donghyuck to now. While he remains mute and intimidated easily, his smile is a lot more common than not and he no longer hesitates to sit with his old group of friends. The rest of the boys were incredibly happy to see him be more sociable, especially Mark, thanking you regularly because of it. You still had issues with the rest of the student body, particularly YangYang, Xiaojun and Hendery. But having Donghyuck, Mark and the rest of the boys, you can't complain.

Today was Sunday and you had been invited over for dinner at Donghuck's house. He told you after the accident, his aunt had taken him in as her own son. Now you were laying on Donghyuck's bed next to him, feeling full after the nice dinner his aunt made you. You turn on your side to face Donghyuck, who was staring at the ceiling.

"Your aunt is really nice, Hyuck. I hope she likes me." You twiddle your fingers in nervousness.

Donghyuck smiles and grabs his white board.

Of course she does. Who wouldn't like you?

You chuckle. "Apparently everyone at school."

Donghyuck rolls his eyes.

Those idiots wouldn't know anything good if it smacked them in the face.

You laugh, smacking him in the shoulder. He grins at you, the sound of your laughter filling his ears like a melody. The two if you stare at each other in comfortable silence for a few minutes, just enjoying each other's company. Getting bold, you shift your body so you were hovering over him. Donghyuck's face turns bright red at your current positioning. You lift your hand up, gently caressing his face.

"Hyuck? Can I kiss you?" You tilt your head.

The boy swallows the lump in his throat and nods quickly. You lean down and close your eyes, your lips connecting with his. Donghyuck freezes for a moment, nerves still taking over his body. But after a few seconds, his eyes flutter closed and he finally starts kissing back.

As your lips move against his, your feelings for him grow. His soft, plush lips feel amazing against yours, a perfect fit. As you continue to kiss him, he grows bolder. His arms snake around your waist and pull you down directly on top of him. He pushes into the kiss, causing it to deepen and turn passionate.

Donghyuck uses his strength and gently flips you over, with a squeak from you. He is now on top of you without breaking the kiss. His hand snakes its way up to your cheek and cups it. After about another minute of making out, he pulls away, lips slightly swollen and breathing heavy.

Your face mirror's his and you smile. "Wow. That was bold of you."

The boy smiles cheekily and gives you another peck on the lips before flopping next to you. You sit up and stretch your arms and legs.

"I'm going to run to the bathroom really fast."

Donghyuck nods and you make your way out of his room and towards the bathroom.

"Oh, Y/N!"

You turn around to see Donghyuck's aunt smiling from her bedroom door. You smile and bow your head in respect.

"Mrs. Lee. Once again, thank you for inviting me over. The dinner was lovely."

Mrs. Lee nods her head with a smile. "Absolutely. When Donghyuck told me he had a girlfriend, I was surprised. It's been awhile since he had anyone over…" she trails off. Suddenly, she pulls you into a tight hug, surprising you. "Thank you, Y/N. Because of you, Donghyuck is smiling again. I've been so worried about him since the accident. He's becoming himself once again, even if he's still not speaking. I'll take a smile any day."

You pat the woman on the back, a sad smile on your face. "He's an amazing boy. He deserves nothing but happiness. And I'm hoping to help him achieve it."

She pulls away and cups your cheek in her hand with a smile. "So, when's the wedding?" She wiggles her eyebrows.

You cough dramatically, choking on air. She laughs and pats you on the shoulder. "I'm only joking. Not that I would mind." She waves to you and retreats back into her room.

