#like he can stay but i find him deeply boring and not driven enough to be our first introduction to the plot | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 4 years ago

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you’re someone i just want around: V

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

As I went about my business through the warning signs

End up meeting in the hallway every single time

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

— Only Angel, Harry Styles

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

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

word count: 34k

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

///

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

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

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

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

And much to his satisfaction, Harry gets just that.

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

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

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

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

The jacuzzi sex sits at the top of that list.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I changed my mind.”

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

“Idiot.”

“Try again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The mortal swallows heavily, nodding her head a tad.

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

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

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

“Y-Yes.”

“Do you want a repeat of that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shit, that’s so—so— fuck!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Say it.”

“I’m...I’m your filthy little slut.”

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N rolls her eyes at his juvenile answer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“‘What if’ what?”

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

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

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

“How do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

“Are you really not going, then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Harry—”

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

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

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

“Get up. Now.”

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

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

She obeys.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You like it, though, right?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

Harry drinks from Y/N that night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck off.”

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

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

“Karma’s a bitch, Winnie the Pooh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I won’t help next time.”

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

“You’re a literal child.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dickhead.”

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

“Go back to keeping your mouth shut.”

“Mm. S’what I thought.”

Harry keeps his sensual promise, as he always does.

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

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

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

“Arms behind your back.”

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

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

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

“‘Yes’ what?”

The human licks at her lips tentatively, squeaking a tad when gives the metal hoops an expectant tug, urging a reply. “Yes, sir.”

Harry’s lashes flutter shut for a second, the corners of his lips twitching in arrogant satisfaction. “You’ve got the filthiest tongue, but you know how to make it say the sweetest things, don’t you, baby?”

“Only for you.”

“No one else?”

“No one else.”

The vampire’s eyes open slowly, head tilting to the side to assess her with sly amusement. “You wanna know how I can tell that’s the truth?”

Y/N’s joints are starting to ache due to the position he’s fixed her in, but she doesn’t mind the burn. It feeds into the appeal. “H-How?”

Harry leans forward, brushing his wet lips up her jaw, the tip of his cock spreading her open just a smidge. “Because every time I fuck you, you’re always so bloody tight. Means I’m the only one stretching out that snug little cunt.”

A broken whine escapes Y/N’s sore throat— courtesy of what had occurred the night prior— and she squirms in the brunette’s grip, trying to shimmy her way further down his length. She’s anxious to feel him fill her. “Deeper.”

“Pardon?”

“Go deeper. Want it all.”

Harry raises an eyebrow in impressed curiosity. “You want it all in one go? Don’t want me to prep you first?”

She shakes her head stubbornly, pushing back against him and succeeding in sinking an inch or so. Harry’s entire face hardens as she clenches around the head of his prick, attempting to ride down further to sedate her desperate need. He twists his fist tighter around the chain, his other hand coming up to grip her throat, forearm pressed between her breasts as he gets a decent hold to prepare for what’s to come.

“If it gets to be too much,” Harry dabs a gentle kiss onto her cheek; it’s to communicate the importance of the message amidst the tense atmosphere, “you know to tell me, right?”

“Mmhm.”

“Alright. Ready?”

“Always.”

Y/N nearly passes out. Even though she’s grown accustomed to Harry’s size and girth, it somehow never fails to shock her into a state of unexpected rapture. He just fits so well inside her— hits every nook and crevice like he was meant to touch every single one. That, combined with his unrelinquishing thrusts and sinful dirty talk...It’s enough to render anyone helpless. It’s certainly enough to have her shaking and screaming against his chest, and it’s definitely more than enough to drive her towards an orgasm that she knows will blow out her legs for at least the rest of the day.

Harry fucks into her just how she’d requested— rough and vehement. He presses her bare back to his chest by using the hold he has around her throat, her head falling backwards onto his shoulder as he pounds into her belly from behind. His other hand is braided into the chain between the cuffs, controlling how her body seizes up and gives way. She’s standing on the tips of her toes, legs spread open as much as her weak knees will support, scraggly breaths stuttering from her nose and mouth as shattered noises of ecstasy decorate the space the fading steam has left behind. Her hips are ramming forward against the rim of the counter, the marble knocking against her pubic bone to the point where she knows bruises will develop later on. She doesn’t mind it; she loves seeing the memories Harry brands onto her, whether that be in the form of hickies across her thighs, fingerprints over her waist, or his rings fanned out across the swell of her ass. She’ll take anything he’s willing to give.

The vampire is dismantling just as quickly as she is, obvious in the fractured growls and soft grunts he’s puffing against the side of her face. His pink-polished nails dig into her jugular, fingers twitching as her heartbeat hammers against his palm, sending vibration down his whole nervous system. His cock is slicking into her easily and it’s obvious the anticipation of what he had said during their bath had gotten to her; he can feel how wet she is with every stroke. It’s dripping down her quivering thighs and smearing all over his tiger head tattoo, damp slaps resonating from where her backside hits against his tinted pelvis.

Harry stares down hazily at where he’s spreading her open, taking his bottom lip between his teeth as tiny mewls itch along the back of his raw throat, her own sounds playing across his ears with each buck of his thighs. They float through the heavy air like a lullaby and he can confidently say he’d listen to her moans forever, if time allowed.

“I think it’s funny,” Harry starts with a comedic edge to his strained voice, mimicking the introduction Y/N had used the day before when they’d been in the jacuzzi, “that you’re always so willing to let me use you however I want. That you literally beg me to take you this hard. It’s almost pitiful, really, that you never had anyone fuck you right before I came along.”

The girl squirms in his arms, her hands flat against his abdomen, nails carving into his flesh. Her sentences come out cracked and almost pained. “I-I wish I’d met you sooner.”

“Yeah, I bet you do.” Harry grits against the shell of her ear, smirking when she worries her lower lip beneath her top teeth, trying to keep a tab on what he knows is probably an embarrassingly loud keen. “I bet you wish you’d had me back home, huh? Spent all your time fucking around with those vanilla small-town boys, never had a real man treat you the way you wanted. Bet you didn’t even like those pricks, did you, darling?”

Y/N shakes her head vigorously in response. “They were so boring. You’re so much better.”

She’s working his praise kink like a charm.

“Poor thing.” Harry scoffs sympathetically, running his grasp upwards until his thumb and forefinger rope around her jaw. He maneuvers her head into place, forcing her to look at herself in the mirror, hissing his words lowly. “Eyes up. See how pretty you look taking every last bit of that cock? And the way your tummy’s bulging? That’s how you know the sex is good— that’s how it’s supposed to look.”

Y/N gazes upon the image her friend is referring, her exhales hiccuping in her chest at the way an obvious bump rises in her belly every time he thrusts inside. Not only that, but Harry just looks incredible, as well, with his heavily inked arm flushed between her breasts, the art flexing to life as he yanks her down against his lap by her neck. She can see the sweat beading his hairline, his freshly-washed ringlets jumping to his movements as he groans into her scalp.

Y/N’s lips part in a silent moan and the immortal takes this chance to shove his first two fingers into her mouth, weighing them against her tongue and instructing her with a clear, deep accent. “Suck.”

She does so obediently, her cheeks hollowing as she gasps around the digits, swiveling to match his tempo. Between her glistening body, the needy expression painted across her appearance as she conforms to his every demand, and the way her walls are clinging to him like a vice as she eagerly licks and suckles at him…

Harry loses it.

“Fucking hell.” The monster unclamps the hand he has around her jugular and Y/N drops back down onto her heels, ankles quaking now that she has to carry her own weight. His palm finds refuge along the back of her skull instead, proceeding to shove her head down towards the counter, pulling at the cuffs to finagle her into a folded position. “Bend over.”

Y/N does as told, a small, “mm!” plucking at her vocal chords as Harry pushes her cheek down against the cold marble situated between his two sinks. He pins her head to the surface and she casts her attention upwards to try and get a peek of him through the glass. His eyes look unnaturally dark, though she can’t quite place the shade given her limited view.

The vampire makes sure the chain link is secured around his knuckles, proceeding to use the toy to bounce Y/N against his cock. He yanks her towards his torso until she thunks wetly against his base, using his hips to push her forward harshly and pulling out until his tip is barely grazing her entrance. He repeats this action over and over, weak whimpers spilling shamelessly from his plump ruby lips as he keeps her face fastened down, maintaining some form of consistent stability. Every fiber of his being sparks with bliss as he watches her jerk against the counter, back caving forward and causing her naked chest to bulge against the stone panel. One of these days, she’s going to drive him mental. He swears it.

“There’s a good girl, minx.” Harry’s head tips backwards, bobbing back and forth as his sticky chest heaves with the exertion of keeping him tethered to reality. “Take it just like that, yeah? God, you should see the way you’re so snug around me. Love that cock, don’t you? Say it. Tell me you love it.”

Y/N’s fingers curl into loose fists against the dip of her spine, nails digging into her palms. “I love your cock, Harry. I love it so much. Don’t stop, please don’t fucking— oh!” He prods over her g-spot and she shudders below him. “Shit, keep going! Right there, right there, right there— oh my God!”

“Right here? Is that what’s gonna make my dirty little whore cum?” Harry grinds his teeth, ignoring the rouge curls falling into his furrowed brows, jabbing the spongy area with continuous plunges. “More? Look at how you’re shaking, baby. And you’re just so fucking wet. Absolutely soaked and... and fuck, that’s my sweet girl.”

The boy keeps delivering every plea she chokes out, his climax beginning to froth at the trench of his stomach and along the underside of his balls. A familiar glow starts to pour into his dormant veins. “I’m almost there, dove. Gonna fill you up until it runs down your thighs.”

“Y-You’re so good, I can’t fucking— I’m gonna—”

“Beg for it. Beg for Daddy, princess.”

Y/N does so with no remorse, confessing to him how much she wants his load, telling him that she needs to feel him spill inside her all warm and thick and heavy. A dark, open-mouthed smirk adorns Harry’s features as he fucks a throbbing ache between her thighs, feeling his mind completely slip. He may be damned with eternal life, but in this instant, the immortal feels like he touches heaven.

Then, that moment of pure euphoria is stripped away by the sound of his front door clicking open.

Harry’s eyes snap awake, all his motions coming to an abrupt halt. He shushes a protesting Y/N quietly, tuning his heightened hearing to make sure he hadn’t imagined the sound.

But no, it’s very much real. It’s followed by the noise of the lock clanking back into its hole, and then three pairs of footsteps begin echoing down the hallway that leads to his living room. He recognizes every single one and unhinged rage suddenly flares around his pupils, potent and bright red. If Y/N wasn’t in such a compromisable position, he wouldn’t have gotten away with that slip-up.

“Christ, you’ve got to be fucking shitting me.”

Harry carefully withdraws himself from between the mortal’s legs, wincing a bit at the loss of suction and feeling a spoonful of guilt stem from the disappointed whine Y/N sobs. His swollen, leaking cock sways lightly as he takes a cautious step back, testing to see if he’s capable of moving without face-planting the ground. His mind is misty and he’s obviously drenched in the pungent scent of sex, but other than that, he reckons he can manage just fine. Especially with the newfound anger coursing through his nerves— a direct result of the unexpected trio of intruders chatting nonchalantly on the floor below.

Harry stumbles towards the exit of the bathroom, knees wobbly and head spinning, an unsatisfied gnawing toiling in his groin. He needs to get that taken care of as soon as possible, but he can’t until he gets rid of the three morons milling around his foyer. He snatches his cherry blossom silk robe from the hook on the wall, wrapping it around himself tightly and making sure to cover all his assets to prevent any mishaps.

He glances up at a pouting Y/N as he ties off the ribbon around his waist, walking back and helping her onto her unstable feet, cooing apologetically. “Just give me a minute, sweetheart. I heard some visitors come in downstairs ‘cause, apparently, they don’t understand the concept of privacy. This is the last time I’m trusting anyone with an extra key.”

The girl leans back against one of the sinks, blinking up at him emptily as he thumbs over her chin in comfort. Her voice is hardly audible, raw with exhaustion. “How...How did you know they were here? I didn’t hear them come in...”

Harry pauses for a moment, clearing his throat awkwardly and pecking her on the nose to insert a distraction. He throws some humor into the mix as well, wanting to steer the conversation to safe grounds, opting for using a bit of compulsion to get the job done. His pupils dilate as his sentences swim around her head in a soothing voice, heavy with persuasion. “I heard the door slam shut. I guess you were a little too busy screaming my name to notice.”

Y/N’s pupils expand to match his, her face going slack as the supernatural magic sews into her thoughts and molds her perspective to his story. Her lashes flutter in mild confusion, brows cinching as her brain recalibrates itself. The creases in her forehead dissolve as all of her doubt melts away, the corners of her plump lips quirking at his snarky remark. “I guess so.”

“Can’t blame you, though.” Harry taps at her bottom lip cheekily, shrugging his brows. “I was giving it to you pretty good.”

“Stop being such an arrogant little shit.” Y/N rolls her foggy eyes, but she can’t hide the way her heartbeat spikes— not from him. Then, her face suddenly wracks with embarrassment, eyes shattering with humiliated realization. “Oh my God, that means they probably heard everything…”

Oh, they definitely heard everything, Harry thinks. They’ve got nothing better to do other than pry.

He nurses her downcast face with his cold palm, one shoulder rising and falling casually to show it’s no big deal. “Don’t worry about it, hm? I’m gonna go kick them out, anyways, so you won’t have to deal with it.”

The pet name and his kind gesture eases her woes a bit, but not much. “Still. I’m never showing my face in public ever again.”

Now it’s the vampire’s turn to roll his eyes at her theatrics. “Just stay here, yeah? It’ll only take a second, and then…” Her friend gives her naked body a suggestive once-over, licking at the corner of his mouth. “Then we can finish what we started.”

Y/N kicks at his ankle, jokingly chastising him for his wandering gaze as she fiddles with her fingers within the handcuffs. “Just go.”

The moment Harry’s bare feet step off the last rung of his staircase, he begins spewing venom at the three imbeciles standing around at the mouth of his entrance corridor.

“Are you fucking dense?” He stomps up towards the group of young men with balled fists and bristling irises, all his spite trained on Mitch. “I told you I was busy! That suggests that you should’ve stayed away for the weekend! It meant, ‘leave me alone,’ not ‘come to my flat unannounced.’”

“Yeah, we know you’re busy.” Niall boasts with a loud scoff, shaking his head as an afterthought. “I think the whole building knows, at this point.”

The Irish bloke grabs Xander, who catches onto what the man is doing and happily takes a part in the action. He bends over while Niall grasps onto his shoulders and begins to mimic thrusting, arching his back forward and shaking his ass. He sucks one of his fingers into his mouth, moaning profusely to add authenticity to their vulgar reenactment. “Oh, Harry! Right there, don’t stop!”

Niall drops his voice a few octaves for symbolism, putting on a shitty British accent as he bucks against Xander’s backside. “Yeah, baby, you like that? Like it right there? Tell me how much you love that cock.”

Harry’s jaw clenches as he tries to ignore them, refusing to give rise to their taunting. The two boys break into a puddle of giggles at his expense, nudging each other triumphantly and eventually dying down. Harry isn’t normally the type of person to daydream about violence— why would anyone partake in something so barbaric when dismantling an enemy psychologically is so much better?— but he finds himself fantasizing about tearing Niall and Xander’s hands off and using them as ping-pong paddles.

Mitch shifts his body towards his best friend, arms crossed loosely with an expression of sheer amusement painted across his bearded face, seeming undisturbed by Harry’s rampage and deadly grimace. “It’s nice to see you, too, H.”

The younger vampire takes a measured inhale, swallowing down the urge to rip the older man’s mustache clean off. He directs his next sentence at all of them, glaring intently as his voice comes out flat and harsh. “Get out.”

Niall raises his palms in peaceful surrender, proceeding to use an index finger to signal hastily between his impromptu porno co-star and himself. “Don’t look at us, this was Mitch's idea. We just came along.”

“None of you should have come at all.” Harry spits, tightening his lean arms over his chest, biceps rippling under the thin silk of his elegant robe. “What do you want?”

A soft giggle suddenly bursts from Xander and he momentarily slaps his hand over his mouth to muddle it, but his eyes continue to dance with mirth. “Sorry, I just can’t take you seriously in that.” He juts his chin towards Harry’s pajamas. “I think my grandmother had one just like it.”

“Yeah, I stole this from her place right after I pissed on her grave.” The brunette snaps with an exaggerated smile, feeling a flare of evil satisfaction at the way Xander’s grin immediately plops. Niall snorts loudly and tries to cover it up, but it fails and he is left having to brace the brunt of the other boy’s contempt.

Harry turns back to face Mitch while the other two immortals bicker, now aware that he is the mastermind behind this entire coup. “What are you even doing here? Shouldn’t you have left for Vegas already?”

