#i could make a playlist for this but it would definitely be self-indulgent. Half the song list would be Baustelle and Max Gazzè | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jnnul · 7 months ago

Text

the right side of wrong. (part one)

TAGS ▸ violence (fighting, blood, general superhero warnings), warnings vary per chapter, uhh like trauma but it's not gone into super deeply, lots of mentions of isolation and manipulation, young justice au!, nightwing!sunghoon, there is a vision here of sunghoon as nightwing and i want everyone to have it as well, superhero au

PLAYLIST ▸ yosemite - travis scott, back - jey, stay - ari abdul, element - pop smoke, dirty laundry - blackbear

WORD COUNT ▸ 11.4k

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ i’ve fallen back into my superhero phase (which i’m always in, who am i kidding?) and everyone needs to understand my love for the found family + superhero trope. extremely self-indulgent and shamelessly fun to write! it’s a little different from what i usually write (college aus) so hopefully i do it justice (haha get it). part one out of eight-ish parts! quick note: feedback, comments, etc. GREATLY encourage writers! if you felt any sort of way (in a good or bad way!) about this fic, pls leave feedback!

TAGLIST ▸ @hybeboyenthusisast

[march 17, 20XX 6:32 p.m.]

[???]

ALL Y/N ARDOR FAUST CAN SEE IS ABSOLUTE DARKNESS. at first, she panics, grasping at air as she falls into despair when she realizes that she cannot manage to actually latch onto anything. no matter how much she tries to feel around for something - anything - she fails to do so, instead only managing to lose her balance in the nothingness. she knew that this would happen when she first devised her plan but she hadn’t known just how frightening it would be to escape.

escape. is that really what she was doing? or was she just painting the target on her back even larger? did it even matter anymore? if she couldn’t leave this place, she might as well give up. after all, once they found her, it didn’t really matter whether she would have escaped or not. no one would live to tell the story of the girl who escaped a prison with no exits.

she vaguely registers that someone is screaming and she wants to tell them to stop, that they were blowing her cover and that she definitely wouldn’t be able to escape if they kept screaming. it was too loud. too loud!

only when her vision clears does she realize that the person who had been screaming had been herself.

[march 12, 20XX, 4:19 p.m.]

[mount justice, happy harbor, rhode island]

sunghoon park shifts uncomfortably as he watches black canary wipe superboy off of his feet. jay grunts as his body meets the ground, the sensors in the training ground floor sounding out a resoundingly depressing “SUPERBOY - LOSS” that echoes throughout the training chamber. even after three months of training, it seemed like none of them could really beat black canary when it came to martial arts.

and sunghoon was trained by batman, so that really meant something. canary and him were tied (32 - 32) and he had a feeling that wouldn’t change any time soon.

“nightwing? you want to run roll next?” canary asks, eyebrow cocked in challenge. sunghoon smiles, adjusting his mask before he steps onto the training ground, the sensors announcing “NIGHTWING - BLACK CANARY” as soon as he does.

“why? taking out our heavy hitter wasn’t enough?” sunghoon asks and canary scoffs as she hunches into a fighting stance, ready to pounce the moment he gave her a chance to do so.

“hey! i was distracted,” jay exclaims, thanking miss martian slightly when she offers him an ice pack. sunghoon doesn’t have the heart to remind her that jay was half-kryptonian and that ice packs didn’t really help him in healing as much as she thought they did but he doubted it would make much of a difference. soojin was just about head over heels in love with jay and vice versa - she could offer him kryptonite to heal him and jay would accept it happily because his loving girlfriend gave it to him. or something like that, at least.

“just like nightwing is,” canary says before lunging forward, slicing at sunghoon’s head before shifting her position to aim for his knee instead. sunghoon launches backwards before he even realizes what had happened.

“nightwing has also been training in mma since he was in diapers, practically,” kid flash, aka jake sim (aka one of sunghoon’s oldest and best friends), points out. even sunghoon’s body on autopilot, maneuvering and ducking out of black canary’s well placed traps, was a lethal force but sunghoon had no intentions of breaking the tie in canary’s favor.

“technically, superboy’s only five years old,” soojin points out and jake grimaces underneath his mask.

“do you want me to point out the moral flaws in you dating a technical five year old? even if he’s biologically 21?” jake asks and soojin lifts her arms in understanding.

“point taken.”

“glad to see that martians don’t take well to that either.”

“i don’t really think that anyone does, kid.”

“now that we’ve established that everyone in the milky way has the same moral compass, you gonna spar with me or what, nightwing?” canary says, smiling cattily (oh, the irony) before sweeping at sunghoon’s leg, grunting when he leaps gracefully.

“you’re right, canary. hate to keep you on your toes,” sunghoon says. and with that, he successfully is able to grab her left arm, catching her off balance and causing her to try to twist her body to keep from falling but sunghoon is too fast. he lets go of her before she can find something to latch onto, and canary fails to knock sunghoon off his feet before gravity wins out.

she falls to the ground in a somehow still graceful manner, the mat below them reading “NIGHTWING - WIN” as sunghoon helps her get back on her feet.

“you know i’m going to tie that score up again, right?” canary says, cocking her head to where the scoreboard (only the two of them had a score; nobody else really needed one against canary) now read 33 - 32 in nightwing’s favor.

“counting on it. it’s the prestige of the league and the team at hand, after all,” sunghoon laughs and canary flashes him a mildly amused smile before straightening up once more.

“i know that it’s not the justice league’s jurisdiction to comment on the team’s inner workings anymore but some of the leaguers have expressed a little concern at the fact that the team is not accepting new members at this time - especially considering the fact that there are heroes like blue beetle or bumblebee who have made a considerable impact without compromising their identities in team fashion.” black canary sighs, running a hand through her blond hair before shaking her head. “but it’s not the league’s responsibility to propose additions to the team - it’s yours. specifically, nightwing’s.”

sunghoon exchanges a look with jake before shrugging. “i can appreciate the league’s trust in the team and the…forward thinking to increase our numbers. but we’ve decided that we’re not going to even consider additions to the team unless we’re all here to decide together.”

“yeah. unless aqualad and artemis are here, we’re not really jumping at the chance to make any big decisions,” jake echoes, and sunghoon sees jay shrug when soojin nods.

“i figured as much but aqualad and artemis have been in action for a while. the decision is yours but it’s hard to operate a team when 1/3 of it is currently unavailable,” canary says.

“i think you’ll find that we’re more than capable of holding our own,” jake says, arms crossed against his chest. he’s about to say something else but a look from sunghoon calms him down and just shrugs when jay looks at him.

“i don’t doubt it. but it’s just a suggestion from our own experience,” canary says, leaning over to pick up her previously discarded jacket, shrugging it over her shoulders.

“thanks. we’ll keep it in mind.” there’s no room for questioning in sunghoon’s voice in the way that he speaks but black canary appreciates the formality he carries nonetheless.

“alright. well. it’s up to you guys. i’m headed out but let me know if any of you need anything.” with that, canary bids the team goodbye, using the zeta tube to teleport out of the cave (where the team practiced and a few members of the team lived). in the next second after black canary has left, soojin uses her telepathic powers to establish a mind link between the four of them in the room, ensuring that they could all communicate via mere thoughts.

how much do you want to bet she’s going to go relay that to the justice league? jake says telepathically, eyebrows raised.

as much as you’re willing to bet that they don’t actually want us to replace members. they just want to know about what aqualad and artemis are up to, soojin retorts.

and as much as i’m willing to bet that that little black bat behind sunghoon is a bug placed by canary on batman’s orders, jay snorts, looking determinedly to the right of where sunghoon was standing.

don’t give it away, superboy. we know that they’ve bugged us and they’ll know soon enough too but let’s take the lead that we can for now. sunghoon sighs, stretching as he gathers his duffel bag with more comfortable clothes than his suit to change into.

“i’m gonna hit the showers,” he announces out loud.

“yeah, i’m not exactly feeling like i’m doing so hot the fragrance department right now,” jake says without missing a beat.

“alright, well i’m gonna go bake cookies if you wanna meet in the kitchens in a bit,” soojin says, getting up. jay rolls shoulder carefully, grinning when he finds that it doesn’t sting when he does so.

“cool. i’ll follow the crowd and take a shower too and we’ll meet you when we don’t smell like the inside of a middle school gym,” jay says, grimacing when he catches a whiff of jake’s training (which he had changed out of about 3.2 seconds after his defeat to black canary) gear.

the three boys part ways with their friend (and in one case, girlfriend) to hit the showers. soojin turns on the mental link once more once they're out of earshot.

how far are they getting, anyway? the old bat’s not gonna be in the dark about what’s happening in his own city for very long, jake says telepathically and sunghoon sighs, turning on the hot water once they reach the showers.

i’m not sure. i last heard from aqualad two days ago but i haven’t heard from yujin in over a week.

a WEEK? sunghoon winces when he hears jake’s incredulous voice echoing in his head. YOU HAVEN’T HEARD FROM MY GIRLFRIEND IN A WEEK?

it might be my super hearing but was that loud for everyone else too? jay asks, rather innocently.

yes, jay. i don’t think that’s how it works though, sweetheart. but jake’s right, sunghoon. you haven’t heard from artemis in a week? soojin asks from wherever she is in the den.

sunghoon shuts off the water, tousling his freshly washed hair as he steps out of the showers, contemplating how much to share with the rest of the team.

well. i’ve heard from heeseung about yujin but she herself hasn’t checked in lately. but remember, we knew that she was going to go no comms. jake, you knew that she was going to have to go under the radar from us too when they got closer to the objective.

jake doesn’t say anything, physically brushing past sunghoon to get to his own room down the hall from him.

i really hope so, sunghoon. i really hope that your objective is worth it.

[march 17, 20XX, 10:51 p.m.]

[gotham city, southern end of new jersey]

“you shouldn’t be out in this part of the city this late at night,” ardor hears a voice say from behind her. she looks over her shoulder to see who was talking to her, and the person takes a step back, gasping when they make eye contact with her.

ardor was hunched over on the ground in mouth of a frighteningly dark alleyway, shivering and teeth chattering. her hair was a complete mess, her arms covered in bruises, and she was holding herself protectively.

“hey, you alright?” the person knelt next to ardor and she couldn’t help but to inch away from this new person, hands gaining new injuries from making contact with the unforgiving gravel of the alleyway.

the other person raises her hands, almost as though she were trying to prove that she wasn’t a threat to ardor, who eyes her suspiciously as she wraps her arms around her knees.

“i promise i don’t have any bad intentions, but are you alright? i think that we should get inside before it hits midnight, and maybe you can tell me what happened to you?” the woman says and ardor stares at the stranger’s helping hand before slowly reaching out her own bloodied hand, only to be interrupted by a loud crash from behind the stranger.

“well, well. if isn’t two little girls on the wrong side of town, standing too close to the bank for their own safety.” the stranger grimaces as she turns around, coming face to face with the big pain in the ass himself, icicle sr.

“icicle, don’t you have better things to do than to terrorize gotham? like, i don’t know, spending quality time with your family? trying out a new hobby? when was the last time you picked up a book, huh?” the stranger says with a sigh, and while her tone is still lighthearted, ardor sees the stranger slowly shift into a more defensive stance, moving so that she was shielding ardor from their unwanted visitor.

“artemis, one of these days, that smart mouth is gonna land you somewhere you don’t wanna be,” icicle sr. growls, cracking his neck as he adopts a more offensive stance. ardor is silent all the while, more fixated on the blur of motion behind the big lump of human shaped ice than the ice itself.

“artemis, look out!” ardor yells. no sooner do the words leave her mouth does the blur of motion come to a halt in front of artemis, jabbing at her side. but artemis is quick, sidestepping the affront and pulling a bow and arrow out of seemingly nowhere.

the rest of the goons that were in the car suspiciously parked outside of the bank also start descending on artemis, ardor seemingly cast side for the moment. she tries to pull herself to her feet but the injuries from the impact that she had taken on her legs when she tumbled into gotham were still tender enough so that she couldn’t move too quickly.

ardor hunches over herself, looking down, only to see her foot completely twisted, facing the wrong direction.

she grimaces but tries to pull herself up regardless, a strange fire lit in her eyes. she reaches down and takes a deep breath before snapping her foot back into place, unable to keep the scream that escapes her throat inside.

“FUCK!” she screams, and this moment is the moment that changes y/n ardor faust’s fate forever. because no sooner does she yell this, a series of things happen in seemingly slow motion.

first is that a pack of icicle sr.’s goons descend upon artemis and ardor in quick succession. the second is that artemis is quickly overwhelmed by the seven people that seemed to have manifested out of thin air - likely other, smaller goons that had been drawn to the areas like moths to a light after hearing ardor scream. the third thing is that ardor is forced to protect herself from icicle sr. himself.

“normally i’d go for the blondie but risk assessment tells me that i should take the wimp out first,” he says, cracking his knuckles. his cronies fall back a little bit, letting their ‘macho leader’ take on the injured girl himself. she supposed that he probably always took the first punch when it came to new victims. he fit the personality type of a secretly impotent man trying to secure his place in society by victimizing those around him anyway.

“alright,” ardor says. “well then, i hope this doesn’t hurt too much!”

and with that, a column of fire leaps out of her palms and straight into icicle sr.’s chest, propelling him backwards. he flies so far back that he crumples into the van that he’d arrived in, about twenty feet away.

for a moment, ardor panics, fearing that she may have accidentally killed him (she hadn’t used her powers for the past year and a half, and that meant that she was seriously out of practice). but she hears him groan and twitch, his cronies looking between her and his form against the car (which had made a serious dent on the passenger side).

“what? want me to turn up the heat on you guys too?” she snarls, a little fireball dancing on the palm of her hand.

artemis looks back to see ardor launch the fireball in the direction of the mob that had descended upon them, watching them scatter like roaches from the light of her flame, the goons piling into cars or leaping on buildings’ fire escapes to leave the scene.

artemis turns to ardor dumbfounded, to which ardor can only smile ruefully. “don’t worry - it’s cold fire. it doesn’t burn but it leaves a pretty nasty feeling. kinda like being submerged into a bucketful of icy water.”

“couldn’t you have done that before?” artemis says, shaking her head. ardor blinks at her owlishly before tilting her head.

“um, i’ve never actually trained in combat with real people before so…” ardor says. “kinda didn’t wanna accidentally - maybe - really, hurt someone.”

artemis rolls her shoulder, where she’d shoulder-butted someone in an attempt to get them off of her. it worked, but her shoulder had to suffer for it.

this girl had pyrokinetic powers, knew how to use them, but had never engaged in combat? it was practically impossible to think that someone who was this well-versed in their powers could exist on earth without batman knowing about them. and artemis knew for a fact that batman didn’t know about this girl because if batman knew, nightwing knew. and if he knew, and this girl was from gotham, then artemis definitely knew.

which meant that this girl was not on anyone’s radar. that usually was not a good thing.

“what’s your name?” artemis asks after a beat of silence.

ardor thinks for a moment. “ardor.”

she didn’t know who this artemis kid was - although she was pretty sure that she was one of the good guys if someone robbing a bank wasn’t her biggest fan. but still. she didn’t come here to make friends with the wrong people. not again.

y/n faust needed to find the justice league. and she needed to make sure that she was on the right side of history this time.

“ardor,” artemis repeats slowly. she knows that ardor is not her real name, but artemis wasn’t about to supply this strange girl with her real name so she had reason to expect that ardor would give her hers.

still, something about this girl indicated that she was hiding something that she definitely should not be. for some reason, she kind of reminded artemis of…herself.

again, signs pointing things more than a little on the fishy side.

but artemis knew better than to judge based on things like that. she herself was a super criminal’s daughter. what right did she have to judge anyone else based on their life experience?

and besides, the way ardor looked around, taking in the grimy alleyway of gotham was too innocent. it was like she was seeing it for the first time - like she was seeing everything for the first time.

“alright ardor. well, what brings you to gotham?” artemis asks. ardor looks at her and then back down at her foot, leaning against the disgusting wall of the bank that they were so inconveniently next to to relieve some of the pressure on her injured foot.

artemis could practically see the gears turning in this girl’s head and she’s once again hit with the fact that either this girl was a really good actress or she genuinely had gone under the radar this whole time. in any case, whoever had taught her to use her powers hadn’t taught her how to keep a poker face.

“would you believe me if i said i came from another dimension? to look for the justice league?”

artemis searches ardor’s face, furrowing her eyebrows when she doesn’t see a single trace of lying in her eyes. she was speaking the whole, genuine truth. which of course, would have to be verified by batman and the rest of the league but as far as this girl herself knew, she was telling the truth.

she sighs, shaking her head and pulling out a transmission device on a secure line.

“sure. we have a speed force and zeta tubes. why not have alternate dimensions?” she mumbles under her breath, clicking a few buttons on the transmission device.

“nightwing? pull me out. i’ve secured the objective and uh, a friend that i think you should meet.”

[march 18, 20XX, 12:19 a.m.]

[happy harbor bowl-o-rama, happy harbor, rhode island]

“does everything in your dimension look this…depressing?” ardor asks, wide-eyed as she takes in the rather sad state of the bowl-o-rama.

artemis exchanges a look with nightwing before shrugging. “i mean, you did come straight from gotham right? that’s not exactly the happiest place to start off in…a different…dimension.”

nightwing nods. “yeah. what’s your dimension like? less crazy than icicle sr., i hope?”

there’s a wry smile on ardor’s face that feels out of place. like she’s not used to such an emotion.

“i don’t know; i wouldn’t call it less crazy necessarily. i mean, nothing’s ever normal when klarion’s involved,” she says, deep in thought. nightwing pauses, doing a double take and looking at artemis.

don’t look at me! i have no clue what this kid knows either, she says telepathically. miss martian hadn’t made ardor’s acquaintance, since nightwing wanted to keep this as under wraps as possible before deciding their next steps.

“i’m sorry, did you say klarion? as in klarion the witch?” nightwing says incredulously. ardor blinks, before nodding slowly.

“you’re not his friends are you? i doubt it, since klar doesn’t exactly do friends and his friends are definitely not as nice as you guys have been but of course, that could just be a false front as you wait for me to let down my guard so you can kidnap me and send me back to my dimension.”

now it’s nightwing and artemis’s turn to blink at ardor. i see what you mean, yujin. she’s definitely not showing up on any of our databases so i don’t think that she’s an undercover agent because she’s not really giving any of those signs. not to mention that ‘klar’ mixed with alternate dimensions is a pretty severe indication that this girl probably has been living a life hard to understand by our standards. and…as much as i can’t stand klarion and his stupid evil magic stuff, i think that her association with him might not be as evil as we think it is.

“no, we’re not his friends. in fact, i don’t think that he likes us very much at all,” artemis says gently. ardor’s eyes seem to glow in the dim lighting of the bowl-o-rama when artemis says this, and she leans forward excitedly.

“you wouldn’t happen to be connected to the justice league, would you? they’re pretty much the only people that i know for a fact klarion hates with a passion - and that means a lot for a warlock with the emotional maturity of a prepubescent boy,” ardor says. nightwing fights to keep the smile off of his face at ardor’s enthusiastic spirit at the sight of finding those who didn’t like her acquaintance (?).

it’s easy enough to do when the questions in his mind start to spin out of control.

“we’re familiar with people who could get you in touch with the justice league, sure. but before we do that, do you mind telling us why you’re here? in this dimension? and maybe why you’re willing to look for people who are actively working against your…acquaintance?” ardor’s smile from before starts to fade with nightwing’s torrent of questions as she looks down at her bandaged ankle, trying to come up with all of the answers to his questions.

“um. well, sure. but please, you have to promise to hear me out fully before you decide anything! and whatever i tell you, please please don’t send me back to where i came from. even though i’m pretty sure that’s kind of impossible without dark magic, i just really can’t go back,” ardor says with a hint of desperation in her voice.

artemis reaches out to place one of her hands over ardor’s hands clasped over the table that they were sitting at.

“i promise that we’ll give you a fair chance to explain yourself,” artemis says. “trust me.”

careful yujin. you said that she’s got pyrokinetic powers but we don’t know what else she’s got, nightwing says through the link, never once moving a muscle on his face.

i know that, sunghoon. but we’ve all had our fair share of dark pasts. we’ve gotta at least hear her out. and innocent until proven guilty, remember? artemis fires back, tuning back in when ardor opens her mouth to explain.

i know i’m not supposed to sift through her mind, but if it makes either of you safer, from what i can tell just from being as minimally invasive as possible to keep her from knowing i’m in her mind, she’s telling the truth, soojin says through the mindlink that allowed them to speak to each other and artemis almost misses the way that nightwing relaxes subconsciously, fighting to keep the smile off her face.

“uh…i guess there’s no easy way of putting it but my name is y/n faust. as in the daughter of felix faust, the magician,” ardor - y/n - begins. both artemis and nightwing nod, as if to coax her into continuing, thoughts racing at a mile per minute.

“i’m not really sure who my mom is. but i found out a year ago that my father moved me from this dimension, where i was born, to the dimension he created to keep me locked away from this world. he told me that it was too dangerous here and that he created that dimension to protect me from the horrors of this world - something like the story of rapunzel, if you guys have that in dimension.

“i’ve been living in a sense of seclusion for the past eighteen years. for seventeen years, i believed everything that he said. i thought it genuinely was dangerous in this dimension and that my dad was keeping me isolated from everything and everyone because he didn’t want me to get hurt. but there were things that just stopped adding up - if he was truly trying to protect me, why was he always in a different dimension, fighting those people called the ‘justice league’ instead of staying in my dimension and protecting me? why were the only people who were allowed in my dimension scary looking people like klarion? why did he only ever teach me out to make pretty shapes and do stupid party tricks with my powers instead of ever teaching me how to protect myself? why didn’t he ever let me see what the dimension next to me looked like? if it was so bad that i wouldn’t be able to survive, letting me see such a horrible dimension would make me want to run straight back into my safe little bubble, wouldn’t it?

“the questions kept adding up and i just never got any answers that i needed from my dad. one day, i managed to get klarion to confess exactly how i got stuck in that dimension and why my dad never let me leave. he never told me the full story - and obviously, i had to take everything he said with a grain of salt - but i’d gleaned enough to understand two things: one, my father was hiding me from the world, sure, but mostly from a specific person. two, he wasn’t the good guy like he was parading himself to be before i’d been able to trick into klarion telling me. i don’t think i actually tricked him, to be honest. i’m pretty sure he only told me out of spite for something my dad had done, but he told me anyway.”

artemis leans back in her chair, letting out a low whistle as her and nightwing process everything that y/n had just revealed to the two of them.

“i never knew faust had a kid,” nightwing says softly, and y/n (ardor?) shrugs, a wry smile wringing at her lips.

“faust’s kid didn’t really know there was a whole different dimensional world until last year so i won’t hold it against you,” she says. artemis and nightwing exchange a look.

soojin, i know that we’ve been pretty against mind-searching but do you think you could do a quick scan - as much as you can without getting caught - so that we can verify her story. i want to believe her but that’s a lot of information that can’t be checked otherwise. i mean if she’s really from a different dimension, there’s no telling what exactly happened in that dimension, nightwing thinks through the mindlink.

“so what made you come look for the justice league?” artemis voices out loud and y/n looks back down at her foot before shaking her head.

“my dad and his so called friends are doing some bad stuff in this dimension. i don’t know exactly what he’s doing but i think i have some intel that might be able to get the justice league ahead of my dad and his friends this time. because i don’t think this dimension should have to see the light.”

artemis bristles at the mention of the light. an evil counterpart to the justice league, the light was capable of any level of evil that the justice league was seeking to put an end to but with the company of various high level figures such as vandal savage, klarion the witch boy, felix faust, ra’s al ghul, and lex luthor.

even her father, sportsmaster.

they were twisted, evil people who thought that the best way to elevate humanity and make them the ‘ultimate ruling race of the universe’ was to eliminate those who were ‘too weak to serve their purpose’ and use the rest as braindead killing machines.

all for power. everything just for power.

which was why any and all intelligence that could be provided in the fight to first figure out what the light were up to and then to figure out how to stop it was of defcon priority one.

but a single look at nightwing’s face is enough to tell artemis that she might be the only one thinking that way.

sunghoon was lost in thought, analyzing the behavior of the girl in front of them carefully. his body language was cautiously open, showing that he was open to whatever information she was presenting to them, but his arms were crossed over the table that they were sitting so that it looked like he was leaning over to examine y/n and every single tell that she was giving.

“so that explains your search for the justice league then. and i guess the pyrokinetics. any chance you might clue us in on what information you have on the light?” nightwing asks, and y/n shrinks back, suddenly looking very unsure of herself.

