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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 4 years

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you’re someone i just want around: IV

“I had a few, got drunk on you

And now I’m wasted

And when I sleep, I’m gonna dream of

How you tasted.”

— Medicine, Harry Styles

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

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

word count: 26.4k

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why, thank you!

My pleasure.

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

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

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

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

I wouldn’t want it any other way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It happens Thursday on two occasions.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re going to regret that.

Pinky promise?

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What...What are these?”

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

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

Then it all clicks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I just...it’s like…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, it fucking worked.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am, I can’t hold—”

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

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

“Do I make myself clear?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry lowers his jeans and kicks them off, reaching into his navy briefs and tugging himself out, giving his length a few pumps for good measure as he shifts forward toward her. He flips the girl onto her belly as easily as he’d turn a sheet of paper, tying one arm around her hips and lifting them up as he slides a pillow below. He situates her accordingly onto the cushion, her ass slightly elevated to give him more range of depth. He pats at her backside lightly, telling her to part her knees and she does so obediently, gripping onto the leather strap around her wrists anxiously when she feels the bed shift with his weight. Harry lowers himself over her body, the tee covering his broad chest soaking up the thin sheet of sweat on her back. He moves all of her tangled hair to the side, burying his fingers into her roots and yanking her head back cheekily. He runs his nose across her damp cheekbone and chuckles when she jumps slightly at the feathery sensation.

“You’re pretty stubborn, aren’t you?”

Y/N gnaws on her bottom lip as she struggles to swallow, throat taut from the angle he’s put her in. Her voice carries a confident bite, despite her compromisable position. “I like to think I am, yeah.”

“Well, you know what that makes you, right?” Harry murmurs as he lines himself up with her entrance.

“Mm-mm. What?”

The vampire presses a lingering kiss to the tittering pulse in her temple, feeling it thunder below his skin as he forms his next comment slowly with an ominous edge. “It makes you a brat.”

He feels her heartbeat trip.

“And you know what I do to brats?”

Y/N shakes her head as much as his dominant grasp will allow, body tightening in suspense.

“I fuck them until they break.”

Y/N learns that he’s telling the truth. The first thrust Harry delivers is swift, hard, and unbelievably deep; it causes her to let out a choked scream that no one else has ever drawn from her before, except for him. It’s like he can tap into certain aspects of her body she was unaware of; parts of her waiting for the right person to come along and reveal them. She feels that stroke rip into her tummy, but the pain of his size is something she’s become accustomed to in the last three weeks. She hardly feels it anymore; it had molded from a sharp throb to a dull ache, due to how often she’s experienced it.

Harry doesn’t waste any time, quickly picking up a sloppy, adamant pace that has her hips bouncing against the mattress. He twists her hair around his fist, mouth pressed to the side of her head as his hot pants of exertion send a prickling through her scalp. His other forearm keeps him anchored to the bed as he pounds into her with absolutely no hesitation, the sound of skin slapping, cracked whines, and raspy grunts filling the tense atmosphere of her chilly room.

“Is this what you were hoping would happen when you sent that slutty picture?” Harry grits out, short nails digging into the comforter beneath. “Wanted to get me all riled up just so I’d do your back in?”

Y/N mewls weakly in response, hands clinging to each other within the makeshift cuffs.

“If you wanted me to fuck you like I hate you, you could have just asked. I’m more than happy to give you whatever you want. You don’t have to tempt me.” The vampire gives a particularly deep slam, laughing breathily when the girl’s back instinctively arches forward, paired with a watery yelp of, “Oh!”

Harry’s tongue grazes across the shell of her ear, teeth catching the skin. “But since you did, I’ll give it to you just— like—that.” His thrusts match to each word, fingers coiling harder into her locks. “You deserve it. Especially when you had the nerve to act like such a spoiled little brat right to my face.”

Y/N’s not sure what emboldens her to speak, but her snarky remark is already halfway down her numb tongue before she can stop it. “Don’t pretend you didn’t like it.”

Harry hums tauntingly, circling his hips in long strides that urge a series of fractured whimpers to scrape out of Y/N’s sore throat. “Say it again. Go ahead, say it. I want to see you try.”

She remains silent, spine shuddering as she bites down on her tongue to avoid making any more noises that might condemn her.

Harry roughly cranes Y/N’s neck to the side, buttoning their lips together in a filthy kiss that has her cheeks boiling. “That’s what I thought. The only thing that sharp tongue is good for is licking down my cock.”

She gasps against his mouth shakily, tears of sheer bliss gathering along her waterline. “You’re such a fucking asshole.”

Harry can tell her comment holds no true malice behind it; she’s too sweet on him— too whipped on what he gives her— to ever mean it. She’d only said it to provoke him into a power dynamic struggle. But the thing is, Harry’s dealt with feeling powerless before, so he had spent years teaching himself how to win. How to always win.

“Am I, now?” His next line dismantles her entire plan. “Would an asshole let you cum?”

And just like that, her whole demeanor crumbles. “I take it back. I’m s-sorry.”

Harry releases her hair and nips at her ear mockingly, beginning to withdraw himself. “Oh, I think it’s a bit too late for that, minx.”

“No, no! Harry, please. I’m sorry. Genuinely. I promise I won’t say it again. Just…” She tugs helplessly at the belt restraints, trying to twist around to look at him directly. Her voice is wringed out. “Just please.”

The boy pushes a few stringy curls out of his eyes, pressing his tongue into his cheek coyly as he glances down, suggestively smoothing one hand over her ass. He gives it a firm squeeze, lifting his palm teasingly and feeling her tense in anticipation. “Do you want it?”

Y/N glimpses at his bejeweled hand with hunger, then back at his eyes. “Yes.”

“Tell me you want it.”

“I want it.”

“Sorry, I seem to have forgotten what ‘it’ was, exactly. Jog my memory, will you? What is it you want?”

Her irises harden in spite at his shit-eating comment. He’s well aware of how shy she can be when it comes to admitting she wants a spanking, and he’s playing that to his advantage. He’s swimming in the way she squirms.

“I...I want you to spank me.”

He tsks, shaking his head as he twists his HS rings around to face inwards. “You forgot something.”

Y/N’s fingers tighten into begrudging fists. “I want you to spank me, please.”

“There’s a good girl.” His low, accented purr sends electricity through her nerves. “You’re so cute when you beg.”

Harry’s hand comes down swiftly, digits fanned out so that all of his rings print across her backside. It’s not hard enough to hurt, but strong enough to leave a satisfying sting. He loves the way she jolts forward with a hushed curse of surprise, and he adores seeing the shape of his initials marked across her clammy skin. It’s poetic, almost.

“So pretty.” His mumble is wistful as he massages deeply over the region he had just bruised, but it holds unyielding authority. “Whose is it, doll?”

“Yours.”

“And don’t you fucking forget it.” The creature lifts one palm to do it again, pausing once more just to rev her further. He reaches forward with the other, shoving her face-first into the mattress to get her back to straighten out. “Look forward and don’t make a single sound.”

Y/N obeys, but manages to sneak a peek at his reflection through the waxy wooden surface of her aged bedframe. He looks so good perched behind her with bare heaving shoulders, looking down at her exposed figure over the crests of his sharp cheekbones, brows furrowed into a starved expression that gives away he’s enjoying this probably more than she is. Her voice comes out small and weak. “Yes, sir.”

Harry’s entire face tightens at the word and she feels him throb against her backside.

“Now beg me to let you cum.”

///

The next morning when Y/N’s eyes flutter open to the grey light streaking in through her curtains, the first thing she senses is a pair of eyes staring at the side of her face.

She turns her stiff body over toward where the sensation stems and sure enough, she’s met with a pair of sea glass irises filled to the brim with humor. Harry’s laying on his side with his hands tucked below one of her pillows, tousled ringlets sticking up in wild tuffs (thanks to the activities they’d engaged yesterday), he’s completely bare since he likes sleeping nude (though he’d had the decency to cover himself with sheets from the waist down), and his voice is slower and raspier than usual (a result of being dormant for the last eight or so hours).

“You drool in your sleep.”

Y/N tucks her hands against Harry’s cold pectorals, snuggling deeper into his chest and pinching at one of his nipples in playful revenge. “No, I don’t.”

“Yes,” he reaches up and shoos her hand away, proceeding to wipe at the side of her mouth, where dried spit had accumulated. He makes a theatrical gagging face, cleaning his thumb off across the collar of her t-shirt. “You do.”

Y/N sighs in exasperation, making a bold leap to a different topic to avoid talking about her embarrassing sleep habits. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you staring at people while they sleep is weird? Like, serial killer weird?”

Harry tucks a few matted strands of hair behind the human’s ear, thumbing over her cheekbone tenderly. He hardly ever indulges in such actions, simply because they’re typically reserved for actual couples, which he and Y/N are definitely not. But last night— after he had finally finished being a prick and allowed her cum along with him, and after she had fallen into the bed with exhaustion taking her under, and after he’d had his greedy fill of her blood for the week— he’d gotten bored of playing on his phone. He’d burned through three cold case documentaries on Netflix and played enough Mario Kart to memorize the race charts; it had grown old quickly, and he eventually just locked the device and placed it on her nightstand. He spent the next hour staring at her hideous ceiling, and the one after that fantasizing about taking down her tapestry and burning it in the oven. And finally, after hours of mindless daydreams and letting his eyes chase the city lights dancing across the walls of her room, he had settled onto his side and watched her sleep.

Harry did it simply because he had nothing else to distract him. He figured it would eventually bore him enough that maybe— just maybe, if he was lucky— he would fall asleep alongside her. But he didn’t, so he just ended up gazing at her slumbering face until dawn. He had been surprised by how oddly beautiful Y/N looked sleeping— how relaxed and tranquil, with her features soft and skin seemingly made of flawless porcelain. That intrigue had bled into the moment they share now, resulting in his touch drifting down the curve of her jaw and across the faint dimple on her chin. He follows the slope of her neck and admires the smoothness of her flesh with the ridges of his fingertips, hearing her breathing stutter ever so slightly. His heightened senses make it feel as if he’s running his digits over velvet and the only concept he can compare it to is touching forbidden artwork at an exhibit. It’s exciting, but he knows that if he keeps going, he could end up getting himself into a crock of shit.

When the pads of his fingers land on two prominent purple bruises he’d forgotten existed, he’s broken from his soft stupor. He retracts his touch as if she were made of iron, forcing himself to ignore the pout that automatically plumps her delicate lips.

He clears his throat awkwardly, a tight chuckle stringing his vocal chords. “Staring at someone in their sleep seemed to work just fine for Edward Cullen, though.”

Y/N snorts sharply, rolling her eyes up towards her headboard. When she sees his belt is still hanging off of it from the night prior, she hurriedly glances back down, pretending not to have seen it.

“It’s funny you say that because as I recall, he literally admitted to being a murderer. I believe his exact words were,” she exaggerates her voice into an angsty cry, grasping at her chest dramatically, “‘This is the skin of a killer, Bella!’”

Harry bursts into boyish giggles, falling fully onto his back and swiping his palm up his face, fingers remaining perched over his closed eyes as he laughs. He sighs airily, shaking his head as an afterthought. “What a moron.”

“Truly. His dad was hotter.”

“Way hotter.” Harry agrees passionately, burying his hand into his messy curls, attempting to comb out some of the tangles. “And he was a doctor. What a man.”

“Bella really fucked that one up. She had a midlife crisis over choosing between a sad vampire who looked like he had chronic constipation, and a yappy dog with a shirt phobia. All when Carlisle was right there. Brain damage, honestly.”

“A moment of prayer for the mentally incapacitated. Couldn't be me!”

“Couldn’t be me, either.”

“Fuck, yeah.” Harry throws his hand up, inviting Y/N to give him a high five. “To good taste.”

She gladly delivers. “Exquisite taste.”

An instance of comfortable silence suspends between the pair of lovers, filled with the soft thrum of the air vent and the distant chirping of birds outside Y/N’s windowpane. She traces her index nail over the wings of the swallow tattoos along Harry’s collarbones, seeming to be deep in thought. She then speaks up once again.

“Emmett was pretty hot, as well.”

“You know what? I’m happy you mentioned that ‘cause— full disclosure here— I’d ride him like a fucking bull.”

Now it’s Y/N’s turn to explode in a fit of giggles, nose scrunching and eyes crinkling shut as she loses herself at Harry’s graphic confession.

“Why are you laughing?!” The fact that he sounds genuinely appalled only spurs her sounds of glee. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t take that chance if you got it. Like, okay, he’s an airhead, yeah? I’m aware. But fuck’s sake, look at his body. I’d happily let him beat me at arm wrestling if it means I get that celebratory dick afterwards.”

The mortal manages to calm down a handful of heartbeats later and Harry feels strangely proud of how he’d made her pulse spike.

“You’re valid for that, don’t worry. I couldn’t have said it—” A single giggle interupts her sentence, but she reigns it in before it can spiral. “I couldn’t have said it better myself. Literally. There’s no way to express it better than exactly how you stated it.”

Harry smirks softly up at the ceiling, folding his free arm behind his head as the other wraps securely down Y/N’s back, absentmindedly rubbing in gentle soothing circles. “My mind. It’s amazing, innit?”

“It’s definitely something.”

Another span of cozy quietness fills the atmosphere of the room, longer than the last. Harry doesn’t mind. He finds it appeasing, and he continues to delight himself with running his touch up and down Y/N’s spine. He’s not sure how much time passes, but he’s aware that it’s probably a bit. His theory is supported by how he witnesses the beam of watery light that filters over the duvet gradually fade from silver to a sunflower yellow, indicating full daybreak.

Even then, he doesn’t say a word, too caught up in this innocent bubble of domestic bliss to pop it so suddenly. He just lays there and listens. Listens to the birds harmonizing with each other across the branches of the tree outside. To the steady breaths that fill Y/N’s lungs with cool air, faltering past her nostrils in the same manner and fogging the metal of his cross necklace. To the faint sound of footsteps trotting down the staircase outside her apartment, and to the vague spritz of the sprinkler system going off at the front of the complex. To the distant honking of car horns in traffic, and to a random conversation between two friends as they walk past the pavement just under Y/N’s balcony. He hasn’t felt this at ease in eons.

Harry just allows himself to grow in tune with the world around him— a world he’d been convinced was against him for the longest time. A world he was convinced stole his happiness and replaced it with the shackles of a blood-driven afterlife, for no other reason than because he’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time and met the wrong person. But now, he feels like he’s in the right place, at the right time, spending it with the right person— or at least a half-decent person— and he doesn’t want to let it slip between his fingers so soon. He wants to bask in it, even if he knows it’ll pass.

And eventually, it does pass, and Y/N is the one who brings it to an end.

The girl slowly peels away from Harry’s side, his lips dipping downwards slightly at the loss of the warmth she radiates. He thinks she’s about to get up to probably go use the bathroom or to make breakfast, but instead, she just bends her upper body over the edge of her bed to retrieve something from the floor. She comes back up with the box he’d brought her the evening before (which had ended up on the ground as a result of her bed rocking violently), setting it in the small space between their laps. She then returns to her place cuddled into his torso, looking up at him with an expression that Harry can only interpret as expecting.

The vampire glances down at the container and then back up to Y/N’s face, raising his eyebrows curiously, voice tinged with comedy. “What did I say about bringing sex toys to the dinner table?”

Y/N stares up at him flatly for a second, fighting off a smile. “I just wanted to thank you again. It’s nice of you to bring me a present, even as strange as this one.”

Harry sucks at his teeth, waving a hand dismissively, blinking down at her with slyness sparkling around his pupils. “What are friends for, if not for buying you vibrating finger gloves and then fucking you with them until you cry?”

Despite having been acquainted with Harry’s crude humor for three weeks now, it still manages to make Y/N’s cheeks sizzle. It could also be the fact that this is the first time Harry has openly accepted Y/N as a friend. It’s the first time he’s ever mentioned her name and that word in the same sentence, meaning that she can now shake a weight off her shoulders— a weight that had insisted he was only using her for sex, that he would eventually grow bored of her, and that he would throw her away once he was done. It’s good to know that’s not the case, and that the friendship aspect of their agreement is true to its name.

“Right.” Y/N’s smile is full of so much genuine warmth, Harry feels like she could outshine the sun. “What are friends for, if not that. Thanks, Harry.”

He wonders what she’s thinking, and he finds himself wishing that he had the one valid trait that idiot Edward Cullen possesses: mind-reading. But he doesn’t have it, so he simply returns her gesture and skates the conversation how he best deems fit. “You don’t have to call me ‘Harry’ all the time, you know?”

Y/N’s brows cinch in entertained confusion. “What would I call you, then? Sherlock?”

Harry scoffs lightly at the inside joke, shrugging one shoulder casually. “I mean, you could, if you want to. It might take some getting used to, but I think I can shoulder a full-time second identity. Just for you.”

“How chivalrous.”

“You ain’t ever met a man like me, sweetheart.” He boasts in an over-the-top American southern accent, prying another round of laughter from Y/N, similar to the one before. “But you could also just call me ‘H.’ It’s what most of my other friends use.”

“H.” Y/N repeats, getting a taste for the new nickname. It’s simple, unlike him, but it somehow fits. She then recalls something from a show she’d watched when she was younger and she can’t help but bring it up. “So, like, just your first initial? Like in Gossip Girl?”

Harry’s face immediately drops at the comparison she makes to the cringey teenage soap opera. “You know what, I take it back. You’re not allowed to use it. Illegal. Banned. By an official court. Gavel and all.”

“I’m just making a point!”

“Yeah, a shitty one.”

“Oh, whatever. You’re just mad I debunked your little hipster alter ego. ‘That’s a secret I’ll never tell. Xoxo, H.’”

“Restraining order.” Harry pinches at one of her love handles, an evil grin dimpling his cheeks when she squeals. “Actually, nevermind. We’re going straight to the electric chair. Immediately.”

“You don’t get to decide my punishment, remember?” Y/N slaps at his wrists, trying to ward off his attacks but failing miserably. “You’re just the—stop!— just the executioner.”

“That’s right. I get to strap you to the chair.” Harry finally lets up on the tickling, his lighthearted grin taking on a slightly seductive hue as he momentarily glimpses upwards towards where his belt is hanging. “Though you’d probably like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Fuck off.” Y/N smothers her palm against his face, breaking eye contact as she feels her ears bristle with heat.

“Mm, exactly.” Harry gnashes at her hand playfully, but she manages to yank it away before he gets a bite in. “You can’t even admit you like being called a whore.”

“Hey!”

“What?” The vampire gives her a cocky look, wagging his head knowingly and then mimicking her voice in a higher pitch. “‘I’m just making a point!’”

“You’re a dick, you really are.”

“And yet you still ride mine, so who’s the one with the real issues here? Specifically, daddy issues.”

“I’m done with this conversation.” Y/N huffs, returning her attention to the box beside her thigh, muffling the twitching across her lips.

She takes the cardboard into her hands, tracing over the small flap used to pry the top open. Harry watches her with interest, pondering as to what could possibly be scurrying around her skull that she seems so caught up with the context of the gift. He’d gotten it because he knew they would both benefit from it. It’s as simple as that.

“You know,” she starts, but her gaze remains glued to the box, “I feel kinda bad ‘cause, like...You got me this gift, I have nothing to give you in return.”

Harry’s face contorts into a silly frown for a moment, tone humorous. “It’s fine, Y/N. You don’t have to give me anything back. I got it ‘cause I knew we’d enjoy using it together, and because this way, you have something to play with when I’m not around. And you can send me videos of said instances. It’s truly a win-win. A double-ended gift.”

“I suppose.” She mumbles softly, continuing to pick at the lip of cardboard sticking out. “But I feel like it’s only fair that you get to use it, too, don’t you think?”

And then the reason she’s insistent about this dawns on Harry. The way she’s avoiding looking at him directly, how her heart rate is slowly ebbing upwards, how she is gradually scooting closer to his body, how he can feel her thighs are clasped tightly below the comforter. How the scent of honey and lavender has intensified. How she keeps glancing towards where the sheets are crumpled messily around his hips in a haphazard attempt to remain civil.

When the monster speaks, it carries all the arrogance brought forward by his discovery. “If you wanna give me a handjob with the toy on, just say so.”

The human’s head snaps upwards, her expression one of utter alarm at his lewd comment, but he can see right through her act. It’s obvious that was her intention all along— the desire in her eyes is poorly masked. She looks so adorable, pretending not to know what he’s referring to, her palms gripping the box slightly tighter than before.

Harry twirls a strand of her hair around his finger nonchalantly, giving it a jesting tug. “I just find it funny how much of a horny menace you can be.”

“What—?”

“And it’s not even ten A.M. yet.”

“What do you—?”

“Y/N,” Harry sighs tiredly, giving her an omniscient look, “I’ve slept with you enough times to know when you want something. It’s written all over your body language and you’re pretty shit at hiding it in your eyes. Just admit you want to and I’ll let you.”

The faux shock slowly melts off her face, replaced by sheepish humiliation at being so easily sussed out. She chews on her bottom lip pensively, struggling to sew together the appropriate words to communicate the very inappropriate activity she wants to engage in. Harry has to withhold from leaning down and taking a bite from her tempting mouth.

She inhales a deep breath through her nose, puffing it out slowly and tapping her fingers across the box nervously. Her voice pipes up so softly, it’s almost inaudible. “I want to give you a handjob with the toy.”

Harry gently cards his fingers into the mussed roots along the back of her head, using that hold to guide her sight upwards until it meets his. He leans down, smearing his lips over her own, feeling static pass through the ridges of their skin. “That’s all you had to say, darling. Go ahead, then. Make me cum.”

Y/N swallows thickly, lashes fluttering bashfully as she pastes her mouth to his in a soft kiss. It’s a simple action with just their lips and nothing else. No tongue, no teeth, no sucking, nothing sloppy or desperate— not yet, anyways. He can tell she does it as a way to ease herself into this. She wants to, that much is arousingly obvious, but for some crazy reason unbeknownst to him, she’s still shy about it. That’s what happens when you come from a conservative raising: you get intimacy issues. He of all people— with his Victorian era background— would know.

The hand Harry has cupping the nape of her neck shifts over a smidge, ending up splayed across the side of her face. His palm rests on her cheekbone and his fingers in her locks, his wrist cradling the back of her skull as he patiently deepens the kiss. His chest begins to heave slightly, a familiar sensation already frothing at the trench of his stomach. Harry can feel Y/N’s clumsy movements as she unboxes the vibrators, digging through the packaging and trying to slip them on blindly, not wanting to break away from his embrace. The way he’s flirting his tongue along the inside of her top lip is just too consuming to leave.

After a few seconds of grappling and a string of annoyed curse words, Harry giggles lightly into her mouth, nudging the tip of his nose across the bridge of hers. The jade tint in his irises is waltzing with amusement, all at her expense. “Sometime today, love.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I just— I can’t— they won’t—” The mortal releases an irritated growl into their kiss, reluctantly splitting away when it becomes clear she won’t be able to get the rubber gloves on without giving the task her full attention. “God, I’m such a...Sorry.”

Harry rolls his eyes in mirth, pecking sweetly along the angry creases present over her forehead and between her brows. He thumbs over her cheek affectionately to soothe her nerves, his other hand scratching distractedly at the back of his neck. He filters curls through his fingers as he waits, bicep jolting in the process. “It’s fine, I’m just teasing. I’m not going anywhere, babe.”

“Thanks. Just give me—” The girl pauses her actions for a second, jutting her chin back up towards him and locking the vampire into another quick kiss, solely for the purpose of keeping him interested while she figures herself out. She breaks away again, returning to her mission. “Just give me a minute.”

Now that she can see, Y/N successfully wriggles all five of her fingers into their designated molds. She prods at them gingerly, copying Harry’s actions from the night prior, using that experience as a manual. The mini-vibrators purr to life, a buzzing sensation trickling down her fingers. She glances back up at an awaiting Harry, who gives her such an easy, good-natured smile, she instantly reaches up and glues their mouths together again.

“You’re so eager.” The boy grins into the kiss, jumping a bit when he feels her tittering fingers duck beneath the covers around his lower torso. “It’s hot.”

“I just want to make you feel good.” Y/N mumbles, one palm braced to his strong shoulder as the other rides down his bare abdomen. She can feel his grip on her hair tightening the closer she gets to his cock. “That’s all.”

“Guess I’m just the luckiest— shit.” Harry’s quip is interrupted when Y/N wraps her digits around his length, giving it one slow, testing pump. His jaw drops open and he begins panting into her mouth, the corners of his lips ticking upwards into a smirk as an intense pleasure swells between his thick thighs. “Jesus fucking Christ, that feels— fuck, that’s incredible, oh my God.”

“Yeah?” The human asks timidly, gazing up at him dreamily from below her lashes as his eyes lull back into his head. “Not too much?”

Harry loves how attentive she is— how she’s checking to make sure he’s alright before continuing. If he had a heart, it would surely be glowing right now.

Harry gulps down the lump in his throat, voice more strained and needy than she’s ever heard it. “No, I’m good, I’m good. Keep going.”

Y/N gradually sinks her palm back down to his base, feeling his cock twitch desperately as the vibrators work their magic. She slowly slinks back up to his tip, thumbing over it carefully, pressing the toy on her thumb pad right over his slit. The garbled moan that emits from Harry is a sound her ears will never forget. It’s a sound she wishes she could record and listen to on a loop.

“Fucking hell, don’t— please, just— oh—” Harry stutters through a plead, voice bleeding, naked chest now heaving wildly against her own. His hips buck forward into her hand, but she maintains a steady grip, keeping the vibrator pressed to the center of his cock’s head.

“Don’t what?” She whispers into his mouth, suckling at his Cupid’s bow and reveling in the little broken noises he pours onto her tongue.

Harry’s breaths are shallow and pained, the grip on her hair stronger than she thought possible as the fingers of his opposite hand yank at his own feverishly. He’s barely able to choke out his next sentence. “Don’t stop.”

“I won’t.” Y/N begins to fish for a solid rhythm, her strokes setting into medium pace and gauging the receiver's reaction. “How’s that?”

Bright colors web across Harry’s eyelids and he feels like his soul is being torn from his body. “Y-Yeah, that’s perfect, baby. It’s so good— you’re so good.”

“I am?” Y/N swipes her thumb over his tip again, and when he whimpers brokenly against her lips, she does it again. It urges the same exact reaction, but more shattered. So she does it again. And again, and again, and again. And each time it happens, his hips jerk more violently, chasing her intoxicating touch. She can feel Harry’s precum drip down his length and leak between the cracks of her fingers.

“You are, you’re just so fucking good to me.” Harry’s spewing words at this point, brain half conscious, half floating in bliss. Whatever dam of common sense holds his mind together crumbles, all of his thoughts rushing out in the form of jumbled phrases and cracked whines. “You get me going like nothing else, pet. You get me going so easily, it’s embarrassing. You make me cum so hard, it feels like I’m touching h-heaven. And your mouth— God, y-your mouth. It’s the best I’ve ever had. It’s so soft and warm, and your lips are so pretty and silky. I could kiss you for hours. And your tongue— you know how to use it so well. You lick me once and I’m already on edge. And every time you get down on your knees, I think I’m gonna pass out.”

Y/N sighs shakily at Harry’s string of confessions, staring up at him with wide eyes as his own stay shut loosely, long lashes perched on his rosy cheekbones, handsome features slack with euphoria. She doesn’t halt her motions, continuing to pump him excitedly. The girl passes her thumb over his tip every time she gets to the top, and gives a hard squeeze every time she thunks down against his base, twisting her wrist as she glides back and forth between the two points of reference. That combination seems to work well, evident in the steady stream of vulgarities falling from Harry’s swollen lips as he thrusts upwards to match her pace. His groans splash across her tongue, traveling down her throat and burning into her stomach. She wants him to cum probably more than he does.

Y/N glimpses down, watching her sheets tent as she works Harry over, the outline of her knuckles pressing into the turquoise fabric. It’s such an erotic scene and she knows it’ll be branded across the front of her brain for years to come. She cranes her neck back up to look at the vampire, her breath catching in her lungs. He looks so pretty with his dark pink lips parted in pleasure, his damp ringlets matting along his sweaty hairline, his structured jaw ticking, and his usually sharp traits softened by ecstasy. She’ll do anything to make that image last.

“Tell me more.” Y/N murmurs, swimming in the praise he is so willing to dish out.

His eyes flicker for a heartbeat and in that instance, they look oddly darker than normal. Almost crimson, but she knows it’s due to the shadow of his lashes. The words that spill from his mouth next make her forget all about that occurrence, his voice melodic and dark, sticky against her wet lips.

“Your hands are one of my favorite things about you, I think. They’re smaller than mine and I love how your fingers don’t touch when you wrap them around my cock. I love how they leave my back raw with scratches, and I love how they look tied to the bedpost. I love it when they press flat against my chest when you ride me, and how you lean back on them when I’m on my knees with my head between your thighs. I love how they yank at my hair when you’re about to cum, and how they grip my upper arms when we make-out. I love how your nails dig into my thighs when you're going down on me, and how they look fisting at the sheets when I’m taking you from behind. And I love how they feel tugging me off, like you’re doing now. I just love how perfect they are— how perfect you are.”

Y/N is left speechless, Harry’s monologue ringing in her heated ears as he gazes at her intensely amidst heavy, barely-cracked eyelashes. His broad chest gasps for air and he takes it upon himself— despite his wrecked appearance— to smush their mouths deeper together, pooling moans across the roof of her own.

“I’m—” His breathing throttles, voice coming out softer than she’s heard it in the last three weeks. “I’m gonna cum.”

Y/N nods her head numbly, strokes becoming lazy and fast, eager for him to finish. “I want you to. I want you to cum for me so bad. Please?”

