#floats are usually Just There but these bad boys?! damn do they look slick.

[hotcinnamonsunset]

when the floats look just as cool as the finished side >>>

[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.” 

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Thirteen

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: merry christmas

***

Nesta and Cassian agree to take separate cars to Velaris— not because they’re so afraid of being discovered together that they’ll risk global warming, but because Nesta has a preceding event and tells Cassian not to wait up for her.

After a rushed Secret Santa with the boys at Emerie’s apartment, Nesta drops by Gwyn’s place and leaves a small parcel at the doorstep. She doesn’t have time to knock and make conversation, but the gift is the least she can do after Gwyn surprised her the other day with a copy of a highly anticipated romance book weeks ahead of its official release.

“The library got early copies and I borrowed this one for you,” she said out of nowhere one afternoon, handing her the book. Nesta blinked in shock, not realizing that she and Gwyn were close enough for such acts of kindness. Even if their conversations felt like they’d been friends for much longer, they’d only known each other for a couple of weeks. It was then that she realized that’s just how Gwyn is. She does nice things because she can, not because social bonds or etiquette compels her to.

Guilt isn’t something Nesta feels often, but she was ravaged by it when she thought of not repaying Gwyn’s kindness. She couldn’t bear the idea of imbalances or debts being created in her relationships with her new friends, and spent the last two days searching everywhere for a decent gift to make up for it. She’ll have to text to make sure Gwyn got her present later tonight.

After a two hour drive (she might have taken detours to stall), Nesta is in the hallway leading to Feyre and Rhysand’s penthouse apartment. The door is cracked open enough that laughter and music float out to where she stands, and her fingers tighten on the bag carrying her sisters’ gifts. She checks her makeup in the hall mirror one final time, assuring that not a smidge of her perfect armor is out of place.

An in-and-out operation, she tells herself, flicking a lock of hair away from her face. She’s prepared for this.

Walking up to the half-open door, she’s struck down by the decision of whether to knock before going in or not. Luckily, the choice is taken away from her when the door swings open on its own, and Feyre is on the other side.

“Nesta,” her sister says in surprise, in a good or bad way Nesta doesn’t know.

Nesta blinks. “Did you know I was here?” She gestures to the door.

“Oh, no...” Feyre pokes her head past Nesta into the hallway. “Actually, I was checking to see if the pizza guy was here yet,” —she looks back at Nesta— “but this is even better!”

The slight strain in her voice makes Nesta think otherwise.

She doesn’t play along with the game. She doesn’t even comment on how they’re having pizza on Christmas Eve. Feyre adds after a moment, genuinely this time, “You look beautiful, by the way.”

Nesta glances down at her dress, a skintight ruched piece that shows more chest than usual, and then back up at Feyre’s designer jumpsuit. “So do you,” she says, her voice more flat than she’d prefer it. But she means it. “Can I come in?” she gestures inside, hoping to put an end to this conversation and her nerves.

“Right, duh,” Feyre laughs, grabbing Nesta’s gift bag and waving her inside. “Elain’s in the kitchen if you want to see her. Grab a drink and make yourself comfortable.”

Nesta steps past the door cautiously, eyeing the penthouse as if it’s her first time here. The winding iron-railed staircase is to the right, leading up to the second floor which holds all the bedrooms. The living area sprawls to her left, and through a wood-paneled threshold across from her is the dining room and kitchen. If anything is different from the last time she visited, it’s that the place is now considerably more lived in: pictures, hand-picked art, and other signs of life and love decorate every inch of the apartment, to the point where it makes Nesta feel like a home invader.

She’s so busy absorbing this place she doesn’t belong in that it takes her a moment to realize the room has fallen silent.

She turns to the living area, and her eyes land on Cassian first. He went so far as to put on a suit for tonight, and he’s watching her with a stunned quietness that makes her proud of her own outfit choice.

Nesta knows there are other people in the room, but she really can’t bring herself to care. Her hands twitch at her sides, instinctively reaching for him—

“Look who finally decided to show up,” a smug voice drawls.

Nesta looks away from Cassian to find that just about everybody else is staring at her, too. The voice who spoke up is that tiny woman named Amren, and she’s watching Nesta now with a sharp glint in her gray eyes.

Slick discomfort coats Nesta’s insides at Amren’s tone, and she lets her hands fall behind her back so they can’t reveal her anxiety. “Merry Christmas, everyone,” are the first words out of her mouth.

“’Sup, Nesta,” Cassian is the only one that bothers to respond. His tone holds none of the closeness or intimacy it usually does— it’s been replaced with a removed, almost strained friendliness instead.

Remembering that seeking him out for comfort is not an option tonight, she tries to find somewhere else to look.

In the span of a second, she spies Mor’s curiosity, Rhysand’s vague distaste, and Varian’s hesitance, before finally settling on Azriel’s bland look of disinterest. His phone dangles lazily from his hand, and he looks about two seconds away from going back to it and ignoring her completely.

It’s his detachment that grounds Nesta enough to remember her words. “I’m going to…” she gestures vaguely toward the kitchen, “get some food.”

“I can help—” Feyre starts.

“No, thank you,” Nesta quips, then hightails it out of there. The conversation, along with Nesta’s heartbeat, restarts as soon as she’s out of the room.

Following the short hallway connecting the dining space to the huge kitchen, she freezes when she finds Elain standing before the dual range oven, staring intently down at her phone. She curses herself silently— how did she forget her other sister would be waiting here right after being told so?

Elain’s head snaps up at the sound of Nesta’s heels on the tile, looking flustered. She quickly tucks her phone into the pocket of her apron before she realizes who she’s looking at, and a wide smile overtakes her beautiful face. “Is that really you?” Elain marvels in her lilting southern accent.

The words hit Nesta bluntly for some inexplicable reason. She shakes it off with a blink and smiles back, far more subdued than Elain but still genuine. “Lain,” she greets kindly, like they’re two old friends picking up right where they left off.

It’s Nesta’s fault that things are like this, she knows. She hasn’t bothered holding a real conversation with her closest sister in months, and now she’s in the same room as her hoping she won’t have to face Elain’s disappointment for her distance.

“Oh, get over here, how’ve you been?” Elain crosses the sleek kitchen and waves her into a hug. Nesta awkwardly pats her back, and is held even tighter when she tries pulling away.

She only manages to detach from Elain when Elain’s apron pocket vibrates. Stepping back, she takes her phone out and silences it before tucking it away once more. “So,” she grins when her focus returns to Nesta, “how’s the lone wolf life treating you? Isn’t it great to be back at your old apartment?”

“It’s good. I’m doing good,” she nods along. Nesta hates small talk more than anything, but this is the least she owes Elain. And the least she owes herself, if she’s being honest. Even if she knows she will never truly be fit for a life of socialization.

She takes things a step further and nods to the oven, asking, “What are you cooking up?”

She knows she’s done something right when Elain’s dark eyes light up, and she starts rattling off the three-course menu she’s prepared for tonight. (“What about the pizza on the way?” Nesta asks. Elain’s face darkens. “Don’t get me started. Some of the people in that living room have the taste palate of five year olds.”)

Nesta takes a seat at the island and falls into the age-old rhythm of listening to her sister talk, her heart feeling bruised and soothed at the same time. How similar and different they are now from the people they were ten years ago. Nesta doesn’t know if this is a good thing or not.

***

“That’s the thirtieth time you’ve checked your phone since Mor started telling her dolphin story,” Cassian mutters to Azriel sitting next to him on the couch.

Az clicks his phone off and turns it facedown so Cassian can’t see the screen, his face remaining blank the entire time. “I can’t help it if I’ve heard the dolphin story a hundred times already.”

“You’ve been staring at that thing the entire night,” Cassian calls him out. “Anyone on there more interesting than us, dear brother?”

Az snorts, not bothering to look at him. “Like you’re one to talk.” He reaches for his glass of liquor on the side table.

Cassian frowns as the chatter drowns out his murmur. “What do you mean?”

Azriel takes a sip from his drink, not replying. “When do you plan on letting us back at your cabin?” he says instead.

Cassian snorts. “It’s not like I’ve been keeping you away from it.”

“You turned Rhys and me down every time we made plans about coming over.”

“Because Nesta was staying there.” He is very, very careful about the way he says her name. Even talking about her is walking a thin line.

“She moved out a while ago, though,” Azriel continues. He leans back into the couch. “Speaking of Nesta, I don’t remember her being that hot. Did you see her in that little dress tonight?”

Cassian tenses, dull anger sliding over his bones and under his skin. “We all fucking saw her,” he says tightly.

Az clicks his tongue. “Damn. A woman like that shouldn’t be wasted in a small town.” His eyes slide over to Cassian’s with a dark glint of amusement. “You mind sharing?”

In that moment, Cassian is presented with the option of punching Azriel in the face. Hard. It’s only due to a divine miracle that he doesn’t.

Even with his temper, Cassian knows when he’s being played with. “How did you know.” His voice is flat, cold.

“You have ‘Nesta’s bitch’ written all over your face.”

Goddammit. Cassian clenches his teeth, saying nothing. Can everyone see it, or only his closest brother? How long has he known?

“I had my suspicions,” Az says simply, “when you ran out of Thanksgiving dinner like your ass was on fire after she sent you that thirst trap.”

Cassian blinks. Of course; the bastard peeked at his phone the last time they were together. No reason other than that.

“It wasn’t a thirst trap,” he grits, on high defense now. “It was a perfectly appropriate photo that you never should have seen.”

Az’s lips twitch upward. “Could’ve fooled me with the way you reacted to it.”

This— this is exactly why he doesn’t want anybody to know about him and Nesta. Because even though a weight has been lifted off his chest with Azriel knowing, an even heavier weight has started to sink in his stomach.

For months, Nesta has been his alone. And the idea of opening their relationship up to others’ opinions and judgements...

“Cass?”

He breaks his death glare at Azriel to find Feyre standing over the couch. He blinks; when did she cross the room? “Yeah?”

“You okay?” She glances between him and Azriel, clear-cut concern in her eyes. “You’ve been a little out of it tonight.” These last several weeks, actually, he knows she’s thinking.

He pulls his best Nesta face, all emotion carefully hidden behind a wall so blank it’s almost dead. “I’m doing fine,” he says simply. “Don’t worry about me; worry about Rhys spending all of your money on cards tonight.”

When Feyre still looks hesitant, Cassian summons his signature smile, the one that puts everyone and their babies at ease. He knows he’s succeeded when Feyre’s shoulders sink and she smiles back, nudging him in the arm. “Alright,” she says begrudgingly. “Just don’t keep pulling that long face. It’s Christmas Eve.”

***

Nesta is still hiding out in the kitchen while Elain finishes up a roast chicken when Feyre wanders in, eager to play the doting host.

Nesta pauses in the middle of telling Elain what she got earlier today for Secret Santa, waiting for Feyre to interrupt or insert her opinion, but Feyre only leans against the kitchen entrance and waits for her to go on.

“... So I thought it was hideous, but she insisted I keep it,” Nesta finishes cautiously.

“Who insisted you keep what?” Feyre speaks up.

“My friend Emerie got me a Christmas sweater.” Nesta waves a hand. “It looks like it came out of the recycling bin of a thrift shop, but I think she legitimately expects me to wear it tomorrow.” She huffs a lighthearted laugh, remembering how she and Emerie had cackled over the tacky gift together.

She finds she doesn’t mind talking about Emerie to her sisters. Rather, it’s something that brings her pride, like how she imagines new parents talk about their babies.

“Ain’t that amazing?” Elain speaks from where she arranges the chicken onto a platter, her back turned to both sisters. “While we were worried this whole time about Nesta being holed up in her room, she’s been going out and making friends.” Her voice is tight with a forced cheerfulness that only their mother could have taught her. Nesta stiffens in her seat at the island.

“Oh,” Feyre says shortly, blinking. “I see.”

The easiness Nesta had from talking about her friends slips away, being replaced with her usual mask of steel and ice. “See what?”

“Nothing,” Feyre defends, moving to lean against the island across from her. “We barely ever speak anymore, Nesta. How are we supposed to know what goes on in your life these days?”

“Well, I’m telling you now,” Nesta says coldly.

“She’s also in therapy.” Elain still hasn’t turned around from the stove. “How exciting.”

Nesta whips her head toward Elain in disbelief at the information spilled. So she is angry at Nesta for avoiding her calls.

“Therapy?” Feyre looks taken aback. “For what?”

Elain swoops in before Nesta can choose between scoffing or rolling her eyes at Feyre’s question. “Who cares what it’s for?” She finally turns around, bracing her hands on the counter. “Does it even matter?”

Nesta tastes venom on her tongue, and it wants to be spit in her sisters’ direction. “If you have something you want to say, Elain, say it. The passive-aggressive act makes you look like a fake bitch.”

Elain flinches, and Feyre looks away to hide her tired disappointment. “We still can’t have a single conversation without you going from zero to a hundred, I see.”

You haven’t even seen a hundred yet. “Tell me,” Nesta demands. “What did I do to mortally wound you this time? Is it the fact that I have a life away from your incestuous circle, or am I missing something else?”

Feyre scoffs incredulously, throwing her hands in the air. “It’s the fact, Nesta, that you have it in yourself to be good to everyone except for your sisters! When it was just me you hated, I could accept it fine, but then you left Tennessee and shut Elain out, too. With no explanation.” Hurt dances across her face. “It’s been years and it’s only gotten worse. And after months of near silence you show up here like—like you would rather be part of any family except ours.”

She keeps saying we, like her and Elain’s feelings are one and the same. Like they’ve talked about this before.

Nesta crosses her arms. “So you are mad I have friends.”

“How is that your takeaway from this?” Feyre has to struggle to keep her voice down.

Nesta’s heated eyes cut to Elain, who’s been silent during this whole exchange. “And you agree with her? Or is there something else you’d like to add?”

Elain opens her mouth to respond, but Nesta doesn’t give her the chance. “If I haven’t changed, then neither have you two,” she seethes. “You still think this is the fucking Disney channel or something, where we’re all best friends who have sisterly sleepovers and text each other good night. Wake the fuck up,” she bares her teeth. “Stop expecting things from me and just be happy I’m alive and doing well— because that’s the bare minimum that I’ve always given you!”

But no matter what Nesta says or does, they will never understand her. She will never be enough for them. The realization sinks in with a rattling finality at the resigned look on Feyre and Elain’s faces: like they didn’t hear a word she said. Nesta wonders when they stopped listening.

A throat clears behind her, and she whirls to see Feyre’s boyfriend at the doorway. His pretty-boy face is drawn tight, barely hidden rage simmering in the violet of his eyes. “Pizza’s here,” he says curtly.

Elain blinks tears out of her eyes, spinning back to the counter to pick up the platter of chicken. “Of course,” she says quickly, “the rest of the food is ready too.”

Feyre leaves the kitchen first, then Elain, then Rhysand with a final deadly glare at Nesta.

Nesta doesn’t know how long she stands there in the same spot, unmoving. Only when her phone buzzes from the island countertop does she turn.

Gwyn: did u get me a vibrator for christmas???

***

Cassian hasn’t looked at her all night.

Nesta doesn’t know what she expected when she told him they couldn’t be together in public, but it wasn’t this: him, laughing and talking with everybody at the table save for her. Like she isn’t even sitting there.

Nothing has changed. Least of all her.

She swallows around a mouthful of dry meat, feeling herself slip back into that old, familiar role: the background character. Except tonight is different, because everyone saw Elain’s watery eyes and Rhysand’s furious stare when they left the kitchen, and now Nesta is being ignored on purpose.

The buzzing in her head is louder than any conversation going on at the table anyway. Whether her sisters would believe her or not, Nesta had made plans. Plans to call more often, to make amends for the years of radio silence, to reintroduce herself to Feyre and Elain as a better sister. Not now, but one day— when she finally learned how.

Plans that were all dashed in the span of one conversation. Her knuckles turn bone white around her fork. So much for getting better.

The longer the night goes on, the more hurt and rage swells in her chest, until she fears she can’t say a word without screaming. How long will it be like this between her and her sisters, between her and the world? As if Nesta owes them all one thing or another: her time, her energy, her best smile and her affections. Why does everything have to be an exchange, and why is she always the one giving something up?

Cassian is the one person who always let her be, adjusting to her whenever she couldn’t adjust to him. But she’s having trouble remembering that fact when he won’t even spare a glance her way. When he’s sitting there laughing with Mor in a way he never laughs with her.

“And what about you, girl?”

Amren’s voice drags Nesta out of her haze, and she realizes the woman is speaking to her.

Nesta doesn’t like the way Amren speaks— with barely hidden cruelty, like she takes joy in watching people squirm.

Nesta blinks. “What?”

A slow smile creeps up Amren’s red mouth. “I said,” she repeats, “are you finding the pay for your work at Night Court sufficient?”

“Amren,” Cassian starts, but Nesta is already on her feet. The table falls silent.

“I have to...” she mumbles unintelligibly. She can’t come up with an excuse. Shaking her head, she leaves the table without finishing her sentence. Leaves the dining room and the whole damn apartment.

***

The slam of the door shutting echoes through the penthouse. No one speaks for a long moment, and Cassian finds himself filling the silence: “Was that necessary, Amren?”

Amren sneers. “What did I do?”

Because he’s counting down the seconds until it’s acceptable to go after Nesta, Cassian indulges her. “Not everyone has it in them to play Mean Girls with you whenever you feel like it.”

“Yeah, but did she have to ruin dinner over it?” Mor snorts, reaching over and plucking a roasted Brussels sprout from Nesta’s nearly untouched plate.

Feyre stands up. “I’ll go after her—”

“Don’t bother,” Cassian says, earning a raised brow from Azriel. Elain looks inclined to agree with Cassian until he adds, “I’ll check on her. You don’t need to stress, Feyre.” With a reassuring smile, he pushes out of his seat and heads for the door.

Each casual step toward Nesta lasts a million years, but he finally reaches the hallway beyond the apartment, letting his facade drop in the same breath that the door shuts behind him. Relief wracks his body when he finds Nesta waiting for the elevator, still here.

“Nes,” he calls, hurrying after her.

She punches the elevator button repeatedly, as if that’ll get it to hurry up. He catches up to her and takes hold of her hand, turning her around—

She snatches her wrist out of his grip like she’s been burned, her fingers flexing with pent up emotion. “Not tonight, Cassian.”

“I’ll go home with you, you can tell me what’s wrong—”

“No.”

“Why the hell not?” he demands. She never shuts him out like this.

Nesta stares intently at the elevator doors. “Go back to forgetting I exist.” Her voice is flat.

He scoffs in disbelief. “You’re not serious—”

She whirls on him so quickly he almost stumbles back in surprise. “You didn’t look at me once the entire night.”

Cassian stills, stunned. Is that what this is about? “How could I have?” he laughs, shaking his head. “You’re the one who doesn’t want anyone knowing about us!”

“So you pretend I’m not there at all?” Hurt flares beneath her angered words.

“I can’t do both.” He fights to keep his voice low, aware of the thin walls. “I can’t look at you and not have everyone see what I feel for you— you’re all over me.” Even Azriel sees it, for God’s sake.

“What’s the truth, then?” she hisses. “Are you a terrible actor or a great one? Because in that apartment I forgot we were even in a relationship.”

“You walked in looking like that,” he gestures wildly at the black sheer mesh hugging her body, “and I was supposed to, what? Act like we were friends?” He hasn’t spent all night nearly losing his mind trying to fulfill Nesta’s wishes, trying not to let his feelings show, to get dragged through the mud for it.

“Is that your best excuse?” Nesta sneers. “I used to be too boring to spare a glance, and now I’m too sexy?” She steps closer to him, bringing them chest to chest. “We were good distractions for each other in your lonely little cabin, but deep down you know we wouldn’t last a day in the real world. That’s why we haven’t told anybody, Cassian.”

Cassian knows a spiral when he sees one, and he’s fighting not to get dragged into Nesta’s. “I know this isn’t about me.” He closes his eyes, praying for calm. “It’s about whatever happened with Feyre and Elain tonight.”

Which is the wrong thing to say, from the way Nesta’s face reddens. “Don’t even fucking go there.”

He doesn’t realize that the elevator has dinged open until Nesta reaches out her arm to stop the doors from closing. “You know nothing about me,” she says heatedly. “You were sad and desperate for acknowledgement when we first met, and you’re the same way now. You haven’t. Learned. Anything.”

Cassian almost wishes she would scream senseless things at him like she used to do whenever she was upset— because this refined wrath of hers is so much more hurtful. And it makes him angry, too.

He leans in until his nose is brushing hers. “If this is one of those things where you try to push me away by being cruel, I’m not fucking buying it.”

Like a switch is flipped, the flame in Nesta’s eyes flares out. He sees that dead nothingness and knows he’s lost. “You don’t have to buy it,” she says simply. She steps onto the waiting elevator, and he doesn’t try stopping her. She doesn’t want to be stopped.

Nesta gives him a final look before the doors shut between them. “And I wore this dress for you, asshole.”

Cassian stands there long after she’s gone. Not knowing what to do next.

A muffled laugh breaks through to him from the other side of the walls, and he realizes that everyone has moved back into the living room. Turning around, he goes back inside to his friends.

***

;)

taglist: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2

[cherrysha]

Uvo’s First Time With You

This is tooth rottingly sweet Uvo because i really cant help myself. im weak fr that big ass boi.

Requests are Open atm

Summary : I have this headcanon where Uvo doesn’t physically punish his girl *ahem* captive fr not wanting him... he just slips her a lil smthn smthn at dinner one night..