“i - i don’t think so. you both have been very nice and i really have to thank you for being one of the good guys and not hurting me in my time here but i, uh, really would rather talk to the justice league. when i landed in gotham, i saw batman on one of the justice league posters. i don’t know any of the other members of the justice league so if it would be possible, i’d like to tell him directly,” y/n says with a somewhat regretful tone. “not that i don’t trust you guys! i think you would’ve hurt me already if you wanted to. but…from what i can tell, the light are some really dangerous people. i just don’t want more people to get hurt than i can help.”

anything, soojin?

nothing, sunghoon. she’s clean. she’s telling the truth. but i do have to say that she’s keeping something from the two of you. it’s nothing evil, but it’s definitely something personal. i wouldn’t ask her about it because i’m pretty sure it’s private business but i do think that it might be important later so make sure that you make her feel comfortable enough to ask, soojin responds and sunghoon makes sure to file away the information in his brain before tuning back into the conversation.

“…we totally understand where you’re coming from, y/n,” artemis is saying when he starts listening again. “and since it seems like you don’t have too many friends to stay with in this dimension, why don’t we take you to one of our safe houses before we can determine our next steps? like you said, we’re dealing with some pretty powerful and not so nice people. we want to make sure that everyone is safe before we do anything.”

“sure. i understand.” y/n pauses, seemingly hesitant as she looks down at her clothes. it’s only then that nightwing realizes that her clothes are somewhat torn from her scuffle (and undoubtedly from her tumble into their dimension).

“do you - i mean, only if you want - a change of clothes maybe? i’m not really sure what’s fashionable in your dimension but i’m sure artemis can conjure something up in your size. not that you won’t look good in whatever…if you care about that. not that you should! or shouldn’t, of course,” nightwing says, tripping over his words as he speaks. yujin turns to him with a interested glint in her eyes that signaled nothing less than i’m onto you as she turns back to y/n with a soft smile, who’s blinking at the two of them owlishly.

“uh…to be honest, when the only other female figure in your life is talia al ghul, you learn to kind of make your own fashion standards,” she says slowly, a small smile on her face.

“right. makes sense.” sunghoon stands up abruptly, unsure why he was tripping over his words and making himself seem like such a loser all of a sudden. “i’ll leave you two to it then. i have some things i need to take care of elsewhere.”

some things? you mean me, sunghoon? aqualad says in sunghoon’s mind and it takes everything in him to keep from freaking out in front of y/n and artemis, although the latter was faring no better than he was.

heeseung had been checking in - more frequently than yujin had been, anyway - but given the objective he’d been given, it worried sunghoon more than he cared to let on when he didn’t hear from him in over six days.

or did you mean anywhere but here, by elsewhere? jay adds and sunghoon can hear the thinly veiled poke at sunghoon’s floundering in front of y/n before.

see, this is why i hate superpowers sometimes, sunghoon grumbles, pushing the door to the bowl-o-rama open. and heeseung, i thought we were meeting directly at mount justice whenever you secured the objective?

already finished the objective, captain. i was just dropping by here since i was told by kid flash that there was an interesting show going on at the bowl-o-rama. i wanted to provide reinforcements if they were needed, heeseung says nonchalantly.

you’re just itching for seeing me make a fool of myself, sunghoon corrects and even soojin can’t keep the laugh out of her voice.

she is very pretty, to be fair. i’d probably fumble my words too. i just thought you’d be a little more suave for someone like you, nightwing, soojin says.

that’s - that’s not why i was fumbling. and besides, we don’t even know for sure if she’s really on our side or not. she might just be a horribly good actress and i don’t want to really give her the benefit of the doubt right now. that’s up to batman, nightwing says gruffly. but he still can’t help but turn around and glance inside the bowl-o-rama, where y/n is laughing at something that artemis is saying.

sunghoon shakes his head, unable to keep the smallest of smiles off his face. sunghoon is nightwing. he’s cool. suave. the boy wonder. he doesn’t get flustered in front of pretty girls. no, he flusters pretty girls. sunghoon is the man!

uh, boy wonder? big guy in blue? gray son of gotham? we can still hear you, jake says and this time, not even soojin keeps herself from laughing.

fuck my life. and fuck you guys too.

[march 18, 20XX, 8:19 a.m.]

[mount justice, happy harbor, rhode island]

“how long has the bat been in there?” jake asks, munching on an apple. yujin not so subtly jumps away from the door of the room that batman and ardor were sitting in, discussing whatever it was that she had on the light.

“at least forty-five minutes. i mean she said she didn’t have much so i don’t even know what they’re talking about this point,” yujin huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at the door.

“you’re awfully overprotective over someone you met less than twelve hours ago,” jake comments and yujin rolls her eyes, pulling jake’s arm so that he stumbled over to her.

“and you’re awfully jealous of my attention being on a girl i met twelve hours ago,” yujins reasons, and jake leans forward to press a kiss to her lips, only to jump backwards when they heard someone clear their throat behind them.

“i understand that the two of you have been separated for quite some time but don’t you think that reunions should be done in places that are more private? such as perhaps the home that the two of you share?” heeseung says with a bemused smile and a raised eyebrow.

“lighten up aqualad,” jake says, punching him in the arm. “don’t worry, i was concerned for you too. i missed having to hide from people like i was going to get in trouble for kissing my girlfriend.”

“speaking of getting in trouble,” heeseung begins, pushing jake’s hand off of his arm. “don’t you two have school?”

“oh shit! it’s already 8:20? we’ve got ten minutes to get to class!” yujin says, checking her watch. she leans over to press a chaste kiss to jake’s cheek before rushing over to the zeta tubes to transport her directly to palo alto, jake hurrying to follow suit.

“you haven’t been back for more than a day and you’re already on parenting duty?” sunghoon asks, leaning against a pillar, mug of coffee in hand.

heeseung shrugs, nodding towards the door that was still closed. “well someone has to get them away from this door and back to their degrees.”

“i could barely keep them off of each other for long enough to get a mission briefing from her last night,” sunghoon says, shivering as he recalls the horrible sight of having to watch jake physically have to be separated from yujin when they reunited in mount justice last night.

“you say this now but you were definitely killing yourself trying to make sure that she was alright when she went under. especially since i bet kid flash was giving you hell about it,” heeseung says with a knowing glint in his eyes. sunghoon just offers him a tired smile as he waves, retreating into the kitchen.

“you’re welcome to take back team leader position whenever you’d like to, aqualad,” sunghoon calls out from the kitchen.

“no thanks. i’ve already got the title of ‘aquaman’ hanging over my head. i don’t think i’ll be itching for any new titles any time soon,” heeseung calls back. sunghoon sticks his neck out over the counter that separated the general meeting space from the living space, an incredulous look on his face.

“so it’s true? arthur’s handing over the mantle of aquaman?” he asks, now fortified with a plate of buttered toast. heeseung sighs, rubbing his hand over his face as he sits down on one of the bar stools on the other side of the counter.

“yeah. it’s hard to manage being the king of atlantis and the representative of atlantis in the justice league so he’s been asking for a while if i wanted to take on the responsibilities of aquaman,” heeseung says softly.

sunghoon lets out a low whistle, looking up at the bright lights of the kitchen before looking back at heeseung.

“what do you think? i mean…i hate to say it but you’d have to leave the team if you were to become justice league material. you know, our team being covert and all.” sunghoon’s tone is light, almost as if he were jesting but both heeseung and sunghoon know that his heart is heavy.

“you, jay, and i formed this team together. and with so many new threats, it feels as though i have had such little time with our team. i just can’t imagine leaving it so soon,” heeseung says comfortingly but sunghoon is able to read between the lines.

“but you have a responsibility and a duty towards your king,” sunghoon says, his words filling in the blanks.

“it won’t be anytime soon - if i were to accept the offer - but i figured it would be best to talk it over with the team leader before i made any decisions,” heeseung explains. “not to mention that our team has changed quite a bit in the past year already. i’m just considering all the routes to be taken right now. especially since the fact that entry into the justice league would be to abandon the covert identity of the team to expose myself to the public. for a good cause, of course, but i could never return to a secret team such as our own ever again.”

“hm. whatever you decide, it’ll be the right decision, heeseung. i can tell you that much. and as your team leader, i’d like to remind you that this team will always need you and have a spot on the team for you, so long as your identity remains covert. but at the same time, this team will never stay the same forever. i think that jake and yujin moving out to california was the first indication of that. but that doesn’t mean that our friendships or that our team will ever lose you,” sunghoon says after a moment of contemplation.

heeseung finally smiles a relieved smile. “it brings me great comfort to hear you speak that way, old friend.”

sunghoon can’t offer more than a bittersweet smile, and heeseung and sunghoon both know that things have been different between the three founding members for a long while now, even if they all hated to admit it.

“batman has asked you many times if you wanted to turn to fighting crime in the name of the justice league, has he not?” heeseung asks.

“yeah. he has. but i don’t know. i don’t think i’m ready to leave this team just yet,” sunghoon says, and for some reason, he finds his gaze trailing over to the door that was still shut. usually the therapy room was occupied for no more than twenty minutes (or longer if the mission had been particularly mentally taxing, but that was very rare).

“yes. there is still much to be done. many people to save,” heeseung says, and sunghoon snaps his gaze back to heeseung’s knowing one and for some reason, although the age difference between heeseung and sunghoon is but a year and a half, for some reason, it feels as though heeseung is lightyears ahead of sunghoon.

“i’m not into her,” sunghoon says feverishly, but heeseung just shrugs.

“i never said you were. she is someone to save, is she not?”

sunghoon doesn’t know what to say to that, but he finds that he’s saved (once again) by his old mentor, and batman steps out of the therapy room, y/n behind him, her eyes red and swollen, as if she’d been crying.

“i expect that mount justice has space for one more inhabitant?” he asks, but the tone of his voice makes it clear that he’s not exactly asking.

in fact, batman rarely used words that he didn’t exactly need to use. ‘mount justice’ meant that y/n was safest here, in a secret location that was used by the team as a secret headquarters. that meant that she was probably in danger - from the light, at sunghoon’s best guess. the fact that he also said ‘one more inhabitant’ meant that y/n’s powers (which had been described briefly by yujin) were to be utilized for good.

if sunghoon chose to. or realistically, if the team decided that she would be a good fit and that adding her to the team wouldn’t put her in more danger than she was already in.

“we have the space,” sunghoon says carefully, and batman almost smiles at the caution that he’s drilled into his mentee so many times in the past.

“she needs a place to stay. and she can hold her own - she’d be a good addition to the team,” batman confirms, and sunghoon can hear the true message behind his words.

she’s safe. her story checks out. you can trust her.

batman has never been wrong in the past; sunghoon saw no reason to start questioning him now.

and besides, when sunghoon had done some digging of his own last night, her saw that y/n’s story mostly checked out. at the very least, it would explain the inter-dimensional issues that were growing larger, according to doctor fate.

“then, i am going to leave sunghoon to showing you to your room. i have some business on atlantis to attend to,” heeseung says, and sunghoon catches the stray glance he throws at him, choosing to ignore it steadily.

“i’ll head out then, too. but nightwing, i’d like to have a one on one with you later on,” batman adds and it’s slight, barely there (as much of batman’s emotion usually was) but sunghoon can hear the faint jest in his words.

the cave (the nickname that they called the area where the training grounds, zeta tubes, and the therapy room were all located in, adjacent to the kitchen) grew emptier as the zeta tubes rang out twice, reading out batman and aqualad’s recognition numbers.

“and then there were two,” sunghoon says, largely to himself. y/n’s eyebrows furrow as she pouts, trying to recall if she’d ever heard the phrase before.

“i thought the book was called and then there were none?” she asks slowly and sunghoon shakes his head, a small smile on his face.

“i guess there’s a lot of gap between inter-dimensional sayings.”

“probably. the only saying that i know of is ‘don’t venture too far into the darkness or you’ll die.’ i didn’t know how to tell my dad that i was scared of the dark anyway.”

“for someone who grew up around the light, you’re pretty softhearted.”

“eh, it’s easy to not listen when your powers involve pyrokinetics. you know, because fire? and fire emits light? light beats darkness? also, you know my dad is involved with the light, right? it’s all pretty ironic and hypocritical if you stop to think about it.”

sunghoon blinks, unsure if how they ended up in this conversation all of a sudden. huh. it wasn’t like him to lose track of a conversation like that. to be fair, when your conversational partner is usually jake sim, half the time sunghoon was just stuck asking him to stop talking at the speed of sound.

literally.

“uh-huh. anyway, let me show you your room,” sunghoon says, rounding the corner to exit the kitchen and reach where y/n was standing. the two of them walk side by side and sunghoon leads her down the hallway past the amenities (pointing out the essential ones - the gaming room - as they walked) towards the bedroom.

“i’m sorry. i’m not being a burden staying here, right?” she asks after a lull in the sunghoon’s tour guide speech. sunghoon looks at her, somewhat startled by the question.

“why would you be a burden?”

y/n sighs, looking at the ground as they walked, finally stopping in front of the room that she had slept in yesterday. “i don’t know, but i’ve just been alone for my entire life. the closest person i had to someone that was kinda my age was klarion, the witchboy himself, and he doesn’t exactly make good company. i don’t really know what it’s like to be around people my age all the time - especially not people i thought were evil for so long.”

“you thought we were evil?” sunghoon asks and he wishes he could stuff the words back into his mouth. here this girl was, risking her life to share information to save them, and confiding her feelings to him and sunghoon was butthurt about being called evil. what happened to being suave? the big guy in blue? the smooth-talking hero that dropped panties?

maybe the last part was a tad bit tonedeaf. and unnecessary.

“uh. yeah. that’s why i was told i shouldn’t come to this dimension? why the justice league was bad and we should all ‘see the light’?” y/n says.

“right. sorry. um. how did you figure out that the light wasn’t really the good guys if the information you got in that dimension was so controlled? i can’t imagine klarion just letting up information like that. i know that you said that he did it to spite your dad, but it’s just so strange, is it not? i mean, klarion may be a pain in the ass but he’s not stupid enough to risk falling on the other side of the light’s alliances,” sunghoon says after a beat and y/n shrugs, but her eyes are guarded.

“it’s a long story,” she says, and sunghoon is left wondering if maybe batman had had the same question. that’s probably why the ‘interrogation’ too so long earlier, he realizes belatedly.

“i won’t pry. but y/n, i do have to remind you that the more information you’re ready to share with us, the more prepared we are when the light comes to this dimension to wreak whatever havoc you want to prevent,” sunghoon says, picking and choosing his words very carefully.

“and i’ve already given all the information i have to the justice league. i don’t know why i should have to share the information i have with every single person in this dimension. and besides, what does my personal enlightenment have to do with the light’s plans?” y/n asks, her tone quick and sharp, unlike sunghoon has ever heard her before.

granted, he only knew her for a total of about ten hours, but still. he never expected to hear such a tone from a girl like her, especially when she had been so open before. but it was like she said - when your only female figure is talia al ghul, it’s hard to imagine trying to be anything but the most cunning and cutthroat person possible. maybe all of her friendliness was just a facade and this was her true personality?

speaking of female figures, sunghoon wonders what had happened to her mother. clearly, she wasn’t in the picture if y/n had no clue who she was. but sunghoon knew from his own time as the detective of the team that oftentimes, in cases where the children were isolated from the rest of the world and raised by a singular parent, it was a trauma response from a behavior from the other parent.

of course, it wasn’t as though sunghoon had a bunch of cases to base his theories off of, but the patterns were almost glaringly obvious in the few cases that he did have.

“right. i’m sorry if i was prying. i just - never mind. i’m sorry y/n. you’re entitled to your privacy,” he says, stepping back from the doorway of y/n’s room to turn around and leave when he feels a hand grab onto his wrist.

his first instinct is to flip the owner of it over his shoulder and press a knife to their neck (battle worn responses, courtesy of training with batman and black canary) but for some reason, his second instinct is to cover y/n’s hand with his own. and sunghoon definitely doesn’t have any answers for why exactly.

“i’m sorry. i know i’m being touchy. it’s just that everything is just so new and so much. and like i said, i went a good part of my life thinking that you guys were the bad guys; it’s hard to remember that i can actually tell people things. and you know, trust people with information. you gotta give me some time. i promise, i’ve already said everything that’s absolutely vital to say,” she says, offering a sheepish look as an olive branch.

sunghoon’s heart pangs with guilt, and he takes another step back, barely registering the look in y/n’s eyes when his wrist disconnects from her hand. “yeah, of course. trust me, i know what it’s like better than most people what it’s like to feel like you can’t trust those around you. especially when you’ve just been thrown into a new environment. i’ll leave you to getting settled in.”

he turns around, making his way down the hallway, stopping halfway and turning around, only to make eye contact with y/n, who was watching him walk, her hand on the doorway and her body leaning slightly out of the room to get a better look.

“um. soojin and jay should be awake soon. they live here so you’ll never be completely alone, so don’t worry about safety or anything, okay?” he says awkwardly, trying to offer some sort of explanation of why exactly he kept hesitating to leave her standing there.

“thanks. that’s good to hear. but um, you don’t live here?” she asks, thumbing the metal of the doorway.

“nah. just soojin and jay. the rest of us live in our own places outside of mount justice,” sunghoon says, and he can’t help the eyebrow that cocks upwards, the corner of his lips tugged upwards. “why? would you prefer if i did?”

“no! i mean, no! i mean, like, i don’t have a preference if you lived here or not - it would be totally cool either way. i just - i was just asking,” she says, stumbling over her words and sunghoon finally feels the tension in his shoulders melt. turns out, his charm still worked on cute girls. even cute girls who’ve been surrounded by psychopaths like talia al ghul and klarion the witchboy.

for some reason, that thought suddenly makes the tension return to his shoulders.

“whatever you say, y/n.”

[march 18, 20XX, 6:48 p.m.]

[gotham city, southern end of new jersey]

“i assume you didn’t ask me to come back to gotham to feed me dinner, eunwoo,” sunghoon says, but he helps himself to another serving of steak, which doesn’t go unnoticed by neither eunwoo (batman, and the man that had raised sunghoon ever since he was orphaned) nor alfred (the family butler who had truly raised sunghoon).

“no. but i figured that it would be appreciated,” eunwoo says, and sunghoon can hear the affection practically dripping from his voice. when sunghoon had first seen eunwoo don the attire of the ‘batman’ suit, he’d been shocked.

sunghoon had always known eunwoo as a rather sweet and disciplined man, but he’d never imagined that eunwoo would also have the side of him that showed unreal levels of intelligence, seriousness, and a thirst for justice that he’d successfully passed down to sunghoon.

“alfred’s cooking never goes unappreciated, that much i can guarantee.” sunghoon sets down his fork, chewing slowly as he lets the silence between them grow longer.

when he was younger, full of passion to prove his worth to batman, sunghoon would run his mouth with things he’d learned or discovered, unintentionally telling batman many things that he probably wouldn’t have in other circumstances, just to fill the silence. but now, sunghoon just ate quietly, feigning nonchalance.

he knows that he’s won the battle of wits when eunwoo breaks the silence.

“so about ardor,” eunwoo begins. his eyes are trained on the food in front of him but sunghoon knows that all of his attention is on him. “she’s interesting. she’s shared some information that’s hard to believe but if it’s true, it could put at a serious advantage above the light.”

“right. well, i hope that information reaches the right people,” sunghoon says, shutting his eyes in regret when he realizes the freudian slip he’d let through his filtering system.

“what do you mean by that, young master?” alfred asks, and sunghoon sighs, knowing that the question was said by alfred but it was coming from batman. and sunghoon could never really keep any secrets from alfred anyway. the old man had a way of weaseling secrets out of him; sunghoon figures that alfred was secretly in espionage before retiring to help eunwoo take over cha enterprises.

or something like that, anyway.

“i just mean that she really emphasized that the information should get to the right people. she landed in gotham after she escaped the dimension she’s from. now i don’t know how much control she had of where she landed, but she’s mentioned many times that she thought that the justice league was evil. but the very point of our team is espionage and identity protection; there’s no reason that she should have to suspecting us, since she would have no idea who we were. but she still refused to tell us any information and insisted on only telling batman, who could’ve been proven to be evil, for all she knew.

“it could just be because she landed in gotham and did a little bit of research to figure out who the vigilante of gotham was, fixated on that singular person, and decided not to trust anyone else because of the people she’s been exposed to her entire life. but someone so skittish wouldn’t reveal any details to anyone and just insist on talking to you - batman - the whole time. there’s no real reason she had to give us any details if she truly didn’t trust us.

“so, that can’t be the reason why she was so hesitant sharing the information about the light with the rest of us. my guess? we’ve got a mole in the justice league or in the team. it’s likely not the team, since everyone just came back from their objectives safely and soojin would definitely realize if someone had been turned with her mind-reading capacity. i don’t doubt that martian manhunter, since he has the same set of powers, would also be able to see if there’s a mole in the justice league. but it’s different. not only is soojin more powerful, she’s also got an emotional link between the six of us - we all read certain signatures in her mind and she’s the first one to know whenever one of us have the slightest changes in our emotions. she’d figure out a mole in a second.

“so that rules out the team. her information must have something to do with the light having a mole. but she doesn’t know anyone else in the justice league, or maybe she knew for a fact that you weren’t the mole, which is why she’s been so fixated on finding you and telling you everything else. i assume that you’re only even telling me anything after verifying her information and getting her consent to tell me, if you found me safe enough to tell.” sunghoon can practically see the brainwaves radiating off of batman, analyzing every word that sunghoon had chosen to use to explaining his reasoning.

sunghoon hadn’t planned on revealing that soojin’s (and the team’s) bond ran deeper than just connecting them telepathically, but at least by telling batman that, he’d realize that the team was more than capable of taking care of each other and that they definitely didn’t need any new members right now.

besides y/n. if she wanted to join the team, sunghoon honestly wasn’t opposed to the idea of her joining, and he doubted that anyone else was truly offended by her presence. she’d be rather welcome, he thinks.

which is not what he should be thinking of right now. right.

“you’ve deduced the truth. there’s a mole in the justice league,” eunwoo says, shaking his head and leaning back into his chair. “but if we were to brute force it and try and figure out who it was in a way that’s obvious, the light would either find someone else to manipulate or just declare all out war on the justice league. and considering the members of the light, we cannot afford a war like that right now.”

his gaze turns to sunghoon, and grows thoughtful. “but the team can help us out. you specialize in espionage. it would be considerably easier for the team to find the mole, since the light isn’t exactly aware of the team besides chance encounters with a few villains here and there that might be affiliated with the light. in addition, if ardor were to be part of the team, she would have an easier time easing into this dimension, or maybe even be able to point out exactly who the mole is if she’s ever seen them before.”

“are you sure that y/n should be on the battlefield though? i don’t doubt her abilities but we really don’t know how strong she is. and she’d be fighting people she was once on the same side as,” sunghoon points out and eunwoo’s face grows visibly sad, something that sunghoon has seen very rarely during all of his time with him.

“i know. and i hate to ask that of her. but you and i know better than anyone else what it’s like to grow up around such evil people throughout your entire life. and having no one else to turn to? she needs people her age around her who can show her what life is supposed to be like. no one else should have to suffer like she did, but something tells me that she’s strong enough to be able to point the proverbial finger at the proverbial villain. living with such people could not have been easy. i hate to ask her to channel her revenge in this way but - ” eunwoo cuts off when he sees the look in sunghoon’s eyes.

“i’m not going to ask her to stand in danger’s way just so that it’s easier for us to beat the people that she’s always grown up with - the only people she’s known for her entire life. but the team will help her assimilate into this dimension. we’ll be her friends,” sunghoon says, and his voice has a protective edge to it that he can’t bother to disguise.

“just promise me that if she ever wants to join the team, you don’t shut her out,” eunwoo says finally. “give her a chance.”

sunghoon just looks at eunwoo. “i won’t stop myself from doing what’s best for the team.”

dinner is relatively quiet after that, alfred starting conversations here and there about sunghoon’s day job as a detective (it was relatively easy to deal with normal, petty crime here and there when there were so many crimes that involved superhuman people with streaks of world domination). but other than that, the three of them were rather silent, each of them absorbed in their own thoughts.

sunghoon excuses himself, offering to wash the dishes to take the load off of alfred, gathering the plates and balancing them delicately as he leaves the room to reach the kitchen.

alfred looks over to eunwoo, who’s looking up at the light fixture that they’d installed three years ago, at sunghoon’s request.

“our dining room looks more like a funeral room, eunwoo,” sunghoon had said. “come on, old bat. let’s add some color. some pizzazz.”

“pizzazz?” eunwoo had asked, eyebrows raised in humor.

“you know, whatever young kids call it these days.”

“you’re nineteen, sunghoon.”

“and you’re twenty-four. we all need some more life in this place. you’d think we’re all alfred’s age with the way this house looks.”

“young master, what offense has my age brought in all of this?”

“sorry alfred. low hanging fruit.”

“that feels like a euphemism.”

“that’s gross.”

eunwoo sighs, a quick huff of air escaping his mouth. that was about as close to a laugh as alfred was used to these days, anyway.