You giggle to yourself, your cheeks flushed red. You shake the images of you and Donghyuck getting married out of your head, proceeding to use the bathroom like you originally intended.

~~~

"Okay, why don't we add this here…" You stick your tongue out the side of your mouth in concentration.

You and Donghyuck were sitting in the empty music room, trying to compose your song together. Turns out, the music he was carrying in the cafeteria was a new piece he was writing. He wanted to ask you to help him before he was rudly interrupted by Hendery. But now here you were, writing together as he had finally asked you.

Donghyuck nods and plays the new melody on the piano, smiling when the music hits his ears. He gives you a happy thumbs up, happy with the addition. You start to talk but Donghyuck holds up a finger to stop you. You tilt your head as he writes on his board. He holds it up and you laugh.

Hold on, I need to go to the bathroom.

He leans down to place a soft kiss on your lips before happily walking out of the room. Your cheeks blush, a small giggle slipping from your lips. You go back to playing on the piano, waiting for your boyfriend to come back. A minute later, you hear the door open and close behind you.

"Boy, that was fast-" once you turn around, your words stop and your eyes narrow. "The hell do you want?"

YangYang smirks, his head tilted to the side. "What, I can't say hi to my favorite new girl?"

You roll your eyes. "Favorite, my ass. You always want something. Spit it out."

YangYang's smirk turns into a menacing look. He walks closer to you, causing you to slide further away on the piano bench. "I want to know why! Why did you choose that.. that FREAK over me?!"

You look taken aback at his question, a glare setting over your face. "What is it to you? Why the hell do you care who I date?"

Just then you hear the closing of a door. The 4 of you turn to see Donghyuck, who was frozen in place from seeing YangYang, Xiaojun and Hendery in the room. YangYang smirks slightly, turning back to you.

"What is it to me? The new girl turned me down for him!" YangYang points an accusing finger at a frozen Donghyuck. "Me! The most popular guy in the school for the school's freak!"

You stand, holding your hands up in front of you.  "You're fucking crazy! You don't even like me! Why would you even bother wanting me?"

YangYang pulls at his hair. "Because of him!" He points at Donghyuck once again. "He used to be the popular one! Everyone loved him, he got all the girls! And the one girl in this entire school that I liked, he took her! She wanted him, not me!" YangYang growls. "I wanted to be the popular one. I wanted everyone to like me more. I wanted her to like me! And when this freak just stopped talking a year ago, I was finally able to climb up to the top, where I belong!" He turns an accused finger to you. "And then you showed up. That's when everything started going downhill for me!"

Your eyes widen, anger set in them. You take a wide arch around YangYang to get to Donghyuck. "You're a jealous psycho!"

"I was going to take you from him. Like he took her from me!" Before you could make it to Donghyuck, YangYang grabs your wrist and pulls you to him. "You fucking embarrassed me!" You attempt to pull away from the boy but his grip tightens, causing you to whimper. "You owe me!"

"Get the fuck off of me!" You kick him in the shin and he groans but doesn't let go. You look over at Donghyuck who looks at YangYang's hand gripping your wrist. His eyes are wide, terrified of you getting hurt.

Xiaojun snickers, "Hyuck, you're just going to let YangYang do that to your girl? You're not going to say anything?" Donghyuck swallows, his jaw trembling but stays quiet. Xiaojun laughs louder. "Wow, how pathetic. Boyfriend of the year, right here."

You pull at YangYang again but he still doesn't let go. You glare at Xiaojun. "I don't need him to help me, I can handle myself. He's fine the way he is." You shift your eyes to Donghyuck and give him a small smile, reassuring him you're okay.

YangYang recovers from the shin kick, his icy glare turns menacing. He takes your other wrist and slams you up against the wall of the music room. You yelp in pain as your head hits the wall hard. "How dare you kick me!" He slams you again. "I told you you were on my radar, new girl. Now you're going to get it!" He slams you again and again, tears coming to your eyes.

"S-STOP!"

A new voice comes into the mix. Everyone stops what their doing and turns to the only other person in the room. Donghyuck.

YangYang turns to face him, a brow raised. "What? Did you say something?"

Donghyuck's fists clench, his eyes angry. He takes a step towards YangYang and opens his mouth. "I s-said stop."

Your eyes are wide, tears now flowing from hearing Donghyuck talk. YangYang raises a brow and busts out laughing. "So, the mute freak decided to finally open his mouth. What are you going to do if I don't?"

YangYang leans in close to you, his lips almost touching yours. But before he could, Donghyuck rips him away, a fist flying at his face. Donghyuck's fist makes contact with YangYang's face, sending him staggering backwards.

"Get the hell away from my girlfriend." Donghyuck breathes out, his fists clenched with a glare and standing in front of you.

YangYang shrieks, blood dripping down his cheek, his under eye already bruising. He straightens himself up, a psychotic, angry look on his face. "Oh, you are going to fucking pay for that, you little freak!"

You step around next to Donghyuck, your eyes icy. "If you so much as lay a fucking finger on him, I will tell the principal that you assaulted me first."

YangYang looks between the two of you, both mirroring each other's expressions towards him. Hendery places a hand on YangYang's shoulder. "Dude, let's just get out of here. We can't afford to get into any more trouble."

YangYang growls but nods. "This won't be the last time you hear from me. Trust me." A scowl spreads across his face. "We have the rest of the school year to settle this."

Donghyuck grinds his teeth. "It won't be as easy for you now."

YangYang huffs and wipes the blood from his cheek. He flips the two of you the finger before stomping off with Xiaojun and Hendery in tow. As soon as the door closes shut, Donghyuck sighs in relief. He turns to you.

"Y/N, are you ok- hey, why are you crying?"

He furrows his brows at the sight of tears in your eyes. Donghyuck reaches up to cup your face, gently brushing the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you bad?"

You shake your head, your lip quivering. "Y-You talked. You're talking to me. Right now." You smile, placing your hands on top of his.

Donghyuck's cheeks turn bright pink in embarrassment. He chuckles awkwardly. "Y-Yeah, I did." His face falls. "Y/N, I'm so sorry I haven't been standing up for you. All this time, I've let YangYang and his goons bully you, not saying anything. And all you've done is stand by my side and defend me with everything." He shakes his head, looking directly into your misty eyes. "But no more. From now on, I will defend you and stand by you no matter what. It's my turn to protect you."

Your lip quivers with every word, pulling him into a tight hug after his speech. Donghyuck wraps his arms tightly around you, burying his nose into your neck. "Hyuckie, that never bothered me. It didn't bother me when you were silent. I love you for how you are currently, not what you could become."

Donghyuck pulls away, a light smile on his lips, a mischievous gleam in his eye. "Did you just say you love me?"

You squeak, your eyes widening as you realize your choice of words. Before you could respond, Donghyuck leans forward and captures your lips in his. You instantly melt into his body, kissing him back. The two of you stay like that for a while before you hear the door to the music room open and a flood of voices, making the two of you jump back.

"PDA isn't allowed in the school, you two hooligans!" Jaemin mocks, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Ya, get a room you two!" Chenle groans disgusted.

Donghyuck winks at you before speaking. "Well, we were in a room until you six barged in."

"Yeah, well, we-" Chenle stops abruptly after realizing who actually spoke to them.

The six boy's mouth hang open in shock, making you and Donghyuck giggle. Donghyuck smiles at the six boys. "You, what? Cat got your tongue?"

Suddenly, all the boys start shouting and running towards Donghyuck. You side step out of the way as 5 of the 6 boys tackle the once silent boy. Mark steps next to you, his voice low.

"Hey."

You turn to look at him with a smile, seeing tears in his eyes. He pulls you into a tight hug, his body shaking slightly. "Thank you. You don't know what it means to us that Hyuck is talking again." He pulls away with a small smile. "I don't know how you did it, but thank you."

You giggle and pat the boys shoulder. "I know how much he means to you boys. Thank you for sticking by him throughout this whole ordeal." You turn to watch your boyfriend, who's smiling and laughing with the group of rowdy boys. "He really means the world to me too."

Donghyuck smiles at his friends. "You guys should be thanking Y/N. She really helped me break down my walls."

Chenle turns to you, tears in his eyes and surprise attacks you with a hug. "Thank you so much, Y/N! You're an angel!"

The rest of the boys respond in a similar way, all bringing you into a giant group hug. You giggle and hug them back. Jaemin claps his hands after pulling away.

"Alright, let's celebrate! Ice Cream on Mark!"

"What?! No-" Everyone cheers over Mark's protests, immediately pulling each other to leave the room. Mark groans and follows them out.

You turn to Donghyuck and smile. "I would love to hear you sing, as a way to celebrate."

Donghyuck's smile falters, the old, anxious look he had when your first met returning. You chuckle softly and pecked him on the cheek. "Whenever you're ready, baby. Don't rush yourself."

Donghyuck sighs in relief and kisses your nose. He grabs your hand and pulls you along after the boys. "Come on, let's go get ice cream." You smile as he pulls you along, this moment giving you nothing but pure happiness.

[headoverhiddles]

You and Me and The Devil Makes 3 - Marilyn Manson x Brian Warner x Reader [Smut] - Part II

Synopsis: Both you and Brian can’t get the substitute teacher off your mind. Thankfully, Brian needs some extra help before an upcoming exam, and your regular teacher still hasn’t come back. 

Notes: Long ass title. Anyway, someone asked for a sequel, so here’s more filthy Mancest ft you! IT’S FILTHY! We could all use the porn. 

Part One 

You bring your lips to your boyfriend’s, lazily making out after an hour of stressing the springs in his mattress. 

A KISS record plays in the corner of his room. The afternoon sun seeps in over the countless Judas Priest and Nine Inch Nails posters all over the walls through the blinds that you’ve kept unturned. Both of you like the thrill of knowing Brian’s Christian neighbors might see you and your “filthy sex acts” again. Barb, Brian’s mother, hadn’t been too pleased after receiving that phone call, but Brian’s dad Hugh found it quite funny.

His parents liked you, called you a sweet girl. They don’t know much about Brian, and they don’t make much of an effort to—they know he’s into some dark music and he has a band, but they don’t know he’s interested in guys too, and they don’t know how far he wants to take his musical persona.

You’re also anything but sweet, but Barb and Hugh are well meaning, and you love them to death, always appreciative of the cake Barb feeds you when you visit the house. You think the two of them have some kind of idea that since Brian is almost finished high school, he’d take you somewhere and settle down with you. Neither of you want to settle down, but as far as either of you have shared, you have no plans of breaking up after grad.

You move your kisses down to Brian’s neck, and he keens under the attention, before reaching up to pull you back to his lips.

“I want you again,” you whisper, and Brian stares up at you.

“We just went four times, you brat.”

“But I’m horny.”

“And I’m soft, roll offa me. Gonna have to… watch some porn or something to get hard again…”

“This is better than porn,” you grin, unhooking your bra, and he pauses in his act of drinking down his bedside water glass, smiling too.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he laughs, and smoothes his hands up your rib cage to cup your breasts and fondle them. You lean down to drag them against his bare chest, and his hands move down to once again get himself ready to fuck again.

“So. We gonna talk about what happened on Friday?”

Brian’s breath hitches as he jacks himself to hardness again. “Do you want to?”

“I certainly think it raises some new… things, that we’re both obviously into.” Brian flushes a little, and you grin, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Hey. You know you can be comfy with me.”

Brian nods, thrusting up into you finally with a hiss. “It was hot… the stuff he did.”

“I know,” you breathe, shuddering as you slide back down over him, “I just wanted the two of you to double team me forever.”

“So is this a thing, then?” Brian whispers, “Like, a third person?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, “We could explore a polyamorous relationship. But for now, I’m okay with secret threesomes involving hot teachers.”

“You think he’s still there?”  

“I think before he left on Friday, he mentioned he’d be around for another week. Mrs. Nordman wasn’t just hungover, she had the flu or something. Why?”

“I mean… we’ve got that English exam coming up soon.”

You smile. “We could use the extra help, hm?” He groans at that, pushing up into you harder, and you tilt your head back, riding him into his bed.

---

At school on Monday, you meet Brian at the front doors. He’s standing with Daisy, waiting for his friend to finish smoking, and doodling something on his hand. You see it’s a bunch of needles and lollipops.

“You know, you should’ve been an artist,” you smile, taking his hand.

“I am an artist. Different kind.”

Pogo approaches, swinging himself up onto the railing. “Morning, you sad fucks. How’re the losers today?”

“Depressed,” Daisy answers.

“Good to hear. I myself am in a fucking marvelous mood, seeing as I banged not one, not two-- but THREE chicks this weekend at a college tit party. THE MAD CLOWN HITS HOME AGAIN!” He lets loose his usual flurry of crazy laughter, the sound that could tell anybody the bald student was coming from a mile away.

“How’d you manage that?” Brian mutters, amused.

“Sorry, Mr. Big Dick, some girls have refined taste, unlike (y/n) or Mr. Manson in there, don’t argue, I know you fucked him.” He pauses his manic rocking, leaning forward. “I also told them I was in a wildly successful rock band.”

“There’s the kicker,” you nod.

“I did not fuck Mr. Manson,” Brian protests. Everyone turns to look at him, and he smirks your way. “He fucked me.” Laughter erupts.

“No smoking on school property, you goth weirdos,” some kiss-ass cheerleader snaps as she walks past, and Pogo catapults Brian’s pen at her head.

“We’re gonna be late, hurry up.” Brian nudges Daisy.

“This is my last one, and I’m too broke to afford another pack until I get my next paycheck,” Daisy complains, savouring another drag.

“Here, lemme have a puff,” Pogo says, motioning for it. Daisy passes it over, and Pogo flicks it into the grass, pulling everyone inside. “Problem solved!”  

You giggle as Daisy shakes his head, and all of you turn when you hear screaming. There’s Jeordie, running toward the school like an idiot.

“I’m gonna make it! I’m gonna make it!” he’s shouting, then the bell goes. He tosses his backpack to the ground, kicking it. “SHIT!”

---

It’s an uneventful Monday, until the last class. When you get in and sit down, Mr. Manson is at the front of the class already, writing the day’s class plan out. Today, he’s dressed in a black button up, with a black vest over top of black pants. His hair is brushed back in a fairly respectable style, and… he turns around. His lips today are a soft coral pink, with black and blue eyeshadow. Brian stares at him, in awe once again at the man’s swaggering confidence and style. Why is it that with bisexuality, it’s always a question of if he wanted to be the other guy, or be in the other guy? Or have the guy in him, as the case may be.                                                

“Alright. Before we start, does anyone have any questions about today’s makeup?” Manson’s tone is playful, and a light titter of laughter comes from the students. He grins. “Alright. You sure?” More laughter. “Okay. Today, we’ll be covering a new chapter of literary theory, and applying it to the first act of Hamlet.”

His dark eyes sweep the classroom as he marks off attendance, and when they come to rest on you, he looks up. “Is there a reason why you and Miss (y/l/n) were late today, Mr. Warner?” Your entire friend group looks at the two of you. Your boyfriend just shrugs. 

“Yeah, there was a reason.” You raise an eyebrow right back with a smirk, and Brian leaves it at that. You’re surprised when Manson accepts this without a cheeky little order to see him after class, but that’s fine. Brian has an excuse to see him anyway.

While Mr. Manson is talking, Brian writes out some lyrics for a new song he and the Spooky Kids have been working on. He nudges you, and taps the paper, which has a verse written out.

VCRs and Vaseline

TV fucked by plastic queens

Cash in hand and dick on screen

(who said god was ever clean)

He’s drawn a big question mark under it, so you give a little check mark on the paper, with the note:

Hot.

“I know this shit is boring, but pay attention,” Manson says from the front of the classroom, glaring daggers at you two. 