Word Count: 3,691

Warnings: dubcon/noncon, Yandere!Uvo, drugs, unprotected sex, cockwarming, kidnapping, tiniest mention of blood, mentions of violence, aaand I think thats it.

As per usual 18+ crowd here. No minors should be reading this.

He just sits there after dinner, quieter than usual as he waits for it to kick in.

His arm draped across the back of the couch and he just feels you slowly start to squirm around more and more, he lets his eyes wander over you.

“Is everything okay sweetheart?”

“Yeah...it’s just.. really hot in here Uvo” you whisper to him.

And you saying his name like that,, already so needy for...something, has him trying to hide the smirk on his face.

“I’ll adjust the temperature for you then.”

And beFORE he even has a chance to get up your whining at him not to leave. (which is COMPLETELY out of character since you usually are uncomfortable just being around this giant of a man who quite literally kidnapped you)

“I just wanna lay down Uvo.. I don’t feel good”

And there it is again. Usually he can’t even get you to look him in the eye but nOW?! Your saying his name and clutching onto his t-shirt like ur fighting the urge to wrap yourself around him.

He nods his head, keeping a straight face as he gruffly replies with “Go lay down then”

You just let out an impatient sigh and bury your face into his side.

And the bastard KNOWS you want HIM to lay down with you!! But he wants to hear you say it. Wants to see that pretty blush on your face when you get flustered.

You whine out “Uvo...” and stare at him, mentally trying to communicate your need without having to say it out loud. Not really understanding what you want, or maybe you do but you’re so far in denial that you don’t want to acknowledge it.

“Tell me what you want or I won’t give you anything at all.”

And he watches as a pout makes its way across your features.

With a huff you crawl into his lap, arms reaching as far up his tall frame as they can to grip onto his shirt again. Pressing yourself completely against him. You make eye contact for the first time that night.

“I - I want you to lay down with me... please Uvo?”

To say he’s shocked is an understatement

The man is beyond words. It’s only been 15 minutes since he slipped you the drugs and you’re already more comfortable with him than you’ve been since he took you months ago.

“All you had to do was ask sweetheart.”

It’s only been seconds from your statement and you don’t even care about laying down anymore. Can’t even really remember that you were having a conversation or what it was even about. All you can think of now is how hot you are, how your clothing is too itchy and constricting. Your skin is on fire.

Uvo’s body temperature is way hotter than yours normally, and even now he’s still very warm. But to you it feels like heaven. His warmth like a soothing balm over your skin.

“Uvo I need.. I need to take this off” you squirm and try your hardest not to fall off his lap as you wrestle out of your shirt.

His grip on your hips tightens a little. You miss the groan that manages to pass through his lips, too distracted with your own mission of getting out of the straight jacket of a shirt.

He watches you for a minute, panting at the way you’re accidentally grinding down on him. So focused on getting comfortable that you completely forget where your sitting, or that Uvo’s eyes are watching you undress.

“L-Lets get you into bed first sugar” and he removes your clenched fists from the fabric of your shirt. He’s playing the part of an innocent man, but his true motive is that he wants to savor this. He doesn’t want to rush through the moment so quickly that he doesn’t have time to truly indulge in it. To drown in it.

At this point the drugs are kicking in HARD. All you can think of is your need for.. something. You just need it. And the frustration from the denial is mixing with the pain in your gut.

“No Uvo! I need it off.. all of it off! Please it hurts so bad. Please Uvo...”

You’re crying now, hitting his chest weakly with your closed fists.

Uvo’s lap us soaked from the wetness betwen your thighs. He’s not sure if you even notice. That along with the way you’re throwing your little hissy fit, squirming all over him has his head leaning back against the couch, stifling the moan that’s threatening to make it past his clenched jaw.

He collects himself, taking a deep breath before standing up, hands firmly planted on your ass to keep you as close as possible to his body.

He’s so tall that he has you pressed against his lower abdomen, your legs wrapped as far around his trunk of a torso as they can.

Your moving harder in his hands, panting as he takes you up the stairs.

At first he thinks youre struggling to get away from him, so used to your rejection that it takes him a minute to realize you’re rubbing your clothed crotch against his stomach, sighing at the friction of it.

You don’t even realize your doing it tbh. The drugs clouding your mind of any awareness you had. All you know is that moving your hips is making the pain in your gut a little more tolerable.

Uvo stops and just watches. Your breathing heavy as you rub yourself against him, little whispers of his name passing through your parted lips.

He realizes in that moment that he’s a goner. He expected this to be different, expected you to fight against it tooth and nail just like you fought against him over the months he’s had you. He knows you won’t stay this needy, but even now the intimacy you’ve shown him is enough to last him years to come. He’s prepared to go through whatever means necessary to feel this again.

You don’t even register he’s stopped or his heavy gaze watching you intently. You grab his shirt, hiking it up so you can feel the dips and curves of his stomach, greedily soaking up the soothing warmth against your hands, your body still unconsciously moving against his now exposed chest. 

He listens to you moan in relief, watches as your face contorts in pleasure. Uvo starts walking again, albeit a little quicker this time. His mind wandering to the warm slick you’ve just covered his stomach with. He’s painfully hard, needing it just as much as you do.

And in all honesty I don’t think Uvo could deny you anything besides leaving him ofc.

So he gets you in bed and helps you remove everything besides your underwear even though you tried to take that off too and just waits for it... lays there and holds you, waiting for you to tell him what you want from him.

Yes, he could take you by force if he wanted to but this man craves your love and he knows if you give in willingly you know besides the fact he drugged you you’ll see him as your savior. There for you when your hurting, aching, desperately needing help. 

“Uvo.. please.. shirt off” is all he can make out of your incoherent mumbling.

And this fucker

“Your shirt is already off baby”

He’s making it difficult on purpose. Stringing you out so he can see you sob for him.

“No...no. You undress. Please? Please..”

And that’s enough.

His patience is wearing thin. Months and months of craving you. Wanting you to love him but only getting one word replies and scared tears had him yearning for your affection, to the point it made him sick.

He’s never wanted anything as desperately as he’s wanted you. And you wanting him back? He’ll do anything to have his feelings reciprocated.

He takes everything off, even stripping out of his boxers.

You sob when he pulls away to shuck out of his clothing, fat tears sliding down your face at the loss of his touch.

It only takes him seconds but it’s long enough to have you in hysterics

He shushes you, laying you on his chest as he wraps an arm around your waist. Running his fingers through your hair, whispering in your ear:

“It’s okay”

“I’m here”

“I’m not leaving you baby”

Until you’ve calmed down. His skin on yours is a godsend. You actually kiss him first, moving in as he’s whispering to you and catching him off guard.

It’s open mouthed and sloppy, your need making you desperate.

When he starts to kiss you back you whine into his mouth, not being able to stop yourself from moving your hips.

Uvo grunts, letting himself roll up against you; loving the squeak you let out into his mouth as his hands grasp your hips.

He could stop right now and it would still be the best moment of his life. His tongue in your mouth tasting your desire and his hips moving in tandem with yours. It’s heaven.

To you it’s pure ecstasy. You’ve never experienced this type of gut wrenching pain before. A need so desperate you’ll do anything to quell it.

Even if it meant letting your captor fuck you senseless.

You’re unashamed. There is no room in your head to think about such things when your body is on fire like this, burning as your floor muscles clench and unclench so hard it’s excruciating. Trying desperately to squeeze around something and adding to the fire when they find nothing.

The little drop of relief you felt with Uvo was enough to spur you on. If he was the cure then consequences be damned. You were trapped anyway.

You learned you couldn’t outrun him, definitely couldn’t fight him, and now you’d just proven that given a little push you’d actually be with him. You let the thoughts float away

If this was your bed, you’d lay in it.

“Y/n” he lets out a grunt as the spot between your thighs coats his cock through the soaked fabric of your panties.

“Y/n... let me take these off.”

You don’t respond. Instead you grind down harder against him.

Uvo tears the flimsy material off of you body, your bra following soon after.

He’s watching the way your breasts bounce at the force, eyes only ripping away when a high pitched whine leaves your throat.

Your eyes are closed, only focusing on his cock sliding between your folds with every glide of your hips.

Hot and thick, you sob with relief. And still, it wasn’t enough.

“Please Uvo”

“Please what baby? What do you want?”

And with the most conviction you’ve had tonight you beg him “I need you inside of me. Please Uvo. Make it stop.”

He’s breathless. You’ve never wanted anything. No gift would satisfy you, no amount of money could buy your love. And with one measly pill he’s got you writhing on top of him, begging for him to fill you up with his cock.

It gives him a head rush. The only thing you’ve ever asked for is to be stuffed full.

And we all know Uvo is packing some heat right?

Uvo even knows he’s huge, and right now this mans ain’t trying to tear you open unless you wanted him to.

Even though he wants nothing more than to simply seat himself fully inside the tight clutch of your warmth, and god how easy it’d be in this position to just pick you up and sit you down on his length, he flips over. Being careful not to use too much strength in his excited state, so you’re laying beneath him on the bed.

You’re disoriented, and by the time you even fully process what’s happened he’s got his middle finger knuckle deep inside of you.

You arch your back, vision going black and mouth opening into a silent scream with how hard you cum just from one drop of relief.

And he’s trying so fucking hard to keep it together. The way your eyes roll back and your sex already trying so desperately to milk him, tightly clenching and unclenching around his digit.

He’s sure you’re going to drive him mad with desire.

You catch your breath and Uvo’s panting along with you too.

“Did that feel good baby?” And you nod up at him, still too dazed to speak.

“I bet you needed that huh?” smiling down at you, eyes blown wide with lust.

But even though his finger is plenty thick enough, it’s like your body KNOWS that it wasn’t his cock. You still ache for him, the release just pouring gasoline to the flames licking up your spine.

Your voice is just a whisper when you ask him

“More...” you look up at him, lips puffy and trails of tears running down your face. “Please”

And not for the first time tonight, Uvo almost snaps. He closes his eyes, blinking slowly before he takes a deep breath.

“Fuck baby... yeah, yeah I know what you want. Just. Just let me get you ready first okay?”

You give a reluctant nod and Uvo slides a second finger into you.

Any pain you feel at how thick he is, is masked by the spine curling burn in your veins. All you feel from the stretch is white hot pleasure.

And with a shaky breath your thanking him again, boosting his ego as he flicks his wrist to push and pull at the heat clutching around his fingers.

It feels like he’s stuck in a vice. So tight and wet for him... only ever for him. Eyes blown wide he watches as you shake beneath him, chasing any chance of stopping the pain you feel. He scissors his fingers open. He needs to stretch you out enough to fit.

When you start to get close again he pulls out. While he does want to draw this out, he mostly does it out of curiosity. Wants to see what you’ll do when denied your pleasure.

He gets his answer quickly as you let out a scream of frustration, moving your hands from the sheets beneath you to grip his hair, using all your strength to try and get his mouth down to yours in search of any piece of him you can get.

Obviously he doesn’t budge he’s like a thousand times stronger than you. BUT you do succeed in lifting yourself up to meet his lips, biting at them with a low growl in your throat.

For once in this relationship Uvo feels completely in control. He has you right where he wants you. Completely feral for him. Your reward is not only the return of his digits, but also a third finger fucking deeply into you as well.

“Lay back down” he growls out “ be a good girl for me again”

And you do. You’ll do anything for him. A sigh leaves your lips as the pain recedes, replaced with the pleasure Uvo is giving you. It towed a thin line between pain. Any time he slowed down it creeped into your consciousness again. He was your salvation, your only respite from whatever was doing this to you.

He’s your god, and after what felt like forever, he finally answers your prayers.

“S’gunna sting baby. Don’ wanna hurt you but I can’t... I can’t take any more.”

His fingers are gone. In their place is the head of his cock sliding between the soft petals of your pussy.

Uvo moans at the feeling. The feeling of you wanting him, slick and waiting for him.

Such a pretty little thing. He wants to mark you up, leave your body bruised with his signature. To feel the weight of your breasts in his mouth. Wants to bite down gently on your shoulder and taste the iron of your blood on his tongue. To feel your lips swallowing around him, to drown in the taste of your cunt as it clenches on his tongue. He wants every single part of you. But most of all, He wants to ruin you.

You moan, pulling him out of his reverie. “I - I need more Uvo! Not enough, please.”

All of those things can wait for now. His focus in this moment is on making you realize just how much you need him.

Gritting his teeth he slides the tip in, watching with wide eyes as it disappears inside of you.

It’s stretches you out, a whine escaping at the noticble sting of it. Uvo watches your face before slowly plunging deeper within you. You let out a cry as he stretches you out.

after a few pushes and pulls, slowly fucking you open Uvo finally sinks down until he’s fully sheathed inside, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

He’s paralyzed for a moment, his attention solely on how warm and wet you are. It’s firm yet gentle around him. Better than everything he imagined. Like silk, only alive, and he swears he can feel your heartbeat enveloping him.

He buries his head in your neck, licking a stripe up a line of sweat until he’s kissing you again. Swallowing every whimper that slips past your swollen lips.

His mouth stays on yours as he slowly pulls back and ruts his hips against yours completely for the first time. You’re scratching his back and god he wishes you could mark him up. Wishes beyond measure that he could carry the sting of you wherever he goes.

“Yeah..right t-there. Fuck!”

 Your shy demeanor is being forcibly torn away. This is the first time he’s heard you curse, the sound of it making him let out a low growl. Thoughts of how he’s awoken some part of you he’d never seen before floating into his mind. his dirty little girl... he wonders how far he can push you until it becomes too much? It’s a question for another day. One where you’re used to taking his hard length, a day he’s not fucking you open.

“Tell me how you feel sweetheart”

You can’t even remember your own name, let alone construct a fully fledged sentence for the man above you. He’s pressing something deep within you that’s making your head even more dizzy than it was before. You clutch him as he rolls onto his back, laying you on his chest as he swivels his hips up into you, lazily grinding against your clit until your mewling.

“You needed this? Needed me? Just too shy to say it...”

He’s rambling, too far gone with pleasure to dice his words.

“Wanted to fill you up for a long time. You love this huh sweetheart? Love me inside of you like this.. so tight, made for me...All mine.” And then he quiets for a moment. His thoughts leading him elsewhere.

He pulls you tighter against his chest, your name falling from his lips like a prayer. Trailing his hand down to your clit, picking up the pace as he feels the beginning of your orgasm approach.

The pain is a distant memory at this point. The only feeling now was the all consuming pleasure Uvo was giving you. You try to writhe against him as the coil in your stomach threatens to snap, but his grip is iron clad on you. You’re so close, so close that your back starts to try to arch against him.

But with grunt he pulls completely out of you, steeling himself against the agonized wail that pass through your lips.

 “Tell me you love me y/n.”

The denial.. the pain slowly consuming you once again. Your cunt clenches around nothing, broken cries leaving your dry throat.

“Say it and I’ll make you feel better. I’m the only one who can make you feel like this. “

He’s tense but his words are desperate. Brows furrowed as you try, and fail, to squirm out of his grip.

“Uvo...”

“Say it for me sweetheart.”

You gulp, the choice excruciatingly clear as the seconds tick on.

Uvo I ... I love you.” it’s whisper quiet but the way that his fucks back up into your aching core with renewed vigor is proof enough that he’s heard you.

Delirious with your confession he starts talking again. Mumbles interlaced with his sounds of pleasure of how good you are, how tight, how he’d kill anyone who harmed you, whatever you want is yours just say the word, he’s yours. All of him until he draws his last breath.

As he hits that sweet spot inside of you again and again and again the coil snaps. A pleasured cry wrenches what little voice you have left from your sore throat as you’re hit full force. You can’t help how your body thrashes to escape his grip. He makes you cum so hard you almost pass out, black dots clouding your vision as he stills inside of you.

He stops thinking, stops talking as his mouth falls open at the clench of your pussy around him. You squeeze his length, so hard that he doesn’t have to move to cum. He lets your body finish him as he plays with your clit, turning a deaf ear to your overstimulated whine. 

The feeling of your pussy milking the rest of his release inside of you quickly becoming addicting. He’s never cum so hard in his life.

Months of pent of frustration paint your walls, the warmth seeming to soothe what is left of the painful ache of the drugs in your system. You let out a sigh of relief and relax as Uvo moves so he can spoon you, making sure to stay firmly rooted between your legs.

He pets your hair and whispers praises between gentle kiseses to you neck. You must be so exhausted, he knows. You let your eyelids droop, nows not the time to think about consequences. With Uvo’s strong arms wrapped around you, his cock still buried deep, you let yourself be lulled to sleep.

[icecream-and-gadreel]

Contagious (NSFW)

Summary: In the first step to take down Abaddon, Dean needs to get the Mark of Cain. This proves to be a longer process than anticipated.

Pairing: DeanxCain

Other characters: Crowley, Abaddon(Mentioned), Castiel(Mentioned)

Rating: NSFW

Warnings: language, unprotected sex, mentions of violence

Word count: 2400+

A/N: This is based on Season 9 episode 11, and is also a part of my 21 songs challenge! Enjoy! Tagging @sheinthatfandom​​ because I love you

You’re contagious, touch me baby, give me what you got.

"Come on, I don't got all day," Dean snaps, his chest heaving. "If you haven't noticed, we're up shits creek without a god damn paddle!" He snaps. Still, all Cain does is stare, pondering Dean's words. Crowley watches them both intently, trying to keep the fear from showing on his face. That mark. Given by Lucifer to the most infamous demon to roam the earth. And here Dean is, acting like it's a sticker that can just be slapped on. "I'm done with the games," Dean grunts. Crowley nudges Dean, gesturing to Cain with a clenched jaw.

"There's a process to these things. Strenuous rituals," Crowley whispers, never taking his eyes off of the other demon.

"What kinda ritual?"

“Bonding ritual,” Cain says, ending his silence. “The mark only chooses those it deems worthy,” he adds, crossing his arms over. Crowley shifts his weight from leg to leg, whipping around at the sound of banging. Demons are climbing around the house from all angles, trying to gain purchase into the home.

“So what we uh – we share our feelings? Go on a fishing trip? The hell kinda bonding we talkin' here?” Dean asks, gaining a shrug from Cain.

“The strongest kind –”

“Boys,” Crowley says, his voice hushed as he watches more and more treacherous demons pile up.

“What we gonna be blood brothers?”

“Again, stronger than that –”

“Boys,” Crowley repeats.

“The hell is stronger than that?!”

“Dean! Cain!” Crowley snaps, flinching when Cain's eyes land on him. “Cain, sir,” he says, clasping his hands together. “I'm not one to complain but under the circumstances, I figure we should speed this up a bit,” he says, his shoulders relaxing as Cain makes his way to the kitchen. Dean follows after, muttering under his breath as he does. The door slams hard, leaving Crowley to his own devices as he waits for whatever the hell is supposed to happen, to happen.

–

Dean tosses his knife on the counter, throwing his hands up. “Alright, let's get it over with,” Dean says, eyeing the window. Yeah, demons are swarming and he's not seeing an easy way out.

“Since this is the last thing I'll be enjoying for a long time –” Cain looks Dean up and down, rolling his sleeves up. “I'm in no rush.”

Instinctively, Dean gets into a fighting stance, grunting as he's pulled into the other man's embrace. “Woah uh...” His voice trails off, all previous thoughts being wiped away. His body is pulsing. Something inside of him is frighteningly aware of how good this is, how powerful he will be once he takes on the mark. His mind races to thoughts of future fights, beyond Abaddon, beyond anything he's already gone against. He could kill them all, easily. The thought should scare him, but as Cain nuzzles his head in the crook of Dean's neck, all the fills his mind is 'I need this'.

"You're worthy of the mark, it's calling to you," Cain says, finally pulling Dean back to earth. They never break eye contact. Something is pulling them both in, begging for the connection to be complete.

"The hell is this?" Dean asks, his shaking hands ghosting along Cain's arms.

"'It's power, Dean, pure ecstasy for men like us." His beard scratches against Dean's neck, sending a shot of electricity up the hunter's spine. "Doesn't it feel good?"

Does it? All he can see is conquest. Destroying his enemy and taking sick pleasure in the experience. "Yeah," he grunts, his chest heaving. Cains's fingers grip into his hips rougher, making the already intense connection even more so. "I want...I want it --"

"And I'll give it to you," Cain whispers, his lips tracing along Dean's neck. "Just lie down, and we can begin," he says, pulling away and gesturing to the table. Just like that, the euphoric feeling leaves Dean. His mind clears, and he can finally see just how...wrong that feeling was. But like it or not, if he's gonna cut Abaddon down, he needs this.

Still, this wasn't what Dean had in mind.

He was gonna grab the damn blade, take Abaddon out, and put a rest to all of this. Instead, he's sprawled out on the kitchen table with the father of murder standing before him. His face sinks, the realization of what 'strenuous rituals' means setting in. Cain slides a hand down Dean's neck, a blank look on his face. He can't explain it. The way Cain touches him feels primal, calculated, and pure instinct; more dutiful than anything. Yet he's never craved someone's touch more than he does now. Dean flinches as Cain grips his neck, his breaths shaking.

“Now where did that bravery go, Dean?” he asks, unbuttoning the hunter's collar.

“I don't need the foreplay sweetheart, let's get this over with,” Dean chuckles, trying to keep his voice from wavering. Where the hell is Crowley? He'd be eating all of this up. Cain gives a cold, stale smile, ripping Dean's shirt open and sending buttons flying into the air.

“Mmm, you want me to speed through this rare opportunity?” he cooes, pulling Dean's pants down his hips. “Rush past having the infamous Dean Winchester twisted around my finger? Absolutely not.”