“when did we end up like this, alfred? he used to look up to me for everything. we did everything together. and i still love the kid half to death but it’s just difficult when it feels like we’re fighting about everything,” eunwoo says, never taking his eyes off of the light fixture. what do you know? it did have some pizzazz.

“that’s a part of raising kids, young master. you learn that at some point, the world is no longer ours. it’s the next generations. and they might not listen to elders’ advice because they have their own plans for the world but if there’s anything i’ve learned in raising you, it’s that oftentimes, their head is in the right place. they see things in ways that we cannot.” alfred smiles, leaving his seat in the middle of the table to sit right next to eunwoo, his gaze warm and comforting.

“he’s not my actual son, you know that right?” eunwoo says and alfred leans over to smack him upside the head - something that many people would dare to do to the batman.

“and you know as well as i do that blood relations means nothing when it comes to family, don’t you?” alfred says gently, his tone as firm as a warm hand clasped in a friend’s.

eunwoo glances at the doorway that led down to the kitchen and smiles faintly.

“yeah. i know that.”

[march 18, 20XX, 6:48 p.m.]

[???]

“YOU WHAT?” felix faust roars, fisting klarion’s freshly pressed shirt in angry palms. “WHERE THE HELL IS MY DAUGHTER?”

“alright pal, i’m gonna let that one go because i’m not in the mood right now. calm down,” klarion says, pushing faust off of him.

“YOU TOLD MY DAUGHTER THE TRUTH ABOUT THIS DIMENSION AND YOU WANT ME TO CALM DOWN? YOU MOTHERFU - ” faust never gets to finish the rest of his sentence because the second that he gets back in klarion’s face, the witchboy casts a spell over him, causing him to fall asleep right where he was standing.

klarion looks at his slumped figure on the ground, almost disgusted before clicking his tongue. “i don’t know where these lower level peasants get all their audacity from.”

he looks around for teekles, his cat familiar, stretching his arms out for teekles to jump into.

“hm. it would be a big issue with the rest of the light if they realize that faust’s daughter is missing. pah, i don’t know why i helped him keep her here the whole time. she was gonna be a liability anyway,” klarion mutters to himself. “then again, i guess i was the one who let her out. and told her the truth. well. it was bound to come out at some point.”

he shrugs, ready to walk away when teekles meows in his arms and he groans, stamping his feet childishly.

“what do you mean i have to clean up my mess? i don’t wanna!” klarion says but teekles just meows at him once more and klarion drags himself, kicking and screaming to the dimensional pocket that lead him in and out of this isolated bubble dimension faust had created to isolate his daughter.

“i’m not going to tell the light just yet. let’s see where this girl could’ve gone. oh bother. this is too much trouble for the five minutes of fun i got.”

“meow.”

“i don’t appreciate the sass, teekles.”

and in his childish hurry, for all of his wit, klarion the witchboy is none the wiser when felix faust rises from his slumber, plotting the death of his own daughter.

#jnnul #sunghoon x reader #enhypen x reader #sunghoon fluff #enhypen fluff #sunghoon fic #enhypen fic #sunghoon angst #enhypen angst #sunghoon imagines #enhypen imagines #jake fluff #jay fluff #soojin fluff #yujin fluff

69 notes · View notes

dailyrmdoodle · 2 months ago

Note

Perusing your Royal Margarine playlist because of course I am (rm enjoyer) and I'm REALLY invested in the musical vibes..... Could you talk about what made you put some of these songs in the playlist? You don't have to explain the decision-making process for the inclusion of Every song on there, just the ones you'd like to discuss :)

Also saw Cannibal Queen by Miniature Tigers on there and 1) YAYYY I LOVE THAT SONG AND BAND 2) I enjoy it for RM 😊 if you were willing to listen to another Miniature Tigers song (especially for RM), I would recommend Bullfighter Jacket

YESYES YES GGGGRGEHRGRGRHRG MY PLAYLIST IS SO IMPORTANT TO ME, HALF OF MY DISEASE COMES FROM THERE, IM SICK, IM SICK, OOOUUUGHH THIS MAN, IVE DEDICATED HOURS OF MY LIFE TO HIM

ahem

Most of the songs I have on there can fall into a few categories, there's a lot of stuff so let's see if I can list them out, uhhh...

Songs that reflect his mental state and the way the acts, why he does things, what he's actually thinking underneath, things like that. (Some examples of those I'd say are like, My ugly, Puppet loosely strung, Noel's lament, The view from halfway down, One big beautiful sound, and many others that I can't list or else we'll be here all day.) Most of those songs end up being from musicals, because musical songs are really meant for showing character and that works great for my purposes. Also they're quite jazzy and swing-y for lack of a better term, which I think it fits him pretty well!

Pining and breakup songs, because holy shit look at him. You cannot tell me this man hasn't had like, so many people that he pines for or had a crush on at some point. *Slaps trunk of car* this bad boy can fit so many unrequited crushes in him. RM to me is the kind of guy that gets crushes very easily and very fast, and the worst thing is they're pretty genuine! He's just, terrible at commitment and honestly uses romance to not have to think about the parts of his life that he doesn't want, so he puts all his self worth into romance specifically. I'm going to squish him.

Songs that just generally fit his vibes to me tbh? I have at least a few instrumentals in there, and they give me him thoughts so I put them in. It's fun to imagine him being stupid and goofy and dancing tango (I still wanna animate that someday)

Sad ass songs because yeah. These fit in the first category, but they also deserve their own category because there's just, too many of them. HE DOESN'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT HIS EMOTIONS, BUT HE HAS SO MANY OF THEM. God please let him actually be genuine and open up God please.

Thirst trap songs I stole from some edits online. Next.

Sometimes shitpost songs that I think are funny and yet they still fit him, like blonde boyz and red flags. It's funny idk what to tell you. I don't have too many of those on there but I am accepting more because they make my day.

Songs that make me think of animatics and scenes!! These also go for a lot of musical songs, but also JHARIAH WHEN I CATCH YOU JHARIAH. Usually these make me sad!

Usually, a song will definitely fit these categories, but it's also very VERY common that I will just, grab a song and streeeecth it meaning wise so it can fit in his playlist because I already liked that song before and I like my blorbo being associated with one of my favorite songs. There are so many of those in there.

And I think that's it? I might've missed some category, but that's fine. I can also definitely go into specific detail about each and every song on that playlist if asked but I will not do that on this post because that would be SO MANY WORDS. Indulge me someday perhaps however, if you dare.

(And btw, I listened to that song!! I like it a lot!! It is in his playlist now :) stoopid pining man <3)

#royal margarine cookie #cookie run kingdom #DISEASE #questions and rambling and stuff #if you want to make me happy just literally listen to my playlist and leave a like #i will jump and yippie across flower fields like a unicorn seeing sunshine and rainbows #im normal

14 notes · View notes

mousmoula · 7 days ago

Note

20, 27, + 29 for the ao3 ask thing! <3

thank youuu! <3

20 - which work of yours have you reread the most?

ooooh fun question, out of my published works it's definitely one eyed bastard (i'm that proud of it LMAO), but the real answer is probably one of my 15k words, amazingly self-indulgent wips that haven't seen the light of day (yet)

27 - what do you listen to while writing?

20% of the time i look for/make a playlist with the right vibes (e.g. the fhq i'm currently writing takes place in a forest so i just looped a hozier/lorde/florence playlist the entire time), the other 80% unfortunately i either listen to really bad wap mash-ups on youtube or 2000-2010s pop because my inspiration spurts need a LOT of energy in order to produce something 😭 very occasionally i go for gaming soundtracks (prison labor from persona 5 1h loop my beloved where would i be without you)

29 - favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

happy to announce i had a lot to say here LMAO

i could quote half of (interlude) here because the prose in that fic is just incomparable to everything else i've ever written like i just cannot top the writing of that fic ever. one of my favourite parts:

It was affliction of the cruellest kind, depriving himself of the gentleness that such a person was both able and willing to offer.

but there's also the ending of the first iwaoi fic i wrote which isn't anything special but for some reason lives rent-free in my head anyway:

“I’ll make you proud,” he whispers.

And Iwaizumi doesn’t think he needs to say this out loud, but he does anyway.

“You already have.”

(i just think it encapsulates their dynamic pretty well)

and now a couple of lines from my wips! out of context hq university au:

“Tell him he looks like someone who knows how to use a washing machine. I’m kind of disappointed that he doesn’t.”

and this from YET another iwaoi fic (fwb this time because i live and breathe for that trope) which i'm just really fond of for some reason:

“Would it be weird if I kissed you again?” Iwaizumi asks.

(Definitely still very drunk. He can’t imagine himself being this bold sober.)

Oikawa exhales, tension suddenly dissolving. “No clue. Maybe it is. I don’t really care. Kiss me all you want.”

that's all 😁 i've written a LOT this year, and i wouldn't say much of it has been quotable (mainly because i've been experimenting and i don't even know what i'm writing half the time) but i've enjoyed the process of writing a lot more than i have in a long time so!! cheers and here's to more

#ασκς

6 notes · View notes

rainbow-universe · 2 years ago

Text

Please Come Home for Christmas

for @notroosterbradshaw’s #hello december playlist challenge !! go follow them bc they’re amazing and write fantastic fics!!

song: Please Come Home for Christmas by Eagles

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x GN!Reader

CW: established relationship, swearing, they celebrate Christmas, probably most likely definitely OOC!Bradley :)

a/n: so this totally got away from me as writing does and it might not be coherent lol (pls be kind it’s my first fic on this account skskdfdskjd) but the way this is so self-indulgent tho,,,, gift buying and giving gives me so much anxiety bc i never know what to get people :( but anyways i like what i wrote and maybe you will too!! happy holidays!!

summary: it would have been your first Christmas together, but Bradley got deployed and you’re still worrying about what to get him.

WC: around 2k

Bradley’s been deployed. Off flying, doing his job.

You’re at home. And life goes on.

🎄🎄🎄

You’re missing him like usual, especially because it’s nearing Christmas and, well, … it would have been your first Christmas together. But he was deployed, so, plans ruined. Oh well.

But … was there a secret part of you that was … a little relieved? The holidays meant a lot, and to spend them with a significant other? It felt like there was a lot of pressure.

And there was a small part of you that hated gift giving. Not that you hated giving gifts, in fact you loved giving little gifts and seeing the people smile and get excited over it. But … you were terrible at it. And it gave you so much anxiety.

You loved making things for the people you loved, but … well, even though you loved the saying “it’s the thought that counts”, because you put your heart and soul into everything you made, you’d once heard someone dispute that by scoffing “well, they’re just horrible at gift buying then.” And ever since then, you’d been extra self conscious of getting people gifts. You were always worrying that they’d hate it, or it’d be useless to them, and they’d never use it.

And for this year? To have a partner to have to get a gift for? It felt like there was more pressure on you. But then he got deployed and there was a possibility he wouldn’t be back for Christmas. Though you missed him so much, there was a small part of you that was scared you were relieved if he couldn’t make it back so you wouldn’t have to worry about gifts. But the thing was, you did want to show him how much he meant to you.

You’re scrolling through your phone one evening after work, curled up on your couch (that Bradley always complained was too small, much to your amusement), when it comes to you. An idea for his gift. It’s a great idea and even though it scares you half to death, all this vulnerability … well, to be honest, you love him in so many ways and for so many reasons and … you want him in your life for as long as you can have him. And fuck, he could be just so perfect sometimes. Soft and sweet and non-judgemental. Open, caring, cuddly. A fucking tease. Sarcastic, hard-working, determined. A fantastic partner and he deserved to know that. He deserved to be told, or shown, explicitly, over and over, just how amazing he is.

You got to work. Scrolling through your camera roll and searching through folders on your computer, even texting and calling your friends to ask them. You built it slowly, adding to it often, rearranging it again and again, having to pause every once in a while, because it reminded you just how much you missed him.

🎄🎄🎄

His calls never came often enough, so you cherished them even more when they happened.

“Hey sweetheart.”

“Hey,” you smiled and looked him over in the screen, he was still your handsome Rooster. It was so good to see him. “I’ve missed you,” you said honestly.

“I’ve missed you too, wish I was with you right now,” he said, eyes softening.

“Wish you were here too. It snowed again yesterday, I’m sure you would’ve loved it.”

“All cold and wet? Perfect weather for cuddling!” You snorted. “So, what have you been up to?” He asked.

You told him about meeting up with friends and your plans to meet up within the next couple of weeks, work, the shows you were watching. “Oh! And last week, I met up with Sacha, and you know how whenever we meet up, we just buy each other’s gifts together?”

“Yah…”

“And how we bought each other’s Christmas gift’s back in October?”

“And then you came home, and we baked cookies just so you could make a single Christmas cookie to wrap up and give them.”

You smiled at the memory. “Yes, that, and well, we’ve bought each other our birthday presents.”

Bradley laughed, “At least you don’t have to stress about that later.”

You chuckled awkwardly. If only you knew just how much stress I can feel, you thought to yourself.

“I’m sorry I’m not there.”

“Oh Bradley,” you said softly, “don’t apologize, there’s no reason to apologize, it’s ok, love. You’re doing your job, and I love that about you, ok?”

He nodded, knowing he was where he needed to be but still wanting to be with you instead. “I was really excited to spend Christmas with you,” he murmured.

“Love… it’ll be ok, we might just have to have Christmas in July,” you half-joked.

“We’d fit right in with those Hallmark movies,” Bradley chuckled.

“Exactly!”

You talked a bit more, then Bradley had to go so you said your goodbyes and hung up. You sighed. You cherished all the times you could talk with Bradley even if it made you miss him more afterwards. You stood up and walked to your kitchen, you were feeling a surge of energy to bake cookies. You would ride this wave of motivation until you were done, you thought, and got to work.

Christmas music played in the background as you measured and mixed ingredients, rolled and cut the dough. When you tuned back in to the music-

“Choirs will be singing, silent night,

“Christmas carols, by candlelight,

“Please come for-“

“I don’t want a lot for Christmas,” interrupted Mariah Carey.

That song would make you cry if you had to listen to the whole thing. You missed Bradley, but you couldn’t do anything about it, so you continued baking cookies.

🎄🎄🎄

You held off wrapping his gift until Christmas Eve. In part because you didn’t finish it until Christmas Eve Eve, but also because you knew he wouldn’t be there to open it until … whenever he came back.

You had been able to call with him again the week before for a few minutes, the whole time both of you wishing you could be together in person. To hold hands, cuddle on the couch, anything, while he told you that he wouldn’t be able to call for a while.

You put his wrapped gift under the tree along with the few for and from you friends and family.

🎄🎄🎄

Christmas morning, you woke up wrapped in your warm and cozy blankets. All your favourite people had plans today, you’d made plans with them for other days but today would be a quiet, lonely day.

You slowly got out of bed and put on your slippers and cozy robe over your pyjamas. You walked out to your living room where your small tree glowed with its coloured lights. After making yourself some hot chocolate and putting on some quiet Christmas music, you sat down in front of your Christmas tree. Today would be a good day, you decided. Even if you were alone, it was Christmas, you didn’t have work, there were the Christmas cookies you had baked earlier, and you had your meals for the day all planned out. Plus, you currently had a fantastic mug of hot chocolate in your hands, you were in cozy clothes in your place. It was a good day already.

You unwrapped the few presents you had and smiled at every one, sending happy holidays and thank you texts to your friends and family.

🎄🎄🎄

As you were karaoke-ing to your Christmas after you ate lunch, your doorbell rang. You frowned and went to go see who was there. When you opened the door, you froze in shock.

“Hey sweetheart,” Bradley said.

“Wha- Bradley?!”

He laughed at your confusion, god, you had missed the sound of his laugh. “Merry Christmas?”

“You’re here. You’re really here,” you said.

“Yah, sweetheart, I’m here.” You flung yourself into his arms and gripped him tightly.

He loosened his grip, and you stepped back, keeping your hands on his arms. “So do I get to come in or …?” he teased.

Your eyes widened. “Yes, yes, come in, come in, I can’t believe you’re actually here.”

Bradley closed the door behind him. “Finished earlier than expected and I caught the fastest flights here. I was hoping I wouldn’t be too late.”

“Bradley Bradshaw, I don’t think you could be late. I swear to god you’re like a wizard, arriving precisely when you mean to,” you teased. “You’re here though, and you just so happen to be the best Christmas present I could ever get.”

“Kisses?”

“Yes.”

Bradley was immediately peppering your face in small kisses that made you giggle. “I missed you so *kiss* so *kiss* so *kiss* so *kiss* much!” He pulled away to look you in the eye. “I love you.”

You smile at him. “And I love you.” You pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Do you need anything?” you asked when he pulled away.

“You.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately, certain there were hearts in them. “Food, water, sleep, something?”

“Just you,” he repeated.

You smiled at him and pulled him over to your couch. “Sit.” You grabbed the plate of cookies and offered it to him.

“Ok, well maybe I need you and cookies.”

You snorted as you snuggled into his side and sat together, enjoying each others company.

“Cute tree,” Bradley said.

“Small but cute.”

“Small and cute,” he corrected.

“Oh!” You got up and shuffled around Bradley’s long legs to grab his present. “For you,” you said awkwardly, handing him the wrapped gift. “Merry Christmas,” you mumbled.

Bradley looked up at you. “For me?” he asked taking it from you.

You nodded and sat back down beside him, trying to calm your anxiety.

“Can I open it?”

That made you smile, “yes, of course. I will warn you though, it’s probably really, ok no, it definitely is very cheesy.” You covered your face in embarrassment.

Bradley laughed. “I’ll love it.” You could here the certainty in his voice at he unwrapped the gift. “A scrapbook?” His voice was soft and excited.

You let out a breath and peeked between your fingers. “Yah.”

He flipped it open slowly and a smile broke out on his face.

There were selfies the two of you had taken together, pictures you’d taken of each other, and pictures your friends had taken, some of the two of you, some of just Bradley or some of Bradley and members of the Dagger squad. There were also mementos from moments in your shared life: receipts, stickie notes, all different things from different places and times. You written little notes to accompany everything, detailing when it was from.

You watched his face as he flipped through, seeing his smile grow, hearing him laugh. He paused every once in a while to turn to you and say how fantastic it was or how much he loved you or how did you get some of these pictures?

“I asked around. My friends, your friends, both had pictures they were willing to share.”

“Thank you,” Bradley said, looking at you.

You covered you face again. “You’re welcome, now continue, there’s still more.”

Bradley grabbed one of you hands and held it as he continued reading and flipping through, until he paused on the last page, and read your note again. He whipped his head to face you. “I love you. I love being in your life, I love having you in my life, too.”

Your eyes crinkled at the emotions bubbling up in you from his words. “You’re important to me, I appreciate you and I love you, like I said, well, wrote,” you said softly.

Bradley took the key taped in the book and held it up. “For-“

“You. For my place. So, well, you don’t have to knock anymore.”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yah,” you whispered, already leaning in to kiss him.

“Merry Christmas,” Bradley whispered in between kisses.

“Merry Christmas,” you whispered back.

🎄🎄🎄

happy holidays!! please consider reblogging if you liked it!

#hello december playlist challenge #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #gender neutral reader #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw fluff #my writing #writings by oak

87 notes · View notes

futurequibblerjournalist · 3 months ago

Note

Idk if you'll appreciate these but:

Igor and Snape remind me of the guitar solo in Out of The Fire by Type O Negative or Change by Deftones

Igor and Charity make me think of basically any Sir Mixalot song but definitely the nasty dog one. I could totally see some Hozier like Too Sweet and maybe even some Britney Spears

Edmund makes think of Hit Em Up Style

Igor is.... a mess of his own aka My D!ck by Little Big

Rosekiller is like every MSI song ever

You get it, man

Alright so I had to go listen to some of these to give a proper expert opinion here but here's my verdict!!

I definitely agree with the guitar solo for crownest, the fact that there's no vocals seems very fitting for them tbh. I can see the vibes with Change by Deftones too, but I'm definitely leaning more towards Out of The Fire (I'm hoping I listened to the right one) Funny enough I don't think this is music Igor would listen to (I'm not too sure about Severus's taste in music) but Igor listens to those like,, lowkey misogynistic "get drunk, fuck a lot, titties, ass, any Macarena!" songs you know? Like Faggot by Mindless Self Indulgence and She's So Nice by Pink Guy or something like that vjnfjbgn

You're so right about Nasty Dog, I've not listened to a lot of other Sir Mix-A-Lot songs but I've had Nasty Dog stuck in my head for days now and it's so them jvfnjbgnjb. I was honestly sceptical with Too Sweet cause I was like surely that can't be their vibe but I pulled up the lyrics and OH MY GOD ITS SO THEM LIKE???? Toxic and Criminal by Britney Spears too tho, like it's a little basic but honestly that fits a bit with Charity's vibe vjnfbjg (sort of related but I do actually believe that Igor would get Charity's name tattooed on him in like fancy cursive or some shit, have a bit of soft Igor for once jvnfjbg)

Like,, these lines in particular are so sea bunny coded "He is a villain by the devil's law He is a killer just for fun, fun, fun, fun That man's a snitch and unpredictable He's got no conscience, he got none, none, none, none"

"You keep telling me to live right To go to bed before the daylight But then you wake up for the sunrise You know you don't gotta pretend, baby, now and then"

"But who wants to live forever, babe? You treat your mouth as if it's Heaven's gate The rest of you like you're the TSA I wish I could go along, babe, don't get me wrong"

For Edmund I'm assuming you mean Hit 'Em Up Style by Blu Cantrell? Or am I just exposing my own music taste here lmaooo. I'm so curious as to what makes you think of him with this if it is the right one. He would be so offended that one would connect him to such a thing but also the whole "I'm mad so I'm gonna go spend someone's money" is,, very Edmund I fear vjfnjbngb. He is however also a "cheater" himself (as in he's engaged to someone and they don't at all care for each other but he does technically marry her and after lots of trial and error they have two kids but he still bats his lashes at Severus/sleeps with him later on) and does not really care if his fiancé/wife does anything similar. He's a pretentious prick who doesn't listen to anything but like,, violin and piano music or some shit like that

I'm once again assuming on the song that you mean Big Dick by Little Big because yes that is stupidly Igor in every way

Molly by MSI, obviously Faggot and What Do They Know? are so rosekiller coded tbh,, I feel like it's definitely more Barty's music taste than Evan's tho?? Or like,, Barty has no problem admitting that it's his taste in music where as Evan is like "I'll listen to it if you put it on but I will complain if there's other people" meanwhile he's made half the playlist and made Barty put it on lmao

Also you cannot convince me that Barty wouldn't listen to (and know all the words to) Pretty Fly (For A White Guy) by The Offspring. He has sung it to Evan during like,, karaoke while hella drunk. He also unironically listens to It's All About Me by Chelsea Staub from the 2007 live-action Bratz movie (that he also watched and thought was a banger).

Speaking of It's All About Me I think it's very funny that this is one of the like,, key Edmund songs. He'd HATE IT especially because Barty likes it but he's just,, he's such a selfish it-girl mean girl that it fits. Homeboy probably relates to Regina George and thinks she's being treated unfairly throughout the entire movie (not that he'd ever watch it willingly). If anyone goes to look up the song PLEASE WATCH THE VIDEO if you don't already know it I beg of you, you need the full experience

This got so long but it was so fun to listen to all of these and add more songs jnfjbngjbg

6 notes · View notes

pennyserenade · 2 years ago

Text

THE EXPERIMENT

pairing: joel fleischman x original female character, joel fleischman x unnamed ofc rating: e (explicit, 18+) tags: explicit, voyeurism, female masturbation, oral sex (male receiving), light praise, little bit of male sub, light dirty talk, consent is given at all times but sometimes it not explicitly spoken, a little of a prudish sex thing going on but it doesn’t have any basis in religion and isn’t really accusing, doctor/patient relationship (but is that really unethical if there’s only one doctor in the whole town? i mean, logically that’s bound to happen. i’ll leave this question of ethics up to you, though). word count: 8.7k+ (i wish i had words to explain this) summary: joel & ofc decide to explore the bounds of female sexuality & anatomy professionally, but find that maybe they want to explore something a little personal, too. a/n: well, they don’t call it the last frontier for nothing, do they? this was definitely a product of a mild case of insanity & too much self-indulgence. so i guess happy women’s history month to me. (also if you’re thinking: part one? is there going to be more? that’s up to destiny. i’m a mere helpless bystander at this point). also, also: here is a playlist/soundtrack for this story, just for your consideration.

study one, part one: simply irresistible

Don’t marry the first man you break the bed with. It will set you up for a lifetime of mediocrity.

The sound of her grandmother’s voice, heeding that exact warning, had been the reason she had agreed to do the study with Joel. At the age of nineteen she had married the man she had metaphorically broken the bed with and now at the age of twenty-five she lived in the small town of Cicely, one divorce down and a lifetime of mediocrity coming up on the horizon.

The thought of it scared her senseless.