Harry’s hips writhe in a tell-tale sign that he’s about to tip. His whimper tastes sweet on her tongue, the meaning behind it pure syrup to her ego. “You’re the only one who makes me feel this good.”

The mortal whines gently in return, eyes falling shut as she feels him grow heavier in her palm. ��You’re the only one I want to make feel this good.”

The knot of white hot pleasure in his belly begins to unravel, his entire spine shuddering as a result, all strain beginning to wash out of his system in spurts if blissful electricity. He can feel his orgasm racing up his prick, pulling his composure along with it. He gives one last jerk against Y/N’s cupped fingers, feeling her press her vibrating thumb over his slit one more time for good measure. When the first milky ribbon spurts out, that’s when he feels it.

Harry’s eyelids fly open in alarm as black veins protrude along the whites of his eyes, all his muscles contracting at once, defense mode activated. Y/N’s lips are on his neck.

His first instinct is to do what he always does and guide her away from that sensitive, highly forbidden area. His fist tightens in her hair and he’s about to yank her back up to his mouth when suddenly, the icy tension present in his veins disappears. It’s replaced by a soothing warmth, which travels through every crevice in his body and kindles his climax, his impulsive hatred for being touched in that specific region funneling away completely. He can’t remember a time where this has happened before.

Harry’s grip loosens hesitantly as he treads into this unexplored territory, allowing her to continue suckling along his throat. The sensation would usually garner a reaction similar to that of a molten metal brand being placed on his skin, but now— for some startling reason— he doesn’t feel any contempt. He just feels relaxed and cradled in the best way imaginable. The impact is pleasant this time around, and he finds himself wanting more of it. So, he lets her give him more. He lets this strange girl kiss and gasp and lick against his jugular while she finishes getting him off, his own desperate sounds of need bouncing around the brick walls of her bedroom. He lets her coax wave after wave of cum out of him, feeling it splatter against her bedspread and coat over her hand. He whines and grunts into the hair along the crown of her head, tears blearing his eyes as her scent of sugar and flowers clouds his mind. And when his release finally sputters to an end, he lets out an elongated groan so deep, it makes his chest ache.

“Fuck. You’re...You’re an absolute angel.”

Y/N draws her hand out from beneath the bed sheets, turning off the vibrating finger pads by pressing them against her palm. She looks down at the milky substance covering the toys and before Harry can make even a sound of encouragement, she’s already licking it off each individual piece. The girl looks up at the vampire as she cleans every trace of him off her fingers, swallowing it all down with a doe-like tint across her hazy gaze and murmuring a soft, “You taste good.” over a full mouth. Harry just watches silently, heavy breathing slowly starting to even out. God, she really is such a fucking godsend.

The next couple of minutes list by in a blur, all of his focus taken up by the feeling of unsettlement pricking at the back of his brain. Why had he let her touch him there? Why had he let her touch him in a place no one has since before his death?

Y/N puts the toys back in their box, putting them off to the side to thoroughly clean later. She reaches down, bunching up her bedspread in her hand and wiping Harry’s pelvis, thighs, and tummy down until he’s decently clean, as well as whatever is left on her hand. She then snuggles up to his side once again, laying her head into the crook between his arm and pectoral muscles, staring up at the ceiling thoughtfully along with him. The irritating red tint across Harry’s chest, stomach, and neck gradually fades away, and he barely flinches when he feels her sponge her lips against his Adam’s Apple. She lulls the tip of her middle finger up along the vein of his cock one more time for finality, smiling slyly when he hisses in sensitivity.

The immortal tilts his head down to appraise her, sniffling lightly and allowing a weak, watery smile across his raw lips. His tone is feathery and detached. “That was…Christ.”

Y/N giggles softly, nodding along to his unspoken opinion. “It was fun. Really fun. We should do it again sometime.”

Harry splutters into a drunken laugh, mind still floating around the room. “I don’t think I could survive that again.”

Y/N grins up at him cheekily. “Pussy.”

Her friend breaks into an expression of utter offense, cheeks still slightly rosy. He shoves her head roughly as vengeance. “Hey! Piss off. Don’t blame it on me, blame it on the male anatomy.”

The girl shakes her head up at him, eyebrows shrugging mockingly. “Excuses, excuses.”

“Whatever.”

A moment passes, and then Y/N speaks up again, her index finger poking playfully into the center of his bare chest, right over the butterfly tattoo. “Also, you’re washing my sheets. Your mess, you clean it up.”

Harry grins against her forehead, scratching lightly at the back of her scalp. “Fair enough…Wait, is that why you wanted to do this? ‘Cause you knew I’d soil your sheets and you could force me to do your laundry?”

That hadn’t been her motive at all, and Harry knows that, but she plays along anyways for the hell of the joke. “Perhaps.”

“Wow. I feel used.”

“Too bad. Go do it. Now. Before it stains.”

Harry stares at her like she’s sprouted a second head. “I literally can’t walk right now! I can’t feel anything below my waist.”

Y/N lifts the comforter off her body, symbolically showing off the bruises his fingertips and rings had left the night before. “Well, neither can I!”

Harry reaches down and touches the marks, chuckling to himself. “How unfortunate. Who’s gonna make breakfast, then, if neither of us can even stand?”

“We could UberEats some iHop.”

“Who’s gonna get the door?”

“Well, I can’t solve everything on my own, now can I?!” Y/N slaps his hand away from her body. “Contribute! You’re the lead detective, after all.”

“I am, aren’t I?” Harry cocks his head to the side in recollection, remembering his role in their imaginary dynamic duo scenario. “And because I’m the lead, I say…” He ropes his lean arms around the human and buries his face into her warm neck, pulling her close and intertwining their legs together, trapping her to the mattress along with him. “I say we just bum around for a bit longer. Just until one of us can actually muster up the strength to leave the bed.”

Y/N makes an exasperated noise in the back of her throat, but makes no apparent attempt to leave his embrace. “Fine.”

“Mystery solved, then! Elementary, my dear Watson.”

“You’re so dumb.”

The pair stay cuddled for a bit, with Y/N’s hands loosely gripping Harry’s forearms, tracing across his mermaid tattoo absently. She wanders in her thoughts for a period of time, lost in the sensation of Harry’s warm breath fanning down her neck, his hot lips pressing small kisses behind her ear every once in a while. She likes their morning after routine; it’s innocent and fun and sharing moments like this makes it easy to forget her troubles. She wants more of this, and she finds herself trying to come up with ways to convince Harry to spend the night more often. This is only the fourth time he’s stayed until morning and she wants that number to grow.

An idea dawns on her and she’s voicing it before her inhibitions can kill it off.

“Do you...Do you maybe wanna stay over the rest of the weekend?”

Harry draws his face from the alcove of her soft neck, eyebrows poised in curiosity. “The rest of the weekend?”

“Yeah!” Y/N shifts her gaze up to look at him, hope swirling around her pupils. “Like, spend the rest of today and tomorrow over, and then leave tomorrow night ‘cause I have work on Monday. Does that, like...Does that make sense?”

“Yeah.” Harry says slowly, mulling over her offer, thinking back to his schedule. He doesn’t think he has any commitments this weekend that would require him being home— none he can’t cancel easily, anyways. He’d told Mitch he’d go see him play again at the pub later today, but it’s the same set as last time, so he doesn’t think his best friend would mind if he missed it just this once. Niall was planning a barbecue at his place on Sunday, but the Irish bloke does one almost every other week so it’s nothing Harry can’t make up. Plus, what type of idiot would pass up two day’s worth of amazing sex? The more, the merrier.

Y/N watches the vampire’s expression carefully, trying to interpret whether her request was out of their boundaries. She doesn’t want to make him feel like she’s trying to tie him down or suffocate him, she just wants to spend a bit more time in his presence, rather than through a phone screen. Her tone comes out dismissive, with just the tiniest hint of panic. “It’s okay if you can’t, though. Like, if you have other plans and stuff, I totally get it. Or if you just don’t want to, that’s fine, too! I just thought it’d be a fun little thing we can do since we already talk so much on the phone and everything, so I guess I just kinda figured you wouldn’t mind—”

“I get it, Y/N.” Harry interrupts Y/N’s unhinged word vomit, voice amused and nonchalant. “I think I’d like that, yeah.”

Y/N blinks in giddy surprise. “Really?”

“Well, don’t sound so shocked.” Harry laughs lightly, fingers toying with the pearls laying across his clavicle. “The sex is pretty fucking good and I’m more than happy to have it at my disposal.”

“Right.” Y/N gives him a deadpan look, shaking her head at his bluntness, reaching forward to fiddle with the chain of his cross necklace for the sake of having something to distract her from smiling like a fool. “Great, then. I have some old boxers that I know will probably fit you and an unopened pack of toothbrushes under the sink, so I think you’re set.”

Harry’s lips purse at the mention of the men’s underwear, brows creasing a tad. “You just casually have men’s boxers laying around?”

“They were my ex’s and I kept them out of spite. But don’t tell anyone, I don’t wanna get locked up for robbery.”

The tightness in his chest— which he hadn’t even realized had formed— melts away. “My lips are sealed.”

“Good, or else I’d have to kill you.” The girl states darkly, a theatrical seriousness to her appearance.

“Oh no.” Harry wails sarcastically, knotting a fist into her oversized tee and pulling her closer, connecting their lips and grinning into the kiss. “I’m shaking in fear.”

Y/N gives in without much of a fight, hands still clinging to his forearms, a smile of her own creeping across her cheeks. “Asshole.”

“The only thing I’m relatively afraid of is my dick falling off. You have the sexual drive of a rabbit.”

“Oh, like you’re any better?”

“I’m innocent in all this! You’re usually the one instigating. I’m just a mere pawn— a poor, unsuspecting nun led astray.”

“God, I can’t believe I let you fuck me.”

///

The following weekend, Harry officially invites Y/N over to his house.

It had been talked about in passing a while back, and he figures it's only fair considering all the time they’ve ever spent together has been solely at her place. Plus, he could tell she was curious to see what his living situation is like, which is valid. You can tell a lot about people through their home, and when you’re sleeping with someone on the regular, you want to learn as much about them as possible. It’s important to know who you’re getting into bed with. Literally.

Harry’s proud of his condo. He keeps it clean, he keeps it organized, and he keeps it styled in a manner that combines his Victorian gothic roots with modern day aesthetics. The floorboards of the apartment are made of waxed light-wash wood, most of the expanse of his living room covered in a furry dark grey rug. The lightness of the ground is contrasted by the matte mahogany walls, of which the largest is covered in Harry’s collection of first edition artwork. He had picked out every single piece himself throughout the span of the last two centuries, ranging from modern digital technique canvases to nineteenth century oil paintings, all arranged in neat alternating rows from oldest to newest. He can’t help that he’s such a stickler; his mom had raised him so.

Though his art wall is his pride and joy, the glass wall that overlooks the city skyline comes in at a close second. Harry loves the city, despite the fact that he was born in a seemingly irrelevant town whose only redeeming quality was the bustling public market. Urban regions are just full of so much life, excitement, and potential, which are all concepts he never really got to explore before he transitioned. Cities represent everything he wanted as a young man, when he thought he had prosperous years ahead of him and an entire life left to build; they represent diversity, unique experiences, and endless possibilities. When that was stripped from him, he began to bounce around different countries and cities all over the world, seeking a place that would fill the hole his dreams had left behind. Los Angeles fit that space like a puzzle piece.

That glorified window just means more to him than anyone could possibly know. Sometimes at night, he’ll just stand by it with his arms relaxed across his chest, watching the city gleam and glitter as individuals from all different backgrounds go about their business, blissfully ignorant to the beautiful concept that they all contribute to something much bigger— a concept that only centuries of wisdom could reveal. When he’s not wracked with jealousy and spite, looking out that window and witnessing the world change and evolve is therapeutic, in a way. It allows Harry to live vicariously through others who get to have what he never did.

Aside from his art collection and the glass wall, the chandeliers that hang from his cavernous ceiling are third on his list of treasured possessions. They’re special and no one on this earth owns anything like them; Harry made sure of that. They were created by a Swedish interior designer Harry commissioned about ten years ago, so they are custom-made in every aspect of the term. They took months to construct and finalize, which is hardly difficult to believe, given their grandeur. Each chandelier is made of two extensive layers of delicate golden chains, all arranged around a wire center, connected by light bulbs at each peak. It gives his home a chic, avant-garde atmosphere that mirrors his personality down to the last chain link.

The rest of his flat is tailored to compliment these three major determining factors. The wood paneling all around his apartment is carved with intricate, loopy designs, his two rounded coffee tables are made of the same marble that resides across his kitchen counters, and his kitchen sits directly under the second story ledge with elongated fluorescent poles embedded into the room’s ceiling, eloquently highlighting the creme walls and polished detailings of all his appliances. His sectional couches are made of an off-brown leather, covered in large rectangular couch cushions with a checkered print embroidered across the pillow cases, and weighted fleece blankets litter some areas of the elegant sofas. A wide staircase leads up to the second floor, made of grey glass steps and metal railings.

The top story of his condo is less Victorian era, more modern composition. The ground is dark maroon carpeting, and the ledge leads to one singular corridor that splits into two seperate rooms at either ends. One is the master bedroom, and the other is an accompanying bedroom which he uses for storage. His room isn’t anything extravagant, per se. It’s big, but his decor is minimalistic, covered in all different muted shades of blacks and greys, from the comforter on his king-sized bed to the tall dresser. A fifty inch flat-screen is mounted on the wall, but he hardly uses it since the one in his living room is larger; it’s only really there as an ornament. Starburst lights hang from his ceiling— smaller, downplayed versions of his chandeliers— and his walk-in closet stands parallel to the entrance of his bathroom.

The humongous bathroom was meant for two people, pretty obvious in the double-sink set up, but he doesn’t dwell on it much. He isn’t one for dating, and he’s just happy to have that luxury because it comes in handy the morning after one night stands. He has a jacuzzi-like bathtub, lined with water jets and all, and a big walk-in shower with a large overhead panel instead of a regular showerhead. The whole room is made of dark marble and porcelain, and he couldn’t possibly adore it more. Some of his best experiences had happened in this room, explicit and otherwise.

In the end, Harry has every right to be arrogantly proud of his apartment. It had taken him months to decorate, years to fill with fond memories, and an immortal lifetime to find. He loves it with every trace of his soul, even when others disagree. Namely, Niall, who had mocked his sophisticated relics and old-timey architecture from the first time he’d set foot past the threshold; “You went the dark gothic route? Really? Way to feed into the stereotype, Dracula.”

But no matter what anyone says, this is who he is, and he couldn’t be happier. After decades of migrating and aimlessly searching the globe, he’d finally found a place he could call home, and absolutely no one could take that from him. Especially not some Irish moron who doesn’t even know the definition of “foyer.”

How Harry manages to afford his flat is a whole other intriguing tale.

It had come up in a pillow talk conversation with Y/N once, and he had told her the story he feeds to any human who asks. He’s a regional manager for an offshore company and it’s mainly a lot of online work. Handling duties through business emails, videochat meetings, job portals, and things of the such. It paints a valid image as to why he’s home all the time. He also claims to be the company’s lone contact stationed in California, so he handles all of the responsibilities that would normally be bestowed upon three or four people. This paints a valid explanation as to how his imaginary position would tether such a high pay grade, which justifies his luxurious living arrangement.

That story is part of the truth. Harry does indeed have ties with corporate businesses. That is, ties to their CEOs’ pockets. It’s surprisingly easy to get past secretaries and security dressed in a nice suit and thousand dollar leather shoes, especially with the help of compulsion and Harry’s golden charisma. Thanks to those tools, he has managed to convince some of the biggest leaders in corporate California to quietly deposit generous sums of money into his bank account once a month. And with his persuasive supernatural abilities, he convinces them to write it off as regularly scheduled charity donations in their minds. That’s how he makes a living for himself— by scamming the rich. Xander likes to take the piss and call him a sugar baby, but Harry sees himself as more of a modern day Robin Hood, instead.

Mitch says his charade is unlawful, but considering how corrupt the business world already is, the vampire feels next to no guilt. The one percent have always taken advantage of those poorer than them— that was obvious even back in Harry’s time— and he doesn’t see anything wrong with taking advantage of them right back, now that he has the means to. How’s that saying go? “Fuck the bourgeoisie” and all that.

Everything taken into consideration, Harry’s pretty excited to show Y/N his condo. Watching people’s faces break into awe the second he turns the lights on always gives him such a deep surge of satisfaction. It makes all the hassle worth it.

The immortal is currently sitting in his vintage car, flicking through his Spotify playlist to find something to entertain him while he waits for Y/N to finish her shift. He had offered to pick her up, knowing that it’s what any courteous host would do, and she had appreciatively accepted, telling him she’d be out by eight P.M. It’s seven fifty-three now and Harry had arrived around seven fifty, taking the slot right in front of the cafe’s entrance so she can spot him as soon as she walks out. These ten minutes are the longest he’s ever had to endure, which says a lot considering he’s endured tons of patience-testing moments in his two hundred years.

Harry swipes his thumb down the glass screen of his phone, sampling songs left and right to see what will stick. After listening to the first few chords of an array of forties dance music, seventies rock and roll, and twenty-first century bubblegum pop, he settles for Rodeo by Lil Nas X. Harry has a very intricate taste in music— it’s one of the traits he’s most proud of— and Mitch often tells him he’s too snotty when it comes to his preferences. He’ll admit it freely that, yes, he can be a piece of work musically, but just because he thinks the industry peaked in the seventies doesn’t mean he hates modern music. He likes most of it, including rap, and Lil Nas X happens to be one of his favorites, much to everyone’s surprise. Most of the artist’s songs are eccentric not only lyrically but also instrumentally, to the point where it’s almost comical— who names a song Panini, of all things?— but the music is catchy and Harry can let loose to it easily.

The vampire also happened to meet the musician, on one occasion. He ran into him at a club and after a few drinks and some banter, somehow ended up getting invited over to a party at the celebrity’s Malibu mansion. That night is a blur, definitely due to the copious amounts of alcohol and psychedelics, but Harry remembers they had fun and that the guy was worth a listen. In fact, he was the genius that came up with the theme for the rapper’s Rodeo music video.

A light knocking on the passenger’s seat window brings him out of his memories. Y/N stands outside, hugging her arms loosely over her tummy, decked in her usual work uniform of a navy polo and black skinny jeans. When the two lock eye contact, she gives him a soft wave and a tired smile. Harry lifts two fingers in greeting, returning her polite gesture and swiftly lowering the window. He leans forward across the center console, his grin taking on a playful hue, voice carrying the same effect.

“Uber for Y/N?”

The girl snorts and rolls her eyes, but plays along, reaching forward and jiggling the handle of his black Cadillac symbolically. “That’s me, yes. Open up.”

“Eh, eh, eh.” Harry tuts, wagging a finger in her direction and then making a motion that tells her to back away. “I’m gonna have to see some ID. It’s one of our new safe driver policies. Gotta make sure you are who you say you are, miss.”

Y/N’s expression drops flatly, eyes half-lidded as he smiles up at her brightly, batting his eyelashes innocently. “Open the door before you end up sucking your own dick tonight.”

Harry’s shit-eating face falls so fast, it causes her to burst into laughter. A soft click vibrates through the handle below her fingers. “I’ll waive the background check. Just this once.”

“Yeah, I figured as much.” Y/N taunts, yanking the door open and ducking into the shotgun seat, gently tugging it closed behind her.

Once the human is situated in her spot, she releases a lengthy sigh, sinking down against the cushions as she grabs her seat belt and clicks it into place.

Harry puts his cell phone down into the cubby hole below the stereo set, setting the car in reverse and slinging an arm behind her headrest to get a better view as he backs out of the parking space. His gaze momentarily flickers to her slumped form as the car retreats slowly, tone curious. “Long day?”

Y/N glimpses over, giving him a quick once-over and taking in his olive green Nike jumper, ripped denim boyfriend jeans, and pastel yellow Vans. He looks so boyishly cute, which is ironic given the premise of tonight’s rendezvous. The shoes (which he had worn the night they’d met all those weeks ago) and the position he’s in (perched above her with his sharp jaw and neck flexing as he cranes his torso to look for oncoming traffic) flashes her back to the first time she had been in his car. They had been way less acquainted, she had been much less relaxed, much more nervous, but the encounter very much carried the same exact intentions. That recollection makes her lips quirk a bit. The pair had grown so comfortable with each other since then, that Friday evening feels like it happened decades ago.

“Yeah.” Y/N murmurs softly, gladly indulging a deep inhale of the vanilla and tobacco scent she had become familiar with, allowing it to soothe her nerves and wash away the stress of a hard day. “I’m just happy it’s over and that the weekend’s finally started. Wanna forget all about it.”

“Well, that’s what I’m here for, love!” Harry plops back into his seat, shifting his car into drive and gifting her his famous brilliant smile, dimples winking to life as he taps his ringed fingers across his steering wheel humorously. “I’ve made you forget your name plenty of times before; I’m pretty sure I can erase one shitty work shift just fine.”

Y/N scoffs at his pompous claim, reaching up and prying the hair tie out of her locks, looping it over her wrist and shushing her stiff roots. She tucks strands behind her ears, the corners of her mouth twitching in endearment at the giddiness of his aura. “Just drive, Sherlock.”

The mortal isn’t surprised to find that building in which the vampire lives is one of the tallest in the city, and that it’s basically smack in the center, as well. One look at Harry and anybody could immediately tell he thrives off being the center of attention, so of course his home is a direct reflection of that. Refined boy, refined personality, refined environment. It’s practically a law of science.

Once Harry’s car is parked and the ignition rumbles to a smooth stop, Y/N unbuckles her seat belt and goes to unlock the passenger’s side door. Right as her hand is wrapping around the handle bar, the door swings open of its own accord and she just barely manages to stifle a blood-curdling scream full of shocked fear. When her eyes focus, Harry is standing there holding the door open for her, features painted with cocky amusement.

“How did you—?” The girl whips around to look at the empty driver’s seat, eyebrows cinching in bewilderment as she turns back to face him. “How did you get around so fast?”

Harry shrugs his shoulders offhandedly, reaching one bejeweled hand down to aid her out of the vehicle. “I did track when I was younger. Made me a fast walker.”

Y/N hesitantly takes it, body language still slightly tense from the jump scare. With his help, she gradually climbs out, the door shutting behind her as she sweeps her sight around the parking garage in wonder. This is the first time Harry has ever invited her anywhere, let alone to where he spends most of his life. She doesn’t want to miss a thing. Even the simplest aspect can tell you a lot about a person.

Y/N jerks a tad when she feels her friend’s cold fingers slipping down her palm, sifting between her own. She glances down at their intertwined hands for a second, a warm glow bursting through her chest. She’s always admired how his are so much bigger.

Harry tugs her forward toward the elevator at the other end of the parking lot, bottom lip caught between his teeth in a sly smirk. “C’mon, Watson. Let me show you around.”

Y/N stumbles after him, allowing the boy to guide her to where she needs to go as he weeds through cars effortlessly. She suddenly chimes up from behind, asking a random question to fill the leftover silence their footsteps spare. “That car next to yours had such a weird license plate. What the fuck does ‘craic’ mean?”

Harry chuckles knowingly, perfectly aware of whose car she is referring to. “It’s this odd thing Irish people say. Utter rubbish, honestly.”

A comfortable quietness fills the air of the elegant elevator as it shoots up towards the twenty-fourth floor of the skyscraper, the only other sound being the gentle lullaby of a nameless tune wafting through the speakers above their heads. Harry finds himself studying Y/N as she looks out at the city through the glass walls, the lights of the exterior buildings casting a beautiful buttery gleam across her relaxed characteristics, along with a radiant glint over the surface of her glossy eyes. Despite the slightly smeared mascara staining her waterline and the inherent frizziness her hair carries after being pulled into a tight ponytail all day, Harry finds that she looks nice. Pretty, even.

The girl senses him staring, craning her head to return his gaze, the edges of her lips lilting upwards lightheartedly. He returns the gesture, peeling away to focus on something— anything— else. He deems the control panel a worthy replacement.

As the numbers on the dial drag by, Harry finds himself absentmindedly thumbing over Y/N’s knuckles. She doesn’t seem to notice or mind, so he continues doing it, massaging the crest of each bump and pressing down gently along the troughs. He enjoys the sensation of her silky warm skin heating his icy own, and he ponders whether she likes how cold his touch is, or if she hates it as much as he does. He expels that notion from his mind; he refuses to let such a stupid concept upset him. He just keeps caressing her hand, restraining his mind from ambling too far into its meaning. It’s just to pass the time.

He keeps the movements going until their ride skates to a joltless halt with a sharp ding! and then he steps out, having to give his full attention to leading her down the long corridor to his flat. Y/N is so caught up in drinking up her surroundings, she almost bumps into the creature when he comes to an abrupt stop in front of the entrance of what she can only deduce is his home. Harry drops her hand, much to her disappointment, fishing into his back pocket for his keys. He patiently filters through his keychain, picking out the right one and working it into the lock, a soft click emitting from the mechanism.

Harry pushes the door open with his palm, standing off to the side just outside the threshold and tilting his head towards it, posture bowing slightly. “Ladies first.”

Y/N thanks him quietly, taking a cautious step forward into his hallway. She can’t help the way her heart skips a beat at his gentlemanly tendencies; she rarely meets anyone as respectful as Harry seems to be and she finds his old-timey attributes to be refreshing. Helping her out the car, taking her hand to guide her through the parking lot, rubbing at her knuckles innocently, holding the door open for her— it’s all such an archaic form of chivalry she wishes she’d see more often these days. She doesn’t know if it’s a British thing, if he had just been raised like that, or if he simply does it to get laid, but she’s thankful for it either way.

With one last glance at her friend over her shoulder, she begins wandering down the dark narrow path unsurely. The sound of the door slinking shut behind her and Harry’s footsteps ease her.

She stops once she senses the corridor open up into a larger space, which she guesses is his living room. A soft gasp escapes her at the sight before her. The whole area is washed in darkness, the only source of light stemming from the large glass pane that stretches from the floor of the apartment to its tall ceiling. Dozens of buildings and cars glimmer below, the breath-taking image of the lively city looking almost like a snapshot from a professional movie. It’s absolutely gorgeous and she feels like she could stare at it for eons.

A chilly hand suddenly presses along the dip of her spine, ushering her forward an inch or two, Harry’s invisible voice and warm breath hitting the shell of her left ear. “S’cuse me, dove.”

The boy reaches behind her for the light switch and the condo bursts into radiance with one simple flick of his wrist.

“Oh...my God.”

Harry’s home is something straight out of a luxury catalogue. The light floorboards and the mahogany panels. The massive leather couches and hand-sewn cushions. The extravagant chandeliers and glass staircase. The marble kitchen and generously packed liquor shelves. The ginormous wall of priceless artwork, littered with pieces from all different eras of history. It feels like stepping into a decor wonderland.

“Not too bad, huh?” Harry pipes up playfully, anchoring her back into reality from the floaty stupor that had consumed her mind.

“Not too—? Are you kidding?” Y/N sputters incredulously, whizzing her head to the side sharply. “You were keeping an entire Four Seasons royal suite from me?!”

Harry belts out a bundle of childish giggles, the edges of his eyes crinkling and the tip of his button nose twitching. “I never thought of it much, to be honest. I’d grown to like your place.”

“Right. Because a creaky mattress and a kitchen the size of a broom closet is so much more satisfying than chandeliers and a fucking glass wall.”

The vampire glimpses around his flat indicatively. “Okay, I see your point.”

“Exactly.”

Y/N drifts forward, running the tips of her fingers across the backrest of the aged leather sofa and along the corners of the throw pillow, doing a slow circle at the middle of his home, taking everything in a second time around to make sure it isn’t a mirage. “Fuck, this is incredible. Is your boss looking for any more regional managers, by any chance?”

Harry follows after her, tucking his hands into the back pockets of his boyfriend jeans, chewing along the inside of his cheek to suppress a proud smile— a result of her explosive reaction. “I’m afraid my position is the one and only, sorry.”

Y/N droops her shoulders in exaggerated contempt, presenting a shitty English accent to tease him. “Bollocks.”

It garners the designated feedback, her tummy somersaulting at Harry’s exorbitant laughter.

The boy comes to stand before her, cocking his head to the side questioningly towards his kitchen. “Can I offer you a drink?”

Y/N glimpses over at his bar area, eyes dancing over his extensive array of fancy bottles. “Oh, please do.”

Despite only having known Y/N for a few weeks, Harry has gotten quite acquainted with her tastes, even outside of sexual matters. She doesn't like the taste of alcohol, but she likes its effects. And he likes them, too, if he’s being honest. Her blood always begins to smell more appetizing after just a few sips and the way her cheeks heat up so easily when she’s buzzed always makes his breathing trip.

He works his extensive skills, pulling from his liquor cabinet and mixing flavored liquids and syrups until he comes up with something that he thinks the girl will enjoy. It’s fruity, with hints of peach, lime, and strawberry, but also warm and fulfilling, with a rich whiskey and a few dashes of bitters. He plunks in a couple of ice cubes and mixes it together with a bar spoon, tapping it against the rim with finality and swiping it over his tongue in a quick taste test. He’s pretty happy with his concoction.

Harry glances up to where Y/N is leaning against the armrest of his couch, her legs crossed before her as she stares at one of the abstract paintings mounted on his wall. It’s an original, as are the rest of them, which he had purchased some odd seventy years ago from a barely known artist whose talent had gone to waste in the world. It’s a deconstructed sunflower, with the color palette inverted and the strokes of the brush uneven and jagged. Odd and complicated, but beautiful, nonetheless. Its complexity is what makes it significant.