“Yeah, we should have.” He answers pointedly with a soft, dejected sigh. Harry has to keep himself from casting his gaze away in guilt.

The annual trip had been a tradition he and Mitch had started in the nineties, just them two. As their group had expanded, so had the attendant list, and now it was something special their whole clique did together to put some extra excitement— something stable to look forward to— into the endless years they had ahead. No one had missed out on the trip in the last thirty years, especially not willingly, and no one ever thought Harry— the co-founder of the event— would be the one to break that streak. He can tell Mitch is upset.

“I’m sorry.” Harry mumbles, squeezing at the inside of his elbows and putting as much genuine emotion into his demeanor as possible. “It just slipped my mind and I made another commitment that I can’t bail on. But it won’t happen again, I promise. Betsy swear.”

Mitch’s downturned lips jolt slightly at the mention of his old bayonet. He had kept the weapon after the American Revolution had ended, as a tribute to the old life he was leaving behind after he transitioned, naming it fondly after his mother. With all of that history taken into appeal, it’s no wonder the item means a lot to him. That is exactly why the two best friends had developed a dynamic around it.

They would tie an oath to the object in order to ensure it would be kept, and if the promise was broken, the other would get to stab the traitor with it. The game had been something Mitch and Harry had conjured up decades ago while under the influence of some very strong psychedelics, but it had stuck, for some reason. It’s simply a playful inside joke, and though it’s a tad gruesome, it’s hardly an issue considering they both self-heal quickly. Any damage inflicted is equivalent to that of a rubber band snapping against their skin, so in the end, no harm, no foul. At its core, it’s just a vampire’s version of a pinky swear, hence the term, “Betsy swear.” Harry had thought about getting it patented, at one point.

The jade-eyed boy feels a weight lift off his shoulders as Mitch indulges one of his signature quiet chuckles. “Alright, fine. Betsy swear, then. The reason we’re here is ‘cause I wanted to check up on you before we left, and ‘cause I wanted to make sure you switched the reservation. You never got back to me about it.”

“Oh, my bad. I got it done, though. Everything should check out.” Harry reassures, waving away his visitor’s doubt. He’d tended to the job last night after Y/N fell asleep and he meant to send a confirmation text, but forgot when the mortal had begun to stir randomly. He’d had to put away his phone and pretend to be unconscious for a few minutes until her agitation melted away, resulting in the deed going undone, courtesy of the mild panic that had dulled his memory. “Why didn’t you just text me about it?”

Mitch gives him a deadpan look, pursing his lips to fight off an entertained grin. “Oh, I did. Multiple times, actually. But I reckon you were too busy with the treadmill to notice.”

The older creature’s reference works as intended, an irritating flush crawling up Harry’s neck and pouring into his ears, garnering a fit of cackles on his companion’s behalf.

“Fuck off.” Harry grumbles as he shoves Mitch’s shoulder, but the insult is hard to take seriously when he’s wrestling a smirk of his own.

“Is it the girl from the club?” The lanky man inquires curiously, tilting his head to the side with an impressed air. “It’s been, what, four weeks now? That’s a record, I think. You’ve never kept one around that long.”

“What can I say, the sex is good.” Harry shrugs easily, tucking a couple of rebellious curls away from his eyes, which gleam crimson red as a supporting factor to his next comment. “And the blood is even better.”

Mitch rolls his irises playfully. “Alright, Casanova, pipe down.” He glances over his friend’s rumpled appearance, taking in the slightly damp skin, wild hair, and the plethora of faded hickies peeking through the boy’s robe, littering his chest and collarbones. “She’s got you on a tight leash, I see.”

“It’s only fair, considering she spends most of that time in my handcuffs. Quid pro quo and all that.” Harry quips back, bursting into laughter when Mitch gags dramatically.

“You know you could’ve just brought her along, right?” Mitch suggests, tucking his hands into his pockets. “We each have our own rooms, remember? No one would get in the way of your little late night jogs. Though I can’t say the same for the other hotel guests. She’s not necessarily subtle.”

Harry presses his tongue along the inside of his cheek coyly. “It’s not my fault I’m good in bed. It’s a curse, really. Could never get away with dressing room sex.”

He contemplates Mitch's offer for a second. He thinks it could be a fun time, but then he recalls that the trip to Vegas is a week-long party, which Y/N can’t indulge because she works a regular nine-to-five. Plus, a human in a car full of vampires sounds like the introduction to an ominous joke. Something is bound to slip, especially because no one in the crew is used to having humans around outside of meal hours. He doesn’t want the responsibility of constantly having to wipe her brain.

Aside from that, most of the vampires that mill around Vegas aren’t as cultured as Harry’s friends. They lack restraint, a conscience, and fear of consequences, given that the city’s crazy reputation provides the perfect cover for all those dangerous behaviors. That makes them deadly predators to someone as trusting and unsuspecting as Y/N, and having to continuously protect her would be too much of a hassle. It’s supposed to be a vacation; the last thing he needs is for it to turn into an episode of Shark Week. It’s best to stay put.

Harry shakes his head after a minute, clearing his throat. “But I think I’m good. Bringing along a human isn’t worth all the trouble she might cause. Thank you, though.”

Mitch bobs his head in understanding, well aware of the problems Harry is alluding to. “You have a point.” He pauses for a second in thought, shaking his head at the idea of having to deal with the insanity that surrounds their Vegas siblings. “I guess I’ll just see you next week, then, yeah? Better get going.”

The younger vampire mirrors his nod, opening his arms for a hug, which Mitch gladly takes. He’s not one for affection, that much is clear, but he makes certain exceptions here and there, and of course his friends file under that category. And every now and then, Y/N does too.

“See you next week.” He pulls away from the embrace with a hard pat to Mitch’s shoulder, smiling softly. “Send tons of pictures, okay? And videos of Niall getting shitfaced. I need new blackmail content.”

“Will do.” Mitch squeezes his best friend’s shoulders tightly, beaming at him in return. He then cranes towards his two fellow guests, whistling to gain their attention from the passionate conversation they seem to be having about Harry’s robe. “Time to head out, Bonnie and Clyde.”

“Who’s who?” Niall questions childishly, raising an eyebrow. “Because I think I should be Clyde. Xander has Bonnie vibes.”

“No I don’t!”

“Yes, you do.” The Irish boy reasons, cocking his head knowingly. “You seem like the type who would cheat on a murderer with another criminal from the same jail. You’ve got a knack for drama, like most women.”

Xander crosses his arms stubbornly. “No, I don’t.”

“You do, actually.” Harry butts in, eyes twinkling slyly as the group starts to wander towards the exit. He decides to get revenge for the teasing from earlier. “You moan just like one, too.”

Xander blushes bright red, diving into the shadow of the corridor to avoid any more ridicule. “I’m leaving.”

“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out!”

The other vampires laugh as they follow behind Harry’s ex-fling, waving their final goodbyes. As soon as the front door echoes shut, the immortal turns on his heel and heads back towards the glass stairs, beginning to undo the silk ribbon knotted around his hips.

He’s got his own partner in crime to attend to.

///

That night, Y/N and Harry end up bidding each other farewell in the corridor of his condo.

That seems to be a common theme in their relationship, he’s come to find. It’s usually the entrance to her own apartment instead of his, but the motif is there, nonetheless: They always end up meeting in a hallway, every single time.

“Thanks for having me over.” Y/N murmurs in her signature gentle dialect, smiling delicately as she skids the toe of her sneaker against the ground of the carpet outside his door, trying to keep the butterflies in her tummy tame. It was an incredible two days— maybe the best weekend she’s ever had, if she’s being honest. “I had a lot of fun.”

Harry leans his bare shoulder against his threshold, clad in nothing but a pair of royal blue boxers and black ankle socks, freely showing off the collection of love bites and scratches Y/N had so kindly finished gifting him a few hours ago. She’d gone wild the second he’d unlocked the metal cuffs and he’s more than happy with the results.

The stains speckle his broad chest and the expanse of his taut neck, dark and obvious beneath the complex’s buttery lighting. Bruises trace down his stomach and across his ribs, a neat row of four hickies centered vertically between his two fern inkings. They disappear suggestively under the elastic band of his underwear and she can feel flashes of heat layer across her cheeks, her mind recalling all the filthy sounds he’d made when she had created them.

The human peels away from the artwork that is Harry’s marked torso, glancing around nervously at the fact that some stranger might see the fruit of their actions. The vampire’s lips twitch at her concern; it baffles him how she can be such a devil in between the sheets, but such a shy, reserved angel in every other aspect. It’s cute.

Harry reaches forward and takes her warm fingers into his larger hand, thumbing over her knuckles appreciatively as his irises glitter smugly amidst his lashes, a smirk stringing his pillowy mouth. “We always have a lot of fun.”

Y/N squeezes his palm playfully, gnawing into her cheek and humming in agreement. “That, we do.”

A moment of comfortable silence suspends the air between them, the only sound being the faint footsteps of people on the levels above and below, alongside the light skidding of the elevator as it delivers patrons to their destinations. Harry is the first to speak up again.

“What was your favorite part?”

Y/N blinks up at him blankly, slightly startled at the random question, but moreso at being put on the spot.

“Oh, uh…” She laughs shakily, struggling to recall everything that had happened in the last forty-eight hours. There had been so much bare skin and desperate tongues involved, she can hardly pick through her memories without her ears prickling. “I think...I think the shower was my favorite. It was nice and relaxing. Helped me unwind.”

Harry nods in recognition, turning through the pages in his mind and skimming through the instance she’s referring. “It was pretty nice, yeah. You look good in a soap beard.”

Y/N scoffs at his joking compliment. “Thanks. I’ll grow it out more often. Just for you.”

The young man reaches up and grips over his chest in fake passion, face contorted into a wistful expression. “That’s all I ask.”

The pair break into childish giggles and the sensation of Harry rubbing across the top of her hand is starting to make her head fuzzy. “What about yours? What was your favorite?”

Harry mulls over his own topic for a few seconds, lips puckering in thought as his eyes narrow pensively. The comically adorable picture makes Y/N’s heart skip.

“I think…” Harry lists his gaze downwards back onto his patiently-awaiting friend, lips spreading into his patented dazzling smile. “I think it was probably the Hamilton reenactment.”

Y/N brows jump, mood slightly unconvinced. “Really?”

The vampire nods confidently, his own eyebrows inching upwards, voice amused. “Why is that so hard to believe?”

Y/N shrugs offhandedly, glimpsing down at where the ridges of his thumb are delivering soothing shots of bliss into her veins. “You’re just so...y’know...you… so I guess I just expected you’d have a preference for the more…” She chooses her next words carefully, not wanting to be so brazen with the risk of someone overhearing, “...intimate parts of the weekend.”

“Wow, okay. Just call me a whore to my face, then. That’s fine.”

Y/N throws her free hand upwards in a fist, slugging Harry on the shoulder with appalled shock overtaking her features. His boyish chuckles echo off the walls of the building as she whips her head around to make sure no one had witnessed his dirty bluntness. “You know what I mean!”

“Yeah.” He purposefully raises his voice, nearly shouting the following sentence just to get on her nerves. “You’re slut-shaming me!”

Y/N surges forward, trying to clamp her hand over his mouth and save herself the embarrassment. “Harry, shut up!”

He easily fights her off, his supernatural strength beating hers tenfold. She ends up wrapped in his embrace, flushed against his hard chest as he sticks his tongue out at her mockingly. He drops his tone back down to normal, his two front teeth digging into his lower lip to keep more laughter from bubbling over. “That’s not nice. You should stop conforming to society’s outdated ‘sex is taboo’ narrative.”

“I wasn’t—” Y/N starts insistently, but then she realizes she’s become almost as loud as him so she forces her voice to taper into an alarmed hiss instead. “I wasn’t slut-shaming you! I was simply expressing—”

“You just see me as a toy, don’t you?” The creature cuts her off, lips dipping downwards into a glorified frown. He proceeds to bat his lashes and sniffle, packing as many theatrics as possible into his mopey act. “I have feelings, y’know? My big dick and cunnilingus skills aren’t my only redeeming qualities! You should be ashamed of yourself for objectifying me like that.”

Y/N presses her lips together to ward off an immature grin, rattling her head to get herself under control. She gives him a stern look, warning him to cut it out. “Stop being a child.”

“Stop using me for sex and making derogatory assumptions about my promiscuity.”

“Oh, hop of it! You use me right back. It’s mutual.”

“Which is why the slut-shaming is such a paradox.”

“For fuck’s sake, I wasn’t fucking— You know what? You can’t even pin me on the objectification part because you do it to me all the time!”

“Oh, is that so?” Harry prods with a humorous tilt of his head, squeezing at her love handles and swimming in the way she wriggles around. “Elaborate.”

“When you slapped my ass in the shower. Or when you put your hand under my shirt to play with my chest while we watch TV.” Y/N debates, poking at the thorax of his butterfly tattoo. “Very objectifying, if you ask me.”

“Mm, not quite, darling.” The vampire shakes his head and draws her closer, ducking down to flirt the tip of his nose along the slope of hers. “There’s a difference.”

“Oh, yeah?” She digs her nails into his pectorals, discreetly savoring the strong muscles. “What is it?”

Harry glimpses down at where she’s carving indents into his flesh, enjoying the minute pain more than he should. He drifts his mouth closer towards her ear, inhaling the scent of his shampoo wafting from her silky strands of hair. “The difference is that you’re usually begging me to do all those things.”

Y/N’s teeth grind in begrudging defeat, her spine giving a surrendered shiver at his crude point. “Whatever.”

Harry releases her body, haughty victory written all over his posture. “I rest my case.”

Y/N’s pride blazes, a threat falling from her tongue sharply, but it holds no true intentions. “Maybe I should just stop asking you to, then.”

“You won’t.” The boy sighs airily, tapping his bare foot against the ground without a care in the world. “You like me too much.”

“Even if I like you, I’d have enough dignity to stop seeing you if I wanted.” Y/N huffs, making a face at him to emphasize her stance. “It’s this little thing called ‘willpower.’”

“Yeah, well, we both know you and your willpower are gonna end up texting my number Friday night, asking me to come over for some more interior design advice.” Harry snarkily dismisses, presenting a scenario where he’s holding an invisible phone in his hands, pretending to tap out a message. His voice comes out high-pitched, mimicking her own. “Hey, one of the rungs on my headboard came loose. Can you come help me fix it?”

Y/N stares at him with eyes half-lidded in pettiness. “I don’t sound like that.”

“You’re right. You’re a tad more nasally.”

“Asshole.”

“I’m just calling it like I see it, love.”

Y/N socks him on the shoulder again as retribution, though it barely has an impact.

After a couple heartbeats full of vengeful silence, Y/N chimes up with a jesting tone, though the manner in which she’s picking at her nails tells Harry she’s slightly anxious. “Hypothetically speaking, if I were to send out a text inviting you to come over Friday...would you?”

A lopsided simper pops the immortal’s dimples awake. He shifts on his feet, crossing his ankles nonchalantly. “Hypothetically speaking, I think I could very well make it.”

Y/N chews on her lower lip as the apples of her cheeks jolt. “Ok, well...Let’s say— once again, hypothetically— that I should be home by eight that day. Would that work for you?”

Harry cocks his head from side to side as if churning the offer around his mind. “I think that, hypothetically, that fits right into my schedule.”

The human’s belly flops in giddy excitement. “Great. It’s booked, then. Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

“Of course.” Harry agrees, the reply accompanied by a teasing furrow of his sculpted brows and a curt nod.

Y/N clasps her hands in front of her thighs with finality, giving him a bright smile. “Alright, then. I’ll see you next week.”

“Next week.” Harry confirms with a cheeky wink, running his tongue along his top teeth to keep from bursting into giggles. “Hypothetically.”

“Hypothetically.” Y/N states with a slight bow of her head, tucking one hand into the back pocket of her dark jeans as she takes a step back from the front door with a small wave. She turns on her heel to face the elevator at the other end of the hall, her foot lifting to take the first step towards the exit.

“Wait.”

The mortal looks back towards her friend, eyebrows poised in question.

Harry scratches at the nape of his neck, smiling softly. “I could really go for a goodbye kiss. Not-so-hypothetically.”

Y/N blinks at him in wonder. He’s never asked for one before.

The awkward aura that quickly fills the space between them becomes suffocating. He considers the option of telling her he was just joking to spare himself the humiliation, but he doesn’t get the chance. Y/N lurches forward, teetering onto the tips of her toes and buttoning her lips to his. The spontaneous action makes him swallow his words.