“Imagine that lipstick all over my naked body,” you whisper in his ear. Brian glares at you.

“Stop trying to get me hard in class.”

“Why?” you tease.

“Cause it’s fucking working.”

“Do you one of you guys have an eraser?” Jeordie whispers (far too loudly) from behind you. You pass him back yours, and look at him sternly.

“Don’t pick it apart like you did all my other ones.” 

“What did I just say?” Manson snaps from the front of the class.

“We were just—!” you try to protest.

“No talking. Last warning.”

You and Brian exchange looks. He’s in a mood today, and you can’t wait to see how the two of you can test him even more after class.

When the class is finished, you all wait until the rest of the students are gone. Pogo looks back at you two from the door, making obscene blow job gestures. Mr. Manson doesn’t look up from the desk.

“Did you need something, Mr. Bier?”

“Not me!” Pogo snickers, dashing off to go catch up with Daisy and Jeordie.

“Mr. Manson?” Brian asks, “I need a little bit of help with studying for the upcoming exam. I dedicate a lot of time to my band, and… don’t study as much as I should.”

“Mm. And (y/n)? You just gonna watch your boyfriend... ask for help?” Manson asks. 

“I might learn a few things too, by sticking around,” you say, and lean forward against your desk. Manson’s eyes roam down to your cleavage, and he closes his book, getting up. He walks over to the door, locks it, and comes back over.

“The English exam. Yeah. As you know, I don’t know much about your curriculum, or really, about the exam itself.” 

“Doesn’t mean you can’t try to help us out,” you say. “Please sir? We really need help.” Mr. Manson looks at you, blue and black shadow making his hooded eyes seem supernatural.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Brian walks over to his desk, chin jutted out in confidence that will be lost as soon as Manson looks him in the eye. Sure enough, when the substitute gives your boyfriend one of his looks up and down, sweeping his entire body as if he’s a meal about to be devoured, Brian shudders. But he’s not about to lose his cool.

“See… I don’t get the whole psychoanalytic theory,” Brian says, putting the book down in front of Mr. Manson, “I don’t see how it applies to Hamlet.”

“Of course you pick the Freudian thing.” He sighs. “Well first, you have to understand psychoanalysis.” Manson looks over to you pointedly. “I’m sure you know all about Freud and his phallic symbols. You two had a lot of fun drawing them on your notes last Friday.” 

Brian laughs a little at that. Wrong move. Manson gets up, and in one quick stride, he has your boyfriend pushed down and bent over the desk, ass up.

“What the fuck?” Brian mutters, but you can hear the whine at the end of his protest. Your legs rub together as your finger grazes your lower lip… you want to see how this turns out.

“Here’s what I’m gonna do,” Manson says slowly, “I’m gonna help you two, since you fuck around in class all the time and never pay attention.” He leans in close to Brian, and your boyfriend glares up at him for holding him in such a vulnerable position. Manson just smirks, and gets out a ruler from the desk. “Our angel over there is gonna answer some questions of mine, baby. Got it?”

“What do you—?” A sharp slap echoes, as Manson hits the desk with the ruler hard.

“You say yes sir, and no sir, or this desk will be that pretty little ass. Understood?”

“Yes sir,” Brian breathes, laying his face down on the desk. You raise an eyebrow, spreading your legs just a bit.

“You really have enough confidence in me that I know these answers?” you grin.

“Nah. I’m counting on you not knowing a single one, baby girl,” Manson smiles, and traces the ruler up Brian’s back. “But try your best. He’s counting on you.” Manson gets the ruler ready again. "Tell me what the basis of psychoanalytic theory is."

"It's a theory that draws from psychoanalyzing the behavior of the characters in the... in the story," you say, eyes trained on Brian.

"Good start," Manson nods, rubbing his hand up Brian's back, "Saved you this time, sweetheart." Brian makes a noise, akin to a moan, and Manson looks at you again, expectantly, from the depths of that eyeshadow. "What are some examples?"

"There's... a response to modern day literature from a new and improved perspective."

"Wrong," Manson says, "That's postmodernism." 

“Aw. Guess that must’ve slipped my mind.” You shift in your seat, reaching down to touch yourself. Manson sees this out of the corner of his eye, and lifts his chin. 

"Mr. Warner?"

Brian obediently pulls down his leggings just enough. Not satisfied with this, Manson pulls them down to his knobby knees, and hits him hard with the ruler. Brian's hips rut against the desk, and your pussy clenches as you rub faster circles.

"Again, sir," Brian whimpers.

"You want another one?" Manson asks.

"Yes, sir."

"(y/n)... your boy here's a bit of a slut."

"I'd have to agree," you grin, head rolling back as a moan is drawn from your throat.

"I guess I should know that by now. Have you ever tried fucking him?"

Brian's breath hitches, and you think about this. "He's never asked."

"Imagine how that'd feel, hm?" the teacher whispers in Brian's ear, "Her fingers inside of you... filling you up. You like that?"

"Fuck, fuck," Brian groans, hips pushing forward against the desk. He's painfully hard.

"Gonna cum in your pants?” Manson rasps.

“No...” Brian clenches his jaw. “Ugh...”

“What if she fucked you with three fingers? Spreading this perfect ass wide open?" he continues to tease, snarling, "What if I did? You like the pain, don't you? It turns you on." Manson spanks him again, harder, and you can see the red imprint he’s left.

"Yeah..." Brian moans, his usual grumble raising in pitch. "I want you both to fuck me."

"First, you get to watch." Mr. Manson looks over to you, and beckons. You make a show of teasing back, mouthing 'me?' Before Manson has a chance to threaten, you stand, walking over to the teacher. He stands a full few feet taller than you, the height difference still as hot as it was in the washroom the other day. He takes you by the shoulders, and brings his lips to yours. The kiss is sloppy and heated. You moan, sliding your hand down to cup his cock through his black slacks. You can feel the hefty erection respond to your touch, but you want to feel it inside you, fucking you. Brian watches, and reaches down to give himself some relief. 

"Ah ah," you break away from the kiss to say, "Someone's being naughty." Brian shoots you a glare for ratting him out, and you blow your boyfriend a kiss as Manson turns to look at him.

"Do I have to tie you up, baby boy? Or can you stop those hands from wandering, hmm?" Hearing that in Manson's deep growl is such a turn on. You pull him back to you.

"Let him stay like that. If you spank him again, he's gonna cum all over the desk."

"Disgusting," Manson chastises, licking his lips, "Filthy filthy, Mr. Warner."

"At least I didn't take out my cock in class and start stroking it for you to see," Brian mouths off.

"I'm sure you would've loved to do that," you smirk, going back to stroking Mr. Manson through his pants.

"Mm. Yeah. Bet you would’ve loved to take it out, show everyone how hard you were. How ready you were for your girlfriend and your fucking teacher to take turns on you.”

"I..." Brian groans.

"Use your words, slut."

"Yeah," he breathes, "I might... I don't know, get embarrassed, but--"

"Sluts don't get embarrassed," Manson says sharply. "Besides, as a big rock and roll singer, I'd imagine that you do much worse onstage. Or am I wrong?”

“Tell him all the shit you've done onstage," you moan.

Brian shifts his hips, recalling everything he'd done during a show. Mr. Manson was right-- when he was onstage, it was as if he became a different person. A persona. Someone darker, maniacal even. Someone who's willing to do anything.

"I've fucked (y/n) onstage," he growls. "Fucked her til her tight little cunt couldn't take it anymore."

Mr. Manson takes his cock out of his pants, starts stroking it himself as you lay back on a desk in front of him. You watch his cockhead disappear in his fist with every stroke, licking your lips. 

"What else?"

"I stripped her down naked in front of everyone... and ate her pussy."

"Oh god," you whine, picturing that night. You had both been so high you had forgotten there was even an audience. 

"That must have felt good." Manson looks to you.

"It did. It did, and I love it," you murmur, glancing down to your exposed breasts, "Just like him. I wanna be filled by you, sir. Just like Brian fills me up."

Brian rolls his hips against the desk as Mr. Manson slots himself between your legs, dragging his cock between the folds of your pussy. "So fuckin' wet. It'll be so easy to get into you, baby girl."

"Please, Mr. Manson," you moan, “I need you.”

"Fuck her," Brian gasps out, "She's such a fucking cockslut, she needs it." You nod. Manson reaches his hand up to cup one of your breasts as he slides in, filling you to the hilt. 

"Oh god," you manage out, hands grabbing at the edges of the small desk. Manson’s cock isn’t as long as Brian’s, but it’s thicker, so thick you can feel the pain of the stretch. 

"Fuck," Brian whines, watching Manson pull out almost fully then pound back into you. He’s frustrated—he can’t touch himself, and his cock is heavy and weeping against the desk. He could cum from any little touch at this point.

"If you even think about touching your cock, the punishment will be unimaginable," Manson growls to your brat of a boyfriend. Brian groans in complaint, resting his head against the desk as he continues to rock his hips and watch. "Tell me more about how you fuck (y/n)," Manson says, thrusting in hard. The desk skids back a couple of inches, and you gasp. "Ah, nope. The principal could still walk by, baby girl. Don't want him to hear the three of us acting out our own little porno, do you?"

"No, sir."

"No. That's right. Mr. Warner? You were saying?" 

"I fuck her all the time," Brian says, words tumbling out of his mouth as he loses his grip. "We fuck between classes, before class, after class. She always wants my dick.”

"Yeah?" Mr. Manson asks, humming low in his chest. "Seems like you just can't get satisfied baby, hm?"

"I get satisfied," you reply, grinding your hips down obscenely, "I just love his cock so much that I want it all the time. I love feeling full."

"Why don't we make good and sure you're nice and full then?" Manson beckons Brian over, not stopping his thrusts for a second. Brian’s surprised for a moment that he gets to move or do anything, but quickly complies. Manson’s belt jangles as he grunts, balls slapping your ass. "Give our baby girl a mouthful."

Your eyes light up, and Brian's lips quirk up. He loves watching you get used, and being a part of it is almost too much for him. He stands, and gets over top of your face, willing himself not to blow the minute he pushes between your pretty pink lips.

"Lemme see that nice cock, baby boy," Manson rasps. His breath hitches when Brian strokes his fist all the way up the length, over the head, and back down. "Mmm, perfect. Give her some, she looks thirsty."

"Take it, baby," Brian whispers, biting his lip as he smacks his cock against your lips, "C'mon, you know you want it."

"You know her safe word?" Manson mutters. Brian nods. You open wide for your boyfriend, and he slides his cock into your mouth, stopping before it hits the back of your throat. He raises his eyebrows down to you, and you nod again, feverishly. It's almost too much, the older man fucking you into the desk so hard and your boyfriend using your mouth to get off. But you love the thrill, and you're getting closer to your climax every second.

"You're doing so good," Mr. Manson says to you, stroking down your pelvic bone to caress your stomach, your clit, down to your inner thighs. Your hips buck. "Shhh. Taking us so good, sweetheart."

"Isn't it "so well?' You are an English teacher, right?" Brian asks, grinning. Mr. Manson shoots him a look daring to go any further with that. Brian knows his place, casting his eyes downward.

"You like to piss people off, don’t you?" Manson asks.

"Yeah. It's part of my, uh... my thing."

"Your thing right now is to quit being a smart ass, fuck your girlfriend's mouth, and do what your told."

Brian sucks his cheekbones in, biting his bottom lip hard as he feels his cock throb. "Yes, sir!" He gives a sarcastic mock salute with a big dumb grin, and that does it.

"Back over the desk."

"What?!" Brian's eyebrows furrow angrily.

"You heard me. Get back. Over. The desk. Now."

Brian whines, and removes himself from your mouth. As he's walking back over though, the fearless streak continues. He fondles Mr. Manson's bare ass as he walks by, clucking his tongue. "Damn, daddy. Great ass, for an old man."

You smirk, knowing it'll get a rise out of the teacher. But he just goes back to fucking you-- albeit much faster.

"Oh... oh yeah. Oh god," you hiss, trying still to keep it as quiet as possible. Mr. Manson's short black hair falls from his coiffed mohawk and into his eyes as he starts to get close. "I'm gonna fucking cum," you moan, tits bouncing in your bra. Manson pushes in one more time, and you cum hard on his cock, mouth falling open.

He pulls out of you when you're finished, and Brian comes over, kneeling down and taking Mr. Manson's cock into his mouth. He suckles for a few seconds, then takes him down all the way as the older man shudders, buries his fingers into your boyfriend's hair, and cums down his throat. Brian swallows, blinking up at the teacher, and Mr. Manson looks down at him, at the teenager’s painfully swollen cock resting on his thigh. 

"You've been a good boy," he mumbles, “Helped daddy cum. I think you deserve something.” Brian's eyes flutter shut, and Manson strokes his cheek. With a gasp from the touch alone, Brian suddenly cums untouched all over his leg and the floor. You watch him convulse through every wave of his orgasm, then rest back on his hands when he finishes. 

Manson sits on the edge of his desk, and you stand, helping Brian clean up. He runs a hand through his long black hair, and fiddles his tongue against his lip ring.

"You know... you should come check out the Spooky Kids in concert sometime."

Manson runs a hand through his hair, making sure he looks his best-- comfortably disheveled. "Your band?" 

"Yeah. You were in a band yourself, weren't you?" Brian smirks. 

“Yeah.”

"As long as you bring some good, uh... you know, nose candy-- gotta make the sacrificial offerings to the band-- then feel free to show up."

“He doesn’t do nose candy, bring some ring pops and lollipops and that’ll be more than sufficient,” you say, rolling your eyes. 

“What makes you think I've got drugs on me anyway?" Manson deadpans. "I'm a fuckin' high school English teacher." Brian stares at the debauched man with lipstick smeared down his chin and hair standing up from all angles. Manson bursts into what can only be described as giggles. "Yeah. Well, I’m not about to give my drugs away to a group of 18 year old musicians. Then you’d turn out just like me.” 

“That wouldn’t be so bad,” Brian teases, tugging slightly at the silver skull brooch on Manson’s lapel. Manson strokes his knuckles.

“If I'm still in town, I'll see if I can make it to a show. You seem like you’d be good. Like you’ve got rock star in your blood.” It’s as if Brian’s whole body blushes—it’s freaking cute you think, as you fix your hair. “--But only if I get to come backstage with the rest of the groupies." 

"Oh," you smile, approaching  to fix Mr. Manson’s black tie, "We'll be waiting for you."  

“Who else is in this band?” Manson asks out of curiosity. “Anyone else from this class?”

“Stephen, Scott, Jeordie. Another kid named Freddy, doesn’t go here.”

“Bier is crazy enough to be in a band, I’d believe that. Putesky, that’s interesting. He doesn’t seem the type. He seems like he’d be the type to yell at people like you to turn the music down.”

 Brian nods, “Yeah, we tell him that all the time. He looks like someone’s grandpa. He shreds on the guitar, though, you’d be surprised. So does Jeordie.”

Manson huffs, getting his bag together, “Jeordie? That doesn’t surprise me as much.” The substitute teacher lets you two out of the classroom, and checks the time. 4 PM now. “Well. I hope you feel ready for the exam. I didn’t do shit to help you, but...” 

“We got what we needed to,” you say, fixing your skirt with a small smile.

“Good. Cause I think you’ve got a pretty good idea of what’ll happen if you get a fuckin’ F.”  

[aaliyrah]

i fell in love with are i don’t understand - chapter 8 is out!

GOD IT HAS BEEN SO LONG SINCE I’VE UPDATED THIS FIC. i’ll never abandon it, it’s my fucking baby dude. punk!max is, at least. i’ll even make more art for this shit. 

anyway, i know most people have followed me because of my art and stuff, but hey, to my oldest of oldest followers (and the life is strange half of my followings) please please please give my fic a try. you’ll probably be bribed more with art, so i can only promise that a comic is going to come out of it soon! 

but here’s an excerpt of it and one of the fun scenes i got to write:

“What was your band?” “Hm?” “Yesterday,” Chloe continues, absentmindedly doodling at the sidelines of her paper, “when we played two truths and a lie. I never asked about them.”

Max hummed again, but this time it was in realization. “Well you know...just some punk band.”

“Don’t want to talk about it?”

“No, not too much.”

Chloe pursed her lips. It’s clear to see that Max is oblivious to the damage her bluntness causes, but Chloe learned to swallow her pride to not let it get to her. Too much, at least.

“A’ight; loud and clear.”