The vampire slowly wanders over from his kitchen, holding her drink in one hand and a cloth napkin in the other. He takes the spot beside her along the armrest, speaking wistfully as if recalling a fond memory. “It’s a flower.”

Y/N nods slowly in recognition, peeling her gaze away with the corners of her lips jilting. “Mmhm, a sunflower.”

Harry’s brows jump in shock. Barely anyone ever guesses the identity correctly. He’s found that as time passes and humanity becomes more reliant on technology rather than cognizant knowledge, society in general has reduced to a more pea-brained state than ever. As a result, the amount of people who can interpret and understand the meaning behind complex artwork has greatly diminished, unfortunately, so he’s pleasantly surprised to find that one of the few who still possesses that talent happens to be the girl he’s shagging. “Wow, that’s a first. It’s so unusual, no one ever really gets it.”

“I guess I just have an affinity for the unusual.” His guest quips, giving him a jesting shrug of her eyebrows and a suggestive grin.

You have no idea.

“You underestimated me, Holmes.”

“That I did. My sincerest apologies.” Harry returns her joking simper, proceeding to then dip an index finger inside the stout glass in his grasp, bringing it up before her face. “Taste.”

Without breaking eye contact, Y/N parts her lips and allows him to coax the wet digit in, the tangy flavor of the mixture making her taste buds tingle. She encloses her mouth around his finger, lulling her tongue along it slowly with a mischievous glint shining across her irises.

Harry’s prominent jaw clenches as he watches the scene unfold, breath bated and a moan threatening to betray him. She truly wastes no time.

He gradually pulls his finger from her tongue, struggling to clear his throat, missing its texture already. “How is it? More syrup? More biters?”

Y/N gazes up at him drunkenly, though it’s definitely not from the liquor. Her lips quirk cheekily as a result of how visibly frazzled she’d gotten him. “It’s perfect. Better than anything I’ve had at a club, that’s for sure.”

“Yeah?” Harry taps his opal ring against the bottom of the lowball glass, trying to reign in his previous composure. “Think I could be a bartender?”

“You don’t hit me as the type of person who has the patience for it.” The girl remarks wittily, slinking her head to the side and biting back a giggle when Harry makes a face at her.

“You make a valid point, I suppose.” The vampire responds with an airy sigh, nodding in surrender. “The stupid blabbing from drunk morons and impending fear of being vomited on would be too much for me. I wouldn’t last a day.”

“You wouldn’t last a single night, let alone a whole day.”

“Alright, pipe down!” Harry deadpans, bumping her shoulder with his vengefully. “You’re bruising my ego.”

“It’s humongous,” Y/N snorts, shoving him in return, “it can take a few hits.”

The pair sit there in silence for a suspended moment, just taking in the expanse of the art before them. Harry then turns his torso towards her once more, bringing the drink in his grip up to her mouth. “Here, have a proper sip. Put my all into it.”

Y/N obliges, looking up at him with her signature doe-like air of trusting innocence, allowing him to tip the hem of the cup against her mouth. The cool beverage filters through her taste buds and down her throat, the sweet and sour mixture leaving an enjoyable tingle in its wake. A few streams of the liquid bead out of the corners of her lips and Harry impulsively gathers them with the side of his index finger, the napkin in his other hand completely forgotten.

As he goes to pull back in order to clean up, Y/N leans forward and traps his digit between her lips like before. This time, there’s a more insistent sultry hint sparkling around her pupils.

“Christ...” Harry pants, watching Y/N work her way down his forefinger with a silent groan hinging on his teeth.

He doesn’t deny himself from indulging the dirty action this time around. Her mouth is as soft and warm as ever, sending chills racing down his spine despite the sweater hugging his body. His mind slips for a second, reminiscing in all the other ways he’s felt the inside of her mouth before, a faint red tinge splattering across his cheekbones.

Y/N draws his finger out, kissing messily across its length and over the pad, looking up at him through tension-heavied lashes. She doesn't speak a word, but her intentions are clear in the electricity between them.

He can’t hold back any longer, his next comment coming out as a pained growl. “God, you’re such a filthy little thing.”

She hums softly in the back of her throat at his explicit compliment, suckling at the center of her bottom lip needily. “I like being your filthy little thing.”

Harry swallows thickly in order to keep himself somewhat tame, fangs suddenly pricking his tongue in warning.

The mortal scoots closer to him, sifting her fingers between his around the drink and bringing it upwards, downing the last couple of inches in one go. She draws the cup from his grasp, reaching over to set it down carefully on the coffee table before turning back and snuggling deeper into his heaving chest.

Harry scoffs in amusement, but he can feel a certain charring scratching at the back of his throat. “Drinks like that are meant to be savored, darling. You’re not supposed to just pound them.”

Y/N stretches her neck upwards, taking his earlobe between her teeth, lips wet and cold from the alcohol. His lashes flutter when her warm breath hits his skin, contradicting the sensations from before.

“Why don’t you let me worry about how I drink, and you can worry about a different kind of pounding.”

And that’s all it takes, really. That’s all it takes for Harry to completely drop any self-control he has left.

The creature jars his face towards her, large hand shooting upwards to grip her jaw firmly, holding her in place as he crashes their mouths together. It’s all tongue and clacking teeth, desperate whines and stuttered gasps. Y/N’s hands fumble for something to tether to while Harry takes it upon himself to grasp at her opposite hip with his free hand, yanking her onto his lap. She buries her fists in the cotton fabric of his jumper, balancing her knees on either sides of his parted thighs. The boy’s fingers coast from her jaw down to her throat, tightening ever so slightly. The action is minimal, but it reveals that flare of dominance Y/N has become addicted to.

“Do you want it here?” Harry rasps against her eager tongue, smirking into the kiss when he feels her start to rock along the bulge that is beginning to tent his denim pants. “Do you want me to bend you over the couch and fuck you, baby? With the chandelier making your skin glow? Where we can put on a show for the whole city to see?”

It’s a tempting offer and his words obviously have some form of impact, seen in the way Y/N’s grinding takes on a hungrier, deeper pace against his clothed cock.

“I want…” Y/N finds it difficult to voice her desires, the responsible party being the manner in which Harry glues cracked mewls onto the roof of her mouth. “I want it in your bed.”

She doesn’t know why, but she just wants him to take her some place where the moment they share is intimate, unseen by the prying eyes of others. She wants to christen his bed exactly how he had done hers; she craves that strange connection, for some reason. Y/N isn’t naive, she knows she’s not the only person Harry has had in his home and in his sheets. But she wants that experience, nonetheless, even if it doesn’t necessarily mean anything. She knows she’s not his only, but at least she’s one.

Harry slowly breaks their kiss, brushing the tip of his nose across her own in a small comforting gesture. He blinks at her groggily, the copper specks in his eyes glitzing under the golden hue of the lighting. When he speaks, its soft and low, almost as if he doesn’t want to risk another soul overhearing. “Okay. Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

Y/N almost doesn’t get anything she wants, given that she nearly kills herself on the trek up the stairs, courtesy of her weakened knees and wobbly ankles. Harry just barely manages to save her, but he finds the occurrence too hilarious to spare her the embarrassment.

“Stop laughing, it’s not funny!” She exclaims indignantly as he helps her up the last few glass steps, clinging to him like a scared puppy, her hands still shaking with adrenaline. “I could have died!”

Her shrieking only makes him laugh harder and he nearly keels over, palm clutching his stomach as if to keep it from popping. “I’m sorry, I really am, but it’s just— your face when you— and how you tripped sideways— I—”

Y/N shoves him hard towards the corridor where his bedroom lies, but it’s hard to maintain an angry demeanor when the young man’s giggles sound like bells and when he looks so cute with his curls flopping across his forehead. “Dickhead.”

They’re almost at his bedroom door when Harry grabs onto her wrist, tugging her roughly so that she lurches forward into his chest. He plants a wet kiss onto the bridge of her nose, expression entertained. “Stop being such a bad sport. It was pretty funny.”

“Yeah, okay.” She huffs begrudgingly, glancing down impatiently at his plump lips as he walks backwards down the hallway with her in tow. “You can invalidate my rage once you have a near death experience yourself.”

The irony of it all.

Harry kicks the door open, ghosting his mouth over Y/N’s and watching her sight do a quick sweep around the area. “Welcome to my lair.”

The human likes his aesthetic. The room has different hues of the same color, so it all ties together nicely, and the hanging lights look like miniature versions of the two large ones downstairs. The bed is huge, which is a relief because for once, they won’t have to actively worry about accidentally rolling off the edge mid-fuck. “It’s nice. Very chic.”

“Thanks.” Harry reaches up and cups either side of her neck with his palms, dragging his damp lips over her chin and down the center of her jugular, smiling against her skin when he feels her shiver. “It doesn't have a bookshelf wall like yours, but I make due.”

“Yeah.” Y/N wisps out weakly, leaning her head back as he speckles his mouth across that sensitive point on her throat he discovered ages ago. “I bet.”

She feels Harry’s touch travel down her torso, cold fingers suddenly smearing across her love handles beneath her work shirt. His grip tightens at the hem with the intention of pulling the polo off, breath hot as it washes over her collarbones. “Wanna find out just how good I make it work?”

Y/N’s arms instinctively raise on command, her reply shaky and fragile. “Yes, please.”

Harry makes it work. He makes it work so fucking well. He doesn’t need crazy positions or any vibrating toys to make her feel good; he just knows her so thoroughly by now that he’s able to tend to every single one of her needs like it’s his sole purpose. The sex is missionary, with her splayed out across her back upon his mound of feathered pillows, her thighs clamped over his hips as he slams into her at a harsh, curt pace. Her calves are tied around the backs of his thighs, her nails are carving memories into the broad expanse of his shoulders, they’re both panting curse words and encouragement into each other’s mouths, and he’s cradling her to his chest as if he wants to absorb her heartbeat right through her ribs. If only obtaining one were that easy.

Y/N allows her head to fall back against the cushions, drawing away from the prolonged kiss only because she needs air to continue. Harry’s lips busy themselves elsewhere, running down the valley of her chest and toying with one of her pebbled nipples. Y/N’s back gives a sharp arch the second he brushes across the sensitive nub and the taunting coo he releases goes straight to her core.

“Liked that, darling? Like it when I kiss you there?”

The girl’s lashes have fallen shut, her eyes lulling around in their sockets as he maintains a steady rhythm between her thighs, ramming into her with so much force, the headboard is knocking into the wall. It’s loud and intense enough that Harry has to fit one of his palms between the railings, bracing the weight of the bed in order to prevent a hole from forming.

Y/N’s voice fills the dense atmosphere, so shattered and raw, she can hardly understand herself. “It feels so— so good, H.”

“I love it when you call me that. Sounds so pretty coming from your lips.” The vampire’s tongue flicks over her nipple a handful of times, dark veins momentarily webbing over the whites of his eyes at the cracked whimper she lets loose. “And of course it feels good. I always make you feel good, don’t I? Always make my girl cum so—fucking—hard.”

Y/N’s trembling fingers card into the curls along the nape of Harry’s neck as he thrusts to his words, twisting them around her knuckles and swimming in the throaty groan he pours over the clammy skin of her breasts. Her whisper sounds distant and dreamy. “Please...Please don’t stop.”

Harry gazes up at her through heavy lashes, lapping at her chest more fervently, accent thick and deep. “I won’t, baby. Not until I have you dripping all over my sheets.”

After a few more minutes of fractured moans bouncing around the panels of the room and the noise of wet skin slapping together, something catches Y/N’s bleary eyes. She wills past the blissful fog in her mind, focusing on the intriguing object hanging from one of the railings of Harry’s bedpost, swaying back and forth wildly due to his strong tempo.

“Are those...Are those handcuffs?”

Harry’s attention jumps to where hers is pinned, his powerful stride coming to a gradual stop. He’s heaving and shuddering above her, ringlets matted to his jaw and across his temples, cheeks flushed the prettiest shade of cherry red. His Adam’s Apple bobs once and he gives a short nod. “Y-Yeah. I’ve had them for a while...”

The hope dripping from his voice is practically palpable and Y/N interprets it easily. She glances down at him as he takes quivering inhales against her chest, his eyes bleeding lust. Her mumble is so quiet and soft, he wonders how it’s possible for her to make some of the preposterously loud sounds he’s used to hearing whenever he’s buried this deep. “Use them on me. Please?”

Harry bends to her request without hesitation. He locks her wrists into the restraints, sponging a kiss onto each before giving them one hard tug to check for security. He then regains his rough slams, but with more fervor than before.

The monster sits back onto his heels, groping her waist roughly and working her against his thighs, watching welts form on her flesh along the pads of his fingers. Y/N unconsciously begins circling her hips to match his speed and the fractured groan that rips out of him makes her walls tighten. He looks incredible looming in front of her, head toppled back between his shoulder blades, bouncing to his every ram. His throat flexes with the weight, jaw taut and inked pectorals glistening with sweat under the dim lights dangling from his ceiling. “That’s it, pet, just like that. Love the way you ride it. You’re so fucking tight and warm and...and just— Christ, just fuck me.”

She wishes she could frame this moment in time and drag it out forever.

Harry swings his head forward again, blinking the blurriness from his vision to take in the image before him. Y/N just looks so fucking gorgeous like that, tied down at his beck and call, her chest bouncing pertly as her fingers bunch around the chain link, thighs clinging to his waist as she chews her bottom lip raw in an attempt to control her noises.

The vampire ducks down, connecting their mouths in a sloppy kiss that cajoles her into spilling all the moans she had been withholding. He feels them trickle down his lungs and diffuse into his bones, flames lapping across his insides as their foreheads bump and noses smudge, ragged breaths intermingling. “Let it out for me, hm? Wanna know how I’m making you feel, don’t care who hears.”

As if that isn’t enough, there’s an instance where Harry’s animalistic senses suddenly enhance and he comes to the realization that the metal cuffs have made a tiny laceration along her skin.

A thin trail of blood travels down her suspended arm, but she doesn’t seem to notice, too lost in the pleasure Harry is pounding into the pit of her stomach. So he simply leans upwards and licks the sweet droplet clean, feeling heat spark across every fiber of his being. He laps up the entire stream and then presses a tender kiss to her palm for good measure, grunting out a gentle, “There’s a good girl.” when she whines at the affectionate gesture.

The release Harry is getting from between Y/N’s legs mixes with the ecstasy her blood brings, and it shoves him over the edge in a manner he hasn’t experienced since that first time they slept together all those weeks ago. Since the first time he tasted what lies in her veins, while also simultaneously getting to taste the indescribable relief her body so readily brings him.

After all is said and done that night, something peculiar happens. After they both milk their orgasms for everything it’s worth, and after Y/N gives into exhaustion in his arms with her wrists bruised and a content watery smile on her face, and after he gets a heftier drink from her neck and heals the two little puncture wounds with his own blood...The most bizarre, unexpected event occurs.

Harry falls asleep soundly for the first time in months, and all he dreams about is how Y/N tasted.

///

Y/N wakes up the next morning to her body covered in Harry’s Nike jumper, to an empty spot beside her in the messy duvet, to a familiar tune tinging her ears from a distance, and to a satisfying ache between her thighs.

As soon as she cracks the bedroom door open, the smell of pancakes wafts in through the chilled morning air. Specifically, lemon and blueberry pancakes. Her grandmother’s lemon and blueberry pancakes.

A shiver runs down Y/N’s spine the second she sets a toe along the cold glass panels of Harry’s staircase. She takes a deep breath, pulling the extra length of the sweater’s sleeves over her fists and tugging the hem of the article downwards as if she could convince it to cover more than just half her thighs. She carefully works her way down the steps, flinching at the iciness that travels up her legs with every motion. When she finally thunks down emptily onto the light-wash floorboards, her body has grown accustomed to the temperature. As she pads across the furry rug in Harry’s living room, she finds herself wondering why everything connected to him is always so unusually cold— colder than any normal person could withstand. His touch, his lips, the tip of his nose, his forehead, his chest, even his thighs; everything is always freezing, and she doesn’t understand how he can bear it. It’s such an odd affinity to have.

The human gradually wanders into the vampire’s kitchen, peeking inside the room from behind one of the archway’s walls. What she sees throws her for a loop.

Harry is cooking breakfast, as she expected from the sweet scent she’d awoken to, but he’s doing it in a manner she never really expected from him.

Music stems from a portable speaker he has situated at the center of the marble kitchen island, blaring loud enough to fill the entire giant home with high notes, guitar chords, and acapella riffs. The young man is dancing across his kitchen as he cooks, clad in nothing but a set of black Calvin Klein briefs and a pair of fuzzy magenta socks. Y/N rakes down his body, admiring the crimson and purple love bites she had left on his chest and the raspberry red scratches zig-zagging across his back, the marks flexing with the movements of his muscles. They’re strangely faint, for some reason. Practically barely there.

She chalks it up to the fact that maybe she hadn’t bruised him as much as she’d thought.

Y/N forces herself to keep her mind from straying onto anymore explicit topics; it’s probably not even ten A.M. yet. She needs to get herself under control.

Grooving while in the kitchen isn’t necessarily weird (she’s guilty of it herself), but Harry’s dancing techniques very much are. The only accurate depiction of it is that for a boy in his twenties, he dances like an old geezer in his eighties. His moves are choppy and old-schooled, almost like what you’d expect to see in a nineteen fifties disco hall, and watching him ebb and flow across the tiled ground to choreography similar to that of Dirty Dancing and Footloose... It would send anybody into a fit of laughter. Especially since Harry is so tall and lanky, so how he manages to move in such a way is beyond her understanding.

Aside from that, his choice of music is baffling, as well. Not only because she recognizes the soundtrack, but because she would have never expected someone like him— with his cocky behavior and overly-confident caliber— to be into these types of songs at all. She always pegged him for the seventies rock and roll type.

“You like Hamilton?”

Harry’s actions creak to a halt and he whips around towards where the disturbance had stemmed, spatula clutched in one hand and a marble plate stacked with pancakes in the other. His face breaks into a bright smile, voice slathered with dramatic friendliness. “Well, look who finally got up! I was starting to think you were dead, Sleeping Beauty.”

Y/N narrows her eyes at him mockingly, walking over to the kitchen counter and propping herself onto her elbows, chin in hand as she watches him set down the platter of food before her. She tips forward onto her toes, taking a deep inhale of the homey, sugary smell, letting it wash over her in flashes of childhood memories. “Are these like the ones I make?”

“Lemon and blueberry, yeah.” Harry bobs his head casually, turning around to place his metal spatula down into the sink, as well as to retrieve a glass bottle of maple syrup from one of his cupboards. “They’re pretty close, I think. I’ve never seen you use a recipe or measuring cups or anything when you make them, so I kinda eyeballed it to the best of my ability. Hope I did your nan justice.”

He pours a decently-sized glop of syrup over the mountain of treats and Y/N watches excitedly as it trickles down all the layers. He then pushes back from the table, pulling open a drawer and rummaging through, continuing to whistle along to the tune of Satisfied as he bops the cabinet closed with his hip and sets down an extra pair of forks and knives beside the plate.

Harry cuts a neat triangle out of the pancake at the top, pointing at her with his fork as he shrugs his brows nonchalantly. “And to answer your question from before: yes, I do like Hamilton.”

“Hm. Interesting.” Y/N murmurs, going cross-eyed as Harry offers her the forkful of food in his possession, poking at her mouth playfully and getting maple syrup all over her lips. She opens obediently, allowing him to feed her the piece. “You don’t really seem like the type of guy— oh, wow, these are actually really good!”

Harry bites into his lower lip with his two front teeth, a proud smile dimpling his cheeks as the light draft from the air vent ruffles a couple of his sex-mussed ringlets across his forehead. “Yeah? You mean it?”

The mortal nods her head vigorously as she finishes chewing and swallowing, wiping away some of the leftover syrup from her top lip with her middle finger and sucking it clean. “Yeah! You hit it spot on.”

“Aces. I should be on The Great British Bake Off.” Harry makes a small, celebratory fist bump next to his hip and the childish gesture makes Y/N snort softly.

“Like I was saying, you don’t really strike me as the type of guy who would be into musicals.” The girl comments, watching her friend cut another triangle out of the first pancake and pop it into his own mouth.

The vampire chews thoughtfully for a second, lifting one shoulder offhandedly and swallowing fully before talking. “I’m really not, to be honest. But this specific musical is pretty good. The songs are catchy.”

He nudges the other pair of utensils across the counter for emphasis, silently inviting her to dig into the dish along with him. She accepts, slicing down the other side of the stack as he leans forward onto his elbows, mimicking her stance. He gives her a curious glance. “What about you? Do you like musicals?”

Y/N shrugs, poking a few chunks of food onto her fork. “Not really, but I had a major Hamilton phase back in college. That’s why I recognized it.”

Harry hums in understanding, picking a blueberry off and chewing it slowly, a sly smirk beginning to tweak the corners of his mouth. “So were you, like, a nerd back then?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say a nerd, but I had decent grades and was pretty quiet.”

He swallows down audibly, blinking impassively. “That’s literally the definition of a nerd.”

Y/N returns his flat expression. “Fuck off.”

Harry throws his palms up in peaceful surrender, but he still has that shit-eating grin present. “Alright, fine, fine...It’s okay if you were, though. You were probably one of those cute ones, y’know? With the clunky glasses and innocent goody-goody face.”

“Shut up.”

“Oh, and with one of those short little plaid skirts?” He releases a pained groan, clutching his chest and closing his eyes for a second. She has no doubt he’s sketching some type of graphic image of her in his mind. “God, I bet you looked so good. Do you still have it? Can you wear it for me?”

“I said shut up!” Y/N reaches forward and stabs at his tummy lightly with her fork, ignoring the warmth crawling up her neck and across her cheeks. “Fucking perv.”

Harry smacks her utensil away with his own, giggling lightly as she tries to prick him again, continuing to fight her off. “I’m just asking a question! For science!”

Y/N twists her fork around his, trying to outmaneuver him into dropping it. “How could my fashion sense in college possibly contribute to science in any way?”

The vampire easily catches onto her play, slipping himself out of her grasp and trying to trap her makeshift sword down against the tabletop. He purses his lips into a simper, glimpsing up at her through his lashes and quirking his brows cheekily. “Biologically, of course. It contributes to my solo reproductive activities.”

“You are vile.”

“Really? ‘Cause you seemed pretty happy to help with said activities last night.”

Y/N drops her fork onto the brim of the platter, reaching up to massage at her temples and keep herself from swatting Harry’s eyeballs out of their sockets. “I’m finished.”

“Yeah,” the jade of his irises glimmers coyly as he sets down his utensil beside hers in a ceasefire, “you definitely finished.”

Harry chuckles boyishly as Y/N drags her palms down her face, trying to hide away how flustered he’s getting her. She decides to change the subject, not caring to steer the conversation smoothly at all, but rather jumping to another topic right away. “So does this mean you have all the lyrics memorized? Since you like them so much?”

“I do, yeah.” Harry taps his fingers against the marble counter to the beat of the song currently playing. “Do you?”

“I was obsessed, so of course I do.” Y/N reasons, her own digits following in tune with the immortal’s. “I think Non-Stop was probably my favorite to sing. It made for a good shower concert.”

“Well, it’s settled then.” Harry quips happily, reaching for his phone and tapping across the screen. “We’re duetting this. Right now. C’mon, Burr.”

Y/N’s motions stop, shyness creeping in from the back of her brain. “Oh, I don’t know, Harry. I never really—”

Her refusal is interrupted by the beginning of the arrangement mentioned, the notes blasting through the speaker as Harry purposefully turns up the volume to drown her out. He taps at his ear symbolically, mouthing, “Sorry, I can't hear you!” and he doesn’t even attempt to ward off the evil grin creeping across his face.

“Harry, I’m serious—”

But it’s already too late. Harry juts his hand out in front of him, pointing at his companion with a theatrical edge as he begins to serenade, picking up the slack of her part.

“After the war I went back to New York. A-After the war I went back to New York. I finished up my studies and I practiced law. I practiced law, Burr worked next door!”

He looks at her expectantly, urging her to jump into the next half as her assigned role. Y/N muscles down her hesitation and recites the lines timidly with her brows creased in hesitation, but at least she’s participating. “Even though we started at the very same time, Alexander Hamilton began to climb. How to account for his rise to the top?”

Harry joins her in the next stanza, grabbing her hand midair in encouragement, trying to shake her out of her rut. “Man, the man is non-stop!”

Y/N is surprised at how well they sound harmonizing together, and she can feel her discomfort slowly begin to melt. She watches as Harry freely boasts his solo with absolutely no remorse, making grand gestures as he slides down the side of the counter, his movements dragging her along.

“Gentlemen of the jury, I'm curious, bear with me. Are you aware that we're making history?” The boy taps at his chin to symbolize that he’s thinking, acting out the story the lyrics construct. “This is the first murder trial of our brand-new nation, the liberty behind deliberation.”

He points at Y/N once again and she does the supporting vocals, gradually beginning to gain more confidence. “Non-stop!”

“I intend to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt, with my assistant counsel—”

Harry doesn’t even have to cue Y/N this time around; she picks up her half immediately, falling into line with him flawlessly as if they’ve done this a million times before. “Co-counsel. Hamilton, sit down. Our client Levi Weeks is innocent, call your first witness.”

Harry quickly rounds the corner of the kitchen island, giving her body a grand spin as he draws closer, coming to stand right before her. She gives him a fake exasperated look to match the attitude her character depicts, shaking her head in disapproval. “That's all you had to say.”

“Okay…” The creature yanks Y/N forward into his bare chest, leaning down and flirting his lips right over hers tauntingly, eyes half-lidded in amusement. “One more thing—”

“Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room? Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room?” The girl rolls her eyes dramatically, shoving past Harry’s shoulder and she finds it humorous how these lines fit so well, almost as if they were actually directed at him, calling him out on the arrogance he always seems to dote. “Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room? Soon that attitude may be your doom.”

Harry swivels on his heel, following her as she scurries outside the kitchen entrance, running into the living room.

“Why do you write like you're running out of time?” Y/N grabs onto one of the couch cushions, pretending to scribble over it with a fake pen. “Write day and night, like you're running out of time? Everyday you fight, like you're running out of time.”

Harry swipes at her from across the couch, trying to grasp onto the jumper she’s wearing. “Keep on fighting in the meantime.”

Y/N ducks out of the path of his grabbing hand, chucking the pillow forward and it bonks him square in the face. She sticks her tongue out at him as Harry scowls dully, climbing onto his sofa and scuttling towards her on his hand and knees.

She jumps just out of reach, diving across the other end of the furniture. The vampire throws his weight to try and tackle her to the sofa, but she just barely escapes. He ends up toppling over the backrest due to his over-abundant momentum.

“Non-stop!” Y/N waves her middle up at him triumphantly as he pushes himself up off the ground, giving her a challenging look as he takes off after her once again.

The pair continue to sing back and forth, with Harry chasing Y/N around the living room and kitchen as he belts out his part of the song, Y/N always somehow managing to slip from his grasp as soon as her turn hits. They’re a mess of giggles, silly faces, and boisterous actions as they reenact the play and neither can recall a time they had ever had more fun. There’s never been an instance when they felt so comfortable with another soul that they are willing to run around half-naked, screaming lyrics at each other in their underwear, not caring who sees or overhears. It just feels so second-nature.

A section of the song comes up where a woman is singing and Harry immediately takes up the part, placing his hand on his bare hip and standing in the most feminine fashion he can possibly muster, fanning at his face. “I am sailing off to London, I am accompanied by someone who always pays.”

The exaggeration makes Y/N bend over laughing and her distraction allows Harry to nab her. He pulls her into his embrace by her forearms, cackling through the following stanza as she wriggles and squirms to try and get free. “I have found a wealthy husband who will keep me in comfort for all my days.”

Y/N finally gives up on trying to thrash herself free, going limp against his chest and glimpsing up at him with begrudged annoyance, but a fond smile is unmistakably buckling her cheeks. Harry leans down, singing right in her face just to flaunt his victory, their noses brushing. “He is not a lot of fun, but…”

And then, there’s a shift in the ambiance between them.

Harry gazes down at her as she giggles up at him from his arms, full of so much genuine warmth and excitement, she could power the entire city if she wanted. Her shoulders are heaving slightly as a result of all the running, there’s still faint traces of black mascara smeared under her waterline and down her cheeks from the previous evening’s exertions, she has some acne scarring littering her cheekbones that look fairly recent, and her hair looks like it could nest a family of at least ten birds. But despite these imperfections, Harry finds himself feeling oddly endeared by it all. These flaws are all things he’s gotten used to and has grown to treasure in Y/N. They make her who she is. They make her witty, and they make her clever. They make her fun, as well as trusting. They make her likeable, and energetic, and kind. They make her a good friend and a generous lover. They make her... her. Harry gets the feeling that if she didn’t have all of these traits— if even one was missing— this little arrangement they have going wouldn’t have flourished the way it did.

Yeah, maybe he would have slept with her once or twice more just to scratch an itch, but he most likely would have let it fizzle to an end after the fact. Her personality paired with these small details— albeit, not all entirely attractive— that make up her existence play a key role in the dynamic they share. And he wouldn’t trade them for anything else— wouldn't trade Y/N for anyone else. Not anytime soon.

A warm surge travels through his chest, filling his veins like kerosine, heating him from the heels of his socked feet to the tips of his ice cold fingers. An unorthodox swelling sensation twists inside his ribs, right where his heart used to beat, and he finds himself reciting the next line in a soft voice packed with more emotion than he’s shown or felt in the last two centuries.