He fumbles to cup her jaw, kissing her back with just as much fervor and feeling the coldness of his skin fizzle away under her inherent warmth. The gesture isn’t sexual or desperate, but simply sweet and fulfilling. He enjoys it, though it’s not surprising given that he enjoys her lips touching him in any and every way imaginable. He’s not exactly sure why he’d made this particular request— it’s very out of character for him, in every sense of the phrase— but he deduces it’s likely because he wants one more thing to cling onto until he gets to feel her mouth again. It’s not uncommon to want a little something extra to get through the tougher nights, so it’s truly not that big of an occurrence. It’s only reasonable.

Y/N breaks their exchange, eyes glassy and so beautifully clear as she pecks his chin one last time in a polite farewell. “Text me if you need me...And especially if you need me.”

Harry gulps thickly at the suggestive statement, nodding numbly as her body heat slips away. “Will do. Thanks. And thanks for the kiss. Needed it to tide me over until Friday.”

“My pleasure. See you later, Holmes.”

Harry waits patiently until Y/N’s figure disappears behind the gilded doors of the fancy elevator, watching the closed slates of metal glint coldly under the blurry lighting of the condominium’s corridor. He walks back into his apartment, shutting the door gently and slouching into the plush cushions of his leather sofa with a detached sigh. He gazes up at his extravagant chandeliers, once again left in the empty solitude he’d grown so fond of in his extensive lifetime. There’s not a single sound or motion invading his seclusion, not a hair out of place or a wrinkle in his rug, and everything is so still and quiet, it’s almost deafening. But despite every aspect being as it should, he can’t shake the sensation that something is off. Something is wrong. Something’s missing.

And for the first time in years, he finds himself feeling more lonely than alone.

///

It only takes Harry about an hour of uneventful isolation to realize he’s made a grave mistake.

He should have gone on the trip.

Despite the fact that the vampire lives alone, he very rarely spends any time without seeing his friends. Since they all reside in the same building, it’s fairly easy for him to find some entertainment whenever boredom strikes. He’ll either go up a floor to Mitch’s place to watch a movie or mess around with his collection of vintage guitars, or he’ll go a level below to visit Adam and talk about any new art exhibits opening up around the area. He could visit Niall three floors above to play some FIFA on his gaming console and share porn recommendations, or even take the elevator to the twelfth floor to bother Xander and talk some shit while they do each other’s nails. And if Harry’s feeling extra needy for attention, he could always just invite them all over to his place so the group could go out for some Thai food at the restaurant down the street, or go see a movie at the cinema, or take a ride to their favorite local bar.

No matter the circumstances, his friends are always readily available for him when he needs them, so he very solemnly spends his days alone. That is, until now.

The entire crew had left for the Vegas trip and— as a result of his own irresponsibility and immature hormones— had left him all by himself for the next seven days. He would never admit it aloud to spare himself the ridicule of being overly sappy, but he misses the group. He misses Mitch’s soft voice and quiet wittiness, and he misses Adam’s cheeky banter and random fun facts, and he misses Niall’s inappropriate jokes and boisterous laughter, and he even misses Xander’s annoying digs and childish pettiness. He didn’t know how much he took it all for granted until it was gone.

For the rest of the week, Harry is practically miserable. The guys don’t text him much, which can be expected since the whole point of the holiday is to enjoy every second of it; there would be no point in traveling four hours just to sit in their hotel and message him. He talks to Y/N a bit, but she is also occupied most of the time with work, given that she had to take on a few extra shifts on behalf of her co-workers. The earliest she goes in is six A.M., the latest she comes out is nine P.M., and by then, Harry reckons she’s probably falling asleep in the entrance corridor of her home. He understands her exhaustion and therefore doesn’t expect her to humor him; it wouldn’t be fair.

With everyone in his life busy and with his flat feeling colder and emptier than ever, it’s a miracle he doesn’t go mad within its walls. He goes out a handful of times to do some grocery shopping, for a run around a nearby park, and to take a walk along his favorite mall, but that’s it, really. He doesn’t go out to eat simply because he thinks it would be embarrassing having to sit alone at a restaurant; it’s pitiful and sad and he’s not going to subject himself to that. The most stimulating social interaction he has that week is a tie between a bit of flirting with a Target cashier, some suggestive gazing exchanged with a Starbucks barista, and a couple of cheeky caresses from a Gucci store employee taken while measuring his waist for a custom order. None of it satisfies him the way it normally does, though, and he can’t place why.

By the time Friday evening rolls around, Harry is a hair short from letting his regular case of stir-crazy slip into a full-on psychotic break. That’s why he ends up at Y/N’s complex earlier than the agreed-upon hour, stepping out of his Cadillac with twenty minutes left to spare and with a certain desperation eating away at the back of his skull.

The creature casually jogs up the worn steps to her floor, the only sound being the heels of his maroon velvet boots clicking against the cement ground. He whistles softly to the vague tune of a new pop song that had been playing on the radio— Wet Ass something?— as he tucks his phone into his pocket and brushes a few traces of lint off his freshly-ironed button-up.

His outfit for tonight is nothing too spectacular, but it isn’t too lazy, either. It’s a long-sleeve black silk shirt with glass buttons and a pair of large swallows embroidered along either sides of his chest, the threads dyed royal and pastel blue, cherry red, and creamy yellow. The top is cuffed up his elbows and unbuttoned down to his butterfly tattoo, showing off his naturally tanned skin and matching swallow inkings, the cross on his delicate chain centered between his pecs and twinkling under the flickering lights. He’d coupled the loose blouse with some black skinny jeans, a dark leather belt, a small golden hoop earring, and his trusty collection of rings and necklaces. In his opinion, it’s a proper look for a planned-out booty call. Formal, but easy to rip off. Especially in a blind hurry.

Harry figures that he’ll check to see if Y/N is home, just to cover the bases. If she isn’t, he’ll tred back down the stairs and wait for her in his car. If she is, then that’s all the better; there’s no damage in starting a bit earlier than scheduled. It makes for a better recoup period between rounds.

The immortal turns the corner into the familiar hallway where Y/N’s flat is located, one of his hands already forming into a loose fist with the intention of knocking on her door. He makes it about five paces before he’s slapped with an image that causes him to stop cold in his tracks, his whistling coming to an abrupt halt.

Harry blinks repeatedly and lowers the frame of his pink Gucci sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, wanting to make sure the scene before him isn’t a figment of his imagination. Much to his displeasure, it isn’t.

About three meters ahead, situated right in front of her door with her back facing towards him, is Y/N. That isn’t the odd aspect of the picture, though. What’s odd is that her usual grimy work attire is missing, which he had expected to see given that he knows she always goes to the cafe on Fridays. Instead, she is clad in the pastel blue floral sundress she had worn for him all those weeks back, when they had slept together for the second time. And instead of wearing her scuffed up Vans, she is wearing a pair of pretty tan sandals. And instead of having her hair up in a frizzy ponytail, it’s down and fanned around her shoulders in a glossy sheen of tousled curls. And she’s wearing perfume— the same one she had worn the night they met. He can smell it from here and it makes his brows furrow in confusion. She never wears perfume to work; she says it’s forbidden since it can make customers nauseous.

But aside from all of those unorthodox details, there is one specific factor above all that throws Harry for the biggest loop he’s encountered in the last five weeks of knowing her.

Y/N isn’t alone. She’s accompanied by another man.

Harry gives the stranger a calculating once-over, taking in every aspect of the boy’s appearance. He has to keep himself from sputtering into laughter. This has to be some type of fucking joke.

The bloke is fit, he’ll give him that, at least. He’s handsome and somewhat muscular, but in a manner that is painfully cliche and utterly boring. He has sandy blonde hair that falls across his forehead in a shaggy sideways bang, eyes the color of a Malibu beach, and generally soft features with the exception of decent cheekbones. He’s wearing a dull orange polo, khaki pants, Levi sneakers, and an annoyingly giant watch on his wrist that gives the impression he’s trying to show off. Harry nearly vomits in his mouth.

Who the fuck would wear a polo willingly? And how brain dead does he have to be to think khakis are still in style? His fashion sense is obviously stunted. It appears his brain is stuck in his middle school phase, when the Justin Bieber haircut and douchey brands were all the rave amongst snotty pre-teens. Also, his watch is an embarrassment. Harry doesn’t know what the guy is attempting— and failing— to show off, considering the accessory is chunky and ugly and not even Versace or Rolex. It’s a disgrace.

As if the forced posh demeanor isn’t enough, the imbecile actually has the guts to have a fake tan. The vampire isn’t surprised, unfortunately, given that eighty percent of all Los Angeles residents think it’s acceptable to dip-dye themselves into a carrot. He faintly wonders if the man’s balls are colored, as well, or if his ass and sack are as pale as his personality probably is. That would be quite the comedic sight either way. Creamsicles for the win, he supposes.

Harry may not be alarmed by the blonde boy’s get-up, but he is disgusted. Thoroughly disgusted. Horrifically disgusted. What is Y/N doing with this moron?

According to what he’s gathered from her personality and the pillow talks they often share, she hates the California stereotype almost as much as he does, if not more. She hates the fake tans and bleached hair and lack of conscience. She hates the outdated teenage brands, cringey jewelry, and fraternity member aesthetic. She especially hates the fact that some of these people don’t understand the basic principles of boundaries. And the thing is, this dude-bro of a man definitely ticks all of those boxes— especially with how close he’s standing next to her, looming above her frame with one arm extended against the surface of her door, trying to look nonchalant and cool as he drawls on about whatever topic they’re discussing.

He’s practically the poster child for everything the girl despises, from the straightened hair to the alter boy church pants to the stupid forest tattoo on his forearm. So what in the flying fuck is she doing entertaining him? What is she doing standing outside her apartment with this trashy, bacon strip-looking, youth leader knock-off, 2012 Bieber impersonator of a human?

It has to be a joke. It just has to. There’s no other valid explanation, except maybe a plea of insanity.

Harry doesn’t realize he’s scowling until the stranger makes eye contact with him. The boy’s face breaks into an expression of unsettled discomfort at the way the vampire is peering at him over his sunglasses, allowing his end of the conversation to falter to dust. Y/N’s brows cinch at the occurrence, her attention peeling away to follow where her date’s had wandered.

The second her gaze locks with Harry’s intense own, she feels her heart drop to her stomach. Fuck.

Let it be known Y/N didn’t want this. She didn’t want to go on a date with Jacob. In fact, she didn’t know who Jacob was until halfway through this week and she honestly wishes it had stayed that way. She wishes she hadn’t picked up Melissa’s shift with Isabel, she wishes she hadn’t offered to wait that extra table in the back out of the kindness in her heart, and she wishes she hadn’t caught the attention of the customer inhabiting it.

As it turns out, the young man was Isabel’s cousin. He had come to pick her up since the girl’s car had been stuck at the shop for the last few days, and he had arrived a bit earlier than intended, deciding to sit at the back table to wait out the final ten minutes of his relative’s shift. Y/N had simply assumed that he was a regular customer, so she had gone to give him the usual trained introduction in order to follow the golden rule of customer service: Don’t keep a guest waiting.

Jacob had explained the situation to Y/N, to which she responded with a light laugh and an instinctive apology. She had told him she’d go fetch Isabel for him and bid the boy goodbye. In her rational opinion, she had thought that would be it— a simple crossing of two paths that would likely never cross again— but evidently, the visitor had a very different idea.

The human’s shift had continued as planned and everything had been going great until Isabel ducked into the kitchen right before leaving, dancing her way across the room and poking her coworker playfully in the tummy. Apparently, from what Isabel had giddily told her, Jacob had taken an interest in Y/N. It was a bit ridiculous, if you asked her, considering they’d only talked for a total of about thirty seconds before parting routes. But Y/N hadn’t voiced that opinion; she didn’t want to come off as rude.

Jacob had asked his cousin to set them up on a date and that is why Isabel had gone into the back before leaving. Y/N’s immediate impulse had been to decline. She wasn’t interested in seeing anyone at the moment. Other than Harry, of course. He handled all her needs just fine and they got on so well, she’d be crazy to replace him with some random guy she barely knew. She had gone to express this to Isabel in a gentler manner with an apologetic tone, but the words had ended up lodging in her throat. The girl had stared at Y/N with so much excitement, she’d immediately felt a wave of guilt erupt into her chest.

She found it difficult to refuse, given that turning down the offer might come off as bitchy and insensitive. Here Isabel was, trying to innocently play match-maker on behalf of someone she cared about, buzzing with glee and smiling at her so big, her cheeks probably hurt. The last thing Y/N wanted was to upset her by basically telling her that Jacob wasn’t up to par with her standards. Rejecting him could be something her acquaintance took personally and Y/N didn’t want to have to deal with drama in the workplace, especially not with someone whose shifts often mirror her own.

Y/N had reluctantly agreed to the invitation, her only request being that she had to be home by seven thirty. That would give her enough time to prepare for Harry’s visit.

Her compliance had landed her where she is now, standing in front of her apartment door with a boy she has no interest in.

It had been a terrible date, though Jacob took no notice of that. He spent the entire dinner talking about himself, going on and on about his college years, and about how he works at a popular surf shop and could probably get her discounted lessons, and about how he doesn’t think he could survive without his Jeep. How he plays guitar and wants to be a famous actor, how he doesn’t understand why people dislike fake tanning, and how his dad owns a country club in South Carolina. How he loves sports, how he thinks museums are dumb, and how he likes girls who are willing to cook for him after they hookup. How he loves going clubbing and that he misses his ex.

Y/N had nearly groaned out loud at the last two.

It was cruel and unusual torture, in all honestly, and Y/N is just glad it’s over. She’d fulfilled her role— she’d even been nice enough to dress up, to at least finge interest— and could now go free, never having to hear another word about surfboard wax or college football ever again. If only he’d fucking leave.

Jacob had insisted on walking her to the door, which would be sweet if she hadn’t developed a burning hatred for him in the last hour. It came off as annoying and pushy instead, but she allowed it on the grounds of maintaining a polite front.

She shouldn’t have allowed it. As soon as they’d gotten to her door, he’d started talking all over again and Y/N had no choice but to stand there and listen. She couldn’t go anywhere, given that this is her place and she’s expecting someone. She figured she’d give him until seven fifty and then make up an excuse about having to go to the bathroom in order to get him to piss off. That plan had crumbled when Harry had shown up twenty minutes early.

The look of inflamed shock that poses Harry’s handsome features makes her stomach curdle.

She hadn’t meant for him to see this. She’d only gone on the date to spare herself some petty trouble with a coworker. Nothing was bound to come of it, other than a free meal and a guilt-free conscience. It didn’t mean anything and she had no intention of letting it get in between what she and Harry have going. But from an outside perspective, she knows it looks much different.

The agreement they have isn’t exclusive by any means, but over the last five weeks, the pair have grown pretty comfortable with one another and had given connotations that they weren’t kindling other possible relationships. There’s a type of silent agreement between them that if they were to seek out other people, they would share that information with each other on the grounds of courtesy, friendship, and respect. But Y/N hadn’t said a word to spare him the baseless stress and now he’d run into her smack in the middle of what appears to be a very compromising situation; things aren’t looking good at all. It looks like she’s losing interest in Harry and couldn’t be bothered to tell him. It looks like she’s out for a replacement. It looks like she doesn’t care about their connection at all.

This is bad. This is really bad.

Y/N’s voice comes out as a shrill shriek of surprise, her body turning abruptly to fully face his rigid own. “Harry! Uh— hi!”

Harry blinks at her emptily for a moment and she can practically see the gears turning in his head. She can’t read his mind or his expression, but she reckons he’s probably trying to decide if he should follow through on their rendezvous or if he should just leave and never talk to her again. The idea of him choosing the latter makes her mouth go sour.

The vampire’s emerald irises flit back and forth between his friend and the unknown man behind her, trying to interpret the tone and texture of the circumstance. She’s obviously on a date, if her appearance is any indication, and it’s obviously coming to a close right now, exactly when he’s scheduled to arrive.

That’s the determining factor that helps him decide his next move.

Y/N had invited Harry over last Sunday, meaning that she had made their commitment first. This date had to have come into play later in the week, and she had purposefully planned it around their agreed hour in order to give him her undivided attention when the time came. If she had gone out with this guy and then rushed back home to get to him, that must mean she doesn’t plan on indulging another meeting with the stranger. She hadn’t cancelled his visit, either, so that also suggests she isn’t truly interested in this bloke. That makes sense...right?

But that still begs the question: Why had she gone out with him in the first place?

He knows he isn’t owed an explanation, but he also knows that Y/N isn’t the type of person who would just blindside him like this. She isn’t soulless— she’s sweet and caring and generous, so she would never drop him without any warning or consideration for his feelings. She’d never abandon him without telling him why. She’d never do anything that might run a chance of hurting him.

The immortal is more than aware he doesn’t have the right to be upset about it, either. Their arrangement is loose and open on both ends and he likes it that way. He likes that their relationship isn’t weighed down by commitment and monogamy; it gives him a sense of freedom and independence he’s known to thrive off of. It lets him be himself without playing her emotions, and without causing a ruckus in the plans she has for her new life. And he gets the same in return— he gets to have his needs attended without sacrificing his core beliefs. Their friends with benefits trope rides along the wings of an official bond, only giving them what they want and nothing they don’t, which is how it was meant to be. How it should be.