“But I can tell you that I was the bassist,” Max continued, twirling a piece of her hair that framed her face around her finger, “ oh , and also the keyboardist sometimes. I’m still in touch with them and play here and there, mostly bass though. But photography comes first, of course. Couldn’t stick with the band since I had to move, and I think they’re still looking for a replacement right now, last time I checked.”

“For how long?”

Max scrunched her nose as she calculated a number in her head. “...Around a month?”

“Hah. Were you that good?”

“Maybe. I guess. I’m keeping humble.”

That smirk says otherwise, Caulfield.

“...But enough about me,” Max continues. She starts to shift her whole body so that her front was facing Chloe’s, her forearms bridging together on top of her knees to rest her chin on, “you haven’t done your part of the game.”

Chloe hummed, acknowledging the comment. “Well I’m flattered that you’ve noticed,” she confesses, “I honestly didn’t think that you would, and I was also kind of hoping you wouldn’t.”

“Why, think you’re not all that interesting?”

“Hmph. And what gave that away?”

“You’re interesting.” Chloe was caught off guard with how serious Max sounded. Her voice was flat and her face held no emotion, but the eye contact had too much intensity it caused a burning blush from Chloe. She had to avert her eyes somewhere else. “I mean, you’re seen as the leader standing against the Vortex Club and you’re the daughter of the head of security here in Blackwell. If anything, you must be filled with stories.”

“I-I uh, well,” Chloe coughed into the side of her fist, vigorously wiping away the sweat forming at the back of her neck, “I just have stories of people who are interesting , b-but there’s not really much to say about me —”

“Do I need to repeat myself—”

“N-no! No, don’tcomeanycloser , ” Chloe rushes in a breath, hovering a hand on Max’s chest. Max stiffened, her nose fluttering dangerously close to the edges of Chloe’s personal space. Max, completely oblivious to her effect, only furrowed her brows and slowly reverted back to her original position. “Let’s just—yeah! Game. Right. I’m thinking.”

Max let a beat of silence interrupt their flow of conversation. Chloe appreciated it, but the waiting stare she got from the girl might as well have been more anxiety-filling than an interruption. Even with Max’s patient aura, Chloe still felt rushed. It made her mind mush and everything she knew about herself was out the window.

She decided to wing it and let her mouth run. “ Fuck . Okay, okay, uhhm: I used to be a literary arts major, I’ve designed covers for magazines once, and I used to be religious.”

Those words seeped in a slow matter. Max’s face changed at the same pace as a sloth would move, her eyebrows elevating higher and higher. Even her head started to rear back.

“Way to sell yourself short, Price.”

“ Pfft . Really? I could see the magazine one being interesting but everything else is just…”

Max giggles. Chloe couldn’t help but smile. “I don’t know you, Chloe. Remember that? They’re all cool even if one of them is a lie.”

“Heh. Just a little. Do you have your guess?”

The punk makes a low, thoughtful hum. With pursed lips, there is a genuine concentration that plasters her face as she squints.

“...You weren’t a literary arts major.”

Chloe allowed a flash of shock to be expressed before suppressing it. “Yeah. What made you think so?”

“I figured you probably wrote as a hobby, but it wasn’t serious enough for a major.”

“Yeah, that’s...basically on point.

I guess you could say the magazine one is also a lie since people usually think of People or Vogue when the word ‘magazine’ is said… but really I’ve only done covers for the school’s literary magazine. Literally speaking though, it’s not a lie. Just...a psychological one maybe.

The religious one is kind of funny since no one really expects it. My parents—before David—forced me to go to church since one of their friends invited them and they didn’t want to be rude. I think I was...ten? My parents weren’t listening and I was actually really invested in the sermon. It was a weird phase; I even read a children’s version of the Bible in my free time...I kind of tortured my parents into church since I kept having to force them to go.”

“Wow.” Her laughter could be a drug. “This is, like, the reverse of what’s supposed to happen. What got you to stop?”

“They got to the whole gay thing. That’s always the breaker, ain’t it?”

Max’s face went soft after that. There was a distant look in her eyes, but her smile was still there. “Yeah. It always is.”

[socketz]

All is Pain in Poetry, But, Oh, The Play Goes On; Chapter Two.

A Dead Poets Society Fanfiction Story!

Charlie Dalton x Female!OC

Warnings : Mentions of abuse, mentions of bullying, light name calling (though not really), profanity, mention of death, signs of an eating disorder *though not explicitly mentioned*

Word Count : 12.3K

Summary : It’s the first day of lessons, and the class gets to meet their new - slightly obscure - English teacher: Mr Keating. The day is difficult, and Jane finds something she had long since forgotten - her passion - as they go on to entertain a poorly planned study session, and friendships merely grow.

Authors Note : There was a lot more Charlie content I think! And Pittsie! I love him! I quite liked this chapter, and I feel like you understand Jane a little bit more - you get to know her a little. There was not much Todd, but, then again, there isn’t much Todd in these scenes in the movies, and I felt it would be uncharacteristic to make Jane the only person to talk to Todd, when he is uncomfortable around new people. I also have no clue who the Chemistry teacher is, and I made up a name for him. I should be updating this story once a week, as the chapters are long and take a while to write, or perhaps once every two weeks, if I’m going to start including more imagines and things into my blog. Enjoy!

Chapter Two, Seize The Day, Boys, Make Your Lives Extraordinary. 

A thick, invasive, kind of sting eloped within my gaze, and I struggled to see through the blur of my reddened eyes. For although the sunrise had been beautiful - an azure of deep pinks, and of supple yellows - I found myself longing, greatly, for more slumber. I had merely stood among the strewn clothing, and the grave ruckus - the doing of none other than my wondrously divine twin - and I remained stoic, unmoving. I had, rather reluctantly, as I’m sure you may understand, begun to declutter the disorganised sabotage, fluttered around my room; each motion slowed, furtherly gradual, for I were in some kind of daze, a trance - awash with the morning, and despising my lack of sleep.

I had seemed to dissolve among the sweet grasp of slumber, hardly a moment after my head graced the naked pillow, and thus, there I had been, earlier that morning, as the clock licked upon the grace of six-thirty-seven, a.m; disorientated, bleary-eyed, fully-clothed, with crease indents upon my dribble stained cheeks. A true beauty, one could argue. 

Oh, how I hated mornings, I thought, a sigh slipping from within my silence. 

For as the day had progressed, and the school hours crawled on forward, I found myself perched to the very back of the classroom, tucked away within the furthest corner, and I knew that Chemistry would be no better than the day had solemnly been.

The depth in which my notes had seemed to forlorn had simply thinned, the farther forward in which the lesson progressed, and I found myself doodling, though only something light, amongst the margin of the lined pages. Mr Donovan - His tone, the way in which he spoke, were of something so deafeningly dull - so monotonous, so dreadful - I had discovered myself unable to pay all too much attention, as his words fell, from one ear, and through the other. I retained little, and merely hoped a curt revision session would indeed replenish the necessary information I had not withheld. 

There had been three boys, each lanky, each particularly mundane, dispersing the crimson textbooks; all of which I dreaded to receive. “Pick three laboratory experiments from the project list,” Mr Donovan had droned on, as the thick echo of the dropped book fell upon my desk. “and report on them every five weeks.” Solemn glances of silent protests rang through the expressions of those attending, and I, myself, reciprocated a glaze of great annoyance. For although I had not thought it to be particularly difficult, it was a simply tedious, and rather frustrating, task to obtain. “The first twenty questions - at the end of chapter one - are due tomorrow.” 

A mumbled groan chorused throughout the room, as he grinned something patronizing, and I heaved a great sigh. From a few rows ahead, furtherly to the right than I, Charlie had caught my gaze, his expression pinched - a mantra of disbelief - with his eyes morosely enlarged. I hardly noticed the way in which my features founded a grin, though upon his reciprocence, and a subtly thrown wink, I found myself all too aware of - not only my smile - but the slight blush, also. 

With an internally suppressed scolding, I had turned my gaze away from the boy, and doodled something rather intense among my notebook. Scribbles, flowers, patterns, and such, with not but an ounce of talent, and a flush of grave embarrassment. 

The lesson had progressed through, and thus I did not note the necessities down - a brave assumption that Meeks were feeling somewhat generous, that day, and would provide a little helping hand - and then the hour had gone, and Latin was upon us all. 

Mr McCallister - a man perhaps not quite as awful as his co-workers, though ever-repetitive, and ever-droning, as he tended to be - had recited the list of wording, pronunciation to roll from upon his tongue, as he paced - to and fro - before the blackboard, scripted with scribbles of Latin vocabulary and dread. “Agricolum,” He recited, tone an echo throughout the space of the classroom.

Once more, I were positioned idly, sat within the very corner, with not but a partner for company - entirely my own desk. “Agricolum,” We chorused, my voice little but a mere mutter among the choir. 

“Agricola,” He continued, and - again - as did we. 

“Agricola.”

“Agricolae,” He spoke with such dull fatuation, I found it - a recurring pattern, you see - greatly difficult to withhold my attention, and to recall and repeat the way in which he spoke. For, yes, I somewhat strived in Latin, and I needed not such draining practice to pass specific examination, yet I were enforced to participate within lesson - and of such, I held no control.

“Agricolae.” I sighed. 

“Argicolarum,” 

“Agricolarum.”

“Agricolis,” 

“Agricolis.” A curtly breathed pause, and I found my eyes drifting to the bare panes of the window panels, shimmering among the autumn glaze, before Mr McCallister spoke once more, and another sigh fell from my lips.

“Agricolas,” He said.

“Agricolas.” We echoed; like mice to the Pied Piper. 

“Agricolis.”

“Agricolis.”

“Again, please.” He uttered, and there we each found ourselves, reciprocating such wording with little to no thought; the words, so familiar yet utterly anew, falling from our tongues, with jagged edges that bled unto our boredom. 

And then, as the minutes fluttered by, and my attention found the window once more - captured amongst the bustle of settling birds, their company surely for life, and the way in which the sky hinted a subtle pink, trapped among grey; lost upon clouds. A shame, I had thought, as the lesson had drawn to a close, that such beauty may be abandoned within the miserable weather - it was time to emerge upon mathematical equations, and drown among difficultly executed sums. 

“Your study of Trigonometry requires absolute precision.” Dr. Hagar said, his arms to clasp behind his back. He wore a suit to a rather formal attire - of such I had found myself lightly giggling at, upon entering the classroom, though silenced myself (particularly quickly) as I received a glare of grave rottenness. He walked within the isle, somewhat on the thinner side, and glanced over the top of his black-rimmed glasses, and approached the corner to which I perched, pages of scribbled - and hardly legible - notes to occupy my book. “Anyone failing to turn in any homework assignment,” He rambled on, pausing to my desk, a glare dripping in something cold. He began to retreat, hands still in tight clasp upon his lower back. “Will be penalised one point off their final grade.” I suppressed the sigh, as it threatened to slip, and I swallowed it with a heavy inhale, and a slight slump to my shoulders. 

Dr. Hagar paused, as though hesitant, and he chewed upon his words. His turn were gradual, threatening, as he said - an unwavering gaze fixated upon I, and upon Charlie, as he perched a mere row in front, and to the left, of myself -: “Let me urge you now, not to test me on this point.” With a kind of stare I felt little passion upon provoking. I merely allowed my gaze to lock with his own, a passage of cold bereftness to flow through, until the class continued on. 

Upon the coming of our final lesson - for that day, although I yearned for the safety of Saturday, nonetheless - I found myself bitterly submerged within a scowl, tracing the corridor with a slouch to my stride, weighted by the grip of copious - excessively heavy - textbooks, and notebooks, alike. I was tired - exhausted - and in dire need of a greatly induced nap. 

“Ja-ane,” Charlie sang, rested upon the doorway of the final destination. He wore a classically imprinted smirk, arms folded across his chest - though slightly restricted, among the serious stack of books, balanced within his hold. “C’mon,” He grinned, “I know you hate it here, but you gotta make the most out of your youth.” He teased, slinging his arm across my shoulders as I drew myself nearer. “Smile, baby.”  

I let out a scoff - a slight snort, also, as I came to realise - and muttered my reply. “Hate it?” I said, “Charlie, I want this faculty burnt to the ground.” I found myself far too… Far too caught up among the frustrations of my thoughts, to even utter a stuttered defence upon the nickname he spewed, so carelessly, so effortlessly.

“Ever the dramatic.” He scoffed, a teasing glint to those dough brown eyes. “Jane, Sweetheart, that’d be arson.”  

I rolled my eyes, stumbling beneath his hold, as we wandered through the open doorway. “I don’t care what it is.” I said, “I’m sick of this place.” 

“Can’t argue with that.” He mumbled. 

The class had seemingly already filled in, not but a glimpse of authority in sight, and the rampant noise, bustling between companions and the teasing amongst friends, perplexed upon the fact that - surely - we would be reprimanded at any given moment. Meeks had perched himself within the front row, opposed the rather large oak desk, and Todd two seats to his left. There was Neil, and Pittsie, smothered in the middle of it all, and Richard before them - Knox to the left of Gerard, and Charlie slumped within the seat behind him. The furthest corner of the room, one could argue, and I found myself shoved within the desk beside him. 

My books, heavy in their might, landed with a great thud upon the surface, and a sigh slipped from my lips. Mr Keating: he had seemed a calm man - kind, with gentle eyes - and I simply hoped such observations would be somewhat accurate. 

For although I would not release any form of… Waterworks, we shall call them, before the entirety of the class, if I were to be yelled at, or simply humiliated - for whichever reason it could surely be - I were almost certain I’d discover myself crying over such a thing the moment I was alone. I were bitterly exhausted, and I loathed myself for disgruntling an otherwise morally regular sleeping pattern, among the depth of summer’s blue. 

I slouched within my seat, and I ignored the rising commotion of immaturity around, simply glaring - undoubtedly carrying hefty bags beneath my eyes - to the stripes among the wood of my desk, a blank nonchalance to coax my gaze. 

“Hey,” Someone called, a mere hushed whisper among the commotion, “Jane,” I glanced up, the broadened grin of Pittsie’s own blaring back at me. I subconsciously quivered a smile, as he spoke once more, his tone a continuance of something attemptedly quiet - though, truthfully, not that quiet, at all. “You alright? Lookin’ a little down.” 

I nodded softly, “Peachy, Pitts.” I smiled. “How’s your summer, huh? I didn’t see you yesterday.” 

He rested his forearms along the lip of my desk, chin resting upon the fold, and said: “Ah, it was alright.” With a shrug. “Nothing special. How you findin’ the first day?” His grin tinted a glimmer of something humorous, for he knew the answer all too well. 

“Hell.” I muttered, as he breathed a gentle laugh, and my smile - despite myself - seemed to brighten. 

“Well, they don’t call it Hell-ton for nothing-” He began, the simmer of a hushed chuckle to bind between his words, as the sharp express of a whistled tune interrupted him. Pittsie spun around - quickly, with such clumsiness, a book clattered from my desk as he went - and I found a soft snort falling from my mouth. Clown, I thought, and smiled a smile of grave fondness. 

Silence engulfed the room, strewn paper balls lying idle upon the ground, as we awaited something - anything - amidst the sudden appearance.

There he was - the man of the hour, it should so seem - in all of his glory. Basked within a suit, shirt loosely tucked, and tie a little childishly tied - a small knot - with a certain glaze to his eyes. Clipboard clasped to his side; he strode. With power, though calm - confidently casual, as I had dared to recognize, before. Lips pursed to a whistle, he sung the notes of 1812, Overture, with a curious accuracy, and he walked - unacknowledging, with a smile to his blue stare - through the gap in the desks; not a word, not a yell, not a pause. 