“There’s no one who can match you, for turn of phrase…”

Y/N seems oblivious to all of the unsettling experiences he’s undergoing, her amused expression not changing in the slightest. Harry allows the rest of the song lyrics to pass by, the lump in his throat too heavy to fight. Instead, he just keeps staring down at Y/N with brows frowning in confusion, his breathing coming out bated and shaky, and that knot in his chest continuing to tighten until it becomes painful. He gets the sudden urge to kiss her— to feel her lips press to his and feel her give into him the way she always does. The way she has for the last four weeks. He doesn’t want it to be sloppy or desperate or sexual; he wants it to be intimate, soft, and caring. He wants it to be special. Something they share. Something only they share.

Then, that moment passes. That flicker of weakness that had leaked through vanishes and Harry feels like he can breathe properly again.

He breaks their locked eyes, releasing Y/N from his hold and taking a swift step back, coughing awkwardly to try and rid the tickling sensation in the back of his throat. He scratches at the nape of his neck nervously, fiddling with his baby curls and attempting to piece himself back together after that unexpected and unwelcome intrusion of his innermost feelings. Though, he doesn’t know if that spectacle even files under the category of emotions; from what he remembers, they aren’t supposed to tangibly attack you in such a manner. It felt more like a violation— like someone had gone in and started poking and prodding at his subconscious with a metal skewer.

“Harry…?” Y/N inches closer to him, concern prevalent in her voice and across her features as she stretches her hand out caringly. “Are you okay? You look like you’re about to be sick.”

“I-I’m—” His voice comes out higher than usual and quivering, so he coughs once again to get it under control, taking another step back. He's scared that if she touches him, that horrible burning sensation will come back. “I’m fine. Just...Just forgot the lyrics.”

“Oh, okay…” The girl doesn’t sound convinced with the answer, but she lets the subject falter anyways, her hand dropping back down beside her thigh. “Just checking.”

“Yeah, I got that. Uh, thanks. But I’m all good now.” He holds up a clenched first and juts out his pinky, wiggling it for significance. “Promise”

Y/N scoffs gently at his playful deed. “Alright, then.”

Harry eyes her attentively as she returns to her previous spot in front of the plate of pancakes, retrieving her fork and starting to pick at them like before, as if nothing had happened. As if Harry hadn’t just almost had a cardiac arrest, despite the fact that the organ responsible had crumbled to dust ages ago.

“Are you gonna eat anymore?” Y/N signals down at the stack of pastries before her questioningly. “Because if you don’t get some now, I’ll eat them all myself. Don’t think I won’t. They’re better than the ones I make and—”

The vampire suddenly feels like bile is rising up his throat and his words spew out before he can think to stop them, though he’s not so sure he would.

“Do you want to stay over the rest of the weekend?”

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lazzledazzler · 3 years

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Lazzle's Rune Factory 5 Review

Alright so here are my thoughts and experiences with RF5! This is a big boy so buckle in earthmates...

Obviously this review will contain spoilers, read at your own risk.

Initial thoughts upon playing...

Great opening! I enjoyed the jazz music~ I did feel like it leaned a bit more towards the male player though. It definitely feels like a rune factory game. It's familiar, and controls are easy to get accustomed to for the most part. The mold is there and rf5 doesn't stray too far from its predecessors which is comforting for veterans. That being said, I'm not going to pull any punches and will critique this game harshly. Keep in mind as updates for the game are released not all things discussed in this review will be as relevant overtime!

Let's hear some thoughts on...

The story/plot. The plot is enjoyable overall. I'm not crazy about the whole Seed organization thing but it was a neat idea. They address the Sechs Territory and it is confirmed that the game takes place some decades after RF4. But by the end of it, I didn't feel like I really accomplished anything because it felt like I barely did anything really. Also they left a lot of stuff unanswered. I'm not even sure I understood the message they were sending, if they were trying to send a message at all. The main story is too short, and it doesn't involve enough of the townsfolk. You're basically doing everything yourself in secret the whole time and the townsfolk barely know what's actually going on. Out of the love interests, Lucas plays the largest part in the story, followed by Priscilla and Scarlett. The story feels targeted at male audiences--at least that's how I felt. You, the player, have a larger role in the game, much like in RF3 and I was glad to see this. As of right now there are only two arcs. Praying for DLC 3rd arc...!

Protagonists. The latest protagonists to join the crew of Earthmates are...decent. Their designs are nothing special unfortunately, though I appreciate Alice's more than Ares's. Appearance-wise they lack personality and creativity. Personality wise I am pleasantly surprised with how sociable they are. They're not exactly quick witted and sassy like Lest/Frey were in rf4, or as endearing as Micah in rf3, but they have a certain realness to them that makes their reactions to things believable. I'm certain Xseed will see to making them a bit more sarcastic in their localizing efforts, so let's all look forward to that. Overall though, while I appreciate their mannerisms, they don't really measure up to all the previous amnesiacs we've grown to love over the decades.

Characters. Overall I enjoy all the characters introduced in Rune Factory 5! I feel like there is someone for everyone in this game on some level. The voice acting was pretty good for every character. The designs are very much Rune factory. Like OG runefa, compared to rf4 ( 4 kind of strayed from their usual style) which I like. Characters still have their own signature quirks that you find endearing. Although I would have liked to see more variety? Like we've had mermaids, univir, half monsters, vampires, etc in previous titles but rf5 only gives us the usual (half) elf, dwarf, and then a succubus (physically she doesn't have unique features aside from the ears and heart eyes), and some were-people. I was hoping for something more unique to really give that classic runefa vibe.

Dungeons/Battles. I'm pretty split on this one. On the one hand, the dungeons have more depth due to the 3D aspects. They've included more contraptions that are very fun to see even if they aren't executed that well. So I'm grateful for that. On the other hand, the dungeons are insanely short imo. It doesn't take long at all to get to the boss. The puzzles are also pretty subpar and few compared to RF4. Fighting monsters is similar to the other games. You can lock on now but I only use it when I'm trying to use my Seed Circle. The lock on feature is actually counter-intuitive and makes it harder to dodge. Weapon mechanics have shifted a bit. There’s a feature that makes you invincible to damage if you time the R button dash correctly. Axes and Hammers are significantly slower than in older games? Like. I thought I was in slow motion it was so slow. Lances are also harder to use as well? I'm questioning my sanity here. I don't know if it's a bug or intentional either.

Farming. Not much has changed from previous games mechanics wise. They added new types of special crops which is neat. The camera view changes to overhead when you go near your fields though, and it can make you dizzy/uncomfortable. It actually makes it a bit difficult to see at times so I wish there was a way to adjust the angle. If you are tilling corn or dried weeds to improve the soil, you need to place them separately if you don't want to use the entire stack. Otherwise, it will till the entire stack on the land if you place them all down at once. The flower shop is unlocked late in the story. Weird thing to do considering you need flowers to make medicine. Not to mention the fact that you wont have access to the fertilizer that increases defense against typhoons? During typhoon season? Thinking emoji...

The town. I have to say Rigbarth's design is poor compared to Sharance, Selphia, etc. It's too big and it takes too long to get around. Everything is too spaced out and there aren't enough warp points to make it easier on players. I don't want to walk an entire mile up a hill to talk to one person and then walk all the way down to the beach to speak to another. It doesn’t really feel like a ‘town’.

OST/BGM. Music was good, though nothing really stood out to me where I'd go "damn this slaps" or something. I think they might've had some old soundtracks from rf2 or something because it felt really nostalgic at times.

We need an exterminator. (Bugs Bugs Bugs)

Marvelous, I don't know how to tell you this buuut...your customers are NOT your testers. When you release a game, you need to make sure it's not littered with glitches because customers don't enjoy dealing with them and will drop the game!

Here are some of the types of glitches I encountered:

Crashing. Game would randomly crash or freeze and close at any moment. Sooooo frustrating! Sometimes you get lucky with the autosave feature, but the autosave only activates every morning at 6am in your room and then when you warp to a dungeon level/floor. So when you're in the middle of your daily tasks in town and it crashes, you have to start all over. Marveloussss no one enjoys losing their progress in a game I promise you that much.

Lag. The dialogue bar is seriously slow, especially after loading your file. Crafting/Cooking screen lags. When you press the Y button to skip through dialogue it lags like hell. Pretty much after every time you load the game will lag, the audio will lag if you're in a battle, everything is just. so. slow.

Repeating dialogue. So if you close your game entirely (or if it crashes) naturally you'll reload your file to continue where you left off. There's a bug that will cause all NPCs to repeat the last dialogue that occurred from whatever plot related thing you did last. So for example, if the last thing you did in the story was unlock Ludmilla, everyone in town will naturally have some dialogue about her. But even after seeing all this dialogue and even saving, if the game is closed and reloaded you'll have to read all that dialogue again from townsfolk. It got really annoying after a while.

Monster taming. One time I tamed a monster but once I named it and hit 'ok' the monster never showed up in my barns? Just. gone. Okaaaay then...? Additionally, I expanded one of my monster barns but all of the monsters I tamed wouldn't appear in the added room. You get 4 monsters for each room but the monsters I tamed would show up in the original room. Meaning I had like 7 monsters in one room! I tried to bring them into the newly added room but they would just warp back to the other room. Sad.

Pond Glitch. I fished in the pond located in Sasayaki Forest and left the fish I caught but didn't want laying around the water's edge. If you leave fish around the pond's edge and go to sleep, the next morning you will be teleported to the pond and trigger the fairy dialogue as if you had thrown all of the fish into the pond??? So the dialogue of her telling you she wants 'X item, not this!' will trigger over and over for all of the fish you left at the water's edge. RIP.

Party member Bug. I had Martin in my party and I made him leave. Then when I went into my monster barns to get a monster pal to join me instead it showed me Martin's portrait???? Also I've encountered a bug where I can no longer ask anyone to join my party for some unknown reason. The R &L button prompt was just gone when I reloaded.

Errors. When cooking or crafting, the dialogue box shows up sometimes...

Typos. Random average typo here and there. Not a real biggie but there is one instance where the heroine will use the japanese male pronoun "boku" instead of "watashi" which really convinced me that this game was completely intended for men lol.

Let's talk about Pros

The good stuff. The stuff that makes you all warm and fuzzy inside.

Plot Advancing. Now I'm gonna put this as a pro because I'm certain the average player will enjoy this even though I do not. There are now markers on the map to show you where to go to advance the plot. This is all well and dandy, but it also made the story less appealing for me because you don't need to go around town and speak to residents for clues or assistance to advance anything in the story.

3D Graphics The 3D models are all amazing. The interior designs of the houses/buildings are also incredibly detailed and realistic.

Collecting items. Now there's a feature that will allow you to collect items into your inventory just by walking over them. This is pretty neat and welcome for the most part. Once the item is sparkling, you can walk over it and it'll go into your rucksack automatically. This also makes lumbering and mining go much faster. Yay!

The miraculous L pocket. Now you can customize the categories that appear in your L pocket by going to the rucksack tab in the menu. This is a super neat feature that makes things easier on players who want to manage their items in a format that suits them.

Weapon/Tool Toggling. You can now toggle between your equipped weapon and tool by pressing the left or right buttons on the trackpad.

Collecting lumber/material stone. Oh lord this is probably the most welcome improvement moving forward from the previous game. You can now put all of the lumber and material stone from your inventory into its storage at once. This also applies to fodder for tamed monsters. Well done Hakama.

Autosave. This feature is a welcome addition to the series. The game will save your data every morning and every time you enter a dungeon. Autosave has really saved my ass a few times when I made a huge error in judgement so I'm incredibly grateful for this feature. And it doesn't save over your actual save file--there's a separate autosave file at the very top. So if you messed up something but already saved on your main file, you can still salvage your mistake by reloading the autosave! I just wish it activated a bit more often sometimes.

Warping. Now we can warp to each level in a dungeon as well as certain places on the map in town. It's pretty convenient for the most part.

Increased party members. Now you can have up to 3 members in your party! Hooray! Party members act more intelligently than in older games. Scarlett can use the Seed circle to assist you in fights. I think she also tosses healing potions at you occasionally. So far, no one has tossed a dish at me if I haven't eaten like Kiel and Clorica did in rf4. But I have been hit by a failed dish (from reinhardt?) and a healing potion (from scarlett). Scarlett, Priscilla, and Reinhardt are the most helpful when dungeon crawling in my experience. Some of them however, (looking at you Doug) don't shut the hell up with their one line of dialogue they have and repeat it constantly.

Seed Circle. This neat feature allows you to capture monsters. By charging it and releasing you can capture monsters for the bounty system or add them to your party temporarily. If you throw it without charging it, you can stun monsters in place momentarily or grab things from far away. When stunning monsters, it can also give you the monster's drop item occasionally. Unfortunately it uses a lot of RP so it can be difficult at times.

Combo attacks. This is a neat feature that I appreciate and use often for boss fights. They do some serious damage so it's good to save them for the bosses. The actual cutscenes aren't that impressive, and feel kind of subpar when you get down to it but I think it's a start in the right direction.

Farm Dragons. I'm listing this as a pro although I really just see it as a new feature. Farm dragons have fields on their backs that you can place monster barns on and farm on. Giving them certain crystals will give your fields boosts in certain criteria, like length of growth, soil quality, you get it. I personally don't use the crystals because I couldn't give a shit lmao I have men and women to woo here. But if you're into this kinda thing then it's a pro.

Storage. When opening your storage box, fridge, etc. you can actually hit the R & L buttons to switch between ALL of your other storages. Looooove thissss. Great addition. So much faster to put items away in their respective places.

Crafting/Forging. Now we can also use the R & L buttons to alternate between the different weapon types/accessory/gear types instead of having to exit the menu and going back in each time you want to make something different.

Cooking. More recipes have been added. Yay!

Days are longer now. More time to get shit doneeeee ayyyy

Fishing. They've added many more fish to the game! Now the player will shout something when you get a bite, making it easier for you to hit B at the right moment. Nice. Also if you fail or press B too early, the fish doesn't vanish most of the time. Also nice. There is now a feature to fish with another person's assistance. Once a day you can investigate the sign near the fishing station and someone might offer to lend you a hand. Press the B button at the right moments on the slider and you can get a rare fish that can't be caught normally.

Monsters. New types of monsters! Love the designs. Even the monsters that are the same but just have different skins are really neat. They look great in the 3D format too. You can even ride with up to two people on certain monsters! Some bosses had awesome designs while others...were bad.

New Types of Furniture. The carpenter store has a wide arrange of furniture you can buy for your home. It also has wallpapers and stuff which is really neat. Though unfortunately you can't even sit on some of the furniture so that's a shame.

Events. Now there is a system where events are triggered by approaching an icon on the map. This is probably an improvement to RF4's randomized system, though personally I found it annoying because it meant that I had to see the events before I could just enter a building normally. Sometimes I just wanted to get shit done and not have to read through walls of text for someone's love event when I just want to buy something.

Voiced Lines. The protagonist seems to have more voiced lines, as do other characters. Good!

Let's talk about Cons

Not including glitches. Oh boy. So many cons. Where do I start?

Dialogue. Probably the most notable con in the entire game. The dialogue is drastically minimal in comparison to previous games, especially rf4. There is probably a quarter of the amount of dialogue compared to rf4's insane amount of content if not less. Townsfolk repeat themselves. Often. Too often. Am I playing Harvest Moon? Originally I thought it was because the dialogue is randomized, but I think it's actually because more dialogue is unlocked as you raise townspeople's FP. Despite this, there's no linear build up where you start off as acquaintances and eventually become very close like in rf4 because of how sporadic the LP/FP is. Townsfolk don't even talk to each other. One of the greatest perks about runefa is the conversations townsfolk can have with one another. Residents randomly gathering in small groups to talk about anything. Previously you could add someone to your party and sometimes a dialogue will occur if you speak to the right person at the right time with that person in your party. This is nonexistent now. The only time they do this in rf5 is during the festivals. But, it will only trigger if you have unlocked all the characters in each marriageable lineup and they can't be in your party. The residents will talk about one another but that's pretty much it outside of town events. They got rid of all the minor dialogue that occurs too. Trying to sleep in someone's bed while they're right there? They wont comment. Inspecting objects in stores while the shopkeeper is present? Wont say anything. Take a character with you to a dungeon/boss fight? Their lips are sealed. Where's my sense of community? :(

FP/LP This ties into the dialogue issue. The rate at which LP/FP increases is sporadic as hell. You can go from 1FP/LP to 4FP/LP just by giving a gift sometimes. I wouldn't even speak to people and their affinity increased by like triple for no reason. Then it increases by like 2% for the longest time. Argh!!!

Graphics. I don't consider myself very picky when it comes to graphics. I don't really mind that the foliage and scenery are at the level of a ps2 game at best. I tried playing on my television initially, but the lag and camera operability was too much so I fully switched (haha puns) to handheld. One thing that sucked is that I literally cannot tell the difference between medicinal herbs, antidote grasses, and green grasses without the captions because the graphics are so indistinguishable. So when you're trying to pick up multiples of those items by holding the A button, you're just randomly walking over anything green in the hopes that you'll get the right ones...

Lack of Sound Effects. Something I noticed is they got rid of the sound effects that will play when you complete a puzzle or add someone to your party. When you try to brush a monster there's no sound for the '♪' they make when you successfully brush them. So it was hard for me to tell if I had actually brushed them or not. I was a bit saddened by the lack of cute sounds.

Too much free range. From the very beginning of the game, you're allowed to go pretty much wherever you want when leaving town. It was too easy to stumble into high enemy level territory without knowing, so when I was like level 5 so I got KO'd immediately.

Artwork. The portraits seem to be lower in quality somehow. Runefa has always had shitty portrait art imo but this time it's even worse. Many character's eyes looked fucked up. Though the 3D models are insanely good for mostly every character except Terry. Terry's 3D model looks Terryfying and I prefer his portrait.

Festivals. They've added some new festivals. Some I enjoy. Some not so much. They changed the format of the eating contest. It's horrible. Good luck with that one.

L pocket + R button? They got rid of the feature that lets you skip to the other end of your items when opening the L pocket by pressing R button. I really liked that feature because it made it faster to reach my items so I was bummed that they got rid of it.

Gotta go fast. Now when you speak to someone, it doesn't 'stop time' as you might say it did in previous games. So people are still moving about as you speak to someone, making it harder to catch up to people! Annoying!!!

Catch and release? Not in my farming simulator! Say goodbye to being able to toss a fish you caught back into the water. In fact, say goodbye to tossing anything you don't want anymore into the water. Now you just have an army of fish flopping on the ground around you. And with the auto pick up feature, they're probably going to end up in your inventory anyways once you try to move. There are still certain ponds with fairies that you can toss stuff into, but you'll have to deal with the fairy harping at you for giving her something she doesn't want.

Shop Hours. Oh god. The shop owners don't even open their stores at the correct hours? It says open at 9am. If you speak to them they won't open their store until like 9:07??? But Priscilla and Lucy will show up to work their part-time jobs at around 8:30am and you can buy stuff through them before 9am. So the actual shop owners (for the bread shop and general store) are pointless usually. Additionally, if the store is empty (but open) you can no longer add a shopkeeper into your party and then enter their store with them to buy things from them. Why. Just why. When you want to buy something that only a specific person sells (Only Hina sells fish, only Heinz sells misc items) you have to wait for them to finally decide to work in their own store. Wonderful.

Monster Item drops. Maybe I'm crazy but the monster drops are seriously a lot harder to get than in previous games. Especially boss drops. It's almost impossible to get the rare drops now. I don't even want to try anymore. And as far as I know, the only place to buy monster items is through Heinz, but his items are actually misc. items, not specifically monster drops. So you'll be lucky to check his store (whenever tf he decides to actually work) for any monster items you might want instead of farming for the drops. Sighs.

Difficulty. This game is too easy. There is little to no challenge whatsoever. I had to increase the difficulty setting to hard mode and it was still too easy. I beat it at level 139, never once did I need to grind or level. In fact, your character levels up way too quickly for the pace of the story. I had zero trouble with any of the bosses and even the final boss was a breeze. Quite sad. Though because I am not new to the franchise, it's likely that newcomers would have some trouble in the later parts of the story.

Fishing cons. Idk how you fck up fishing but they sure did. You have to stand further back now because the pole is so long that you'll miss the fish you're aiming for. In fact, it's seriously hard to aim period. You'll end up recasting more often than not. Fish come in the various sizes but they don't seem to have the darker or faded characteristics that can indicate whether it's a rare fish or not. The graphics make it hard to tell. The pros that i've already mentioned are welcomed but it doesn't negate the fact that I do not enjoy fishing like I did in previous games.

Mining/Lumbering Cons. You can no longer strike three times consecutively when mining/lumbering. This sucks lol. Even when you upgrade your axe or hammer, powering up the tool does nothing for getting wood and material stone--it only expands the area of your strike. So it takes longer to get wood/stone from stumps and rocks now since you have to strike the full 9 times but it's not too bad. It's also harder to aim now as well so that's also unfortunate.

Seasonal Fields? Kiss them goodbye! That's right, there are no seasonal fields in rf5 because devs are insane! You instead have the farm dragons that seem to look seasonal based on the fact that they are designed after elements like earth, water, and fire. But no, these dragons are simply extra fields for you to use. Here's a spoiler: you're not going to use those fields. You're just not. They're kinda useless unless you're obsessed with farming. Now you have to grow your crops out of season like the sad farmer that you are.

Farming cons. Seeds no longer tell you how long it takes to grow the crop. Why. As of June 29th, they fixed this with an update. But I still had to play the whole game without it so fuck you marvelous. The joystick is really sensitive? So when you're trying to use a fertilizer or something on your field you're likely to place it on the wrong 4x4 tile, wasting your fertilizer. So it’s best to hold down the R button when farming. Also the crops look uglie as hell.

Sleeping and warping cutscenes. Just like in rf4 there's a cutscene when you go to sleep that can be skipped easily by pressing A. In rf5, there's a cutscene to sleep and a cutscene when waking up. It takes a bit more than a second to skip these scenes so it gets annoying after a while. Warping is this new feature that replaces our beloved escape spell. Overall I appreciate the feature but I hate it for two reasons. One: there's an annoying ass cutscene for it each time you use it that could be much shorter. And Two: townsfolk now use warp even when inside the town. In previous games, someone exiting your party in town would just manually run to wherever they need to be. So you could easily chase after them if you need to talk to them or give them something. Now, party members use warp regardless of where you are at the time. So say you have someone at 7 hearts and you want to try confessing to them. You would have them join your party, save your game, and then have them leave your party and immediately speak to them and confess before they can run off. If it doesn't work you reload until it does. In RF5 this wouldn't work anymore because they will warp. Now you would have to save, run around town trying to find this person and hope they accept the confession. Otherwise you'll have to play hide and seek again because reloading your file will randomize the resident's locations (if they are not working in a shop)!!!! I often just waited until a festival day because then they will be at the plaza for most of the day and it has a warp point there.

Crafting/Forging/Cooking. They've removed the feature where you can press Y on the ingredients in the menu to add more of that particular item. I miss this feature :'(

Lacks incentive. There is no trophy room from my knowledge. The final dungeon that is meant to be like the sharance maze/rune prana isn't that hard to beat for skilled players and is only 20 floors. After you beat the main story and this dungeon there's not much else to do really.

Request Board. Unlike in rf4, you need to make sure you have accepted requests before you complete them or else it will not count. Previously, you could complete all sorts of tasks and Eliza would still recognize your work even if you accept their request after the fact. ie, shipping goods, harvesting crops, etc. So make sure you don't harvest your special crops before accepting the request it's for!

Return of the "Loli" Dragons... Yeah you read that right. We got more dragons in children's(???) bodies with skimpy clothes. I don't know anymore????¿¿¿

Can't marry the Milfs or Dilfs. Tragic.

Still no homo. Grow up Marvelous.

Reverse Proposal? Reverse Uno card-- Laid low by the patriarchy. You now have to buy the double bed and craft an engagement ring to propose to your man if you're playing as Alice. Marvelous this isn't what we meant when we said we wanted equal rightsssssss This can be seen as a pro if you're a softhearted babey who doesn't like rejecting bachelors' proposals because you feel bad :'( But this is a con for me because I don't want to spend money and materials on a double bed dammit!!!

Misc. Still can't stack dishes or fish. There's no green elemental fairy???All the other elemental ones are there except the green one? why??? Still can't tame the giant Wooly. Some bosses that have insanely awesome designs cannot be tamed and makes me wanna eat glass.

Let's talk about Love~

Relationships. We want them. And half of us only play these games for them. I've only played as the female heroine so far but I'll be updating this review as soon as I finish with the bachelorettes as the male hero.

Confessions

As usual, we must raise the love points of our beloved to 7 hearts before we can attempt to date them. However unlike in rf4, if you fail at a confession once, you will need to raise the LP up an entire level before you can try again with any chance of success. It's imperative you save before attempting a confession now.

Love Events

Each love interest has two love events that must be seen before you can date them. They're reminiscent of older game's style but I felt they could have been a biiiit more interactive or so? Or involved the town a bit more for some of them.

Dating

Once you get your honey to be your bf/gf, you get to choose the nicknames as usual. Then you can go on dates. The first three (non-festival) dates are actually events. You need to see all three events to get married.

Marriage Event

The final event you need to clear before you can marry your sweetie. In my honest opinion, so far for the boys, these events were rather disappointing. They lacked the drama and angst that sort of 'test' the love between the two when compared to rf4. Also this is a huge con for me personally and a minor spoiler but there are no special cutscenes at the end of the marriage event like in rf4. Instead, the cutscene takes place during your actual wedding. I was saddened by this because it took away the depth from the marriage events and the actual character? As it is just a cut and paste type of thing instead of an original cutscene for each person. They lack individualism this way. Also it kinda felt like a way for devs to avoid gay relationships and cut corners :^/....sus.

First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes...

Children!!!!!! This is actually one of the coolest additions in the game. Just like in rf3, you can have up to 3 children again! Your first child will resemble you, and you will have the option to choose its gender as well as its personality. There are 6 different children, (3 boys and 3 girls), all with different hairstyles, mannerisms, and seiyuus. Your answers will determine which child you get. A year after your first child is born, you will get the option to have a second child. You'll end up with twins, both resembling your partner. You won't get to choose the genders (it will be a boy and girl) but you will get to choose the personalities once more. The children all have canon names too and each kid is incredibly cute. And of course, you're still able to take your kid with you in your party~ ...Though you can only take one kid with you at a time.

So is RF5 good?

Yeah it's a fun game! My theory is that Marvelous forced the devs to release the game earlier than they were ready for, and that's why it's so lacking. But that doesn't mean it's not worth playing! I'd rate it 3.5/5 stars hehe. Not nearly as good as RF4 (full stop 5/5), or RF3 (4/5) but enjoyable nonetheless. I wouldn't recommend it as a first game to play from the series for newcomers though, I feel it's best for vets who can overlook all the cons thanks to loyalty and nostalgia. By the time it’s released in the West, the bugs should all be dealt with too.

So! Definitely buy this game! We want the series to continue and we want RF6 to be better than this--and hopefully Marvelous will make sure of that next time. If you're not a picky person I think you'll enjoy rf5 a lot. If you're like me and have high standards then, well, still pick it up and let it run its course. Then dust off rf4sp and cleanse your gaming palette >;^)

#rune factory 5 #rf5 spoilers #rune factory #rf5 #spoilers #review #rune factory 5 spoilers

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angryhausfrau-writes · 3 years

Text

Your Friends Were All Standing Around Looking At Your Cock The Other Dayee...

Interior of the farm house. WAYNE, KATY, and SQUIRRELLY DAN stand around the table, looking at something.

KATY: It's a beautiful cock.

WAYNE: Oh, it's a gorgeous cock.

DAN, shifting from foot to foot, uncomfortably: Now I'ms nots denyings that it's a mightys fines cocks. I just thinks its mights not bes appropriates to have sets outs on the supper tables is all.

KATY: Oh Dan, there's been far worse things than a cock on this table.

WAYNE growls: Better not have been them hockey nutsacks.

KATY: I'm a big girl, Wayne. None of your business what nutsacks I'm spending time with.

WAYNE, begrudgingly: True.

DAN: You knows whats you're afters, miss Katys, and that's what I appreciates about you.

KATY, flirtatiously: Oh, is that what you appreciate about me?

WAYNE: Take about ten, twenty percent off her over there Squirrelly Dan.

DAN, looking at the table: Oh hey look. A cock. What is sets most unhygenicallys on the table we eats off ofs.

KATY: Jesus Dan. Hop off our cocks.

WAYNE: Besides, you're a bigger degen than Dary if you eat directly off the table.

DAN: Where is Darys anyways? Ain't like him to miss such a magnificents cocks.

DARY enters the KITCHEN: Sorry I'm late. Spent all morning wrangling my cock into its cage.

DAN, sympathetically: Its was giving yous some troubles thens?

DARY: Kept making itself all big and plumped up. Couldn't get it to fit in the cage. Ended up having to really wrassle with it for a good long while.

KATY: Could say you had to take your cock firmly in hand there, Dary?

WAYNE: Pert near had to choke that chicken, I'd imagine.

DARY: Pert near.

DAN: But yous gots it settled downs and ins its cage?

DARY nods and hefts a rooster in a wire cage into frame: Yup. Tuckered it out eventually. Now it's placid as anything.

WAYNE: Now that's a handsome cock, Dary. A right handsome cock.

DARY, bashful: Aw, it ain't nothing special. Not like yours, Wayne.

WAYNE SHIFTS OUT OF THE WAY. PAN TO ROOSTER ON THE TABLE.

DARY: Now that's a real handsome cock, and well behaved to boot.

WAYNE: Ok, Dary. Dary, ok. Ok, Dary. Dary, ok. Youwannaknowwhat? Here's the scoop and I'm gonna tell ya. I look at your cock and I think, well, I think: good for you buddy. Just like, good for you bud. Like I'm real proud of ya, Dary.