“Whatever floats your...” he lets his voice drift away, squeezing his eyes shut tight as Cain grips his length over his boxers. “Can uh – can Crowley see us?”

“I'm a fan of privacy,” he retorts, eyes locked on the hunter's twitching cock. “So that feels good, now we're getting somewhere.” Dean swipes a hand over his face, cursing under his breath as his length is freed from his boxers, being stroked roughly by the other man. Once more, Dean's body springs to life, eager to taste the unimaginable amounts of power being offered to him. He fights the urge to cry out, slamming his fist down against the table. “I'd love a little more enthusiasm.” Dean rocks his hips up, thrusting into Cain's hand while trying to imagine he's here under better circumstances. “I apologize for not being your usual demographic,” he adds, chuckling breathlessly. Pausing, Dean opens his eyes, chest heaving and face flushed red.

“Look, you're not bad lookin', I'm just painfully aware that neither of us should enjoy this,” he says, leaning up on his elbows. “I gotta take that bitch out, you gotta tend to your bees. Strictly business.”

“Hm. Business.” Cain presses his lips over the head of Dean's cock, slowly swirling his tongue. Though he tries to hold it in, Dean lets out a stifled moan, damn near whining as Cain takes him deeper into his mouth.

It feels far too good. Hot and wet, his tongue swiping along every inch slowly. The pulsing pleasure returns, forcing moans out of the hunter. How the hell can this feel so good?

“W-wait –” Dean cries out, his hips snapping into the air as his orgasm pulses through him. His cock is buried in Cain's throat, but the demon barely reacts, gently caressing Dean's balls as he rides his release. “Was that it?” he breathes. Cain releases the hunter's cock with a smack of his lips, shaking his head. The connection begins to dull yet again, but before it's completely gone, Dean is pulling him into a gentle kiss. He can't keep riding this high and having it taken away from him. Soon, the air between them changes, and what was once an uncomfortable exchange turns into the two of them crashing into each other. Cain moans into his mouth, his free hand wrapping around the Winchester's neck and pulling him impossibly close. Dean fumbles to undress the demon, his cock twitching as pleasure tingles at his every nerve. Breaking from the kiss, Dean stares at Cain's length, words lost to him. It wasn't supposed to be that...big. Before he can speak, Cain is shoving his fingers into the other man's mouth, settling between his thighs.

“Now now, Dean, my aim isn't to hurt you.” He slowly drags his fingers out of Dean's mouth admiring the stream of saliva before pressing his digits against the hunter's hole. He starts slowly, easing one finger into Dean, humming as he clenches around it. “Doing great,” he whispers, dropping his head to Dean's shoulder as he eases a second finger in. Dean bites back a moan, resisting the urge to rock against the fingers. “Hmm...”

“What?” Dean asks, huffing as the demon begins stroking his prostate in a come hither motion.

“You're good at keeping quiet,” he says, pulling his fingers out and spitting into his palm. After slicking his shaft, he presses the head of his cock against Dean's tight hole. “Never was a fan of that.”

“Yeah well –” Cain abruptly thrusts into Dean, gaining a startled moan in return. Dean arches from the table, hands instinctively gripping at the other man's forearms. “Oh my g-god.” His body clenches around every thick inch, his mouth gaped as Cain sinks deeper into him. More than before, the mark's power pulses through him, his eyes rolling back as Cain lets out a hungered growl.

“So tight, Dean, I was sure the angel I'd heard about had you first,” he breathes, setting a slow, methodical pace.

“Shut the hell up – nngh!” He tries to sound intimidating, but with each hard, slow smack of Cain's hips against his, a moan is forced out of him. Cain lets out a ragged breath, hands gripping the sides of the table as he bottoms out in Dean. He pauses there, enjoying the warmth and tightness squeezing around him, along with Dean's guttural whimpers. The demon lowers his lips to the hunter's, pressing gentle kisses against his lips.

“Cain,” Dean moans, his fingers gripping deeper into Cain's arms. “Fuck that's good,” he breathes, an array of curses falling from him. “H-harder,” Dean whispers.

“Couldn't hear you –” He leaves a sloppy kiss on the hunter's neck – “Speak up.”

“Fuck me harder,” Dean spits, gasping as the other man slams into him balls deep, knocking the wind out of him. Cain fucks him into the table, his gentle pace being replaced with fast, deep strokes. Dean's moans turn into pleasure filled screams, his voice strangled as each thick inch is forced into him. “Don't stop!” he whines, voice fluttering. The only thing he can manage to spit out is Cain's name. The demon leaves rough bites on his neck, licking and sucking his flesh. He flips Dean on top of him, lying flat on the table and resting his hands on the Winchester's hips. Slowly, Dean begins bouncing, his body shuddering with every movement. God, he never thought he'd come like this, but his second edge is quickly approaching. Cain laces his fingers through Dean's hair, yanking his head back and bucking his hips up. He returns to his unrelenting pace, gaining new, choked sounds out of the other man.

“Harder, right?” Cain rasps, his free hand drifting to Dean's length. “You're gonna come again?” he asks, gaining a moan in response. Before he can tease any further, Dean is crying out, hot streaks of come spurting out of him.

“F-fuck – I'm –” He cuts himself off as his orgasm rocks through him a second time, his body going limp. Cain slows his thrusts, tssking Dean. This was going to be more entertaining than he previously thought.

….....

Dean can hardly think at this point. An hour has passed, bringing with it another orgasm for him, and nothing for the demon. Dean lays on his stomach, standing on his tip-toes as Cain fucks into him. Dean's words aren't making sense anymore. Cain kneads the hunter's toned cheeks, his thrusts never wavering.

“You'll excuse me for holding back, this feels too damn good,” Cain says, gaining incoherent words in return. He drags his shaft out slowly, watching each inch until the tip tugs at Dean's rim. In one swift movement, he smacks his hips forward, gaining a garbled moan from Dean. Once more, he pulls his hips back, and Dean tightens up, trying to keep Cain's cock from leaving him. “Your greedy little hole won't let me go,” he teases, giving Dean's ass a playful smack. Cain bites his lip, pumping his hips as finally, his edge approaches. “Our time together is drawing to a close.” He grips his hand in Dean's hair, pulling him flush against him and wrapping an arm around his torso. Cain's hips stutter, his head falling to Dean's shoulder as he comes. He stays buried inside of him for far longer than needed, riding his release and being milked dry by the hunter.

“Nngh,” Dean groans, staring down at his arm as stinging red veins creep up it. The powerful pulsing he's been feeling all night overtakes his whole body, making him feel...awake. Soon, the Mark of Cain is etched into his skin, his arm throbbing. He inadvertently pushes his hips back, a helpless groan forcing out of him as Cain's cock rubs against his spot. Cain keeps his fingers knotted in the other man's hair, still buried inside of his ass.

Somehow, the pleasure Dean was feeling is amplified. He feels like whatever the hell is coursing through his veins is drawn to Cain as it knows of their newly formed 'connection'.

“I'll call on you when I need you,” he says, pulling Dean out of his trance. Cain snaps his fingers, and in an instant their both fully clothed.

–

Crowley checks his watch, grumbling under his breath. Leave it to a Winchester to get him trapped in a house with daddy murder himself. How long could getting that damn mark take?! He checks his watch once more, flopping his head back against the couch. Whatever magic Cain is using made it impossible to hear them, let alone see into the kitchen.

Finally, after what seems like ages, Dean comes limping out, the mark etched into his arm. Crowley stands to his feet, swaggering to Dean with his hands tucked in his pockets.

“A braver man than I, squirrel,” he begins, eyeing the mark, “Whatever happened must have been...grueling.”

Dean twirls his blade in his hand, staring at the crowd of collecting demons. “Yup.”

[pops-and-kids]

Christmas 2020 short!

Soooo....I know this is a little late. :T ᶦ'ᵐ ᵛᵉʳʸ ˢᵒʳʳʸ I originally wasn’t going to do anything this holiday, but I felt really bad and decided to do something last minute for the blog! (Hence it being late af) This is also a bit different from how I normally write any event shorts. As you may have noticed I try to keep this blog neutral/clean of any commanderXcommander ships, but I do have some of my own. To keep myself motivated to write these shorts I did a little self fan-service and wrote for my own silly little ship. I hope you guys like it! I had fun writing it! Please enjoy!!

Kingdew let out a breath into the cold air, a puff of white floating away from him. A soft powdering of snow was falling on the deck, coating everything it touched in steadily growing mounds. If it weren’t for the crew running around and flattening it constantly the deck would be covered in a good few feet of snow by now. Despite all his bundling up, his nice, lined coat, soft gloves and scarf, his nose was turning red. The chill of winter at sea was not a force to be taken lightly. Even the greatest of pirates could easily freeze to death if ill-prepared. Thankfully they were plenty ready for the weather! The island they had stopped at just before made sure of that.

Another shudder went through him as the frigid air continued to worm further through his layers to him. He had been watching Ace make a game of melting as much snow as he could before it hit the deck, leaping through the air to get as much as he could as once. As entertaining as it was, the firestarter could only do so much to fight mother nature before she had her way. With one last chuckle at the youngest commanders antics Kingdew turned around and made his way towards the mess hall.

What he hadn’t anticipated was the sheen of slick ice coating the stairs underneath the fresh powder. Kingdew gave a sigh and went to hold the railing, only to find it was also becoming alarmingly icy. He had half a mind to call Ace over to melt it but the boy looked preoccupied with melting snowballs being pelted at him. Kingdew carefully made his way up the stairs, taking a bit longer then he normally would thanks to the poor footing he had on the frozen stairway.

“Oi, Kingdew-”

“Ack!”

He startled at the loud voice, so focused on not slipping. Kingdew flailed as he tried to regain balance, sliding backwards quickly-

A strong hand grabbed his. Kingdew blue eyes met Jozus grey. In a swift motion the larger commander yanked him forward over the last few dangerous steps and into his chest, wrapping an arm around his waist. A new flush of red went over Kingdews face, from embarrassment and the cold.

“Sorry. Are you alright?” Jozus deep voice rumbled in his chest against Kingdews cheek.

Pushing back from Jozu he sheepishly gave him a smile. Jozu was wearing his usual reindeer themed Christmas sweater, not looking the least bit cold. His face was not even the slightest hint of red, though Kingdew knew he was out and about in the snow as well. He envied him, just a little.

“Yes, thank you.” He said, looking to the stairs, “We need to get someone out here for that.”

Jozu hummed in agreement, looking at the death trap. Kingdew was glad it was him that caught him, being larger and heavier then him and most of the crew. If it were anyone else save for Atmos, Blenheim and Pops he would have brought them down with him. That brought disturbing imagery he quickie shoved away.

“Were-were you heading inside as well?” Kingdew asked with a shiver.

“Yes. Actually, I was looking for you.” Jozu said. A soft, somewhat shy smiling on his lips.

“I wanted to ask if you would like to grab some cider together. Thatch is trying a new recipe this year.”

Straight and to the point as always. Kingdew happily clapped his hands together and accepted the offer, which made Jozus precious smile wider. The two made their way inside to the much warmer interior of the Moby, the blonde commander breathing a sigh of relief as he slowly peeled off some layers and soaked in the heat. A sudden snap of cold on his nape made him gasp and jolt, an awkwardly high pitched squeak escaping his lips. He spun around, touching his neck, and glared at the chuckling Jozu. The man had a small bit of snow in his hand, not even trying to hide the damning evidence.

“Asshole. Fuck you.” Kingdew said. His words held no venom and were accompanied with a small smile, happy to see the rare mischievous side of Jozu.

The two walked down the halls, talking about whatever came to mind. Kingdew felt warm from the inside out, accompanied by a fuzzy feeling in his chest. He didn’t even try to beat it down, resigning himself to enjoying the moment. He could allow himself to be a little giddy and blame it on the holiday spirit later. A little chatter here and a dirty joke there, the two found themselves in the mess hall hallway. It was crowded with crewmates, and countless voices, laughter and bells rang in their ears from all around. Carefully weaving his way through the crowd, being ever so mindful of those much smaller them him, Kingdew finally was at the opens doors of the mess hall. Though it was even more cramped, with hardly any more room for him or Jozu. The other commander finally caught up with him, looking out at the sea of people all jammed around the tables and filling every chair. Poor Pops wouldn’t be able to get up from his chair any time soon unless everyone clamored over each other to make way.

Kingdew felt a big bad for Jozu. With how many brothers and sisters there were he doubted there was much cider left to go around. Despite Thatch’s careful planning he could never quite meet how much was consumed during the holidays, so it was always first come first served.

“Looks like everyone's out!” Kingdew struggled not to yell but still be loud enough to be heard, “I thought people would squirrel away their food and go back to their dorms like last year!”

“I can’t blame them, it was cold as hell out and this is the warmest room.” Jozu said, his natural voice being loud enough over the chatter.

Kingdew moved over top give a couple of crewmates room to leave the room, pushing in to Jozu’s side. Jozu placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him, squeezing gently. Kingdew looked back at him and gave a smile, only top notice he was pointing to something. Turning his attention to the doorway he realized there was a small sprig of mistletoe hanging by some tape. It was slightly mangled and the tape was barely holding on, like it was hastily slapped on.

He raised an eyebrow and gave Jozu a knowing smile.

“Did you just put that up there?”

Jozu averted his eyes with a small smile of his own, “Noooo.”

Kingdew laughed. 

“How long were you planning that?”

“Longer then I’d like to admit.”

“So all day then.”

“...”

Jozu was not easy to embarrassed, but at this moment he was averting his eyes from Kingdew. The blonde chuckled, closing his eyes and shaking his head a little. He was proud of how the man had grown from his shy young self, but he was also happy there was still some of that childish behavior left in him. A gentle brush to his cheek snapped him from his thoughts and he looked to the other. Jozu brushed a stray lock of hair from his face and tucked it behind his ear, that soft smile back on his face. Kingdew remained still as his partner leaned down, closing his eyes just before their lips met.

For a moment he tuned out all the whoops and laughter from their family. Jozus lips were warm, and soft if one could believe it. The kiss lasted far longer then a mistletoe kiss was meant to, neither minding any mind to that. Kingdew broke the kiss first, pulling away and taking a tiny gasp of air. Jozu did the same, looking into his eyes with a slight daze. After a moment of silence between the two Jozu leant forward again. Kingdew smirked and covered the mans mouth with his hand, quirking an eyebrow impishly. Jozus eyes widened slightly at the denial, a red tinge finally crossing his face as the situation registered for him.

“You wanted cider! Let’s go get some! Don’t want the others to drain it all, do you?” Kingdew said, moving away and wading through the crowd.

He would admit, knowing everyone most likely just saw that made him feel a heaping amount of embarrassment. Him and Jozu kept things under wraps for the most part, though there were times they outwardly displayed their affections. The mixed looks from knowing crewmates to others surprise was amusing at the very least. From behind him he heard yelps and yelling accompanied by a few thuds. Kingdew didn’t need to look back to know what was happening. He only laughed loud and hard as Jozu pushed his way roughly to catch up with him, probably knocking some poor siblings over.

He’d have to convince Pops to let Haruta and Thatch to put more mistletoe up next year.

[runningwolf62]

Dirty Paws Chapter 14

Welcome back to Turnabout Ablaze, holy shit this was massive. Like Roddy you got me beat but damn. Also formatting texts sucks on Tumblr.

@wardencommanderrodimiss @pachelbelsheadcanon

-

Larry twists around in the water; he’s always loved swimming. He doesn’t usually do it in his clothes, but he’s had a spare set of clothes with him and honestly after all that time in the costume, the water in the pool feels nice. Now that it is warming up, if he can get a steady job maybe he should think about a pool membership. Or visiting the beach more.

Larry has always identified RiverClan for this reason, his passion for swimming. Also, that RiverClan was more laidback (lazy to some) than the other Clans, but mostly the passion for swimming. A skill that comes in handy now, even though there is still no sign of his ‘son’.

Larry pops out of the water to catch his breath; his hair is slicked back as he looks around at the fountain with a frown. The water is higher than when he’d first gotten in, and he understands water displacement, but he should not have caused the water to rise this much. As he watches a spout closes, ah, the fountain must’ve been refilling itself.

A startled yell makes him yelp in surprise and almost slip back under as he looks up to find Edgeworth staring down at him in shock.

“Oh, Geez Edgy, ya scared me.” He can’t see much beyond the edge of the fountain, but he can see that Von Karma was with him, “don’t tell me this is also a crime scene. I thought this was fine, since nothing happened here.” Not even the fire, that had been on the other side of the building.

“No, this is not a crime scene, but as part of the embassy it might have clues. What are you doing in there?”

“Clearly he is being a fool.”

Larry knows better than to argue with her, even down here he doubts he’s safe from being whipped, so he just lets it go and instead says, “thanks by the way Edgy, for what you did back there.”

For a moment it’s clear Edgeworth’s forgotten Larry’s currently in a fountain, “Your gratitude alone is enough.” He pauses before he starts, “Larry, what are you doing in the fountain?”

“I didn’t just jump in here for a swim you know,” Larry treads water to stay afloat as he talks, “do you really think I’m that kind of person?”

Edgeworth’s mouth twitches slightly and he shakes his head. He offers, “then did you fall in?”

“Nice guess but no, I’m looking for my son.” He doesn’t think anything of how he’s worded that until he realizes that Edgeworth looks like he’s about to have a heart attack and Von Karma looks ready to kill.

“The prop!” he yelps, “the iron infant prop, geez Edgy do you really think I wouldn’t have told you before now if I had a kid?” He gives him a dirty look, “and that if I thought he’d fallen in a pool I’d just be floating here talking to you?”

Edgeworth holds up his hand, “my apologies Larry, I was merely caught off guard.” Larry nods, he’s not that mad, he worded it poorly after all. “You have lost the iron infant prop?”

“Yeah, haven’t seen him since I shook hands with ambassador,” Larry considers it, “and I think I left the pushcart around here but now I can’t find it either. So, I thought maybe in the chaos and all he’d been knocked into the pool. Have either of you seen him?”

Von Karma and Edgeworth share a look and shake their heads, “I’m afraid we have not seen hide nor hair of the Iron Infant. But rest assured that if we should find him, we'll let you know. Now, get out of there.”

Larry would rather do anything but that when he might be called an idiot for getting underfoot, “sounds good! In that case, I'll go search over there!”

Larry dives back under the water, pretending he doesn’t hear Edgeworth yell for him, he dives down to scour the bottom of the fountain some more. The prop department is going to have his head if he’s managed to somehow loose the Iron Infant, not to mention the entire pushcart it had been on. Where had that gotten to? Well the cart obviously wasn’t down here, that much was certain.

He surfaces every time his lungs start to burn but Edgeworth has nothing more to say to him, he can hear other voices, Von Karma, and that Agent Lang, but he isn’t paying much attention to what is being said, instead he swims laps around fountain, it’s surprisingly deep now that it’s full and he is trying to be thorough. He might also be collecting spare change at the bottom but that’s his own business. He’s broke, who could judge him?

He surfaces again to catch his breath, and immediately scrambles back under when he sees Agent Lang standing over him.

A hand snags his shirt and pulls him back out of the water, and out of the fountain. He lands at Agent Lang’s feet with a grunt to stare up him, more than a bit impressed that Agent Lang’s managed to not only pull him out of the fountain but do it that gracefully. That lean build hides some strength and that was actually kind of hot. Wait.

Larry’s thoughts are derailed by the agent staring down at him huffing, not unlike the big bad wolf, “get out the fountain, you dumbass.”

“Hey!” Larry shoots him a dirty look before he glances around and realizes that they were the only two out here. Without Edgeworth to back him Larry immediately changes his tune, “look, I’m not trying to cause trouble.”

Agent Lang smirks, all sharp teeth and roguish, wolfish, charm, “yeah, yeah, but whatever you’re doing in there, knock it off.”

“I was looking for the Iron Infant,” Larry gets to his feet, his shirt clinging to his frame, he has no doubt he looked rather unimpressive to Agent Lang, Larry definitely couldn’t have hauled anyone out of a fountain, and it shows. He had a lean runner’s build, a bit of strength but his lack of muscles highlighted by the way his shirt clung to his frame. Rather like a drowned cat standing before a wolf.

Agent Lang lifts his brows, “the… iron infant.”

“Yeah the prop. It got lost, and I don’t think it has anything to do with the crime, maybe someone just stole to auction on eBay or something, but I’d like to try and find it and get it back to the prop department.” Larry wrings part of his shirt out, “what are you doing here?”

“Investigating. You know,” he smirks again, “my job.”

“Alright smartass,” Larry mutters, unable to help himself, he is just enough like WolfDragon that he falls into familiar banter.

Agent Lang snorts, “well off you go. Watch yourself actor-boy.”

Wait.

Larry twists his head around as Agent Lang moves passed him, only one person he’s ever met used nicknames like that, it can’t be though. It can’t. But… WolfDragon travels a lot, dragon jacket, wolf aesthetic, the… no. No way.

Larry grabs his phone from where he’d set it next to the fountain and fires off a message to WolfDragon.

You would not believe the asshole I met tonight.

To his horror Agent Lang halts, and reaches down into the pocket of his jacket to fish out his phone and swipe it open. It could’ve all been coincidence, but the lock screen is art Larry knows.

It’s his art.

Of WolfDragon’s oc.

“No.” He gawks at Agent Lang, at WolfDragon, “you… WolfDragon?”

Agent Lang stills, staring at what is clearly discord before he turns to look at him out of the corner of his eye, “Excuse you, you pronounce those Xs.” Larry gawks at him, too stunned to ask how he intends those to be pronounced so he continues, “I thought the way you talked was familiar.” There’s a grin slowly spreading over his face, Larry fells one of his own before he remembers an important detail.