So why does seeing her with someone else make him feel sick to his stomach?

Harry shakes off the ball of contempt writhing in his chest, clearing the tightness from his throat and molding his expression into a facade of calm indifference. Jealousy is for idiots.

The vampire fully wraps his perched fingers around the rim of his sunglasses, removing them from the arch of his nose and tucking the shades along the collar of his shirt. He forces his feet to do their job, his lanky legs lurching forward and falling into a casual stride as he walks towards the two humans awaiting a response.

Harry comes to a stop beside the mortals, clasping his bejeweled hands behind his back and plastering a dazzling grin across his cheeks. He regards his friend with a slight bow of his head, voice airy and carefree as ever. “Hey, Y/N.”

She almost faints in relief. Thank God he’s not mad.

Y/N returns his smile, shoulders visibly relaxing. “It’s nice to see you.”

“S’nice to see you, too. Always such a…” He pauses, licking at the corner of his lips suggestively, giving her a knowing once-over that only she can interpret, “pleasure.”

The girl ignores the heat that immediately floods her cheeks. Of course he’s doing this in front of Jacob. Of course he’s peacocking. “Likewise.”

Harry trains his attention onto the young man before him, pursing his lips into a polite smile. As polite as he can muster, anyways. “And who’s this?”

Y/N blinks herself back into the present, quickly glancing away from Harry’s sharp jaw, though it doesn’t go unnoticed. He feels his ego swell a smidge.

“This is Jacob.” The human comments easily, signaling to him with an upturned palm. “He’s Isabel’s cousin. You remember Isabel, right? You met her at the club.”

“I don’t think I do, actually.” Harry murmurs, glimpsing up towards the ceiling to suggest he’s wracking his thoughts. He has a very vague recollection of the two girls he’d momentarily encountered the day he’d first met Y/N, but it’s hazy and unimportant.

He looks back down at her with sparkling irises, rosy lips twitching with amusement at his next words, knowing they’re going to have a favorable impact. “I guess I was just too distracted by you to pay much attention to anyone else.”

He can hear more blood rush into her face and the ecstasy it brings him is immeasurable. He cranes his sight back onto Jacob, who has the slightest crease in his brows at Harry’s compliment. Good. That’s exactly what he wanted.

The monster unclamps his hands and juts one out stiffly towards the mortal. “M’Harry. Good to meet you, mate.”

Jacob returns the gesture, grasping Harry’s hand firmly in a way the vampire knows is to try and establish dominance. It tickles him when humans try to be tough, especially because Harry could tear his arm right out of its socket as easily as he could lift a sheet of paper. The creature tightens his grip to match the man’s, purposefully putting a tad more strength in to make a silent point. He has to withhold the urge to crunch the boy’s fingers to dust.

They both release from the exchange and a wave of dark satisfaction trickles into Harry’s bones when he sees Jacob curl and stretch his digits in mild pain.

Y/N watches the whole scene with a breath trapped in her lungs. This feels surreal.

The blonde clears his throat softly, mouth jilting into an empty smile and it’s obvious he’s only doing it just to keep things civil. “Good to meet you, too. I take it you’re British?”

“Pure-bred.” Harry remarks proudly, shrugging his shoulders offhandedly as if it’s no big deal. His gaze slinks towards Y/N for a second, tongue pushing along the inside of his cheek smugly. “It works wonders with the ladies.”

A flicker of spite stains the blue in Jacob’s eyes and the vampire feels like his soul is ascending. This is fun.

“I can only imagine.” His opponent responds, voice somewhat strained as he directs his next question to the two friends. “So how do you know each other?”

Harry opens his mouth to make an arrogant comment along the lines of, “A club. A few drinks. Some amazing sex. Y’know, the usual.” but Y/N knows him well enough that she anticipates it, speaking over him loudly before he can even get a syllable out.

“We met at a club and hit it off really well. Been friends ever since.”

The immortal has to keep himself from adding something snarky to the end of her summary. He only does it because he can see a sharp warning flash across Y/N’s eyes. It’s wordless, but stern nonetheless: Don’t.

Harry swallows down his dig and feels it burn a hole in his stomach. Why is she protecting his feelings?

In all honesty, Y/N is only doing it out of kindness and nothing else. As annoying as Jacob may be, he doesn’t deserve to be embarrassed simply because Harry wants to feed his pride. It may be funny, but it’s pretty immature.

“Right.” Harry sighs happily, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. “Friends. Good friends. Close friends. Intimate friends.”

Y/N presses her lips into a straight line to keep herself in check. He’s trying to work her over and, unfortunately, he’s succeeding.

“That’s nice.” Jacob nods casually, the innuendo luckily going right over his head.

“Yeah, it is.” Harry states, eyes glinting mischievously as he quickly studies the man once again. He can’t help himself, he truly can’t. Not when this terribly-styled buffoon makes it so fucking easy. “I like your tan, by the way.”

The human looks down at his arms for significance, eyes brightening. “Thank you! I got it done at that new place in—”

“Yeah, it’s pretty neat. Looks almost real.”

Jacob blinks blankly at the backhanded compliment. “Oh—?”

“I mean, it’s got a few streaks here and there and your left arm looks a little more orange, but I think—”

“Anyways!” Y/N swiftly cuts in, interrupting her friend’s judgmental spiel and directing her attention towards her date. “Harry and I were actually planning on going to see a movie, which is why I had to be home by seven-thirty— we do it every Friday. And the movie starts at eight and traffic’s a bitch, so that’s why I was in such a hurry to get home.”

Jacob nods slowly, giving her a sweet, understanding smile that makes Harry’s supernatural blood boil. “I see. Well, I—”

The vampire interrupts him once again, condescension flaring in his chest and dancing across the specks of amber surrounding his pupils. “Yeah, Y/N and I go to the theater every Friday. Recently, we’ve been going to the movies every single day of the weekend. And most times, we see several movies a night.”

Y/N’s jaw clenches at Harry’s barely-veiled insinuation. She tries to talk over him, but he beats her to the punch.

“Y’know what I’m talking about, right, Y/N?” He nudges her side playfully with his elbow, ignoring the way her eyes tell him to cut it out. “Remember that time we saw three movies in one night? Or the one that had the jacuzzi in it?”

The girl glimpses over at Jacob, who looks utterly confused and uncomfortable. “Harry—”

“Or what about that crime film, yeah? The one with the handcuffs.” He pinches at her love handle teasingly, reveling in how her entire torso tenses under his touch. “The one where they grabbed the criminal and slammed them up against the mirror? You have to remember that one. It’s hard to forget.”

“Okay, I think that’s enough talk about—”

“Oh, c’mon, dove.” Harry slings an arm around her shoulders nonchalantly, squeezing her into his body and feeling Jacob’s glare pierce the side of his face. He stares intently into Y/N’s irises, dimples winking awake at the needy desperation gradually inking its way into their reflection. His tone comes out soft but heavy with authoritative suggestion— the kind he always uses in bed. “Tell me you remember.”

Y/N gulps quietly, mumbling her words begrudgingly. “Yeah, I...I remember.”

A coy hum runs along the back of the vampire’s throat as he licks across his top teeth slyly. “I think that was your favorite one, wasn’t it? You seemed to have really enjoyed it. Like, properly enjoyed it. Loved every single second, if I recall correctly.”

The human forces herself to cast her intent elsewhere, ears simmering and breathing stuttering ever so slightly. Her sight lands back onto a very frazzled Jacob, who is looking at the pair as if they’d sprouted horns, shifting unsurely across his feet. The expression of innocent befuddlement on his face makes guilt twist into her heart.

The mortal roughly shrugs off Harry’s arm, stepping forward and placing a palm on Jacob’s wrist, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Thank you so much for the date. It was...nice.”

Harry’s fists clench at his sides, though the action goes unnoticed.

The human boy nods giddily at Y/N, glancing down to where she’s touching him so tenderly. “‘Course! I had a great time, too.”

“Make sure to tell Isabel that. Maybe it’ll get her to do some sweeping on my behalf.” The girl jokes, giggling softly right along with the stranger.

Harry can feel his nails threatening to break into his skin.

“We really have to get going, though, so I guess I’ll see you around?” Y/N prods, gifting her date one last beautiful smile to ease the awkwardness that had settled into the atmosphere, courtesy of Harry’s antics.

“Sure!” Jacob bobs his head in agreement, pulling out his phone and swaying it symbolically. “You have my number, just text me whenever.”

“Sounds good.”

Once the young man’s footsteps have faded down the complex’s staircase, Y/N swivels around on her heel to face Harry, arms falling across her chest in an irritated fashion. Her face pinches with annoyance as he leans casually against her door, his own arms folding over his strong chest with his fingers tapping along the inside of his elbows, attitude depicting not a single care in the world.

He crosses his ankles easily, brows quirking at the way she’s blatantly glaring at him. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that people whose names start with a letter ‘J’ are bound to ruin your life?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Harry!” Y/N snaps, rolling her eyes towards the ceiling as her glossed lips dip into an aggravated grimace. “Are you serious right now?”

He tilts his head curiously, stifling a simper. “What’s wrong, love?”

“What’s wrong?” She retorts with a humorless laugh, astonished at his ability to act so purposefully dense. “You’re a fucking dick, that’s what’s wrong.”

The vampire sputters into a round of boyish cackling, his entire body shaking against the surface below him as his eyes crinkle shut in mirth. Y/N would be further infuriated if it wasn’t so damn cute.

Harry’s laughter slowly dies down and once he has himself composed, his shoulders rise and fall once dismissively. “I was just fucking around. I didn’t think much of it.”

“You didn’t think—?” Y/N chokes out in indignation, stomping over to him and poking him straight in the chest, right over his butterfly tattoo. Her perfume makes his mind swim in the best way imaginable. “You didn’t think for a second, in that big head of yours, that talking about our sex life in front of my date was overstepping?”

Hearing Y/N officially refer to Jacob as her date makes Harry’s mood drop somberly. He tries to push it down and keep up a comical edge, but it’s harder than he’d care to admit. His accent comes out small and almost fragile, much to her surprise. “Well, I didn’t know you were on a date. Maybe if you had told me, I wouldn’t have come.”

His words sting for some unknown reason.

The mortal draws closer to him until he’s hovering above her, arms dropping down to her sides to fiddle with the hem of her dress as she tilts her chin upwards to get a better look at his stoney face. All anger melts right out of her voice, replaced by her usual delicate cadence. “Well, I...I didn’t think you’d care, really.”

“I don’t.” He replies a little too quickly, a small pang of regret pricking his chest when her face immediately falls. “I mean...I mean it as in, like...I’m not keeping tabs on you or anything. I don’t want you to think I’m trying to limit you.”

Y/N looks back up at him from under her lashes, tone unreadable. “I didn’t think you were. Limiting me, that is. You don’t...limit me.”

Harry nods his head sharply in relieved confirmation, coughing a bit. His throat feels drier than usual and he knows it’s not for a blood-driven reason. “Okay, good. I just wanted to make sure you knew.”

“I do.”

“Alright.”

A charged silence befalls the ambiance between them and the vampire comes to the conclusion that getting his neck snapped was less painful than having this conversation. At least that was quick, whereas this is grueling and horribly uncomfortable, ridden with anxiety and too many elongated pauses. They are walking on extremely thin eggshells around one another, which is something they’ve never had to do before. They have always been on the same wavelength about their relationship and not once has such a nerve-inducing instance come to pass. Now a wrench has been thrown into their metaphorical mechanism and the nuts and bolts are dismantling by the handfuls, leaving them barren and closed-off more than ever. He can feel this situation straining their friendship and he hates it more than he hates those stupid tapestries she fancies.

“If you knew you were gonna be busy,” Harry starts carefully, gluing his attention to a random stain on the cement ground as he scuffs the heel of his boot against her dirty welcome mat, “why didn’t you just text me and cancel?”

Y/N takes a shaky inhale, focusing on tracing the faded cursive letters on her rug. “I...I still wanted you to come.”

Harry’s foot halts its motions, gaze jumping to her for a thoughtful second, brows knotting with mild confusion at her confession. If she still wants him in her bed, why was she indulging someone else? “You wanted me to come?...Why?”

“Because Fridays are our days.”

The corners of his mouth twitch. Our days. Their days. Theirs.

The brunette clears his throat to try and saw away at the tension, shifting against the door as the subject delves into heavier territory. He’s never been one to stutter— he’s much too confident in himself to ever have that issue— but it seems to have become a new development whenever Y/N is around. “If...If you want— uhm...If you want to see other people, you obviously don’t need my permission or anything. But I’d like a little heads-up, just so I know where we stand.”

Y/N releases a curt sigh of exasperation and somehow, Harry can tell it’s not aimed towards him. It’s aimed towards herself.

She fidgets with the tips of her fingers, talking to the floor but directing her message towards her friend. “It’s not what you think, H.”

Harry pins his intent back onto her face, intrigue fully peaked. “What do you mean?”

Y/N takes another trembling breath, releasing it through her nose as a tired exhale. She can feel him looming over her, waiting for an appropriate response with his lips set into a detached line, his ever-present aroma of vanilla and tobacco muddling her thoughts. “I...I mean the date. It wasn’t truly a real date, per se.”

The vampire’s eyes bore into her relentlessly as he clings onto every syllable she speaks. He’s clutching to a form of hope that he deems absolutely humiliating. “How so?”

Y/N picks at the chipping lavender polish on her nails and he finds it adorable how the color of the lacquer matches one of the main notes in her scent.

She speaks up softly and honestly, and he thinks he detects a shred of guilt to her explanation. “Isabel was the one who set it up. Her cousin came into the cafe and when he saw me, he asked her to get me to go on a date with him. I have no actual interest in Jacob, but I said yes just to be nice. I didn’t wanna upset Isabel by making her think her cousin wasn’t good enough for me or something. That’s the only reason I went.”

Harry slowly twists his lionhead daylight ring around his middle finger, simultaneously thumbing over the opal on his pinky. The stone is cold to the touch, but not nearly as cold as his skin.

He reiterates her story slowly, wanting to make sure he interpreted correctly. “So...you only went on the date because you felt bad? You don't actually like him?”

Y/N’s hands plop down against her thighs as she tilts her head back up to look at him, her tone and eyes completely deadpan. “Well, when you say it like that, it makes me sound kind of mean.”

Harry snorts softly, mouth buckling into his signature crooked smirk. “It’s pretty cruel, to be honest— giving that poor bloke hope like that. Very malicious of you.”

Y/N kicks at his ankle jokingly, her lips toying with a grin. “Shut up.”

“You should be careful. Something tells me his ego bruises easily.”

“Oh, is that so? What makes you say that?”

The vampire sucks at his teeth, tapping his chin in faux thought as he shrugs his brows tauntingly. “Oh, I don’t know. Probably the overly-tight shirt and fraternity ring. Seems to me like he’s trying to make up for something he lacks. Probably in the intimacy department.”

Y/N chews along her cheek to keep from bursting into giggles. “You are cruel.”

“I prefer the term ‘brutally honest.’ Sounds classier.”

“Right. Because you’re all about class.”

“Heyyyy!” Harry whines in exaggerated insult, face contorting with dramatic offense. “I’m a classy guy! I have the English accent and fancy chandeliers to prove it!”

“Right. Super classy.”

“I’m a proper gentleman.” The monster huffs with begrudging finality, irises glitzing deviously. “That is, until you beg me to behave otherwise.”

“Fuck off.”

He looks down at her over the crests of his sharp cheekbones as she gazes up at him with a humorously flat expression, feeling all the pent-up stress from the previous events dissolve away into nothing. Harry reaches forward, taking a single curled strand of her hair and moving it behind her shoulder to get a better look at her face. The gesture makes Y/N’s heartbeat hiccup. Especially when that same forefinger ends up poised below her chin, his thumb distractedly caressing across her jaw.

The creature’s next sentence comes out low and almost vulnerable. “So it meant nothing, then? Are you sure? Because I don’t want to get in the way of your dating life if you—”

“It meant nothing.” Y/N confirms, bobbing her head once insistently. She cradles her cheek into his icy palm, keeping their eyes locked as she gives it a gentle kiss, her insides fluttering when Harry’s breathing hitches. “I’m not gonna be seeing him again anytime soon. Or ever, probably. And that’s why I didn’t mention it to you— because I knew it wouldn’t change anything between us. You’re the only person I’m interested in right now.”

“Truly?”

“Truly.”

The young man swallows thickly, leaning down to smudge his nose across the girl’s and the action erupts a certain flood of warmth so powerful, it could very well kickstart the dead organ below his ribs. His voice is tumbling down his numb tongue before he can think to stop it. “I’ve been thinking about you all week.”