She was still young, pretty, full of ambition. Points Fleischman had been made sure to emphasize that one night in the Brick, when the barstool conversation about self pleasure between Chris and the two of them had formed into something more substantial. They had drifted away from the erotic nature of the topic and had found themselves in the clinical, academic side of it, comparing thoughts on published literature and personal theories about sexuality. While Chris had tapped out halfway through, claiming he found talking too much about sex took the soul from it, she and Joel had doubled down. At one point she had remarked that women weren’t thought of in the medical field, not really, and told Joel if he really wanted to do something of importance, he’d tell all of his Ivy league doctor friends in New York to look into it. The bright idea came to him almost instantly as the words left her mouth.

It took him a week and a half, but eventually after enough of his convincing and her grandmother’s voice in the back of her head, she had agreed. “For the advancement of science,” she had told him one fateful afternoon, “nothing more, nothing less.”

He had beamed at the news and remarked, “Of course! I see you in a purely professional manner—just a fellow academic looking to travel the unbeaten paths of female sexuality with me. It’ll be great.”

The paths were not exactly unbeaten — the ‘60s and ‘70s had been a wonderful time for exploration, Joel had discovered by himself — but they certainly weren’t as smooth as they could be. She was happy to do her part, and happy to be occupied with something more than work at the café and nights at the bar and the impending doom of her future at large.

“Doesn’t it worry you?” Shelly asked, sitting down a plate of eggs in front of her. “The idea of Dr. Fleischman seeing all of your…well, you know?”

“He’s seen yours hasn’t he?” she asked, grabbing the salt shaker off the table and coating her eggs.

“Well, sure, but not like that. Only men I’ve really liked have seen me like that.” Shelly thought for a moment. “Do you like Dr. Fleischman like that? I suppose it would make sense if you did. He’s kind of cute but too young for me.”

“No, of course not. Joel’s too…Joel. Neurotic. Kind of mean. But also-“ she pointed her fork in Shelly’s direction for emphasis “-our doctor. It’s one thing to do this for science and entire thing to do it for personal pleasure.”

Shelly frowned. “I never thought of it like that. Poor Dr. Fleischman, no wonder he’s so high strung most of the time. I’d be angry too if I couldn’t sleep with anyone. You’re going to let him, though, for the study I mean?”

Too stunned to speak, she blinked.

Shelly colored. “Oh I thought—well, Chris said this morning on the radio that you were. Or would. But I guess maybe he could’ve been wrong.”

“Chris in the Morning?” she shrieked. “I was wondering why everyone kept looking at me like that when I was shopping at Ruth-Anne’s this morning! Just take the eggs, Shelly; I’m sick.”

Remorsefully, Shelly took the plate off the table. “If it makes you feel any better, Chris said he thought you and Dr. Fleischman were well qualified for the study, and you had everyone’s vote of confidence in the bar this morning. We never knew who had a degree in psychology.”

“Well there’s not much to do with a bachelor’s degree in psychology, even in the well populated parts of the United States, believe it or not. Here it really means next to nothing.” Laying her head down on the cold surface of the table, she mumbled, “Has Joel been in today? I don’t think I can see him until later. This is mortifying and I’m 99 percent sure he was the one who told Chris.”

“Well…” Shelly said nervously.

“What?”

“Hi, Shelly.”

She heard Joel’s voice coming closer. Her stomach twisted as she raised her head and saw him approaching, wearing a too bright disposition.

“Hi, Joel, would you like some eggs?” Shelly offered as he pulled out a chair. “She can’t eat them on the account that you’ve made her sick.”

Joel frowned. “Me? What in the world have I done? I just got here! I’ve been to no other place besides my home this morning.”

“You’re telling the whole town everything,” she whispered harshly. When he perked an eyebrow, confused, she added, “That I’m gonna sleep with you!”

Shelly shifted awkwardly. “I think I’m gonna go put these back in the kitchen while you look at the menu, Joel.”

Joel scoffed, ignoring Shelly. “I detest that,” he began, “I mean, really. You know how this town gets and your immediate thought is that I’m the one who’s the problem? I’m a professional and even if we are in the middle of nowhere, I still abide by a code of conduct. I could have accused you of the same thing, but I didn’t because I’m not insane. God knows where they get the information they do.”

“You’ve already ruined my breakfast and now you’re ruining my morning,” she huffed. Grabbing her jacket off the back of her chair, she made to leave.

“Wait, wait,” he said, grabbing his own coat and chasing after her. He followed her to the door and opened it. She narrowed her eyes at him, feeling the stares of everyone turn towards them.

“Go back,” she told him sternly.

“I will not. We’ve got some things to discuss before tonight anyways, and I think it’s silly that you’re angry at me.” He waved his hand in the direction of the door, smiling with that stupid glint in his eyes—so self satisfied. “Come on. It’s going to be very awkward tonight if we begin like this.”

The outside air was chilly as they exited the bar. She pulled her gloves out of her coat and squinted against the morning sun. “What more could you possibly want to ask me?” She delivered the words sharply.

Joel didn’t let her defeat his mood. He nearly skipped beside her, hands in his pockets. “Oh, simple questions but ones I think would be better if I asked you in the confines of my office, given the way you’re reacting to this.”

“I don’t want to be a town spectacle, Joel, is that so hard to understand?”

“No, of course not, but you’ve got to know by now anything is a town spectacle in Cicely. And besides, who cares? This is for science. It’s honorable. We could even win awards for this.” She scoffed beside him and he buckled down, serious. “No, I mean truly. You know for the first time in a long time I woke up and felt like I’m doing something that matters? I’m on top of the world right now!”

“I’m honored you think so highly of the prospect of watching me touch myself,” she told him dryly. Surprisingly it earned her a laugh. He really was in a good mood—an impossibly good mood. Despite herself, she found herself fighting off a small grin at the sight of him.

He held the door open for her when they made it to his office. Marilyn sat at her desk as usual, knitting.

“Hello,” Marilyn greeted warmly.

“Hello,” she responded, the anger disappearing completely from her tone. “What are you making?”

Marilyn held up the fabric. “A sweater.”

“It looks very nice.”

“Thank you,” she smiled.

Joel maneuvered behind her and moved towards Marilyn’s desk. “Listen, Marilyn, I want to make sure you don’t let anyone come back. Not at all. This is going to be a private appointment.”

“Should I lock up and go home?” Marilyn asked, not looking up from her stitch work.

“No, not that kind of personal,” Joel responded. “I conduct my own studies at my own facilities. It’s just a matter of privacy.”

Marilyn nodded. “Alright,” was her plain, unbothered response.

Joel’s office was as bare and as ugly as the last time she had seen it. That unappealing green shade they’d put on the walls had begun to peel, and that stupid New Yorker poster hanging behind his desk didn’t add much warmth to the environment. It served much of the same purpose that the calendar in the lobby did: his reminder to the town that his days in Cicely were numbered.

“You should really decorate or paint or something. This isn’t comforting at all. There’s no life,” she told him, taking a seat.

“As much as I appreciate your constructive criticism, I didn’t bring you here for your opinion on the decor.” Joel shuffled around in his bag, before bringing out a leather bound folder. “I brought you here for this.”

He handed her the paper out of it.

“What’s that?”

“Questions and consent.” Joel sat in his office chair. “I want you to know that this is likely to get a little awkward for the both of us, and that’s okay. I’m going to ask you vulnerable questions and you’re allowed to ask me vulnerable questions too. I’ll answer all of them.”

She furrowed her eyebrows, nerves beginning to fill her. He smiled softly — too kind. “Stop that,” she told him.

“What?”

“Just be normal.”

“Nothing about what we are going to do is normal. I’m just trying to make you comfortable.”

“Well it’s having the opposite effect.”

Joel ran his hands over his face and took a deep breath in. “You can’t possibly be this difficult the entire night. Stop being so defensive. I’ve seen you naked before.”

“That’s not why I’m being defensive! I’m just nervous,” she confessed, frowning. “I haven’t—I don’t know. This is so weird.”

“That’s why I’m going to ask you these questions. They’re about your—your, you know, comfort. Questions pertaining to what makes you feel good and what I can do to ensure that this study replicates a normal session for you.”

She glanced down at it. Questions like “Do you reach orgasm mostly from vaginal or clitoral stimulation?” and “How many times a week do you self pleasure?” popped out at her. Warily, she looked up at Joel.

He set his own page down and took off his reading glasses. “Listen, if this is too much, we don’t have to do it. I mean it. I’ll just find someone else. It’ll be okay. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

She shook her head. “No, no, I’m sorry. I want to! It’s just odd. I…It would be different if maybe we’d, you know…but we haven’t.”

Joel considered that. “Do you think it makes that much of a difference that we aren’t sexual partners?”

“No,” she said. Then, after a beat, “Maybe. I don’t know. I just feel like you’ve got an unfair advantage over me at the moment. Like you’ve seen me naked and you’re going to see me…you know, but I don’t even, like, know your full name.”

“Joel Haim Fleischman.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I thought you wanted to be serious.”

“I’m trying to help you. You said you didn’t know, so I told you. Ask more questions. Anything.”

“Like about how you…you know?” She quirked an eyebrow and made a lewd gesture that made him grin widely.

He nodded. “If you want. I think that’s fair.”

She nodded firmly. “How do you, then?”

The old office chair creaked as he leaned back and tapped his pencil against his lap. It was a nervous habit, but he didn’t look nervous. Oddly enough — being as he was Joel — she figured this sort of thing would’ve discomforted him more than it did her. But he seemed at ease, professional.

“I have these magazines,” he told her plainly. “Standard stuff, Playboy and a few lingerie catalogs. I sit in my bed and I look at them for a little while, and I touch myself.”

“Like how?”

Joel raised his eyebrows. “Like…explicitly?”

“Yes. That’s only right. You said so yourself.”

They looked at each other for a moment before he swallowed and continued. “I…Well,” he laughed nervously, bringing himself closer to the desk now. “I have lube that I keep in my nightstand and I take some of it out. I put a decent amount in my hand and I—well, you know. I usually do it quickly and a little rough.” A blush spread across his cheeks but he worked hard to conceal the fact that he was growing unnerved. He didn’t move his eyes from hers. “What about you? Do you use magazines?”

“No. Sometimes I use erotic novels but mostly I use my own imagination.” She looked down at the paper in her hand. The questions seemed so…intimate. When he started writing on the paper, she looked back up. “What are you writing?”

“What you said.” Joel put his glasses back on. “Do you have a recurring fantasy or a scenario you go back to?”

She shifted in the chair. “There‘s a few. Do I have to describe them to you?”

“No, but it would be helpful if you could briefly talk about why these scenarios turn you on.”

She felt herself heat. “The control,” she answered meekly. “I…in my scenarios, I’m being managed. Not tossed around or roughed up, but you know, sort of bossed around. But nicely.”

Joel remained stoic as he scribbled more words into his page. “Do you use toys?”

“Sometimes a vibrator.”

“Do you penetrate yourself?”

“Oh my god. It’s barely 10:30.”

He looked up at her, hardly concealing his grin. “What? This is a basic questioning that I’ve drawn up from real, actual studies women have done before. Is there a better way you’d like me to phrase that?”

“I don’t do that. I mean. Not really. I mean, only once or twice but it’s not preferred when it’s just me.”

“Clitoral stimulation mostly then?” She nodded. “Okay. And you’re not allergic to latex?”

“Like condoms?” Joel nodded. “No.”

“And you’re still on the birth control? The pills?”

“Yes.”

“And you haven’t missed a day?”

“No.” She leaned over the desk to look at his writing. “You’re writing an awful lot there.” He nodded his head in agreement but didn’t explain.

Joel finished writing the last of his thoughts and then he leaned back again in his creaking office chair. He looked none the worse for having asked her those things, completely and totally unbothered. He could be unnerved, though; she saw it in those brief moments he had to talk about himself.

Strangely she wanted to see more of it. It went straight to her core, the idea of him laying there on his bed, looking at those nude magazines. Maybe even moaning a little lewdly. Did he moan? Whimper? She knew she could ask and he would answer.

She became embarrassed when she caught his eyes. “I better go. I’ve got things to do before you come over tonight.”

“But we didn’t discuss what we’re going to be doing.”

She stood from her chair. “You’re going to watch me. There, we discussed it.”

“But you haven’t signed the consent form!” He waved the paper in the air as she tried to make her escape.

She leaned forward to steal the pencil he had been holding. Quickly she scribbled her name on the dotted line. “Better?”

Joel inspected her through narrowed eyes. “You sure you’re going to be okay with this?”

“Positive. See you then, buddy.”

Buddy?

She was losing her goddamn mind.

——————

Torture. It was positively, without a doubt, torture.

After she had left Joel, she had spent the better part of the day absorbed in her own thoughts. Nervously she had made and re-made her bed. She had cleaned the house obsessively. She had tried on different outfits. Skirts and dresses and then plain blue jeans with simple sweaters. Then she decided on no clothes, only underwear. Then she tried on every undergarment she owned. Black lacy bras with black, lacy underwear; then plain white bras with plain white underwear; and then every other combination in between. Finally she had decided on the lingerie set that she had ordered a few months back.

It was a gift to herself to feel better about the fact that she was wasting away at the age of twenty-five in a little town she had to tell people was ‘someplace close to Anchorage’ just to save herself from the ‘Oh I don’t know where that is’ conversation.

The set had been too expensive considering the impressive lack of fabric, but she had never owned something so pretty before. The bra was strapless, sheer on the sides with intricate, see-through white lace covering the cups, and the matching underwear had the same sheer lace everywhere, except the crotch area. A white silk stripe of fabric covered the area in the middle there, leaving something to the imagination. It had also come with a white garter belt and stockings, but she chose not to wear those. After all, the set had been for her, not Dr. Joel Fleischman, M.D.

Even if she was dressing for Joel — though she wasn’t, truly — then so what? She had suffered enough. Maybe he was neurotic and on the whole not incredibly personable, but he had graduated from Columbia, making him a successful person. Plus, she was pretty sure that he knew where the clit was and that was more than she could say about the two other men she had slept with. And there had also been the way he had sat in the office chair and asked her those questions, almost completely unbothered. And the way he had confessed how he had touched himself. How he had emphasized rough…

She frowned. Maybe she could admit, just a little bit, that she wouldn’t mind if Joel happened to find her attractive. But that wasn’t a crime—it was almost more helpful. They had agreed, if this session worked, that they would conduct further research. Research done together. He had spelled it all out for her, in medical terms, of course: start with self pleasure; move to cunnilingus, perhaps paired with digital penetration (this, he had to explain, was what people referred to as ‘fingering’); and then end with coitus. A simple three to four week plan, if they found themselves comfortable enough. If she found herself comfortable enough.

God only knew she wanted—no, needed—to get comfortable. That New Yorker, fish-out-of-water business Joel had going for him paled in comparison to the existential crisis she had coming up. At least he knew he had his water when this was all over with. She hadn’t the faintest idea where she was headed.

———-

He came bearing gifts. Well, a gift, that was more a gift to him than it was to her.

She handed him a wine glass from the cabinet and he took it with a sheepish grin. “I forgot,” he told her honestly, opening the top of the bottle. “I wouldn’t have brought it if I remembered that you couldn’t have it. Your nerves got me nervous today, you know? I was just trying to think of ways to make you feel better.”

If she wasn’t so nervous still, maybe she’d find some humor in the sentence. But she was still nervous. Increasingly nervous. “Ha,” she managed. She tightened white silk robe around her body and turned around to get a glass of water for herself.

Joel moved up beside her, pushing his glass of wine in front of her. “Maybe just a little won’t hurt. But just a little.”

“No, I shouldn’t. I don’t want to interfere with the results.”

“You’re so nervous. That’s going to mess with the results worse than a sip of alcohol will.”

She pushed it away from her, looking away from him. She focused on the clean kitchen sink—how the light made the bottom of it shimmer. “Joel?”

“Hm?”

“Do you find me attractive?”

“Well…” he laughed nervously. “I’m not sure we should be having this conversation right now.”

She looked at him. “Yes or no?”

“Yes, but that’s not why I asked you to do this. I would never…I consider this a purely professional conquest.”

“So if I wanted to kiss me, you would?”

Joel licked his lips, eyebrows furrowed. “I…Would it make you feel more comfortable?”

“That’s not what I asked. I asked if I wanted you to kiss me, would you?”

He inspected her face. “Yes,” he replied seriously.

Up close like this, she could smell him. He smelt like soap and fresh laundry; clean but not overly scented. Doctor-like. The outside clanged to him too, but just a little; it was the scent of the frost that came off of people whenever they stepped in from the cold, nothing offensive.

His face was more visible than usual like this, too. She noticed he had a scar that ran from the bottom of his cheek to the place just before his chin began. It was a prominent straight line, something she was surprised to have never noticed before. And then there was his nose, which she had noticed, but had never really admired. It was really very nice, long, sloped, and bulbed at the end.

“You have a nice nose,” she complimented, reaching out to touch it. Her finger traced down the slope and he laughed self-consciously, shaking her hand away. “No, really. Has anyone ever told you that before?”

“Oh, sure. Nadine Fleischman.”

“Mother?” she asked. Joel nodded his head. It made her grin. “She seems like a wise woman. Does she know you’re doing this?”

Joel brought the wine up to his lips. “This?” He motioned between the two of them. “Of course not. She would be strongly against this. If all goes well, I’ll just have to think of something to tell her. What about you? Do your parents know?”

“No. I don’t tell them what they don’t ask and they don’t ask much.” She shrugged. Placing the glass in the sink, she turned to face him. “I bet your parents are really proud of you.”

“Well, I try my best to make them proud. I’m sure yours are proud too, though. I mean, not every woman can pack up and move to the middle of nowhere by herself. That takes a certain amount of bravery.”

“I wouldn’t say that. We’re not all Maggie O’Connells here. I don’t have my own airplane and I think my move was more an act of cowardice. I wanted to get away from civilization for a little while.”

Joel clicked his tongue. “C’mon, you’re being too hard on yourself. Cicely and her lover Roslyn came here looking for the same exact thing, and you wouldn’t consider them cowards, would you?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m hardly an explorer, either.”

“But you are!” He beamed, catching his stride with this pep-talk. “I mean look at you. We’re moments away from conducting a study that could do some very serious good for the scientific and medical communities. And you brought it to my attention! Me, the one who went to Columbia. I know maybe that isn’t something you can report back to your parents about, but it certainly is something to be personally proud of. And I chose you for a reason, you know?”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she teased, “It had nothing to do with the population size and the fact that I’m currently one of the only unwed and single women in the area?”

Joel tilted his hand side to side, playing along. “Only partially. Mostly though, it’s because you're intelligent. I never wanted to just watch you, and I still don’t. I want to be co-collaborators with you. I think that your input on this project will be almost more beneficial than your, you know, input.” He took another sip of his wine, smiling down at it. “Truthfully, if I thought there were more women in Cicely willing to do this, I wouldn’t have asked you to be my subject at all. But I would’ve still asked you to help me. And I mean that.”

She smiled softly at him. “Thank you, Joel,” she said, trying not to sound so affected. Then, finally: “I think I’m ready whenever you are.”

———

Her bedroom wasn’t overly frivolous: she had a sizable bed, a closet, her dresser, a nightstand, and a single, old wooden desk that sat to the right of the doorway. The desk and dresser had come with the house. The only piece of decor on her walls was a medium size poster that hung over the bed to make up for the lack of a proper headboard. In it, Bob Dylan and Joan Baez stood by another poster that read “Protest Against The Rising Tide of Conformity.” It had been something she had obtained and college and never got rid of. In many ways, she felt it was the only thing in the world that was really hers.

Of course, Joel found this amusing almost as soon as he had seen it.

“Robert Zimmerman,” he shook his head ruefully, “He’s one of me, you know?”

“What, Jewish?”

“Yeah. It’s kind of ironic that he’d stand in front of a poster like that with a name like Bob Dylan, don’t you think?”

“I never really thought about it. It's funny that you mention that, though, because she’s one of me.”

Joel looked over at her, puzzled. “What, an independent woman?”

She shook her head, laughing. “A Mexican, Joel.”

“No kidding.” He perked out his bottom lip, genuinely surprised.

“My father isn’t very dark,” she said in way of an explanation. “We come in different shades, believe it or not. Her father must’ve been darker. Or her mother. I don’t know. Aside from the fact that she’s a Mexican, I don’t know much else.”

“Do you speak Spanish?”

“Did I ask you if you spoke Yiddish?” she snapped back.

He narrowed his eyes, smiling drooping. “Is this a cruel to be kind thing you’ve got going on? You’re like Jekyll and Hyde today. Worse, maybe.”

Shamed filled her. “I know,” she admitted quietly. “I’m sorry. I’m a bit of bitch sometimes.”

He considered her for a moment. “It’s okay, I guess. My professional diagnosis is still a bad case of nerves. I trust that if they worsen you’ll tell me, because I don’t want to do this if you feel uncomfortable.“

“I don’t feel nervous, though! Not as much as before, anyways.”

“Good. There’s nothing to be nervous about. But if you do—know that consent form was merely something that said you consented to the results of the study being published, not the study being conducted. I’d never make you sign something like that with this. I want us to trust each other.”

“Thank you. I’m fine, though.” She took a seat on her bed. “What’d you bring in the bag?”

He sat the black backpack that hung across his shoulder on the desk and began to extract the items from it, one by one. “This—“ he held up a clipboard, “Is the paper I’ll use to record the results. I’ll write how long it takes for you to come to an orgasm, the ways in which you do it, what you use. You know.”

Listening, she laid back on the mattress. She allowed the robe–which she had made sure was fastened tightly around her the entire time–to slip open, revealing a good portion of herself to the air. Joel paused for a second, taking her in, before going back to the bag. She was flattered by the hazy nature he delivered the rest of the tutorial in, as if he was only half there, distracted.

“Does that all make sense?” he asked at the end. “I’ll use the timer to time you, and you’ll tell me when you’re, you know, orgasming? It’s pretty simple.” He made intentional eye contact with her.

“Makes perfect sense,” she told him, drumming her fingers alongside her abdomen.

“Right. So I’ll just—“ He pulled the seat out from the desk and grabbed the pencil and clipboard. Joel nodded towards her. “Whenever you’re ready.”

The slightly unnerved nature of him made her feel less intimidated. Watching him squirm, trying to avoid looking at her body—she liked that. She wanted to know that he could be made just as vulnerable—that she wasn’t the only one who felt nervous and anxious.

They maintained careful eye contact as she discarded the rest of the robe onto the floor, and continued to maintain it as she pushed herself up to the pillows. It seemed like he was almost scared to look lower.

“Joel?” she asked, sitting up on her forearms.

He raised his eyebrows. “Yeah?”

“Will you kiss me?”

“Right now?”

She nodded her head.

“Would it make you more comfortable?”

“I think it would make both of us more comfortable.”

He smiled timidly before setting his clipboard down.

As Joel took off his shoes and tugged his tie loose at the end of the bed, her heart pounded against her rib cage fiercely, just desperate to jump out of her. It wanted to find some relief in a body that didn’t make it work overtime. Someone who was a little wiser with it.

“Is it alright if I keep my clothes on?” he asked, fingers still playing with his patterned tie. “I can take them off if you want. I once had a girlfriend who wouldn’t let me in her bed unless I changed or got out of my clothes, so if that’s a problem—“

“You’re fine,” came her quiet response.

The bed dipped under the weight of him and she felt the warm feel on his fingers brushing against her ankle. It was obvious by the way he looked at her, brows creased, asking silently whether he was allowed to do that—to touch her—that he hadn’t meant to. She nodded her head.

The gesture made her relax on the mattress.

Joel moved his fingers from her ankle and situated himself nearer to her, at the pillows. Awkwardly he attempted to make sense of their positions — her on one side of the bed, lying on her back, him at the other, practically on his knees. She found confidence in his lack of confidence, grabbing the sides of his open green cardigan and pulling him towards her.

At first he kissed her hesitantly, pecking once, then twice, each time keeping his eyes open and alert, watching her. After a bit, he began to realize that there was no protest waiting to rise up in her throat—that she was not just doing this for his benefit. Joel pressed his lips fully to hers after that. They were soft and warm, plush as he used them to map out her own mouth. He tasted like wine and mint gum, and was perfectly okay with what he did not know. He treated it like it was—a first—and it made her appreciate him all the more for it.

Sometimes - most of the time - men never did firsts like they should be done. They wanted to be experts, wanted to prove they were capable. Joel took no interest in that. He hovered over her, trying to understand before he moved. Even his hands remained respectful, just barely brushing over her back.

As the kiss became more heated, both of them began to lose their previous reservations. Joel’s body molded into hers; one of his arms wrapped around her waist and pressed her closer, and she placed one of her bare thighs between his legs. Beneath his dress shirt she could feel the outline of his frame, surprisingly hard and muscular. His nose brushed against hers as he moved his head to kiss her more deeply and she let him enter her mouth with his tongue, meeting it with her own for a moment.