“You asshole, you tried to arrest me!”

Lang has the decency to look sorry, “Lang Zi says, ‘one should always perform one’s job in the proper manner.’ You were a suspect, you had to be investigated.”

Larry folds his arms over his chest, “you didn’t have to be such a dick about it though.” Doing his job, that Larry can understand. It’s the part where he was an asshole that pisses him off.

Lang frowns, hands shoved into his pockets, “I am sorry. Had I known you were-”

“I swear if you say pack,” Larry threatens, Lang smirks a little.

“Let me have my brand.”

“Your brand?” Larry looks Lang over, “you look like the living embodiment of your username.”

Lang gives a bark of laughter, “not bad Stripes, not bad.” Like that Larry forgives him, to be fair, he’s mentally been calling him an asshole all night, so sure, they’re even.

“If I’d known you were in town I would’ve offered to meet up,” Larry admits with a grin, “maybe then we could’ve avoided this.”

“Doubt it, I was in town for a job.” Lang’s eyes harden, Larry doesn’t feel as uneasy anymore but it’s unsettling how dark his friend could look. “But what are you doing here? I thought you were trying to get published.”

“I am!” That isn’t entirely a lie. The thought of reaching out, knowing that people would use Misty’s death to sell his books, knowing the questions he’d have to answer, the pain he still felt, it had kept him from reaching out just yet, but he is going to. He wants to. When he can handle it. “But I have to pay the bills! Oddly enough Warrior Cats fanfic doesn’t do that.”

“Don’t we wish?” Lang huffs with amusement, the flash of teeth in his grin no longer a threat but amusement. “So that pretty boy prosecutor, he that friend you mentioned?”

Larry isn’t sure how he feels about Lang calling Edgeworth pretty, but he is touched that he remembers, “yeah, that’s him.”

Lang nods, “I see what you mean.”

“Ready to admit prosecutors aren’t so bad?”

“Lang Zi says, ‘I never said that.’”

“Oddly specific quote you’ve got there,” Larry fights his own laughter to make himself understood, Lang simply grins in response.

“I’ve got to get back to work,” Lang glances over his shoulder at the garden, and then back at Larry, “but when this case is over, we can catch up.”

“Sounds good.” Larry needs to get back to hunting down the Iron Infant himself, “no biting Edgeworth.”

Lang smirks, his teeth catch the glint off the streetlights beyond them, “no promises. Stay out of the fountain.”

“No promises.” They both grin at each other a moment longer, neither eager to break this strange moment before Lang reaches over to lightly tap Larry’s arm with his fist.

Larry gently slugs him back with a grin, “I mean it, no biting. I’d hate to have to find your rabies vaccination records.”

Lang chuckles and grins, “get a new joke.”

“Get a new look and I will.”

Lang lopes off with a laugh, and Larry’s chest squeezes. He’s imagined meeting WolfDragon, has since they were kids, this feels surreal. Like, ‘I met my fanfiction buddy when he accused me of murder’? Sure okay, but then again that is kind of Larry’s life. He grins and heads off himself, the prop has to be somewhere.

 - Wow he sounds like a real dick

You are an ass, you know that?

- Eh

Where should we meet up?

- Depends when the case ends and how much sleep you’ll need. So, coffee I guess?

Sounds good

You do sleep right?

- I think I remember what it was like once

LANG

Huh

- Yeah that was odd

We’ll get used to it

- Do you prefer Larry or Laurice

Uh, Larry. Stripes is fine too.

- Well I didn’t know if you wanted to out yourself as a furry to the pretty boy prosecutor

Just use his name, and you’ve hardly got room to talk, do you just walk into the barber’s like “I want to look like a fifties werewolf.”

“Say no more.”

You have that on hand?

Lang stops responding so Larry figures he’s gone back to doing his job. That or tormenting Edgeworth. He’s not sure what to make of him, like there’s… a lot to unpack there, but he’s kind of still the guy Larry’s known.

He’s Larry’s third childhood friend and he’s not about to turn on him for a misunderstanding.

-

A firm tug on Orangestripe’s scruff hauled him out of the water, he let out a cry of surprise and landed on the bank with a grunt. He looked up to find the familiar large form of Wolf standing over him, the shaggy gray tom stared down at him.

“What are you doing mouse-brain?”

“Swimming,” Orangestripe shook off, whiskers twitching as his friend hissed and recoiled from the water, “oh come on Wolf it’s fun.”

Wolf looked at him like he’d just sprouted wings so Orangestripe just pawed at his muzzle, “I can’t help it you don’t know how to have fun properly.”

Wolf tackled him with a laugh for that, and the two of them tumbled over the ground in a play fight, the warm sun streamed down around them, for once little to worry about beyond their next hunt or patrol. Not even if Darkleaf himself stumbled upon them could anything ruin this.

-

Larry is tired and hungry and ready to give up on finding the Iron Infant when he stumbles to the vending machines for a snack. If he’s gonna be awake this late he needs something to eat. It’s been a wild past- has it been four hours? In any case he needs something to eat.

He comes around the corner to find a teen girl on her knees, one arm up past her elbow in the vending machine. He blinks in surprise and she grins at him like the cat that ate the cannery as she continues to try to pry a treat from the machine.

Larry decides that it’s not worth it to deal with any of this and just leans against the wall to wait his turn

"You were with Edgeworth earlier, weren't you?"

That's what has her look at him with alarm, not when he walks in to find her with one arm in the vending machine like a raccoon but that he recognizes her. To be fair, without context it does sound a bit like he was stalking her.

“I was the steel samurai actor,” he explains quickly, “the one that gave Edgy the autograph.” He holds her gaze and considers how best to prove he knows Edgeworth before the ridiculous remark from earlier occurs to him, "I was best friends with him and that man in elementary school. I’m Larry." Larry adds, the girl watches him a moment longer before she relaxes and grins.

"Nice to meet you." She moves as though she's going to shake his hand before she remembers she's in the middle of robbing a vending machine. “I’m Kay Faraday, the Great Thief, Yatagarasu and Miles Edgeworth’s investigation partner!”

A bit of a pretentious title for someone robbing a vending machine but Larry lets it slide, more amused than anything. He considers the still damp spare change in his pockets, “I could buy you something if ya want.”

Kay glances at him, oddly judgmental for a teenager robbing a vending machine, “nah, I’m fine.” She manages to snag the swiss rolls she’s after with a cry of delight and withdraws from the vending machine with her ill-gotten gains.

Larry bites back a laugh and once she’s out of the way, tearing into her prize, he buys a snack for himself, a candy bar with nuts in it. It takes him back to last Halloween in Nick’s office, god, had that only been five months ago? God if Maya and Nick could see who it turned out he’d been texting that night.

“So, who is that man?” Kay lifts one hand to do air-quotes, “his boyfriend or something?”

“God, I wish,” Larry rolls his eyes and sighs heavily, “he’s our childhood friend and like, a defense attorney okay? So, he’s Edgy’s rival and there’s some Pokémon aesthetics- oh my god now that I’ve said that I cannot unsee it.” But Phoenix is not Blue, that’s definitely more Edgeworth. Kay is struggling not to laugh, that much is obvious, “but anyway he’s his rival in the like, homoerotic way and I really wish they’d just kiss do you know what it’s like to be best friends with a pair of idiots pinning for each other and pulling dramatic things like that man like I don’t know who he thinks he’s fooling ‘cause Von Karma, Gumshoe and I all know.” Kay is openly snickering now and Larry grins at her.

“So what’s your story kid? Like, did Edgeworth just pick you up off the street?” He keeps it casual, trying to let her have an out if she doesn’t feel like confessing anything deep to him. She doesn’t have to. He’s just curious as to how this happened.

“Long story short, I found him tied up in a basement.” She grins as Larry snaps his head to stare at her, “and I think the elder gay in him kicked in and he had to adopt me.”

“Ah,” Larry clicks his tongue, “a powerful force indeed.” He has to fight back a burst of laughter as he remembers the reviewer who called Viper a lesbian icon.

“So like, are you also gay or-”

“Nah, I’m the token straight.” Larry shrugs his shoulders, “that’s why he would probably call me that idiot rather than anything.”

“I was starting to think straights didn’t exist in California.”

“We’re a rare breed,” Larry’s mouth twitches, “you get me and Gumshoe, they have to let a few of us in so they can’t be accused of discrimination.”

“I like you,” Kay says brightly, summarizing Larry’s own feelings, he likes Edgeworth’s new kid, she’s sharp and clever and bit cunning and maybe she steals from vending machines but Larry’s in no position that he can judge.

“Where is Edgy anyway, that you’re out here being a thief?”

“He was investing something, but I was getting hungry, so I should be heading back,” she tosses the wrapper in a trashcan, “nice meeting you Larry.”

“You too, Kay.” She’s gone before he can think to ask her if she’s seen the Iron Infant, vanishing from sight like a ninja or the master thief she claims to be.

-

“What are you doing?” Orangestripe asked, he drew to a halt as he came across the strange tortoiseshell, the young cat was halfway up a tree, eyes trained on a bird. She was not on their side of the border, and from the scent that wafted to him she was one of Demon’s… friends? Orangestripe wished he’d just admit they were a Clan. She was new though; he didn’t recognize her.

“I am the greatest hunter in the forest,” her eyes darted to him, yellow and bright and Orangestipe remembered his apprentices all too clearly in that heartbeat, “if there is no prey here than I shall come to it.”

Orangestripe shook his head, “well be careful.” He started on his way and paused to add, “and tell Demon hi for me.”

“Sure, strange orange cat.”

“Orangestripe, but if you describe me like that- no wait he might think you mean Firebirdstorm.” He considered it a moment, “anyway tell him and Wolf that Orangestripe says hi.”

“Can do!”

Little did Orangestripe know that was hardly the last time he’d see the she-cat.

-

It’s just Larry’s luck that he runs into Oldbag of all people as he continues his search for the Iron Infant, it seems she’s also trying to avoid the police, who she describes as very rude, as she explains she’s looking for Edgeworth.

Larry suspects the police are “very rude” because she’s about two inches from openly stalking his best friend but he doesn’t say that, instead coaxing her into helping him look for the Iron Infant, under the logic that Edgeworth would be very grateful if she helped his longtime friend with this.

He tones out most of her droning the way he did when he worked for her, he doesn’t want to think about what she would’ve been like if she’d known he’d known Edgeworth during that job. When she’s not looking though he slips his phone out to text Edgeworth.

DO NOT COME TO THE BABAHL GARDEN!

- Larry.

- What have you done?

Wow okay. Here I am roping Oldbag into helping me look for the iron infant and trying to keep her away from you and this is what you have to say?

- Never mind! I am very grateful!

That's what I thought. You owe me.

Technically this is Larry repaying Edgeworth for helping earlier, but Larry’s still going to complain about it. And recommend Edgeworth get a restraining order.

He’s letting them wander around Babahl because while he knows he never went over here at least he’s keeping her out of Edgeworth’s way which is probably the most valuable thing he can do right now.

So, he’s certainly not expecting it when she mentions off handedly that she’d seen one of the agents led away in cuffs. Larry has to frantically ply her for knowledge about that, which she holds over him until she mentions the agent was female. Something unclenches in his chest, it wasn’t Lang. But he’ll probably have to talk to him about that later.

He expects it even less when she finds the iron infant in the pool of the Babahl garden. Larry dives in to fish it out, his clothes hadn’t even had a chance to truly dry and their soaked again, but sure enough it’s the doll.

He’s turning it over in his hands in confusion, and suddenly something clicks in his mind. The doll shouldn’t be over here. The pushcart is missing. He left the pushcart in the other garden. The doll was moved. The pushcart was moved. He’s not sure how or why but he knows this is something Edgeworth can use, he just knows.

“We have to find Edgy.” He says out loud and tries to ignore the way Oldbag about shrieks with delight.

-

“Got yourself an apprentice there Sharppaw?” Firebirdstorm teased and Orangestripe blinked in surprise as he recognized the young, she-cat with Demon, the tortoiseshell lifted her tail at him in greeting.

“You must be Firebirdstorm,” she greeted him and Orangestripe wanted to laugh at the look on Demon’s face if he didn’t know exactly why she recognized him. Strange orange cats indeed. “Hey Orangestripe.”

“Hey,” he greeted her in return, “how’s the hunting?”

“Good! Demon’s teaching me all kinds of stuff!” she waved her tail behind her excitedly, “he’s a great mentor.”

Demon sighed heavily, “I am not your mentor, that is a Clan concept, I am simply teaching you how to hunt.” Orangestripe rolled his eyes and dropped down next to the border to chat.

“So, what’s your name.”

“Well I’m called Shadow but I kinda like Dapplepaw, since Wolf told me apprentices have names that end in paw right?” She waited until he nodded and glanced over at Demon, “and I’d like to be an apprentice. But I also like Demon’s group. So, I’m the great hunter Dapplepaw!”

“I really wish that the others wouldn’t encourage you,” Demon’s voice sounded long suffering Firebirdstorm’s ears pricked up in curiosity.

“You know Sharppaw, if you ever wanted your warrior name, I’m sure Spiritstar would happily give you one. Even if you never went by it.”

“Because you need another name to call me,” Demon replied with a huff but Orangestripe thought he saw something in his eyes, that he wanted it. Some part of him was still Sharppaw, however much he might’ve buried it.

He turned to Shadow, or Dapplepaw, “the others?”

“Oh, you know, Wolf, Timber, Bird, they’re kind of sharing me as an apprentice, it’s been great, ever since I’ve joined everyone’s wanted to train me. Even Viper can’t help herself, though she keeps calling Demon thistle-headed.”

Orangestripe looked at Demon, he knew it wasn���t fair, he was her brother even if they’d had him first. Even if he was their best friend, should’ve been a warrior alongside them. It wasn’t her fault. “I think she’s just worried about losing him.” With luck she would come around. It couldn’t be easy Demon, to have a paw in both worlds and looking for the path between them.

“So, how’s your training going?” he asked, “is she a pawful?”

Demon glanced over at her, his gaze softened, “I wouldn’t want her any other way.”

And that was the final piece of evidence, whether he wanted it or not, Demon was her mentor.

-

“Hold it!” Larry yells as he bursts into the room, objection doesn’t seem right, but he needs to make a grand entrance. He’d briefly considered dressing up like the Steel Samurai again, but they really didn’t have the time.

Multiple people turned to stare at him in confusion, Lang and Edgeworth among them, but he holds up the infant.

“I found him!” He declares and he thinks he sees something die in Edgeworth’s eyes.

“No, Edgy, listen. I found him in the Babahl garden, in the fountain.” There is still water dripping off him which proves his claim, and something very clearly clicks for Edgeworth in that moment.

“Larry, repeat what you just said.”

“I found in Babahl, in the middle of the fountain.” Larry wonders if this is how Nick feels when he turns a case around, it’s kind of a rush.

He doesn’t have the pieces, but Edgeworth does, he doesn’t ever acknowledge that Larry’s brought Oldbag, he’s in full swing, Gumshoe sprints out on his orders with barely a question, Larry grins, moving to flank Edgeworth slightly, he and Lang glance at each other and grin slightly, the case is coming together, and Edgeworth leads the way to truth.

-

“Orangestripe.”

He halted and turned his head, “Spiritstar,” he greeted her with a polite dip of his head, it’s not often his leader speaks to only him, not him and Firebirdstorm.

She beckoned him with her tail to follow her to her den, his ears slowly pinned back as he followed her, “am I in trouble?”

Spiritstar paused and looked over her shoulder at him, “StarClan no, I simply want to talk to you a moment.”

They settle in her den, Spiritstar’s tail curled around her paws, the picture of grace, while Orangestripe shifted worriedly, unsure as to why she wanted to meet with him.

“Are you happy here, Orangestripe?” The question caught him off guard and he blinked at her in confusion.

-

“How did you know about the ‘Early Summer Rain Jab’?” Larry asks in confusion, he glances at Edgeworth slightly, “that move is a bit of a secret that only a small portion of the staff know about.”

Edgeworth turns to him, he clearly doesn’t trust Larry like he trusts Nick but they’re working together, “what do you mean Larry?”

Larry shrugs his shoulder, “well it’s not exactly a secret so much as we changed the name of the move right before the start of the show.”

Lang straightens at that, some part of Larry thinks of him as Wolfman now and he doesn’t exactly mind, but it’s Kay who speaks, eyes bright, “right before?”

-

“What, what do you mean?” He asked, this was his Clan, this was his home, “Of course I-“

Spiritstar waved her tail to calm him, “I’m not questioning your loyalty Orangestripe, but your happiness. You do your duties here yes, but no one can doubt you love the time you spend among Demon and his group, especially after…”

Orangestripe ducked his head and let out a slow breath, “oh.”

“I am not upset, Orangestripe, but as Demon decides the future of his group, I think you need to decide your future as well. You don’t have to make the choice now, and I appreciate the help you lend them, but you cannot continue to divide yourself between both groups.”

-

Larry explains quickly that the move was originally supposed to be with his spear, and by the time they’d named it he’d already bent the spear, so he’d had to improvise the sword slash, and he didn’t even feel that guilty. Like yeah it was bad he’d bent the spear but Oldbag had damn near ruined the show with her performance and the director had quietly thanked him earlier this evening for how well he’d improvised with… all that. So, he balanced out.

Larry wraps up his explanation with, “so basically, because we changed the move to the Sushi Slash... ...we kinda pretended that the Early Summer Rain Jab didn't exist at all.” He rubs the back of his neck and looked to Edgeworth, “so most people didn’t know that name.”

Kay bounces on her feet with a wide grin, “that almost makes it like a lost art!”

“Or a deleted scene,” Larry grins back at her, “so that’s why I don’t think most of the staff would know about that move.”

Alba yells an objection at him and Larry jerks back, but all this does is pull Edgeworth back into the logic fight, and unlike Larry the man is a champion.

-

“This is my home, my Clan.” He repeated his earlier thoughts, he sank his claws into the dirt to try to steady his limbs and hide the way they shook from Spiritstar, “I was born here.”

“And so was Demon,” Spiritstar spoke gently, “and yet his path was not to be one of us. There is no shame if your own path should lead you away from us.”

But Orangestripe couldn’t see himself leaving, to abandon Firebirdstorm like that, to leave Cherrywing and Splashpaw, this was his home.

But the thought of spending his days goofing off with Wolf, of helping Demon to walk the path he’d chosen, to help train Dapplepaw… it was tempting.

“I’m not sure Spiritstar.” He admitted finally, “if Demon offers me a place with them, I can’t say I’d tell him no. But this is my home, and, in the end, I think where my heart lies.” To stand beside Firebirdstorm, and he couldn’t do that from Demon’s camp.

Spiritstar nodded her head and crossed to touch her nose to his forehead, “all I ask Orangestripe is that you follow your heart. Wherever it might guide you.”

-

Even Oldbag ends up being useful and Larry is invested now, Lang’s teeth are bared to show his fangs - and he does have fangs and Larry passingly thinks that’s attractive before his attention is taken once more by this smug asshole who thinks he can outsmart Edgeworth. Like really, the only one who can defeat Edgy is Nick – Kay’s eyes gleam and Larry’s scrambling to find some way to stop this guy when-

“Hold it!”

The group looks at each other in confusion, and Alba snaps at them, “Who was that!? It's too late. I won't allow anyone to stop me now!”

Gumshoe, Larry and Oldbag quickly confirm it wasn’t them, when one of Lang’s ‘pack’ speaks up, the forensics expert.

“It was me.” He looks to Lang and then to Edgeworth, “I wasn’t finished reporting everything to you yet, sir.”

“There’s more?” Edgeworth asks.

Lang snaps and his hair almost seems to bristle, “out with it!” Larry gives him a look, he doesn’t need to snap at his own guys over this.

He’s glad he’s not a lawyer though, and that as a writer if he writes stuff like this, he can skip the five minutes of debating whether blood at a crime scene is relevant like, okay sure someone could’ve gotten a nosebleed but really dude? That’s your best excuse?

But it’s enough and he is going to get away with it and then he calls Lang a mutt and Larry about surges forward, but he’s stopped when Lang just straight up howls. His ears are ringing, and he turns to look at Lang incredulously, did he really just do that? Lang curls his lips back and snarls and Larry leaves him to that.

But Edgeworth, Edgeworth scrambles a moment and then Larry sees it. The same look Nick gets, when the path forward becomes clear to them and he presses forward and explains in no uncertain terms how Alba is a pitiful bird with clipped wings.

And as Edgeworth closes the noose around him, or if he were Lang, the pack closes in, Larry can only see him as a pitiful old bird with clipped wings, because Edgeworth produces the evidence to prove that he was the killer, and his victim had fought back.

The dominos topple and Larry has to fight the urge to cheer, at least until they’ve arrested Alba, at which point he claps Edgeworth on the shoulder with a huge grin, “atta boy Edgy!”

Edgeworth turns to him with a warm grin and looks like he wants to say something but settles on a simple pat on the shoulder. He goes to talk to detectives, Kay bouncing around him with so much energy, Larry sways as it hits him that it’s somewhere around four in the morning and the adrenaline and excitement leaves him in a rush.

“Easy,” a low voice growls as a firm grip steadies him.

“Thanks, Wolfman,” Larry turns to see Lang grinning at him, he simply shifts his arm to over Larry’s shoulder. Lang probably has to go, he’s probably got shit to get done and paperwork and detective shit but this moment is nice.

He’s putting a bit of his weight on Larry though, and he turns to him to see him rubbing absently at his leg that is covered in blood with a bullet hole in the pants leg.