Y/N’s fingers stretch upwards to wrap around his wrist securely, almost as if to tether him and eliminate the chance of his touch slipping away. Her whisper is trembly and raw. “You have?”

Harry knows he’s allowing this to wade into dangerously grey waters, but he can’t find it in himself to care, at the moment. “Yeah. Couldn’t get you out of my head. Couldn’t stop thinking about how good you felt last time.”

The mortal teeters onto the tips of her toes, flirting her mouth over her friend’s, a prickling sensation stemming from where their cupid’s bows brush. She glimpses at him amidst her lashes, glassy eyes reflecting his need right back at him. “Tell me more. Please?”

The breath of Harry’s words is hot against her mouth, his eyes lulling closed as he recalls all of the memories from the last few days. “I just couldn’t shake it. You were just so tight and warm and the way you were pushing back against my thrusts...the way you were shaking and whimpering...the way you flipped around and slammed your mouth to mine because you wanted me to moan onto your tongue….It was so fucking filthy, I just— I couldn’t—”

His control begins to shatter and the immortal can feel desperation leak through the cracks webbing across his composure. Y/N isn’t helping any, considering she’s started suckling lightly at his bottom lip, her free hand coming up to toy with the curls at the nape of his neck.

“Keep going.”

Harry gulps heavily before continuing. “I touched myself while fantasying about you. Lost count of how many times, honestly. But I came so hard every single one. It was pretty easy to lose myself like that, just sitting there thinking about everything we do. Thinking about how pretty you look with my cock in your mouth, taking it down your throat like such a good fucking girl. How nice your arse feels in my hands, especially when you ask me to spank it. How snug you are when you sink over me, stretching around it like it’s made just for you. How the little noises you make sound so fucking perfect— like a song, really. And...and how good you taste between your thighs. S’like honey. Just so fucking sweet.”

There’s a pause as Harry’s words sink into the air, his dirty confessions pulling passion taut into existence between the two lovers. They’re all over each other in less than a heartbeat.

Y/N begins to fumble with the small purse she has strung across her body, frantically fishing for her keys as Harry delights himself with sponging his lips across the slope of her jaw, grinning into her skin at the little curses escaping her throat. He absolutely adores how whipped she gets for him.

The human manages to retrieve her key, jamming it into the lock blindly as her eyes blur with tears of sheer need, stemming from the tiny shots of bliss Harry is instilling through the sloppy pecks he’s trailing down her jugular. She hastily turns the knob, bumping her full weight into the door and nearly fainting in relief when it swings open. She turns sharply to face him, roping her arms around his strong shoulders and pulling him into her, shuddering at how incredible it feels to have his strong torso flushed to hers so intimately. Harry allows himself to be yanked forward into her apartment, giggling softly when she crashes their mouths together messily, harshly tugging him past the threshold.

The vampire’s lean arms wrap around her waist as the young woman maneuvers their connected bodies into the narrow hallway of her flat, one of her hands waving around wildly until it succeeds in shoving the door shut. Y/N slams Harry up against the closest wall, feverishly fidgeting with the buttons on his shirt and nearly ripping them out of their designated holes. Her hands quiver as she races down the seams, her eyes tinging darker when Harry leans his head back against the panel and smirks down at her smugly.

He gnaws on his bottom lip, his half-lidded gaze mocking her hysteria as his voice comes out deep and melodic as always, slathered with self-assured arrogance. “You’re so cute when you’re this eager to fuck me.”

Y/N pants against his twitching lips, tearing his top down his broad figure and shamelessly groping at his swollen biceps. “Just shut up and kiss me.”

Harry abides, lulling his tongue along her upper lip and thrumming deeply when her digits trickle down his abdomen. He coos into her mouth as she begins fiddling with his belt buckle. “What, no interior design emergency this time? You’re losing your touch, darling.”

The girl pulls the leather strap off his pants in a frenzy, scoffing at his stupid quip and breaking their kiss to speckle her mouth down his bare chest, feeling it stutter below her influence. “I got some new chairs for my dining table. Wanna take a look?”

The boy’s fingers card into her roots as she descends down his stomach with wet pecks, his eyes rolling closed with a strained grunt. She bites along his fern inkings and his hips buck forward in response, his grip on her hair tightening when she palms over the outline of his clothed cock. “You know I’m always a sucker for some good dining chairs.”

As it turns out, Y/N had actually gotten some new chairs, much to Harry’s surprise.

They’re nice, in his opinion. They seem sturdy enough, with metal backrests and legs that are covered in tarnished gold paint that gives a pleasing rustic look. But in the end, Harry doesn’t really much care for the details of the furniture. All he cares about is if they’ll manage to withstand Y/N’s weight as he shoves her onto her knees atop the chair and bends her over the back. Or if they’ll stay put as he pounds into her from behind with a fist in her hair and his letter rings marking across her backside. That’s all that truly matters.

Despite having done this countless of times before, this particular instance feels different. Both of them can tell, but Y/N feels it more prevalently. Specifically, in the bottom of her stomach and in the pain sweltering across her ass.

Harry’s just…rougher. He’s still himself, so he makes sure she’s okay with everything he does before doing it, but when he gets the green light, he doesn’t let it go to waste. His grip on her roots is harsh, with his nails digging into her scalp as he jerks her head back to bring her in for a kiss, her spine arching into a semi-circle. The position is difficult given the amount of flexibility required, but Y/N powers through. She quite likes it, actually— it gives him a deeper range of depth, somehow. She can feel him touching the trench of her tummy and she refuses to do anything that might make that stop.

The kiss is upside down, but the vampire doesn’t let that deter him. It’s still dirty and heedless, with lots of biting and overzealous tongues, broken whines and fractured pleas. Y/N freely moans into his mouth, gasping and mewling to his every thrust with a certain type of helplessness that flogs the flames blistering Harry’s dormant veins. He loves that he makes her feel helpless, especially because she makes him feel the exact same way.

His stride is fast and deep and unapologetic— vengeful, almost, and they both know why. Even though Y/N had told the creature that the date had been nothing but a selfless chore, he can’t seem to let it go as easily as she had. He finds himself wanting to prove to her that he’s better than that insipid stranger. That he can give her everything she wants without a single issue. That he can deliver everything she needs with expert skill and relentless force, just as she prefers. That he can make her entire body tremble in overstimulation and make every fiber of her being tingle with sheer pleasure, just by gifting her a few adamant snaps of his hips and by muttering a couple filthy promises onto her unfeeling tongue.

“Bet he wouldn’t be able to make you feel like this, huh, pet?” Harry growls against her swollen lips, plunging his thick length into her and nudging at that sweet spot that makes her toes curl. “Bet he wouldn’t know how to handle you— how to handle that tight cunt and that sharp tongue. Could never take care of you the way I do, isn’t that right, baby?”

Y/N rattles her head in her friend’s grasp, releasing fragmented noises of bliss as he hikes her dress further up her ass and gives it another brutal spank. She can feel his rings imprinting across her sweaty skin and she strives off it more than she should.

Her voice comes out garbled and weak. “N-No one can make me feel as good as you.”

“Damn straight.” Harry grits out, breaking their prolonged kiss to rest his chin against her damp forehead, looking down at her from over his sharp, tinted cheekbones. “Nobody can fuck you into a begging mess like I can. Whose pretty cunt is this, angel? Who’s the only one who gets to call you their little slut?”

The electricity crackling around his pupils is borderlining on unhinged, but she adores it. The fact that she can drive him to the brink like that feeds the affinity she has to win his praise. “It’s yours, Harry. Just yours— it’s always just you. You’re the only one. Nobody e-else— fuck, oh my God!”

“You got all dolled up for him, though. Why’s that’s, hm?” Harry’s hold releases from her hair and fumbles down to her throat, the pads of his fingers leaving bruises across her jugular as he grunts lowly with every hellbent ram. “If you didn’t care, why’d you get all pretty, then? Why’d you wear perfume? And why’d you wear that dress— my dress?”

Y/N’s lashes flutter as he refers to her outfit, which is the same one she’d had on the day they had officially established their loose arrangement. Hearing him call it his— hearing him claim it as his own with so much dominant confidence— makes the pit of her belly froth. It is his. Sure, she’d worn it for the sake of looking presentable, but it was only to satisfy the basic rules of what a date entails. In truth, under the excuse of inherent kindness, she’d worn it because she knew Harry would see it afterwards. Because she knew he liked it. Because she wanted to please him.

The girl communicates that to him now in the form of a feathery mumble, staring up at his angered eyes with a moony, innocent aura. “I wore it f-for you.”

The intense jealousy present in Harry’s clenched jaw and furrowed brows dissipates, replaced by soft awe at her wispy affirmation. He pants as he absorbs the real meaning behind her entire appearance, feeling sparks ignite in his heaving chest. “You...You did it for me?”

Y/N struggles to swallow in his rough grip, nodding a bit as her fingers tighten around the edge of the chair. “I know you like it and, well…I like making you happy.”

Harry’s lips part in astonished wonder, though he’s not so sure why her admission had caught him off guard. She’s told him plenty of times that she likes giving him what he wants, but this just feels slightly more personal than anything else she’s ever uttered during an orgasmic stupor. It’s tipping along one of the lines they had sworn not to cross.

The vampire hadn’t even realized his strokes had tapered to a halt, and apparently neither had she. They’re both too busy looking into each other’s eyes with expressions that neither can decipher. The tense pause only lasts maybe three seconds at most, but it feels like they manage to fit an eternity of uncertain silence within that short time frame.

Harry cuts through the moment by clearing his throat, intent on changing the subject into something much lighter that will allow them to return to their previous activity. However, the words that rasp out of his raw lips are ones he hadn’t consciously consented to. They come from a sincere nature he’d suppressed for so long, he didn’t think it was possible for it to ever resurface again. “I like making you happy, too.”

Y/N blinks up at him with her usual doe-like air, the corners of her lips twitching fondly at his requited compliment. “I guess we just like making each other happy, then, don’t we?”

The monster has never been more thankful for her witty personality. It gives him the opportunity to stuff his emotions back into the box they belong, allowing him to regain his typical composure and return her banter without a hitch. He bursts into a round of wheezy giggles, tapping at the hollow of her throat playfully. “I guess so. We’ll add that to the list of things we do to each other, right under ‘excite.’”

The rest of the session goes as usual, thankfully. Some more degrading names are exchanged, positions are switched, hickies are stained on fleshy thighs and damp shoulders, and Harry’s array of rings paint an art piece across Y/N’s backside that he thinks is worthy of the Louvre. His initials are signed on it and everything.

The pair end up splayed across her trusty old couch, catching their breaths from the heavy exertion they’d just put each other through. Y/N is still in her dress, though it’s rumpled, damp, and the thin straps are hanging off her shoulders limply. Harry is bare, as he always is after sex, per his raunchy preference. However, Y/N had made him cover himself with a blanket in order to keep at least a shred of decency between them. Plus, she’d said she didn’t want his “limp dick brushing against my dress while we cuddle.”

And that’s what they’re doing now— snuggling on her couch with the human pressed up against the vampire’s side, his arm slung around her shoulders casually as she doodles random shapes across the colored skin of his tummy. She has one leg hooked across his covered hips, which he’s more than happy to allow because he thoroughly enjoys rubbing his palm up and down the back of her thigh; it’s soothing and warm. Y/N entertains herself with nuzzling her head against the crook of his neck, sighing contentedly as he props his chin atop her temple and pets at her frizzy hair with gentle strokes. It’s a nice moment, full of slowly steadying breaths and the hum of the air vent at the other end of the room.

Harry is the first to break the tranquil atmosphere.

“I give the chairs a ten out of ten. IKEA really outsold.”

Y/N slaps her hand down against his naked chest, sputtering into a wave of loud laughter that is unbelievably contagious. “I’m happy you like them ‘cause, uh...they were on clearance. Can’t return them.”

“You lucked out then, didn’t you? Kudos to your ability to pick out decent furniture.” Harry twirls a strand of her tangled locks around his index finger, giving it a playful tug as a grin dimples his flushed cheeks. “Except for when it comes to wall decor.”

“It’s not my fault you're a stuck-up asshole.”

“And it’s not my fault you have a knack for cringey drapery depicting ClipArt images.”

“I’m going to strangle you with one of my tapestries, I really am.”

“Be my guest. At least I won’t have to look at them ever again.” The immortal squeezes her thigh jestingly, his smile widening when she squirms and giggles. “I can’t tell you how many times we’ve been fucking and I accidentally glanced at it and almost went soft.”

“But you didn’t.” She reasons, flicking at one of his nipples in revenge and feeling proud when he hisses softly.

“But I could have.”

“But you didn’t.”

“But I could have.” Harry insists stubbornly, reaching up to push a few wet curls out of his tired eyes. “Have you ever had someone go soft inside you? It’s pretty gross. Highly discourage it.”

“Just close your eyes, then.” Y/N states with finality, pinching at his belly button and cackling in satisfaction when he writhes. “You’re real shitty at solving problems, y’know that? You could never be Sherlock.”

Harry goes quiet for a second and his friend almost looks up to check if he’s alright; he’s too petty to ever back out of anything. But sure enough, his voice comes out a second later, flat and unyielding. “Take down the glorified curtains or I’m never eating you out again.”

“I’ll take down my glorified curtains the day you take down that Stevie Nicks poster on your wall.”

“I refuse to take down Stevie!”

“And I refuse to take down Amanda!”

“You named it?!”

The lovers chat and bicker childishly for a while longer, talking about anything and everything that will keep them entertained. Harry explains to Y/N how his friends had gone on a trip this week (though he makes sure to omit the fact that he had willingly bailed in order to spend time with her) and he’d been alone most of the time. She responds to his story with an incredulous yelp, telling him that he should’ve come over if he wanted some company. She says she would have been more than happy to hang out with him, but he knows she’d been so busy the entire week with work, she probably would have fallen asleep within ten minutes of him arriving. It’s the thought that counts, though, so he thanks her for the belated support, either way.

Y/N talks about a weird customer that had come in and ordered a sandwich with nothing but cucumbers and cheddar cheese on French bread, which she had later recreated to taste-test herself out of curiosity. She can confirm it was abhorrent and the way her nose crinkles with disgust makes Harry snort in endearment. She also tells him about how horribly the date with Jacob had gone, simply because she can tell he’s itching to ask. She recounts everything the young man boasted about, from the annoying college stories to his stupid opinion about clubs. She informs him that she’d never had a more terrible experience in her life and that she wishes she could get that hour of her life back.

Harry can’t help the way his face lights up at how utterly repulsed she sounds. He knew it. He fucking knew she would never insert herself into a romantic situation with such a comedic punchline of a human being. Hearing her confirm his suspicions is almost as pleasurable as what she can do with her mouth. Almost.

The vampire finds himself lost in his thoughts, thinking about how much better the whole event would have gone if it had been him instead. How he would have picked her up from her flat by actually getting out of the car and knocking on her door, rather than just sending her a text to come down. How he would have helped her into his car like a proper gentleman, and how he would’ve aided her back out when the time came. How he would enter the restaurant with his palm resting at the dip of her back, guiding the girl towards their seats and pulling out a chair for her. How they’d make conversation as easily as they always do, and how he’d have her laughing between mouthfuls of food, and how he’d expertly flirt her into a fidgety puddle. How he’d reach over the table to get a bit of sauce off the corner of her mouth with a cloth napkin, and how she’d thank him with that shy smile he’d grown to admire. How he’d wave off her suggestion to split the bill, paying it all himself and smirking as she scolds him for it because she likes being hard-headed and independent. How much fun she would actually have, and how she would probably be willing to go out on a second date.

Harry’s comment topples out of his mouth before he can rethink it.

“I bet I could take you out on a better date.”

Y/N’s head snaps upwards to meet his gaze, eyebrows jumping in utter shock. She hadn’t been expecting that from him at all. Ever.

She talks between airy spurts of glee. “That was random.”

Harry doesn’t return the gesture. In fact, his lips don’t even jolt in the slightest. He simply just stares down at her with seriousness decorating his features, long lashes blinking blankly. He doesn’t know what overcame him to make such a bizarre, uncalled for claim, but he can’t take it back now. And he’s not so sure he wants to, honestly. He knows there’s truth to his belief— he could definitely do a better job of wooing her than that Jesse McCartney wannabe. It’s not like it’s hard.

Aside from that, seeing Y/N out with another man had reminded Harry that their little alliance isn’t anything solid— it’s not bulletproof, and he really shouldn’t be taking it for granted. He’d been so cocky and self-assured about himself and what he has to offer, he’d forgotten that there is always the possibility that Y/N might grow tired of him. It may be a microscopic possibility, but it exists, nonetheless. If he wants to keep her interested, he has to up his game a bit, or she might decide that he isn’t worth keeping around. If he wishes to maintain this favorable arrangement where he gets his intimate tendencies tailored and his supernatural necessities sufficed, he needs to give her a more fulfilling reason to stay.