When he accidentally brushed his hands over her breast, trying to re-situate, she mewled into his mouth. Joel parted from her, eyes at first remorseful, but that went as quickly as it had come when he looked down at her. Her eyes told him all he needed to know. Joel stared down between their bodies and she knew what he was looking at: the way her nipples had hardened beneath the white lace of her bra. It made her feel good, warm. Wet. She took his hand in her own, guiding him back to her breast.

He went slack jawed for a second, before coming to his senses. “Are you—oh, God.” He said, wearing a strained smile. “I hate to ask this now, but do you think maybe you’re ready?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

They kissed once more, more messy and less calculated than the attempts before. She tugged at the ends of his hair and he groped at her still covered breast, his warm palm scraping against her nipple. She moaned and he sucked at the end of her tongue after she had pressed it into his mouth with small kitten licks. Strings of saliva hung off their connected lips when they separated again, and he half grinned, breathing heavier beside her. “You’re going to do great,” he whispered softly.

The trip back to the chair was an arduous one he scarcely survived, almost tripping over the blankets and then his own two feet. When he sat back down, the sight of him made her laugh heartily; his mussed up hair, his red, swollen lips, the dazed look in his eyes. He laughed too.

“Put on those eyeglasses, Fleischman, and then I’ll start.”

Joel hummed, amused, but did as she said. The eyeglasses he wore every day sat on his nose and he watched, both expectant and—if she didn’t know better—she might dare to say excited. He leaned forth in the chair, licking his lips. No longer did he fear looking lower.

“Maybe, uh—“ He pushed the glasses up the bridge of his nose. “—take your underwear off? You don’t have to, but for the sake of, you know, me seeing everything, I think that would…you know.”

“Right.” She lifted her hips off the mattress and shimmed out of the nearly sheer underwear she had taken so much time choosing. Her left foot pushed them down her leg, to her ankle. With an amused grin, she tossed them in Joel’s direction. He caught them, shaking his head.

“I think you’re liable to be a lot of trouble for me, you know?”

“Is that right?” she cooed, opening her legs. The cool breeze in the room made goosebumps form on her flesh. His dark eyes drank her in.

“You’re not supposed to be cuming for me,” he told her, his voice low, seductive. “Cum like you might usually, as if I weren’t here. Close your eyes, lean back on the pillow. Think of your fantasies. Men who are a little rough… but nice.”

She let his voice guide her, shut her eyes, pressed her body back against the mattress. Her fingers strummed lightly alongside the inside of her thighs, teasing the area. She could hear the scrapping of his pencil against the clipboard when she did, and wondered what it was he wrote as her hands zeroed in closer to her core. She knew he didn’t want her to cum for him, but he never did say not to cum thinking of him.

After teasing her legs, two of her fingers began to massage her center, pulling her lips apart, and then running over them gently, up and down, up and down, not yet sliding a finger in to feel the slick she was certain had already gathered there. She began to feel the stirrings of her desire, warming her inside out, from the top of her head, to the bottom of her feet. It was electric. She felt like if he pressed her finger to her clit right now, she’d cum in a second. So she didn’t

She pressed a finger between her folds, allowing herself a little more sensation; she ran it up and down just like before, this time gathering up the wetness, taking it up nearly to the point of her clit, but stopping just short of it. It was a torturous act of self restraint, but she had learned from experience that it welcomed a more fulfilling orgasm–like denying herself it for too long only made it build up with more fury.

She began to think of Joel again. Thought of his nose, how the tip of it would feel as it scraped against her swollen clit, his tongue lapping the juices between her legs. How his fingers would press into the flesh of her thighs, tight, holding them apart. The lewd sounds of his tongue pressed to her cunt as he drew an orgasm from her, sucking her the way he had with her tongue, taking and taking and taking until she was nothing but a shaking mess in his arms.

She could feel her slickness more prominently between her legs now. Knew that Joel, who sat across from her, watching, could probably see it drip down her cunt—could maybe even see it glisten on her fingers as she ran them up and down and finally, remorsefully, letting two of them circle her own clit. She pressed down hard, her knees fighting to draw inward, and her one free hand clutching desperately to the pillow her head laid on.

She began to moan more openly than she usually allowed herself to, unashamed by it in a way she couldn’t bring herself to be in normal circumstances. The pressure was building up rapidly behind her clit and her body was begging for release, shaking ever so slightly. She thought of his mouth, how hot and wet it’d be, thought about how he’d run his tongue up and down her folds and maybe if she asked him—or better yet, maybe even if she didn’t—he’d poke the tip of it inside of her, filling her with him, before lapping her up greedily. How he’d pinch her nipple between his fingers and tell her how good she was doing-

“Oh Joel,” she moaned, “Joel—I’m—I’m cumming.”

She rode herself out until she felt it was all done—without bringing herself to another orgasm—and then she crashed back onto the mattress. She breathed fast, spent and electrified all at once. Staring up at the ceiling, she grinned.

That had been one of the best orgasms of her life.

“Do you mind if I say something mildly inappropriate?” Joel asked, his voice tight. She glanced up at him. He looked amazed.

“Go for it, Doctor.”

“That was the hottest thing a woman has ever done in front of me. God, you—“ He ran his hands through his already unruly hair, leaning back in his chair. He wore a faint grin. “I’m a proud Jewish man, don’t get me wrong, but if you were a religion I think I’d be converted.”

She laughed. “How long?”

“Hm?” he asked, eyebrows drawn up.

“How long did it take me to orgasm?”

“Oh.” He came to, remembering himself. He looked down at the paper. “A minute and thirty seconds. Is that usual?”

“Probably. I don’t know. Maybe a little shorter.”

Joel jotted that on the paper. Without looking up he said, “Do you mind if I ask you what you thought about while you did it?”

She propped her head up on her hand. “Is it a professional or personal question, Dr. Fleischman?” she said, toeing the line between flirtatious and serious.

Smirking, he replied, “Let’s say both.”

“I thought of you.”

His cheeks heated, but it was obvious that fact flattered him; he sat straighter in the chair and he grinned. He also found it in himself to be brave enough to ask, “What about me? Was I like the other guys you think about?”

She inspected him, saw the glint in his eye and the visible tent his cock had made, even despite the dark color of his pants. “Do you like being talked to through masturbation, Dr. Fleischman?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Well, I don’t know, I’ve never tried it before.”

She bit her lip, debating her next words.

On one hand she very much wanted Joel to come undone in front of her. It was obvious the thought of it was killing him too, making him tense. He watched her expectantly, sitting in that chair, clutching that clipboard so hard it practically made his knuckles white.

But on the other hand, she wondered what this would do to them outside of the bedroom. Her relationship with him had bordered on friendly before, but would it stay that way if they crossed the threshold from professional to self indulgent? She really did need this study more than he would ever know–more for herself than anything. He had been so kind the entire time, though–reassuring and soft, patient and understanding. There had been nothing they had done so far that he hadn’t asked permission for. And he was just Joel. Though there were times he could border on asshole territory, he never flung himself into it—especially not at the moments that mattered. She believed him to be good, someone she might have really liked if she met him on the street somewhere.

Drawing herself up on her forearms, she decided.

“Did that make you hard?” Her words practically dripped in sex. It had been so long since she had done something like this. But she knew it was right, felt it in the way he regarded her with that astounded, half surprised, half unbelieving look.

He tossed the clipboard to the ground. “Mrs. Robinson, you’re trying to seduce me,” he joked, fingers resting on his thighs.

She pulled herself closer to him, slowly, scooting just an inch down the bed. Getting on her knees, she reached behind her and unclipped her bra. “Am I? What would you know,” She shrugged, smirking.

He looked like he was about to faint from joy. “Oh my God,” he grinned. “Jesus, I never—you know, you think about this sort of thing happening but you never really expect it. This is the stuff of wet dreams. The stuff that only happens in the movies. Oh my God.” He tugged his tie looser.

“Joel?”

“Yes?”

She crawled a few inches closer, stopping at the end of the bed. “Shut up and undo your belt,” she whispered.

He nodded eagerly, fingers pulling at the leather. The sound of the metal clanking filled her with anticipation. She bit at her lip, watching him. Joel looked up at her in the eyes and they shared something silently for a moment. It was an agreement, a pact. It said: this part is for us.

“Take yourself out. You got to see me. I want to see you.”

He unzipped himself slowly, practicing more self control than she thought he’d be able to. Maintaining eye contact with her, he reached into his underwear. Joel opened his mouth, a moan escaping as he rested his cock against his palm. She grinned. He didn’t move, didn’t even try to offer himself any relief. The shaft was already leaking, beads of pre-cum glistening the head.

In an odd way, this made her feel more womanly than she had in a very long time. Maybe in ever. The way he looked at her, eyes so full of want; the way he let her say and do whatever she wanted; the way he listened without question, like he trusted her – it made her feel wanted, needed..

“I know I said masturbation, but do you mind if…Well, I want to put my mouth on you.” She bit at her lip. “Can I do that?”

“You can do whatever you want to me,” he told her, exasperated. “Don’t you know that? Look at you.”

Joel made room between his legs for her body and she got on her knees. He took her head between his hands, smiling. “You sure you want to do this?” he asked her softly. She nodded, reaching forward to take him in her hand.

“Oh,” he moaned, face contorting with pleasure. His hands moved to the back of her head, entangling with her hair, and she leaned forward. Experimentally she licked the top of his shaft, her tongue flat. He ever so slightly thrusted his hips forward at the contact, laughing mutedly once she pulled back to look up at his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said, almost inaudibly. He moved a piece of her hair back away from her face. “I didn’t mean to. It’s just that—“

She cut him off, leaning forward again. Her tongue licked the underside of his cock slowly, following a vein up to the top where she sucked lightly, teasingly, at his tip. He worked hard not to rut his hips, his hands tugging a little on her hair, and she opened her mouth, taking him in. She tasted him on her tongue; this wasn’t the wine or the mint of his lips or the clean of his body; it was salty and purely him.

She licked a ring around his head before going down, wetting more of his cock. As she began to take him deeper, testing both him and herself, she found that was more apt at this than she thought; nearly the entirety of him fit in her mouth. Joel’s fingers tugged at her hair when she went back up, doing his best to stay still.

They looked at each other when she sucked at his tip again. It was a marvel to her how pain and pleasure looked so alike, but she found there was a definite difference when he groaned through gritted teeth and told her, “You’re taking me so well.”

The praise settled directly between her thighs. She took him fully in her mouth again and let her own moans vibrate against his cock as she slid a hand between her legs. Joel’s tugs began to grow a little harsher and she reached her free hand around her head, clinching onto one of the responsible arms.

She began to move faster, bopping on his cock, and his moans became more unmanageable, no longer something he could hold back. They were low, throaty, a product of all of his desires. She moaned against him, her hand beginning to work faster, rubbing tight circles around her clit and he began to draw his hips up to match the rhythm of her movements.

“I’m gonna cum,” he warned, his grip on her hair loosening. He shuttered, fingers hovering over her shoulders. “I’m gonna cum. Honey, you better—“

She took him deeper, faster, her tongue running alongside the underside of him. Joel groaned deeply, his hips canting. Moments after she came, rubbing her sensitive clit harder, Joel did the same. His hot seed filled her mouth and drew herself off his cock, satisfied.

As she swallowed, he leaned back in the chair, blissed out. He moved the hair from her face again, breathing heavily. Joel smiled at her. “Thank you,” he told her breathily.

Exhausted, he leaned his head against the back of the chair too. He closed his eyes, laughing. Looking up at him, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, surprised at herself. But not ashamed of anything.

That surprised her more than anything: that she could sit here on her knees, between his open legs, naked and vulnerable, and not feel like she had done anything wrong. Joel didn’t make her feel like what she did was wrong; he basked in it. He leaned forward, once he got over the initial surprise, and kissed her on the lips. That too surprised her. She had put her mouth on him and he still wanted to kiss her. She wondered if he tasted himself – if he liked that idea as much as she did. All of the sudden, she had so many questions for him.

She must’ve been looking at him like he was insane, because he said, “Everything okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah. It’s fine. More than fine.” She grinned. “You…You kissed me.”

“Did you not want me to?”

“No, I did!” she clarified. “I just…I thought men didn’t like that after women went down on them.”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “I think that’s stupid, don’t you? You just gave me some of the best head I’ve ever had in my life and you swallowed it! You didn’t have to do that.” He shook his head in disbelief. “No way I’m not gonna kiss you. It sorta kills me to think you’ve been with someone who told you that. Going forth, know you shouldn't do that for men who think that.”

“Yeah,” she responded awkwardly, feeling inexperienced suddenly.

Self-consciously she leaned forward and grabbed her underwear from beside the chair. Joel leaned out and touched her. “Hey,” he said softly, “That wasn’t meant as a lecture or anything. I’m just saying. I’m sure many women, just as smart as you, have fallen for that exact same thing.”

“I know.”

He looked at her, frowning. “It’s okay that you don’t know things. There’s things I don’t know–things I wouldn't mind teaching me.” He paused, drawing himself up in the chair. “How about we make a deal?”

“What kind of deal?” she asked, rising from her knees.

“If you still want to continue with this, we can treat it as a learning experience for us both. No judgments, just experimenting after we experiment.”

She laughed, putting one of her legs in the underwear. “I know how to have sex, Fleischman.”

“I know you do – you’ve very much proved that – but it's obvious someone has got you a bit twisted up. I don’t think there's really a stopping point for sexual experimentation, either. Like today–I didn’t know I liked women who were a little dominant, but now I do. That’s the stuff you learn.”

She looked at him in disbelief. “You’re lying.”

“I’m being 100 percent truthful and I don’t feel self conscious about admitting that.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I worked hard in med school and up until a bit ago, I was with the same woman for a very long time. It’s a simple truth that I have very few notches in my bed post, but I’m not opposed to learning. This whole thing–it could be for you and me as much as for the whole world. We’ll just have a little something for us when we’re done with what we need to do each week. What do you say?”

She considered it, walking around the bed to retrieve the bra. What the hell? she thought.

“Okay,” she told him.

His nose crinkled when he smiled. “That’s the spirit. You wanna get coffee with me in the morning?”

“I think I just want to be your friend right now.”

“That’s okay, but it doesn’t answer the question.”

She paused. “You weren’t asking me out?”

“No, just coffee. Friendly coffee. You can even pay for your own, if it means that much to you.” He leaned forward and grabbed the clipboard off the ground, putting it on the desk.

She was being too cynical.

She smiled. “No, it’s okay. You can pay, what with you having doctor’s wages and all.”

“Oh, thanks, you’re a real pal.”

“Yeah,” she nodded, looking at him. She smiled sincerely.“You are too.”

And for the first time since she had moved to Cicely, she felt she truly had something. Lots of somethings. Coffee in the morning and Joel and this, whatever this was.

It was as life was saying: Fish with no water, meet the sea.

#joel fleischman #northern exposure #joel fleischman x oc #joel fleischman x ofc #northern exposure fic #rob morrow #rob morrow fic #oh my god i did it

19 notes · View notes

adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 4 years ago

Text

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?”

2K notes · View notes

disrespectfullcalum · 3 years ago

Text

sugar and plum

Okay, so nobody asked for this but I wrote it anyway. Because I wanna be a little self-indulgent today and made some plum cakes and marmelade. So, please enjoy this?

Pairing: Aleksi Kaunisvesi x Reader

Summary: Aleksi is visiting you at home and helps you with the fruit out of your grandmother's garden.

Tags: fluff

Words: 829

It was the second time now that Aleksi spent some time with you and your family in your hometown. The whole long-distance-relationship-thing you two had going on didn't exactly make it easy for your families to meet or even you two to hang out, actually. But it had warmed your heart when he had called you two weeks ago to tell you that he was able to fly down to you for a whole week before the tour continued.

The sun was shining warm on your back as you watched Aleksi climb the steps of the small ladder underneath him. Thanks to the load of rain and sunshine during the last months, the plum tree in your grandmother's garden was hanging full of deep violet fruits that were just waiting to be picked. "And you're sure they will not fly back up to sting me?" His face was scrunched up as he looked down at you and accepted the bucket you handed him. "Well, they have enough plums to eat down here on the ground. And they probably don't see you as a threat. So, yes." The slightly offended huff that came out of his throat made you giggle.

It took the two of you nearly an hour and four big buckets to be done with the plum tree. But of course your grandmother wouldn't let you leave without having a glass of water and some biscuits even though both of you were pretty sweaty and had streaks of blackberry juice everywhere (because those also needed to be reaped). You chatted a little with your grandmother about some people that she had met at the doctor's office or called her, trying to speak as clearly and loud as possible because a. she definitely wasn't wearing her hearing aids and b. well, Aleksi's German wasn't exactly top notch.

So when your grandmother asked him how his family was doing, he looked a little surprised and also uncomfortable. "She asked if your parents and family are doing alright." You translated for him which made the Finn nod and smile. "Es - es geht ihnen gut." The sound of surprise your grandmother made echoed your own - sure, he had learned some words from you over time and was able to swear, but you hadn't heard a full sentence in your mothertongue from him yet. "Ah, sehr schön, sehr schön. Und das mit der Musik, was du da machst - das läuft auch alles so nach Plan?" While you were still a little taken aback by the smile Aleksi gave you (because he knew exactly how much you appreciated that little gesture of his), your grandmother was completely ignoring the moment and continued on with her conversation, making you translate everything she and your boyfriend said.

More than an hour later, you were standing in the kitchen of your apartment, one part of the plums already washed and waiting to be cut open and put into plastic bags for the freezer. There they would wait to be made in to marmelade when you had the patience for it. Aleksi had retreated to your living room for a bit because the band had been asked to do an Instagram live with the band they would go on tour with next year. You could hear his muffled laugh a few times while you worked your way through the amount of fruit on the counter and only half-listened to the playlist on your phone.

Suddenly, you could feel two arms sneaking around your waist and Aleksi's chin came to rest on your shoulder. "Can I help you somehow, kultsi?" You shook your head slightly for an answer and held up one half of a plum for him that he happily accepted. "How did the live go? You think that the combi of your bands will work?" Seeing as the boys would tour with another band they hadn't even met yet, you could totally understand Aleksi's hesitance towards it. But then again, it was the chance of a lifetime for them to tour across Europe as a support / special gig for a bigger band. "Yeah, they seem really nice and funny. And one of them even made a dick joke, so you know, Joel and Joonas love them already." You turned your head slightly to give him a pointed look while a smile tugged hard on the corners of your mouth. "Heard you laugh tho, so it can't have been that bad." He sighed a little and then grinned. "Yeah, it was ... really fucking good actually."

Letting go of your waist, he positioned himself next to you and started to pack the plums into the bags you had laid out. Working mostly silently next to each other, the music from your playlist filled the air as well as the smell of the plum tart that you had put in the oven.

#yes i was feeling this today okay #also i want to cook or bake with him #please tell me if this is bad #aleksi kaunisvesi fic #aleksi kaunisvesi x reader #alex mattson fic #alex mattson x reader #blind channel fic #blind channel #aleksi kaunisvesi #alex mattson #written

72 notes · View notes

writingssummit · 4 years ago

Text

𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐬.

driving at night with haikyuu characters !

song listened to while writing: mother mother + mindless self indulgence playlist.

content: late night driving, already existing relationships, fluff, comfort. xreader technically

characters: bokuto, sugawara, asahi, and nishinoya for a bonus :)

a/n: been feeling up for this, and yes idk what time it is anymore, i just have extra writing energy all of a sudden. 😶 i am a huge fan of night drives, it’s one of my favorite things to do, so why not write about it with some haikyuu characters? warning, i’m half asleep so these might not be the best jsjsjs. have fun reading !

bokuto !

car rides with him are immaculate regarding vibes. music is playing, the windows are down.

this particular night, you guys have nowhere to be, so you aren’t really going anywhere specific. it was your weekend, so you guys were going to make the most of your night!

and yes, it’s 2am LOL

this guy is totally jamming out to the songs, tapping the steering wheel with his fingertips.

yelling out lyrics is a common occurrence, i take no criticism here.

y’all probably annoy the hell out of the neighborhood, or surrounding areas where you pass through just because bokuto has his bass up super high

“is it too late for a drive, bo?” you tilted your head at your boyfriend, debating the idea in your head. it was pretty late already, most sane people were asleep around this time. but his eyes lit up right away at your question.

“it’s never too late. go get your shoes on, we’re going right now!”

and so that’s how you ended up in his car at 2 in the morning, music and bass up to the max. houses were passing by the window quickly. you had questioned whether or not it was okay to be so loud now, since there were still people around them in their homes, but he assured you it was just fine. after all, it was fun, and who didn’t like that?

“ohoho, this is my SONG!” bokuto slapped the steering wheel, and cleared his throat. you couldn’t help but cackle at his antics. he was a good singer, you wouldn’t deny that. but at times like this, he was absolutely awful- he was screaming out the lyrics, and you were starting to cry in laughter, and stumble through them when you tried to join in. it only egged him on, because it was a positive response. bokuto lived for that.

you guys definitely got some calls from your neighbors.

sugawara !

normally, night drives with sugawara are chaotic and sometimes unplanned, you never know where you guys will decide to go, or when you’ll get back because you both just have a lot of fun with each other.

but tonight was a comfort drive.

you weren’t feeling the best that day, and suga picked up on that.

“c’mon, we’re going to the car.”

??? what?

he ends up driving you to the perfect place to stargaze.

and from there, he pulls you out of the car, and carefully helps you on top of the car roof.

there’s no blanket but you settle between his legs and just aaa <3 soft cuddles.

“sugar, we’re going to the car. get your shoes on.” you make no move to get up, you weren’t up for anything right now.you felt shitty. so how could you even sit up?

“baby..” he crouches down in front of you, reaching up to cup your cheek in his hand. “i promise, this will help a little. you only have to move a little, okay?” he murmured, stroking you with softness and warmth only he was capable of.

how could you say no again? he was so gentle when he asked, and honestly any form of distraction would be nice..

the car ride was somewhat quiet, the music playing was just from one of the popular stations, which suga hummed under his breath. it was normal, and peaceful. you rested your head against the window and sighed. was he bringing you to a shop? grabbing a bite to eat?

but you weren’t expecting him to pull into an empty field. you cock an eyebrow at him, but all he does is grin. next thing you know, he’s pulling you out of the car, and onto the roof of it. you laugh a little at yours and his struggle to get on top, but it ends up being worth it to you.

the stars were amazing where you were, and you counted as many as you could see while he rubbed his thumbs over your hand and knee. your back was pressed up against his chest, his arms draped over you.

“you’re my star, y/n. now and always.”

asahi !

you guys were driving along the lake, slowly so you both could get a look at the nightly reflections on the surface.

your night drives are always 1000% calm and comforting. serene, even.

soft piano music in the background.

i’m getting “i’m taking you out on a drive to get out your energy so you can sleep” vibes from this guy haha

“isn’t the lake beautiful?” you murmur, your cheek pressed against the window of the passenger seat. you were trying to get a good look at the water, all of it’s reflections and such.

“do you want me to...put the window down for you, love?” your heart swelled at the pet-name, and you nodded. yawning, you peek your face outside and into the air as you guys drive. this was really cool, and the music was totally calming. and that paired together made yourself grow more and more tired by the hour.

“time to start heading back now?” asahi’s voice was as gentle as ever. you nod slowly, eyes already shut. “mm.”

he chuckles to himself before turning around.

nishinoya !

please for the love of god don’t let him choose the music

jokes aside, you guys are hitting up all the fast food restaurants, i just know it.

you guys have enough for like 3 people.

it’s a pleasure drive, you guys are there for the energy and experience.

the sunroof is totally open, allowing you to stuck your upper body outside as he drives.

you’re both whooping, and just having fun.

he totally speeds, y’all better be careful-

“oh my god, please don’t. you’re banned from the music choice, remember?? i can’t trust you anymore!” you snort as you change the music to something more appealing. nishi often played questionable songs, which were funny, but sometimes it was simply terrible.

a disgrace, if you would.

“how restrictive- i just want to play my goddamn music some day, it’s not that bad, y/n!” oh, yes it is. he’s just too nishi to notice. you both start to debate what counts as good music, but he makes a quick, small topic change.

“now, do we got to that one place, mc donalds, or...”

teases be damned, you were hungry. “all of them. all of them, i will-” you couldn’t even get the rest of your sentence out because this man just put the gas pedal down even more, and you cried out.

“nishi, what the fuck! too fast, are you crazy?” you’re not mad, your grin and wide eyes could prove that.

“c’mon! sunroof’s open, scream it out!” he shoots a grin at you, and you do just that. he makes you feel alive, exhilarated. and of course, full of food.

i’m so tired woah- thanks for reading ! my asks are open, feel free to drop one ! here’s my prompt list in case you’d like to send a number with it, and here’s my blog basics for rules about requests !

#haikyu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #bokuto x reader #sugawara x reader #asahi x reader #nishinoya x reader #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu!!