“UMM!” It’s not the most eloquent Larry’s ever been but hey- it’s four in the morning and Lang has clearly been shot.

“I’m fine.” Lang grunts and claps him on the shoulder, Larry bumps into him with a look.

“Clearly not.”

“Paramedics looked at it.”

“And told you that you could stand on it?”

“That’s why I’m leaning on you,” Lang grins, and Larry thinks, despite his friend’s best attempts to hide it, he can see a bit of pain and exhaustion starting to creep in behind the mask.

Larry leaned into him, propping him up with his shoulder, for a moment neither of them move other than to breath, Larry feels an odd comfort in this, like afternoons huddling in bus stops with Nick as kids. Comfortable and natural.

Lang finally stands after a period of time Larry couldn’t begin to measure, “I need to take care of some things, can’t leave it all to that prosecutor of yours.”

Larry huffs and rolls his shoulders, “you should get that leg looked at.”

Lang waves his hand so Larry shoves him, or tries rather, it’s rather like trying to push a wall, even with the injured leg.

“And you look like you’re about to collapse.” Lang gently pushes him and Larry almost folds like a house of cards despite the fact Lang hadn’t even pushed that hard. He’s definitely swaying.

“That’s the plan.” He rubs at his eyes and yawns, which slurs his next sentence into a mess even he doesn’t understand. Lang looks unimpressed.

“I said, that was the plan but Edgy’s my ride.” Larry yawns again, “or he was? Not sure. Might just get an uber or take the bus.” Probably the bus. That or see if anyone other than Oldbag was around from the show to give him a ride.

“Rain check on the coffee, I need to go pass out but tomorrow?” Today? Fuck it, after he’d slept and probably ruined his sleep schedule for the next week. They were both tired and Lang had to know what he meant.

Lang grins, “Lang Zi says ‘the pack that runs together, stays together.’” He winks at him with a smirk, “so let’s stay together alright?”

Larry grins and shakes his head, “See, I think they need to give you either more or less pain meds.” Lang barks with laughter and lopes away, gait as smooth and easy as before. Despite himself, Larry was impressed and pulled out his phone to let Edgy know he was heading back so don’t wait or look for him.

-

Orangestripe stood on the border, watching as a patrol of Demon, Dapplepaw, and Wolf passed by, Dapplepaw bouncing around excitedly as she followed them, none of them realizing he was there, their voices drifted back to him but he couldn’t make out the words.

“Follow your heart. Wherever it might guide you.”

Orangestripe lifted a paw, mouth parted, but the words died in his throat, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and slowly he set his paw back down.

“But what do I do Spiritstar-” he asked himself, “-if my heart feels torn in two?”

[looptheloup]

Title: ‘Passing Out from Pain’

Chapter: Chapter 6 of ‘my thoughts are the cold kind’

Fandom: Harry Potter

Characters: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy, Ronald Weasley, Pansy Parkinson

Warnings: Abuse, Physical Violence, Blood, Beating, Torture, PTSD

[WARNING: this is probably the heaviest chapter in the story. Please look after yourselves if you think any of the tags above could negatively affect you]

*

Passing Out from Pain

The owl arrived in the morning and Draco opened the letter it dropped in front of him. IT was from his father and his fingers clenched on the paper as he read it, and then read it again. He felt suddenly incredibly sick and pushed away his toast, the words swimming in front of his eyes.

“Draco?” Pansy said, waving a hand in front of his face. “You look like you’ve seen a bogart.”

“Ha,” Draco said weakly. Blinking, he shoved the letter into the envelope, irrationally infuriated when it wouldn’t go back in, but other Slytherins were looking at him and he forced himself to take a breath and calm down. His father was visiting in two days and there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

He floated through the following day and a half and in the last lesson of the week, Defence Against the Dark Arts, he was barely able to focus on anything but the sickness in his stomach. He hadn’t been eating much of anything but besides the rolling tightness of his stomach, he felt mostly numb. Resigned.

He knew that Potter, the nosy arse, kept staring at him, watching him, but he couldn’t make himself care or think of anything to do to stop it. It wasn’t like he thought that things couldn’t get worse; they could, but Draco just couldn’t summon enough motivation to make himself act. He was spending too much energy on just walking through the days and upholding a semblance of sanity and it was exhausting.

“Draco?” Potter tried to catch up with him as Draco was leaving but Draco just ignored him entirely. His head was already two, three hours ahead when he’d be standing in front of his father. Thank Merlin it was Friday and he would have the weekend to gather himself afterwards.

“Leave it, Harry,” that Weasley idiot said, “Malfoy’s just being a twat.”

If Potter replied, Draco didn’t hear it. He climbed the stairs down to Slytherin Dungeon like he was taking steps towards a cliff edge and the closer he got, the harder it was to keep moving forwards. Just before he reached the Serpent painting he froze and two Slytherins nudged past him – ‘you alright, mate?’ – before he managed to nod and keep moving.

“Deadly nightshade,” he mumbled at the painting and the door swung open with its usual creak. The Slytherin Dungeon was a dull place, lit with green-tinged light from the lake, but Draco usually found the noise of the water soothing and it was always cool, even in the height of summer. But today Draco shivered as he entered, flinching when the door closed behind him. He went wearily to his dorm room and put his bag on the bed to mechanically begin unpacking his things. He tried to do his Defence Against the Dark Arts homework but he couldn’t focus and ended up sat at his desk, staring blankly at the stone wall with his quill hanging limping from his fingers, just waiting.

The time his father had set got nearer, both sickening slowly and with alarming haste, and when it finally arrived, he got robotically to his feet and stumbled out of the room and through the common room. Pansy tried to speak to him and he mumbled something before carrying on like a drone set on its course.

Stepping out into the corridor, his heart-rate picked up dramatically and the numbness that had been clouding his head slipped away to be replaced by a trembling panic. He tried to crush it but he wasn’t even part-way successful.

“Draco,” his father said and Draco turned sharply around, tensing rigid at the sight of his father’s silver hair and tall, disapproving form. His black cane, topped with its green-eyed snake, was at his side.

“Father,” Draco murmured.

His father’s hand came out and Draco flinched, but Lucius only took Draco’s shoulder in a harsh grip, “Don’t mumble, Draco,” he said and tugged on Draco’s shoulder and Draco went where he was led.

He was marched in silence up to the third floor, his father’s cold hand remaining heavy on his shoulder and his cane clicked with each step. Lucius pushed Draco through a door and shut it firmly behind them before sliding his wand from his cane and casting a Silencing Charm, his smooth voice echoing slightly in the dark, hollow room. Draco swallowed.

The silver-serpent on his father’s wand seemed to glint as he replaced it inside his cane with a slight rasp. Draco watched it, unable to look at his father’s face.

“It’s a shame,” his father said, “that I have to waste so much of my time,” he prodded Draco in the chest with the cold metal of the snake’s head and Draco flinched but forced himself not to back away. It would only anger his father further, “coming here to attend to you, a stupid, recalcitrant, little boy. And so much of Malfoy money has been wasted on sending you to this school, on upholding Malfoy reputation, and yet you cannot even be bothered to look after your things.” Draco saw his father’s grip shift on his cane and he tensed rigid, ducking his head as he braced, “If you want a new broom, you will have to cease being such a disappointment.” The blow came, the black length landing hard and brutal across his spine and Draco cried out sharply, arching his back away from the blinding yet too-familiar pain, and staggering under the force of it.

“You are meant to be a man!” His father shouted, spitting angry, “And yet you are so useless,” he struck Draco again and the sharp, unforgiving metal of the snake hit Draco in the ribs like a hammer and he fell to his knees with a strangled yell. He thought he’d heard something crack inside of him, “that not only must you beg me for new toys to replace the one you broke, but your professor must write to me, complaining of your stupidity, your inattention, your lax manner.” Draco got shakily back to his feet, knowing that if he didn’t, his father would beat him while he was on the ground and the hits were always so much harder. His ribs throbbed. “You are a failure, a disgrace to the Malfoy name.” The cane struck Draco so hard across the back that he was knocked breathless and barely kept himself standing. “Something is wrong with you and Merlin be damned, I know not what it is, but you’re not Malfoy blood.” The next hit thwacked across the small of his back and pain exploded across his skin so viciously that he couldn’t keep himself from collapsing down to his knees. “You are barely more than a squib. Better that you had been one than such a useless excuse for a wizard.” His father hissed, the final blow of his sharp tongue.

“Please, father,” Draco rasped, “I’m sorry.” He was shaking violently, his back burning and throbbing and each breath taxed his ribs. He couldn’t tell if it was blood or sweat that was making his shirt cling to his back.

Would this be the end of it? He could never tell whether there would be one round of strikes from the cane, or four. A professor, it must have been Flitwick, had written to his father and Draco knew how furious that would have made him, who prided himself on enforcing Draco’s discipline. To have received a letter implying that Draco’s work was lacking- Draco shuddered. He didn’t know if it was worse that his father had had time to stew over the letter, or whether being in the same room as his father when he received that owl would have left him worse off.

His father didn’t even acknowledge his apology, and a quiet rasp made Draco look up to see his father withdrawing his wand from his cane. Draco felt the blood drain from his face and he shot a desperate look up at his father. But his father’s expression was cold and utterly uncaring and there was only anger in those pale eyes. Draco lowered his head silently and waited, which was all he could ever do. His wand lay in the pocket of his robes, but he never even considered using it. His father had always been more powerful and always would be. And even if Draco got a lucky shot in, what then? He couldn’t hide at Hogwarts forever and everyone he knew was his father’s ally or in his pocket. Hated for his family, and hated by his family; Draco struggled to breathe. He just had to take it, had to be better.

Slowly, deliberately, Lucius bent down to bring his head closer to Draco’s. Draco held his breath, trying to control his ragged breathing.

“You disgust me,” Lucius hissed and Draco flinched, his hair falling into his face. His father was so perfect, neat and controlled, and Draco was on the floor, shaking and sweat-slick with pain and fear. He felt disgusting.

His father straightened up smartly and Draco hoped for one, desperate second that he would stride out of the door and leave Draco there on the floor. But Lucius extended his wand to point it directly at Draco and Draco stopped breathing entirely, tense as a bow-string. His father had never-

“Crucio,” Lucius spat and there was pain. Pain everywhere, pain like fire in his bones and in his skull, so bad that he wanted to black out, to die. Draco screamed and screamed, writhing in agony. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move but to claw desperately at the floor and kick like a man being hanged. When he drew breath, it was only to scream again, bruising his throat with the cries. When blackness crowded in, Draco fell into it with absolute relief.

Updates Monday and Thursday

[beckytailweaver]

[FIC] Coco - What the Xolo Dragged In  (Part 1 & 2)

Okay so this happened.  I must blame previous talk about Canon peeps meeting Teacher!AU cast and the recent “let’s throw in the Villain troupe!” meetup. (See these posts Here and Here.)  Brain explosion proceeded forthwith.

Please note: This does not actually include Teacher!AU Baby Miguel; it’s just a generic pre-Coco film Canon Baby Miguel. He still has parents and a family music ban and everything. ^_^; And there is of course our good old Canon Héctor.  Please enjoy the fireworks.

(I swear to frog one day I will actually get back to work on the AU’s I’m supposed to be working on.)

Coco - What the Xolo Dragged In

Part 1 - (Prologue) Good Boy

Dante knew that he was a Good Dog.  He knew it because his Boy told him so, even when the other humans in his Boy’s pack barked and growled at him.  Having a Boy was very important, a very big job, and not every Dog on the streets in town had a Boy, so Dante knew that he was also very fortunate.

Dante also knew that he was young, and had a lot to learn, but he still took pride in how well he already knew how to take care of his Boy.  Humans were clumsy and couldn’t smell very well, and prone to being entirely too curious about all kinds of things that weren’t even Food (really, they were worse than Cats), and his Boy’s pack had three human pups that were no exception to this rule, Dante’s Boy included.  His Boy was the smallest of the lot, the noisiest and most curious, the most often barked at by the pack’s alpha female, therefore his Boy needed a lot of looking after.

It was hard work.  That was all right, though, because his Boy always brought Dante lots of Food of all different smells and flavors, and none of the other Dogs on the streets got those!

It could be a really frustrating job too, especially when humans were too dim to learn to understand proper speech.  Dante had his Boy fairly well trained, at least when his Boy was paying attention, but his Boy was also still just a pup and tended to run off without listening like all pups did (Dante was guilty of quite a bit of this himself when he was still with Mother).  It was as hard to get his Boy to listen when something wasn’t safe as it was to tell his Boy exactly which Food he wanted—even if all Foods were good any time.

Dante might have been relatively new at looking after his Boy, but he knew right away that the human pups were not supposed to be out of the den at night.  Clumsy, blind little human pups that couldn’t even smell danger had no business sneaking away from their parents after dark.  The biggest pup was leading the way and didn’t look happy about the smaller pair following him, but he didn’t make them go back either.

Dante knew how to do his job best, so of course he followed and tried to pull his Boy and the female pup back toward their den.  As usual, they didn’t listen.  They were going toward the River, which Dante knew was especially Bad at night—the moving water that could turn deadly without warning, and other Things that Dante didn’t know how he knew but he still knew it was Bad.

The bigger human pup was meeting up with a group of youngsters about his own size, and they all made exasperated whines and growls when they saw the younger two following.  But even this didn’t make his Boy go back to the den, and Dante was at his wits’ end.  He didn’t know how he knew, but he knew that with the Round Moon high it was a Very Bad time to be at the River.  It wasn’t always, but this time it was, and they all needed to run back to their dens right now.

Sure enough, the human pups didn’t listen to Dante’s frantic yelling.  And sure enough, the Bad Thing arrived.

It started with a howl that made Dante’s ears hurt, as it came up out of the water white as the Round Moon.  The human pups yelped and shrieked, scattering in every direction at the shrill noise, and the Howling Bad Thing lurched at them.  Like any proper hunter, it went for the smallest and weakest prey—Dante’s Boy, running blindly right past the Bad Thing’s reach.  And that was just not okay.

The Howling Bad Thing had a grip on his yelping Boy, dragging the small human pup into the swift River.  His Boy’s female littermate stood up on the bank where the others had run, howling in alarm herself.  Dante wasted no time, plunging into the shallows in pursuit of the Bad Thing, despite every instinct that told him it was much smarter—and much more conducive to survival—to run away with the rest.

But Dante knew he was a Good Dog, and Good Dogs didn’t leave their Boys to get eaten by Bad Things.

Dante bit down on the Howling Bad Thing’s forepaw harder than he’d ever crunched any tasty bone.  It was squishy and smoky and didn’t taste like anything but it was cold and hurt his teeth.  His Boy slipped out of the Bad Thing’s grasp and disappeared under the water, and the Bad Thing let out another of those ear-piercing howls and reached for him.

Shouting a dire warning, Dante snapped at the Bad Thing’s grabbing forepaws as he went down the River after his Boy.  He knew most humans could swim, and he’d seen his own Boy paddle along with some success, but his Boy was small and the River was big and fast.  He could no longer hear or see any of the other human pups on the shore, and called for his Boy in desperation, looking everywhere until at last the round dark head popped up from the moving water, choking and yelping in dismay.

Dante swam after his Boy as fast as he could, just managing to catch the human pup by his thin cloth scruff.  He told the frightened pup that he was a Good Boy as best he could between clenched teeth, hoping to reassure him.

It was hard to hear anything over the pup’s shrill whines, so when Dante turned to pull him toward shore he was alarmed to find the Howling Bad Thing standing tall in the water just next to them, as if it didn’t have to swim at all.  It yowled at them like an angry Cat and reached for them, and Dante knew he could not let it touch his weakening Boy again.

Good Boy, he panted over and over again, because the human pup was terrified.  Good Boy.

There was nowhere safe for his Boy here.  They were surrounded on all sides by rushing River and Howling Bad Thing.  Out of time and out of options, Dante decided to do the only thing he could think of that would make his Boy safe:  Bring him to the Other Boy.  That was something Dante had always known—that one day he would bring his Boy to the Other Boy and they would both be safe.  He also knew that it wasn’t the Right Time, but he was out of options if he was going to protect his Boy like a Good Dog.

The Howling Bad Thing’s paws grasped at them.  Dante took the risk and pulled his Boy down into the rushing River.  The human pup was a Good Boy and didn’t struggle any more.  He didn’t let go of his Boy as the howls of the Bad Thing went far away and the waters turned black and silent.

Part 2 - Driftwood

When one was this Nearly-Forgotten, Héctor reflected lazily, there really wasn’t anything to do but entertain oneself in whatever various ways one could afford that wouldn’t result in loss of parts or broken bones.  Most of his compatriots spent their time drinking, playing cards, and singing raunchy songs, having willingly given up attachments to their former lives since it hurt too much to cling to those things.

Damn right it hurt, and Héctor was too much of a fool to give it up, spending his time contemplating ways to sneak himself across the Marigold Bridge to Santa Cecilia once a year, filling three hundred and sixty-four days a year with plotting.  So he sat on the slick, grimy steps of the stone pyramid outside of Shantytown and contemplated the expanse of Waters that trapped him in the Land of the Dead while drinking the dregs of tequila from a bottle he’d found floating nearby.  Who knew where it came from or who might have discarded it—some wealthy skeleton from Above or a member of the Nearly-Forgotten Family who’d faded into Final Death and dropped all their things wherever they’d vanished.

It didn’t matter either way.  It wasn’t like consuming spoiled food could kill him again (though on some bad nights he’d occasionally wished something could end his miserable existence, but he’d replaced that dark depression with desperate determination to see Coco one last time before he did go, since anything else would betray his love for his daughter).  And if the bottle was dropped by some Forgotten soul, they probably wouldn’t want it to go to waste when the Family could enjoy what they’d left behind.

There was a dog barking.  As he lounged on the damp stone, Héctor was reminded of long-ago late summer evenings in Santa Cecilia, the air just beginning to cool as the sun went down and the back streets echoing with the barks of stray dogs searching for trash to pick through.  These days, he felt more like the street dogs than one of the comfortable residents of his hometown.  He’d grown wary and noisy and opportunistic, pretending friendship with wealthier townsfolk and wagging his tail just to get any scrap he could use, stealing from their trash if they didn’t give him anything.

That dog was still barking, louder now, and it was getting kind of annoying.  Whoever kept that alebrije needed to come get it to shut up— 

Blinking, Héctor sat upright.  It sounded like a dog barking.  Just like a dog.  Alebrijes usually sounded weird, not-quite-right, often a mixture of two or more creatures blended in their voices as in their appearance.  This sounded like a dog right off the streets of his hometown.

Curious now, Héctor rose to his feet to limp in the direction of the noise.  Coming around the corner of the massive stone pyramid, he spotted a zany-patterned, bouncing ball of alebrije bounding toward him, barking continuously.  It was so brightly colored it seemed to glow in the dim, misty evening light.

“Whoa, fella, slow down!”  Héctor held out his arms calmingly, hoping the dog-shaped alebrije wouldn’t decide to jump on him; he really didn’t want to be scattered all over the stones or have any parts stolen by a bone-chewing canine.

The dog-alebrije didn’t come close enough for him to touch it, though.  It just paced and circled and barked at him before running back the way it came, pausing every so often to look at him before barking even more.

It was a strange alebrije.  It sounded exactly like a dog.  It was shaped exactly like a hairless Xolo dog and nothing else, except for a scrawny pair of wings that seemed all but useless.  If it was a dog, it was barely more than a puppy, and it seemed very urgent about something.  Frowning, Héctor followed it along the waterfront.

A ways ahead of him, the alebrije-dog stopped to sniff and nudge at a small pile of wet rags half in the water.  It kept whining and barking urgently as Héctor shambled his way along, squinting at the bundle of trash.

It took a few moments of staring and a startling tug of motion from the rags before the shape resolved itself into a small child-shaped figure lying on the stones and Héctor was distantly aware of the sound of shattering glass as he dropped the liquor bottle and ran as best he could toward the alebrije and its downed child.

Héctor almost dropped his own head when he knelt to roll the struggling child over and found it to be solid and heavy and possessed of flesh and skin and a chubby face and with a yelp he lurched back away as the child choked up water and began to cry.

What in the name of all that is holy and good is a living child doing here?

He couldn’t resist the crying.  It reminded him far too closely of his daughter.  The piteous sounds cut into him and he knelt down again, reaching out to comfort the small lostling.  The child seemed to be a boy, barely older than his Coco had been the last time he’d seen her, wearing a soaked blue sweater and those modern denim trousers, though Héctor was far out of practice judging living faces.  He could worry about the how and why later; right now there was a child coughing and trembling in front of him.

“Hey, chamaquito,” he said softly, trying to gently sit the crying boy up and pull him the rest of the way out of the water.  “It’s okay, I got you...”

It seemed to be going well, the alebrije-dog nudging in to try to help, until the child’s unsteady gaze zeroed in on Héctor’s hands, following the bony arms up to blink at his skeletal face.  Then the tearful eyes went wide, and the little boy wailed and weakly struggled away from him.

...whoops.  Oh no...

“Easy now, easy!” Héctor soothed, wincing at the terror in the child’s eyes.  “Hey, hey, it’s okay!  Calm down, I’m not a bad guy!”

“Esqueleto!” the boy cried, his voice raspy from coughing.  “Don’t eat me!”

“No way, I don’t eat kids.  Blegh.  What do I look like, a zombie?”  Héctor tilted his head to give the child a look, deliberately, hilariously serious.  “You need to get your Halloween stories right, kid.  I’m a skeleton, I don’t need to eat anything.”