Good sex is a very convincing factor, sure, but there might come a time in her life when she wants more than just a no-strings-attached affair. There may come a time when she’ll mature out of this stage and seek something sturdier and safe and anchored. There may come a time when she wants a real relationship, and if he doesn’t keep her occupied, that could be sooner rather than later. And it could be with someone else. He doesn’t want this convenience taken away from him— doesn’t want to lose the thing they have going, which keeps him out of annoying clubs, out of random people’s beds, and gives him the best blood he’s tasted in the last twenty decades. It’s too comfortable and satisfying to let go. He has to keep her hooked somehow, and if taking her on a date can assure that this flawless dream remains intact, then he’ll gladly do it.

Harry licks his lips slowly, measuring out his next words with immense precision. “I’m being serious. I can definitely do better.”

A million emotions funnel into Y/N’s eyes at once and he can only pick out a select few: confusion, astonishment, fear, denial, and slight unease. There is the chance that the monster may be interpreting all of the human’s feelings incorrectly because, truth be told, he isn’t the best at gauging or handling sentiments. However, there is one he knows he’s not misjudging— it’s the most evident one of all: Excitement.

“Think about it for a second, yeah?” Harry starts, shifting in his seat to get a better look at her, raising his eyebrows decisively. “I’ve already gotten in your pants. That means I have no ulterior motive, right?”

Y/N’s own brows kink a smidge. “I...I guess.”

Her friend continues his speech. “Because of that, it means I won’t rush the date, I won’t expect anything from you, and we already get on pretty well, as it is. It’d be a proper good time— a genuine good time.”

The girl’s eyes flicker around different points of his face, trying to make sure he’s not pulling some type of cruel prank. Her tone comes out hesitant and slow. “That makes sense, I suppose.”

Harry squeezes the back of her thigh reassuringly. “It’s all in mathematics, love; everything adds up. It’s truly an ideal situation, if you ask me. Practically utopian.”

Y/N takes a deep breath, letting it out shakily. This is all so sudden and unexpected, she feels like Harry might burst into laughter any minute and reveal it’s all just a big joke. It’s just not them. It’s out of bound— it scribbles outside the box drawn around their whole dynamic. They were never meant to date, they were just meant to sleep together; they were meant to provide each other with the satisfaction that comes from a real relationship, without all the trials and tribulations. Harry asking her on a date blurs those sacred boundaries in a way she’s not sure she’s ready to face. It could mess everything up. It could not only ruin the fun little arrangement they have going, but it could potentially destroy their entire friendship. Harry is the only person she’s truly connected with since she moved to Los Angeles and risking that bond on an impulsive decision...That’s something she doesn’t think she can afford to do. She can’t survive her new life on her own. This is just too dangerous. Way too dangerous.

But then again...it’s not like she hasn’t thought about it before. She will admit, there have been instances where she’s pictured her and Harry becoming more than just warm bodies to each other. The two days she spent over at his house the weekend prior had solidified those fantasies and made them more frequent. They just click so well, she knows for a fact they’d make a great team. It’d be like dating a best friend, in a way. They fit one another in a manner she didn’t think was possible, and despite the fact they’ve only been acquainted for just over a month and a half, it feels like they’ve been friends for years. She feels like these types of connections are rare to create and she finds herself wishing it could develop into more.

But could it really be worth the potential grievance?

Y/N tunes back into reality, gazing up at Harry with reluctant eyes. She’s surprised to find his are full of confident clarity, as if he’s already sold on the idea and had begun planning their outing. He’s simply awaiting her response at this point, thumbing over her knee gently while tucking her hair behind her ear, lips poised into that lopsided simper that makes her heart skip and her nerves glitch. How could she possibly find it in herself to say no to him?

The mortal clears her throat lightly, gnawing into her cheek as she speaks her next words with airy humor. “So is that your official way of asking me out? ‘Cause if so, that’s not enough. You’re gonna have to do better, love.”

Harry hesitates for a split second, but it’s so fast, his friend doesn’t even take notice. He prays he doesn’t grow to regret this decision.

The boy nods, pursing his mouth into a small smile.

“I’m sorry, I don't think I heard you? Must be the AC.”

Harry rolls his eyes grandly at the stolen joke, which is identical to one he had made two weeks ago when he’d come over for their usual adult pastime and had brought a special toy in tow.

His mood comes out theatrical, accent heavily exaggerated. “Dear fair maiden, would you be so kind as to do me the impeccable honor of allowing me to bask in your presence by attending a luncheon with me, preferably sometime in the near future? Thank you so much for your consideration. Sincerely signed...” The creature takes a pause, proceeding to sing his next words to the tune of a song they are both familiar with, given their interest in the Hamilton play. “Your Obedient Servant, H dot Styles.”

Y/N explodes into a series of giggles, shaking her head as she reaches up to peck at his grinning lips.

“It would be my pleasure.”

2K notes · View notes

watermelonlipstick · 4 years ago

Text

Back

School has been kicking my ass lately, but I found some time to write this little warm and fuzzy nothing. I’d love any advice or critiques!

Title: Back

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 1915

Summary: Getting back to find the reader has been waiting for the Winchesters to get home from a hunt, Sam is a little nervous and more than a little happy.

Warnings: mutual pining fluff only!

Sam and Dean walked down bunker stairs slowly, their bones aching with the work of the last week. They had changed into clean clothes to drive through the night back to Kansas, but their hands and hair bore the telltale mud and blood of a hunt, and they badly needed to shower. Walking into the library, Sam took his duffel bag off his shoulder and dropped it unceremoniously but quietly.

Curled up in a chair on the other end of the table, you slept wrapped in a blanket and draped over the old wood. Your hair ground into your folded arms and the huge book you had been reading, and the pressure of your head on your cheek pouched your lips out a touch. Sam brushed his palms on his jeans somewhat fruitlessly in an effort not to dirty your face as he brushed a chunk of hair back from your temple.

“Hey,” he whispered in a low voice, his hand hovering over your shoulder. “We’re home.”

You woke with a small jolt, peeking open one eye to look up at Sam. A sleepy smile spread across your eyes as you arched back to stretch. “Hey, handsome,” you answered in the croaky voice of a nap. “How’d it go?”

“All good, no major injuries. You should be in bed,” he said, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Carry me?” you asked. The shy smile on your face betrayed you as only half joking.

Sam chuckled as Dean came over to them. “He smells like sweat and swamp monster ass,” Dean offered.

“Thanks Dean,” Sam said sarcastically, his voice still low. “He’s right though. Still want me to?”

You nodded with closed eyes, your contented smile showing through even as you yawned. “Dean, there’s lasagna in the fridge if you want it.” As an aside to Sam you mouthed, “vegetarian.” Sam’s eyes crinkled at the edges as he offered his arms out to you. You got up and put your arms around Sam’s neck, letting him ease you up into his chest. Your calves and socked feet dangled over his forearm.

“You’re the best,” Dean insisted, gripping an invisible fist of victory. He gathered up the blanket and stacked it on top of your stomach.

“Don’t stay up too late,” you hummed to Dean while nuzzling your head into the crook of Sam’s neck.

“I won’t, kid. I promise.” He leaned over and kissed you on the cheek. “Goodnight.”

Sam nodded to Dean over you, jerking his head toward the kitchen to show he’d meet his brother in a minute. He carried you back to your room and lowered you down onto your bed before spreading the blanket out on top of you.

“You didn’t need to wait up for us,” Sam said.

“I know, but I wanted to see you.”

“Well I won’t lie, it feels a lot more like home to come back to you than an empty bunker,” he smiled.

“Oh yeah?” you asked with a sly grin.

“Definitely.”

“Will you come sleep here?” Your eyebrow crooked up in question. It was loaded, definitely a pretty big step further down the tightrope you and Sam had been walking. But it had felt right to ask, and you fought back the impulse to take it back or turn it into a joke. Sam’s eyebrows lifted in soft, hopeful surprise, and it changed his whole face.

“I can if you want me to,” he answered, running a hand through his hair. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I think so.” The hesitation in your voice made his pulse race despite his fatigue.

“Uh, ok, yeah. Just let me eat something and shower and I’ll be here, I promise. Don’t wait up though.”

You nodded, trying to fight a smile by biting your lip, then pulled the blanket up under your chin and closed your eyes. Sam lingered in the doorframe for a moment, watching the light from the hallway fall on the swells and angles of your body before going to the kitchen with Dean.

Dean was already halfway into a plate of lasagna by the time Sam got there and took off his jacket.

“Dude, she’s outdone herself. This is awesome,” Dean said through the last third of a mouthful before swallowing.

“Yeah, she’s pretty great, isn’t she?” Sam asked as he walked to the fridge.

Dean looked up smugly over his fork. “What’s going on with that anyway?”

Sam closed the microwave door on a plate of lasagna and turned toward Dean. “Uh, I mean, I don’t know. She asked me to sleep with her.” Dean half-choked on a bite, coughing and grabbing at his beer bottle. His brother realized his mistake, making an exasperated face before correcting himself. “Not like that, Jesus. Like literally sleep in her room.” Dean pounded his chest with a closed fist and fought through a hoarse throat.

“Are you going to?”

“I mean, yeah. Why, should I not?” Sam’s eyes widened.

“I don’t know what you should or shouldn’t do, man. Just seems awfully boyfriend-experience to me,” Dean said, his hands up in faux surrender.

“Well, yeah,” Sam conceded, getting his plate out of the microwave.

“So you’re her boyfriend?” Dean looked incredulous.

“Dean, I don’t know,” Sam whined as he sat down across from his brother.

“Fine, whatever, I’ll leave you alone about it. But know that I’m going to be pissed if things get weird between you two and she leaves. Aside from the extra backup, I can’t go back to Marie Calendar and beef jerky after this.”

Sam nodded placatingly.

You had dozed off, waking up when some lizard part of your brain realized the light had shifted in the room. Sam filled the doorway in an old t-shirt and flannel pajama pants slung low enough on his hips to expose a little sliver of skin when he walked. The smell of shampoo crossed the room as if being unfurled from his still-damp hair, the clean familiarity of it making your joints relax even further than they had in sleep. He saw the heavy lids of your eyes for the second time that night, and felt a pang of nervous affection.

“Do you still want me to, ah..?” Sam whispered like a gravel road at dusk.

You nodded, folding back the comforter next to you. He walked over, messing with the hem of his shirt like a shy teenager before crawling gently into bed. He didn’t know what to do. It felt like the first time he’d ever slow-danced with a girl at some stupid school formal—Mandy Jacobsen, freshman year of high school, wearing a shirt Dean had outgrown but was still too loose to be tucked in properly and his dad’s shoes—not knowing where to put his hands or whether it was better or worse to press against you. You waited a beat before rolling to your back to mirror him.

“Is this too weird?” you asked.

“No, no. Sorry, I just—I’m just a little keyed up from the hunt I guess.” Sam cursed himself in his head; you knew they’d driven over 7 hours to get back, it made no sense that he’d still be on an adrenaline rush. He was grateful when you didn’t say anything.

“Was it gross? When you guys had me look up bunyips I was so glad I didn’t come with on the stomp-around-in-the-swamp job.”

He chuckled quietly. “You would’ve hated it. We had to change before Dean would even unlock the car.”

“How’d you get back to the motel to change if he wouldn’t unlock it?”

“No, like out on the side of the road.”

“So you and Dean were naked on the side of the road in—where was it?”

“Stringtown, Oklahoma.”

“In Stringtown, Oklahoma, and didn’t get arrested?”

“It’s pretty rural.”

“Well thank God for that,” you giggled, turning onto your side to face him. “I would’ve had to take that stupid little Volkswagen to come and get you. You’d have needed a double knee replacement by the time we crossed the state line.”

“Then I’m even more glad.” Sam’s profile was fuzzy in the dark but you could hear his smile. When he turned to face you the tiny amount of ambient light glinted off his teeth. “I missed you,” he added, so quietly you almost couldn’t hear him from inches away.

“I missed you too,” you breathed.

Sam shifted to his side and tentatively reached out to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “I didn’t mean to wake you up, you should go back to sleep.”

“Are you going to leave if I do?”

“Not if you don’t want me to.” His thumb was gentle and callused against your cheek, brushing absentmindedly.

“I don’t want you to.” You twisted away from him to curl back against his chest. Sam got those same heart-thumping sweaty palms he had with Mandy Jacobsen and hoped you couldn’t feel the thrum of his pulse against you, suddenly aware of how thin the fabric separating you two was. He felt gangly and awkward in his filled-out 32 year old body, and kind of stupid for it; less than an hour ago he’d held you in his arms and he couldn’t even estimate the amount of times his hands had roamed your skin, feeling for broken bones and shards of glass or stitching up a gash. He was trying to remember what the natural thing to do here was when you reached behind to his side and pulled his arm over you, laying his palm out below your sternum and lacing your fingers in his. His hand spanned a wide swath of your torso and made you feel delicate, like something precious. After a moment, Sam let the weight of his arm settle over top of you like a cloak, the pressure soothing and protective.

You smelled like warm skin, fresh sheets, and the orange blossom soap you loved from the farmer’s market in the next town over. Sam inhaled deeply, nestling his face against your hair and feeling the heat from you and your body-warmed comforter seep into him, so opposite from the freezing bog water he’d been up to his thighs in earlier that day. He was having a hard time coming up with something that would be better than this and thought it might actually be ramping up his nerves, comfortable as it was. Instinctively he pressed his lips to your hair, feeling a jolt in his chest when it made you lean back into him.

Seems awfully ‘boyfriend-experience’ to me ran through his head and he felt an overwhelming ache. If this was the boyfriend experience, he wanted nothing else in the world. He felt your breath deepen under his palm and the weight of your body began to sink a bit in that telltale way that told him you were falling back asleep. Sam listened for a long minute to the rhythm of it.

“I love you,” he breathed, just to hear what it sounded like.

“I love you too, Sam,” you murmured, barely opening your mouth.

Sam had no time to feel embarrassed you’d heard him, hadn’t been fully asleep, as his chest swelled with helium. He shifted his calf to cover your cold feet and smiled, all to himself, into the darkness. It took him hours to drift off, but he didn’t care. There was no place he’d rather be.

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

Tags: @sams-sass @vxnderlindes @deanwinchesterswitch @akshi8278 @itsjensenanddean @flannellover67 @weepingwillowphoenix @tj-drinks-tea @whatareyousearchingfordean @winchest09 @winchestergirl2 @samwisethegr8 @nobxdy @nurse-sarahrn @lovers-in-japan-reign-of-love @deanwanddamons @stressedoutkitten @winchestershiresauce @tatted-trina6 @percico-heronstairs @downanddirtydean @queenoftheunderdark @lyarr24 @wonder-cole @that-one-gay-girl @fairlyspnfanfic @treat-winchesterswith-kindness @mimaria420 @huntheimpossible (s)

And as always, if you want to be on my taglist, were on the taglist and changed your handle, or I lost track of it, please let me know!

#sam winchester #sam fanfiction #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester one shot #sam x reader #sam x you #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam fluff #sam winchester fluff #spn fluff #spn fanfic #spn fanfiction #spn oneshot #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fic #supernatural fluff #supernatural one shot

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war--lords · 4 years ago

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sorry i’ve been gone for so long i have a full-time job and other hobbies that i am deeply obsessed with... here have some fluff

Female pronouns for Reader

Fact one: In the past three days, Nobunaga can’t find you in the places you frequent around the castle, and at the end of the day, finds the tenshu empty. By dusk you are usually in his room, but these nights he finds you coming back after him. “Oh, just taking care of some stuff,” you would say.

Fact two: He misses you.

Perhaps it isn’t in his character to admit that so openly to you, what with his moniker being the “Devil King” and all, but he knows you know better—honesty has always been a key in your relationship, and it was the fact that he knew you were from 500 years in the future that drew him closer to you. Yes, he’ll tell you he misses you, but not before dealing out the proper punishment for failing to pay attention to him.

(Maybe he’s not being entirely honest after all, because he calls it punishment even when the both of you enjoy it. And as much as you’d squirm and reprimand him for teasing you so...)

Enough, he chides himself mentally. The lack of quality time with you has driven his mind to rely on fantasy, but that needs to change today. Today, he declares independence from the stack of paperwork on his desk and dedicates his working hours to looking for you—within the castle grounds or in town, if he must. He can already hear Hideyoshi scolding him at the back of his mind and scoffs.

As if that could stop him.

Nobunaga’s first stop is the hall where the seamstresses usually work.

“She left but moments ago, my lord,” says one of the elderly, working to get her thread in the eye of the needle. “To the kitchen, said she needed help to procure some food items.”