DAN: It's a mightys fines cocks, Dary. Yous gots every rights to be prouds.

KATY: Nothing wrong with a spirited cock, anyways.

DARY, bashful: Still reckon yours'll be the cock to beat down the Ag Festival, Wayne.

WAYNE: Oh it's a handsome cock all right.

KATY: A beautiful cock.

WAYNE: Oh it's a gorgeous cock.

DARY: Not to be pulling your own horn over there.

DAN: Oh yous shoulds nevers do thats. Leastwise nots ins mixed companies.

KATY: Says you.

WAYNE, abrupt: No hard feelings Dary. Regardless of who beats whose cock.

DARY: No hard feelings.

WAYNE holds his hand straight out for DARY to shake: Then may the man with the best cock win.

LETTERKENNY TITLE BUT THERE IS A ROOSTER INSTEAD OF A DOG.

ESTABLISHING SHOTS OF A FAIRGROUD.

EXTERIOR SHOT OF THE AG BUILDING.

INTERIOR SHOT OF THE AG BUILDING. WAYNE, KATY, DARY, and SQUIRRELLY DAN are standing around a table with ROOSTERS in cages on it. The DYCKS and the HOCKEY PLAYERS are also there, standing further down the room.

GLEN enters with a clipboard, officiators badge: Wayne! How're you now?

WAYNE: Good'nyou?

GLEN: Oh, I'm just dripping with excitement to be judging all y'alls cocks. Especially yours Wayne.

WAYNE squints into the distance.

DAN: You're judgings the competitions?

GLEN: Indeed I am, Daniel. Although admittedly I misunderstood the nature of the event when I first volunteered to judge. But! I have plenty of experience judging cocks from my years on the family poultry farm. The cocks I raised as a youth...

WAYNE: Pitter patter.

GLEN: Well, fine. If you don't appreciate hearing about my cock judging credentials.

DARY, snickering: Pretty sure pert near everyone in town knows 'bout those.

GLEN: True but uncalled for, Daryl!

NOAH DYCK, joining the hicks: I for one think it is admirable that Preacher Glen has experience handling and judging cocks. And from his boyhood, once.

WAYNE: Noah.

NOAH: Wayne.

DARY: Mr. Dyck.

NOAH: Daryl.

DAN: Noahs Dycks.

NOAH: Daniel. A pity Lovina Dyck could not make it to the cock judging. I'm certain she would have had she known you were showing your cock. For is it not true, mine wife, that the love tree often bears fruit when a young man parades his cock before his sweetheart, once?

ANITA approaches: What nonsense are you speaking now, Noah?

NOAH: Simply that a Dyck chooses a lifemate in part by how well she-

KATY: Or he.

DAN: Ors theys.

NOAH: -raises a cock. Did not you impress me with your cock raising skills when first we were courting?

ANITA, blushing: You say too much, husband.

NOAH: And did not you help raise this cock which I am showing proudly this day, once? Why without mine Anita Dyck's loving and tender hand, this cock would be but small and limp and lifeless.

ANITA: Us Snatches have always had a way with cocks, as well you know.

NOAH: A good thing too. Us Dycks require a skilled hand with raising our cocks. Lovina will be delighted to know you've raised such a magnificent cock as are being shown here this day. Perhaps I shall send one of my young sons to go fetch her, once. So that she might see your cock.

DAN, hurriedly: Oh nos, I'm nots showings anybodys anythings. That's all Waynes and Darys.

GLEN: Daryl! I didn't realize you were showing your cock today too. Oh, this is so exciting! Me, in the middle of a Daryl/Wayne cock sandwich.

WAYNE growls.

GLEN: Although I don't know how I'm supposed to choose between the two of your cocks. I think it will take some lengthy deliberation.

KATY: This is already taking fucking forever, I'm going to go sit down.

DAN: I'll join yous, miss Katys.

KATY as they leave: Still not over Lovina Dyck, eh?

DAN: I don'ts knows that I'll evers stop thinkings abouts Lovinas Dycks, miss Katys. Ands that's a facts.

KATY and SQUIRRELLY DAN exit.

DARY (aside): Katy's right. This is taking fucking forever.

WAYNE to GLEN: I say again. Pitter. Patter.

GLEN whines.

WAYNE: If a man should be one thing, he should be efficient.

GLEN: Fine. Everyone here? Then lets get y'all registered. What's your cocks' names? I'm sure you've come up with some good ones.

WAYNE: Plenty of good names for cocks.

DARY: Oh, you can have a lot of fun naming cocks.

WAYNE: I'm surprised we're not naming cocks right now.

DARY: Could name one after the fictional prizefighter Cocky Balboa.

WAYNE: Or the legendary real life comedian Chris Cock.

DARY: There's always actor and former wrassler Dwayne the Cock Johnson.

GLEN: Ooh, that's a two-for-one special right there.

WAYNE: Or jazz musician John Cocktrain.

DARY: I like that one.

WAYNE: Not too obscure?

DARY: Nah, it's a gooder. Cultured - but not trying too hard.

GLEN: All right, all right. So what are your cocks' names?

DARY: Cock.

GLEN: Come again? And please note, I'm saying that in a completely different context to the one I usually use.

DARY: My cock's called cock. I din't name the damn thing. I know what it looks like.

WAYNE: Well I should hope so.

DARY: And I only got the one. Not liable to mix it up with someone else's cock.

GLEN: Ok. Fine, Dary. Ruin all my fun. TURNS TO WAYNE. What about you, Wayne? What's the big fella called?

WAYNE: Only nutsacks name their cocks.

RILEY breaking into the group around GLEN: We're all saying our cock's names, boys?

JONESY: Just naming silly cock over here, boys?

RILEY: Just christening silly amounts of cock over here, boys?

WAYNE: Again, only nutsacks name their cocks.

GLEN: Yes, boys. Everyone who's entering the cock judging needs to tell me their cock's name so I can make sure to call out the right name during the handling. It's just so embarrassing to call the cock in your hands by the wrong name...

RILEY: We've got a cock to register for judging, boys.

JONESY: Well, really it's Riley's cock we're entering. And it's a real beauty, buddy.

RILEY: Hey, buddy. It's as much your cock as mine. It is a real beauty though buddy.

JONESY: Just a real beauty of a cock here, boys.

RILEY: Half clapper top cheddar.

JONESY: Guaranteed W. Ferda!

RILEY: Ferda!

GLEN: Now boys, we're talking about roosters here, not actual cocks. Don't feel bad - I too was confused at first. So, while I'm sure Riley's cock is just delightful...

JONESY: It is. He's a registered beautician, buddy.

RILEY: Thanks buddy.

GLEN: Yes. But I just want to stress again – this is the animal we're talking about here.

RILEY: Yeah, boys. Cocks.

JONESY holds up a rooster in a cage: And this is our cock:

RILEY: Four time Stanley Cup winner.

JONESY: Four time Vezina Trophy winner.

RILEY: Hockey hall-of-famer.

JONESY: Goaltender extraordinaire.

RILEY: Terry Sawcock. Ferda!

JONESY: Ferda!

DARY (aside): Kinda surprised they have a whole cock between 'em.

WAYNE: Ain't surprised they share it though, fuck.

DARY: Same way they share a set of testicles. And maybe a tongue.

GLEN: Ooh, don't tempt me Daryl.

WAYNE (turns to RILEY and JONESY): Now where in the hell did yous two nutsacks get a cock from anyways? You better not've stolen it right out from under some poor unsuspecting farmer's nose.

RILEY: We bought it down at the feed store boys.

JONESY: Heard about people keeping chickens as pets boys.

RILEY: How they're so cute and cuddly. Plus free eggs boys.

JONESY: Need plenty of protein to keep up with the gains boys.

RILEY and JONESY flex. GLEN watches avidly. WAYNE is unimpressed.

RILEY: Accidentally bought a rooster though buddy.

JONESY (sadly): Can't get eggs from a rooster buddy.

RILEY: Still a good pet though buddy.

JONESY: Yeah, just really loves to cuddle with us buddy.

RILEY: Yeah, just really loves to cuddle with us on the sofa buddy.

WAYNE: Shouldn't keep farm animals as pets. Fuck.

DARY: Farm animals belong on a farm. S'why they're called farm animals.

WAYNE: Like. You wouldn't let a sow into you're living room. And you wouldn't let a cow into your living room. So why the fuck are you cuddling up on the couch with a cock?

JONESY: Shouldn't knock it till you've tried it.

DARY: I'll knock you.

GLEN: Boys please. Lets not fight. Not when we're all gathered here today for such a noble purpose as comparing cocks.

ALL: Fine.

GLEN: All righty now, let's see. We've got Daryl's cock: cock. We've got Wayne's cock: only nutsacks name their cocks. Riley and Jonesy's collective cock: Terry Sawcock. What do you call your cock, Noah?

NOAH: While there are a great quantity of cocks at the Dyck farm, this is our most quality.

WAYNE: Quality Dyck if you will.

GLEN: Quality Dyck it is.

DARY: Sure 'nough.

WAYNE: Like you see that cock and you say, that's Quality Dyck all right. And no mistake.

GLEN: Mhm! And I know from Quality Dyck. Now, if that's everyone, we can get on with the judging...

MCMURRY barges in: Wait! (Approaching WAYNE) Wayne. How're'you'now? Good'n'you. Ohnotsobad. Okay! (Turns to the GROUP) I, McMurry, am entering my cock in this little competition. So all you sumbitches can make a hole.

GLEN: Well someone's all riled up! You can go ahead and enter your cock right here, McMurry. No need to shout.

DARY (angry): Yeah, no need to bust our balls.

WAYNE (placating): Go have a dart.

DARY (begrudgingly): Yeah, I'll have a dart.

WAYNE and DARY exit.

FADE TO BLACK.

ESTABLISHING SHOT OF THE AGRICULTURAL FESTIVAL.

ZOOM ON TWO COCK SHAKUR PLAYING FOR A CROWD IN FRONT OF THE AG BUILDING.

PAN OVER KATY AND DAN IN THE AUDIENCE.

ZOOM ON GLEN AS HE ENTERS THE STAGE AT THE FRONT OF THE CROWD.

GLEN: How'reyounow?

AUDIENCE: Good'n'you?

GAIL: All this cock talk's got me wetter than a lighthouse keeper's slicker in a Noreaster, I can tell you that much.

DAN: Gailer!

KATY: First Glen is here judging and now Gail's here.

GAIL approaches KATY and DAN.

DAN: Yeah, Gail. I didn'ts know you were so interesteds in the agriculturals.

GAIL: Less interested in the agriculturals than in seeing some. Good. Hand. Raised. Cock. Specially when I heard Wayne's entered in the cock judging.

DAN to KATY: She knows it's nots actual cocks, rights?

KATY to GAIL: More importantly, is Modean's actually closed?

DAN: Tells me it didn't burns down agains.

KATY: This town needs a fucking bar.

GAIL: Nah, Modean's 3 is still alive and kicking sure as this old goat. But when Glen told me he'd be judging cocks at the agricultural festival I figured the whole fucking town'd be here rather than down Modean's.

DAN: Nots a bad turnsout for Letterkenny's first evers ag festival.

KATY: A great fucking turnout.

GAIL: Plus, I get a chance to see Wayne's cock today – and that's worth a day's profits right there.

KATY: Gross.

GAIL: Not that I've actually lost a day's profits. Bonny's been making the rounds at the Ag festival and apparently, business. Is. Banging.

CUT TO BONNY WEAVING HER WAY THROUGH THE CROWD WITH A TRAY OF SHOT GLASSES AND BEER BOTTLES.

KATY and DAN whistfully, along with CROWD: Bonny McMurry?

GLEN (impatient): Can I have your attention please!

PAN BACK TO GLEN.

GLEN: The event we've all been waiting for – I know I have – the cock judging. Lets meet our contestants!

GLEN gestures to the stage like a game show host: First up is Wayne!

AUDIENCE applauds.

WAYNE enters with his rooster and stands stoically, hands in belt loops.

GLEN examining the rooster: An impressive cock. Sturdy. Well built. And a real big fella. Nearly eight pounds, and pure muscle. Wayne, I think you've got a real champion cock here.

WAYNE nods stoically.

GAIL: And that's not the only cock of his I hear is impressive.

GLEN: Oooh, tell me more.

WAYNE: Glen.

GAIL: That rooster's not the only cock almost eight somethings.

MCMURRY (from backstage): Wait, is that measured over or under the balls.

GAIL: And plenty of stamina to make it through those cold Canadian winter nights. If. You. Know. What. I. Mean.

GLEN: No, please continue in explicit detail.

WAYNE: Glen!

GLEN: Ok, fine. (Gestures WAYNE to move to the rear of the stage.) Moving along, next up is Dary!

AUDIENCE applauds.

GLEN examining the rooster: Oh, you've got a feisty one here, Dary. Plenty of personality! A little smaller than Wayne's but still an excellent cock. And those freckles are just too cute!

DARY: Aw, thanks Glen.

GLEN: And I'd happily take a look at your other cock if you want, Daryl.

DARY: Thanks for the offer Glen, but like I said, I only got the one.

GLEN: Oh never mind.

GLEN waves DARY off the stage.

DARY moves to stand next to WAYNE.

GLEN: Here's our next contestant, Noah Dyck!

AUDIENCE applauds.

GLEN: Now this is something special, y'all. An excellent example of a Canadian heritage breed, known for being an excellent layer and quite robust as well. Yes, I think we can all agree that this is certainly Quality Dyck right here.

NOAH: Thank you Preacher Glen. Such comments mean much coming from such an experienced judge of cocks as yourself.

GLEN: Oh, Noah. You'll make me blush. (GLEN rapidly ushers NOAH to stand next to DARY and WAYNE) Anywho, our next contestant is Riley and Jonesy!

AUDIENCE applauds with some confusion.

DAN: What, both of thems? Collectivelys?

KATY: It makes sense. They do everything else together.

DAN: Everythings?

GAIL: Ev. Ry. Thing.

DAN: Katy?

KATY: Can confirm.

DAN: Wow. Didn'ts needs to knows thats.

KATY: You did ask.

GAIL: It's not like we gave you a blow. By. Blow account. But if you really want to know...

GLEN: This cock's a little smaller than the ones we've seen previously. Not as much muscle – might want to exercise it a little more, boys. Just really put it through it's paces.

SHORESY: Yeah! Give your balls a tug titfuckers!

RILEY: Fuck you, Shoresy! Where's your cock, if you think you're so good!

SHORESY: Fuck you Riley! If you want to know about my cock, just ask your mom. She saw plenty of it last night. Rode me so hard reverse cowgirl style I thought she was going to snap it off.

JONESY: Fuck you Shoresy!

SHORESY: Don't worry, Jonesy. Your mom was there to kiss it all better.

RILEY and JONESY: Fuck you Shoresy!

GLEN: Well! All audience commentary aside, I think you've got a very shapely cock, Riley. And I think if you put in the time, worked hard and raised it properly, you could have a real champion cock on your hands.

RILEY: Thanks, boys!

JONESY: Yeah, thanks boys!

GLEN: You're welcome. Now go sit down so we can get to our next contestant!

RILEY and JONESY fistbump and move to join the others.

McMURRY pushes forward through the other contestants: Yes, I McMurry am here to have my cock judged in front of all of you. And I'm gonna win this cocksucking cock competition, just you watch.

MRS McMURRY: Knock 'em dead, baby. Love you.

McMURRY: Love you too baby.

GLEN (awkward): Well, this cock's a little on the small side...

KATY: And that's a little bit of an understatement.

JARED KEESO CHARACTER #1: It's fucking tiny, McMurry. I've got a bigger cock hatched out an egg yesterday.

JARED KEESO CHARACTER #2: How'd you get a woman like Mrs. McMurry with a tiny cock like that?

JARED KEESO CHARACTER #1: You're a piece of shit, McMurry.

MRS McMURRY: Don't listen to him. Your cock's perfect, baby.

GLEN: Yes, well. They say it's not size that counts, but in this case – and a few others – that's just not true. Sorry, McMurry. You're out of the competition.

McMURRY: Goldangit all! (Exits STAGE mumbling profanities)

MRS McMURRY rushes after him.

GLEN: Now on to our last competitor! Modean Three's own Bonny McMurry!

AUDIENCE applauds.

DAN: I's hads no ideas she raised cocks.

KATY: I seem to remember her raising your cock pretty frequently there Dan.

DAN: I seems to remembers yous were plentys affected as well, Miss Katy.

KATY: What can I say? I like a woman with a championship cock.

GLEN: And what an excellent cock it is! A little on the slender side, but shapely! And what a lovely temperament. Outgoing without being pushy! Oh, it's just gorgeous!

WAYNE (aside to Dary): Now that's a lovely cock.

DARY: It's a beautiful cock for sure.

WAYNE: Oh it's a gorgeous cock.

GLEN: I think we have a winner folks! Let's hear it for Bonny McMurry's excellent cock!

FADE OUT TO AUDIENCE APPLAUSE AS BONNY McMURRY ACCEPTS A TROPHY.

SHOT OPENS ON THE PRODUCE STAND. WAYNE, DAN, AND DARY ARE SITTING IN THEIR USUAL SEATS WITH THEIR USUAL PUPPERS. KATYS CHAIR IS TAKEN BY WAYNE AND DARY'S ROOSTERS.

DAN: Recon Miss Katies is going to wants her seats back anytimes soons?

WAYNE: I imagine she's occupied for the evening.

DARY: Can't really blame her. I mean, who knew Bonny McMurry had such a championship cock?WAYNE: Hell, anybody'd want to go celebrate down MoDean's after a win like that. She's more than earned it, showing up all our cocks like that.

DARY: Still, there's no shame in coming second, good buddy.

DAN: Especiallys nots against such stiffs competitions.

WAYNE: I reckon you're right there, Dary. Andyouwannaknowwhat? Ain't no shame in coming third neither.

DAN: Especiallys nots against such stiffs competitions.

WAYNE stands and holds his hand out for DARY to shake: Congratulations Dary. That's a mighty fine cock you've got there.

DARY stands and shakes WAYNE's hand: Not as nice as yours, Wayne. Congratulations on the cock.

WAYNE and DARY sit.

WAYNE looks at where the roosters are sitting next to each other: Well, I'll give those hockey nutsacks this. They are cuddly little fuckers, aren't they?

DARY hawks a loogie in agreement.

WAYNE: Still not letting 'em in the fucking house though.

WAYNE, DARY, and DAN take a drink of PUPPERS.

CREDITS ROLL.

#letterkenny #this is essentially one long dick joke #@ jared keeso: call me

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conradscrime · 3 years

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The Axeman of New Orleans

October 21, 2021

The Axeman of New Orleans was a serial killer who was active in New Orleans, Louisiana and surrounding areas. He was active from May 1918 to October 1919, and then vanished without a trace. Like Jack the Ripper and the Zodiac killer, the Axeman of New Orleans is still unidentified.

The Axeman normally targeted immigrant families and his MO consisted of breaking into their houses, and attacking them with an axe, usually the families own axe. The crimes were never motivated by robbery and the killer had never taken items from any of the homes he broke into. Because almost all victims were Italian immigrants, many suspect that the killer’s crimes were ethnically motivated.

Some criminologists believe that the Axeman only intended to kill women, for sexual motives and only ended up killing men if they got in the way. Some even suggest the Axeman was trying to promote jazz music, as on March 13, 1919 he wrote a letter saying that he would kill everyone who was not playing jazz music from their homes or around town on the evening of March 19, 1919. That night, everyone played jazz music and it filled the streets. No one was murdered that night, though it is less plausible that the murders were jazz promoted, it is more likely that the Axeman just enjoyed music and controlling people.

By the time, this jazz letter had been written the Axeman had already been killing for 10 months and had residents terrified of when he would strike next. The letter read,

“Hottest Hell, March 13, 1919

Esteemed Mortal of New Orleans: The Axeman

They have never caught me and they never will. They have never seen me, for I am invisible, even as the ether that surrounds your earth. I am not a human being, but a spirit and a demon from the hottest hell. I am what you Orleanians and your foolish police call the Axeman.

When I see fit, I shall come and claim other victims. I alone know whom they shall be. I shall leave no clue except my bloody axe, besmeared with blood and brains of he whom I have sent below to keep me company.

If you wish you may tell the police to be careful not to rile me. Of course, I am a reasonable spirit. I take no offense at the way they have conducted their investigations in the past. In fact, they have been so utterly stupid as to not only amuse me, but His Satanic Majesty, Francis Josef, etc. But tell them to beware. Let them not try to discover what I am, for it were better that they were never born than to incur the wrath of the Axeman. I don't think there is any need of such a warning, for I feel sure the police will always dodge me, as they have in the past. They are wise and know how to keep away from all harm.

Undoubtedly, you Orleanians think of me as a most horrible murderer, which I am, but I could be much worse if I wanted to. If I wished, I could pay a visit to your city every night. At will I could slay thousands of your best citizens (and the worst), for I am in close relationship with the Angel of Death.

Now, to be exact, at 12:15 (earthly time) on next Tuesday night, I am going to pass over New Orleans. In my infinite mercy, I am going to make a little proposition to you people. Here it is: I am very fond of jazz music, and I swear by all the devils in the nether regions that every person shall be spared in whose home a jazz band is in full swing at the time I have just mentioned. If everyone has a jazz band going, well, then, so much the better for you people. One thing is certain and that is that some of your people who do not jazz it out on that specific Tuesday night (if there be any) will get the axe.

Well, as I am cold and crave the warmth of my native Tartarus, and it is about time I leave your earthly home, I will cease my discourse. Hoping that thou wilt publish this, that it may go well with thee, I have been, am and will be the worst spirit that ever existed either in fact or realm of fancy.

--The Axeman”

The first known victim was an Italian grocer named Joseph Maggio and his wife, Catherine, on May 23, 1918, while asleep in their home on the corner of Upperline and Magnolia Streets. The Axeman had broken into their home and cut the couple’s throats with a straight razor. He then bashed their heads in with an axe. Joseph actually survived the attack, but then died minutes after being discovered by his two brothers, Jake and Andrew about two hours after the initial attack. It was believed that Catherine had died pretty instantly and her throat had been cut so deeply she was almost decapitated.

The bloody clothes of the killer were found in the apartment, as he had clearly changed his clothes before leaving. The bloody razor was found in the neighbour's lawn, and belonged to Andrew Maggio, the brother who owned a barber shop. Police originally zoomed in on Andrew as the prime suspect as they thought it was strange he hadn’t heard the intruder come in and attack the couple as he lived beside the Maggios, though he claimed he was extremely intoxicated from celebrating joining the navy. He was initially cleared as a suspect when the police could not break down his story, as well as he claimed to have seen an unknown man lurking around the residence before the murders.

The next attacks occurred on June 27, 1918 and the victims were Louis Besumer and his mistress, Harriet Lowe. They were attacked in the corners of the back of his grocery located at the corner of Dorgenois and Laharpe Streets. Louis had been struck with a hatchet above his right temple, and Harriet was hacked over the left ear. They were found shortly after 7am by a driver of a bakery wagon who had come to make a delivery. The axe they were attacked with belonged to Louis. It was believed that he had been sleeping at the time he was attacked. They both survived.

A man named Lewis Oubicon was the suspect, a 41 year old African American man who had been hired at Louis’ grocery store a week before the murders. There was no evidence linking him to the attack, but police claimed he gave conflicting stories about his whereabouts that morning. Harriet claimed she had been attacked by a mulatto man, by police discounted her statement. Lewis was eventually cleared as a suspect and robbery was not the motive as nothing had been stolen. Louis himself became a suspect as suspicious letters in different languages were found in the trunk of his car, many believed he was a German spy.

After Harriet confirmed she believed he was a German spy the police arrested him but soon let him go. He was arrested again in August 1918, after Harriet, who laid dying in a hospital room after a failed surgery stated that she had been attacked that night with a hatchet by Louis. Harriet died on August 5. Louis was charged with murder and served 9 months in prison before being acquitted on May 1, 1919 after a 10 minute jury deliberation.

On August 5, 1918, Anna Scneider was attacked in the early morning hours. She was 8 months pregnant at the time and had woken up to find a dark figure standing over her bed. The figure then proceeded to bash her face in. Her scalp had been cut open and she was covered in blood. Her husband, Ed, found her after coming home late from work. Anna survived but said she did not remember anything of the attack and gave birth to a healthy baby girl 2 days later.

The only thing that had been stolen was 6 or 7 dollars from Ed’s wallet and the doors and windows in the apartment did not appear to have been forced open. It was at this time that police began thinking this attack was related to the attacks on the Maggios and Louis and Harriet.

On August 10, 1918, Joseph Romano, who lived with his two nieces, Pauline and Mary Bruno, was attacked with a serious blow to his head. The two girls woke up to commotion and found their uncle, and saw a man fleeing the scene. They described him as dark-skinned, heavy set and wearing a dark suit with a slouched hat. Joseph survived the initial attack, but died two days later due to head trauma. The home was ransacked but no items had been stolen.

A bloody axe was found in the backyard, leading everyone to fear for their lives as this was yet another axe attack. Police recieved reports that citizens claimed to have seen an axeman lurking around the neighbourhoods of New Orleans. A few man even said they found axes in their backyards. A retired detective named John Dantonio believed that the axeman was the same person responsible for several murders in 1911. He believed the axeman was a normal citizen, who abided by the law and had no real motive.

On March 10, 1919, screams were heard coming from Charles and Rosie Cortimiglia’s house. A grocer named Iorlando Jordano rushed over and found Charles, Rosie and their 2 year old daughter Mary had all been attacked. Mary had died and Rosie had a serious head wound. Charles was lying on the floor bleeding. Nothing was stolen from the house but a bloody axe was found on the back porch. Both were rushed to the hospital and Charles was released two days later, while Rosie stayed in the hospital. Both survived.

Rosie claimed that Iorlando Jordana and his 18 year old son Frank were responsible for the attacks, however Iorlando was 69 years old and in poor health, it would of been impossible for him to commit the attacks in his state. Frank, was too big to have fit through the panel on the back door. Charles did not agree with his wife’s claims, but police still arrested the two men. Frank was sentenced to hang and Iorlando was sentenced to life in prison. Charles and Rosie got a divorce after the trial and Rosie eventually confessed that she falsely accused them out of jealously a year after. The two men were soon released.

On August 10, 1919, a grocer named Steve Boca was attacked as he slept by an axe. He woke up to find a dark figure over his bed. Steve regained consciousness after the attack and ran to the street to investigate, realizing his head had been cracked open. He then ran to his neighbour’s, Frank Genusa, where he collapsed. Though, Steve survived the attack, he did not remember any details of it.

On September 3, 1919, Sarah Laumann was attacked. Her neighbours had come to check on her and broke into her home when she did not answer. The 19 year old was found unconscious on her bed, missing several teeth and had a serious head injury. Her attacker had entered the residence through an open window and she had been attacked with a blunt object. A bloody axe was found on the front lawn of the building. Sarah recovered but could not remember any details.

The last axeman attack occurred on October 27, 1919. Mike Peptione was attacked in his bedroom, and his wife was awakened by a noise and arrived at the door of his bedroom to see a large man holding an axe fleeing the scene. Mike had been struck in the head and his wife could not describe any details of the man. Mike died and is the last known victim of the axeman.

The Axeman has never been identified and all the murders remain unsolved. The attacks and murders abruptly stopped as quickly as they had started, and many have speculated why. Some believe the Axeman himself died and that’s why the attacks stopped, while others think he had just moved on and possibly went on to attack in a different area. Either way, after 102 years, it is unlikely we will ever known the true identity of the Axeman of New Orleans.

#UNSOLVED MYSTERIES #unsolved #unsolved murder #unsolved true crime #attacks #homicide #murder #axe #axeman #new orleans #31daysofhalloween #serial killer

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runawayface · 3 years

Text

Fic - Self Care

Title: Self Care

Word Count: 1,902

Summary: Harold has important news for Harvey, but the more pressing issue is Harvey’s lack of self care.

Notes: I wrote this one a LONG time ago (heck, probably a year ago) and just never posted it. But after a recent ask, I feel like this answers it pretty perfectly so maybe it’s time to dust it off and post it. And for those unfamiliar with Harold, he is the OC identical twin brother of Harvey, made up by @coindraws and myself. Best place to find out more would probably be his first appearance, HERE. Enjoy!

Winter 18, Year 3

“Hey, little brother!” Harold said cheerfully the moment Harvey answered the phone. Harvey simply sighed quietly, he had long-since stopped reminding Harold that he was only younger by sixteen minutes, this fact hardly seemed to matter to him.

“Hello, Harold," Harvey greeted him politely.

“What's going on? You sound exhausted,” Harold pointed out, sounding concerned.

“That’s because I am exhausted,” Harvey replied wearily. "Winter is always my busiest season.”

“All those flu shots must really take it out of you," Harold teased playfully.

“Oh, I wasn't administering flu shots, I was treating all the people who insisted they didn't need one," Harvey groaned. "There's a bad flu making its way around town, I've barely had a moment to sit still.”

“Ouch, sounds like you've had a hell of a day. You need some self care time, Harvo,” Harold said thoughtfully.

“Some what now?” Harvey asked, not quite understanding Harold’s meaning.

“Self care time,” Harold repeated. “You don't set aside time each day for some self care time?”

“I barely have time to eat dinner and shower,” Harvey chuckled darkly.

“Oh, no no no, Harvo, you won't do anybody any good if you're tense and on-edge," Harold replied matter-of-factly. "Take some time for you for a change, it really helps make you more productive during the day if you've taken time to take care of yourself."