91 notes · View notes

princip1914 · 3 years ago

Text

A few thoughts on writing longfic

I’ve had this post brewing for a while and I figured since today is a Friday I might as well let it out into the wild.

First off, this is not writing advice. I don’t feel qualified to give writing advice. This is a few observations I’ve made over the course of trying to write something that feels, well, long. Fandom is full of excellent authors writing long chaptered fic, but I don’t see a lot of people talking about how they go about producing such fics. I remember feeling like long fic was really out of reach for me when I started writing again in the summer of 2019 after not writing for years and years and I wanted to talk a bit about how that changed for me. Of course, this post comes with all the caveats that there is no need to ever write long fic if you’re not feeling it. Some of my favorite authors write mostly or only oneshots! But, if you are interested, here’s my lengthy, self indulgent, and entirely personal take on ~the longfic process~ below the cut.

First, to get this out of the way: long fic is anything that feels long or complicated to you, the author. “I’m working on my long fic” can mean that you’re branching out from microfiction to write something that’s 2k long, or it can mean you’ve got a multi-part 800k epic. There’s no objective measure of if something is “long fic,” Your own personal definitions can also change as you grow in confidence or change your focus as a writer (a little over a year ago when I finished Doubt Thou the Stars are Fire topping out at 31k, that felt very very long to me. Now it feels….still long, but not very very long.)

Here are a few specific things that helped me write something long. I don’t know if they will be interesting for anyone else, but at the very least writing these down has been a fun way for me to reflect on my own process.

Practice exercises. Ok, this is going to sound exceedingly obvious, but writing one shots prepares you for writing chaptered fic. Here’s what I mean more specifically: if you know you want to write (as a totally hypothetical example) a chaptered fic set in America in the summer that relies heavily on a nature metaphors, is written out of chronological order, and features a melancholy tone--it helps to write a few one shots like that before you embark on the Big Fic. Just like artists tend to do sketches before starting a big piece, it’s very helpful to write something small that gives you a feel for the ~vibe~ of what you’re trying to do in the long fic. It’s helpful for all the usual reasons--you get to know a specific version of the characters which helps plan out a character driven plot for the long fic--but it’s also helpful because you will learn if the tone and mood of the fic has enough staying power to capture your interest for the long haul. For instance, I have a few unfinished chaptered fics that have a humorous tone. I wish I had done more short humorous fics before starting them, because I would have realized that I don’t currently have the mental stamina to hold up a humorous tone for the length of a chaptered fic (hopefully that will change and I will finish Last Days some time this century!).

Plan it out ahead of time. I used google sheets for The False and the Fair. I do not think God intended google sheets to be used for fiction, but that was not going to stop me. On a more serious note, I think the best tool for planning fiction is the one you’re the most comfortable with--the notes app in your phone, handwriting, word, google drive, sheets, chalk board, summoning circle, the blood of your enemies, etc. The reason I chose to use sheets is that I knew from the very beginning that I wanted certain things to happen at specific places in the story--for instance, I wanted the first kiss to happen at the end of the first third of the story and I wanted the “reveal” about the mine accident to happen at the end of the second third of the story. But, I didn’t know what was supposed to go in between those elements. A traditional outline for a story at this point in development might have looked like:

Meet cute

Kiss

Reveal

Ending

But, what my brain needed was to preserve the blank spaces in between these story elements, and specifically to preserve the right amount of blank space between these story elements so that it didn’t end up, for instance, that the first kiss was halfway through rather than a third of the way through. In this way, I found google sheets an invaluable tool for pacing in the early parts of the planning process. I simply made 30 rows assuming 30 chapters, and started plugging in the elements I knew I wanted in the locations I wanted them. Then I filled in the blank spaces by asking myself “how do we get from X plot element to Y plot element in Z amount of chapters.” I’m not a mountain climber, but I’ve often thought about the first things that go into the spreadsheet in terms of mountain climbing terminology. In climbing, a crux move, which can be anywhere along the route, is the most difficult move of the route: if you can’t do it, you can’t do the route. I think of the first things that go into the planning spreadsheet as the crux moves of the story, the most important pieces around which everything else turns. It was not an accident that those were also all the first scenes of the fic that I wrote; if I couldn’t do those scenes, I couldn’t do the story the way I planned it so I wanted to know early on if I needed to make changes.

Make changes if you have to: even though it helps to have things planned in advance, don’t resist the story if it tries to change on you while you’re writing it. Usually the feeling that you have to make changes stems from having a plot that is not entirely character driven. As you write the story, the characters reveal themselves and sometimes the plot has to change to change with the characters’ motivations. Here’s an area where fanfic writers have a leg up on everyone else: if you write fic, you already know the characters really well. That means, (in my experience anyway) it’s less likely that you’ll have a surprise character development which leads to a rethinking of the whole plot. Less likely, but not completely unlikely, unfortunately.

Lie to yourself: The False and the Fair was supposed to be 90k words. I thought that sounded reasonable, a little less than 3x the longest fic I had ever written. Now it's 161k and will probably top out a little over 170k. Ooops. But I never would have set out to write something that long. I wouldn’t have thought I could do it, even though anyone more experienced looking at my plans for the fic probably would have laughed at the idea I could cover all those plot points in 90k. Ignorance is bliss. Protect your ignorance.

Scrivener: Long fic for me means “fic that is long enough you can’t hold all the parts of it in your head at once.” That’s where Scrivener comes in (or another app if you’d rather, but I really like Scrivener for the ability to see the project either linearly or as condensed notecards). You can put together an organizational scaffold in Scrivener that allows you to move back and forth between the forest and the trees. So, for instance, you might be going for a jog and come up with the perfect line of dialogue for chapter 27 when you’re only up to chapter 5 in terms of writing progress. With Scrivener, you can go home, and put that dialogue in the “bucket”/index card/whatever for chapter 27 without compromising your ability to see chapter 5 clearly or muddying up your google doc. You can then use the fact that you’ve started writing bits and pieces of the later chapters in conjunction with the tool of lying to yourself that, actually, you’ve written a lot more of the fic than you realize and that when you get to chapter 27 it won’t be as hard as chapter 5 because you’ve put in the groundwork already. In my experience, this lie turns out to be true about 50% of the time, which is better than 0% of the time.

Digestible mini arcs: The False and the Fair was originally broken up into thirds. I thought it would be 90k and 30k was the longest I had written, so thirds seemed to make sense. Also, 3 is a nice, time honored storytelling number. I think it’s good to give yourself seemingly achievable milestones along the way to completion. These milestones (for me anyway) lined up well with the “crux moments” I’ve described. If you’re someone who likes to write out of order, writing your way to an already written milestone can feel like sailing to an island where you get to rest for a bit from the stormy seas before setting out for the next island in the archipelago.

“It's all part of the process”: I’m categorically incapable of describing things without resorting to running metaphors, and so I apologize in advance, but I am now going to do the insufferable thing of comparing writing a long fic to running a marathon. Here’s the thing with a marathon. You are not going to feel good every step of the way. We all know this. It’s a marathon, it’s supposed to hurt a little bit, especially at the end. In the same way you literally cannot write something novel length or even novella or long short story length without, at least at some point, feeling bad about yourself and your writing. But you also can’t run a marathon if the whole thing is agony, and for most people, it’s not--your meat sack shuffling along the course is subjected to the slings and arrows of all sorts of weird body chemistry that only happens when you push it to its limits. So, you’ll be in agony and then the endorphins will kick in for a while and you’ll be thinking “this isn’t nearly as bad as everyone said,” and then you’ll drink some water at a rest stop and feel like a God for half a mile before you crash and you’re in agony again until that one perfect song comes up on the playlist...and you get the idea. Writing something long, for me at least, is a bit like that. There are massive ups and downs. The key for me is to just understand it’s all part of the process, a necessary step on the way to the finish line. If the fic is 10 chapters long, at some point you have to write chapter 5. Just like you have to write chapter 5, at some point you also have to go through a bit of despair before reaching the end. It is unfortunately non-optional. In fact, despairing is something you can check off your list each time you’ve done it. Cut dialogue tags, check. Feel awful about my writing for thirty minutes, check. Write ending section, check. Often I feel that the stress and shame and fear that come with bad emotions while writing are worse than the bad emotions themselves. It really helps me to remember these emotions are all part of the process and nothing to worry about. If I didn’t have them, then I would worry!

I certainly have plenty more to say about writing, but this ramble has gone on long enough. If you’re interested in any of this stuff, please feel free to send me an ask.

I would also love to know more about everyone else’s writing processes, so feel free to pop into my ask box to talk about your own approach too! I am very interested in this stuff!

#long post #writing #fic #princip's fic #princip writes #princip's musings #longfic #how make words go

43 notes · View notes

azucanela · 4 years ago

Text

7. SNEAKING SOMEONE OUT | SHINSOU HITOSHI

1K CELEBRATION MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: Shinsou finds himself craving chicken nuggets, and Y/N’s presence, at 2AM. So naturally, he comes over and helps her sneak out so that they can get food and hang out, much to Y/N’s dismay.

WORD COUNT: 2K

WARNINGS: crackfic turned sad boy hours but also fluff

A/N: this got deep and is basically pure self indulgence of my emotions

Y/N really should’ve expected this. She really should have.

Shinsou had a tendency to simply, not sleep, he was a certified insomniac. No matter how many solutions Y/N had offered him, none of them worked. Which is why Y/N tended to wake up to about 75 messages from Shinsou each morning, varying from memes, to tik toks, to philisophical rambles, to the stupidest questions he’d ever asked her.

He’d never texted her this much though, her phone nearly falling off the nightstand because of how much it was vibrating whilst on silent, rousing her from sleep. Y/N groaned into her pillow, hand extending to her right in search of her phone as she patted around the nightstand with no success. Inhaling deeply, Y/N rolled onto her back, bring her hands up to rub her eyes before stretching her arms upward as she sat up in bed and turned to her side. Y/N picked up her phone, squinting at the ridiculously bright light that met her eyes as she read the time.

2:03AM

Y/N couldn’t help but smile at the sight of her lock screen, a picture of her and Shinsou, taken at a school festival they’d had. It had taken a lot of convincing to get him to agree to a photo, much to Y/N’s dismay, but he relented eventually. The memory only served as a reminded of the messages displayed on her screen, a lot of messages, most of which were from Shinsou. But Y/N only found herself looking at the most recent ones.

shinsou <3 y/n wake up

y/n

y/n get up

im coming over now, and no you don’t have a choice in this matter

you better be awake by the time i get there or i will egg your window

we are going to get food by the way [1:34AM]

shinsou <3 hey loser im here

climb out your window

are you even awake

y/n i swear [2:01AM]

In a perfect world, Shinsou would’ve been joking, and Y/N would’ve been able to go back to bed and text him again in the morning about a weird video she saw online. However this was Shinsou and the world was far from perfect. Meaning the boy was definitely parked outside her house. Y/N moved to slip out of bed and peer outside her window, only to see Shinsou was already standing on the grass of her front yard, fingers typing furiously against his phone as Y/N felt her phone vibrate in her hand once more.

She found herself glaring as she threw the phone onto the bed to free both her hands and open the window. Pushing the window up, Y/N bent down slightly to put the upper half of her body outside as she called out to Shinsou, “what the hell?”

The boy looks up almost instantly, and Y/N can practically see the panic in his eyes, though it fades when he realizes it was her who spoke, shoving his phone back into his pocket. “Are you ready?” He calls back in a hushed whisper, eyes narrowing as he scans the surrounding area.

“Shinsou—” Y/N brings a hand to her temple as she exhales deeply, “we are not going out to eat, it two in the morning!” She cried out, one hand making vivid gestures in an attempt to get her point across, while the other supported her weight on her slanted roof.

He rolled his eyes in response, “there’s a reason that some fast food restaurants are open all day long. This is the reason, now let’s go.” Shinsou has that same apathetic tone he uses everyday, as though this is something completely normal that they do everyday.

“I am not sneaking out of my house so that you can get some— some chicken nuggets!”

Shinsou falters, face falling temporarily as he presses his lips together, “if you really don’t want to Y/N, you don’t have to.” His voice is soft enough that she can barely hear him because of the distance between them, but she does. Y/N can tell he means it, this isn’t an attempt to guilt her into going with him, and yet she can’t help but feel horrible for not going along with it.

Which is why Y/N was now dressed in sweatpants and a tank top, trying her hardest not to fall off her roof as Shinsou called out to her, “Y/N. Don’t make me use my quirk—”

“You wouldn’t dare.” They both knew he’d never use his quirk on her, he had far too much respect for her. And he’d explicitly told her, more accurately, promised her during one of their rare late night talks, that he’d never try.

He doesn’t reply, simply glaring at her as he comes up from under the edge of the roof, where Y/N had been sitting for the past few minutes, in fear of jumping off. “Just jump.”

“No.” She practically hissed, scowling as she peered over the side of the roof once more, viewing the drop, which wasn’t that far. Shinsou also stood below, meeting her glare with his own annoyed stare.

“Y/N, come on.”

“You should be grateful I am even accompanying you, i could easily just go back to the safety of my room and have a simple and quiet night but you insisted—”

“I’ll buy you whatever you want, just come on.”

Looking back on it, Y/N really didn’t think this was worth it. Her parents would very likely end her life should they discover her... late night escapades alongside Shinsou, but at the same time, this was odd behavior for him. Texts in the middle of the night were normal, yes, but randomly deciding to come over because he wants food at 2AM? Weird.

But Y/N couldn’t deny the that this was fun. Driving down practically empty roads, phone plugged into the aux so she could play whatever music she wanted— though Shinsou judged every song she played rather brutally. The windows were rolled down all the way and Y/N had never felt more refreshed as she sat beside Shinsou in the passenger seat of his car, watching as he ordered their food through the drive through.

A comfortable silence fell between them as he paid and thanked the cashier at the window, retrieving their food and wordlessly handing it to Y/N before driving to the parking lot of the establishment. She found herself taking sips of her milkshake and absentmindedly eating fries.

Yet Y/N couldn’t help but feel concerned as she looked over at the boy, hand on the wheel as he quietly hummed along to the playlist they shared. Drives with Shinsou weren’t rare, seeing as he drove Y/N to school practically daily, especially since he didn’t trust her driving skills.

Her brows furrow as she leans back in her seat, folding her arms before speaking, “are you okay, Hitoshi?” Y/N looks away from him, “answer honestly.”

She can feel his eyes land on her when she finished speaking, Y/N can’t help that she floods with anxiety as she awaits his answer, only to look to Shinsou to see a small smile on his face as he parks in the parking lot of the brightly lit restaurant. “Yeah. I’m good actually.” Y/N tilts her head at his words, awaiting for him to continue, he seems to consider what he says next carefully, “are you glad you came here, with me?”

Though Y/N feared the repercussions should they get caught, she already knew her answer, “yes. I’m happy to be here.” Y/N fidgets with her fingers as she inhales deeply, eyes drifting to her window, “I think— I think I would’ve regretted it more, if I hadn’t come with you actually. And I don’t want to regret anything.” She bites her lip anxiously, picking at her fingernails, “I wish I was more adventurous sometimes, I guess?”

Y/N couldn’t explain the feeling well, the one that made her wonder if she was missing out on certain parts of life, parts that she might’ve experienced if she had been just a bit more bold. In the moment, yeah, it seemed horrifying, but Y/N couldn’t help but wonder afterwards if she should’ve said yes. She couldn’t help but feel regretful as she wondered what could’ve been.

Sitting there with Shinsou made her feel like a hypocrite though, seeing as she’d had feeling for the boy for longer than she cared to admit, and would likely regret never telling him. Though Y/N was fairly sure she would regret it more if she did tell him and he rejected her, so hiding her feelings was far more ideal. But the small part of her that wanted to tell him, to just come forward with her feelings, regardless of the outcome.

Y/N tries to push away these thoughts, bringing her attention back to the moment at hand as Shinsou rests his head against the seat, fingers tapping at the wheel of the parked vehicle, “I get it.” Comes his reply, and he seems to be rather deep in thought as he sits there, hand reaching into his bag for some fries.

Y/N feels compelled to speak, to tell him that he does make her happy, because she can tell that a small part of him doesn’t believe her, so when she opens her mouth the words just begin to fall out. “You make me happy, you know.” Y/N doesn’t know how else to explain it, and she doesn’t see his eyes widen a fraction as he shifts in his seat to look at her, “I never would’ve done something like this before I met you. But...” Y/N turns to meet his eyes, offering him a smile, “well, I’m really glad I met you Hitoshi. You make me feel like I’m living—”

“And there’s a difference between living and just being alive, you know?”

Y/N can’t help the way her cheeks warm, feeling as though she overshared as she watches Shinsou nod slowly, “I get it.” He repeats, brows drawing together, he opens his mouth just to close it immediately after.

“What?”

Shinsou straightens at her words, clearing his throat as he brings a hand to the back of his neck, “I don’t... I don’t want to regret anything either.” His lips press together in a tight lipped smile as he looks up at the roof of the car for a moment, cursing quietly before returning his gaze to Y/N.

Their third year would be starting soon, and Shinsou had considered this for a while. No matter how close he and Y/N were now, he couldn’t help but wonder where they’d be after graduating from UA. Both of them would be heading out in the world to become heroes, something that would likely take them in two very different directions. Maybe they’d never speak again after graduation, or maybe their friendship would fade, but Shinsou had a feeling his feelings never would. Y/N’s words just served as a reminder of just how finite their time together was.

Shinsou didn’t know when he fell for her, maybe it was right now, watching her take a sip of her milkshake as she watched him curiously, flustered under his piercing gaze. Maybe it was that time in class when she’d let him fall asleep just to wake him at the end and hand him notes she’d taken just for him, or maybe it was when she hugged him for the first time because he’d gotten in the hero course. He decided that didn’t matter, because he did know that Y/N L/N wasn’t going to be one of his regrets.

"I’m in love with you.”

A/N: this is unedited and the product of my brain at 1AM so i sincerely hope its not bad jkashdjkashdkjh

TAGLISTS:

BNHA: @shawkneecaps @beifongsss

#azucanela 1k #shinsou x reader #shinso x reader #shinso x you #shinsou x you #shinsou hitoshi x you #shinsou hitoshi x reader #shinso hitoshi x you #shinso hitoshi x reader #hitoshi x reader #hitoshi x you #hitoshi shinsou x reader #hitoshi shinso x reader #hitoshi shinso x you #hitoshi shinsou x you

290 notes · View notes

beauty-and-passion · 3 years ago

Note

Heya!

So I remember reading your post about Eurovision a while ago, and since I'm now hooked on a certain collection of songs, I was thinking...

Would you think 'Zitti E Buoni' by Måneskin could be a Remus song, and 'Voilà' by Barbara Pravi a Roman song? Or do you have some ideas on any other Eurovision songs that would fit the Sides?

Just wondering whether you'd like to share some thoughts on this, but no pressure of course! As always, I absolutely love your theories and posts, it always brightens up my day to read :D

This will be a very self indulgent post.

First of all: “no pressure”?! I am HYPED to share my thoughts on this! And this is why it took me so long to reply to this ask: I’ve spent the whole time thinking about which song could fit which Side, going through the last editions, reading the lyrics, searching among my favourites...

So yes, this post will be a bit long. But hey, there is also good music and maybe, by listening to it, you will find something you haven’t heard before! :D

(Of course, in order to make this post understandable, I will translate all lyrics, but the songs aren’t all in English. In any case, every song has a link, so you can hear it on Youtube.)

And yes, I know there are billions of other Eurovision songs, but for the sake of “not making this post endless” (as if it won’t be already), I will stop at Eurovision 2014. If you all have other songs to propose for a Side, please feel free to add them and explain why! :D

And now...

Which Eurovision songs would fit the Sides

_____________________________

EUROVISION 2021

Måneskin - Zitti e buoni

(Here the Eurovision performance because it’s just this good)

This song is PERFECT for Remus and I was a fool for not realizing it sooner. It's all about showing how different you are, embracing your uniqueness despite what others may think. Everything about this song screams “REMUS” so thank you, my dear, for opening my eyes and making me realize it.

They don't know what I'm talking about You are dirty, bruh, of mud Cig's yellow in between the fingers I'm walking with a cig Pardon me, but I really do believe That I can make this jump And even if the street is uphill I'm training for this now

The first line is already 200% Remus: they (aka the other Sides) don’t know what Remus is talking about. Remus is impossible to understand. Remus is weird, strange, dangerous - according to moral standards.

However, despite the other people’s thoughts, Remus still shows a high self-esteem - just like in his playlist. The others may not have faith in him, there could be obstacles on his way, but he still believes he will achieve his goals.

And good evening, ladies and gentlemen Bring out the actors You better hold on to your balls You better keep quiet and be good Here people are weird, like drug dealers Too many nights I've spent locked outside Now I'm kicking these doorways Staring up like climbers So sorry mum if I'm always out, but

“You better hold on to your balls” is a translation of the original italian line “Vi conviene toccarvi i coglioni”. This sentence is a more vulgar form of the English expression “knocking on wood”, something you preventively do to un-jinx stuff.

However, “knocking on wood” isn’t as strong as the italian expression, so I chose this translation that is more literal, but also more vulgar. It kept the original vibe more, it fits Remus more and it gives a stronger meaning to the whole thing. The singer isn’t just saying “beware of what you’re doing”, but he’s saying “get ready, shit if about to hit the fan”. It’s more powerful - and well, Remus would love this. It’s his time now, so the audience (the other Sides/Thomas) should "keep quiet and be good”.

I also really like the “Here people are weird, like drug dealers”, because it can refer to the dark sides in general. This is Remus’ show, so the Core Sides and Thomas should shut up. They are now in the Dark Sides’ territory, full of weird, sketchy people, morally gray villains. All things he loves, enjoys and that he definitely considers as compliments.

“Too many nights I've spent locked outside / Now I'm kicking these doorways” is another great line, because “being locked outside” is the perfect metaphor for Remus’ situation. He IS locked outside, he has been kept far away from Thomas, stifled by him, unable to fully express himself. And so he releases his frustration by kicking the doors that are shutting him down. That’s just so Remus I. LOVE. IT.

I am out of my mind, but I'm not like the others And you are out of your mind, but you're not like the others We are out of our minds, but we're not like the others We are out of our minds, but we're not like the others

This chorus is PERFECT! First of all: “I am out of my mind” is basically just like this line from DWIT:

[Patton]: Imaginative sure is a- a kind word for him. [Duke]: I agree! How about... DEMENTED?

But also: Remus doesn’t give a damn. He’s not like the others and he’s SO DAMN PROUD of it. Just like he is in canon and in his playlist.

He goes even further, by saying that “you” are also out of your mind. And who this “you” might be, if not the big man himself?

[Duke]: If I am awful... then so is Thomas.

Just like in DWIT, Remus welcomes Thomas’ weirdness with open arms. If he and Thomas are both insane and different, why hiding it and not embracing this difference? They are unique.

I've written pages and pages I've seen salt, then tears These men in cars Don't climb the rapids I've written on a tombstone "In my house there's no God" But if you find time's meaning You'll climb back up from your oblivion And there's no wind stopping The natural power From the right point of view You feel the intoxication of the wind With wax wings on your back I'll go look for that high If you wanna stop me try again Try cutting my head off Because

Woah, this part has a lot. There is:

Remus' creativity as a flow ("I've written pages and pages")

Remus seeing how different he is compared to others ("These men in cars / Don't climb the rapids" while he was ready to “make this jump” despite the obstacles on his way)

Religion because of course - and especially Remus rejecting it ("I've written on a tombstone / "In my house there's no God".")

And, most importantly, there is a nice reference to Icarus' myth. According to myth, Icarus escaped from the Labyrinth of the Minotaur, by flying on wax wings. But he flew too close to the sun, his wings melted and he fell to his death.

This has multiple meanings. First of all, it shows how stubborn Remus is: he could use simpler, more stable ways to reach his goals. But he's Remus, he's creative and he's different, he would rather use wax wings (aka more complex, unordinary means) to reach his goal. Also, it's a proof of his resolution: just like Icarus, his wax wings could melt and he could fail. And yet, he's so set in his decision, he's ready to do anything to succeed.

This last point is particularly evident in the following lines: "If you wanna stop me try again / Try cutting my head off". It's impossible to stop him, just like it was impossible to send him away or stop him from talking in canon.

Everything in this song is just HIM.

Unfortunately people talk They talk, they don't know what they talk about Bring me where I float Cause I lack air here

Once again, the people are the Core Sides: they talk about how he's evil and dangerous and useless. But they don't know what they're talking about. They're (metaphorically) suffocating him with their prejudices, that's why he asks "bring me where I float": he wants to express himself freely, to escape these biases.

Also: water. And with the whole octopus as his animal, it’s just even more fitting.

Moral of the story: this song is perfect for him, Remus should know Italian just to sing it - and he would love the glam rock style of Maneskin as well.