“Speaking of, she did the same yesterday. And the day before, if I remember correctly,” another seamstress chimes in. “And it’s around this time too.”

“I wonder if she’s also helping out there. Our lady has always been so eager to assist!”

Thanking the ladies for the information, Nobunaga exits the hall to make his way to the kitchen, leaving the staff giggling and cooing at how sweet the two of them are together.

At an hour so close to lunch, the castle kitchen is teeming with life. Nobunaga’s face is hit with the aromatic smells of various dishes—it seems they’re about to be served mushroom and meat stew, a season-appropriate dish—as well as smoke and the sounds of commanding voices and hurried footsteps carrying the orders out. A cooking battlefield.

Blue enters his peripheral and he turns to look at a corner. Masamune is taste-testing something out of an iron pot simmering atop a fire, offering some of his comments to the chef standing next to him before sprinkling in some other ingredients into the pot.

“Lord Nobunaga,” Masamune says, grinning at the Oda patriarch’s approach. The chef standing next to him looks surprised at the very least, echoing the greeting with a deep bow. Masamune swiftly swipes a sample of the brewing broth of a wooden spoon and offers it to him with a “careful, it’s hot”.

Nobunaga holds the spoon in his hand and sips, nodding his approval. “I was told I could find ___________ here.”

“The lass? Right, she was here.”

Nobunaga clicks his tongue at the use of past tense.

“Was she helping out with lunch preparations?”

Masamune shakes his head, adding what seems to be a pinch more salt into the pot. “Asked for some leftovers, actually—last night’s steamed fish. Put it in a neat little box and was gone as quickly as she arrived.”

“She asked for her food to be packed, as well.” The chef next to Masamune supplies.

Was she going somewhere? Nobunaga muses, deep in thought. His lover might be perplexing, but sharp as he is, he has some sort of clue as to what is happening.

“I see. Did anyone see which way she was heading?”

Another young man chopping up some scallions in his work station put his knife down and pointed to the right of the kitchen entrance. “To the garden thereabouts, perhaps, my lord,” he answers, before he dutifully goes back to his job.

“Thank you. In that case I shall have my food to go as well.”

“Right away, my lord!”

Masamune chuckles. “Didn’t know you guys like playing cat and mouse.”

Something clicks in Nobunaga’s mind. That had to be it.

“Yes, well, I didn’t know either,” comes his offhanded response, the beginnings of a smile on his lips.

When he finally finds you, you are sitting under a maple tree in the freshly trimmed garden, the red of autumn forming a beautiful canopy above you. He sees a lacquered lunchbox in your hand, and in front of you, just at arm’s length, is another box...

...being devoured wholeheartedly by three kittens of varying coats.

“There you are,” he says as he approaches. You look startled for a split second, perhaps associating the gardens with a place that nobody ever frequents, before the expression melts into the very smile he’s smitten with.

“Nobunaga!” You look pleased with a tinge of confusion. “How rare of you to dine outside.”

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” he confesses as he sits down next to you, not minding the grass on his kimono and haori, “and upon finding out that you’ve decided to eat out, I decided to join you.”

“I’m sorry, did you come look for me in the kitchen?”

“And the seamstresses’ hall before that.”

You look extremely apologetic he almost feels bad. He leans forward. You get the message and peck him on the lips.

“Sorry.”

“One more, and then you’re forgiven.”

“Mm, okay,” you murmur, smiling into the kiss, your lunchbox forgotten despite holding it in your hands. This one lasts longer, what with your lover’s hand at the back of your head, ordering you to stay, and when he swipes his tongue on your bottom lip you feel the beginnings of a moan bubbling at the top of your throat—oh, you’re in public—

He’s the first to pull away, a devious smirk on his face. “Your food will grow cold.”

Pouting, you begrudgingly start eating again.

“So this is where you’ve been the past few days?” He asks, unraveling the cloth that wraps his food container while staring at three fuzzy rumps an arm’s length away. The kittens, all of which are variants of white, orange, and black, look ravenous, not even caring that another person has entered the vicinity. He spots the remnants of steamed fish in the box.

“Yes,” you answer, all smiles as you look at the kittens, and then once more that expression morphs into a realization that you’ve been spending less time with him, which perfectly explains him seeking you out. “Oh, Nobu, I didn’t mean to.”

He begins eating his meal. “You could have told me.”

“Well, yes, but I felt like that would’ve finalized my attachment to them,” you say, finishing your meal (you started earlier, after all). “I’ve been watching them and waiting for their mother to perhaps come back, but it’s been three days...”

One of the kittens, the one with orange and black on the tips of its ears, comes hobbling at you with little legs, meowing in thanks. Your smile turns to a chuckle when it climbs into your lap, insistently pawing and leaning its head into your palm when you reach to pet it.

He watches as you pet it gently, the kitten seemingly wanting more scratches and strokes each time that you have to concede. A wry smile takes over his face as he continues with his meal. “Perhaps its mother left them here knowing they will be well cared for.”

You blink in surprise. “Nobunaga, are you saying we can—”

“No.”

“Why?” you whine.

“I’m smart enough not to invite any competition for your attention within my quarters.”

Understanding dawns upon you and you find your arms around his shoulders, kissing his neck repeatedly so as to not disturb his meal. The poor man... getting jealous over some kittens because you’ve been looking after them for the last few days. When you’ve administered the last kiss on his throat, hoping to appease him, you look up to see his eyes boring into yours, a planning smile on his face. You catch on, and smile back, hoping to look at least half as alluring as he.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“Good,” he replies curtly. “When that happens... I’ll make sure it’ll be impossible for you to think about anything else.”

The incessant meowing, cute as they are, dissolves the sexual tension between the two of you, as another kitten makes its way bravely on top of Nobunaga’s calf, its beady eyes making it look like it’s pleading. Good sir? Have you come to feed us, too?

You see a softness in Nobunaga’s eyes that indicates he’s finally understood what you felt. The man uses his chopsticks to fish out a piece of meat and hovers it right in front of the kitten’s face, allowing the tiny feline to snatch it out of the utensil’s grasp and straight into its mouth.

“The staff will be informed of these little ones and help take care of them,” he declares, “of course you are free to do so as well.” Just don’t neglect me again, you can hear that last unspoken bit through the way he gazes at you. You smile at him gratefully and sigh, feeling like the luckiest person in the world. When else do you get to see Nobunaga acting all soft and playing with kittens?

Leaning forward again, you kiss him on the cheek.

“Thank you.”

He brushes your lip with his thumb and you suppress a shiver down your spine—now is hardly the time to think of that. You lean your head on his shoulder.

“Shall we name them?”

(Haguro flies in the scene five minutes later, scaring the kittens initially, but it’s clear that much like his owner, he’s just jealous and wants some pets.)

#nobunaga #oda nobunaga #nobunaga x reader #ikemen sengoku #reader insert #scenario #imagine #imagines #ikesen #cybird #fluff #female reader #fem reader

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moved-to-void-kissed · 4 years ago

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Too Late to be Saved

Document link: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1GF_jZevunsCA5QKPWXfaVO_OO61ZaAtxkzPdoJNJHUM/edit?usp=sharing

When Aqua and Aria reach the Dark Margin at the edge of the realm of darkness, they meet Ansem the Wise, who is quickly sought by Ansem, Seeker of Darkness. Aria angrily confronts the fellow Heartless, but finds herself unable to get back to the End of Sea before Riku and King Mickey arrive. (2351 words) Replaces the KH3 cutscene “An Unexpected Encounter” and changes some story events so that “Too Late” and “Braving the Darkness” no longer occur.

My first new piece of selfship writing on this blog, and oh boy is it a big one! I had a lot of fun writing this, so hopefully it makes for a good read, haha ^-^

A transcript of the document is under the readmore! Reblogs of this post would be greatly appreciated, since I was really happy with how this turned out, but they’re not required by any means~

“What is this place..?”

The blue-haired woman slowly walked forwards, marvelling at the sight before her. The endless dark caverns that she had wandered for so long had opened out to a clouded grey beach, lit by what appeared to be a glowing white moon above the horizon. The hard stone underfoot was giving way to soft sand of the same ash-like colour, as waves of murky water gently grazed the shore. It was an eerily tranquil place by the standards of all she had witnessed before, something her companion was quick to notice.

“There are no Heartless here.” she said. “I almost feel as though I shouldn’t be here, either. Aqua.. I think this might be the edge of the realm.”

“So, we’ve made it to the end?” replied Aqua, now making her way towards the shoreline.

“Yes, it would appear so. Whatever lies beyond this shore.. It seems less like part of the darkness, and more like something between dark and light. Something that doesn’t belong to either force..”

As her partner spoke, Aqua became aware that her voice was growing fainter. When she turned around, she saw that she had made far less progress towards the water, standing awkwardly some distance away with her wings curled around her body. She looked nervous, and unsure what to expect, yet the catlike ears poking straight up through her messy blonde hair showed that she was still as alert as ever, constantly listening for danger even in the silence of the new place they had stumbled across.

“Aria, it’s okay! We can keep going, if you’d prefer that. You look tense, and I don’t want you to be unsettled.” A worried expression flitted across Aqua’s face as she reached out to hold Aria’s hand - the sudden movement made her flinch in surprise, but she quickly and visibly relaxed as Aqua drew closer. When the two were standing together again, Aqua gently closed both of her hands over Aria’s, unfazed by the patches of open darkness that ran along them, and smiled as she looked down at her partner.

“Thank you..” she mumbled quietly. “I’m alright, I just- don’t know what to expect here.”

It was then that, behind the Keyblade Master, Aria spotted a hooded figure sitting some distance away, hidden by a black coat but appearing to gaze out over the barely-moving water. Though she still let Aqua hold her right hand, she slowly shifted to free her left and moved to stand at Aqua’s side in one fluid movement. Then she extended her left arm and a mass of dark energy enveloped the space beside her, dissipating quickly to reveal a jagged dark red Keyblade.

“Identify yourself!”

Her shout echoed across the shore, leading the figure to turn its head and slowly stand up. As it started to walk across the sand, it removed its hood to reveal an older-looking man with piercing orange eyes and wispy light blond hair. He looked tired, and his face bore the wrinkled lines of worry as he observed the two Keyblade wielders.

“Please, stay your weapon. I mean you no harm.”

Aria wasn’t overly convinced, but she could see that the man did not have the strength to be a threat, so she lowered her Keyblade. Aqua was curious to find out more, taking a step forward.

“Who are you? How did you end up in this place?”

The man sighed wistfully, folding his hands behind his back. “My name was.. stolen by another, and I can feel this place taking its toll on my memory. I’m sorry. I know that I have only been here for a fairly short time, and that I was sent here by the destruction of the machine I created to encode Kingdom Hearts in data.”

“Before that..” He turned to look out over the water again, unwilling to meet Aqua’s gaze. “I caused a great deal of misery to many individuals, through both my recent actions and my previous research. It is clear to me now that I was deeply in the wrong about some of my original beliefs.. Now, I can only hope for a chance to atone for my deeds.”

“It’s alright.” Aria’s Keyblade had disappeared from her hand. “I can see now that your heart holds a true desire for.. repentance, or something of that nature. I’m not sure what the right word is, but.. The point is that you won’t be harmed, by either of us.”

“Yes, of course!” Aqua added. “I think you’ll be safe here, at least, since the Heartless don’t seem to come here. And, I can’t claim to know what you’ve done, but.. What’s important is that you recognise your mistakes, and that you want to make up for them.”

The man seemed relieved, and turned back to face the pair with a shadow of a smile on his face. “Thank you, both of you. I admit that I was not expecting to meet anyone else in this infernal prison. If I may ask, what are your names?”

“Oh, there’s no time for that now.”

A dark portal had opened up, and from it stepped an imposing and well-built man in a similar black coat. He had slicked-back long silver hair and similarly piercing eyes to the old man, though his were a cold golden colour. Aria’s eyes narrowed at his approach, as it was clear that he was a powerful user of darkness, though the true nuance was only visible to her.

“What- What’s going on?” Aqua asked, turning to face the man with suspicion. He ignored her for the moment, focusing only on the older man, who in turn was glaring fiercely at the intruder as he approached.

“You..”

“Master.. I must have a word with you.”

“Master?” he echoed. “So now you mock me..” The disapproval dripped from his voice like bitter venom. The interloper opened his mouth to respond, but-

“Leave.”

Aria had broken away from Aqua’s grasp and now stood defiantly before the intruder, Keyblade still in hand.

“Excuse me?” The man raised an eyebrow and sneered down at her, surprised by her actions.

“I know what you are, Ansem.” she snarled back. “I have known your power since before you even existed. A villainous Heartless with a natural human form - the one that took the title of “seeker of darkness” and is shadowed by a twisted dark figure. You think you’re so strong, but you are not the one who holds power here.”

This last statement had clearly struck a nerve, and Ansem’s expression of contempt soured into anger. “You’re certainly an astute one.. But what makes you think you could possibly face me?”

“Have your eyes gone blind as well as gold? If I can tell what you are, you can tell what I am. I have seen more than you will ever achieve, especially now that you’re afflicted with some other presence. That-” - she pointed up at his eyes - “-is Xehanort’s power, isn’t it? If you’re with him, that makes you our enemy.”

At this point, Aqua’s worried expression had returned. “Aria, be careful..”

“Aqua, get that man somewhere out of the way. I’m going to stop this before it becomes a problem.”

“You are a fool to challenge me, girl!”

An eruption of darkness burst forth from the Heartless, and the powerful frame of the Dark Figure rose up from his shadow. Aria quickly leapt up into the air, spreading her wings to soar over Ansem’s head as he lashed out. To deflect the residual impact of his outburst, Aqua summoned a Barrier spell, then started to help the old man escape once he had turned around.

The force of that initial burst - not even a targeted attack, merely an effect driven by the might of his anger - instantly made Aria aware of the strength Ansem possessed, and she knew she would have to be careful. Her advantage was agility, as the darkness she could draw from her surroundings to aid her flight was limitless. She darted out of his reach and flew up and away from the Dark Figure’s grasp, firing shockwaves of unearthly blue energy at both it and Ansem. The monster seemed unfazed, but Ansem himself was slowed down in his pursuit of her, only to then retaliate with a barrage of violet orbs, which Aria was able to flit between. At every twist and turn, she flew further away from him, enraging him even more as he was forced to give chase.

“What is this insolence?!” Ansem yelled. “You should be obeying me!”

“Does it look like that matters?” she replied, deftly evading another blast of dark energy. “I already told you - you’re not the one who holds power here. Even if you did, Ves’ presence is enough to protect me. I don’t care what you think you deserve!”

Another flash of darkness, this time from Aria herself - she had switched her Keyblade from its dark mode to its diamond mode, now shimmering with cold blue light, and enveloped herself in a shadowy aura to strengthen herself. Still soaring on her wings, their black feathers gleaming with energy drawn from the realm, she sent a rain of insightful flames down from above, then her Keyblade became electrified and she hurled it spinning towards him.

“Maybe you meant something, once. But now you’ve let yourself be taken over by someone who’s not even strong enough to control you completely. Take it from someone who knows - all that does is weaken you!”

“Enough of this!”

Suddenly, the Dark Figure wrested itself from Ansem’s shadow and lunged forwards into the air, followed swiftly by Ansem himself, roaring and surrounding himself with a wall of intense darkness. As Aria dropped through the air to avoid his charge, a blast of ice struck him from behind. It was Aqua, channeling magic even without her Keyblade to act as a conduit. The impact threw Ansem off-course, but the Dark Figure swept around and managed to grab hold of Aria.

“Agh!”

“Let go of her!” Aqua cried, trying to fire more magic without hitting Aria. Ansem’s attention remained focused on the Keyblade Master, while the Dark Figure tightened its powerful grip as if to crush Aria entirely. She desperately writhed and struggled, holding onto the figure with her right hand and trying to slash at it with the Keyblade in her left. After a few moments, it became shrouded in a dark mist, as if dissipating, and she was able to slip from its hold when another direct hit from Aqua made Ansem stumble.

Anger still pulsed through him like a poison as he shouted at the both of them. “I will not lose to an obstinate recusant and a lost guardian with no Keyblade to protect herself!”

Clearing the space around him by emitting a shockwave of energy, Ansem started to summon a massive crest of darkness above him, reaching all the way up to the ceiling. The Dark Figure was still clawing at Aria, as if enraged at how she had stolen some of its power to escape it, but she felt confident she would be able to evade the incoming blow. She could tell that he was not at his full strength anymore, and the intricate crest was already starting to lose its shape, contorting into a misshapen orb of raw darkness.

Then she saw where Ansem was aiming.

“Don’t you dare!-”

In the instant before the orb struck her, all Aqua saw was a flurry of feathers, and then came the dark impetus. Something fell from her sash as she was knocked to the ground, and she was only aware of something- someone- Aria being launched through the air above her, sent flying further back into the dark.