Apparently confused by this perfectly reasoned response, the little boy clung to the alebrije-dog (and what was a living child doing with an alebrije in the first place?) and stared at Héctor, sniffling.  “...are you a good monster?”

Héctor let his smile gentle.  “I don’t know how good I am, but I’m not a monster.  I’m just a guy, and I just happen to be a skeleton.  See?”  He held out his hand again, nonthreatening, wiggling his fingers to let the boy watch the play of bones.  “You seem a little lost, eh?”

For the first time, the small boy looked at his surroundings, his face going alarmed and confused once again.  His gaze settled on the alebrije he was holding on to, and he ran a small hand over the creature’s bright skin as the alebrije-dog licked his cheek.  “Dante’s got funny colors...”

Héctor frowned.  “This is your alebrije?”

“No...yes?”  The boy looked perplexed.  “Dante’s just a dog...”

“Maybe not just a dog,” Héctor mused, noting the child’s shivering.  “Hey, how about we get you somewhere dry and warm, and then figure out what happened to Dante, hm?”

The boy looked small and exhausted and utterly lost, looking up into Héctor’s eyes.  “I wanna go home.”

“Okay, yeah, I’ll get you home,” Héctor nodded, though he honestly had no idea what to do in a situation like this—but how could he deny those eyes?  They had his incorporeal heart in a death grip already, they looked so much like Coco’s.  “Come on...let’s get you out of that wet stuff and get you warmed up, okay?”  He offered his hand again.  “It’s okay, chamaco.  I’m Héctor.  What’s your name?”

“M-Miguel,” the little boy replied, reaching out ever so hesitantly.  “Miguel...Rivera.”

Héctor grinned, helping the child up to stand on shaky legs.  “Ay, what a happy coincidence!  My name’s Rivera too.  Maybe we’re distant cousins—family, you know?”

“Really?”

“Well, there’s a ton of Riveras out there, so who knows?”  Héctor winked, keeping his tone light despite the uneasy hamster-wheel of what do I do? his thoughts were in.  “But it could be.  It’s a nice thought, right?  It means you can count on me.”

“Okay,” Miguel responded, seeming a little less stressed.

Héctor didn’t like how unsteady the boy looked, so he crouched down in front of him.  “Here—climb on, chamaco.”

“Is it okay?” the boy quavered.

“Sure, sure!  I’m a skeleton, you can’t really hurt me!” Héctor replied, his tone belying his own doubts.  He was Nearly-Forgotten and his joints were weak as putty, but he’d give it his best shot.  He still had plenty of willpower left to put into sticking together.

Then the boy climbed onto his back, small knees nudging at his ribs, and a body that was mostly water was heavy but Héctor found he had the strength to stand.  The weight pulled at his arm bones as he threaded them under the child’s legs, but he gladly held fast and started on his way home, the alebrije-dog bouncing happily at his heels.

The small heavy burden made his limp so much worse, but it was worth the trouble when Héctor felt the shivering child rest his head against his shoulder blade, tired and trusting.

(tbc)

I suppose this will be a fairly short story so...maybe it will be finished soon? I hope? (I need to stop letting plot bunnies run away with my brain, I’ll never get it back.)

[yourprayer]

occulous repairo

merry christmas ya filthy animals!!! it is finally time to reveal myself to my it secret santa recipient!!!! this fic is for the lovely @wyttolff (big thanks for helping organize this whole shebang!! i hope u love ur gift dear <3 i sent u anons lmao i wasn’t slick)

occulous repairo, a losers club hp au 

pairings: reddie (for now, tbh i might turn this into a full-blown Thing)

word count: 6.1k 

warnings: mildly graphic depictions of a broken arm?? General Wizarding Buffoonery 

“God- damn- shit-”

“Rich, calm down, jesus christ. You’re not gonna get it if you keep pressuring yourself. Relax.”

“I am fucking relaxed Eds, it’s just not working-”

“It’ll work if you stop clenching your fist, for starters.” Eddie sighed, reaching over and forcing Richie to loosen his grip on his wand. Richie tried not to notice how gentle Eddie’s guidance was, or his perfectly kept nails, or his soft-

He tried not to notice.

“Now, when you say the incantation, let it flow instead of spitting it out. And maybe don’t say fuck so much.” Eddie quirked an eyebrow at him, which took him a second to catch as his gaze lingered on Eddie’s hands.

“Thanks, professor, any other tips you got?” He said defensively. He knew Eddie was just trying to help him, but he couldn’t help his tone. He’d been trying his accio charm for half an hour to no avail, and he was pissed. Charms was his best course, and he’d never struggled with something so much in all his years of schooling. His pride was wounded, and he wasn’t prepared to receive advice.

Eddie blanched, before his expression turned sour. “Fine, be that way. I hope you fail your Runes test.” Eddie grumbled, before casting a perfect Summoning spell on Richie’s Runes book. It sailed so close to Richie’s face he thought it might smack his glasses clean off, but thankfully it only knocked them askew.

“Bitch.” Richie glared at him, reaching up to fix his spectacles. Eddie only responded with a flat glare and a wordless repetition of the charm, causing Richie’s glasses to soar off his face and into Eddie’s waiting hand.

“Hey, give those back!” Richie blinked against the sudden blurriness and wildly reached out for Eddie’s hands. Eddie snorted and held the glasses out of Richie’s reach.

“Not until you stop being an asshole. I’m just trying to help you.”

“I’m sorry, okay, Jesus-”

“Say it like you mean it.”

“I’m sorry, princess-”

“Not in the fucking voice Rich, and don’t call me princess-”

“Look, I’m sorry, seriously, Eds.” Richie’s hands dropped to his lap as he looked dejectedly down at them. “I’m just… really frustrated with myself.”

“I know.” Suddenly his glasses were being placed gingerly across the bridge of his nose. “You’re gonna get it, okay?” Eddie gave him a tender, serious look. “Don’t knock me for helping you.”

“I’m sorry. Thank you for your advice.”

“What, ya gonna braid his hair?” Bev’s voice cut through their reverie, causing Eddie to realize that the hands he’d just used to replace Richie’s glaces were practically tangled in the other boy’s hair. He pulled them back to his lap, his face flushing. Bev laughed at the action.

“You know you’ve got first dibs on these curls, love.” Richie threw over his shoulder at her with a smirk.

“Class!” Their professor rapped his wand on the podium in front of him, shooting a glare at Richie, who was his frequent Problem Student. Most teachers tended to assume that if someone was talking out of turn in class, it was Richie. They tended to be right. “Focus up; we’re shifting to our second spell of the day.”

“Goodie me.” Richie mumbled under his breath, sitting back in his seat with his arms crossed. He was still chuffed about the last spell; he didn’t want another one to muck up.

“I think you’ll find this one quite useful, Mr. Tozier.” His teacher gave him a hard look. “Turn to page twenty-seven. Let’s work on occulous reparo.”

Eddie did his best to hide a laugh as Richie flipped open his book to the page of the glasses-repairing spell. Richie’s ears went red as many of his other classmates began to laugh too, realizing the diss from their teacher. This redness stayed on his ears throughout the duration of the lesson, hiding his face in shame as their professor went through the steps. When they were left to attempt the spell on their own, however, his mood was quick to change.

“Having some trouble there, Eds?” Richie found himself smirking over at a frustrated Eddie, who had failed to fix the crack in the pair of practice readers they had been provided for the twentieth time.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t say fuck so much.”

Richie looked at Eddie with his biggest shit eating grin. He also thanked his stars Eddie wasn’t a dementor; otherwise he’d be getting his soul sucked by now.

It’d be worth it for the kiss, though.

Richie pushed the thought away immediately.

“I’m gonna-” Eddie’s face of rage faltered, changing to confusion. “I’m- I’m too flustered to come up with a threat right now, but just know you’re gonna regret that comment later.”

“I’m quakin’ in my boots!”

“Beep beep.” Eddie huffed, turning back to his spectacles. Richie watched him attempt the spell a few times before Eddie’s cheeks began to tinge pink. “Are you staring for a reason, trashmouth?”

Richie faltered. “Uh- no. No, nothing.” He pushed his curls back nervously, before turning to his practice glasses and performing the spell perfectly on the first try, as per his usual. He sighed, feeling relief that his mojo was back. Eddie eyed his glasses with jealousy before dejectedly attempting the spell one more time.

“Here-” Richie said after a pause, wrapping his hands around Eddie’s wand hand. “Try gripping it like this.” He helped Eddie adjust his hold on the wand. “And uh… try flicking with a little bit more force.” Richie chanced a glance at the smaller boy’s face; he was looking at their tangled hands with his mouth slightly agape, his expression strange. Richie swallowed and let go with hesitation.

He also tried not to notice the snickers of Bill and Bev, the next table over.

Well, he tried to.

________________________________________________________________

“Jesus Billiam, and you shit on me for overeating.”

“Sh-shut up Tozier. I e-e-eat a lot at m-meals, sure, b-but you eat like a c-cow. All d-d-damn day.”

“Touche.” Richie shrugged, taking a massive bite out of his sandwich as he reached across Bev’s plate for another.

“You know you could just ask me to pass you one.” She griped.

“It’s my only stretch for the day, just let me have it.” Richie said around a mouthful of food.

“Sexy.” Bev scrunched her nose and gave him a disgusted look. He smiled wide, revealing bread-and-meat filled teeth. She lightly punched his shoulder. “Ugh, that’s fucking nasty. You know that may work on Eddie but it’s not gonna charm me.”

Richie furrowed his brow, swallowing his food. “Excuse me?”

“Excuse you! I saw you two in Charms. The tension was practically rolling off of you guys in waves.”

“What! There was no- there wasn’t tension, Bev, we were just-”

“Just doing what you always do, tragically pining over each other with no hope of requisition.” Bev sighed dramatically. “It’s saddening, really.”

Richie glared at her through squinted eyes and coke-bottle glasses. “I do not pine.”

“Yes you do.” Bill said nonchalantly through a mouthful of chicken.

Richie huffed, turning back to his plate. “I do not pine!” His following dramatic gesture was cut short by a flying piece of treacle, which hit him squarely in the forehead. He flinched, shocked by the contact, then glanced around the Great Hall to see where the projectile originated from. Near the end of their table, a certain Mr. Bowers and his cronies were sniggering. Richie went red and turned back to his friends.

“Shit Rich, you okay?” Bev asked in a concerned tone as Richie pulled off his glasses to inspect them for debris.

“‘M fine.” He griped. “It’s assholes like Bowers that give our house such a bad name. I don’t want people to think of me in the same class as that.” He gestured towards Bowers, who was currently trying (and hilariously failing) to change his cider into rum.

“T-technically you’re not.” Bill said. “He is a c-couple classes ab-bove us.”

Richie gave him a flat look. “He’s still a Slytherin.”

“You’re twice the Slytherin he’ll ever be.” Bev said with a wink.

Bill and Richie both smiled at her. “You’re darn right I am.” Richie beamed, hitching up his robes on his shoulders.

That time Richie didn’t notice Eddie’s small face, peeking over Mike’s shoulder across the way at the Hufflepuff table, a small blush on his cheeks as he watched Richie preen.

Richie didn’t notice, but Eddie did.

________________________________________________________________

“C’mon Eddie, I thought you’d done this before.” Ben was still laughing, though on his behalf he was making at least some semblance of an attempt at disguising it. Richie did nothing to hide his guffaws as he watched Eddie try to right himself.

“Yeah, once! That doesn’t mean I’m a fucking pro at it!”

“Language, Mr. Kaspbrak. One point from Hufflepuff.” Their professor uttered boredly as she passed them, on her way to assist another student.

“Sorry Professor.” Eddie grumbled from his current position, which happened to be hanging completely upside down from a broom that was floating about six feet off the ground. The only thing keeping him from meeting it was his death grip with all of his limbs around the handle.

“You look like a koala!” Richie cried through his laughter, complete with actual tears.

“A very unhappy one.” Ben added lightly, sending Richie into another peal of laughter that caused him to nearly fall over.

“THIS ISN’T FUNNY!” Eddie screeched down at them, desperately making an attempt to flip over to the topside of his broom.

“Would you like some help?” Ben asked cautiously.

“No, Benjamin, I’m thoroughly enjoying myself.” Eddie snapped, carefully shimmying with his feet.

“Oh my God, where’s Bill, I’ve gotta get a picture of this-” Richie finally managed when he regained control of his laughter.

“YOU WILL NOT.” Eddie called down, taking a second too long to glare down at Richie. His loss of focus caused a loss of footing, and before he knew it he was dangling from the end of his broom, his grip reduced to his bare hands around where the base met the bristles. He let out a shriek as he fumbled; he was still a good couple of feet from the ground.

And rising.

“Ben- Ben! BEN IT’S GOING UP WHAT DO I DO-”

“Let go of it, Eddie!” Ben watched in shock as Eddie’s broom steadily began to climb. Richie instantly ceased his giggling, his expression turning serious.

“WHY IS IT DOING THIS BEN HELP-”

“Eddie you have to let go! It won’t stop until you stop touching it!” Ben called up to him, looking around for their professor.

“I can’t! I can’t, I’m too high!”

“Eddie just let go, I’ll catch you!” Richie yelled, moving to stand underneath the floating boy.

“I can’t! I could crush you!” He looked pleadingly up at the broom, but for all he was concerned, it was on a path of its own, its mind unknowable to him. He could almost feel the rate of his ascent increasing along with his rapid heartbeat.

Mike came jogging across the pitch, their professor in tow.

“Dear God, what’s going on with him?” Mike asked incredulously, craning his neck to squint up at Eddie against the glaring sun.

“His broom’s being fussy.” Ben sighed. “He won’t let go.”

“That’s the only way you’re gonna get down!” Mike yelled up to the frightened boy.

“That’s what I told him.” Ben said.

“Eds, c’mon, I said I’d catch you!” Richie yelled again, trying to persuade him with a smile. He was only met with a squeak as the broom above them pitched wildly, causing Eddie to loosen his grip. He righted himself, but his hold was only tenuous.

“Eddie, come on, you have to let go!” Mike pressed, pulling his yellow striped scarf and rolling up his sleeves. He moved to stand next to Richie.

“I CAN’T!”

“Rich and I will catch you, if you don’t let go now it’s gonna pitch you!”

“I’M TOO HIGH UP!”

“Well it’s not gonna come back down when you’re worked up like that!” Ben huffed, growing frustrated with Eddie’s stubbornness. Bill and Bev finally made their way to the front of the small crowd of students that had gathered to spectate, their faces painted with worry.

“Mr. Kaspbrak, you need to listen to Mr. Hanlon. It’s the only way we’re going to get you down.” Their professor said calmly from her place next to Ben. “Mr. Hanscom, will you go get the nurse’s team, please. I suspect he’ll have a rough fall from this height.” She said quietly to Ben. He nodded and pushed through the crowd, headed back towards the castle.

“Eddie, please, come down.” Richie pleaded, his fear growing more and more palpable. Richie had already hit a good five-eleven in height, and by his measurement he thought it likely he could fit another one of himself between him and Eddie. The turf on the pitch was meant to soften the blow from a fall, and many a student had been pitched off of brooms and onto the grass from greater heights before. But Eddie had never been more than Richie’s height off of the ground before, and this was only because of all the times the trashmouth himself had hoisted Eddie over his shoulder for a joke. It was no secret to anyone that Eddie was fragile, either; the boy was on more magical medicine than Richie’d ever heard of, and spent at least a quarter of his time in the hospital wing for various injuries over their five years at Hogwarts so far. This fall was shaping up to be a rough one indeed, and growing prospectively worse by the second.

Eddie’s wild eyes caught Richie’s as he looked down in panic. Richie responded with raised eyebrows and a nod, gently encouraging Eddie down. Eddie’s eyes then caught Mike’s, who’s arms were out and ready to catch Eddie on his way down. Richie mimicked his position, his feet shoulder-width apart. They both looked to Eddie again, but instead of his agreement of readiness, they were met with fearful eyes that soon disappeared into the blur of a shaking head.

“No! No, I can’t do it!” Eddie was doing a fairly good job of hiding it, but Richie could tell the small boy was damn near close to tears as he clung desperately to the end of the broomstick.

“Yes, you can, Ed-”

Mike’s words were lost as the broom gave another violent jerk, and Eddie was yanked dangerously to the left. The movement caught him off guard, and his threadbare grip was rendered moot at the wood slipped from beneath his hands. Richie saw a wild flailing of limbs eclipse the sun in his gaze, and heard a cry of fear the likes of which he’d never heard from his closest friend.

And then Eddie was falling.

To him, it wasn’t like he’d heard described from Ben about his Quidditch games or how he’d seen it in the movies. There was no slow-motion rendering, no recollection of his life in a succinct flash, no endless churning through open air. Maybe it was because the fall wasn’t from nearly as high as Ben had come down from before, or because he was so unused to the feeling, but instead of a weightless, floating, gradual fall, it happened and was over faster than anything he’d ever experience. He was in the air, and then he wasn’t. Like that. Like lightning.

For Richie, however, there was slow-motion. Eddie’s broom had positioned him directly above Richie’s head, instead of neatly poised above he and Mike’s waiting arms. Neither of them had enough time to adjust their positions in reality, but to Richie it seemed as though he’d had time enough to move out of the way. He watched, as if through lens, as his best friend plummeted through the air, expression aghast and limbs askew, directly towards his face.

Crunch.

There was an audible gasp from the spectating students.

“Oh fuck…”

A groan from Eddie.

“I second that.”

Richie’s gruff reply.

“Guys?”

Then Mike was above them, their professor and Bill, even Beverly’s curl-framed face all swimming through Richie’s vision. After a couple of blinks they came sharper into focus; after a couple more it became apparent that his glasses had an exceptionally gnarly fracture in them.

“Did I catch him?” Richie mumbled up at them through a crooked smile. He felt a hot, wet splotch forming on his upper lip.

“Yeah, with your f-face.”

“Enough, Mr. Denbrough, make space.” Bill’s and Beverly’s faces disappeared. “Mr. Kaspbrak, can you hear me?”

Something stirred on top of Richie’s chest. He looked down the best he could, his head not wanting to bear much weight.

His heart couldn’t really bear the sight of it, either.

A quick tally told him all limbs were accounted for; four for him, four for Eddie, all easily visible. His were thankfully laid out the way they were supposed to be. He had been knocked flat, but thankfully nothing had folded or crumpled. His ass hurt from where it hit the ground, and he was fairly certain the wetness on his face was from a bloody nose. By his worst estimate he had a mild concussion, at his best a few bruises. Definitively he was okay. But the weight on top of him was another story.

Eddie had all four of his limbs alright, but as Richie realized with growing horror, one of them was very nearly facing the wrong way.

Eddie slowly raised his head, his eyes meeting Richie’s over Eddie’s twisted and mangled arm between them. His gaze quickly left the other boys and settled on what hardly resembled his right arm. Richie watched as the color drained instantly from his face. He’d never seen Eddie look so upset before.

“Mr. Kaspbrak-” Their teacher repeated, before Eddie let out a moan.

“Oh- oh god…” He wretched, making Richie genuinely worried the smaller boy would throw up on him.

Mike’s hands were suddenly on Eddie’s shoulders, guiding him up enough to get Richie out from underneath him. They got Eddie back into a sitting position, and Richie able to kneel in front of him.

“Mr. Hanlon, please escort Mr. Kaspbrak to the infirmary. Mr Hanscom should intercept you on the way with aid. Mr. Denbrough, please accompany Mr. Tozier.”

“I don’t need attention, I’m okay.” Richie said quickly, eyes not leaving Eddie’s face. He could already see a bruise forming high on Eddie’s cheekbone. His face must have been what collided with Richie’s nose. “I’ll help take Eddie up.”

“Alright, alright, disperse then.” The professor said in a huff to the surrounding crowd of students. Most of them departed, but Bill and Bev stayed on, observing worriedly. They had to be dismissed again at the threat of house point deduction, which even then barely worked. All that got them to leave was a non-verbal agreement between the four of them that Eddie would be okay in the hands of Mike and Richie.

“C’mon daredevil, lets go get you cleaned up.” Richie muttered quietly in Eddie’s ear as he and Mike hoisted Eddie up from the ground.

“Oh- oh god I’m gonna hurl.” Eddie said feebly, his steps uneven and wobbly.

“Be sick to the left, then, can’t have you staining my fresh laundry now.” He joked, though it sounded nervous even to his own ears. He felt nearly as shaky as the smaller boy, his thoughts swimming with worry. He was concerned Eddie could pass out before they got him up to the infirmary.

“You got him, Rich?” Mike said calmly.

“Yeah.” Richie said, slinging Eddie’s unbroken arm over his shoulder.

“I’m gonna run ahead and see if they’ve got a stretcher.”

“Good on, mate.” Richie nodded at him as he turned and sprinted in the direction of the school. “Okay, Eds, just you and me now. I need you to do your best to stay upright, okay? Don’t worry about going too fast or anything, just stayin’ afloat, okay?”

“M sorry…” Came Eddie’s slurred response. His head was hanging, and Richie could feel his skin growing clammy from the hand he had clasped in his. The smaller boy was too white, and too wobbly.

“Nothing to be sorry for Spaghetti.” He had to bend over quite a bit to accommodate their height difference, and the awkward position was starting to belabor him. “Not your fault you got tossed around by a stick.”

“Shoulda.. Tried harder…”

“Shoulda let go sooner is what you shoulda. You really scared me there, love.”

Both of them pretended not to notice the pet name.

They did.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t ‘sorry’. Just don’t do it again.”