_____________________________

Barbara Pravi - Voilà

I don’t know how you did it, dear, but these two songs are PERFECT. Zitti e buoni is perfectly Remus, Voilà is perfectly Roman. I feel blessed.

Listen to me, me, the half singer Talk about me, to your loved ones, to your friends Tell them about this little girl with black eyes and crazy dreams What I want is to write stories that you will hear about That's all

Roman, is that you? Because this is you. This is ALL you.

Roman is a "half singer": he cannot sing like he want, he cannot express himself in full. He has rules, laws, morals that forces him to quiet down and bent his creativity.

And, just like a tragic hero, Roman asks that his story will not be forgotten, that others will know about him, his unfortunate life, his "crazy dreams" and especially his passion: writing stories "that you will hear about".

This line in particular reminds me of this part from Recipe for Me:

And still, I continue to write because I have more dreams to fulfill Tales I hoped to tell when I was younger Ideas that I haven't made yet, but I will I'll find my way with my will

The concept is the same in Voilà. Roman is a "controlled" Creativity, surrounded by rules and morals that shut him, but he wants to be heard, he wants to tell stories.

And that’s just it. This is what creativity is all about: talking, puring out its ideas, as loud and freely as possible.

Voilà, voilà, voilà, here is who I am Here I am, even if I'm scared as I'm naked, yes Here I am in the noise and in silence

I love how this song is a way for Roman to express himself, to show himself despite everything. He's like this, he's a "half Creativity", he's scared, he's not perfect. But here he is, "in the noise and in silence". Because your creativity is always here with you, no matter where you are or what you are doing: it will never leave you and it will never stop asking to be heard.

Look at me, or at least what's left of it Look at me, before I hate myself What can I say that another hasn't already said? I don't have much, but I place here what I do have Voilà

Aaaah, yes, I like to wake up with the strong smell of Roman's angst in the morning.

Roman seeing himself as something broken? Perfect. We want more of the angsty boi. Even the fans of King Creativity may read this line as Roman seeing himself as “half of a whole”!

And, again I love how despite feeling broken and hating it, he’s still ready to give everything he has. This is the true essence of the concept of creativity.

Also, why not adding a little more angst?

I want to be loved, because I don't know myself how to like the shape of me

This is perfect, because it reconnects to the first episode, when Roman said his goal would be to love himself first. He never reached this goal after almost 30 episodes - and this line might offer an answer on why: because Roman doesn’t know how. He hates himself so much, he doesn’t know how to love himself.

And that’s probably why he needs another person to love: because it’s easier to love someone else, rather than himself.

Voilà, voilà, voilà, here is who I am Here I am, even if it's the end as I'm naked Here I am in the noise and in rage too Finally, look at me and my eyes and my hands All I have is here, it's my face, it's my scream Here I am, here I am, here I am

This last chorus is awesome: the quintessential of Roman’s desperation, of showing himself, of screaming hoping to be heard by anyone. Unlike Remus who is unstoppable and doesn't care about others, Roman cares. He needs a public, he needs to be heard, otherwise he would lose himself.

And I seriously love how these two songs both have the same idea (embrace yourself and your uniqueness), but talk aboout this theme in such different ways - and yet so fitting for the twins... they are just GREAT.

(On a side note: this song is so dramatically French Roman would love it and sing it with the same passion Barbara used and I would love to see that.)

_____________________________

EUROVISION 2019

Bilal Hassani - Roi

Come on... Roi. Roi. Considering that "roi" means "king" in French, who could possibly be the Side I would associate this song with? Maybe the Side who already has a King in his playlist?

Nope, this song is for Remus.

Why Remus? The reason is very simple and you can just notice by reading the first verses:

I am me And I know I will always be I am free Sure I am inventing my life Don't ask me who I am

I am The same since I was very little And in spite of looks, opinions I cry, I go out and I laugh

You put me in a box Want me to be like you I don't follow the codes People are disturbed a lot At the end of the day You canno change me, boo! So, let me fly

This song overflows with confidence, the lines talk about someone who is free to be whoever he wants, who has always been the same since he was a child, who is rejected by others and doesn't give a damn, who doesn't "follow the codes" and refuses to be changed by them.

This isn't Roman, but this is the quintessential of Remus. This song is everything about him, from his confidence to his desire to be free.

And the chorus is even clearer:

I'm not rich but i'm shining bright I can't see my kingdom now When I dream, I am a king And I know o-o-ow Even now o-o-ow You try to take me down You cannot break me nah nah

That's him, that's Remus.

On a side note, if Remus also has his "King song", that would strengthen the connection with Roman, since they both would have a song about "being/feeling like a king".

And this song is Roi, king in French. Since I think Remus would definitely know French, this makes Roi an even more fitting choice, doesn’t it?

Who are we ? When we hide, when we fight for free Only god can judge you and me We did not choose what we are

Not only there is a nice religious reference, but these lines are a also a reference to the LGBT community: they hide, they fight, they didn't choose to be like that (no matter what idiots might think) and only God can judge them, not other, very flawled (and, honestly, very pathetic too) humans.

So, if we consider it, there is also a hidden "fuck society" and a "I am gay and proud to be" and those are both very Remus things.

_____________________________

EUROVISION 2018

Saara Aalto - Monster

I would associate this song with Thomas. And, specifically, to Thomas at the end of the series. Why?

Here's why:

So tonight I'm making friends with all the creatures That are hiding there under my bed

I ain't gonna hold on to these monsters anymore Now I'm gonna let in all the light Tear down the walls At my worst, I found my army strong All the demons are gone You can try and scare me now But I ain't scared no more I ain't scared no more

At the end of the series, Thomas would have befriended all the Sides, especially the "monsters hiding under his bed", the dark bois.

The "final Thomas" will tear down every wall between him and his Sides and will stop hiding/rejecting them. This will make him stronger, because the Sides will be his helpers, parts of him, his friends. He won't be scared anymore by Remus, suspicious towards Janus, afraid of Virgil or terrified by Orange.

"All the demons are gone": the dark sides won't be villains anymore, but friends. And they would help him be stronger.

It's my life I'm ready to lead it I'm gonna roll the dice You better believe it

This part is great as well, because it proves another interesting detail: that Thomas is growing up. He's taking life into his own hands, he's leading it. No more "Oh no, I don't know what to choose between callback and wedding!". He's more confident, he's stronger, he's more mature.

_____________________________

Hovig - Gravity

Honestly, I think this song can be something all Sides might sing to Thomas. It's basically a testament of how much they care about him:

Let me be your heart and your company I'll let you be the one who can lean on me I'll catch you when you fall When you're falling free Let me be, be your gravity

But the imagery just screams "ROMAN" so much, I can't help but think that yes, this is a great Roman song and it's all from Roman to Thomas.

I mean...

I can be your hero I can be your fantasy Oh, I can be the cure Yeah, let me be Your remedy

He IS Thomas' hero, so how can I ignore this? And he's also the embodiment of Thomas' fantasies, he's the wings that make Thomas fly.

Let me be your wings When you're flying high I'm gonna raise you up 'til you touch the sky I'll catch you when you fall When you're falling free Let me be, be your gravity

It's just pure love for Thomas and it begs me to being a Roman song, so... here it is. A Roman song dedicated to Thomas.

_____________________________

Eleni Foureira - Fuego

Listen, not only Roman would rock this song, but also dance like a maniac while singing it just like Eleni and no, you can't change my mind.

Just look at how this woman sings and dnaces without never losing a beat until the end. And please consider that on the Eurovision stage there is no autotune: this was her voice and he delivered a great performance without cracks.

So yes, I want Roman singing this.

But the lines are great for him as well! I mean...

Take a dive Into my eyes Yeah the eyes of lioness Feel the power They ain’t lying.

and

Coz I’m way up and I ain’t comin’ down, keep taking me higher Ah yeah ah yeah ah yeah yeah ah yeah ah yeah Coz I’m burning up and I ain’t coolin’ down, yeah I got the the fire Ah yeah ah yeah ah yeah yeah ah yeah ah yeah

Fuego

Someone fiery and passionate, powerful eyes, pride... yep, this is definitely something Roman would sing. Especially because of the fire. Roman is a fiery guy, so fire is very him.

______________________

Yianna Terzi - Oniro Mou

I actually already talked about this song in an old post and I still haven't changed my mind: this song is all about Janus telling Thomas how much he cares about him.

If you look into the depth of me You revive my dream And if you look into my heart I will take you into my arms How would you like me to say this I would die for you I would give my life for you End and beginning, you are everything

Not only the "take you into my arms" reminds me of Change (" I’ll be able to be honest, capable / Of holding you in my arms without letting you fall"), but the last three lines are so incredibly loving and honest I can't think of anyone else but Janus while reading them. Thomas is his end and beginning, Janus would literally die for Thomas and give his life for him.

So, well, it's just very fitting. And I love how dramatic this song is. It doesn't have the jazzy vibe Janus loves, but the drama is all here.

______________

Francesco Gabbani - Occidentali’s Karma

Do you remember how hard it was to analyze Algorhythm from Logan's playlist? Every line has a meaning and explaining every single one of them took me an eternity.

Well, this song is basically like Algorhythm, but with more philosophy and billions to references. You see the performance on the stage and ahahah, there's a funny dancing gorilla, what a cute song. Then you read the lyrics and BOOM.

I will not analyze this song here, because every line would require at least two paragraphs to explain it. And this post is already long enough as it is, but please, search the meaning of this song: there are references to Shakespeare, Heraclitus, buddhism, Andy Warhol, Desmond Morris and his book "The Naked Ape", Marx, Nietzsche and so on. Basically every line is a reference, a play on words or both at the same time.

What about the main theme? The main theme is the human and especially the contemporary human. In fact, "Occidentali" (Westerners) does not refer to the geographical place, aka Europeans/Americans, but to the western cultural model.

So the title “Occidentali’s Karma” (Westerners Karma) is an insight on contemporary society, on our values and on how, despite how many things changed, we are not so different from our ancestors after all.

This song might seem a perfect choice for Janus. There's a critique of society, there are philosophers and plays on words.

But I’m not too convinced, because even if Janus likes all those things, the number of references is just SO HUGE only a real nerd can find, recognize and appreciate them all.

So yes, this is a Logan song. A song he would probably listen and analyze, enjoying the whole process of knowing more things, finding out all the hidden meanings, the plays on words (we all know you like puns, ya big nerd) and the critical insight. After all, Algorhythm WAS a critique of society, so Logan should appreciate it.

_______________

EUROVISION 2014

Twin Twin - Moustache

Not only the band is called Twin Twin but, as if this wasn't screaming "Creativitwins" enough, the title of the song is "Moustache".

Come on, you know who is the Side perfect for this song.

Psyche! It's both Roman and Remus.

Something is missing, but what? I want this, I want that When I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming in dollars, every day I'm wearing a different suit.

This is very Roman: Roman wants everything (let's not forget Primadonna from his playlist), Roman’s dreams are big. And Roman is Creativity, so he "wears a different suit" every day - aka he directs his creative flow in different stories/songs.

I want this, I want that there's never enough for me it's like this, it's like that there's always something I don't have

This part strongly reminds me of Primadonna. Roman wants everything, every day. He's never satisfied.

And then, Remus busts in and...

I wanted a moustache, a moustache

So my headcanon is that this starts as a Roman's song, all about wanting everything because "there's always something I don't have", until Remus pops out during the chorus and says all he wants is his gorgeous moustache.

*chef’s kiss* Perfection.

But I know what you want, dear audience. You want some angst, don't you?

Fine, so what if the "I want a moustache" line is Roman's subtle way to say that he wants the same freedom his brother has? After all, Roman has "everything one could ever dream of", "I have friends too / even some who like me". All he needs is more creative freedom and the moustache is a subtle way to say that.

_______________

Aarzemnieki - Cake to Bake

This is the ultimate song for all Patton's fans, because it combines Patton's love for baking to Patton being an absolute disaster at it.

Also, it's an incredibly cute song.

I melted the ice of the polar caps Found the raiders of the lost ark Solved a case for the genius from Baker Street Helped to clean the Central Park I created the plan for the Chinese wall Went to desert, made it rain Swam through a shark tank bloodily Found Atlantis, by the way But today

The first verse is already awesome: Patton did a lot of great stuff, even impossible stuff ("solved a case for the genius from Baker Street" is a very nice reference to the Losing My Motivation episode).

But today, he has to face the most difficult task of them all:

I’ve got a cake to bake, and got no clue at all I’ve got a cake to bake, and haven’t done that before Don’t be proud, mate, please, don’t bother Go, come on and ask your mother How to bake, how to bake, bake that cake

Not only this makes me smile every time, but I can perfectly imagine Patton in a kitchen, with all the ingredients in front of him, everything ready and set... and he’s just absolutely lost. Should he use a spoon to stir the flour? And how can he open the vanilla beans? He doesn’t even know how to turn the stove on.

And so, he decides it’s time to ask someone else to help him. Bonus points if the mother is Janus. Also because he is a mom AND a witch, so

Also, this line:

Mix some dough, add some love, let it bake, wait for it

It's SO Patton, because the main ingredient of his recipes IS love! And cumin. And sometimes spit, depending on what he's making: pasta for Roman or some toasts for his angsty teen son.

_____________________________

Carl Espen - Silent Storm

At first, I thought this was a Logan song: someone who feels empty and alone, who has a storm inside but it's a silent storm, because Logan would never express his feelings in any way.

But there are these lines:

And there’s a silent storm inside me Looking for a home I hope that someone’s gonna find me And say that I belong I’ll wait forever and a lifetime To find I’m not alone There’s a silent storm inside me And someday I’ll be calm Someday I’ll be calm

And maybe it's just me, but this reminds me so much of Virgil. He has a storm inside, his own symbol is a storm. He's searching for a home, after leaving the dark sides. And he hopes someone will say he belongs - Thomas will say he belongs, that Virgil is part of him and of the famILY.

And he's willing to wait all the time, just to get that tiny bit of recognition and acceptance. And, who knows, maybe when he'll get it, the storm inside him will calm down and he will finally be at peace.

____________________

Tinkara Kovač - Round and Round

I don't know if I'm insane (or just extremely self indulgent), but this song is basically Janus during the wedding/callback saga.

Uncertain between worlds Circle after circle, we're trapped in time When you're already familiar with every storm You're playful, and yet you're alone

The first verse sets the time and situation. Thomas is living an uncertain life (just like every actor), trapped in the same cycle, with nothing new coming: same job, same opportunities, no big chances, nothing stable. He's "familiar with every storm", aka Virgil has been accepted. Thomas is happy, but he's alone. No one is actually on his side, not even the Sides themselves. He's not taking care of himself enough, he's too ready to drop everything for his friends, he's spreading himself too thin.

And now I'm gonna show you how to breathe I'm gonna show you how to live I'm gonna hold your heart in hand I'm gonna make you understand

This can be a declaration from Janus: he's tired of working in the shadows, he wants to step up and help Thomas in person. And these lines make me think of him, because of how "firm" (and kinda villain-y) they sound.

He wants to show Thomas how to live, aka what are the best decisions to make). He's going to "hold your heart in hand", aka to have Thomas wrapped around his fingers, to take control and steer him with a strong, confident grip, away from the decisions he considers bad, into making him a lot stronger than before.

And, finally, he wants to make him understand. So if the lines before sounded more like a villain’s plan, this last line adds something more. Janus wants to explain to Thomas why he's doing this, why his decisions are better, why Thomas should trust him.

If we think about it, this is everything Janus tried to do since CLBG: he wrapped Thomas (and the other Sides) around his fingers and made them play the courtroom scenario he built, he tried to steer Thomas away from the selfless decision of going to the wedding. And he tried to make him understand why, with the pinata metaphor.

You don't know you don't know Is it love is it hate What are we changing (What are we doing) You don't know you don't but Can you feel it inside Feel the roses Feel the pride (Can you believe it)

Thomas doesn't know a lot of things. Does he really know what love is? Or hate? Or what he's actually doing, by listening to his Morality? What is Janus doing?

[Deceit]: What am I doing here right now, Thomas? Am I the snake come to trick you into sinning, or have you had your mind made up since the moment you received the news about the callback? (SvS)

Thomas doesn't know a lot of things. But deep down, he knows what he wants to do. He should "feel the roses / feel the pride", both things associated with Roman. He is the one Thomas should listen to. And Janus is hinting it.

Is a moment just a circle Just a song you play on repeat? If we can't change how we're living Isn't life just a lie that we feed

Janus is expressing his frustration here: is Thomas' life doomed to always be the same, a cycle, a "song you play on repeat"? Can't he really change his life because of his selflessness? Will he really miss all the opportunities life offers him, in order to always be a good person?

What's the point of living, then? This wouldn't be life, but "a lie that we feed": instead of living his own life, Thomas would submit it to what others want/need, in order to always be present for them.

This is basically a huge warning from Janus: don't fall into this cycle, break free, I can make you free, listen to me and I will make you understand what is wrong about it.

19 notes · View notes

your-fave-transboy · 4 years ago

Text

My SVU Headcanons - N*FW

The other one was pretty well recieved, so this is the other self-indulgent half. Again, I don't own the characters lmao. Please heed the title, it is in fact n*fw. I don't wanna be banned lol.

Also most of these might be Olivia because I'm in love with everything about her lmaooo.

Starting of strong with Olivia again, my girl is a dom. A soft dom, but a dom nonetheless. She probably would have switched in the earlier seasons, but after Lewis she's adament about control.

Sonny is the king of body worship. He is a very sweet service top, but can be a lil more assertive if need be.

Rafael switches with a preference for bottoming.

Rafael also has a suit kink, I don't make the rules. He once saw Olivia in a suit and nearly busted right then and there. Same tho

When getting his first house with Kathy, they christened every single room before they were even furnished. Elliot has definitely read the Kama Sutra out of curiosity, and to his wife's benefit.

Alex is a power bottom no matter who she is sleeping with. She is a brat and likes being put in her place.

Casey switches between submission and dominance as she struggles with her Catholic upbringing. She cried the first time she had sex with Olivia.

Rollins' favorite place to be is between Olivia's thighs. Whether it's on her knees or with the older woman sitting on her face, he could spend hours eating her out.

Rafael is the KING of consent. We got safewords, verbal confirmation, the stop light system. My man is the poster child for Safe, Sane, and Consensual.

Olivia has pegged Rafael. Rollins has pegged Sonny. The men have compared, though both women are different.

Fin has a sex playlist that he has had since his teenage years. It's still burned onto a CD.

Olivia, Casey, and Alex have had a threesome. Olivia topped both of them beautifully and they still reminisce about it to this day.

Rollins, Sonny, and Rafael have also had a threesome. Sonny and Rollins argue over who fucked Rafael better.

Out of everyone who has gone down on Olivia, she swears Rollins was the best which makes her preen like a goddamn peacock.

Casey and Liz Donnelly have had sex numerous times, especially in Casey's office over her desk. Liz doms, but will take the strap from the younger woman. There are feelings but neither will ever talk about it.

Casey was the first person to call Olivia daddy and had a panic attack mid-fuck because of it, I'll die by this.

Olivia does not like being tied down or restrained in any form or fashion, but she has a pretty extensive knowledge of shibari.

Alex introduced her to shibari. Olivia prefers to use silk because it doesn't leave bruises or anything too damaging. Alex chose a dark blue because Liv said it looked nice against her skin.

Sonny has definitely worn panties at least once and Rollins is the only one who knows because she saw them. (they were neon yellow, god awful color)

Alex gets off being called Counselor in bed, so Olivia uses it to fluster her. So Alex obviously calls her daddy back.

The first time Olivia and Rafael had sex, she made a joke about choking him and this man was honest to god into it. (I mean same tho, I'd be down.)

On that same note, Rafael has a hands kink. He will watch Olivia's hands flex as she writes or Sonny's because he speaks with his hands like a damn stereotype.

Olivia's dream threesome is Alex and Rafael but they're both such needy brats that she literally would not be able to handle the brattiness.

Rollins has eaten Olivia out under her desk mid-meeting with Rafael who 100% knew what was going on becuase he knows exactly what Olivia looks like when she comes.

Olivia has fucked Rollins in an interrogation room afterhours. Rollins can't walk into one without remembering.

#law and order special victims unit #law and order svu #svu fandom #nbc svu #olivia benson #sonny carisi #dominick carisi #elliot stabler #Alexandra Cabot #casey novak #amanda rollins #odafin tutuola

33 notes · View notes

thethousandyearwitch · 4 years ago

Text

The Show Must Go On! Chap. 7

- A Youtuber AU you didn’t want and didn’t need -

Hisoka Morrow, italian Makeup Youtuber, enjoys his life in the comfort and occasional drama of his profession. But nothing brings more drama into his life than the eldest son of the Zoldyck fashion magazine empire.

Meanwhile, aspiring australian Twitch Streamer Gon Freecs forms a special bond to a Speedrunner commonly going by "Kil".

Chapter 7 “Montero” out now!

AO3 Link

What could be worse than taking care of a teenage boy who is developing a steady video game addiction?

There was a loud bang coming from the room above the kitchen, followed by laughter and cackling. The boys were in Gons room and tried their hardest to set up the sleeping cod. They refused help, naturally, convinced that they are just as capable, confidence heightened by being in each other’s presence, hyping each other up, and the consumption of their own body weight in burgers.

Another bang. A shriek. More laughter. Mito sighed so deeply that she feared a piece of her soul might have left her.

Taking care of TWO teenage boys who are developing a steady video game addiction.

Her phone vibrated with a new message. Gon had sent her a selfie of himself and Killua on the cot, which seemed to be standing securely. The boys were flexing their arm muscles (or lack thereof) with proud looks on their faces, and the only caption was “#success”. Well, at least they are having fun.

Bellissimo<3: Good morning. I am going to pick you up at 1pm, be dressed by then, and pack your bag for tonight’s show. We are going for a brief detour.

Hisoka stretched out on his bed and squinted at the too-bright phone screen. It was 10 in the morning, though the rooms curtains were drawn shut tightly as a defence against harsh sunlight. A lazy smile spread on his lips.

Hisoka: Are we finally running away together to get married in Las Vegas? I thought you’d never ask~~❤️

Bellisssimo<3: I am trying to reward you for not getting arrested last night.

Bellissimo<3: Do not make me regret this.

Hisoka: I should avoid getting arrested more often ❤️

Bellissimo<3: 1pm Hisoka. See you then.

Hisoka let his phone drop back into pillow-mountain. This was certainly an interesting surprise, and an opportunity that the make up artist wasn’t going to waste. Getting One-on-One time with the Zoldyck was something precious and rare to him. Because Illumi was a rarity himself. In a world of increasingly bland and repetitive personalities, especially in his field of work, Illumi presented a challenge of raw potential. Cold and calculated to the masses, an obedient dog to his family, a revolutionary in his work. Hisoka knew that he must be hiding so much more, and the more walls he encountered with the man, the more he wanted to tear them down with his bare hands. Hisoka hated calling whatever this was a ‘Crush’. Sure, he was affectionate towards the other man, and at this point he couldn’t deny the pleasant twist of his heart whenever they touched. But he didn’t yearn for lazy Sundays in bed together, didn’t want the peaceful domesticity that seemed to be inherited in being a ‘couple’.

What do I want?

Hisoka pulled himself out of bed, and made his way to the shower, determined to abandon this pesky train of thought. There was no point in pondering the unlikely. Though… Illumi had been indulging him. And he was going to indulge him again this day. Maybe he wasn’t the only one getting soft, even if neither would ever admit it. The thought brought another satisfied smirk to his lips as he massaged his favourite shampoo into his scalp.

He wondered how Illumis family would react, hypothetically, if they were to end up a couple. The eldest son of the Zoldycks, not just gay, but in a relationship with a makeup artist who is famous for starting drama whenever possible. They certainly would be a more feared and adored couple than if Illumi were to marry some busty heiress who hooks up with her tennis coach when he’s away.

Silva Zoldyck would drop dead right on the spot if Hisoka would ask him if he should call him dad, he was sure.

He stepped out of the steamy shower and mustered his refreshed face in the mirror. Maybe that’s all he wanted. To form something with Illumi that would be even more powerful than the Zoldyck empire, to make everyone else envy/fear/adore them. They had the capacity and the ability to do so, no doubt.

Or maybe he just wanted to have something he wasn’t supposed to have.

Hisoka shrugged to himself, before he went over his usual beauty routine. Today could prove very interesting.

12:45 pm, Hisoka leaned on his kitchen island, absentmindedly scrolled through social media to beat time. Illumi wasn’t going to be late, but he’s never been early either.

He decided to go with a casual look, fitted beige khakis, with an oxford blue button up, sleeves rolled up just above his elbows, debated with himself on how far unbuttoned would be appropriate-yet-slutty (Top 3 Buttons unbuttoned, was the conclusion). Under his eyes, rested on his cheekbones, he had painted his signature star and teardrop, eyebrows plucked to perfection, and after 10 tries he managed to get a satisfying cat eye done. It was perfectly normal to want to look like hell on wheels while meeting with your friend-partner-associate-crush-insertsatisfactoryterm.