We watched him go, like a moth to a flame, as he tossed a single, half-hearted, look over his shoulder, and exited the complex. I furrowed my eyebrows, shared a glance with Pittsie, his pinched expression a mere reciprocate of mine own confusion, and moved to look at Charlie. 

Unbothered, the boy was; doodling upon his notes. 

I rolled my eyes; of course, I thought, what a fool I’d be to think he’d even notice. I raised an eyebrow, gazing over the guarding hand of his own, and capturing the inspiration upon such a masterpiece. A scoff left my mouth before I found a chance to reel it back, “Charming.” I mumbled. The corner of his mouth tilted, the quiver of a smirk, and he removed his palms, revealing the true detail of such a crude sketch. 

A pair of breasts stared back at me, rather large in themselves.

His eyebrows raised, his lips glimmered a proud kind of twinkle, and I found myself laughing lightly - it were incredibly detailed; good, too, if I were to be honest. “Not bad, Dalton.” I sighed, another breathy chuckle. His grin merely widened, furtherly combusting with a sense of confidence, as his gaze fitted to the entryway of the classroom. 

There he was - Mr Keating - with an awkward kind of lean, half within the door, and half not. “Well, come on.” He instructed, voice light as it carried throughout the hue of confused silence. 

Gapes of inner conflict flooded the room, every head turned to face the curious man, as he disappeared - once more - behind the wall. The murmur of baffled, breathy, laughs, and questioning bewilderment floated throughout the quiet, and I caught the gaze of Charlie once more. His brows were furrowed, slightly puzzled, as his expression dripped in something addled. He shrugged softly, and I turned away, only to catch Richard - the snobby prude, himself - and a few other boys collecting their things. 

The entirety of the class followed, I, myself, included, as I collected the Poetry book, and I stood from the proximity of the uncomfortable chair. No longer did a frown paint upon my brows, for I felt - deep within my bones - that Mr Keating was not an ordinary teacher, and that his lessons - that moment, included - would be far from the normality of conformity we had been trained to abide by. I liked that, I decided, and I liked it a lot. 

I stood within the doorway, a subtle glance over my shoulder, and noticed the furrowed expression of Charlie, as he hovered at his desk - the final remainder of all that was left among the class. “Come on, Dalton.” I called, following the collection of shuffling feet, as they formed a slight crowd before the strange man himself. 

I lingered to the back, as I had always grown accustomed to doing (in order to be unnoticed, one must first go about being unseen) and waited, the shuffling drawing to a close, as we stood before the - rather small - Mr Keating. Charlie perched behind me, perhaps of something diagonal, though I could not physically see the boy - and I listened acutely to the pause of his muffled feet. 

“O’ Captain, My Captain,” Keating began, thin lips crinkled with passion. 

O’ Captain, My Captain - Walt Whitman. I smiled, for I could not help it, and I knew - I knew it, with a great sense of welcoming - that this man, this Mr Keating, would grow to be everything we had ever needed. Everything we were never taught - and my yearn for knowledge had never ached quite like it did, then, before. 

“Who knows where that comes from?” A patient glance, a rumble of silence; Me. “Anybody?” In order to go unseen, one must go about being unheard. 

I am Jane, I thought, and fuck their views upon my distraction. “Walt Whitman.” I mumbled, hardly loud enough to be heard. At least I had said it. A few heads turned to meet me, though I trained my gaze to the ground. 

“What was that?” Keating spoke, tone regarding, kind.

“Walt Whitman.” I said, fluttering my attention to meet the somewhat proud - dare I say - grin of the man before us. “A poem - about Abraham Lincoln.” 

He smiled, “Excellent,” he said, “Miss Darling, is it?” 

“Jane, Sir.” I corrected - for, indeed, I were no longer Miss Darling, I were the becoming of mine own self; I am Jane, I thought, and so I shall be known. 

“My apologies, Jane.” He said, and I smiled. It had been a long time, far longer than such I could recall, since I had found myself respected by that of an adult. An adult male, to speak the truth. A slight tap on my shoulder, the gentle thud of a book swatting the joint, caused a light jolt to buck through me. I glanced to Charlie, the boy smirking pridefully, and he shot me a playful wink. I merely widened my smile, for what else was I to do? And I turned back to meet the fluttering gaze of Keating, as he studied the expressions of those before him. 

“Now, in this class,” He began once more, “you can either call me Mr Keating,” He offered, a glance to the left, and to the right; a wry kind of grin, that seemed utterly infectious. “Or - if you’re slightly more daring - O’ Captain, My Captain.” 

Captain. I tried it on my tongue, a mere whisper beneath the murmur of gentle laughter around, “O’ Captain, My Captain.” I mumbled, and I liked the way it rolled from my lips. A kind man, he surely was, and the type of guidance I had never before known. 

“Now, let me dispel a few rumours, so they don’t fester into facts,” The Captain continued, and we listened intently. “Yes, I, too, attended Hell-ton,” A smirk, “And survived.” He uttered, eerie, as a soft shimmer of reciprocated grins flustered from the students around. “And, no - at that time, I was not the mental giant you see before you.”  He paused, gauged the reaction, and continued. “I was the intellectual equivalent of a ninety-eight-pound weakling.” A breath of a laugh - I smiled. “I would go to the beach, and people would kick copies of Byron in my face.” A stifled spell of giggles graced the small audience, and I found myself breathing a chuckle. 

For the first time, I had gathered, thus far, throughout the day; I was enjoying myself. No, I decided; no, he wasn’t ordinary at all. And there was nothing better than that. “Now,” Captain glanced to his clipboard, “Mr…” He frowned, a curt filter of something amused to furrow his expression, “Pitts?” He said, “That’s a rather unfortunate name.” A collective snicker to run through the class. “Mr Pitts,” Keating continued, “Where are you?” 

Pittsie, perhaps the tallest of us all, raised his hand, a glaze of something shy to coax his features, a lightly pink tint upon his dusted cheeks. The Captain looked up, and he pointed briefly to the boy’s Poetry book, “Mr Pitts,” He said, again, as though bemused by the way it felt to say. “Would you open your Hymonel to page five-forty-two?” He gazed upon Pittsie’s stumbling fingers, as he tugged open the pages. “And read the first stanza you find there.” 

Muffled shuffling was to be heard, collective maneuvering, as the rest of the boys fiddled with the paper, and scuttled through to the incentive instruction. I fluttered through the clumps of paper, and paused upon page five-forty-two; To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time. 

A laugh fell from my lips, and a sudden breath fanned upon my cheek, ridden from behind my shoulder. There Charlie stood, eyes fixated upon the poem I held within my hands; his entirely empty. I rolled my eyes, though grinning something fond (for, oh, what else should I have expected?) holding it up slightly, as to relieve the crane within his neck, and he smiled. 

“To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time?” Pittsie read aloud, a light sense of anxiousness to coat his tone. The rumble of laughter stuttered between the boys, and Charlie’s snicker fanned against my ear, a ticklish thing, really, as I itched it with my shoulder. 

“Go on,” The Captain urged, a subtle smile to be seen, “Somewhat appropriate, isn’t it?”

The laughter drowned out, replaced by none other than the deep rumble of Pittsie’s monotonous voice. “Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,” He read, “Old time is still a-flying; and this same flower that smiles today, tomorrow, will be dying.” 

“Thank you, Mr Pitts.” Keating smiled, speaking once more, as he dipped his words, his tone, with such passion; it gleamed like melted sugar. “Gather ye rosebuds while ye may.” He repeated, a subtle pace; once to the left, and two to the right. He turned to face us, a supple grin to grace his thin lips, and said; “The Latin term for that sentiment is Carpe Diem.” With a question sure to follow, “Now, who knows what that means?” He asked. 

Latin, although I found myself of grave success among my classes, was not my strongest point. No - no - Meeks; he was the genius in categories as such. And, expectedly, his hand shot up, with hardly an ounce of hesitation. Keating pointed to the boy, and his response came fast - intelligence riddled within. “Carpe Diem,” He echoed, “That’s seize the day.” 

“Very good,” The Captain grinned, a step towards the red-headed-blonde. “Mr…?” 

“Meeks.” He smiled. 

“Meeks?” Keating echoed, a previous step retreated, “Another unusual name.” He said, and I grinned, for who else did we know, with a name such as that? “Seize the day,” Captain continued, addressing the clump of students as he did so, “Gather ye rosebuds while ye may.” He paused, “Why does the writer use these lines?” 

“Because,” Charlie spoke up, chin rested upon the top of my head, “he’s in a hurry.” I snorted, a roll of the eyes, and felt the indent of his grin pressured upon my skull. 

Keating pointed to him, “No!” He smiled, “Ding.” And slammed his hand upon a faux bell, “Thank you for playing, anyway.” He said. A spring of laughter coursed throughout the small crowd, once more, - myself included - and I found myself realising, as Neil glanced over, himself smiling something toothy, and the indent of Charlie’s grin continued to press upon my head, that never before had we laughed within a lesson. Not within the company of those authoritative bastards, anyhow. And, with such a thought, I found my smile merely brightening with joy. Perhaps this was the second step, I thought; the second step to freedom. “Because we are food for worms, Lads - and the Lady, Jane.” He said, no longer a smile draped across his face. “Because - believe it or not - each, and every one of us, in this room, is - one day - going to stop breathing, turn cold, and die.” 

My eyebrows raised, and a subtle kind of heaviness disbursed among the air. Seize the day, before it’s too late. Carpe Diem. 

I thought, a mere moment within the thickening silence, of the summer. Of how closely Death and I had kissed - how awfully lonely such times had been, and how greatly I craved his warm embrace. To romanticize Death were not a thing of intention. Though, as Keating had said himself - each, and every one of us, were going to stop breathing, turn cold, and die - we held no control upon the inevitable; so why bother to fear it? Non-existence seemed so serene, so wonderful, I often craved a taste - a sample, perhaps - to suck upon, when the days would reach their worst. 

But now? Now, with my feet beyond the door, two steps progressed, unto the path of freedom - to die so soon seemed something a little less desirable; for what is Death to a girl with dreams? 

Carpe Diem, I thought, a gentle smile upon my face; Carpe Diem; Carpe Diem; Carpe Diem. 

“I’d like you to step forward, over here.” Keating spoke, a little softer, with more compassion, than passion. He turned to face the display case; an array of old photographs, of faces nobody cared to know, and of awards - achievements - scattered along the shelves. “And peruse some of the faces from the past.” The cloud of boys began to move, to follow such instruction, as Keating continued. “You’ve walked past them many times,” He said, “But I don’t think you’ve really looked at them.” 

Only with the subtle push of Charlie's hand, gentle between my shoulder blades, did I flinch into movement. The boys, and I, we crowded in a sparse cluster, observing, though not truly scrutinizing, the morsel of every face we came across. I stood, beside, though not quite touching, Charlie, and Neil, as I gazed upon such display. 

“They’re not that different from you, are they?” Keating noted. Well, I thought, I suppose I didn’t truthfully count. “Same haircuts,” He added, “though perhaps a little different, from our Lady Jane.” He offered, and I sighed, for - no - I had once resembled such a cut. 

“Unfortunately not, Captain.” I muttered, allowing the soft laughter that fluttered around me. 

“Ah, well,” He smiled, “That is the joy of growth, hm?” 

I grinned, and I listened - we all did, and it was intently - always intently -- as he continued. “They’re full of hormones, just like you.” He said, a jest of a smile, as his gaze caught that of a few curious students. “Invincible,” He said, and I smirked; for, oh, the passion was back, and yes - yes, we were - we were utterly invincible. “Just like you feel.” We didn’t just feel it - no, no - Carpe Diem; I found it coursing through my veins. “The world is their oyster.” He said, “They believe they’re destined for great things - just like many of you - their eyes are full of hope.” His tone, it fell softer, and so riddled with enthusiasm. “Just like you.” He said; slow, as though to marinate his words. 

A beat of silence passed, and I found myself enamoured with my drunken adrenaline, woozy with the passion he bled from every syllable. “Did they wait ‘till it was too late, to make from their lives even one ioda of what they were capable?” He said, though he required no reply, and thus received silence. “Because, you see, Gentlemen - Lady Jane - these boys are now fertilising daffodils.” 

Seize the day - Gather ye rosebuds while ye may. I inhaled something deep, something plentiful, and awaited the next strip of gold to fall from between his teeth. 

“But, if you listen real close,” He uttered, a stand positioned at the shoulder of Richard’s own, “You can hear them whisper their legacy to you.” A hesitant pause passed us by, and his tone fell to something even quieter, “Go on,” he said, “lean in.” And thus, we did. 

We leaned closer toward the glass, as though their picture may utter something truly great, and we waited for something to happen. “Can you hear it?” Keating muttered, and we all tilted that little bit further. “Carpe…” He whispered, a ghostly raunch to his tone. Cameron turned - something slow, with an expression of true annoyance, and I felt a smile crawl its way upon my face. Keating glanced away, feigning innocence, and muttered an almost silent; “Hear it?” As a breathy giggle fell from I. The pair returned their attention back to the cabinet, and there the Captain was, again, breathing the words upon Camerons shoulder. “Carpe… Carpe Diem…” He rasped, surely no louder than the winds of the night, “Seize the day, boys,” He drawled, “make your lives extraordinary.” 

The halls were bustling upon dismissal, the bell to ring shrill amongst it’s time, as we strode - clumped together in a manner of silenced astonishment - and chewed upon the words we had been fed. Each carrying his own stack of books, unbothered by their hefty weight, and mine own of something painful - my arms ached, but I simply didn’t care. Carpe Diem, I thought - Seize the day; make your lives extraordinary. 

Whether I had noticed it, or not, found little relevance, as a grin crawled upon my features, and I wallowed among the freshly broken quiet. “That was weird.” Pittsie grumbled, sauntered beside Neil, as we exited through the heavily infused door, and spilled upon the courtyard tile. 

“But different.” Neil offered, a light sense of welcoming washed between his wording.

“Spooky, if you ask me.” Knox added, a subtle shake of his head. 

A pinch found my brows, furrowed in their ways; for was it only I who had discovered something hidden amongst myself? Something locked away, combined with all things passionate? “You guys didn’t like him?” I asked, tone light upon the bustle around. 

Knox shrugged softly, “I didn’t hate him.” He said, “He’s just…” 

“Different?” Neil repeated. 

“Different.” The boy nodded. 

“Well, I thought he was great.” I muttered. 

Charlie scoffed, a step or two before I, and he uttered - tone of grave teasing - a: “You would, Lady Jane.” With the breath of a laugh to follow. I merely smirked, for I were fond of such a calling - it dripped in power, and it rolled off the tongue - as we all strode together, maneuvering our way through the bustle and commotion. 

“You think he’ll test us on that stuff?” Cameron asked, a furrow to his brows.

 I rolled my eyes, and muttered something soft beneath my breath. “Jesus Christ.” I mumbled, catching the bemused smirk of the Dalton boy, himself. 

Charlie glanced to look upon Richard, frown sinking his expression, “Oh, come on, Cameron,” He scoffed, “Don’t you get anything?” As he turned once more, to face the direction in which he sauntered. 

Richard scowled, “What?” he said. The silence remained, and I smirked. “What!” There was a breath of laughter - something mocking, as I came to realise - and Neil spoke once more, interrupting the moment of nothingness that graced us by, as we walked, stride in stride, through the other set of open doors. 

“To think - it’s only the first day back,” He sighed, “and we’re already drowning in work.” 

I shrugged gently, adjusting the slipping grip upon my books, and said: “I don’t know why you’re surprised.” With a curt pinch to my brows. “They smother us with unmanageable amounts of work, every year, and wonder why we hate it.” 

“I’ll second that.” Dalton nodded, “The pretentious fucks don’t know when to stop.” 

I laughed lightly, and shook my head. “Yeah.” I mumbled, as Knox offered something quiet. 