Part of Richie hoped Eddie didn’t notice the gentle way he was stroking his thumb across the hand he had in his, his small attempt at comforting the immense pain he knew the other boy must be in. His small attempt at comforting himself that Eddie would be okay.

The other part of Richie really, really hoped he did.

_______________________________________________________________

“I mean Christ Staniel, it was practically backwards.” Richie whispered hurriedly, pushing his newly fractured glasses up the bridge of his nose for the umpteenth time. He’d broken into quite a sweat hauling Eddie across the grounds, and his glasses now refused to stay on a face slick with sweat.

“I’m only sad I missed it.” Stan deadpanned, his gaze never leaving his parchment. “I’ve always wanted to see Eddie hit you in the face.”

“With his whole body?” Richie whisper-yelled incredulously. Their Runes professor shot them a dirty look over his shoulder before continuing. Stan waited for the teacher to turn away before speaking again.

“Of course not.” Stan gave Richie The Look; the one that told him Stan was switching out of sarcasm. “They said he’ll be okay, right?”

“Yeah, the nurse already has him set.”

“Fuck, you watched that?”

“They had me do it. Eddie was screaming at everyone; he didn’t want them to touch him at all.”

“Jesus.” Stan breathed, chancing another glance at the professor. They remained undetected. “I’m just glad you’re both okay...ish. You could’ve been a lot worse off.”

“Me too.” Richie glanced guiltily down at his arms. His right was slightly bruised and sore from where Eddie’s weight had landed on it, and he new his nose was quite the sight. “I’m just so fucking pissed he got hurt instead of me.”

Stan gave him a knowing look.

“Finally.”

Richie looked up at him, eyebrows knitted.

“Come again for big fudge?”

Stan cocked an eyebrow. “Just… finally.”

“Mr. Uris!” Their teacher suddenly interrupted, causing the two of them to jump slightly. “Something to share with the class?”

“No, sir.” Stan mumbled.

“Then can you at least share with me what…” He paused as he drew a series of symbols on the board. “...This means?”

Stan took a moment to squint at the figures. He could only state with confidence about half.

“I cannot, sir.”

“Never thought I’d see the day when my star student couldn’t answer a simple question. Five points from Ravenclaw. You and mister Tozier here better focus up or I might just deduct from Slytherin as well.”

Richie and Stan gave him twin death glares as he turned back to the board.

________________________________________________________________

“Finally what?”

Stanley nearly jumped out of his skin. “Jesus FUCK, Richie.”

“Finally what?”

“Were you fucking hiding behind that suit of armor waiting for me?”

“Only for like an hour, anyways finally what?”

“You’re hyper-fixating again.” Stan muttered bitterly as he straightened his tie (and attempted to quell his fluttering heart rate).

“ADHD, sue me. Finally what?”

“Christ Rich, let it go.” Stan hitched his book bag strap further up his shoulder, checking his special wand pocket to ensure the instrument was still safely tucked in after his scare.

“Well tell me what the fuck you meant then!” Richie flapped his arms frustratedly, his loosely worn green striped tie following suit.

“I have to meet Bill for our study session-”

“You’re not going anywhere, Stan-The-Man,” Richie pulled his wand from his back pocket (where he foolishly kept it, in Stan’s opinion) and dramatically jumped into a dueling stance. “Before goin’ through me.”

“I’m not fighting you over it, asshole-”

“Then tell meeeeeee.” Richie whined, dropping his shoulders and hands flamboyantly. A group of second year girls scurrying past watched him in confusion.

“You’re not gonna like it.” Stan snorted, watching as Richie gestured crudely at the girls.

“Try me.” Richie folded his arms.

Stan mirrored his position.

“I only meant your little pity party there in Runes was an admission. One I’ve been waiting on. Hence, finally.”

Richie drew his eyebrows together in confusion. “Admission of what? That I felt bad? That’s no secret, wouldn’t you-”

Stan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. This is exactly what I’m talking about.”

“I’m so confused.”

“Of course you are. You haven’t had pre-dinner yet.”

“Which I’m skipping right now to interrogate you, thank you very much.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry my minding of my own business between classes has disrupted your thievery of the kitchens.”

“Okay first of all, it’s not thievery if the house elves have given up on fighting me over it. Secondly, what the fuck are you talking about.”

Richie was using his pleading voice, the one that got Stan every time.

They locked eyes in a stare down.

Stan lost.

“You’re in love with Eddie.”

“I am?”

Stan blanched. “Yes, Richie.”

“And why is this news to me? Shouldn’t this be something I’m aware of-?” Richie trailed off.

“Yeah, it fucking should.” Stan put his face in his hand. “Look, Richie, seriously, you need to take some time to address your feelings. What you said in class? About feeling guilty? That was some cheesy shit. I’m talking grade-a Debbie Macomber novel. Maybe you should sit with that for a bit.”

Richie gave him a blank look.

“You think I have feelings for Eddie.”

“I know you do.”

“Okay, and how do I not know this?”

“Because you’re blind as a bat.”

Richie crossed his eyes to look at the break in his thick lenses. “Touche.” He looked back at Stan, and paused.

“I don’t have feelings for Eddie.”

“Really? Prove it.”

“Prove it? How?!”  

“Get through one whole day without telling me how cute his hair is.”

“Well that’s impossible Staniel, you know I love his-”

Richie suddenly dropped the end of his sentence.

“Fuck.”

Stan cocked an eyebrow.

“I have feelings for Eddie.”

Stan nodded, much like a babysitter to a three year old who’d finally gotten the hint.

“Fuck.”

________________________________________________________________

“Mr. Kaspbrak, you have a visitor.” Eddie heard the nurse say quietly through the drapes thrown round his hospital bed.

“I’m not-” He croaked, before being cut off.

“Eds, it’s me.”

The curtains slowly pulled back to reveal a pale and drawn looking Eddie, his right arm currently obscured from view.

“Hi, Rich.”

He nodded at the nurse, who turned and left. Eddie stepped back to let Richie into the enclosed space, swinging the curtains closed behind them. Eddie sat gingerly on the bed, cradling his arm close to his chest. It was bound in bandages and hung in a white sling, which had been admonished with a scrawling rendition of the word “loser” in all capital letters.

Richie had spent the last god-knows-how-many minutes on his way to the hospital wing (which, despite his multitude of trips to meet Eddie there, he still never seemed to find in a reasonable amount of time) mulling over in his head what the fuck he should say. He’d start by voicing his concern, follow it up with a joke that will do nothing to dispel either of their discomfort, maybe throw in a couple of anecdotes about the rest of his classes with Stan for extra stalling time, but then inevitably reach the point where he’d spill his guts because Lord (and every one of his friends, for that matter) knew he couldn’t keep a thought in once he’d had it, and say the damned words that could very well cost him one of his closest friends. Or perhaps bring them much, much closer, a hopeful voice had quietly persisted in his head, though he tried not to give it much notice.

He did.

He also very, very much noticed the damn sling.

“The fuck is that?” He asked, perplexed, drawing his brows together as he gestured at the word.

Eddie flushed, looking down at his feet. “Fucking Greta is the nurses aid today. She was supposed to just change my bandages and leave, but… We started talking and she asked if she could sign it and I said yes and... “ Eddie took a breath, exhaling deeply. “It’s charmed on there, I’ve spent the last hour trying to get it off.”

“That fucking bitch…” Richie muttered, sitting down next to Eddie.

“It’s okay.” Eddie looked smaller than Richie had seen in a long time. “It’s what I am.”

“Darn right you are!” Richie said indignantly, clapping Eddie gently on the back. “King of the losers.”

“That’s actually Bill, but thanks.” Eddie gave a small laugh, relaxing into Richie’s touch. He left his hand on Eddie’s back.

“Whatever. Big Bill can step down for a bit. You deserve the crown for getting through today.” Richie smiled, lightly beginning to massage the smaller boy’s spine.

“It certainly has been one, hasn’t it.”

The two spent a moment sat in comfortable silence, Richie slowly working out a knot in the center of Eddie’s back. The comfort soon turned charged however, as both boys sucked in a breath to speak.

“Eds-”

“Rich- Oh, sorry, you go first.”

“No, no, you go.” Richie shook his head fervently, his heart rate jumping.

“I just- I’m sorry. I’m really embarrassed. I should have listened when you guys told me to let go. I made us all look like dumbasses, me falling on you like that.” Richie quirked an eyebrow, nearly letting out a laugh. “I’m also sorry for falling on you.”

Richie did laugh at that. “And I’m sorry for not scooting to the left. The impact really hurt my ass, I’ll have you know.”

Eddie snorted. “Oh, you poor thing.”

“Doc says I can’t sit for a week.”

“You’re sitting right now, asshole.”

“Yeah, and it’s hurting my asshole, so maybe think about that before you judge me.”

Eddie gave a real laugh then, his face crinkling up happily, his freckles stretched across his nose in a smattering of stardust.

Richie fucking noticed.

“Eddie.”

Eddie looked up at Richie, surprised by the serious tone in his voice.

“Yeah..?”

“I- I think I like you.”

Eddie gave him a flat look. “Well, I would sure hope you do. We’ve only been friends for years.”

“No, Eds, I- like you. As in- I’d like to kiss you.”

Eddie’s face froze. “Oh.” His brain caught up with the moment. “Oh.”

“Can I?” Richie’s voice was barely a whisper. “Kiss you, I mean.”

Eddie just stared blankly at him, all conscious thought flying right out of his mind.

“Richie-”

“Shit.” Suddenly Richie’s hands were scraping over his face. “That was way too forward, fuck, I’m sorry-”

“No, no Richie, you’re fine.” Eddie laughed nervously. “I just.. Wasn’t prepared for that is all.”

Richie’s face burned behind his hands.

“I would like that.”

Richie peeked through new cracks between his fingers.

“You would?”

Eddie smiled and nodded sheepishly.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

Richie dropped his hands in awe, leaning towards his friend.

“I just-” Richie nearly groaned in frustration as he was stopped short. “..don’t see how you would wanna kiss a loser.” Eddie gestured at the broken arm tucked between them. If Richie was suddenly, magically doing everything Eddie wanted, he might as well charm him into a little removal spell.

What could he say? He knew how to play Richie like a fiddle.

Contrary to Eddie’s, however, Richie was struck with his own idea.

Whipping his wand out of his back pocket, he sat cross-legged on the bed facing Eddie, his concentration face on. Eddie raised a brow but followed suit, mirroring his position.

“You still keep your wand in your back pocket?” Eddie gave him a disgusted look. “That’s so fucking dangerous, Richie-”

“Shut up.” Richie mumbled, beginning to mutter an incantation under his breath.

“The fuck are you-”

“Shut up.” He resumed his spell, concentrating sharply as he drew a concise “v” through the air.

“Rich-”

“There.” Richie straightened up, tucking his wand back into the pocket, warning (as usual) unheeded. He smiled at his work, satisfied.

“What’d you-” Eddie’s words left him as he looked at the sling. Shining brightly over the “s” was a red letter “v”, transforming the insult into a title (he was certainly not over-proud to wear, no sir) on his arm, a very unexpected response.

“That better?” Richie was smiling at him, his usual, every day Richie smile, the one he had when he beat Mike at chess or when his Christmas gift to Bev went over well, or when he got a higher grade than Stan in a Runes essay. It was pride, for sure, but on Richie it was never cocky or obnoxious (though they all loved to tease him as though it was). It was always a smile of accomplishment, from a boy told frequently by the world that he was incapable. It was a smile of achievement, victory; it was infectious. It was one of Eddie’s favorite things about Richie.

His Richie, who he’d always known, always been aware of loving.

Eddie surged forward unexpectedly, sealing their lips in a clumsy kiss, one that seemed to sing through the air on the sigh of Stan’s finally.

“Better.” Eddie mumbled as they shakily pulled apart, both breathless and dizzy. It took all of two milliseconds before Richie was cupping Eddie’s face in his hands, kissing with a power he didn’t know he had. Eddie did his best to reciprocate, tangling his left hand in Richie’s curls (another finally drifting through the cosmos) with his limp right arm still tucked between them. Their knees knocked together awkwardly, and the leaning over was putting painful pressure on Richie’s ribs (he realized dimly that they might not be in the best shape after the fall), but the kiss was soft and meaningful and right.

Through the haze, Eddie noticed one more thing.

“Rich-” He pulled out of their kiss, nose hovering just in front of the others. “Your glasses are still  broken, the glass is scratching my face.” He giggled a bit, Richie pulling a face at being interrupted.

“Fuck, I don’t care-” He went to throw them off, pulling Eddie closer again.

“Let me fix them.” He laughed, grabbing them away from Richie and setting them on his leg. He leaned around to grab his wand from the bedside table.

Richie watched him with a raised eyebrow, remembering Eddie’s many failed attempts, and dreading just how long this would take.

Eddie balanced the glasses before taking his wand into his non-dominant hand (a recipe for disaster; Richie braced himself) and swished-

“Occulous repairo.”

A quiet woosh surrounded the glass as the fragments popped back into place and seamlessly wove back together. Both watched in awe as the whole set repaired itself.

“Wow, Eds.” Richie whispered in quiet reverence as Eddie replaced his wand on the table, before turning around and attempting to deposit Richie’s glasses back on his face one-handedly.

“Whoa whoa whoa, let me help you with that, you already fucked up my ass, I don’t want you to do the same to my eye.” Richie quipped as he put the specs on himself.

Eddie half-heartedly rolled his eyes. “I spent all day learning that spell for you, and this is the thanks I get.”

Richie got that devilish twinkle in his eye.

“Oh I’ll give you a good thanks.” He smirked before scooping Eddie up into his arms, kissing wildly all over the other boys face. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He exclaimed between Eddie’s laughs.

“You’re welcome, Rich.” Eddie managed through his giggles, as Richie’s kisses slowed. They shared a deep look before kissing again.

They stayed that way, laughing and kissing and joking and being, and all afternoon Eddie couldn't stop thinking about the way Richie looked at him after he successfully completed the spell; that same, wonderful, proud-of-you smile that he’d always wanted to be on the receiving end of.

He hadn’t noticed it all those times before, but thinking back on it as he did now, he realized just how many times he had.

He hadn’t noticed, not before, but this time, he finally did.

[deadimagineblog]

Let's Dance (Kylo Ren x Reader)

Howdy Ho! This is my first Kylo thing, so I decided to do something simple. So usually when I write something, it turns out long and ridiculously drawn out so I apologize in advance.

This is all about dancing. Oh thats right you heard me, I said it, dancing. I couldn't quite get the image out if my mind of Kylo's gigantic body lumbering around in a dance and of course my brain turned it into... Not lumbering but as if a very graceful giant got the grooves, and it moved my brain forward into thinking "Do Siths listen to music? If they do, what do they feel? What kind of music is it? Like... Cantina Song style? No probs not, probably a lot of Journey and Muddy Waters" And of course they do Siths love that there feels and in any case, here we go.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN HOWEVER

Thing is is that this is a side blog, so it doesn't exactly have a working inbox. All requests must be sent to my personal messages, I am happy to keep you anon.

No Spoilers!

Rating: PG

Song Inspiration: "A Change is Gonna Come" by Sam Cooke

Kylo--

° He doesn't exactly get "days off" but he does get time to himself on occasion. Time to train, eat, sleep, and spend with you. He usually did the latter most of the time. Sometimes he mixed it together, today being one of those days. You sitting at the edge of the ring, tinkering with a bot while his saber was ignited and ripping through the air with the mechinal hum tickling your ears. Training was something Kylo took so seriously, always striving to perfect himself, to be better than the rest. And you always seemed to more and more impressed with him as he continued to work harder and harder. Meanwhile, your wrist deep into a defective medic bot, black oil slicking your fingers and your hair pulled back to be kept out of your face. Occasionally Kylo looked over his shoulder to look at you, liking the way your eyes squinted as you looked for something inside the bot, the way you would curse in your home planet's tongue under your breath when frustrated.

° You two were not together, but you were Kylo's most trusted confidant. He liked your simplicity, that things were the way they were with you. There were no ulterior motives, not striving to own and control him, no hidden intentions. You would just... Be. And he found that relaxing. Meanwhile you liked Kylo because he was so complicated. You didn't look at him as a puzzle to figure out, but because of the beauty of the complexity of emotions that traveled through him. You didn't seek to change or complete him, just to be with him, to be his best friend, to be a partner in the most innocent sense. You guys worked, just by being who you were.

° But... You looked up from your task to see those wide shoulders flex under the black robes, the stance he always took in preparation for the next strike. Looking didn't hurt right? As long as you didn't make him uncomfort-- Kylo looked over his shoulder at you gently and you saw those full lips curl into a smirk. Oh. Welp, you lowered your eyes back to the bot, pursing your lips in disgust for your own damn behavior. Of course he's going to know what you're doing, he's got a knack for these things, as well as the Force on his side.

° Stupid.

° While you were not Jedi, nor Sith, nor even Force Sensitive, it didn't take much for you to feel eyes on you as well. You rose your gaze to see him turning his head back around quickly. You smiled gently, before suddenly kicking the droid back to life with a jolt. It rose up, seeming to shake off some imaginary dust before it tried to stand on its on two legs. You looked at it for a moment, inspecting it. But suddenly it jittered and sputtered before its eyes lit up bright white and its voice speaker box suddenly, and loudly, began playing a loud song. The noise made you cover your ears suddenly, wincing at the volume before you backed away gently, shaking your head. These damn updates... You turned to see Kylo completely paused as the music played. The volume must not have bothered him but he quickly lowered his lightsaber before its light closed and he put it in his belt.

° You turn to the bot, backing up though, towards Kylo. The song wasn't a bad one, in fact it was an extremely beautiful song. A relaxing song, if it was played at moderate volumes. But it wasn't, however as you got to where Kylo stood, it wasn't so bad.

° "Why is it doing that?"

° You look up at Kylo with a disappointed face before looking back at the droid. "I installed something called the lullaby chip, its going to be standard on medics for when you guys come back from planets high strung and injured, they play to sooth the Troops," you explained.

° "That doesn't sound like the First Order," Kylo countered, looking down at you with a skeptical face, eyebrow raised. You looked at him with your own raised eyebrow, tilting your head to the side.

° "The sounds are layered, an undertone to make Troopers complacent. After 'Finn', to avoid more loses like this. You should know by now, its never so easy." You stated before suddenly the droid sparked and the music stopped abruptly. "Kylo, help me with this please," as you moved back over to the droid and the droid was left off the ground and bent so the head of the droid fell gently. With gentle, almost caring hands, you removed the head and held out in your hand and the head floated up as well, Kylo using his force powers to hold the objects for you. His eyes watched as your arm reached into the neck, eyes squinting as you felt around it and messed with wires. He just couldn't help but admire your knowledge with such things. Your natural abilities with these robots and droids, and how even with the newest models you can become a master at their workings.

° "There we go, lets try this instead, bud," you stated, grabbing the head from the spot it floated in. It didn't move as you pulled on it and you looked over your shoulder with a scowl at Kylo. Kylo released his grip with a smirk and you grabbed the head with a fake huff. He liked that too, your ability to be playful with him in a sense. Not many did that anymore, he knew it wasn't exactly easy to do though. But he was appreciative of the fact you did. He watched you put the droid's head back in place, locking it on tightly, and he lowered the droid to the ground with a soft hand. You slapped the head with a hard hand and it suddenly jerked to life.

° "Try the new chip for me," you stated, readying yourself by cupping your hands over your ears as the bot did as it was told. You were happy when the loud volume had been fixed and you released your ears. You listened as the music played gently, the medic's eyes lighting up warmly. You smiled brightly in excitement but as the music played so softly, so much melody. You placed a hand over your heart as the music played. Kylo stood behind you, first looking at the droid as the song played but as you took a step back, only inches away from his front, his eyes traveled down to you.

° He saw that thoughtful smile on your soft lips, and your eyes relaxed as you enjoyed the sounds. Your hand rested over your heart. "It seems to be working well," he stated and he was interested to see your expression to stay so warm and relaxed.

° "Yeah, it does," you answered with a soft voice. You seemed thoughtful but of course you said exactly what you were thinking, "Its been so long since I've heard music. Since I was at home," your voice growing softer as you spoke, your eyes closing for half a beat. But when you opened your eyes, you turned and beamed at him. He thought for a moment, when was the last time he had heard and enjoyed music? Sometimes when claiming villages and planets, he'd hear their home music, but it never lasted long after the arrival of the First Order. And during training, it was about mastering emotions, and songs could cause a rise of emotions. Maybe it was back when he was still a child. He tried to imagine it... But he was surprised when you grabbed one of his gloved hands. He looked at you with confusion as you wrapped an arm around his neck. "Dancing was a sign of friendship on my home planet. We danced for every event, but friendship was something we clung to dearly," you explained, as his other hand went instinctively to your waist.

° Even in a galaxy far far away, this boy atleast knew how to awkward prom dance.

° ""Y/N... I don't know how to--" Kylo started but you interrupted with a smile as you held his hand in yours. He stopped his resistance as he took in your eyes, that face that looked so soft but also had some black oil streaked across your cheek, and in your mechanic uniform no less. You took a deep breath being so close to him but you instead just stayed happy to spend time with him like this. Even something so playful. However the dream came crashing down suddenly when he slowly slid his hands away. Ah, you had pushed the man too far. However, he surprised you when he pulled off his gloves one by one, and leaned down gently to lay them on the floor. When he stood up straight, you gently placed your hand in his and he wrapped his fingers around it. Your hand on the back of his neck and his back on your waist.