"That all sounds wonderful, Harold, but it's not exactly a reality for me,” Harvey sighed.

“No, it's just not a priority for you, but it needs to be," Harold said seriously. "You spend all day taking care of others, it's high time you start taking care of yourself for once."

"And how do you propose I go about doing that, since you seem to be some self care expert?" Harvey asked somewhat sarcastically.

"Well, depends on your mood," Harold began. "You sound exhausted which tells me that you could use some nice, relaxing downtime. Nothing like a hot bubble bath, a glass of wine, and some nice, soft music. If I recall, you're quite fond of instrumental jazz, that's a perfect choice."

"And what about Coin? I barely see her as it is, am I supposed to spend what little time I have at home ignoring her?" Harvey asked.

"Hell, invite her along if you really want to!" Harold suggested plainly, causing Harvey’s cheeks to suddenly flush. "Self care doesn't always mean being alone, you know."

"I-I don't know if... I mean, I'm a bit too tall for two people to properly..." Harvey stammered, but was a bit too flustered to properly speak.

"You're tall, Coin's short, you two can figure it out," Harold went on suggestively.

"I'll... I'll think about it, but for the love of Yoba can we please stop talking about this," Harvey muttered awkwardly.

"If you insist," Harold replied with a sigh. "But I'll end with this; self care is important, especially for a man who does nothing but take care of others. It's your turn now."

"Okay, okay fine, let's stop talking about it now," Harvey went on hurriedly. Right away he changed the subject to prevent Harold from pressing the topic any further. "So I don't think you mentioned, what was your original reason for calling?"

"Oh, how could I forget?!" Harold uttered in realization. "I got so caught up in your self care that I completely forgot that I had a reason for calling… a rather important one, at that. I was calling to, uh... well, to see if you and Coin are, um... to see if you're going to Mom's for Christmas this year. I know out in the valley you guys have your Winter Star celebration, so I wasn't sure what your plans were." It was odd, this cool, confidant man suddenly sounded very nervous on the phone and Harvey couldn't quite figure out why.

"Well, since it's our first Winter Star married we were hoping to join in the festivities in town, but we plan on celebrating with Mom the following day," Harvey answered. "Why?"

"I want to, uh... to introduce you all to... my girlfriend," Harold said slowly, sounding incredibly nervous.

"How long has this one been with you, a whole 24 hours?" Harvey asked jokingly.

"Since the beginning of fall," Harold answered seriously. Harold couldn't see it, but Harvey's jaw dropped in shock at this revelation. It was quite possibly the longest Harold had ever been with a woman before.

"I... I mean... wow, Harold, that's fantastic," Harvey answered in awe. "Really, that's wonderful news."

"I want to invite her for the holidays to meet you and Coin," Harold went on, his voice still shaking somewhat as he spoke. “I was hoping we could meet up with you two first, though… just so she can ease into the whole nightmare of coming to see Mom. It’ll be the first time she’ll see Mom as my girlfriend.”

“Wait, Mom’s met her before?” Harvey asked in confusion.

“You’ve actually met her as well, sort of,” Harold explained cryptically. “At the very least you’ve spoken to her over the phone quite a few times. It’s my secretary, Amy.”

Harvey paused for a moment. He was certainly happy for Harold, but he couldn’t help questioning the ethics of a lawyer dating his secretary. It seemed a bit inappropriate, though he had to remind himself that a doctor dating his patient wasn’t exactly appropriate either, and yet he ended up marrying Coin. Harvey immediately shook these thoughts from his head, it was doubtful that Harold’s motives were dubious. Harold had probably had many opportunities over the years to cross that line in an inappropriate way and hadn’t. If he was waiting until now to date her long-term, then Harvey had to assume that his intentions were pure and that their relationship was genuine. Now was not the time to question Harold's motives, but to celebrate his new relationship.

“Wow, that’s wonderful news,” Harvey reiterated. “Yes, we’d love to meet Amy.”

“I was thinking maybe we could meet for breakfast at the diner down the street from Mom’s apartment, just the four of us, so she can get the chance to meet you guys before we all head over to Mom,” Harold suggested, a subtle tone of excitement in his voice.

“That sounds like a great idea,” Harvey agreed, unable to subdue the smile that spread across his face. Harvey had never before heard Harold sound this giddy about a woman. “Morning of the 26th sound good to you?”

“Perfect,” Harold answered excitedly. “I’ll let her know.”

There was a brief pause in the conversation and Harvey wasn’t sure if there was more that Harold wanted to add or not. Just as Harvey was about to open his mouth to bid his brother goodbye, Harold spoke up and sounded more serious than Harvey had ever heard him sound in his life.

“Harvey…” Harold began, taking a deep breath. It must be serious for him to use ‘Harvey’ as opposed to ‘Harvo’ or ‘little brother’, “I’m really excited for you and Coin to meet Amy, she… she means a lot to me. You two are actually the reason that we’re together.”

“W-we are?” Harvey asked in confusion.

“You know me, I never wanted a serious relationship with a woman, it always seemed so stifling,” Harold began. “I spent my adult life in casual relationship after casual relationship because I never wanted to commit. I wasn’t scared of commitment, it was just never anything I wanted or needed. It didn’t seem like it was for me. Then I met Coin and saw the two of you together and saw how happy you were. It was sweet, it was endearing, and it got me thinking. I’ve watched the two of you go from a cute couple in love to a married couple ready to devote their lives to each other and it suddenly all made sense. Harvey, I could see it in your eyes on your wedding day, I’ve never seen you so happy in your entire life. Coin completes you in a way that no one else on this earth ever could. And it made me realize… I want someone to complete me like that. But I’m not getting any younger, it seemed like it was too late for me. I lived a life devoid of meaningful relationships, the only two women on this earth who ever truly cared about me or took care of me were Mom and Amy and that’s when it hit me… Amy completes me. Maybe not romantically at first, but she became ingrained into my life. She was so deeply rooted into my everyday life that just the thought of having to live without her seemed impossible. I realized that I can’t function without her… and this is no over-exaggeration, I truly cannot function without her. She completed me in many of the ways that Coin completes you, we just weren’t romantically involved. I took the leap and asked her out on a date the day I returned to the office after your wedding and we’ve been dating since. I finally get it, I get why people search their lives for something like this. I’m lucky that she was right under my nose this whole time, I just lament that it took me so long to see her for what she is… the love of my life.”

“You… you love her?” Harvey asked in disbelief. It reminded him of the first time Harold had met Coin and he, too, was in disbelief that his brother had found love.

“I do,” Harold answered immediately. “I’ve never been happier in my entire life… ever.”

“Harold, I… I don’t know what to say,” Harvey admitted. Harold had always made it abundantly clear that he never wanted a long-term relationship and now here he was admitting his love for a woman and Harvey could not be happier for him.

“You don’t have to say anything, I just wanted you to know about her and to meet her,” Harold answered simply. “I really do hope you like her, your approval above anyone else’s means so much to me.”

“If she’s good enough for my big brother, she’s good enough for me,” Harvey said kindly.

“Aww, I think this is the first time since we were kids that you’ve called me your ‘big brother’,” Harold pointed out, a hint of sentimentality to his voice.

“Don’t expect it all the time, that one’s a freebie,” Harvey responded playfully.

“Well hey, I should get going but… thank you, Harvey,” Harold said, resuming his serious tone. “It means a lot that you and Coin are going to meet Amy.”

“Can’t wait,” Harvey replied sincerely.

“Now promise me when you hang up that you’ll go do some of that self care we talked about,” Harold teased, his serious tone vanishing as suddenly as it had arrived. “Don’t think for a second that I won’t immediately text Coin and make her start a hot bath for you.”

“Ugh, fine, if it’ll get you to drop the subject and leave Coin out of this,” Harvey groaned. “I hate how much you two talk behind my back.”

“Hey, maybe you and Amy can talk behind my back in good time,” Harold chuckled.

“All in good time,” Harvey repeated fondly. “Talk to you later, big brother.”

“Talk to you later, little brother,” Harold replied before ending the call.

#harvey #harold #my fic

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tchallasbabymama · 4 years

Text

M’Baku’s Love- Chapter 6

Here’s the next chapter of M’Baku’s Love. Check out my masterlist HERE to catch up and read my other stories. Let me know what you think or if you want to be tagged. Hope y’all enjoy!

Word count: ~6100

When M’Baku picked Niecey up for their date, the first thing they both noticed was that his dark brown tuxedo with gorilla fur sash clashed with Neicey’s low-cut black sequin dress. The two of them obviously hadn’t discussed what they were wearing and it showed, which irritated Niecey to no end. M’Baku really couldn’t care less, but she was seriously upset about how they’d look together in pictures.

“You couldn’t find a black tux?” she asked him just before they walked in after seething in the car the whole twenty minute ride over.

“I had plenty of options, but I wore this because it reminded me of formal Jabari attire.” he fought to keep his eyes from rolling.

“Ugh fine, hopefully we won’t look too bad. Come on.” she walked ahead of him as he handed the valet his keys and they entered the gala. People mingled about, eating and drinking and no doubt opening their pocketbooks. Even the dance floor had a decent amount of people swaying to the jazz music coming from the live band.

However, nothing could have prepared M’Baku for how beautiful Monae looked that night. She happened to be looking towards the door at the moment he walked in and their eyes met from across the room. She had paired a spaghetti strap bronze silk gown with a split up her left thigh with strappy nude heels that made it look like she was walking on her tiptoes all night and her favorite delicate gold drop earrings that dusted her collarbone. They held each other’s gaze for a little too long, and both of their dates noticed but chose not to say anything.

M’Baku and Neicey made their way through the crowd, stopping periodically to speak to their colleagues. She tried to avoid Monae by ignoring that side of the room entirely, but M’Baku eventually steered them right in her direction.

“Monae, Darrin. How are you two this evening?” he asked as they approached the couple.

“It’s actually Derrick-”

“Oh, my apologies.”

Monae fought to keep a laugh in.

“I’m Neicey,” she inserted herself in the conversation with an attitude that rubbed both Monae and M’Baku the wrong way.

“Nice to meet you Neicey,” Derrick responded before taking a sip of his champagne.

“Thank you... Derrick, was it?”

“That’s me. So do you work here with these two?”

“I do, but we’re in different departments. Although I guess M’Baku doesn't really have a department,” she laughed and Derrick was the only one that joined her. The two of them continued to get acquainted while M’Baku and Monae tried to avoid each other's gaze. However They were unsuccessful and ended up locking eyes across Derrick and Neicey’s conversation, but when Derrick looked up to bring in M’Baku he saw the look of adoration on the man’s face as he stared longingly at Monae. Derrick couldn’t believe this man was so bold as to stare at his fiancee like that right in front of him..

“Hey man, so I hear you’re only in town for a short while. When are you leaving?” Derrick asked with a certain gruffness in his voice.

“Derrick, don’t be rude,” Monae whispered to him, shooting an apologetic smile M’Baku’s way. Derrick brushed her off and continued his line of questioning.

“I’m just curious. When are you going back to Wakanda?”

“I will be here two more months,” M’Baku stood tall. “And you?” He threw back.

“We’ll be moving in a couple weeks actually,” he looked down at Monae as her jaw clenched. “Monae’s still not happy about it though, are you Momo?”

She gave him a forced smile, “We don’t need to talk about that right now, let’s just have a good time.”

“There you are! Damn, y’all clean up nice.” N’Jadaka said as he and T’Challa made their way over to greet M’Baku and company. Both Udakus had on black tuxes with silk scarves draped over their left shoulders, the prince’s a shiny gold and the king’s a bold purple.

“Thanks, so do you two,” Neicey responded.

“I wouldn’t be brave enough to rock a scarf like that.” Derrick added.

“Yes, well you-“

“Look nice in your tux,” T’Challa cut off M’Baku, shooting him a look. “Actually Derrick we were wondering if you would give us some, uh, legal advice. We have a few questions about opening a pro-Bono legal clinic.”

“That’s not my specialty, but sure.”

“Fantastic!. We need you to meet some people. Monae do you mind if we steal him away from you?”

“By all means…”

The three men walked away as M’Baku caught Shuri’s eye across the room. She and Nakia were slowly making their way over to them, but kept being stopped and roped into conversations with various prospective donors.

“So, Monae. Where are you moving to?” Neicey asked, hoping it was somewhere far, far away.

“That’s a complicated answer right now-“

“So you’re staying?”

“Like I said, it's complicated,” she deadpanned and grabbed another flute of champagne from a passing waiter, placing her empty one back on the tray.

“I guess.” she shrugged before turning back to her date. “M’Baku let’s get a real drink from the bar, not this bubbly mess.” She tried to pull him towards the bar, but he didn’t budge.

“Monae, would you like to join us? I do not want to just leave you here all alone,” he offered as Shuri and Nakia came up behind him.

“Thank you, but I’ll let the two of you spend some time together,” she said with a sarcastic tone that only M’Baku picked up on. “Besides, these gorgeous ladies just showed up to keep me company.” She gestured to the royalty in their presence and M’Baku turned around to greet them.

“My Queen, Princess, you both look lovely this evening.”

Nakia wore a floor-length eggplant gown with a sweetheart neckline with matching opera gloves and emerald jewelry. Shuri surprisingly had on heels with her black jumpsuit that was covered in gold embroidery. They both looked regal, even more so than usual.

“Thanks, you don’t look too bad yourself. And Monae, this bronze is stunning! Did you two come together?” Shuri asked, accidentally stirring the pot. M’Baku could feel Neicey seething on the other side of him.

“No, we did,” she said as she grabbed onto his arm.

“Oh I’m sorry, I just thought with the outfits- nevermind. I love the sequins.”

“Thank you.”

An awkward silence followed, but Nakia broke it before it could go on too long.

“How has your class been going? I hear great things from the kids,” Nakia asked, declining a flute of champagne from a passing waiter.

“Oh they’re a dream to work with. Have you seen their latest project? Last week I taught them about revisionist history and they’ve been researching real historical facts and performing skits based around their subject. You have to come by and see it. They’re so good!”

“I’ll stop by on Monday for sure,” Nakia responded. “Since your class is so popular I’d love it if you could come with me to talk to some of our donors.”

“Sure but M’Ba-“

“He’ll be fine. Plus I think the Princess needs him for something anyway.” Nakia led her away from her date and over to the only group of rich Black folks in the room.

Shuri turned to wink at M’Baku and tried to slip away before Monae could notice her escape since she had turned to talk to one of her art teachers and his wife, but Monae caught her at the last second..

“So, princess, quick question-“

“Princess? You know I’m just Shuri to you, Monae.”

“Not when you look like that you’re not. Did she say yes?”

“Yes! She’s right over there mingling with some of the other tech nerds,” she pointed to a short, shapely, bald girl in a jumpsuit just like Shuri’s. “Her name is Tae. Isn’t she just the cutest?”

“Absolutely adorable,” M’Baku smiled at his friend, happy she had finally been able to make a move.

“Well, I should go mingle some more. I’ll catch you two later! Again, love the matching outfits,” Shuri said as she skirted away. She picked up a champagne flute, but before she could even bring it to her lips, her brother came out of nowhere and snatched it from her grasp.

“You’re too young.”

“Oh come on, I can drink at home!”

“This isn’t Wakanda, and you’re not 21. We have to present a good image for the donors-“

“We don’t even need donors, we have more than enough money to fund the center.”

“Yes, but people want to have a say in what goes on in their communities and rich people like to throw money around. Who am I to deny them that right?”

“You just like taking colonizer’s money,” she whispered to him and he responded with a wink before sipping from the confiscated champagne flute.

“You’re starting to get it.” He walked away with a smug look on his face to find his wife in the crowd. Shuri rolled her eyes and went to go keep Tae company.

Meanwhile, Monae and M’Baku finally got a moment alone.

“You look absolutely beautiful tonight. This dress is very distracting.”

“Thank you. You know, sometimes I forget you’re a chief but right now you really do look like royalty. Hell, all you Wakandans do.”

“You say that as though you do not look like a queen yourself.”

Monae blushed and he held out his arm towards her.

“Want a real drink?”

“God, yes.”

He laughed and led her to the open bar, ordering them both whiskey, his neat and hers on ice.

“How did you know I was a whiskey girl?”

“I did my research on your home, too. I figured Jack Daniels was a safe bet.”

“And the ice?”

“You ask for extra ice on everything, so I just assumed-“

“Correctly.”

They smiled at each other and continued flirting back and forth by the bar until they caught the eye of a jealous lover. Derrick stormed over to the bar and stood between them.

“Are you having fun?” he asked Monae, back turned to M’Baku.

“Derrick stop being rude, we were in the middle of a conversation-“

“Yeah I saw. I’m ready to get out of here, let’s go.”

“We haven’t been here that long-“

“I said let’s go.”

M’Baku didn’t like the tone of voice he used when speaking to her, so he stepped in, squaring up with Derrick

“I think the lady-“

“Did I ask you?” he raised his voice as he turned to face the chief. “No, I didn’t. Monae, let’s- fuck, where’d she go?” When turned back around she was gone.

“I will go find her.”

“Nah big man, you’ve done enough. I’ll go find my girl.” And with that, he was off, leaving M’Baku at the bar alone. He threw back his drink right as N’Jadaka approached.

“Yo what’s up with you?”

“I am going to kill him.”

“Who, Demarcus?”

“Yes. He is too controlling of her.”

“Well it’s not like you’ll have to deal with him much longer.” The prince said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Hey where’d your date disappear to?”

M’Baku shrugged and N’Jadaka chuckled before something caught his eye.

“There’s your girl.” He nodded towards the entryway, and M’Baku turned around to see Monae and Derrick having what looked to be a very quiet heated argument. As luck would have it, Neicey reappeared at that moment.

“Hey cutie, miss me?” She clung to his arm and he felt his blood pressure rise. She noticed the tension in his shoulders. “What’s up with you?”

“Monae’s fiance is being a dick,” N’Jadaka answered for him, prompting Neicey to roll her eyes.

“Again with all the Monae talk? I’m so tired of hearing about that bitch-”

M’Baku’s head had never turned so fast, and N’Jadaka was seriously concerned for Neicey’s safety for a moment.

“What did you just call her?” M’Baku asked for clarification, making sure he heard her right.

“How about we all chill out. Neicey, wanna dance?”

“Sure, why not. It’s not like he was gonna ask me anyway.”

N’Jadaka gave M’Baku a look that told him to relax before escorting Neicey to the dance floor.

M’Baku looked back up to find Monae and she was nowhere in sight, so he made his way towards the doors to see if she had maybe gone outside for some air. She hadn’t, they had just gone around the corner to argue in peace. Yet again, he caught the tail end of their disagreement.

“You never want to support anything I do, Derrick. I’m tired of it.”

“Well I’m tired of you flirting with that chief guy.”

“That ‘chief guy’ has a name-”

“Do I look like I care? Look, we’re leaving for LA in two weeks. Do you think you can keep your legs closed until then?”

Monae was stunned, mostly because she had no comeback. She had already opened her legs for M’Baku, but Derrick didn’t know that. Thankfully he took her shock for offense and tried to backtrack.

“I didn’t mean it to sound that way-”

“Yes you did.”

“Monae, I-”

“No. Derrick I’m tired of doing this back and forth. You don’t respect me and you never have. I can’t keep doing this-”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying we’re done, Derrick. You can go to LA and be this big, successful entertainment lawyer all you want now. I’m done.” She took the ring off her finger and handed it back to him.

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him, waiting for a response.

“You think you can live the life I could provide for you on your teacher’s salary?” his voice was low and full of rage.

“Oh honey, I make way more than the average teacher. They actually pay us here, so I’ll be fine. You’re not needed.”

He was fuming.

“Fine! Don’t come crawling back to me when he leaves you behind.”

And with that, Derrick turned and left the gala.

M’Baku wasn’t sure of what to do, should he go to her or give her space? He heard her sniffles and quickly made up his mind.

“Monae-”

“What?!” she yelled before she could register the voice that was speaking to her since she kept her back towards the door so nobody would see her tears.

“Monae, I am sorry.”

She broke down upon really hearing his voice.

“It’s not your fault, it was bound to happen anyway. It’s just hard to let go of so many years, you know?”

“I understand, I have been there. I am still sorry for my part in this and how it led to hurting you.”

“You’ve been here before?”

“Yes, she broke my heart so I had to let her go, but the situation was very different. Can I get you anything?”

She smiled through her tears at his attempt to be helpful.

“No I just need to clean up, and get back out there.” she pointed to the restrooms. He waited for her while she went in to dry her tears and fix her makeup. As he did, he caught sight of N’Jadaka and Neicey sneaking out together and let out a chuckle. At least that situation was taken care of, now he could focus all his energy on Monae.

When she emerged her makeup was once again flawless and M’Baku couldn’t help but stare at her beauty.

“What? Did I miss a spot?” she panicked

“No, just taking it all in,” he said with a whimsical smile on his face.

She blushed and reached to grab his arm before stopping herself.

“Where’s Neicey? I don’t want her chomping my damn head off for being within a 5 foot radius of you.”

M’Baku laughed. “Oh, she will not be a problem anymore, I just saw N’Jadaka take her home for the night.”

“Of course he did,” Monae wrapped her arm around M’Baku’s large bicep. He led her back into the gala just as T’Challa was finishing up his speech.

“-and to the donors, we raise our glasses to you for your continued support and interest in bettering the community. We couldn’t do this without you.”

Shuri scoffed and Nakia fought to hide a smile, nudging her sister-in-law to keep her quiet.

“Please, continue to utilize our open bar and try some of the hors d'oeuvres our wonderful wait staff are carrying around the room. Enjoy your night, and we appreciate your generosity.” Nakia added.

Everyone clapped as the three royals exited the stage.

“Where the hell is N’Jadaka?” T’Challa asked M’Baku when he made his way over.

“Oh he’s busy with Neicey.”

“N- ohhh. That’s great!” he noticed Monae's confused face and dialed it back a little. “I mean, good for him.”

Monae could tell something was up, but she’d get it out of M’Baku later.

“Nice speech, T. I can already see the money rolling in. You know, rich white folks love easing their guilty consciences.”

“Thank you, Monae. The more they give us, the less we have to put up, and the more centers we can open and do the same thing all over again.” T’Challa said softly through a fake smile as some of those rich white people walked within earshot of the conversation.

“Have you looked at other locations?”

“We have, it is difficult to narrow down cities. We want to stay in the US for now, but eventually we could become global.”

“You should look into Nashville. It’s crawling with gentrifiers, and North Nashville has one of the highest incarceration rates in the country. For Black folks, of course.”

“Really? I was unaware of that. North Nashville, you say... I am assuming that is a Black neighborhood?”

“Not for much longer,” she said with a deep sadness in her face that the king took note of. “But an Outreach Center could really help the community.”

“I will keep that in mind, thank you. So….” The king looked on expectantly.

“Sooo…?” Monae asked back before he gestured to the two of them. She playfully rolled her eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”

M’Baku chuckled at both of their antics.

“I’m sure you don’t…” T’Challa said as he walked away to go mingle with the crowd some more.

“How long do these things usually last?” M’Baku leaned down and said with his lips grazing her ear.

“I don't know, this is my first gala. Why, tired of it already?”

“Honestly, yes. I would much rather be on my couch right about now, the collars on these button up shirts are extremely uncomfortable.”

“Let’s go then. I’m not in the mood to deal with people, and that couch sounds real good right about now.”

-------

Had she been thinking, Monae would’ve run home real quick to change, but there she was barefoot in an evening gown in M’Baku’s kitchen going through his fridge to find something to eat.

“We should order in, those hors d'oeuvres weren’t enough.”

“What do you have a taste for?” M’Baku rounded the corner in grey sweatpants and a black tank and it took everything in Monae to not jump him right then and there.

“Honestly? You, but I’m also not in the mood. You can’t just walk around looking like that, it’s not fair.”

He cornered her against the counter, arms on either side of her.

“And you walking around here in this gown is unfair to me, yet here you are.” he looked down at her erect nipples, stiff from the chill of his loft. He had turned the thermostat up to 70 for her, but that was as high as he was willing to go.

He kissed her forehead and backed up, trying not to stare too hard at her heaving chest.

“M’Baku, I might need some time. I’m still kind of in a weird headspace right now and-”

“I understand, which is why I have a surprise for you.”

Her face lit up like a kid at Christmas. “What is it?”

“You will have to come over here to find out.” He said with a chuckle, walking towards the living area and plopping on the couch. She joined him shortly after and he picked up the remote. When he pressed play tears came to her eyes as she heard the twinkling sounds of the opening to her favorite movie.

“You remembered?” she asked through the couple tears that had escaped her eyes. One day during their many lunches, she had mentioned that her favorite feel-good movie was The Wiz and since he had never seen it, she vowed to change that. Now here he was, pulling out all the stops.

“Of course I did, I have been making my own ‘Captain America’ list.”

“So have I! It’s on my phone, I’ll grab it after the movie.”

They decided to order pizza and she settled into the couch, but couldn’t get comfortable in her dress.

“Let me get you a change of clothes. It might be a little big-”

“A little? I’m like a foot shorter than you, I’ll be swimming in whatever you give me.”

He chuckled and motioned for her to follow him. She paused the movie right as Toto ran into the snowstorm and got up, trying not to trip over her dress since she no longer had on her heels.

M’Baku found a t-shirt for her to wear and got to looking for pants when she stopped him.

“This should be fine, you’ve already seen everything and this’ll be like a dress on me anyway.” she said, undoing her side zipper and letting the gown fall to the ground before reaching for the shirt. He snatched it away from her and held it up high, forcing her to either climb him or jump for it. She chose the latter and he was too distracted by her bouncing breasts to keep the shirt out of reach. She snatched it from his hand and threw it on, sticking her tongue out at him in the process.

“Do that again, and I will find a much better use for your tongue.” he warned her as they made their way back to the couch.

Monae blushed and plopped down next to him, tucking her legs under her and leaning into M’Baku. He put his arm around her so she could lean in closer and his hand rested on her waist while his fingers mindlessly traced patterns into her side. They stayed like that until the pizza arrived and got right back into position after they ate.

She knew every line and lyric, and M’Baku found himself watching her more than the movie. She was beaming the whole time except when sang along to “Home” through her usual tears.

“Why are you sad?” he asked, wiping them away. She smiled at his concern.

“I’m not sad, it’s just an emotional song. It always gets me” she spoke while dabbing her eyes with a clean napkin. “Ready to see my list?”

“I was born ready.”

She grabbed her phone from the charger while he grabbed a notebook off the coffee table. When she returned, she got right back into the same position tucked into his side and turned her phone on to see several voicemails from Derrick. She rolled her eyes and unlocked her phone, going to her notes app and pulling up her very own “Captain America List”.

“Ok, you go first!”

M’Baku opened his notebook and flipped through the pages for a moment before he found what he was looking for.

“Well I can cross off The Wiz. It is an excellent movie by the way, but I already knew you had good taste,” he said cockily. She nudged him in his side. “This is what I have so far: The Autobiography of Malcolm X, Lemonade (but not the drink), spades, Roots, The Color Purple, and Friday.”

“Ok, ok, good start. Here’s some more, and this is not an exhaustive list. I will be adding more.” She cleared her throat, “So far I have: The New Jim Crow, Homecoming, “the cookout”, the Harlem Renaissance, Kindred, Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater, Pose, and T’Challa’s Black Jeopardy sketch.“

M’Baku scribbled it all down as she spoke, and she was tickled by his intense concentration.

“Anything else?”

“That’s it for now. Where did you get yours from?”

“N’Jadaka and Deontae. Tell me about what’s on your list.”

“Well first we have The New Jim Crow by Michelle Alexander. It’s a really depressing book, but if you want to understand white supremacy in this country and how it still operates today, this is a must. Homecoming because not only is it a flawless performance by Beyoncé Giselle Knowles-Carter-”

“I believe I have heard some of her music, she is very talented.”

“Oh-ho-ho, just you wait. It’s not just about her though, you’ll get a feel for the HBCU experience and that’s important. You have to go to a cookout at least once. I’m gonna try to convince N’Jadaka to throw one at his place, I can’t describe in any other words than Black as fuck. The only thing that beats it is a family reunion. Next we have the Harlem Renaissance which is a whole time period of Black creativity. Authors, artists, musicians, you name it. Kindred is one of my favorite books, it’s sci-fi and has time travel but as I’m sure you can guess, that doesn’t work well for Black people in this country.”

M’Baku could listen to her talk for days and almost got lost in her lips until she caught him and shocked him from his daze.

“Are you listening?”

“I-I am sorry, you are just so beautiful. Please, keep going, I want to hear more.”

“Where was I?” she asked as a heat crept up her cheeks. “Oh, um, right. So, Alvin Ailey because I’m a dancer so obviously I would pick that, and Pose because it’s a really good show and you’ll learn some about the AIDS crisis and how Black and Brown queer and trans people are treated here. Newsflash: not that good. Last, we have T’Challa’s SNL sketch. Oh my god, you have to watch it, he’s actually really funny. That’s all I have for now, but I’ll add more as it comes to me.”

“Tell me about my list.” he requested, continuing to stare at her lips as she spoke again.

“Your list?”

“Mhm.” he said, looking at her dreamily. It was late so she couldn't tell if he was simply tired or enamoured by her. Probably both.

“Ok, well, let me see here…” she looked over his list. “Autobiography of Malcolm X, another must. Do you know who he is?”

“Yes, I learned of him when I was researching your people’s history. He was quite a polarizing character, but I agree with his stance.”

“I actually have all of these books, I’ll bring them to you on Monday. Next up is...Lemonade! This is from Deontae, isn't it?”

“How did you guess?”

“He’s a huge Beyoncé fan and I know damn well this didn’t come from Prince Charming.”