“God,” He sighed, “the day’s not even over.” 

“For you.” I grinned, “Have fun sweating, boys. I’ll be cosied up in bed, catching forty winks before tonight.” Knox glared something playful, and I merely shot a wink in his direction. 

“What’s everybody doing, anyway?” Neil asked, a curt glance to be dispersed around, “Soccer? Rowing? Fencing?” A few incoherent mumbles rang about, and I could only roll my eyes, as I spoke something soft. 

“Football.” I said, “It’s called Football.” 

“Soccer.” They all chorused, a little louder, and accompanied by eyerolls and muttered insults. 

“I'm Rowing.” Charlie sighed, “But I’m on the Soccer team, too.” He paused, throwing me a look over his shoulder, and said: “You’re still on, right?” 

“The Football team?” I asked, a raised eyebrow, and a supple grin, “I’m not sure. I haven’t asked Nolan.” 

Charlie nodded, mumbling a quiet; “Well, you better be.” Before turning back around, and beginning his ascent through the ruckus of the stairwell. The boys were to attend Gym class - their final hour of the day - and thus they had to retrieve their kits, and drop off their numerous textbooks. I, myself, were strictly restricted around the idealism of sporting, and of doing such around boys, especially. Upon the agreement that I were to stay on at Hell-ton, my sporting allowance was dramatically reduced - a mere two hours a week, instead of five - and I were to be fully clothed - entirely dressed in trousers, and in a long-sleeved shirt, or a jumper - or I would simply not participate.

It were true that I was the best goal defence our team had ever seen, and thus - for such reason only, and nothing else but the fact - I was allowed to remain on the Football team, during the final few months of the season, last year. Among Nolan’s sudden knowledge of my… my true identity, he restricted every other sporting access; enforced I be kept on the Football team, and the Football team only. Though, whether he thought quite the same this year, I had not but a clue.  

“You coming to dinner, later, Lady Jane?” Charlie asked, as we paused to the mouth of the boys’ hallway. I thought for a moment - about the meal I had missed last night, and the meal I had skipped that morning, and I nodded hesitantly. I were hungry, starved, and I were desiring something fulfilling, though I found myself doubtful I could stomach the dreadful substance that was Hell-ton Hash. 

“Yeah, come along.” Neil smiled, “You skipped breakfast, didn’t you?” 

“I- uh-” I stuttered, “Yeah.” I said, “I’ll be there.” With a tight lipped grin. 

“Great.” Perry said, kindly. “You’ll sit with us, won’t you?” 

I furrowed my eyebrows, a shake to the head, and sighed. “Meals are to be eaten alone.” I recited, a roll of the eyes. “I can’t.” I breathed, “It’s one of the rules.” 

Meeks, his eyebrows raised, mumbled a: “That’s crazy.” as Pittsie harmonized, with a: “Sounds stupid, to me.” I laughed a breathy laugh and nodded, for it was. Isolation may have been safety during the summer, but amongst the company of the boys - friends, of whom I enjoyed my time with - it seemed utterly ridiculous; unnecessary. 

“Here, look,” I mumbled, struggling to balance the rather hefty stack of books with my right hand, as I reached deeply within my inner blazer pocket. I withdrew the crumpled paper, dispelled with the great number of scrawled rules, two sides in depth, and I sighed, offering the folded page to Meeks, as he studied the words before him. 

He scoffed, “No perfume?” And I merely shrugged. “What does he think we are, feral?” 

“Let me see that thing.” Charlie said, grasping hold of the ever-depressing list, and raking his eyes upon the instructives. “Curfew at eight-thirty? What - are you a child, or something?” He scoffed, orbs wide, and features a frown. “This is ridiculous.” He said. “Seating to be isolated, out of the way, and not distracting?” 

“Hair is to be kept up, tied tightly, and not disruptive.” Neil read, leaning up and over Charlie's shoulder as he spoke. “That’s insane,” He said, as he turned his glance to stare at I. “How can hair be disruptive?” 

I shrugged, a sigh slipping from between my lips. “Hell, if I know.” I said. It had taken the greater part of thirty minutes, earlier that morning, to retain my curls within a neatened bun, upon the base of my neck; it felt awfully tight - the clasp of such a strong clutch beginning to throb upon my scalp - and I longed for the blissful release. 

“Well, at least you get out of Gym class.” Knox sighed. 

I shrugged slightly, and uttered my reply. “I liked it.” I said, “It was fun.” 

“It’s better than doing nothing.” Meeks added, I found myself nodding in agreement. 

“Yeah, I guess so.” Overstreet breathed, “But we’ll be late if we don’t get a move on, Gentlemen.” 

A mumbled round of agreement coursed throughout them all, as they uttered their goodbyes and took off down the hallway. “I better see you at that study group, tonight, Lady Jane.” Charlie smirked, blowing a teasing kiss to I, as he disappeared behind his door, and Cameron followed suit. The other boys entered their assigned quarters, and I simply smiled, beginning the journey to that of my own room. I bounded up the stairs - hopping two at a time - and I somewhat jogged throughout the length of the corridor, throwing myself through the door, kicking it shut with a dismissive sense of energy. 

I paused, standing stoic within my room, as the cool temperature licked upon my flushed cheeks, with heavy breaths, and lightened silence; an unnoticed continuance of heaviness perched within my slouch.

The Play, I thought, the grace of a sudden realisation to dawn upon my conscience. My Play! A noise of great excitement fell from me, as I ripped open the drawer of the bedside table, its oak a mere squeak to the quiet background, and I shuffled through the papers, the sketches of things unimpressive and potently standard, and through the scraps of ideas, and, finally, I clutched my grip upon the worn leather of my notebook. Of the notebook. 

A strip of white paper, glued to the cover, read: A Steady Man’s Grave, in the thickest ink I could have found, as I spent my days writing among the beginning of summer. 

It was June; the fresh scent of all things blooming, all things wondrously anew, to flutter amongst the butterflies, and hum between the buzz of the bumble bees. I ached for something good, for something productive - a distraction, worth all things enticing - and I had surely found it. Bound between the thick leather covers; cursive handwriting hardly legible among the scribbles, the corrections, the excitement; I wrote until my fingers bled, and my eyes began to sting. From sunrise, to sundown; I wrote. Obsessed, I surely became, with the adoration I dispelled; mingled between each and every word. 

I wrote of war; I wrote of love; of anguish, and of betrayal. I found a passion between bloody fists, and swollen cheeks, and I threw myself within its grasp - drowning until I could no longer breathe. Until the final few weeks of summer crawled to play, and Death came knocking at my door. A dark time, surely true, though an experience I found myself unable to entirely regret. 

I peeled back the front cover, and I allowed my eyes to fall upon the very first page. A STEADY MAN’S GRAVE, JANE ELIZABETH DARLING. It read, and a tired smile fluttered upon my face. How passionate I had been, how well I had Seized the Day - how greatly I longed to be her, once again. I could recall that I did not finish it - that although my writing were everything prolific, and utterly animated, I were so clouded, throughout those final few dreadful weeks, that I had placed down my pen, and I had not picked it up again. 

There was a terrific crack, as I parted the spine, and the breath of a meaningless laugh fell from my tongue. ACT 1, SCENE 1: The Garden-Way. I traced the ink with my finger, riddled with nostalgia, and I pondered - briefly, and to myself - if this were to be the third step. The third step to freedom - to re-discover my passion, and revive all that it could have been. I liked that, I decided, and I liked it a lot. 

I wove my way through the lines, reciting such words a mere mumble beneath my breath, and I found myself smiling subconsciously, as I fluttered through the aged, yellowing, pages. The spill of differentiating ink, sprawled among corrections, lie around the text, and I followed the scene with a great sense of welcome nostalgia. Perseus - a soft fellow, with a heart riddled of Love - picked upon the fruit, nibbling at such, from a garden that was not his. He perched beneath the peach tree, limbs thrown in every-which direction, as he stared to the seeping sun, fluttering among the gently swayed leaves. 

A moment of silence were to pass, filled with nothing but the tender breeze, as Jullian stumbled upon the scene. Clothed in weapons - with daggers, with swords - and a glare of something stoic, mean. Perseus; his name were bellowed, a menacing growl, and no longer was he alone. The shards of sun, cutting through the gaps within the shrubbery, seemed to sharpen; to flash, and then to hide, and a certain cloud of grey erupted across the land. 

The man sighed, a final bite to his fruit, and he arose to a reclined-seated-state, elbows supporting his weight. “Jullian,” He greeted, a somewhat bitter smile stretched within his teeth. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

A breath of quietened, visible, rage were to reciprocate from him, stance rigid; uneasy. “May your carelessness find you wretched.” Jullian spat, a tight clamp to his clenched jaw; he grinded his teeth. “To lie upon my soil - your ignorance may caress the very roots of my earth, and death shall riddle it true.” 

“O’ spare me, sweetest children of God.” Perseus mumbled, “For you’re nothing short of dramatic, dear Julian.” He said, “My company - if nothing but - is mere fulfilling, is it not?” 

A scoff ripped from his throat, “You know nothing of fulfillment!” He mocked. 

“As I am certain you do?” Perseus grumbled, a raised eyebrow, and a sheen of frustration to glaze upon his expression. For, oh, how foolish he had been to fall in love with such a bastard. “O’ to be drunk on yearning, on the blood of enemies - tell me, Jullian, do you feast on those you bury?” He spoke, a supple smile crawling upon the expression of his toned features. 

Jullian scowled, a step strode closer, and he spat, with such grave bite: “I shall bury no man.” And Perseus’ grin found something toothy; teasing. 

“No?” He asked. 

“Such compassion may drabble me a fool - alas, I know it not!” He scoffed, “I may watch such decomposition with great delight, and I will inquire upon the bloom of growth - merely heightened by the salt of a lover's lonesome tears, to weep upon such dirt.” 

“You are a cruel man, Jullian.” Perseus sighed, “Do you hold no respect for those in which do perish, by the hand that is your own?” 

Julian smiled - a wry, cruel, smile - and he said: “You shall learn to drink up your compassion. For tonight, thus as every night; we dine on blood, and on atrophy, and we fall in love with the silent cries of bloodied choirs, haunting the ache of summer’s eve.” 

My fingers clutched upon the body, and I turned the page delicately, reading on with a subtle glimmer of pride. Eyes a cerulean tinge of something stinging, I found a soft ache to begin loitering behind the sockets. Sleep, my mind seemed to cry, Sleep, Sleep, Sleep. Though, still, I could not seem to tear my eyes away from the yellow-kissed paper, and the slanted handwriting, hardly legible. A glance to my drawer; I grasped upon the thin, round, frame of my brown-rimmed glasses, and I shoved such lenses upon my face, slipping them up the slender bridge of my nose, with a subtle sigh slipping from my lips as I went. 

The gentle hue of a headache continued to pulse, be it only slightly, around my conscience, and the idea of slumber were ever-more appealing, as I stumbled upon the same line; once, twice, three times more. 

“You are riddled with the violence once forced to attain,” Perseus sighed, “And you are unwilling to know, nor to grow - you wish not to learn to love again.” 

I read it again, a heavy breath slipping that of my tired throat, and I wove the tip of my tongue along the breach of my lower lip. A subtle sheen of moisture engulfed my gaze, ruptured with the gradually invasive sting, and a tiresome weight picked the skin of my eyelids, drooped immensely with an unnoticed speed, I knew that the turbulence of sleep deprivation was most certainly upon me. The day had been extensive, draining, and the first dip of exhaustion had long since passed. Sleep beckoned me, a gust of rigidness dissolving throughout my muscles, and my shoulders slouched - furtherly, if possible.  A particular scowl descended upon my expression, a slight palpitation to flutter my heart. I did not fear sleep, as such, though the events of such dreams were experiences rather left unknown. I dreaded the vividness, the recollection, that would force me to rise with a pounding ache to my skull, and an expression drenched in tears.

Haunted, often, were the plague of my dreams. 

I traced the gauge of my blurred writing, once more, and blinked - once, twice, several times more - in grave attempt to rid of such bleariness, though - upon subtle lack of focus, and whole consumption of exhaustion - as the thump of the book, colliding with the loose space of the crowded drawer below, forced my eyes to peel open, the extended blink an unnoticed occurrence, I understood that to fight the tides of slumber would be impossible. Foolish. And so, as I slumped myself upon the cold mattress, my head tucked to the white pillow, and hands wrapped around my frame, I allowed my conscience to drift upon the waves, bobbing only slightly, viewing the turret of the upcoming storms, brewing along the horizon. 

~*~

The common room, tucked away and rather small for such a gathering area, were particularly empty upon my own arrival. I had grasped hardly thirty-minutes of slumber, and thus dictated a course of revision, of studious intention, rather than fighting the thickening sleep deprivation that clawed upon my brain. The headache in which I had previously occupied only marginally, had thundered - copious amounts - worse, and resulted to a  kind of hellish fire, engulfing the clutch of my mind, as I clenched my jaw, and I sank within the seat of an emptied table. 

My curls, they were wild, free, as they spilled across my shoulders, and hardly an inch below. I placed my digits among the roots, and I massaged - circular motions, with a great deal of softness - upon the scalp; clockwise, anti-clockwise, with such delicacy, and a mere slight relief of all things horrid and pressuring. The glasses, perched timidly upon the bridge of my nose, did little to aid such an ache, and neither did the freedom of my blonde locks. Perhaps it unleashed a subtle amount of pressure, though the pain were still enough to riddle me silent and glassy-eyed. 

I had dressed within a rather large - rather loose, as my clothing had seemed to increasingly grow - grey shirt, and some long trousers, of which kind I could think not to name. I had previously decided against Hell-ton Hash, and had skipped the meal - another - as a result. I were hungry, though I felt bitterly ill. Sick to my stomach for the ache that rolled behind my eyes, and clattered within my head. 

Not often, I could recall, did I find myself burdened by the fester of a rotten migraine, and they usually left me lying amongst thick darkness, unmoving and aching for days, upon hours; though when they did come knocking, come crawling, they were the worst kind of pain I had ever experienced. As I moved, sluggishly, to extract my Latin book, and I flipped the pages beneath my shaking fingertips, I knew that that night were not a night to wallow in self pity. 

“Agricolum, Agricola, Agricolarum, Agricolis, Agricolas, Agricolis.” I uttered, a monotonous whisper beneath my breath. I read the list once more, repetitive and utterly drawling, and turned the page.  

CARPE DIEM, I wrote, the ghost of amusement to slip within my scowling eyes, SEIZE THE DAY, MAKE YOUR LIVES EXTRAORDINARY. I layered it, I scribbled unto it, and I lined it beneath, until the paper tore through, and I ripped the page free from it’s binder. I crumpled it up, until the jagged formation of a paper-ball glanced me back, and I threw it, carelessly, with not but an ounce of effort, across the room. 

It landed with a bounce, and I paused, watching for a mere moment or so, before a sigh fell from my lips, and I returned to my prior position: hands in hair, massaging the deafening ache with a subtlety about it, and eyes tiresomely scanning the text upon the page, as I read throughout the book, and I simply hoped to be retaining such information. 

The chair was uncomfortable, though I didn’t truly mind, and the room were of something cold, as I found a soft shiver to run through me, and a sudden shock to pulse through my skull. I gritted my teeth, for - Oh - I hadn’t experienced a migraine quite the same since… Well, not since the beginning of summer. 

The shuffle of feet entering the desolated room caught my attention, though I remained unmoving, eyes fluttered to a scrunched close, and I gripped to the roots of my locks. Boys began to file in, gradual, yet somehow at the same time, and the level in which the volume seemed to progress were something manageable, though greatly uncomfortable. I dropped my head, rested upon the cool surface of the open pages, and I awaited the company of the guys I found myself somewhat familiar with. 