The afternoons were always the worst time to check social media, the calm before the posting-storm that comes during the evening and night. Hisoka had already reached posts that were done last night, a few screenshots taken here and there for future reference and roasting purposes.

Almost fed up with endless scrolling, suddenly it appeared. Hisoka had followed a twitch streamer on twitter recently, some kid who was definitely going to screw up in some point of his career (they always do, when the fame gets to their heads), and didn’t want to miss that mess. “Foxbeargaming”, what the fuck is even a foxbear, he had thought.

He had seen the brat before, in his profile picture and clips of his streams. But that wasn’t the problem with the newly posted selfie.

The problem was that he also recognized the second brat in it. Remembered the way Illumi boasted about his talented little brother, the same wild hair and blue eyes as he showed him a picture of the kid. Killua Zoldyck is currently in the middle of nowhere Australia, and his family most likely doesn’t know about it.

Oh, this will be delicious.

Hisokas day had been upgraded from surprisingly interesting to extremely entertaining if everything were to go smoothly. Immediately revealing to Illumi before their date that his little brother is out in the desert trying to tame himself a boyfriend wouldn’t do either of them good. Let it simmer, let it fester, keep Illumi away from his phone the rest of the day.

Lost in his scheming, he just barely noticed that the clock hit 1pm. He grabbed his bag from the floor and stuffed his phone into his back pocket before he headed out the door.

Hisoka wasn’t sure what he expected, yet he was taken aback by the sight in front of him as he exited the apartment complex.

Illumi leaned leisurely against a black sports car, as if that were his only purpose in life. His sleek hair was tied into a neat ponytail, eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. Hisoka let his eyes take in every detail of him. Peridot green jeans, fashionably washed out, paired with a simple grey polo shirt, the collar popped open just enough to reveal more neck than usual.

“Are you waiting on an invitation?” Illumi didn’t sound as agitated as he probably intended, giving Hisoka only more reason to push his luck.

“I was thinking about whether I want to pounce on you now or later.” He approached the other man, who in turn straightened up his posture in defence. But instead of any hostile movements, Hisoka simply took Illumis hand, and bought it to his lips for a caste kiss. “But I’d rather not spoil our date this early.”

Illumi pulled his hand away, though maybe with a second’s hesitation. “Not happening, also not a date. Get in the car before I change my mind.”

The car was equipped with fabric seats, which Hisoka was grateful for in the Italian heat. “Maybe I should film one of those Vlogs today, what do you think of the title ‘Partner takes me away for secret date’?”

“What about ‘Multimillionaire kicked me out of a speeding car’?”

“Touché.” Now Hisoka was sure that his companion had to be in a good mood, despite what he’d claim, he’d never go along with his jokes if he were feeling neutral-to-pissed otherwise. He rolled his shoulders back into the seat comfortably, golden eyes fixated on the way that Illumis elegant pale hands wrapped around the steering wheel. “I didn’t know you can drive, considering you always have someone to do it for you.”

“I prefer it over flying, and I still consider myself a better driver than half of our staff.”

“I’m sure you’re great at handling stick shift as well.”

“Of co-“Illumi pressed his lips together in sudden annoyance, he most definitely had caught onto Hisokas smirk as he waited for an answer. “That is repulsive.” That prompted the makeup artist to break out into self-satisfied snickering.

“No clue what you’re talking about, Tesoro.” This earned him an eye roll, and silence as the car made its way through mostly empty streets. Hisokas eyes fell onto Illumis phone that rested on the console of the car. “Ah, I’m sure mister multimillionaire has Spotify Premium, right? Let me turn on some music.”

“Use your own phone.”

“I ran out of data volume. Are you that afraid I’ll discover your disastrous music taste?” His teasing smirk was met with another, more defeated eyeroll and a sigh.

“Don’t play anything trashy. The passcode is 0707.” After a questioning silence, he added “It’s Killuas birthday.”

Hisoka replied with an appreciative purr, before he started scrolling through the others music library. No personal playlists, not even a profile picture attached to his account. He was almost offended at the man’s lack of care for something as deeply personal as ones Spotify account, something that surely could tell a lot about a person. “Tchaikovsky? I’m not sure if I am impressed or utterly bored. Oh-“ His eyes stopped on a familiar album cover. “Maybe you’re not a lost cause after all, dear.”

A button press later, and the familiar opening sounds to Tame Impalas “Currents” played. The faintest trace of a smile curled on Illumis lips, barely noticeable, but Hisoka wanted to burn it into his mind anyway. Never mind that he took the brief distraction to turn the others phone onto silent mode. No unnecessary distractions.

It took the rest of the album until Illumi pulled the car into the exit towards the nature reserve near Lago di Bracciano, the last notes of “New Person, Same old Mistakes” dying together with the engine as they parked.

Hisoka stretched at the warm sunlight that caressed his skin when he exited the vehicle. Birds sang happily in the trees that lined the path around the large lake, and the only other person in sight was an elderly woman walking a small white dog. As the second car door shut close, he turned around with a pleased smile that showed off his shining teeth. “I never took you for the kind to take afternoon strolls.”

His friend-or-whatever set a relaxed pace onto the path and looked out onto the deep blue water. “I can’t sit around the hotel room the entire day, can I? And Rome is crawling with sweaty tourists and noisy journalists.”

“So you wanted to get some quality time outside?” Hisoka absentmindedly ran his tongue over his own sharp incisors.

“Correct.” Illumi didn’t seem to notice, or at least ignored, the predatory gesture.

“With me.”

He missed a beat before a simple, “It seemed appropriate.”.

This earned him an appreciative purr, before the men walked in silence along the large lake. Italy still wouldn’t reach its heights of temperatures this time of year, but any breeze was still a welcomed change from the rising humidity and sting of the sun. Hisoka wondered how much the others pale skin would change if he’d expose himself for a bit longer to the sun, if he’d immediately burn up in red, or if he’d start to tan, even just the faintest bit. He’d definitely look more alive, less like a puppet on invisible strings.

They continued to walk in a comfortable silence next to each other, took in the different sounds and sights of nature and the others presence, until eventually they reached the border of one of the shore towns. Beautiful stone buildings climbed the side of a smaller hill, only interrupted by greenery sprouting up between them. The main path was lined with flower shops, cafes, and Gelateria, whose smells mixed into a pleasant sweetness in the air. But one store in particular stood out. It wasn’t super flashy, it could have been found in any city and any street, but Hisoka knew this one from memory.

Without hesitation, he grabbed the others hand, effectively stopping him in his tracks.

“Excuse me-“ Before he could free his hand, Hisoka intertwined their fingers and pulled him closer.

“Let me treat you to something as well, I promise you won’t regret it,amore.” As his flaming eyes were met with a wrinkled nose, the sunshades Illumi were as not-telling as his eyes, he added “If you do regret it, I’ll gladly let you drown me right here.”

There was hesitation as the other mans wrist twitched against his hold. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

The absence of a struggle was still taken as accepting whatever had gotten him so excited, and thus Illumi was quickly pulled and seated outside the small café. Hisokas attitude had changed from a lazy yet scheming happiness, to pure, unfiltered excitement. It became almost impossible for him to sit still, he rapidly tapped his fingernails against the small glass table, until a waitress (in her mid-40s, he assumed) stepped out. She handed the men a small, leather bound menu, though both were immediately snatched by Hisoka and held back towards her.

“Non sarà necessario. Ordineremo la Cheesecake alla fragola. Grazie.”

“Certamente.” The woman replied with a smile, before she retreated into the shop.

“Cheesecake?” Illumi asked with a raised eyebrow, he had taken off his sunglasses by now and placed them on the table.

Hisoka tutted, “Not any Cheesecake, dear, it is the best Cheesecake you will ever have. I will have it at my wedding, funeral, and every occasion in between that.”

“I take it you’ve been here before.”

“When I had just moved to Rieti, I’d come here almost every weekend, though I unfortunately stopped when weekends became workdays as well.” He considered carefully how much more he was willing to share about that time of his life with the other, though the decision was taken off him as the waitress approached with two plates, each adorned with a generous slice of cheesecake, topped with strawberry slices and strawberry jam dripping off it.

His jaw clenched in anticipation as he watched Illumi take the first bite of the cake, reminiscent of all the rituals he’d do for him whenever he visited. It felt degrading to admit that he wanted to impress and gain the approval of the Zoldyck, but not degrading enough to stop the attention seeking behaviour.

A bite. Some careful chewing. Averted eyes because Hisoka was staringbut he did not care. He swallowed.

Illumi didn’t look at him as he spoke, seemingly engrossed in studying the décor of the shop. But his eyes betrayed him, Hisoka swore he saw something within the dark orbs glisten and flash to life. He didn’t know people could smile only with their eyes, but Illumi continued to be different in the most intoxicating way. “It’s… really good.”

Hisoka tried hard not to pick up his train of thought from the morning, tried not to think about what he wanted from Illumi or a relationship, and he especially tried not to think about the growing urge to leap across the table at that very moment to kiss him until their lips were sore. Instead, he started to eat his own cake, and failed to supress his sharpened smile.

They ate mostly in silence, safe for Hisokas muffled crazed snickering, and ordered espresso to chase down the thick cake.

“Hey, let’s play a game. What is wrong with that woman over there?” Hisoka pointed at a blonde who rested against a railing near the lake.

Illumi seemed to consider for a second whether he even wanted to play a weird game like that, before he stopped mid espresso-sip. “Ah. Those red heels are obviously spray-painted on.”

“Bingo~! It’s super obvious, right? You can still see the black shine through.”

“I’m more concerned about the uneven stitching on her shirt. Either she did that herself, or she has gotten scammed.”

Somehow that conversation triggered them to analyse the fashion choices of every stranger they encountered on their way back to the car with increasingly devilish tones. Illumi Zoldyck was a surprisingly good gossiper, and Hisoka filed that fact into the growing corner of his brain that he reserved just for him.

In the car, Illumi informed him they would just head to his hotel room to get dressed for the show, and then head there together. Any attempt at a joke about spending hotel-room-time wisely was, expectedly, cut off.

Illumi had never focused on the road this much in his entire life. He tried to be grateful that they had managed to get ready for the show in his hotel room without any major incidents, but now Hisoka was seated next to him again, wearing the suit he made for him. He looked good, annoyingly so. Naturally, Illumi wouldn’t grant him the satisfaction of telling him that though. He had indulged the man plenty enough for that day already and was holding back from chastising himself for it.

Last night had made him soft, Illumi decided. A brief waver of confidence and self-preservation that made him want to spend one-on-one time with Hisoka, in what may have resembled friendship to an outsider.

But his head was clearer now, cleansed from whatever foolishness had overcome him – the image of his mother recovering from a coughing fit and regaining her composure crept itself into his mind. Unrelated, he thought, though cleared his throat regardless.

“Machi says the crowd tonight is dreadful. Do you think she is just saying that to keep me from going~?” Hisoka tapped his long nails against the screen of his phone. Machi was a model they both have worked with in the past, though she was no where close to a breakthrough. A pretty face, objectively spoken, though smaller than most models, and the personality of royalty about to be executed. Do they always text each other?

“She’s there as well today?” He tried not to sound bitter. He didn’t have a reason to be bitter.

“Mhm, she’s modelling for a friend of hers it seems, though all the examples she sent me looked like someone with a priest-kink designed them, so it doesn’t hurt as much that she didn’t hire me as her artist.”

A moment of silence. “I see.” Illumi was not going to indulge Hisoka even more by inquiring about the nature of his relationship to the woman. It did not concern him; it wasn’t relevant to him or his work.

“Illumi?” Hisoka leaned over in his seat, golden eyes piercing into the side of his face.

“Yes, Hisoka?” Just now he noticed that he had been clenching his jaw uncomfortably.

“Are you jealous of Machi?” He didn’t need to look to know that Hisoka was smiling from one ear to the other, voice dripping with joy. He wasn’t going to look at Hisoka.

“You are insane. Why would I be jealous of her? I pity the girl, still having to work as a favour for acquaintances.”

Predatory eyes continued to drill into him, and a dangerous purr escaped the man, “Is that so?”.

“Yes, don’t be ridiculous.” They pulled into the valet line.

“Then you surely won’t mind that she’ll meet us in the entrance hall, wonderful!”

Illumi shouldn’t mind. It should be perfectly fine that instead of spending the evening alone with Hisoka, a good-looking young woman with an unclear relationship to him would meet them. He definitely couldn’t be jealous; it would be irrational and yet-

He threw the keys to the car at the valet and grabbed the number-marker without a word. His face wouldn’t give it away to others, that he was practically fuming, but Hisoka seemed to take pleasure in the subtle way that Illumis facial features tightened. “I heard jealousy can give you wrinkles~” Hisoka whispered cheekily as they approached the venue entrance, rows of reporters and interviewers lined at the sides, even more so than at the opening day before.

“You must have a lot of experience with that.” He hissed in reply and straightened his posture as they passed the crowd, mostly reporters who desperately tried to take pictures of attendees. Pictures, Interviews, all loathsome cries for attention that Illumi has always tried to avoid as much as possible without damaging the families reputation. He looked down the carpeted entrance and spotted the young woman known as Machi Komacine, clothed in a painfully tight black dress adorned with rosaries draped around her waist like belts, her messy pink hair pulled into a high ponytail. Her posture signalled boredom, but her eyes screamed murder.

Illumi was not a man who easily feared anyone, especially not a woman who stands at 5’2 proud; But he also was not necessarily thrilled to approach her. As he tried to hiss something in Hisokas direction again, something about not having much time to chat with their acquaintance due to meeting a client, he noticed: The other man had stayed behind, and was now busy posing for numerous cameras. Their eyes met, and with a mischievous grin, Hisoka held his hand out to beckon Illumi closer. For Pictures. Together.

Take pictures with Hisoka together in a public appearance that will most definitely set the gears of the rumour mill in motion; Or approach Machi alone and run the risk of uncomfortable conversation about our respective relationships to Hisoka?

He looked back at Machi, whose eyes met his instantly with a raised eyebrow. Fucking Hell-

Illumi made his way back to Hisoka, casually disregarded the hand that was held out to him and positioned himself as practiced – left arm leisurely to the side, right arm three quarters across his front. Not too strict, but not too relaxed either. In contrast, Hisoka had his left hand in the pocket of his suit, his right hand rested on Illumis shoulder as if were the most natural thing in the world. Journalists started to yell even more for their attention now, asking pesky questions that he tried to ignore, telling them to stand closer to each other, the likes. He kept the façade of his neutral face through the blinding flashes intact, even as Hisoka snaked his arms from his shoulder around his waist. “Do you wish for a public execution?”

“It looks better for the pictures~”

Illumi brushed a few strands of hairs behind his shoulder and used the motion to glance back to where Machi was waiting, her steady gaze on the two of them. “It’s rude to let her wait.”

“How considerate you are!” Hisoka snickered. “I know you aren’t jealous, caro, but I’d still like to reassure you of something.”

“And what’s that?”

“Machi and I look for, how should I say, very different things in a partner.” He tugged at Illumi waist and pulled him closer. “She’s looking for women and I am not.”

“Oh.” Illumi continued to look at the reporters cooing for their attention, as he tried not to think of the warm hand on his waist that felt searing hot and- Wait.

“OH.” He turned in Hisokas hold to properly look at him, who in turned grinned like the cat that ate the canary, then he looked back to Machi, and suddenly he felt stupid, which he didn’t experience a lot.

“Feeling relieved, even though you definitely weren’t jealous?”

“I think they got enough pictures.”

Illumi heard Hisokas snickering trail behind him as he made his way down the entrance. Machis eyes met his again, hands steady on her hips. Up closer now, he could observe the details of her dress, white seams stitched into crucifixes that crept up the sides, and the number “3” painted on every bead of the rosaries. It was cleanly executed, but Illumi was confident in the superiority of his own work.

“Miss Komacine.” He extended his hand to her, which she shook half-heartedly.

“Illumi. I’d like to get to business talk right away, so I don’t have to look at this clown longer than necessary.”

“Business talk?”

The young woman lit a cigarette for herself and shot a glare to Hisoka. “I assume you didn’t tell him I wanted to speak with him?” This granted her only a shrug and a smile from the man. “Fine, whatever. Illumi, I want to model for your next line, it would proof beneficial for both of us.”

“I don’t deal in women’s fashion. Furthermore, I do not see how I’d gain benefits from having you work for me.” Finally, a topic he felt comfortable to speak about, even it was only to criticize the woman for her awful attempt at business.

“I don’t mind wearing a suit, you should be at least competent enough to make smaller sizes, right?” She stepped closer to push a sharp index finger against his chest. “And about those benefits; Having me model for you would give me more exposure from a mainstream crowd, and thus exposure for my group. You would gain exposure to a wider audience of underground fashion-following, that isn’t influenced by your family’s name, meaning you could manifest a name for yourself. Unless you prefer being ‘a Zoldyck’ forever.”

The nerve. The audacity. Illumi considered just calling her a presumptuous cunt and leaving with his pride intact, but Machi looked like the kind of woman who knew how to slice car tires and break-wires.

A manicured hand curled around his shoulder, and Hisoka pushed himself between Machi and him. “What could be better than this; My two favourite people in this world, getting along, talking friendly business. Unfortunately, dear Machi, there’s some people inside that are dying to meet us tonight, so we’ll catch you later~”

Before he could object, Illumi was pushed through the entrance of the venue. The large runway was occupied by a high-end brand that premiered their women’s gala collection, mood-lighting engulfed the rest of the room, rhythmic beats of low music drowned out most of the talking crowd.

“Be a darling and just let her offer simmer a little. Machi can be very scary when she’s mad, and not in the way I enjoy.” Hisoka purred closer to his ear.

“Did you know she was going to ask?”

“What if I did?”

A waiter offered them drinks on a tray, and Illumi leisurely grabbed a glass of champagne.

“What does that even mean, ‘a Zoldyck’, as if it is something bad.”

“Don’t wreck your pretty head over it, you know how women are.” Hisoka laughed, and Illumi wasn’t sure how serious he meant that, considering that personally he had no idea how women are, and after newest revelations, neither did Hisoka.

But through the course of the night, Illumi couldn’t get it out of his head. He pretended not to notice how people approached Hisoka, addressed him by his name, first or full name, and talked with him about the content he has created, complimented on his most recent videos and looks. And he pretended not to notice how people approached him, addressed him only by his last name, and asked about the family business. “Mr. Zoldyck, are you going to write an article about this line?” “Mr. Zoldyck, about the next issue-“ “Mr. Zoldyck, tell my greetings to your father.”

No word about his own collection he had premiered. No one even uttered his first name.

He was ‘a Zoldyck’. Nothing more, nothing less.

“If looks could kill, we’d be ankle deep in a blood bath by now.” Hisoka snaked an arm around Illumis waist again and rested his hand on the tip of his hip. The designer took a long sip of the bitter champagne, casually slapped away the offending hand, and kept his dark eyes fixed on the crowd. “Still pouting because Machi was being a bully?”

“I am not pouting.”

“And you weren’t jealous either, got it~”

An eye roll, followed by “I have a headache, what’s the time anyway?” Illumi tried to reach for his phone in his pocket, though before he could grab it, Hisoka took hold of his wrist. They locked eyes, and even in the dim lighting of the venue, Illumi saw something wild glisten in those amber eyes. “Let’s leave, together, to my place.”

“Very subtle, Hisoka. I am not going to-”

“Indulge me, Tesoro, I want to show you something.” Determined to blame it on the repulsive atmosphere that had build itself up at the fashion show, Illumi let himself be swept away by Hisoka for the second time that day. The thought of getting away from noisy reporters and cockroaches of the industry who only knew him as the eldest Zoldyck.- former Heir to the empire, was pleasant enough, yet he also didn’t have to be alone and actively think about his reputation, name, and being a ‘lapdog’, technically a win-win situation.

The drive back to the apartment was oddly quiet, despite Hisokas prior excitement. The car tore through the dark night primarily in silence, only accented by the ‘The Velvet Underground’ album they agreed on after scrolling through Hisokas bizarre Spotify library. It definitely wasn’t the kind of music he was used to from the home he was raised in, didn’t fit between the classical music his mother used to play before her headaches made it impossible and the obscene noise music that Killua would play to trigger the same headaches.

“Could you check my messages for me?”

Hisoka hummed in response and grabbed the phone, manicured nails tapping on the screen, before dropping it unceremoniously back into the cup-holders. “Batteries dead.”

“That can’t be, I charged it before I went out this morning, the battery is supposed to hold for a minimum of 72 hours when idle.”

“Your dainty British batteries sometimes give out under Italian heat, invest in better engineering, and charge it at my place for now.”

“…This will better be worth the trouble.”

The streets of Rieti were expectantly empty, and Illumi parked the car right in front of the apartment (Was it a legal parking spot? Unlikely. But parking fines barely matter when seemingly half the world knows your families name.)

The stairs, the door, the entrance, Illumi knew all of these things about Hisokas apartment. “What is there to show me?”

“Patience. Come here~” Hisoka opened the doors to the balcony, white drapes gently tossed in the fresh breeze. The Zoldyck followed- with sceptical hesitation, but followed nonetheless.

He rested his hands on the railing, eyes turned sky-wards, a few strands of hair upset by the wind.

“If you took me here to just look at the stars, I’m not sure which one of us is the bigger fool.”

“Right, if we wanted to look at soon-to-be dead stars, we could have stayed at the show. But we’re not here for them. They are insignificant, always there to look at until one day they vanish and are forgotten. The real star of the show is over there.” He pointed a long nail at the night sky, and Illumi tried to follow where it pointed.

“The moon? Really?”

“Close, but also mundane and boring. Here- “Before Illumi could react, the strange man had placed their heads next to each other and started to correct Illumis position with a pointed yet gentle grip on his chin. “Look straight ahead.”

Just a little bit off to the left of the moon shone a star brighter than anything else, for a moment Illumi felt ridiculous for missing it.

“It’s Venus. Among all these long dead stars, she’s ever present, stands out the most, and is a rare sight to behold.”

“You took me away from the show to gaze at other planets?” Illumi turned towards the other man, suddenly all too aware of how close they were standing once again.

“I took you away from the show because no one there is capable of understanding your true potential. The way everyone there only sees you as an extension of your family is so infuriating, that it makes me want to ruin all their hopeless little dreams right in front their pitiful faces.” With a swift movement Hisoka had pinned the designer against the railing of the balcony. “You could crush all these people under your heel and make them beg for forgiveness. And there’s nothing I’d rather see than that.”

“I don’t need to make anyone beg, if I want something, I get it. It’s always been like that.” A cold thumb traced the line of his sharp chin, followed by a dark chuckle, and all of a sudden Illumi felt fatigued, all air leaving his lungs. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembers his mother recalling symptoms like that. It’s a sickness, nothing more nothing less.

“You get it because you’re a pretty show dog held on a short leash by your family.”

Fucking lapdog. The weight on his chest feels like it could crush his organs any second.

“I’m not asking you to bite the hand that feeds you. But I’d give everything to see what you could do if you were free of restraints.”

Feeling like he needed to hold onto anything, Illumi grabbed onto the back of the other man’s head, fingers buried in wild hair. “And why would you care so much? If you’re just trying to rile me up, there’s ways that don’t make me want to throw you off the balcony and watch your mangled body struggle for life.”

“It’s because you fascinate me, Illumi. You’re my Venus in a sea of dying stars. I want to observe you in all your glory as you outshine everyone else, in your full potential.”

“Who says I won’t crush you as well?” His fingers grasped harder on a few strands of hair. Everything in his body felt wrong, the way his skin was freezing all over, but searing hot wherever he made contact with the other man, the suffocating weight on his chest increased by the second, and in the back of his mind something about sickness echoes again.

They locked eyes, and just then Illumi noticed how close they truly were, Hisokas hot breath falling onto his lips.

And he should have pushed him away.

Should have slapped him, insulted him like the sorry maggot he was.

But he felt weak and sick and so cold, and Hisoka radiated pure heat.

Their lips met, softer than expected of either of them, and Illumi wondered if this is what it feels like to be saved from drowning.

A pleasant warmth seeped into his body, and his lungs felt weightless, like he could breathe for the first time in his life.

Hisoka kissed like each touch might be the last, and Illumi let himself be guided as he wanted, eventually wrapping his arms around the others neck, eager to steal as much of this intoxicating heat as possible.

The man kissed along his jawline, stopping just barely below his ear. “Stay here tonight, cuore mio.”

And Illumi placed a kiss to his temple, as gentle as a man who was never been taught gentleness with people could manage. “Let’s go inside.”

#hxh fanfic #hisoillu #killugon #hxh #hisoka marrow #illumi zoldyck #killua zoldyck #gon freecss #mito freecss #machi komachine #fanfic #fanfiction #I continue to have the worst update schedule known to man <3

7 notes · View notes