“You think he is charming?” M’Baku asked with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s a character from some old story...and Shrek 2. Anyways, yes, Lemonade the movie not the drink. Spades? Oh, N’Jadaka’s trying to get you killed. Black people do not play when it comes to spades. It’s a card game, I’ll teach you. Roots is a book and a miniseries about a family going through the horrors of slavery. The Color Purple...now reading the book is recommended, but you have to watch the movie. References galore, same with Friday. It’s hilarious, quotable, and about smoking weed. What more could you ask for?”

“Weed?”

A slow grinch-like smile crept up Monae’s face.

“Have you ever smoked before? Eaten an edible?”

“No, it never appealed to me.”

A belly laugh erupted out of Monae and M’Baku stared at her in confusion.

“Oh my god, you got me feeling like Smokey, but my nigga...I’m getting you high. You gotta do it at least once.”

“I will try it for you.”

Monae was giddy and although he couldn't understand where her excitement was coming from, he was looking forward to finding out.

-------

The next morning M’Baku woke up to the feel of movement on his left side. His eyes slowly blinked open as he watched Monae attempt to sneak away from him.

“Where are you going?” he asked, stretching his body and sitting up from the couch. They had fallen asleep around 4am after talking and drinking wine all night, and although the couch was not the most comfortable to sleep on, M’Baku was. Monae slept like a baby, but M’Baku’s neck would probably be hurting for the next day or so.

“As much as we drank last night, where do you think?”

“Someone is feisty in the morning.”

“No, I’m feisty when I’m trying not to pee on myself.”

M’Baku chuckled as she ran down the hallway towards the bathroom. A couple minutes later she poked her head into the hallway.

“Do you have an extra toothbrush I can use?”

“Bottom drawer.”

“Thanks!”

The chief had just finished his morning stretches when Monae reappeared and he took her place. When he emerged, she had eggs and vegetables sitting on the counter and was rummaging through his cabinets. He saw her standing on her tiptoes trying to grab a frying pan that was just out of her reach and he came up behind her to grab it for her. He handed it to her and bent down to lightly kiss her on the neck and whisper in her ear.

“Good morning, beautiful.”

A chill went down her spine as she fought to focus on the task at hand.

“Good morning, handsome.”

He turned her around to face him.

“So you think I am handsome?” he teased, leaning in closer to her lips as her arms made their way around his neck.

“Of course.” She closed the distance and gave him a soft peck, and he responded by pulling her in for a real kiss, tongue and all.

“You know…” she started.

“What?”

“I’m single now…”

“Really? I was not aware,” M’Baku said sarcastically. She playfully hit his chest and his deep, rumbling laugh filled the room.

“Ok, ok I will stop,” he grinned at her.

“As I was saying, since I’m single now I can do whatever I want.”

“Whoever, you mean.”

“Exactly, and it’s a very short list,” she gave him a light kiss. “But first, breakfast!” she pulled away, much to his dismay, but he let her turn back around towards the counter. He held her waist and rested his head on top of hers.

“You know, the more you distract me the longer it’ll take to eat.”

“I do not care,” he said, squeezing her tighter. “Unless you want help, in which case I can be an excellent assistant.”

“I’d like that, actually. Grab a knife and start cutting up the onion while I put on some music.”

The two of them danced around the kitchen to Monae’s “Good Morning” Spotify playlist, M’Baku catching everything she threw back at him and surprising her by being light on his feet. After he finished chopping up the onions, mushrooms, spinach, and tomatoes, he tried to reach for the pan, but Monae’s hand was quicker and beat him to it.

“Nope! I’m cooking breakfast as a thank you.”

“For what?” his head tilted to the side and he gave her a curious glance.

“For...well, everything. It’s been a good month and you’ve been a good friend to me, even though we both know you were always more than a friend...the point is, thank you for being there for me and for making me laugh and for letting me stay the night.”

“Of course, that is what friends do.” he kissed her on the neck again as he walked by to grab dishes from the cabinet. Monae took the apple slices she had just cut and covered them in cinnamon and nutmeg before tossing them in the now-hot skillet. The coconut oil popped her a little, but she was used to it since she had been cooking for years. She let the apples cook down and continued to dance on her own while M’Baku recorded her moves on his rarely-used kimoyo beads.

She put on a show for him, rolling her hips and bouncing her ass extra hard, his t-shirt flying up so that he could get a glimpse of her pussy. She dropped it low to Megan Thee Stallion’s “Cry Baby” before bringing it back up slowly and checking on the apples, which were just about done. She started sauteing up the chopped vegetables and cracked a few eggs into a bowl before whipping them up and pouring them into the skillet. She scrambled up the eggs while she cracked open an avocado and placed slices of it on toast on both plates. M’Baku watched her make herself at home in his space and he wondered for a moment what it would be like to wake up every morning to this, and not just for the next two months.

His thoughts were cut short by her calling his name.

“Are you ok?”

“Yes, I am sorry, I just...you really are enchanting.”

Her bottom lip found its place between her teeth as she handed him his plate. He dug into his honey avocado toast, vegetable scramble, and fried apples like he hadn't eaten in days. When he finished he leaned back and rubbed his stomach in slow circles.

“You are the second best cook I have ever met.”

“Second? The first better be your mama-”

He chuckled at how easily she gets riled up.

“In fact, it is. You two would get along great, she is feisty just like you.”

“No wonder you have good taste in women,” she winked at him as she got up to grab their dishes. He reached for them, but she swatted his hand away. “Aht! This is a ‘thank you’, remember? You can wash them next time.”

She put the dishes in the sink before rinsing one off and placing it in the dishwasher when M’Baku came up behind her, holding her hips and grinding into her.

“I cannot wait to thank you,” he said slowly as he kissed from her ear to her collarbone. Monae was frozen on the spot, stuck under his spell, pussy throbbing more with every touch of his lips and every whisper.

“What are you waiting for?” She pushed her ass into him, feeling his thick, juicy dick sitting on her lower back. Those sweatpants weren’t holding anything down, and she was thankful for the print she saw when she looked behind her, prompting her to turn around and grab it, forcing the chief to let out a rumbling moan.

“N-not now, I want to take you out first on a real date.”

“Ugh, then why are you doing this to me? I’m horny as fuck, M’Baku.”

He chuckled and leaned in to kiss her softly, speaking against her lips, “Because I want your body ready for me.”

She shivered as he backed away from her and left the kitchen, heading towards the dining area to finish clearing off the table.

“So about this date. When are you free?”

“I’m free all weekend,” she said as his gap toothed smile grew bigger across his face.

“Well then how about this: I take you home, then I come back for you later and we go to the festival you mentioned last night.”

She did a little celebratory dance before jumping up to kiss him on the cheek and running to his room to put her dress back on. They both slid on their shoes and were out the door in minutes, Monae extra excited to get their date started.

On the way to Monae’s apartment, they both ignored the confused looks from the passersby as they took in the sight of a man in sweatpants walking hand in hand down the street with a woman in a shiny evening gown. When they reached her building, M’Baku held the door open for her as they entered. He walked her to her door and gave her another featherlight kiss.

“See you soon.”

She unlocked her door and stepped in, closing it behind her and taking a deep breath before leaning her back against it and letting out a dreamy sigh. She couldn’t believe it was finally happening.

Next Chapter

Taglist:

@maddeningmayhem, @theblulife, @devnicolee

#cecewritessometimes #black panther fic #m'baku #m'baku x oc #m'baku's love #black!oc #jada kingdom

62 notes · View notes

xlehukax · 4 years

Text

Still Beating Heart

Foreword: Hello! I’ve been working on this thing for a little while now, and it’s finally done! This fanfiction is set in the Pediatric Doctors AU that I made, that you can learn more about here. It’s done in conjunction to writings by @eeveeeclair246, to who has the first installment of this series, titled Inefficent Iron, which you can find here. And, if you don’t want to read on Tumblr, I get it! This will also be on Archives in a hot minute, so check my Masterpost for the link. Now, on with the show!

Ships: Roman x Virgil, Implied Remus x Logan

Word Count: 10215

Warnings: LANGUAGE, Alcoholism, Bars, Panic Attacks, Medical Issues (ie. weak hearts), Cheating, Implied Sexual Content, Implied Rape, that creeping feeling of regret.

Summary: Virgil’s always been the quiet nurse, the prickly one, the don’t talk to me unless there’s an issue one. Roman’s fresh out of a relationship, and looking to go out on the town, and needs a friend to go along with. And Virgil can’t say no to his crush, even if they work in the same place.

~~~~

It’s just another day at the office: by that, Virgil means, Patton’s handing out cookies, Logan’s being a work-aholic and refuses to let any of the patients go to Janus, in which is being very meticulous and annoyingly good at his job and refusing to let Virgil do his, Remus is going through the latest urine samples, and Roman is doing what Roman does best. Ranting about his latest breakup while painting his nails in the receptionist booth.

And Virgil just happens to be the only one around, after Patton leads the last patient of the day to Logan and the waiting room finally empties. Virgil simply sighs in defeat, and tries to shrink into his nurse uniform. Let it be known, he did not choose to be there. Or ever.

“Emo, are you even listening?”

“Yup, yes, I am, absolutely,”

“Alright, just had to make sure, you know, you tend to ignore me, which you’d think is impossible but you never cease to surprise me in that regard. Anyway, so this guy, Ethan- total dreamboat, eyes bluer than you’d ever believe. So I met him on this app, and we went for drinks a few weeks ago: and thirty minutes in, I’m in love. He’s a painter. Sweetest guy- we end up at his apartment, and you know- but I was in it for the long haul. Virgil, I was really ready for a long-term with this guy. He seemed like he was down for it too… and then, just yesterday, you know what I found in his apartment?”

“Another person,” Virgil sighs.

“Some floozy, blond and covered in hickeys, and Ethan painting her. Like, I didn’t know what to be more offended about: the fact that he cheated on me or that he doesn’t have a sexy painting of me!”

“Mhmm…” Virgil’s almost fallen asleep, and doesn’t even notice Roman hovering utop him until he’s right in his face.

“Virgil-” Roman shouts, and Virgil startles right into Roman’s arms. Which he now is realizing quite quickly are not just incredibly strong because they hold his weight easily, but landing their faces inches apart. Virgil sucks in a gasp- Roman smirks. “Hey there… you know, you’re not too bad looking yourself. Under all that makeup, you’re quite the princess, aren’t you?” It takes Virgil a moment to craft a response, he’s so scatterbrained and blushing.

“Fuck off Princey, I’m not your latest conquest,” Virgil hisses, still a large flush on his features. Roman flicks his nose.

“Yeah, but you’re still cute. Maybe I should date you~”

“In your fucking dreams- you cycle through boyfriends so fast, I’ll be dust in the wind,”

“Hmm,” Roman still hasn’t let Virgil go, and it is not helping the warmth in his face whatsoever, “Can’t argue with that.” And then Virgil is unceremoniously dumped onto the chair he was sitting in, with Roman towering above him. Did he always have those pretty eyes? He’s got these fantastically plump lips, it really shows when he’s smirking like that. And that hair is quite… quite royal- now that he’s looking at it-

Bloody hell, stop, now’s not the time to fawn, Virgil curses at himself. Virgil has always been introverted, and this- this interaction, Roman’s boldness with him… it’s completely unfamiliar. A bold move, reaching into his space, completely ignoring all of the protective glares and hisses that Virgil had in place. Disregarded his shields completely. Virgil has been harboring a bit of an infatuation with this confident musical wonder as of late, and this is not helping matters. Roman chuckles, running a hand through his hair.

“Well, J.Delightful, now I simply must make use of this situation,”

“What are you getting at-” Virgil snarls, to which Roman simply grins widely.

“You’re going to be my new wingman. There’s a open mic at a gay bar I frequent, and if I’m going to find somebody, then I need someone else to be my safety buddy. You know, watch for creepy old men who hit on me and all that jazz,” Roman pushes, eyes alight with excitement, “Patton won’t go with me anymore because he doesn’t like the loud noises, Logan doesn’t drink, I’m not asking Janus to come he’ll scare them all away or steal the attention, and Remus- well, you can probably guess why not Remus, and it’s not because people approach us because we’re twins. I can’t believe I’ve never asked you to come with me! It’ll give us some good outside of work bonding time too. Isn’t it great?”

“I don’t want to,” Virgil grumbles. Roman tuts.

“Oh come on now- am I so hard to be around?” No, Virgil thinks, and that’s the problem. “Pfft, if it’s really so hard, I’ll just cave and bring around someone else.”

“No…” Virgil whispers, so quiet that he’s sure it’s nearly silent, and Roman’s eyebrow perks up.

“Hmm? Was that a no I just heard?”

“I just- I’m not good in social situations, do you even really want me there? I’ll probably just screw your chances, scare people off,”

“Perfect! I’ll need someone to scare someone off,”

“But- I’ll damper on your fun,”

“Never! You will never cease to be fun to poke fun at,”

“I don’t know, Princey. You really want me there?” Virgil says, looking away and speaking in hushed tones still. Roman grabs his pale hands, squeezing them tightly.

“I need you, Virge,” Roman purrs. Virgil blushes harder, somehow, and tucks his head into his shoulder and murmurs his agreement. Damn it. “Wonderful! I’ll pick you up at 9, how does that sound?”

“Wait, tonight?” Virgil squawks. Roman drops his hands, blessedly, and steps back from him shrewdly. Smart, as Virgil’s immediate response is to throw a punch. Roman easily sidesteps.

“Oh, yes- did I not mention that? Tonight. It’s Friday,” Roman nods, smiling wickedly. Oh my god, I need to bathe, I need to find something nice-ish to wear, unearth my good eyeshadow, fuck it all I need new skin-

“Hey, hey, don’t freak. You don’t have to get all fancy for me: wear what makes you comfortable, and I’ll stop by your apartment at 9,”

“Wait a second- how do you know where I live?” Virgil says, suddenly horrified. Roman snickers.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Uh, yes I would,” Virgil growls.

“Pfft, I need to know everyone’s addresses, I’m the receptionist, Virge. It’s my job,” Roman scoffs. Virgil blushes: well, now he feels foolish. But it reminds him: Roman and himself work together. It doesn’t matter if something comes out of this, as it is- Remus and Logan are constantly being sickeningly cute around the office. The real problem is if he screws this up, and still has to go to work with him the next day. This is a really bad idea. But… When will he have another golden opportunity like this one?

“Okay, okay- 9, right?”

“Yes! Thank you, My Chemically Imbalanced Romance- you’re going to have so much fun. I’ll sing a song just for you, as thanks,” Roman grins cheekily, Virgil blows the hair out of his eyes, attempting nonchalant despite the whirlwind of anxiety confined within.

“Alright, fine, whatever. Should I- should I dress a certain way? Wait, is there a dress code? How much money should I bring? Is it credit or cash? Do they have food there? Will I have to dance?” Virgil shudders at the thought of dancing, even with Roman, who is currently blinking rapidly under the onslaught of questions.

“Okay erm, just dress how you normally do? Scratch that, a peg hotter than a hoodie, thank you. No dress code, have you ever been to a bar? Just bring your wallet, think about how many drinks you want, and I’m dancing whether you’re going to or not, so-”

Virgil takes notes internally, already too worried about this whole ordeal. He should really just cancel, say he just remembered something, but he knows he’ll regret that later. Either way, the only other thing he’s doing tonight is hanging with his spider, Missy, and watching Unsolved Mysteries. So…

“I’ll- I’ll see you later then, Princey,” Virgil murmurs, before gathering the few things he has around him and breezing past whilst trying to make it appear like he’s not running away.

“See you!! At least pretend to be excited- It’s going to be one hell of a night, Virge- you won’t regret this!”

As Virgil silently clocks out (Patton will take over the end of the day nurse activities, it’s fine) he thinks to himself, I certainly hope not.

~~~~~

And then, it’s already 8:50, too soon. Virgil showered, twice, because the first time he used his usual unscented body wash for work and not the one that smells like lavender and violets and by jove Roman inviting him out after work deserves more than unscented. Then the clothes resulted in a mini fashion show in front of the mirror for an hour, where upon he finally settled on a black button down over a grey undershirt with some black ripped jeans (it took him another 25 minutes to decide on mostly untucked in a ‘I just threw this on’ careless feel), and his favorite purple and black hoodie just in case it got cold… of which he ended up shivering right away anyhow and put it on anyway.

And then a whole other hour on makeup: a very tasteful black eyeliner and purple and black smokey eye with just a hint of dark glitter. Some lipstick, and a little dust on his cheekbones, and Virgil finally felt confident, an emotion that lasted all of ten minutes when he realized that he hadn’t chosen a pair of shoes yet.

The shoes took another thirty minutes alone. And then the idea of changing his hair up a little occurred to him, and that was another hour wasted that ended with keeping his regular low-hanging hair anyway.

And now he’s trying not to look like he’s waiting, because he doesn’t want to be waiting on Roman, but he needs to see if his car comes up, but he doesn’t want to be desperate, so he’s panicking slightly in his apartment with all the lights off because he was going to leave and now he’s freaking out instead, because he doesn’t know if it’s more appropriate to wait for Roman to text him that he’s outside and head downstairs after that or to just head downstairs now like a normal person or maybe he just shouldn’t go. His head slowly stops pounding, and his breath evens out, the oncoming anxiety attack fading away with the thought. Yeah, maybe Virgil can stay home instead- there’s too many variables anyway.

When Virgil was young, he was always making decisions like this. He was sick, not like crazy-sick, but sick. Anemia, coupled with coronary heart disease, topped off with bronchitis. He had weak lungs, weak heart, weak blood- his whole body was frail, and sometimes his blood didn’t move around fast enough to make him work right. There was no running around, no nothing: he was constantly worried about every little thing, because his parents were. Did you take your pills today? How was your bloodwork? Are you feeling woozy? Until Virgil just stopped leaving the house whatsoever. It was just easier. There was no chance of passing out while crossing a street and getting run over, never going to embarrass himself at school by having a heart attack…

And wouldn’t you know, staying at home made him only sicker. No muscle mass whatsoever, pale as a ghost, always so cold, so frail from not getting enough nutrients. His parents made the best decision of their lives and set him down the path that led him here by… by hiring a nurse. A kind nurse, with funny jokes and encouragement, who helped him go outside for the first time in months. Who taught him little things to make him stronger, like light weights. Virgil grew out of his heart disease, and though he still had bronchitis and anemia, he regularly took medications which made them easy to handle. And just like that, Virgil was no longer sickly (at least externally, he still had anxiety, but he’s managing it). Then he was a normal teenager, who wanted to be strong enough to help someone in the same way that nurse had.

Here Virgil is now- and he’s not going to fall into that same loop he was in as a kid. He’s better now, medicating only when needed. Virgil is all lean-muscle, and he’s better than his anxiety. He can totally go on a date-not-a-date with his crush to a gay karaoke bar. Totally. Taking a deep breath, Virgil checks his phone (which is fully charged with two mini backup batteries on his keys tucked into his back pocket) and realizes with horror that Roman texted a whole six minutes ago while Virgil was panicking that he was waiting downstairs.

“Shit!” Virgil slams his door, and just runs down the stairs instead of taking the elevator (he only lives on the fourth floor anyway, because anything higher than like 10 fire ladders can’t get to and there’s a 50% possibility of surviving a fall from four stories), and hopes his meticulous makeup job isn’t ruined. By Roman’s expression, he doesn’t think it did-

He had been grinning teasingly, mouth open to say some quip, but his jaw goes slack when he sees Virgil. Roman’s eyes are wide, leaning up against his red car, as he watches Virgil stop by the curb only a few feet in front of him. Roman whistles.

“Damn, Virgil… you look- damn. Wowza, do you clean up nice,” Roman falls over his words, making Virgil flush. Roman thinks I look good- I did good, it’s all good.

“You don’t look too bad yourself, Princey,” Virgil whispers. Because really, he doesn’t: Roman’s white dress shirt has the top two buttons undone, showing off his pectorals and just a hint of his abs, and some nice pants. His hair is done over to the side, and one crown earring hangs from an ear. It’s really a delightful look, but makes Virgil feel out of place with his dark clothes and his heavy makeup. Roman only has a light bit. “Did I go overboard? I can- I can wash it off,” Virgil asks, hating that he’s offering to change this intensive and difficult look for a stupid guy.

“No, no- you look gorgeous. Seriously Virge, you should do my makeup. Like, I feel outdone, and I never feel that way! Come on, get on in, let’s go,” Roman shoos Virgil into the car, where he feels just as much if not more awkward. Still, he’s excited, out of this world excited: Roman likes how he looks. Roman finds him attractive, and they’re going to the club, together.

Not together, Virgil- you’re just his buddy. Virgil has to remind him that this is not a date, that he’s gotten all worried and dressed up for sitting at a bar and watching Roman flirt with other men. It makes his heart ache, but at least they’re together now .

“We’re almost there, Emo. You ready to have a good time?”

“I uh- erm, I mean. Yeah. Yeah sure, I’ll have fun sitting in the corner doing fucking nothing, that’s what I’m ready for,” Virgil’s suddenly defensive and feels horrible about the crude outburst.

“Oh my- Virge, do you not want to go? I don’t want to force you into anything!” No, I do, I do!

“Eh, it’s whatever. I got all dressed up, be a shame to not go out. I just- I don’t like to- I’m-”

“I know you don’t like being left alone! Don’t worry, I’ll be close by the whole time. I’ll watch you if you watch me, yeah?”

“Why are you so worried about being watched? You’ve clearly been to a lot of these things…” Virgil changes the subject to hide his flush at Roman’s empathy for him.

“Ah, well- I have been to a lot of these things, and I’ve had some… unfavorable experiences. A few times now, guys have put stuff in my drinks, or waited for me to get drunk and then take me home. It’s… it’s not what I want. I go to meet new people, not to get a one-night stand that I didn’t want. They don’t make me feel good. I hate it,” Roman growls at the road, and Virgil makes what might be a rash decision and places his long pale hands on Roman’s tanned worn ones by the gearshift. Roman looks over at him, and Virgil ducks his head. Roman smiles.

“I’ll watch out for you, I promise. I don’t really drink either, ‘cuz of my blood issues, so I can drive home too,” Virgil murmurs, still looking away. Roman moves his hand around, grips his tightly. Virgil doesn’t look at it, but knows they’re intertwined, and it makes his head hurt.

“Thank you, Virge. Aaand, we’re here,” the bar is bright in the dark evening, a neon sign advertising it, and Roman pulls into a parking space behind the building. He takes his key, and reaches out to put it in Virgil's pocket. “Don’t trust myself to hand em over, this thing’s my baby. I’m trusting you, though, and you gotta be good about that, alright?”

Virgil nods, and allows Roman to exit the car and help him out the other side. Roman throws his arm over Virgil’s shoulders, and saunters into the bar. As expected, it is loud. Someone’s already singing, a song by Chicago, and is doing pretty okay. There are bright lights here and there, some spots illuminated completely and others in darkness. There’s a whole load of people here too: some make eyes at him as he walks in. Virgil sticks to Roman, who chuckles, as they both head to the bar. The bartender seems to recognize Roman.

“Here for the open mic, are you, King?”

“You know it! Sign me right on up,” Roman laughs. Roman’s arm drops from Virgil’s shoulders. The bartender rolls his eyes, swipes some green dyed locks from his vision and writes Roman’s name on a pad.

“What song are you singing?”

“It’s a surprise, like usual, Vincent, I don’t know why you even bother asking,”

“Uh huh. And I see you brought a friend… you wanna sing too, baby-cheeks?” Vincent asks, leaning forwards.

Virgil hisses at him, then clears his throat.

“I don’t fucking sing,” he snarls, adding in his mind, in public. Vincent smiles knowingly.

“Aha, a feisty one. You really know how to pick em’, eh? Can I get you a drink then?” Virgil feels like he’s about to explode: this is not what he signed up for. He is here to be with Roman and watch out for him, not take this guy’s shit. Roman notices, and slings his arm once more over him.

“Nah, just a work colleague. He’s a nurse~ and doesn’t drink. It’s a shame, I know, but it’ll work better in my favor anyway. I’ll save money on the taxi. Incredible Sulk, how does a black coffee sound?”

“I guess that’s okay,” Virgil grumbles, glaring at this man even as he shrugs and complies. They both take a seat at the bar, Roman ordering some complicated fancy thing to match his personality and Virgil immediately hunching over his hot coffee. It’s surprisingly good for a bar, bitter yet flavourful, and Virgil finds himself smiling down at it.

“Eh, I think that smile says it’s more than just okay!” Roman purrs, shimmying closer to Virgil and bumping their shoulders. It seems as though the alcohol is already having an effect, his disposition somehow brighter. Virgil shies away slightly. Someone else saddles up to the bar and introduces himself. This man has long swoopy raven hair, and is even more lanky than Logan. He leans by Roman, eyes colder than Virgil would like. The dark haired fellow decides to listen in on the conversation… just in case.

“Hey, do I know you from somewhere?” the stranger says. Roman puts his hand on the bar, slurps the rest of his drink down in one go.

“I’m not sure- I do tend to get around. Where do you think you know me from, blue eyes?” Oh no. The guy’s got blue eyes, he didn’t even notice that. Virgil mourns his only chance at getting with Roman- this guy’s stealing it.

“Oh, I know! The theatre, right? You were Jason Dean in the Heathers production! Scary shit, man. You’re a fantastic singer. Hey, can we get another drink?” the stranger waves over Vincent, who fixes Roman another bright cocktail. Roman immediately starts fiddling with the straw, and looks up at the stanger.

“The name’s Roman. What’s yours?”

“I’m Lucian. It’s nice to meet you. Man, it’s so loud here: I wish we could go~,” Lucian says. Virgil narrows his eyes at the stranger, takes another sip of coffee. Roman smirks, and turns and winks at Virgil as if to say Look at this catch. Virgil tries to smile, but is pretty sure it’s just a grimace. It may just be Virgil’s luck (despite how it affects Roman) but Virgil notices Lucian dropping something in Roman’s drink. Virgil slams the table, slaps Lucian, and pushes the drink away. He fists his hand in Lucian’s shirt, able to lift the man a foot or two in the air. Patrons gawk at the events unfolding, Roman seems shocked.

“Don’t fucking touch Roman’s drink, what the fuck did you put in there you bastard?”

“Dude- that’s my drink. It was a little additive, I can consume alcohol without risk without it! He seemed to be enjoying it so much, I asked for one too, can you please- let me down, you’re hurting me-” Virgil snarls, but drops him anyway. Roman touches Virgil’s shoulder gently.

“He’s right, it’s his drink, Virgil. Thank you for defending me, but really it’s okay-” Roman reassures him, smiling placatingly, and all Virgil can feel is embarrassed. Embarrassed out of his mind and his anxiety is shooting through the roof.

“I-I… I- uh… I-” to make matters worse, another man comes stomping up to him, throws his drink on Virgil. His hoodie is now soaked, his shirt too. Virgil’s lower lip trembles. He grits his jaw against them, holding it in. Despite the fact that he’s made a total fool of himself in front of Roman. Virgil wants to bite his nails, to go home, to run away and never return. This new man points his finger right in Virgil’s face.

“Who the hell do you think you are, grabbing my husband’s shirt like that?” he growls. Virgil wants to hide in his sopping wet hoodie. Hide and never come back.

“I- erm, uh- umm-”

“My friend here is very sorry, there’s been a misunderstanding. Hey, can I buy the both of you a drink? Tell me how you met,” Roman leads them both away, looking pityingly at Virgil, “How bout you go to the bathroom and clean yourself up a little, huh? I’ll take care of this.”

Virgil ducks his head and runs with his tail between his legs. He throws himself into the surprisingly clean stall and locks it tight before falling down on the seat fully clothed. I can’t believe you did that you fucking idiot you’ll never shape up what were you thinking doing some stupid stunt like that? You’ve ruined it. Ruined everything. There’s no way Roman will ever want you now. Virgil’s panic attack is coming on quickly, like a train hurtling down a track with no end in sight. He doesn’t want it to happen, but he starts to cry.

Usually, Virgil looks to his familiar hoodie for comfort. But his hoodie is soaked, and Virgil is shivering in it. He should take it off. But he doesn’t want to, he just wants to wallow in it and wither away.

You’ll never amount to anything. You should have just stayed inside: no one would have missed you. Roman had to clean up after your mess, you were supposed to be helping and now you’re just rotting in the bathroom like an idiot. Why did you even come, if you’re just going to be a let down?

Virgil’s breath is coming out in uneven gasps, his heart is palpitating dangerously. He really shouldn’t be alone, he should go out and- no, no, no. His skin is too tight, his head is too small, and his hands are pressing bruises into his arms, he is holding them so tight. What is he supposed to do again? When his thoughts get too big for his mind and he feels like fainting, feels like how he was when he was younger and like his heart could just give out any minute and the next time he blinked open his eyes he’d be on a hospital bed.

His hazy, anxiety-filled mind vaguely recalls a conversation he had with Logan once, after he had pulled him back from an attack in the workplace (he mixed up two patients and fell apart in an empty room) that he should… he should ask for help. Call me, he had said, no matter the time. Just call me for help, and I’ll talk it out with you.

Logan is on speedial, Logan, Logan can help- with shaking fingers, Virgil can just make out the emergency phone button on his cell to call Logan.

The ringing of the phone helps station Virgil, stations him better than the pain in his hands. It picks up on the fifth ring.

“Hello, Doctor Logan Berry speaking.”

“Logan,” Virgil’s voice sounds so fucking raspy and teary, sounds so horrendously uncertain, “You- you said to call, and- if you’re busy just hang up, it’s fine you don’t have to worry, actually this was a bad idea, I’m going to hang up-”

“You will do no such thing, Virgil. Stay on the line with me. Scale of one to ten, how bad?”