“Latin that bad, huh?” A familiar voice - Charlie - called, a teasing glint to his tone, as he withdrew the Latin textbook from beneath my elbows, crowed upon the table, my head bowed between them. My expression collided with the table surface, another shrill ache to erupt within the depth of my brain, and a particularly pained groan fell from my gritted teeth. “Jane?” Charlie called, once more, though somewhat softer this time - concerned. “Hey, you alright?” He mumbled, a gentle hand to caress the back of my head. 

I bit back the uprising tears, a sharp gulp, and I begged myself to simply hold it together, nodding something tender, as I sighed a great heave. “Yeah,” I muttered, tone - unfortunately, for I - thick with the moisture of unshed hurt. 

“What’s the matter, Sweetheart?” He asked, dropping within the seat to my left, as his digits lightly pawed the roots of my curls. It felt nice, comforting, and thus I allowed my arms to drop upon the table, and another sigh left my lips. 

I rested my cheek upon the cool surface of the smooth wood, facing the boy in question, as the soft glimmer of moisture remained blurry to my eyes. His eyebrows; they were furrowed, and his eyes large and round - childish, as they always seemed to be, though suddenly tinted with a darkened concern. “I’m fine.” I smiled, a weak, pathetic, smile. “My head just hurts a little.” I lied, my tone a mere mumble against the bustle all around. For I could not open my mouth any wider, the ache a splitting ferocity if I even tried. I knew that routine all too well, unfortunately, and silence were a true virtue for such times. 

His gaze softened further, as he mumbled a short, “Oh,” and I merely shrugged lightly. “Well,” He continued, tone quiet - considerate. “I brought you some bread.” He said, withdrawing a bundled up clump of napkins, and resting them upon the lip of the table, with a small smile to occupy his features. “I figured you’d be hungry.” He added, “And, let’s be honest, I’m bettin’ it’s caused that headache, too.” His eyebrow raised, a playful glint to those eyes, and I merely smiled something wider, raising myself to a slouched sit. 

“Thank you.” I muttered, somewhat sheepishly, as I unwrapped the buttered bread, and I took a bite of small desire. I was, in fact, utterly starving, and surely thankful for such a crumb, though I wished not to spew it all up, within a moment’s digestion, for my migraine rung true within the depth of my ears, and my stomach clenched, unclenched, and clenched a heartbeat once more. “Oh,” I maundered, placing the nibbled slice back upon the cloth, as I reached for the leather-backed notebook, and I swallowed my mouthful. “Here, look at this.” I said, spoken quietly, as he furrowed his brows, and he leaned a little bit closer. 

I handed the book to his extended hand, and watched as his frown merely deepened upon ingesting the title. “A Steady Man's Grave?” He read, aloud. “What’s this?” His gaze upturned to meet my own, and I found myself smiling something small upon deliverance. 

“It’s a play.” I said, “A play script.”  

“I’ve never heard of it.” He mumbled, a brief flicker through the pages, “Any good?”

A breathy laugh fell from my tongue, and I shrugged lightly, “I’d hope so.” I said, “Considering I spent most of my summer writing it.” 

His eyes returned to mine, eyebrows raised something high, and his orbs greatly enlarged. “You wrote a fucking play?” He echoed, “That’s amazing! Why didn’t you mention it before, Shakespeare?” Another breath of laughter dripped from my tongue, and I ignored the heat that erupted within my scalp, merely shrugging softly. 

“It never came up.” I said, “And I’d forgotten all about it, ‘til I went back to my room, today.”  

“Well, shit,” He smiled, delicately tracing the leather of the cover he held so gently. “Can I read some?” He asked, glance hopeful and slightly hesitant. 

“You can read it all, Dalton.” I chuckled, “Read as much as you want.” Charlie grinned, resting back - with a tilt to his chair - as he swung slightly, and scoped upon the first ounce of text. I were surprised - albeit only that little bit - for his ability to read my writing; it was so scribbled and awful, I felt almost sure he’d be struggling. 

He read on through, nonetheless, and the calling of Neil’s tone caught my fixated attention. “Jane,” He smiled, “How are you? You missed dinner.” 

“Yeah,” I sighed, a little quieter than he, “I- uh-” I paused, licked my lips, and continued, “I’ve a headache.” I mumbled, “Didn’t feel like eating anything.” And I turned to face him, smiling softly in his own direction.

“Oh.” He said, eyebrows raising momentarily, “Well, have you taken anything for it?” I shook my head, for I disliked the idea of taking drugs - not unless I were greeting Death at my door, of course. “Okay,” He mumbled, a furrow to his expression, “You probably should. I think Charlie brought you some food- Hey, Charlie,” Neil called, gaining the brunette's attention, as his gaze slowly lifted to meet us both. He shot me a small smirk, as though slightly distracted, and focused upon Neil. “Did you give her the food?” He asked. 

“It’s right there, dumbass,” Charlie grinned, rolling his eyes something fond, as he motioned toward the nibbled slice of buttered, white, bread. “Leave her be, she’s feelin’ rough.” A little worse than rough, I thought, though I smiled nonetheless. 

“Oh, right, yeah.” Neil said, a small grin stretched upon his face, “You don’t have any painkillers, do you?” 

“Unless you count PlayBoy Magazines, by the dozen, no, I don’t.” He smirked, a subtle wink thrown our way, as he retreated - again - to the words within my notebook. I rolled my eyes - ever the perverted mind - and returned to Neil. 

I had hardly noticed the company of the other boys - Meeks and Pitts (with a kind of device I could hardly make out, though it looked a little like the scraps of a naked radio) perched within close proximity to each other, speaking in hushed whispers as they went, and upon a separate table, though only inches apart from our own. Charlie to my left, and Neil across from me, with Cameron perched to his left. Knox was - Knox. Knox was not there. I frowned deeply, “Where’s Overstreet?” I mumbled, similarly noticing the absence of the dirty blonde - the new boy, Tony - No, no. He was- he was... Todd! Todd Anderson. “And Todd?” I added. 

“Knox had dinner someplace else.” Neil said, “Friends of his parents’. And Todd hasn’t left the room - something about History work, I think.” I nodded subtly, jaw clenched upon the grave ache, as it spread throughout my head in a ruckus of great frustration. 

I glanced upon the closed textbook, resting beside where my cheek had once lay, and to the several others - Chemistry, Trigonometry, and Latin - and I felt my eyes sting, aching deeply with a thickening sense of moisture, crowding amongst my gaze. The pulse, the pressure, within my skull only seemed to worsen, the harsher I fought to digest my upcoming tears, and I pondered whether it would simply explode. If that would be the end of I, and of the end of the room’s company as they knew it. 

“Neil?” Cameron called, his tone loud - God, it was so fucking loud - and nasally. “Neil, what’d you get for- uh-” He paused, “Question two?” I could hardly concentrate upon swallowing such a sharp urge to ball my fucking eyes out - never mind the impending gloom of twenty-unscoped-questions, in advanced Chemistry - all of which I had failed to pay any attention to, during the minutes occupying the lesson. 

The boys discussed their answers, babbling about this, and about that, and I tried - I truly tried - to focus my attention purely upon the black mark of ink, displaying something small among the red of my textbook. I couldn’t do it, I decided, I could not finish any kind of assignment. Not with that consistent pressure within my skull, at least.

Perhaps I’d Carpe Diem another day, instead, I thought, and thus, I reached - slowly, with desire to please the ache amongst my mind - back for the bread, and I chewed lazily upon its crust. 

I had not but a clue for how long I had been sat, staring blankly into nothingness, with my teeth sinking into, and digesting, lumps of plain white bread, though it were surely long enough. “Hey, Dalton,” Cameron practically sneered. I winced, be it only slight, as his tone vibrated around my head. Thump, thump, thump, it bellowed, thump thump thump. “Pick up your textbook, would you?” He paused, glanced to I - where I sat, having finished my food, with a scowl of greatly pained proportions - and said: “You too, Jane.” 

“Can’t you see I’m busy, Cameron?” Charlie bit, waving the parted book within the air, as he rolled his eyes, and returned back to my work. 

“You can do that later.” Richard scoffed, shoving the textbook far closer than it were before, as it slid across the smooth polish of the wooden table. “What - are you busy, too, Darling?” He snapped, suddenly fixated on myself. 

I rolled my eyes, though only slight, for it riddled me elusive with pain, and I spat a little something back. “It’s Jane, Cameron.” I said, “Lady Jane, if you please.” 

“Should you even be here?” He scoffed, a contorted frown to cross his features. 

I scowled bitterly, “In case you hadn’t noticed, Bootlicker, you all sat with me. Not the other way ‘round.” I said, tone slightly raised, and somewhat defensive. The grave throbbing within my skull seemed to rush like a wildfire, and I clenched my jaw awfully tight, attempting to remain stoic amongst the great rush of intensely dreadful warmth. “Jesus,” I breathed, “Just leave me alone, would you?” 

“Whatever.” He scoffed, once more, as he returned to a frowning Neil, and a challenging gaze - occupied by none other than Dalton, himself - rolling his eyes, and murmuring about a continuance in studious idioms.   

Averting my gaze, I stumbled upon the antics of both Pittsie and Meeks, as they told their jokes and threw their insults, neither heartfelt nor aggressive, and laughed somewhat quietly together. They fiddled with the mechanics of the radio, mocking the other upon the realisation of a simple mistake, and they’d breathe a laugh - carefree, they seemed. It was something quite surprising, to say they were so incredibly intelligent. I decided, as I rose gradually from my uncomfortable position, that I was in grave need of… Well, of being cheered up, I suppose. Meeks was excellent for comfort, and Pittsie was dopey, alike - a wonderful form of entertainment, you understand, and I merely assumed I needed the company. 

I wandered slowly, a slight saunter to my stride, and I ensured not but a ragged movement were to be made. I slumped gently within the chair beside Steven, a grovelled sigh to slip my lips, and reciprocated the smile I received. “How’s it goin’, Jane?” Pittsie grinned. “You look like hell.” 

“Yeah,” Meeks agreed, and I merely scoffed. “What is it? A headache? Nausea?” 

I breathed my response; “Migraine, I think.” And I tilted my head to rest upon his shoulder. A sympathetic coo rang through the pair of them, and Meeks wrapped me beneath his arm, tending to the joint of my shoulder with gentle strokes as he went. 

“Well,” He said, “Pittsie and I are working on a Hi-Fi system.” He shrugged. 

Pittsie grinned, an utterly enthralled and toothy smile, with an enthusiastic nod to follow. I smirked, “A radio?” I asked. 

“Yep.” Pittsie grinned, “And it’ll be the best radio you’ve ever seen.” 

The breath of a chuckle fell from me, “I don’t doubt that, Pitts.” I said, “I don’t doubt it at all.” 

“I mean, it would be,” He grumbled, “But we can’t find a sufficient connection.” 

Meeks nodded, holding up a… a… “Meeks, what the hell is that?” I muttered, pointing to the coiled metal, wrapped loosely amongst his grip as he waved it around. 

“Anteni.” He smiled, “It’s what we use to find a connection. Catches the radio waves.” 

I nodded, following the wire in which it was connected by, and the breath of a giggle fell from me, “Ever think to plug it in?” I smirked. The pair frowned, glancing quickly to observe my comment, and Pittsie grumbled a light-hearted insult, picking up the loose wires, and connecting such with its correct positioning. 

“Duh,” He mocked, a scowl flashed to Meeks’ blank surprise, his tongue shoved behind his lower lip, as another laugh fell from me. 

I returned my gaze upon the other boys’ - Neil, of whom stared dumbfoundedly to a question of (what I were led to believe) Trigonometry; Charlie, who shared a glare of grave distaste with the red-headed mutt, his textbook open and hardly revised, and Cameron; who seemed just about ready to tear his hair from its roots. “Just replace these numbers, here,” He pointed to them, a hover above Neil’s shoulder, “for ‘x’ and ‘y’.” 

“Of course.” Neil muttered, unmoving and quiet in himself. 

Charlie, his pen loosely contained among his grip, shifted his gaze to meet mine own - eyes wide, and his eyebrows drawn down; the Dalton Disbelief, as he so often dispelled. “Help.” He mouthed, and I found myself snickering softly. 

“Of course?” Cameron echoed, “So what’s the problem?” And thus was greeted by silence. 

My laugh came slightly louder, and it flew around my mind in a whirl of great dizziness, of heightened pain, as I winced, and clenched my eyes to a tight close. The flare in which the heat progressed simmered amongst my skull, and I found my teeth gritting subconsciously, a shaky breath falling from my lips. I needed to sleep, it should seem, and await the pain away. Though I found myself unable to rid for the small smile, slewn across my face, as I gazed upon the scene before me. 

“Look, I- What’s not to get?” Cameron sighed, a hand to slither down his expression. “I’ve explained the best I can, Neil.” 

Perry nodded, and he mumbled a curt, “I know, I know.” and fell among silence once more. There was a beat to pass, of thickly confused quiet, until he spoke up once more, and Cameron simply frowned, his features a clump of awful impatience. “But how does it apply to finding ‘x’?” He asked. 

“Or ‘y’.” Charlie mumbled, a whirl of confusion to crown his stare, as he blinked something blank at his work. A moment of nothingness passed - I shared a glance to Richard, and dared to notice he seemed rather teary eyed - and my smile simply widened. Idiots, I thought, every single one of them. 

The red-head turned, a gradual movement, to meet that of mine own stare. “Darling, you’re good with this,” He sighed, a particular furrow to his brows, “Lend a hand, would you?” 

“Lady Jane, Cameron.” Charlie said, “Her name is Lady Jane.” 

A heaved breath fell from him, and my eyebrow rose. “Whatever.” He sighed, “Lady Jane. Would you just do it, please?” 

“Oh, but Cameron! You were doing so well.” I smiled, a bitter smile, one could admit, and caught the infamous smirk of the Dalton boy, himself, as he shot me a wink - a continuous pattern I were beginning to grow accustomed to - and awaited Richard’s response. 

His gaze hardened, “Why do you have to be so difficult?” He sneered, “God, it’s like working with bricks!” 

“Well,” I scoffed, “Building is a noble pursuit. You live in a brick-built house, don’t you, Dick?” 

“Very funny, Lady, you really tickled me there.” He all but snarled. 

“Glad I could be of service.” I mumbled, something quieter, now. Quieter, for the pulse within my skull had enforced a great deal worse - flashing, almost, with a sharp shock of subliminal pressure. A thick kind of silence engulfed the tables, and not but a word dared to interrupt it as such. 

The door swept, opening a slither, and a creak, as the frame of Knox’s bereft expression eloped with the space. He rested back upon the door, allowing it’s closure a click, and tilted his head for the crown to kiss the wood. “How was dinner?” Charlie called, a sudden breach of such silence. The boy remained unmoving, his jacket held over his shoulder - like that of a romantic poet, stricken by such woes of amorous pain. I felt myself smile at the thought, as he turned dazily, and he raised his eyebrows. 

“Huh?” He maundered. 

“How was dinner?” I echoed, maneuvering myself to sit in that of my original seat, slightly to the right of Charlie. I ushered the wooden frame closer to the boy, shuffling in regard to the little room remaining for Knox, as he muttered his reply. 

“Terrible.” He sighed, a mere mumble upon anticipated silence. He strode away, a swing to his jacket, as he draped it upon the spare seat to my right, and he said, a little louder; “Awful.” As though we hadn’t quite gathered such beforehand. 

“Why?” Charlie asked, “What happened?” 

I frowned, for the boy’s gaze were so solemn - so woven with grave emotion - and I leaned my elbow upon the lip of the table, chin resting within its palm, as he slumped down within the chair. “You okay, Overstreet?” I said, quietly, for the ache had yet to retrieve. 

The boy shook his head, a blank stare upon the wooden table, and he breathed a sigh. “Tonight,” He began, the slither of a gentle smirk to caress his face, as he glanced up, just that little bit. “I met,” He drawled, another pause to be known, “The most beautiful girl I have ever seen, in my entire life.” I snorted a scoff, rolling my eyes - charming, I thought - and harmonized my expression at a similar time to Neil. 

“Are you crazy, what’s wrong with that?” Perry breathed a laugh, just the same as I muttered my: “Oh, thanks, Knoxious. Glad to know I’m not Loverboy worthy.”  

He smiled, something toothy and bright - and his gaze, it lightened - as he turned to face I. “Don’t take it personal, Jane.” He said, “You’re pretty, but man-” He paused, he visibly swooned, and a laugh fell from me. “Oh, you guys should have seen her.” 

“Oh, yeah?” I grinned, “What’s with the moping, then, Romeo?” 

He sighed, a curt deflate to his shoulders, and his smile seemed to drop. “She’s practically engaged.” He said, a shake to the head, “To Chet,” He paused, gauged the reactions, and finished with; “Danbury.” 