° The dancing was slow at first, you could tell that probably for the first time in his life, Kylo really truly realized his size. He took careful steps to avoid your small feet, held on gently to your small hand. You found it endearing that he was being so careful, but as you began talking to him so closely, he was looking down less and looking at you more. He seemed to relax his tensed form and insteading of worrying, you could even see him smiling. Truly, it was only a glamour of a smile, but you took it to heart.

° He spun you around, his hand having moved from yours so his arm wrapped around your waist and yours around his neck, and you followed his footing excitedly, the two of you still talking to one another, you smiling brightly and him taking in your face with careful eyes. This was a... Strange feeling. A carefree feeling. He didn't laugh or smile as you did, but his face seemed softer, like yours did. The song was reaching its end, and Kylo was suddenly fearful. Of the song ending, of this ending. He spun you around again, and as you laughed, and your fingers playing with the nape of his neck.

° A feeling of-- content. As if warm water dripped onto cold flesh and heated it completely. A free feeling, as if for a moment the voices of the Force weren't ripping at the seams of his mind. No dark, no light, just... You. A smirk played at his lips as he took a dive and as he felt the song beginning to end, this moment beginning to end, he dipped you very carefully, but still playfully. As you laughed, keeping your arms wrapped around his neck, he simply just looked down at you, as you released one arm from his neck and put it in your hair as you smiled contently.

° This really does feel like home. For even just a second. You weren't on a ship, hurtling through space. You weren't the mechanic for a constant war machine. You just felt like you were back home, dancing with your people, you could smell the fire, the fauna of home, like it was right there. Suddenly you were pulled back up and your eyes opened to see Kylo's face close to yours. The reminder that you weren't home. You were a mechanic on this war machine and your planet was under its control. He looked into your eyes but he seemed to be looking much further. Your hand moved to rest on his shoulder as the song ended. It was a natural ending but it felt so abrupt. Your smile returned but your chest was beating wildly.

° "The--um-- undertones seem to be working very well," you stated, pushing off him with your hand patting his shoulder. He seemed reluctant to let you go, but you were no better then him, as the hand still wrapped around his neck and playing with the edges of his hair. He looked at you with that questioning gaze that left you so curious. Those eyes seemed to be searching for something, but he finally lowered his eyes and relaxed his grip. You slid out of his grasp and looked at him before taking a step back. "Thank you, Ren. You dance pretty well, it almost seemed like you were having fun." You teased, giving his arm a playful tap but you took another step back. He didn't answer, but there was a smirk on his lips. "Well, I better get him back to the MedBay," you stated, giving him a smile as you jogged back to the droid.

° Figured you might as well go ahead up there seeing as you were pretty sure your heart rate was up to dangerous levels and you may die.

° You stand still for a moment, the droid looking down to you with interest before turning back around to look at Kylo.

° "Kylo," you stated, and eyes turned to you, "Really. Thank you, you helped make this ship finally feel like home," you turned to your watch and quickly began pushing the droid down the hall, "My supervisor is gonna kill me, I'll see you later, Ren," you stated as you made a hasty exit and Kylo looked after you.

° He pulled his gloves back on his hands, before a hand went to his chest, right over his heart, as he took a deep breath and let it out quietly.

° Maybe he would take the time to listen to music more now.

[sarturnwolfhard]

Then He Kissed Me

Chapter two:

The weekend had come and gone like wind. Mike had finished homework, hung out with his friends and sisters, and most importantly, thought about how he would ask El out. It seemed that every time he spoke with her, he made a fool of himself.

He thought about asking her at school but then he thought about how if she turned him down, he would be humiliated in front of the whole school. He could ask her at the arcade but if she turned him down there, things might be awkward with his friends.

It seemed that regardless of the approach he took, he would be miserable if El decided to turn him down but he had to think positive, after all, there is a possibility she could say yes.

With that, Mike went to bed, he had school tomorrow morning, maybe he could even talk to Lucas and Max and ask how they initiated their relationship.

Monday morning started like most weekday mornings do. Mike woke up at six, got dressed, ate breakfast, biked with his friends and went to first period. The whole day seemed mundane up until lunch, which Mike had been anxiously awaiting.

Mike got to their usual table with his sack lunch in hand, before taking a seat he went up to Max asking to speak to her in private. She rolled her eyes in response, gave Lucas an apologetic look and got up to walk with Mike. “This better be good Wheeler,”

Before turning towards the door to exit the cafeteria, Mike glanced at El. She stared at him with her glossy doe eyes, giving him a sad hopeful smile that didn’t meet her eyes like her smiles normally did. Typically, El smiled wide, teeth showing, eyes crinkled, dimples proud. This smile was not like those. Mike mirrored her smile in return and lead Max outside.

It was a chilly spring day, the dew slicked the grass, bits of poleyn floated in the crisp early afternoon air. Mike ushered Max to a wall near the high school building before stopping to turn in her direction.

“Aright, what’s wrong?” the red-head questioned, eyebrow raising simultaneously. “Why do you assume something’s wrong?” Mike defended, insulted the girls first assumption would be that a problem occurred (to his dismay, she was correct.)

“Come on Mike! You and I both know you don’t just ask me to talk in private because you wanted to chat with me. Tell me what happened, something to do with El I’m assuming?” damn it she was good.

“Yeah,” he stated quietly, “I’ve been thinking-

“That’s a first”

He flipped her off, then continued, “anyways, This weekend I was thinking on how I could ask El out but then I realized that everytime I speak to her alone, I make a complete fool of myself. I always end up looking like an idiot and feeling stupid. Please Max, you gotta help me,” he gave her his puppy dog eyes (rather, the best version of puppy eyes he was capable of.)

Max looked at him for a minute, considering how she could help Mike. She wanted him and El to be together, she really did. The first time the girls had a sleepover El confessed to Max that she thought the boy with “Dark hair, kinda curly, freckles on his nose and around his eyes. He’s pretty tall and wears those adorable sweaters.” was attractive. ‘To each their own I guess’ she thought to herself.

“Well, you’re not wrong about the part where you make a fool of yourself. Like remember that time when you were drinking water from your bottle in science fifth period and El was behind you and tasered you but you were so shocked that you spat the water all over El!” She started

“Yeah, I remember,” Mike scratched his neck in embarrassment but much to his demise, Max continued.

“Or the time when you, me and El were all talking after English and you were so entranced by El that you walked into the girls bathroom with us and it wasn’t until El asked if you needed to use the bathroom that you took notice!” Max laughed like a madman (Mike was not enjoying her bring up his embarrassing past.)

“Oh! What about that time when you and El were talking and you weren’t paying attention to what she was saying and just kept nodding your head so you ended up agreeing that changing your tampon is the worst” She was incoherent with laughter coming out after every word.

“Yeah that was pretty ba- wait. How did you know about that?” Mike didn’t recall Max being in the conversation at the time.

“El told me later that week at our sleepover,” She told him nonchalantly.

Does El bring up Mike often? Maybe she liked him too… maybe the idea of the two of them together wasn’t so insane after all. But the logical side of Mike won, she probably told Max because she thought he was weird or was talking bad about him. Mike always felt she was a person to never gossip but he was also insecure.

“Okay, I get it. I do dumb shit, that’s why I said that. So can you help me or no?” Although it was Max’ first instinct to put up her defense, she knew Mike was just self-conscious and a dumb boy who needed help with a girl.

“Fine I’ll help you.” As much as Mike annoyed her, deep down she cared for him. Yes, he was an asshole to her when she first showed up but she now knows it’s because he wanted to protect his friends, he had good intentions. But Max would never admit that aloud. Plus she wanted El to be happy, she was one of her best friends after all.

“Thanks. Meet me after school? We can go to Benny’s?” Mike looked at her with his hand out and hopeful eyes.

“Okay, but your buying” She raised her eyebrow at him.

Mike sighed, “ok whatever. Just don’t tell El. I want to surprise her” and with that, the two shook hands.

[phillyupwardboundrelationships]

Bleeding Fingers and Broken Bows by Trucere Surles

“Faster.” His fingers were already flying across the neck of his cello, and as the music poured from the strings of the snow-white chello, they began to bleed.

It’s always been this way between them. Running himself ragged until he dropped, or until he couldn’t play anymore. The younger of the two, Jammal, had been in the music room for hours now, as he usually was. His father, Martin, had been coaching him for years this way, isolating the both of them in that tiny room while he practiced, working him until he couldn’t stand the sound of his own music. It never ended, and it got so bad that his mother had left the both of them. He couldn’t address any of it, though- because where would he go? His mom didn’t want him, and the cello could only take you so far when it’s the very thing you despise. He couldn’t imagine what would drive someone to do this. Poor Jammal had been coached since he could walk, but his father had been playing for years. Misconduct, assault, playing the wrong notes or downright refusing to play, he’d been kicked out of concerts for years, yet he held his son to an impossible level. He’d grown bitter after years of betrayal from the concerts, and had begun to scream ‘racism’ at any obstacle. At least he hadn’t done that here, but he’d been using it as a motivator.

       “Faster!” He did as he was told, sawing his bow against the mouth of his instrument, crossing the strings while beautiful melodies graced the ears of his father. Sweat beaded against his brows, and his fingers stained the strong strings of the cello red just at the neck. Blood drooled, sliding down the strings and muddying the sound. 

       “It’s getting worse! You’re slipping!” The drilling of his father made his head hurt, and so did the constant music that played. Nothing accompanied him, and the music sounded dull in his ears. His father’s too, no doubt. Even in his late teens he was worked to the bone, studying an instrument he hated to appease his dad. It hurt, it hurt to hear and it hurt to play, but he kept on, strumming and fluttering the bow, until finally- SNAP!

       The bow strings fanned and his fingers slipped from the blood-slickened strings, a harsh tune following the immense slip up. His chest heaved and his tongue hung from his mouth, eyesight blurry from the effort and pain. The slope of the cello was draped over, blanketed by the strings that made up his bow. The angry words of his father were drowned out only by his breathing. His face burned and he was sure that if he could show it, he’d be as red as an apple. Blood dripped upon ebony skin just as it had the strings, shaky fingers slowly peeling themselves away to reveal where they’d been rubbed raw. 

They’d been going like this for years. Never a break, never a day off, not once was he praised when he made a correction to his mistakes. He was always tore down, time and time again, destroyed until his playing was meticulous. He’d seen this before, strings slick with blood, and each time it made his throat sore and his eyes sting. It wasn’t even from the pain- he could take the pain, he was used to it, but what he hated was the way his father drilled him. Each time he hurt himself with this instrument, it was his own fault. Even when he’d played perfectly the entire day, and his hands were steady and sore but cut from overworking themselves, it was his fault. His father seemed to have a gold standard that he frequently failed.

       A ruler cracked down upon the back of his hand and he yelped, backing away from the assault with a whimper and a whine. “Ouch!” It was the first thing he’d “said” since they began today, and it’d been hours. His father looked at him with contempt, complete and total disappointment in his son. “You ruined another bow and dirtied your grandfather’s cello with your blood.” He hissed, voice barely above a whisper. Somehow the boy found comfort in his screaming- only when it came to the whispering. His father was far more dangerous when he whispered. Looking on with terror, he watched the ivory instrument stain with his blood, and he winced once. “Sorry..” he mumbled out. 

       Of course, that wasn’t what he wanted to say. ‘It’s your fault!’ he wanted to scream, to cry and pound at his father’s chest, shouting curses and damning him to hell for working him to the bone. “I’m sorry.” His words contradicted his words dramatically, and the pain on his face could be traced to both his fingers and his mind. He’d been doing this for years, and it ate away at him. 

       “Sorry won’t get you into a music college!” The older man screamed in his face, reaching down to grab him by the lapels of his jacket. “It won’t pay any bills! It won’t get you a wife, it won’t get you into an orchestra! And it damn sure isn’t going to get you any sympathy!” He let his right hand fall, only for it to grip onto the left of his son, and bring it to his own face. His palm was red, the brown skin on the back of his hand had droplets racing down to his wrist, and it was clear from the callouses that this wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. 

       “Neither will this.” Those words were barely above a whisper, and all he could do was nod, and try his best to not cry. He inhaled, deep and shaky, in an attempt to control the emotions that threatened to bubble over. “Y-yes sir.” He nodded, gritting his teeth and biting his tongue soon after. He was sick of this abuse- being pushed and pushed while everyone watched him like he was some sort of circus animal. Nobody cared about him beyond the music he made, and he hated it. He hated strings, he hated sound, he hated everything. 

       From the ripe young age of two, musical notes had been drilled into his ear. He’d been taught music as a second language, and he knew everything there was to know. Bach, DeBussy, Beethoven, all of the greats floated around his mind at all hours of the day. He slept music, he ate music, thought, talked, and breathed. He couldn’t stand music. It ruined his parent’s marriage, it ruined his life, his father’s-- hell, he was sure the only person in his long line of musicians that actually enjoying playing was his grandfather, who’d long been gone and dead. He needed to be successful, though. “Not enough black men in tuxedos, up on the stage,” his father would say. He was their masterpiece, their legacy, them theirs and everyone else’s. He wasn’t his own person. He was a slave to his father, to his grandfather, to music. How could he love something that owned him? How could he love someone that owned him? That was his relationship with his father, it was the same as his relationship with music.

       He hated music.

[ghoulcouriersix]

Bruce x Fem!Reader

Bruce x Fem!Reader

Word count: 1728

Prompt: “I’m not going anywhere.”

Tagged people: @minipaige160 @brykortreat

Warnings: Spoilers,Violence, if you don't like violent/fluff filled fics this one ain't for you so just ignore it.

Authors notes: Feedback is always welcome good and bad! I won't stand for plain harassment though because how is that going to help me improve? Anyways I hope you enjoy reading it I took a long break from writing and finally decided to get back into it so here's my first fic back from my break ^^

Bruce's wiki page:

The day was nearing its end and the gang still wasn't back yet, the air was getting crisp and bitter, you started to worry even if you didn't show it to the others.

The camp was alive with chit chat, idle arguments or Uncle complaining about how he's practically useless to do any work, the noise fizzed out to you it was just a simple mumble in the background.

"Still nothing?" Karen walked over to you her arms folded.

You snapped out of this trance that a hold of your mind and shook your head as the anxiety built in your stomach, a million scenarios ran through your mind, mostly horrible and gruesome.

Karen gently patted your back knowing not to make some snarky or outrageous remark when you're like this "Don't worry your head about it you know what those boys are like, they'll be back soon i know it"

And with that she was gone and the warmth from her hand evaporated, so you sat there knees tucked to your chest and your eyes stuck on the camps entrance. Horseshoe overlook was in your words, breathtaking it was always sunny and the crystal clear water to match made it perfect, it brought out the best in most of the gang except Micha, Bill and Reverend, Micha kept to his own devices with Bill and Reverend both passed out drunk half the time.

Your mind wondered to the gang and their well being and the deep pit of anxiety reared it's ugly head yet again, you knew they could handle themselves perfectly well but there was a certain cowboy your mind kept skipping over but the excessive pull in your heart brought your brain right back to him.

Bruce was a cold hearted man, he wasn't one for playing games with people, he's killed a lot of people, innocent and not so good hearted, honestly when you first clapped eyes on him you should have ran away then, bolted from that devil in disguise before you but something pulled you back maybe it was that little smile he had when you swayed over to him or how he smelled like home, could be his piercing brown eyes or that gruff southern voice, the way his clothes hugged him in all the right places and how it shapes certain areas perfectly. With Bruce being 43 you were always doubted by the other girls why you'd even like a man like him especially with his age too, you'd laugh off their jokes which had an underlying nasty tone to them, Mary-Beth was different though she would swoon around your relationship and how when she becomes a professional writer how you two would be the first she wrote about.

You remembered how Bruce and Arthur would go and collect overdue debts for Herr Strauss, they'd come back to camp with their knuckles bruised and a tense look in their eyes but a wad of cash in hand. You wanted that experience, to see that side of life and not be babied at camp knitting ripped clothes and baking. You badgered Bruce all day about it all attempts ending in a big no so you moved onto Arthur who caved after a few hours of not dropping the subject.

You had to go see a man called Thomas Downes, he borrowed a lot of money and it couldn't be ignored, Bruce and Arthur decided it was best to get there at sunrise, the atmosphere throughout the ride was thick and awkward, the sound of the horse's hooves slamming against the dry dirt was enough sound for you.

The Downes farmhouse was really nice and well kept, the horses and farm animals looked healthy and ripe, you wished you could live like this and get a name for yourself.

Bruce got down from his horse giving it a small pat and a scratch behind its ear, Arthur's lips were in a tight thin line you could tell he didn't really like doing this but it's business at the end of the day.

"Mister Downes i have come to collect" Bruce shouted his deep southern accent made its appearance, his threatening tone sent shivers down your spine, his Carbine repeater in one hand as he shouted, you could tell his patience was running thin.

Thomas looked up over the mounting plants he had behind a white fence.

"Arthur, (Y/N), over here" he called out.

With a nod to each other you hitched your horses and walked towards Bruce who was already interrogating this man, you scanned Thomas up and down, his skin was pale but his cheeks were flushed bright pink, he had dark red bags under his eyes and he was sweating profusely.

Bruce had the man by the suspenders ragging him back and forth "Where's the damn money you owe herr strauss?" he ordered.

The poor man was a bubbling mess, he clearly wasn't well, you grabbed Bruce's arm.

"Bruce he's not well, look at him" you interjected looking back at Arthur he looked intimidating and it was obviously striking more fear into Thomas, you felt a pang of guilt go through your heart and a churn in your stomach, this wasn't right these people were just trying to get by and fell and hard times now if they don't pay they get two burly angry men smashing at their doors.

"I aint got time for this, i aint gonna ask you again maggot now where's the money" Bruce barked again ignoring your words, tugging Thomas by the suspenders closer to his face, Bruce snarled his teeth gritted.

"I'll get it i promise i just need more time please" Thomas begged, he had a sincere look in his eyes.

You thought Bruce would've backed off but everything happened in a flash, Thomas was on the floor clutching his jaw you quickly stepped back, not used to seeing him in such a nasty way, sure he was moody and off but never downright vile in front of you, it was the start of seeing a man fighting with two sides of himself. Bruce stood over him the still rising sunlight illuminated his features, every wrinkle, the bear claw scar that fitted his face perfectly , that well kept beard, his furrowed eyebrows, his slicked back hair, his tent stash never lacked hair pomade.

Arthur knelt down besides Thomas, groaning as his knees cracked with his movements.

"Now you listen here, we aint playin' around with you, sick or not you owe us money and we are gonna get it whether you're here or not do ya understand me now?" Arthur threatened and Thomas nodded weakly as he turned onto his stomach coughing violently, you could tell his throat was probably sore as hell, his lungs sounded tired and dry as blood painted the grass below.

Bruce stepped off of him and looked down at him with a hint of disgust as Thomas gripped his chest, You could here the farmhouse door swing open and a older looking woman and a young looking boy rushed outside.

"Thomas" a woman shouted in panic rushing over to the dying man, she quickly collapsed to the floor beside the coughing man, comforting him, she looked up at the two strangers the shadow that covered their faces made them looks bigger and more monstrous.

"He's sick you animals, he's not well and you just about signed his death" she ran her fingers through his dirt coated hair you could hear her silent sobs as his eyes looked dilated and soulless.

The young boy looked terrified and the guilt in you grew, is this the life you so wanted? To be wanted in three states and maybe more? To go around beating up dying people and hounding the poor? No you're not that type of woman but there's people at camp that need you. A certain man who no matter what he's done or will do you just can't leave him.

"Sick or not he owes us money, he shoulda' thought about his damn health before borrowing money he can't pay back" Bruce raised his voice.

"You'll get your damn money, now go" she interrupted with a harsher tone.

Bruce threw his hands up walking away rubbing his knuckles, you could tell he was still riled up.

"You got one week ya hear? we'll be back woman" Arthur warned and walked towards the horses leaving the woman and the boy to try and calm their gravely ill family member.

You caught up to Arthur and Bruce who were already saddling up, Bruce had an expression of a bear who'd been stung by a thousand bees, his jaw was clenched tight and Arthur looked troubled and clearly pissed off but you decided to not comment.

That trip left a sour taste in your mouth, you saw what you wanted to see, the harsher world but it came at a price, a price you regret.

You hadn't the slightest clue of the time but it was well past 7 you predicted, the cold was getting to you now, goosebumps grew on your bare skin making any touch from your clothing extremely sensitive, your eyes began to sting with dryness and the looming need of sleep. The camp was going settling down for the night, some of the boys gathered around the campfire drinking as usual.

Your eyes slowly closed the mixture of voices and the crackling of the fire in the background slowly lulled you into peaceful stupor, you could hear footsteps, louder talking but it was muffled like you were slowly falling underwater, you could feel the ground disappear, it felt like you were floating on a cloud until your back hit the rough material below your body sinking into whatever you were laying on.

Your eyes cracked open slowly the land around was fuzzy and out of focus, the lantern on the side table outlined a familiar figure.

"Bruce?" You groaned and reached your arm out your hand gently grabbed his coarse leather jacket.

"Hm?"

"You're real I thought you were still gone" you mumbled with a small smile.

You heard a quiet chuckle which made your heart burst into flames and your cheeks flared up.

"I ain't goin' anywhere darlin'"

And with that you drifted back into sleep knowing your favourite cowboy was back safe with you.

Disclaimer: None of my characters are to be used as pfps, role playing characters or to be claimed by anyone who isn't me of course, if any are seen using my characters for any of these purposes then action will be taken against you. Fanart is always welcome please pm me so I can properly credit you and if you post it please credit my name as the character's owner it solves all confusion, DO NOT use my writing in any way shape or form and claim it as your own I spend a lot of time on my writing so I don't appreciate having it stolen.