“I- uh, I dunno, probably like- like a seven? I messed everything up, Lo, I- fuck, I can’t do anything right-”

“Well, that is one foul-tempered lie. Let’s calm down first, yes, and then you’ll tell me all about what happened. I’m sure it’s better than it seems,” Janus’s voice, even hindered through the phone, forces Virgil to relax. He had no idea that Janus could hear, but apparently they’re together. His mind recalls lamely that tonight is when they get together to go over payments and make sure everything is in order. A part of him is glad that Janus can hear; He’s like a hypnotist with his voice, a snake. Virgil nods, then another wave of idiocy flows through him because it’s over the phone.

“Okay, Virgil, now exhale through your mouth. I want to hear it through the telephone,” Logan instructs, no nonsense.

Virgil shakily breathes out.

“Good. Now close your mouth and inhale quietly through your nose. I’m going to count to four, alright?”

“O-okay,” Virgil complies, breathing it in. Janus counts him off rhythmically over the phone: Logan’s on the right and Janus on the left, and the result is relaxing.

“Hold your breath now for seven seconds. I’ll count for you once more.” Janus-

“Exhale again, for a total of eight seconds. Here we go-” Logan-

“Exceptional work, darling. You’re doing so well. Let’s repeat the process a few more times, how does that sound?” Janus-

Holy hell, do they make a good team.

And just like that, Virgil feels better. His chest eases, his mind soothes, and he’s no longer shaking.

“Thank you, both of you. That was- it was really fucking helpful. I don’t know what would happen if I was here alone,”

“If you don’t mind me asking… where is here?” Logan asks, dry and with no sense of privacy whatsoever.

“I’m at a bar with Roman. He- he invited me, because he wanted backup, and I made a total fool of myself. I got all aggressive on this guy who did nothing wrong,”

“Aha, jealous?” There’s a sound of Janus wrestling the phone from Logan, much to his displeasure, “Just finish this weeks, Berry-” is heard through the phone.

“Maybe… hey, wait a second! Who told you-”

“I’m not blind, Virgil. Nor stupid. Don’t even try that on me. It might work on the nerd, and even Remus and Patton, but unlike them, I’m not clueless,”

Virgil pouts, grunting softly. Is he really that obvious?

“Whatever! And now… I’ve got no chance with him. I don’t know why I even came here, anyone could see that it was a stupid idea.”

“No- well, yes, this was very stupid and most likely going to end in strife, but you still certainly have a chance! Remember, this is Roman we’re talking about: he’s a carousel when it comes to men, always changing.”

“That’s part of the issue, Jan- where am I? I’ll be left behind, and have to watch as he finds a another and another and another-”

“You’re starting to panic again, Virgil. Calm yourself. And I know that won’t happen.”

“How?”

“You’re more perceptive, attentive, and caring than any of those guys will ever be. Roman would be even more of an idiot than either of us could possibly imagine if he were to let you go. Again, I am not blind: I see how good you are with the patients. You are careful and thoughtful. Despite how you might see yourself, Virgil, you are a good person. A wonderful person, who makes mistakes, but always fixes them. You do not leave them behind you. You feel empathy, and guilt, two very humane things, and you remedy your problems. That’s what happened with me, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah… I guess, I guess you’re right,” Virgil’s blushing again. It’s true, that he doesn't like to leave things unsaid or unfinished: it makes him terribly worried, and the only solution he’s found is confronting them head on. Janus and Virgil had met long ago, when they were both younger: Janus had just started medical practices, and done work for Virgil. It ultimately failed and hurt Virgil more, which sparked deep hatred on Virgil’s side and a continued regret on Janus’s. They eventually reconciled, reuniting later when Virgil started out as a nurse, and everything had become much better.

“Now, get back out there, darling. You’ll do great.”

“...Thanks, Janus,”

“Anytime,” and with that, Janus hangs up the phone to return to Logan. Virgil sighs to himself, and exits the stall: in the mirror, he sees his makeup all ruined. He washes it off, cleans his hoodie (which is relatively drier now) and ends up taking off the damp shirt as well. Thank goodness he’s wearing an undershirt: walking out topless seems hellish, and this only slightly better.

It’s been a while since Virgil has gone anywhere without his hoodie on or makeup. He barely recognizes himself, and he sees this face every morning. But… it’ll be what it’ll be. Checking his phone, Virgil realizes that he’s been in the bathroom for… nearly two hours?

Oh my god, I hope Roman hasn’t left yet- Virgil flies out of the bathroom, holding his damp dress shirt and beloved hoodie in one crooked arm. Scanning the room, he notices Roman sitting at one of the small square tables watching some guy sing “Mad World” somewhat decently. Virgil sighs in relief, and walks over and sits right in front of him.

“Princey, thank god you’re still here. I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” Virgil says, his voice softer than usual from all the crying. Roman looks at him, a smile curving on his features.

“Hello there, you’re- you’re pretty,” Roman slurs slightly mid sentence, and Virgil gapes. Roman is drunk. Very drunk. So drunk, that he doesn’t recognize Virgil without his makeup and hoodie. While Virgil stares openmouthed, Roman reaches over and squeezes his bicep. “Ooh, you’re so strong too! Pretty face, and a hot body-”

“Roman, you seriously don’t recognize me? Honest to god?” Virgil insists. Roman blinks slowly, but there’s no spark. Roman seriously has no idea, Virgil’s a stranger.

He should probably bring him home.

Or… he can start over. Roman won’t remember it anyway: this might be his only chance.

“I think I’d remember such a handsome prince” Roman huffs. Virgil, unsurprisingly, blushes.

“That’s very kind of you. You don’t look half bad yourself,” Virgil purrs.

“Oh- you’re a flirt too! I like you,” Roman smiles widely, “Do you want to get another drink?”

“I think you’ve had enough… do you want to go up and sing instead?” Virgil suggests, scooching closer to Roman. Touching his clothed shoulder, he feels how warm Roman is. Roman snuggles up to Virgil just a tad- he’s over affectionate, and with no filter, and no sense. It’s adorable, and Virgil is glad he got here when he did, because who knows who would take advantage of this cuddly child-like man?

Now he understands why Roman needs a drinking buddy.

“I love singing, I’m very good at it. I like Disney too. Do you like Disney?”

“Yes, I like Disney,” Virgil snorts. They’ve had this debate over and over: the both of them like the franchise, though Virgil sees the darker bits that Roman tends to ignore.

“You wanna- you wanna sing Love is an Open Door with me? I like that song, it’s a good song-” Roman rambles, looking excited. Virgil hates public speaking, let alone public speaking, but… he doesn’t know anyone here, what’s the issue?

“That sounds good. Let’s go sign up, shall we?” Virgil suggests, Roman excitedly clinging to Virgil’s arm.

“You’re so cold, it’s so nice,” Roman murmurs, rubbing his face on Virgil’s bare shoulder. Virgil can’t help but smile: his heart is beating fast, but in a fantastic way. Vincent doubletakes as they make it to the bar.

“Hey you two- heading home? Ro looks pretty slammed…”

“I’ll take him home in a bit. He wants to do one more song,” Virgil explains. Roman giggles, and Virgil’s heart does another flip. His smile widens.

“Ah, sorry folks- Roman can’t do another one. He’s already exhausted the limit of five: you should have heard him sing some of those. An undercover celebrity, he is,” Vincent reaches over and mussies Roman’s hair, to which Virgil slaps his hand away.

“Princey, did you hear? You can’t sing another one,” Virgil tells him, his voice still soft.

“Aww, really? I wanna- I wanna sing some ‘ore,” Roman pouts, his lower lips trembling. Virgil kisses his cheek, just a peck really, that’s all he can manage without exploding. Roman turns on a dime, sadness morphing to elation all at once. He leans in for another, to which Virgil declines, pushing him away with a palm.

“Hey, how about I sing a song for you, huh? How does that sound?” Virgil asks, nervous beyond anything at singing in front of all these people, but Roman seems so ecstatic at the thought that Virgil knows he’ll be going through with it.

“You sing? But you just-” gawks Vincent. Virgil glares at him.

“Don’t act so surprised. And yes, I do. Just didn’t feel like saying it. Totally. When do I go up?”

“After this guy,” Vincent points at the person going on stage, and Virgil steels himself for this experience. It’s okay, you’re the only one who’ll remember. It’ll be fine. Virgil starts walking closer to the stage, Roman hanging on him still. “Hey, dude, are you going to tell me what you’re singing? I’ll set it up for you,”

“I got it. We’re good, right Princey?”

“I’m so good, I’m the best, you’re so nice, gonna sing a song for me-” Roman rambles. Virgil shakes his head good-humoredly, adoring this side of him. Not suave or fanciful at all: only cute. They come to a table right by the stage, miraculously empty and clean.

“Okay, Ro, you wanna sit here and watch?” Roman smiles, nodding quickly, and plops down in one of the chairs. Virgil goes beside him, fanning his confidence by reaching for his large hand. Just like in the car, Roman takes it and squeezes.

“I’m so moved, you’re going to sing something for me! So romantic!” Roman gushes. Virgil blushes, rubbing his thumb on Roman’s sun-kissed hand.

“I’ll sing it just for you: you know, I really don’t like public speaking. Or any of this stuff… but you’re not going to remember me, so I don’t think it’ll matter. I really really like you, Roman. I’ve known you for a while, so it wasn’t all at once, but you tease me with all of your flirty winks and tell me about how much you get around and today, calling me pretty- you’re destroying me, and you don’t even notice. You never do, and- Janus said that I’d be good for you. Grounding. A good boyfriend. I don’t know what he sees in me, but clearly you don’t see that. You like- you like grand gestures, romance, and flirting… I can’t do any of that. Except for today, when I’m not nervous anymore, because you’re never going to remember this whole thing. It’ll just be for me. Just for me to remember, for you to enjoy now. You’ll never know how much I love you anyway, so it’s just for me. Just for poor heartsick Virgil,” Virgil tells him, under the lights and despite the singing in the background. Roman blinks a few times, not understanding.

“I- uhm… I don’t understand, whadda ya mean?” Roman squints at him. Virgil sighs, presses their foreheads together and gets up.

“Doesn’t matter. I only want to say… whatever, it doesn’t matter. It’s my turn to go,” and Virgil pulls away, waving slightly to the confused man, and hunches his shoulders to make him look small as he walks to the center of the stage. Scrolling through the music (it operates sort of like a karaoke machine), Virgil selects a song he knows.

Virgil doesn’t particularly like his singing voice: his mother loves it, would sing along with him during Nightmare Before Christmas, and told him it was very nice. It’s kind of low, gentle, and the words flow into the next.

“The dawn is breaking, a light shining through… you’re barely waking, and I’m tangled up in you,” Virgil sings quietly. It’s awkward, and he can’t look out into the audience at all, and he hears them ignore him. He takes a deep breath, and continues. “I’m open, you’re closed. Where I follow, you’ll go. I worry I won’t see your face light up again,”

People are starting to notice Virgil, as his voice rises, and it’s frightening but also exhilarating. He refuses to make eye-contact with them, unlike Roman who always does, and speaking of him- it’s very clear that Roman’s watching, enraptured. Virgil can practically feel it.

“Even the best fall down sometimes, even the wrong words seem to rhyme- Out of the doubt that fills my mind, I somehow find you and I, collide,” Someone in the crowd whistles, causing Virgil to struggle a bit, but he picks it up right after. He’s imagining that it’s only him and Missy and- Roman. Virgil glances up at Roman barely: he’s awestruck, and it fills Virgil’s heart with glee.

“I’m quiet you know.You make a first impression. But I’ve found I’m scared to know you’re always on my mind,” Virgil messes up the lyrics a bit, but no one notices at all. They’re cheering him on, listening attentively- it helps him go on, return his gaze to the floor.

“Even the best fall down sometimes, even the stars refuse to shine, out of the back you fall in time, somehow find, you and I- collide,” Virgil’s voice is still quiet: even as his confidence rises, he can’t seem to raise it at all.

“Don’t stop here. I’ve lost my place. I’m close behind,” Virgil used to sing this song with his parents, when he was young: his mother and father would sing and dance with him. It has sentimental value, it reminds him of childhood and pain and love and survival. They used to sing it to him, comforting him with the words. He knows every one.

“Even the best fall down sometimes. Even the wrong words seem to rhyme. Out of the doubt that fills your mind, you finally find that you and I collide. Finally find that you and I collide. You finally find you and I collide,” the music plays for a while longer, with Virgil humming along rhythmically. When it finally fades out, Virgil scurries off the stage to thunderous applause. It is way too much attention, all at once. On his way, he grabs Roman’s sleeve, dragging him out as people fawn. As they rapidly exit, Vincent calls out from the bar.

“Hey, grump- I don’t sing, my ass! You sing gorgeous! Come back anytime, with or without Roman!” Virgil glares at him, and then he’s out into the parking lot.

“Phew- that was- oh my god, that was exhilarating. Roman? What did… what did you mmfp-” Virgil was smiling until he was cut off by Roman’s lips on his. Virgil moans into it: it’s more decadent than he could have ever imagined. Roman’s lips are deceptively soft and taste like strawberries. He finally moves back for air, and Virgil leans against the car, holding his mouth. Did… did that just happen? It takes a second to register that a) Roman kissed him, and b) that it doesn’t matter because he’s not in his right mind. It’s worth nothing beyond right now… but it means so so much. Virgil will remember this for the rest of his godforsaken life.

“Ro-Roman, what was that for?” Virgil murmurs, touching his lips addictively.

“You’re the kindest guy I’ve ever met. God, I want to take you home. Handsome, and sweet, and caring and a voice of an angel. I wish I met you forever ago,” Roman says, approaching closer to Virgil until he’s pressed up against the car and can feel Roman’s warmth, “Fuck… I don’t even know your name, but you’re… you’re magic,”

“You’re making me seem better than I am, really,” Virgil flushes, feeling all sorts of fuzzy feelings. Roman chuckles, coming in closer to lean his head on Virgil’s shoulders.

“I don’t… I don’t think I am, beautiful… I just- I don’t want to go home alone tonight. I’m so freaking lonely, all the goddamn time. So lonely… it’s only me, and no one really cares, when it comes down to it,” Roman sighs, on the verge of tears. Virgil is dumbfounded: who would have thought? Roman, the Prince of Theatre, who sings songs to children and flirts easily, and never is by himself because he’s a magnet for conversation… is lonely.

“Maybe we can be lonely together,” Virgil whispers aloud, meaning it to be internal but slipping out anyway.

“Can… can we?” Roman pleads, “Please?” Virgil exhales: he’s so cute. Remember though- he’s not going to recall any of this. It hurts, all of a sudden, that Virgil is at once Roman’s world and at the same time an illusion.

“Alright, alright. We’ll see,” Virgil smiles at him. Roman leans down for another kiss, and now Virgil lets him. What’s the harm? I’m the only one who will hurt. I can take it. “I should take you home now, huh? You can’t drive, you’re drunk,”

“Pfft- I am not-”

“You are,” Virgil rolls his eyes, unlocking his car, “Now get in.” Roman shuffles his feet around. Virgil glares.

“In the car, Princey, you have to go home now,” he demands. Roman frowns, looks away stubbornly. And, just like a puppy, he’s adorable but persistent as all hell. Roman murmurs something under his breath, inaudible. Glancing at him kinder, Virgil asks him to speak up.

“I don’t wanna go home, I wanna stay with you,” Roman mumbles, slightly louder. And, Virgil is struck right in the heart. My god, is it even legal to be that cute? Virgil sighs: he should bring Roman to his house, that’s what he had asked before he was intoxicated, and he definitely can’t take advantage of him, but… those eyes are begging for him to stay with him. He can’t refuse.

“Okay, okay, you win. It’s going to be impossible to explain this to you in the morning, but whatever! I’ll drive you to my house,” Virgil agrees, and the look of pure elation on Roman’s face is more than reward enough. Though Virgil has to help Roman’s wobby body into the passenger seat and buckle him up, he can’t stop smiling.

Even as he starts the car to drive it home.

Even as Roman says he’s going to be sick.

Even as he has to rush Roman upstairs to his apartment before he pukes all over the place, Virgil is happy.

Roman hugs Virgil’s middle after he cleans him up. Missy and Roman get along swimmingly, Virgil offering to let him hold her, and Roman enraptured by her. He’s enthralled by Virgil lending him a toothbrush, seemingly blessed by the offering of a piece of toast to calm his stomach at the small kitchen bar. Roman stares at it, sitting on one of the stools.

“Why are you so nice to me?” he wonders. Virgil frowns. Are people usually unkind to you?

“This is normal, Princey. People are supposed to look out for one another,”

“Oh. Yeah,” Roman says to himself. Virgil can’t hold back from reaching over and kissing his forehead.

“Anytime you need, I’ll be nice to you. I don’t mean to be so prickly: it’s a defense mechanism. You only have to tell me you’d like some care, and I’ll give you everything,” Virgil tells him. This charming man, he hiccups and his eyes water as he blubbers. Virgil is good with a lot of things: crying crushes are not one of them. “Hey, no crying, don’t cry! Let’s go to bed, huh? Yeah, that sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

Roman makes a pitiful little nod, and Virgil leads him to the bedroom. There’s only one… so either they share, or Virgil’s going to the couch. So, he tucks Roman into the warm black duvet and brushes his forehead as a way of good night. As he goes to leave, Roman grabs onto his arm.

“Stay with me? Please?”

“Ro, I don’t- I don’t think this is a good idea, buddy. No, it’s really not a good idea,” his heartbeat is picking up again, and Virgil bites his lip nervously. Roman ignores it, pulls his hand to kiss it.

“Stay with me, princess,” he purrs. Are you trying to kill me? Roman’s too attractive, too flirtatious. And Virgil’s too head over heels to say no. And that’s how he finds himself sharing his bed with Roman King.

Who fell asleep almost immediately, and snuggled up right into Virgil’s side. So close, that there is a permanent blush on Virgil’s face and his breath on his neck. Okay, this is not going to work. I’m never going to get to sleep if this goes on. Fuck.

Virgil shuffles away, attempting to get out of bed and go sleep on the couch, but Roman slings and arm over him and growls “Stay”.

Well, can’t argue with that, now can I?

~~~~~~

When morning filters through the window, Roman blinks awake. Jiminy Cricket, does his head hurt. Ugh, what happened last night? This isn’t his bed: it’s not colourful at all, all blacks and purples. For goodness sakes, the curtains that are blocking most of the sun have spiders on it. Roman rubs his eyes: did he go home with someone? He must’ve. But who? Roman can’t really recall: he doesn’t remember talking to anyone. After Virgil ran out to the bathroom, Roman just wanted to drink and be alone. Anyone who approached him was turned away instantly by one of his cold stares.

He couldn’t help but feel as though it was sort of his fault: he said he’d be with him. That Roman would leave Virgil alone. And yet… he was in the bathroom for two hours, and not once did Roman gather the courage to go and check on him. And then what? Then he went to some strangers home and left Virgil?

What kind of asshole would do that to someone? Virgil, despite how he acts, is amazingly perceptive. He can tell when something is wrong, it’s why he’s so good as a nurse… he’s just genuinely a good person. And Roman left him?

He can’t imagine he’d do that to the emo, even drunk. He wouldn’t be able to forget Virgil, would he?

No, he really has no clue.

Think, Roman, think- he presses his hands to his pounding head, as if it would squeeze out a memory. All that happens is scraps of a song. Oh great, not only do I have no idea where I am but now there’s a song stuck in my head. Wonderful.

“Even the best fall down sometimes, even the wrong words seem to rhyme-” he murmurs under his breath. Then an image follows right after: a man, holding onto the microphone at the bar, singing the words so soft, so sweetly. It makes his heart pang, it’s so lovely. Is that the guy I went home with? Roman thinks to himself. He focuses harder on the memory. The man, he looks up shyly, nervously, and meets eyes with Roman.

God, he’s fucking beautiful. Love at first sight? Maybe not, but whatever this is, it’s as close to that as it could possibly be. It makes Roman feel all warm and bubbly inside. He bites his lip and looks at the ceiling of this stranger’s bed. Things come back in bits and pieces all out of order; kissing that man by a car, his car- that man laughing at him as he gawks at his, what is that, a spider?- the man sitting at a table in the bar right next to him, letting him nuzzle his shoulder (embarrassing, it makes Roman blush he was so mushy)- a kiss to his forehead to calm him, wiping away drunken tears ever so gently. His hands felt baby-soft, despite the obvious muscular frame he sported.

Who is he…?

“I’ll sing it just for you: you know, I really don’t like public speaking…” in his mind, this man’s voice follows: it’s soft, muted a touch. Focus now, Roman, you’ve almost got it-

“You’re not going to remember me, so I don’t think it’ll matter…” Of course it matters! I’m not a blackout drunk! Roman wants to scream.

“I really really like you, Roman,” his voice, saying such kind words, is like what he’d imagine an angel would sound like. Or some sweet interaction that only comes between A-List celebrities in a scripted movie.

“I’ve known you for a while…” Okay, finally, getting somewhere. He knows him? Does he do tech at the theatre or something? It’s a possibility.

“You’re destroying me, and you don’t even notice…” Well, that’s harsh. Kind makes him feel guilty: this gorgeous meal of a man was lusting over him, and he didn’t even notice? What kind of idiot-

“Janus said that I’d be good for you. Grounding. A good boyfriend…” So he knows the snakey doctor. That can either be very good or very bad: is this fellow a sleazeball? No, Roman assures himself blushing heavily, He’s too sweet to do that. Too kind and loving. Did you see him sing that song? Just for you too- and he looked so nervous! Precious!!

“I don’t know what he sees in me, but clearly you don’t see that…” Roman wants to pull his hair out. Did Roman say or do something wrong? Did he ruin his chances with this Adonis, because if he did, he’ll be furious.

“You like grand gestures, romance, and flirting… I can’t do any of that,” I don’t care! I don’t care about any of that! I just want someone to hold my hand and not treat me like shit! Just a sweet cute guy!

“I’m not nervous anymore, because you’re never going to remember this whole thing,” Ah, sorry to break it to you, but hey, I’m remembering! And I’m going to track you down!

“You’ll never know how much I love you anyway, so it’s just for me…” he sounds melancholy, so very sad, and Roman wants to hold him. Hold him and kiss the top of his head and make him feel better. This person, he doesn’t deserve to be ignored. Why was Roman ever-

“Just for poor heartsick Virgil,” Roman’s mouth runs dry. Virgil? Virgil. He- the man he went with- Virgil. Virgil was singing to him, with that angelic voice, Virgil drove him to his house because he didn’t want to leave him alone and every other little wonderful thing, the forehead kisses and the smiles and the hands- oh my stars, I am an imbecile.

How didn’t he notice? How Virgil would bite back at him whenever he flirted with him teasingly, how Virgil wilted whenever Roman talked about his relationships, how careful and thoughtful he was with every move, hell, he even agreed to go out to the bar with him to find some other guy because he was worried for Roman’s safety.

How was I so blind that I missed the perfect man right in front of my eyes?

And this… this must be Virgil’s house. It’s… very Virgil. Is that a Nightmare Before Christmas poster? Yes, it is- how wonderful. How him.

How didn’t Roman notice? It’s that classic blunder, unseeing of the person right in front of him. How did he not see how romantic Virgil is? Little gestures, smart moves, kindness. Thoughtful. He had said that he wasn’t a romantic, but by Jove- he’s sweet. His mind can’t stop repeating Virgil’s soft singing and his gentleness. God, it’s so beautiful it’s painful. He should tell him to go without makeup more often. And a shirt. Yes, without a shirt sounds good. Undercover buff, much?

His mind swirls with the knowledge of Virgil.

Oh shit- how is he going to face Virgil now? He’s in his house, he’s most likely in the living room: should he just pretend like he doesn’t remember?

Roman’s a good actor, he could pull it off: but Virgil would still be wanting and lonesome. And Roman would know, and that hurts. He won’t do that to him, not anymore.

He should just come out, say that he remembers and... ask him out on a date. A proper one. They both have the day off today, it could be now!

They’d do Virgil things, things that make the emo happy, maybe a zoo or watch movies or coffee shops or whatever. And... Roman will hold his hand, hold him, and hold him and hold him. Yes, yes, this is good.

Roman wishes he had more time to plan. Time to get flowers, or chocolates or anything, really. Wait, you don’t even know if he’ll say yes! Maybe he’s so embarrassed by the whole interaction that-

Wait.

Is that pancakes?

Roman sniffs at the air: yes, it is. Blueberry ones, at that. And coffee. His stomach rumbles, and hunger is enough to spur him out of bed. His legs are wobbly, and his head is swimming, but he makes it out of the room eventually.

“Oh hey, Princey, finally decide to wake from your endless slumber, huh?” Virgil teases. His makeup has returned, as usual. He’s wearing another hoodie, a black one, and it’s hanging off his shoulders as he flips pancakes. Roman’s mouth runs dry. “Also, umm, sorry about not taking you to your apartment. I didn’t want to leave you alone.”

“Oh... it’s fine,” Roman sounds odd, even to himself, and Virgil gives him a skeptical look. “Heh, anyone who makes me good morning pancakes is alright in my book!”

Virgil snorts, and pushes a plate over the kitchen bar for Roman to sit and eat.

“How’s your head? What do you- you know, never mind,” Virgil ducks his head into the fridge to receive some maple syrup, “You like it warmed?”

“Uh... if it isn’t an issue,” Virgil casts another weird look to Roman: is he being too nice? Roman can’t help it, how could he be rude? He puts his syrup in the microwave, with the long pale fingers.

“I uh- Virgil,” Roman starts, more nervous than anything, “Oh fuck, this is hard but- I uh-”

“You’re making me worried, Princey, spit it out or shut up and eat my food,” Virgil glares. Roman gulps. It’s like a bandaid, rip it off, come on, just spit it out-

“I REMEMBER! I remember everything, I always do after I’m drunk, it’s why I get a buddy, because I always remember in the morning and I hate what I’m like when I’m intoxicated, because I always remember, I think I’ve said that a few times- uh, Virgil, are you okay?” Roman finally looks up at Virgil- or rather down, as the man has crumpled to the floor in a heap. Has he fainted? Roman gets up and squats next to him.

“Virgil?” he whispers into his ear, poking at him. Virgil jolts up, narrowly missing a collision with Roman’s head as he sits up straight. He groans, and puts his head in his hands to try and hide his full-faced blush.

“Fuck, I’m such an idiot, oh my god, I’ve made a total fool of myself- oh god, please just leave me alone to die, Roman, just go,” he yells. Roman chuckles, and peels Virgil’s hands from his face. He seems about to cry, moisture glistening at his eyes. Roman’s heart can’t take it: he thinks he looks foolish? No, never.

Roman kisses the corners of his eyes.

“You’re not an idiot, you’re most certainly not a fool. I’m sorry I didn’t notice you before at the office. I’m the only idiot between the two of us, because I didn’t see how wonderful you were until you had to be blatant about it. I’m so very sorry, and in your debt. I feel silly to even try and ask, but would you… perchance, want a real date? One where I’m not flirting with other people- only with you, you Incredible Sulk,” Roman consoles Virgil pulling him into an embrace.

“Really?” Virgil asks.

“Honestly,”

“Then yeah, yeah, that sounds okay. I uh… I don’t do a whole lot so-” Roman cuts Virgil off by pressing his finger to his lips. Virgil raises his eyebrows.

“How’s right this second sound?”

“Yeah- uhm, that works for me-”

“Fantastic! And I believe your pancakes are burning,” Roman notes, laughing as Virgil shoots up cursing colourfully as he discards a very black pancake. Even as the man squawks and yells and forces Roman back into his seat, he can’t help but feel fulfilled. After the pancake fiasco is remedied, Virgil breathes a sigh of relief and smiles at Roman.

“Sorry about that, Princey,”

“Hey, it’s no problem for me! Kind of entertaining, actually,” Roman snickers, earning him a slap upside the head. And then, just to push Virgil’s buttons, he snakes his hand through his dark locks and kisses him deeply over the counter. It’s a knee-shaking kiss, a heart-stopper, a signature Roman smooch. One he should’ve given Virgil last night, but was too drunk to make happen. It seems like Virgil likes it too, if the noises are any indication. Virgil is the first to pull back for air, and presses his chest, gasping.

“Oh my goodness, was that too much? Are you okay, Virgil?” Roman frets. Virgil, he recalls, has some sort of horrible cocktail of medical issues. Most he’s grown out of, but the effects still linger.

“Yeah, I’m fine, it’s cool. Hah, my heart’s still beating. It’s stopped once before, and I have a defibrillator in my room but- I’m okay. I guess that just means I’m fragile, right? Gotta be careful with my heart, both ways, alright?” A still beating heart. How romantic, how delightful.

“Now you must stay with me, so I can restart your heart whenever it’s required!” Roman announces. Virgil rolls his eyes and scoffs, despite his small smile, then returns to finishing off the end of his pancake batter. Roman pokes his bicep, his deceptively strong bicep, to pester him into an answer. Virgil catches it, squeezes.

“Hey! My heart’s still beating, you’re going to have to try harder,” he teases. It has to be the most lovely seductive challenge he’s ever been issued. And you said you weren’t a romantic.

His heart still beats, and it beats just as hard for Roman as the other way around.

How positively lovely.

~~~~

And from that day on, the entire pediatric office would all go out once a month to a particular bar’s karaoke night, and Roman and Virgil would sing many songs but always one. They always sang one at the end, and it was so beautiful that people cry every time. It’s longing and love and acceptance.

They like to hold hands while they do it, perhaps to show off their relationship… or maybe just the matching rings that adorn their fingers.

~~~~~

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