A chorus of groans spilled amongst the boys, mumbled protest to be known, as Charlie uttered something bitter. “That guy could eat a football.” He said. I held not but a clue for who Chet Danbury was, nor did I particularly care for such, though it seemed to have riled the boys up, and - Well - I supposed that were enough for me to develop a stained disliking for him. 

“Who is he?” I mumbled, not quite loud enough for any other than Charlie to discover. 

“Chet used to go here,” He said, “He’d pick on Meeks, and on Pittsie. ‘Til Pitt’s grew, of course.” 

“Ah,” I hummed, and I turned back to meet the group. If I had little to no reasoning behind my disdain before, I certainly had one, now. 

“That’s too bad,” Pittsie mumbled, a quick glance - as though disappointed for his friend - to the naked radio before him. 

“‘Too bad’?” Knox mumbled, utterly dejected, and - unfortunately, though I could not help myself - rather amusing. “It’s worse than too bad, Pittsie, it’s a tragedy.” He paused, and he motioned with his hands. I bit back a laugh. “A girl this beautiful, in love with such a jerk.” He spat his final word, and I found my giggles breaching the barricade of my lips. 

A nudge met my shoulder, and I turned to glance upon a smirking Charlie, his eyes alight with amusement, as I merely returned to a smile, shook my head, and spun back around. “All the good ones go for jerks,” Pittsie said, “You know that.” 

I scoffed, my tone overlapping with that of Richards own. “Ah, forget her.” He said, as I spoke to my own defence. “We do not.” I said. 

“Oh, sure,” Pittsie scoffed, “It’s not like you would know.” 

My eyebrows raised - ouch. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“When have you ever gone for a guy? Let alone a jerk.” Meeks said, “You just don’t count, Lady Jane.” 

I paused, frowned, and mumbled my reply. “Uncalled for.” I said, and we left it at that. 

“Yeah,” Cameron said, utterly unphased by the entire ordeal. “Open your trig book, and try figure out problem fi-”

“I can’t just forget her, Cameron.” Knox scoffed, a riddle of slight annoyance to coax his expression. “And I certainly can’t think about trig.” The group fell into a silenced agreement, and I found myself bemused by my thoughts. Perhaps he would go and write her some poetry, I pondered, maybe compare her to the moon. A breathy giggle fell from me at the thought, and I held no doubt it’d ring true. 

The shrill buzz of a static connection erupted from the naked radio, as I winced and clenched my jaw to the ache within my mind. A sharp pulse of things bitter caressed the grit of my teeth, and the light began to sting my eyes. “We got it!” Pittsie exclaimed, a swat to Meeks’ arm, as the two shared glances of elate measures, and they drew the headphones tightly to their ears. 

A wafted breeze brushed me by, as the dark oaked door swung open, and the stature of Dr. Hagar’s stern expression greeted us all with a glare of aged disgust. “Alright, Gentlemen,” He cawed, “Five minutes-” His eyes, they caught my own, and his frown merely deepened. “Miss Darling.” He said, “You should have left thirty minutes ago, no?” He turned to gaze upon my company, an eyebrow raised; “And to be situated with the male students, Miss Darling - I’m afraid such breach of the rules will simply not be tolerated.” 

“Dr. Hagar, Sir,” Charlie began, “I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake.” I turned to face the boy, his expression a reciprocate of great innocence, and his eyes a twinkle of mischief. “See, Jane, here,” He motioned to I, and continued, “was simply lending a helping hand.”

“Yeah.” Neil nodded, “I couldn’t wrap my head around question five.” 

Charlie motioned to Perry, a pout to his features, “He just couldn’t do it.” He said, undoubtedly mocking the aged man, as he shared a calculating glance, and moved on. 

“Lets go.” He clapped, as though rounding up sheep, and Charlie made the effort to stand, his pencil tucked behind his ear, and a smirk drawled upon his expression. He bent toward Knox, of whom reciprocated a glance of something pained, and said:

“Did you see her naked?” With a wink and a widening smile. A snicker fell from my lips, as I swatted his stomach, and he brushed me by, digits clutched upon the leather that was my own notebook, and  Neil let out a breathy giggle at the comment. 

“Very funny, Dalton.” Knox uttered, monotonous and faux. The room were engulfed by muffled shuffling, of boys collecting their things and finishing conversations. Pittsie leaned awkwardly, with his elbows rested upon the table, and I dared to notice that the radio was gone. 

I furrowed my eyebrows, and Dr. Hagar spoke with that grovelled tone. “That wouldn’t be a- uh- radio, in your lap, would it, Mr Pitts?” 

Pittsie glanced down, as the wail of static connection ran through myself with a great shock, and a slight shiver. “No, Sir.” He said, a short pause to follow. “Science experiment.” He lied. I raised my eyebrows momentarily, for it were an excuse well thought of, as he added a curt; “Radar.” And Meeks raised the anteni with an innocent nod. 

Hagar hardly believed them, I dared to notice, though he hardly cared, too, spinning upon his heel and exiting the perimeter. “You’ll come to breakfast, tomorrow, won’t you Jane?” Pittsie asked. 

“You have to.” Meeks added, “You haven’t eaten for two days.” 

I merely nodded - perhaps I could suffer one meal - and said: “Sure.” With a tight lipped smile.

[ahatintimestorybook]

AHIT Twin AU- Vanessa

Hey everyone! Here is the next chapter before I head back to writing angst for you all! Yes angst will be coming back! Prepare yourselves!!

Also just a big side note, as much as I want to do an arc with Luka and Vanessa dating, that’s hard for me due to the nature of their relationship. I’m someone who does shipping stories and I tend to make them romantic and cheesy yet adorable as possible. As much as I’d like to make a cute couple story with the two before...all this...it would be weird to make a cute story with Vanessa and Luka as we all know what kind of relationship the two have and what happens with Luka.

I might write one in the future, but for now I just plan on writing how they met (this one) and the downfall.

Hope you enjoy it!

@winterpower98

Subcon Law Academy was one of the biggest and only law schools in Subcon, and is where 18-year old MJ and Luka would be attending. After doing everything they can since March to get accepted to the school it finally paid off as they were finally here, taking law classes and studying to become lawyers like their mother. When they arrived, MJ parked the car and got out along with his little twin brother.

“Can’t believe we're finally here!” Luka grinned.

“I know! All that work in pulling all nighters, studying, and everything else while balancing senior year of high school was worth it.” MJ added.

“Yeah!” Luka agreed as he gave MJ a high five. The two grabbed their stuff and were ready to enter the building when a limo caught Luka’s eye. He, MJ and a couple of other students stopped to see which celebrity had decided to enroll in law school.

From the limo a long haired blonde haired girl wearing a green outfit over a blue collared blouse, a maroon skirt, and black shoes came out of the limo. She was saying goodbye to the driver, once the driver left she quickly ran inside the building surprising everyone.

“Who was she?” Luka wondered.

MJ shrugged. “I don’t know, but that was pretty weird she just ran off like that.” He pointed out.

Luka flinched and turned towards MJ, “Pretty weird? She’s pretty, pretty.” He gushed.

“Oh brother.” MJ sighed, shaking his head.

Inside the law school building, the blonde girl left the bathroom, and now had her hair tied in a ponytail with a green ribbon. She was ready to walk to class when she tripped and fell, dropping all of her stuff. The girl huffed blowing a stray strand of hair out of her face.

Luka went over to the girl and helped her pick up her stuff. “Are you okay?” He asked.

“Y-yeah I’m fine.” The girl replied. She was about to pick up her dairy when Luka grabbed it as well, touching the girl’s hand. The two looked up at each other, and Luka blushed seeing the young girl in front of him.

The girl blushed seeing Luka, and her red ruby eyes glistened as she stared into Luka’s burning yellow eyes. “Uh...hi there.” Luka spoke still frozen in place staring at the young girl

“H-hello.” The girl replied, stuttering a bit.

The two were just staring at each other’s eyes as everyone around them just disappeared leaving the two alone. Luka picked up the book and handed it to the girl and saw her name written on it. “T-this is yours, right, Vanessa?” He asked as he read the name written on the book.

Vanessa nodded and took the book back before holding it close to her. “Y-yes. I’m Vanessa Queenzel.” She replied, introducing herself.

Luka’s eyes widen hearing the name. “You're the daughter of Elizabeth Queenzel! Your family has been helping Subcon for generations! You're like the ambassadors to Subcon!” He exclaimed. Luka paused himself, blushing in embarrassment as he rubbed the back of his head. “S-sorry if I sounded...creepy just now.” He apologized.

Vanessa chuckled, “It's fine.” She reassured him. Luka smiled and held his hand out for Vanessa to take it. Vanessa stared at Luka’s hand and smiled, taking his hand as he helped her up. The two were just staring at each other smiling and blushing, not saying a word.

Luka chuckled, breaking the silence. “I should introduce myself, I’m Luka Prince, but I should warn you if you see a boy that looks like me except wearing a ponytail, that’s not me, it's my twin brother.” He explained.

Vanessa giggled as she leaned in closer to the younger twin, “I like you Luka.” She commented. Luka blushed harder now. “Y-your really funny.”

“T-thanks.” Luka replied. Luka was blushing harder now and smiling like a complete idiot, and in front of the richest girl in Subcon. He didn’t know what else to say to Vanessa, he never dated nor talked to a girl. I mean he did, but this was different to him.

Now it was Vanessa’s turn to break the silence. “So what’s your class, by the way?” She asked.

Luka pulled out his schedule and Vanessa did the same, the two compared schedules and smiled seeing they had the same class together. “Well want to walk to class together, Vanessa?” Luka asked.

Vanessa giggled and took Luka’s hand. “Of course, Luka.” Luka and Vanessa walked to their class together, and as they were couldn’t stop blushing or glancing at one another. When they did one of them giggled making the other giggle as well.

MJ was sitting in class waiting for his little brother to show up. Class was about to start in a few minutes and Luka wasn’t in class like he promised. MJ sighed and grabbed his cellphone to send his brother a text message, but then he saw Luka walk in holding Vanessa’s hand talking to her.

“So that’s why you're here because you think law will help your family?” Luka asked.

“Yeah.” Vanessa sighed. “I’m not too much of a law major, but its one of the many subjects my family never learned, so I want to be the first Queenzel woman and family member to study it.”

Luka chuckled. “You are something Vanessa.”

“Ahem.” Luka and Vanessa turned to see MJ glaring at the two of them, his fingers drumming on the desk.

Luka chuckled, rubbing the back of his head. “S-sorry MJ.” Luka apologized. MJ glared and turned towards Vanessa. “Oh MJ, this is Vanessa Queenzel, Vanessa this is my older twin brother Michael or MJ.”

Vanessa looked at MJ, who the later raised his eyebrow at and then turned towards Luka. “W-wow you're not wrong, Luka. You two do look alike.” Vanessa noted. Luka smiled and sat down next to his twin brother. Vanessa then followed, by sitting in the chair next to Luka.

MJ raised an eyebrow at the rich girl talking with his brother. Vanessa then turned to MJ and waved at him. MJ gave a sheepish smile and waved at Vanessa back.

“Your brother is nice.” Vanessa told Luka.

“Oh he is!” Luka agreed. The two continued to talk till class started and the two went quiet.

During class, Luka and MJ studied and listened to what was going on in class. Though as the professor wasn’t looking Vanessa took out another sheet of paper and doodled all over it. The drawing was of Luka with hearts and cute words for him.

Luka smiled at the drawing, and as much as he wanted to comment on it, he had to focus on the lesson. MJ was annoyed by this girl, the two just met and now they're acting like they’ve been dating for over a year. Though MJ sighed he couldn’t just assume anything of Vanessa, but it just felt annoying the two were making goo-goo eyes and giggly with each other.

By lunch MJ saved a quiet spot for him and Luka to enjoy lunch together. However, when Luka showed up he brought Vanessa with him. “Hope you don’t mind MJ, but could Vanessa sit with us?” He asked.

MJ sighed. Guess brother time would have to wait till they get home. “I don’t mind at all Luka.” He sighed.

Luka smiled as he and Vanessa sat down to have lunch. MJ was relieved lunch was quiet between Luka and Vanessa. No flirting, no goo-goo eyeing each other, just enjoying lunch. MJ sighed as he took a bite of his sandwich.

“Michael.” Vanessa spoke up.

“Vanessa, just call me MJ.” MJ corrected her.

“Sorry.” Vanessa apologized. “MJ could I see what you look like without the ponytail?” She asked.

MJ looked at his ponytail and held it. “I really don’t put my hair down.” He hesitated.

“Come on MJ just show her for one second. It will surprise her.” Luka pleaded.

MJ sighed and rolled his eyes. He put his lunch down before messing with the blue hair tie he uses to tie his hair and removed it. He shook his head and Vanessa was even more surprised with how much MJ does look like Luka. MJ started to feel uncomfortable and went back to untie his hair, “There you saw it!” Once he got his hair tied back up he went back to finish his lunch.

Vanessa frowned feeling disappointed, but Luka reassured her everything was fine. “MJ is probably just shocked by this whole thing since well you know. Just give him time he’ll open up to you.” Vanessa smiled at Luka’s statement, and hoped so as well.

After lunch the trio went back to class and everything played the same again, however it was more tame then earlier in the morning. After class Vanessa was the first one to leave class, which confused the twins again.

“She’s in a rush.” MJ said.

Luka sighed. “I don’t know why?” He wondered as he and his brother left the building of law school to head back home. As they were walking back towards their car Luka felt the air gave out on him when Vanessa tackled him with a hug.

“Hi Luka!” Vanessa giggled.

Luka sighed seeing it wasn’t a mugger and turned to see it was Vanessa. However, before he could greet her he saw she had removed the ponytail and her hair was long like it was when school started. “Oh.” Luka replied, surprised. “You removed your ponytail.”

Vanessa gave a small smile as she ran her fingers through her long blonde hair. “Y-yeah.”

“I hope this doesn’t sound rude, but I like your hair in a ponytail, it's cute.” Luka commented. Vanessa quickly looked at him in surprise. However, Luka groaned as he gave a face palm. “S-sorry. T-that was stupid! Completely pecking stupid!”

“N-no! It's fine!” Vanessa reassured him. “I’m not offended really.” Luka started to calm down and faced the young girl. Vanessa sighed and twirled a bit of her hair. “It's a long story, you see my-” Vanessa was about to explain why, but was interrupted by her limo driver.

“Vanessa! We have to go! Your mother is waiting for you!” The driver called out.

Vanessa sighed. “See you tomorrow Luka.” She gave Luka a hug, which completely surprised him. As much as Luka was surprised he replied back hugging Vanessa. She said her goodbyes to Luka and ran off to her limo and got in. As the limo drove away she smiled at Luka before she drove away from him. At least till tomorrow.

“He’s perfect.” Vanessa sighed.

“She’s perfect.” Luka sighed as he and MJ were driving home.

MJ sighed and rolled his eyes. “Oh brother.” He whispered.

“I’m going to ask her out tomorrow!” Luka revealed.

“What?!” MJ snapped. Glad he was at a stop light otherwise he would have slammed the car in front of him. “Luka, you just met her and now you want to ask her out on a date?!”

Luka blushed nervously. “Well, yeah.”

MJ groaned. “Luka you and Vanessa just met. Think you could wait a while before asking her on a date?” He asked.

Luka went quiet and thought for a second. “Alright. Alright. I guess I’ll ask her out later.” He sighed.

“Good.” MJ replied. “I don’t mean to be overprotective. It's just I don’t want you rushing into a relationship that fast.”

“I know that.” Luka answered back. MJ and Luka sighed calming down after the whole ordeal. “So, what do you think of law school so far?” Luka asked; changing the subject.

MJ smiled. “I like it so far. We made an excellent choice.” He said.

“Same.” Luka and MJ smiled and laughed before MJ played music on the radio and the brothers decided to jam out to the first song that was being played.

Days passed being in Law School, and it was finally Friday.

“Want to go out sometime?” Luka and Vanessa both asked each other. MJ almost fell out of his seat hearing that question. Luka laughed, “I-I wanted to ask you out first!” Luka and Vanessa said again. “No I wanted too.”

Vanessa and Luka laughed seeing they were saying the same thing. “I mean I’d love to take you out Vanessa, when are you available?” Luka asked.

“Anytime after law school.” Vanessa answered.

Luka smiled. “Great! I know this great ice cream shop we can go to.”

Vanessa smiled and clapped her hands. “Perfect! It's a date!”

MJ sighed and sank down in his seat. He knew his brother was happy about getting a girlfriend, but why in the back of his mind he was so goddamned worried.