Just then, a shower of stars came soaring in from the direction of the otherworldly beach. Their light seemed to pierce through the darkness like a blade through fog, and Aqua couldn’t help but feel a surge of hope as she saw them strike the Heartless.

“Oh no you don’t!”

A familiar and determined cry from none other than King Mickey himself - the little mouse had leapt to the fray and brandished his Star Cluster Keyblade to help Aqua out. From behind him, another Keyblade wielder in plaid clothing was running towards them, carrying a sword of grey metal with ease.

Aqua recognised him immediately, even though he had grown considerably. “Riku! Mickey! Is it really you?”

“Gah..” Ansem staggered back to his feet, clearly injured from Mickey’s attack, and glared at them all in turn. “You have not won this.. You will not prevail!”

Another dark corridor opened up, then it was gone, and he was gone.

“I don’t feel good about letting him get away like that..” said Mickey. “Should we try and go after him?”

“There’s no time!” Riku exclaimed, his green eyes clouded with concern. “We need to get you out of here, Aqua, and bring Ansem the Wise with us, too. I don’t know how long the corridor I made will stay open for.”

“Wait, but-”

Mickey nodded at Riku’s words with a determined expression. “You’re right. I’m not leaving without you again, Aqua!”

All the while, Aria was desperately flying.

The light of all their hearts, and of the corridor, was blinding, especially for one so accustomed to the dark - but she kept racing forwards, using them as a guiding beacon. Sharp spikes of rock loomed down from the ceiling, as if the jaws of a monster were trying to consume her, to keep her trapped in the realm that had already held her for so long. No. She wouldn’t lose her. This would be her only chance to escape.

The lights flickered, once, twice, three times - and then it was all extinguished. Fatigue from her injuries mixed with overwhelming emotions brought Aria to the ground with a sob. She crashed to the floor just metres away from where her love had been so cruelly rescued, clinging onto what Aqua had so sadly left behind.

All she had left was a blue glass Wayfinder.

#third time's the charm..#a call from the void #creations from the void #selfship #selfshipping #love: wayfinding waters (aqua)#selfship: survivors of the dark (aqua/aria)#self‑inserts #self‑insert: darkness' champion (aria)#kingdom hearts selfshipping #this post is okay to reblog!#I hope that's everyone who wanted to be tagged! if i've missed someone off or tagged someone who didn't want to be then please let me know

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groovybaybee · 4 years ago

Text

In The Club - 1

cw: bit of smut, alcohol consumption, think that’s all, terrible writing but that’s a given

(8.8k i’m so sorry, the other chapters won’t be this long i promise)

masterlist

Fucking your friend is never as problem-free as you convince yourself it will be. Sure, it starts out simply enough; two horny people agreeing to a moment of need-driven desperation. If you are lucky, the sex is terrible and forms the basis of just another inside joke between you. However, if you are truly unfortunate, the sex is fantastic and addictive and so convenient that you convince yourself it is an ideal situation.

“Fuck me,” I groan blissfully as the cool night air smacks against my exposed flesh.

Despite still not falling into the habit, the smoking area of any club quickly becomes my sanctuary on any given night out. Something about the space feels sacred and sinful at once, a free zone of communal naughtiness.

Its more than that. The haze-filled space offers a welcome reprieve, whether that be from thumping beats, one drink too many, or lecherous advances. Standing outside in my sanctuary, breathing in a mixture of second-hand smoke and crisp, late August air; I feel at peace. My eyelids flutter closed and my head rolls back until my chin is parallel with the night sky.

Its cold. We knew it would be before we came out, the idea of a summer in London feeling like some sick joke as we rallied around each other to avoid bringing jackets to avoid wasting time in a queue for the cloakroom. The evening’s chill does not bother me, instead, I appreciate the way it sinks into my skin, chilling the heat being pumped through my veins. The beads of sweat in my hairline begin to dissipate as the soft breeze caresses every piece of bare skin.

“You alright there, babe?” I hear Harry ask, promptly reminding me that I am not alone despite being in my own little world.

A smile pulls across my face, but I take a second to breathe one final inhale of tranquillity before meeting his gaze. He is grinning at me, clearly finding amusement in my cooling down process. If his use of the name ‘babe’ had fallen on deaf ears, the toothy grin and glazed look in his eyes would quickly clear up any confusion as to his state of intoxication.

The sweet boy is pissed.

As he has every right to be. Tonight marks the first night in months he has accepted an invitation to come out. Do not get me wrong, Harry is an inspiration for his dedication to his work and it is obvious that creating music is his path in life, his primary passion, but man have I missed him. The past month has been the worst, almost every offer to spend time together being met with a consolatory ‘Have to work sorry :(‘ text message. Despite knowing that this was the truth, and would only last a little while longer until his newest album was fully wrapped, it still stung not being able to relax after a long week with a bottle of wine, some horrendous film, and one of my best friends. But the album is done, fully mastered and now just awaited final approval before being birthed to the world. Now, I have my boy back.

“I’m so happy you came,” I tell him, wrapping my arms clumsily around his neck.

I feel a breath of laughter against my hair as he pulls me into a tight hug. The two of us sway enthusiastically together, likely encouraged by a mixture of spirits but happy, nonetheless.

Pulling away from him I press a quick kiss to his lips, hands on his cheeks squeezing his face gleefully. This is not the first time I have kissed Harry during our two-year long friendship. The two of us even went through a brief period of kissing each other hello, up until just over a year ago. So, it is little shock to the rest of our friendship group when we share a few giggle-fuelled smooches.

“Get a room,” Deb laughs, stubbing out the butt of her cigarette with an amused eyeroll.

“Some people would pay good money to see this sweet action.” Harry teases, a hand gripping my hip and pulling my body flush against his to prove his point.

I would be lying to myself if I said his body did not feel good against mine, that his lips don’t spread warmth through my chest, but so does gin.

“Tanya’s having afters at her’s, anyone fancy it?” Bri asks, wobbling on weakened ankles as she walks over to us, arms wrapped tightly around her petite frame to fight the cold.

The question is indirectly aimed at Deb, something only Harry and I seem to notice, a smirk shared between the two of us at this realisation. It is the same pattern every time we go out and the night starts to draw to a close. The potential for an end to the evening is too much for them, not wanting to say goodbye to each other, but not having enough courage to specifically ask the other to spend time together. So, the roll of cupid falls on my shoulders once again.

The moment I hear Deb agree to go with Bri, I speak up, “No way am I staying up until five with you two chain-smokers. I’m going home.”

“So boring,” Bri teases, a grateful look in her eyes. I send her a quick wink when Deb is distracted, asking Harry if he will join.

“Nah, think I’ll skip it as well. Make sure this one gets home alright.” He responds, a gentle squeeze to the flesh of my hips.

“Sure,” Deb smirks before turning to Bri.

The two women look at each other for a moment, a soft haze of smoke and stifled attraction surrounding them.

“Have a good time,” I interrupt, snapping them out of their unintentional staring contest. Each gives me a hug, desperate to hide their pinkened cheeks from the other. “Be safe, I love you both.”

“You too!” Bri hollers as they begin to walk away.

“Use protection!” Deb shouts across the crowded area, eliciting embarrassed giggles from Harry and myself as we hide our faces in the other’s neck.

“You staying at mine tonight?” I query as I lift my head from the crook of his neck. “Missed having you round.”

“I’d love that,” Harry says, pressing a kiss to my forehead, “Want to go now?”

I nod and smile as he finishes the last of his drink in one gulp, Adam’s apple bobbing harshly. A large drop spills from the corner of his mouth and he clumsily wipes it away with the pad of his thumb. His hand slips into mine as we cut through the crowd in the same direction as Deb and Bri

A smirk graces my lips as I picture the pair sat in a car together, completely oblivious to their mutual attraction. Since the moment they were introduced at my birthday party a few years back, they have tiptoed around each other, both deeply infatuated but too scared to make the first move. Sometimes I worry that they are too similar for their own good, that they will dance around the subject forever.

“Who do you think will make the first move?” I ask Harry as we walk to find a nearby takeaway, my body on autopilot as Harry leads me through quiet London backstreets.

“Probably me.” Harry says absentmindedly, focussing the majority of his attention on checking the road is clear before we cross.

“Deb or Bri, idiot.” I chuckle, my legs working overtime as I try to keep instep with his long strides.

“Oh, Deb, guaranteed.” Harry posits, holding the door to the almost empty chip shop open for me to step inside.

“I’m not so sure,” I say as we join the queue, the group of girls in front of us swaying, most holding their high heels as they discuss condiments. “At uni, Deb was always too shy to go up to girls, so I had to do it for her, but Bri’s a model you know, confidence kind of comes with the territory.”

“Not necessarily. Bet you a tenner it’s Deb.” He smirks, hand already outstretched to shake mine.

“You’re on,” I shake his hand firmly, the mischievous twinkle in his eye charming me more than I would like to admit. “Want to split some chips?”

* * *

By the time we pile into my flat, the food is almost cold, the two of us quickly chowing down as we collapse on to the sofa. We work like a well-oiled machine, falling into our habits of pouring water, kicking our shoes off, and switching on some late-night television.

“I know I’ve said this a hundred times,” I start softly as my wild eyes attempt to focus on him under the dim light, “But it’s so good to see you. I’ve missed you, man.”

“C’mere,” Harry grins, pulling me into a tight squeeze before we settle side by side into the cushions. “Been meaning to tell you, you look great tonight.” Harry smiles cheekily.

“You going to try and snog me again?” I tease through a mouthful of chips.

“You do look irresistible right now.” Harry chimes, wiping a smudge of ketchup from the corner of my mouth before popping his finger in his mouth to clean it.

There is a brief pause, a second or so of silence before Harry speaks again, picking through the box of chips for the perfect one.

“I liked kissing you.”

“Do it again then.” I tease, wondering if he will take the bait or laugh it off.

Turning in his seat until he is facing me, a curious smirk plays at the corners of his mouth. For a second, his lips pucker in thought.

It is all I can do not to let out a little breath of laughter. The situation is bizarre, undoubtedly. Yet, there is a distinct sensation of calm filtering through my body, as though no matter the outcome, I would be satisfied.

“I shouldn’t… Haven’t had sex in months, scared it might stir up something in me.” With that, he turns his attention to the TV, slouching down into the sofa cushions.

“Harry,” I utter softly.

“Hmm?” he asks, my gaze fixed on his jaw as he clenches and releases it absentmindedly.

“Kiss me.”

Turning to face me yet again, this time with an incredibly serious look on his face, his eyes dark and stern. While he observes me, I take a sip of my water. His eyes follow me intensely, watching my lips part before lowering the glass and swallowing, his throat bobbing with mine.

“Are you sure?”

“Beyond sure.” I tell him with enough confidence for the both of us.

Our lips meet somewhere between us, lazily melting together as we sink into the sofa cushions. We move in a blur, arms around each other, hands caressing faces.

Our clothes tangle as we hastily undress ourselves, giggling as the garments collide on their way to the living room floor.

“This is stupid, isn’t it?” Harry grins before connecting our lips over and over.

“Completely.” I smirk between tequila-flavoured kisses.

“Condom?” he asks, voice slightly muffled by the flesh of my shoulder.

“Implant.” I tell him breathlessly, mentally reminding myself of my appointment to get it replaced next week.

Harry just nods into the crook of my neck, a hand reaching down to position himself. The giggles fade away as we become fully connected, slipping naturally into a symbiotic amalgamation of limbs and lips. It is hasty and sweaty, each of our movements oozing with lust. Our bodies work quickly with one another, only personal need driving us until we pull our clothes back on.

“Nice.” I tease, reaching my hand out for a high-five.

“Loser.” Harry laughs, pulling me into his side. A quick kiss is pressed to my temple and we turn back to the television as if nothing had happened.

* * *

The morning after, us having sex has already turned into a private joke. The two of us teasing one another relentlessly as we nurse our hangovers with a fry up.

“Never going to be able to look at you the same way, not after seeing your face when I made you—”

“Made me? I don’t think you could make me do anything.” I interrupt, bumping Harry’s hip with my own as I plate up our late breakfast.

“That so?” he replies, a smirk strongly evident in his voice.

I am about to reply when his hands slip around my waist from behind, gently raising until they cup the underneath of my breasts.

“Do you want to eat or not?” I laugh, motioning to the pan of eggs in one of my hands and the spatula in the other.

“Fine.” He grins, giving my boobs a quick, soft squeeze before moving away.

We sit down on the barstool by the island and I instantly dig in, desperate to eat away the throbbing in my head.

“Bri’s sad because she didn’t make a move on Deb.” Harry tells me as he types a response quickly on his phone.

“Telling her about last night to cheer her up?” I joke. Harry pauses, locking his phone and placing it down on the cool granite surface.

“God, can you imagine how much shit they’d give us if they found out?”

“I won’t tell if you don’t.” I offer a hand for him to shake.

“Deal.” He says quickly, stretching out his own hand to meet mine.

* * *

It isn’t until a few weeks later that I get to see Harry again. Work consumes us both as always. Harry finalises a promotion timeline for his new album while I travel across Sicily, working with temperamental models in the baking summer sun. I spend the first day back at home, lazing on the sofa and doing laundry. Almost immediately upon exiting the plane, I miss the heat. Late summer in London provides to be drizzle-filled and grey for the majority of the time. The only time sunshine rears its head is the day of Harry’s party. Typical, really. That man even has mother nature on his side.

After a sluggish and jetlagged day spent doing laundry and replying to emails, I drink as much caffeine as possible before heading over to Harry’s place. He had wanted tonight to be as intimate as possible. Only family, friends and a few members of the production team received the invitation to his house to hear his new album before the public get their hands on it. The select few of us, after checking our names with the security team at the gatehouse, make our way through the enclosed community, walking right in through his unlocked front door.

Once inside, I cannot help the smirk that tugs at my lips as I imagine Harry organising this party. The house is covered in pink and blue like a fancy gender reveal and all I can picture is a roll of tape between Harry’s teeth as he insisted on hanging streamers himself.

Quickly, I am distracted by the décor when a table filled with flutes of champagne catches my eye. With one in my hand, I turn a corner and see him immediately. He stands in the centre of the lounge while those around him sit dotted around the space, watching as he speaks animatedly. His hands move about wildly as he talks, eliciting laughter from the room as he continues to tell a story I already recognise. Just as he reaches the climax of the tale, his gaze floats towards me. Joy seems to settle around us as everyone cracks up at the punchline of the anecdote, the two of us simply sharing soft smiles by way of a greeting. I raise my glass slightly and he understands, continuing to entertain the room effortlessly as I join the masses, simply observing and enjoying him.

“Alright?” I hear a familiar voice utter groggily. I turn to see Bri clutching an espresso martini tightly, majority already drunk. “Knackered, mate.” She confirms as she presses herself against me in lieu of a hug.

“Know the feeling,” I sympathise, feeling the formidable aches of travelling.

Bri and I swap stories about where we have recently flown in from as we settle amongst the group, finding a small loveseat brought in to accommodate the increased number of occupants.

Collectively, the room falls silent. Harry, charmingly humble as always, utters a few words of thanks to us all for our support during the writing, recording, and production processes, before we relax into the evening as the first track begins to play. Thankfully, Harry has already witnessed my initial reactions to each and every song, including a few which did not make the cut, so I need not worry about emotional outbursts in front of some of his nearest and dearest. Each track reminds me of the nights he would sneak me demos or voice memos of certain lyrics and riffs he was particularly proud of at that moment. Hearing the album again now brings back a serious swell of pride that fills my heart right to its capacity, emotion beginning to fill my eyes as we listen to the stories of his heart. Each sorrowful ballad and upbeat tune breaks and reforms my heart repeatedly and I am once again, completely enamoured with him and his talent.

* * *

“My girl,” Harry calls out happily, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “What did you think of the album?”

“I’ve already heard it.” I laugh, absentmindedly leaning into his warmth, grateful for it in the slight chill of his back garden.

“You weren’t supposed to though.” He whispers, lowering his head as he colludes with me, “This was meant to be the first time anyone outside of production heard it so… shh.”

Impossible to hold back my grin at his ridiculously over the top nature, I just give him a toothy nod before placing my left index finger against my lips.

“I won’t tell if you don’t.” I say softly.

“Where have I heard that before?” he grins, tapping a finger against his chin as he pretends to search his memory. His gaze trickles over my body, eyebrows pulling together when he notices the giant purple bruise spread across my upper left arm. “How did you do that?”

Gently, he takes my arm in his hand, lifting it softly to take a better look at the yellowish edges.

“Was time to get my implant removed, back to condoms for a few weeks.” I tell him casually, not realising the suggestive nature of my words until he replies.

“Going to miss the way you feel for a few weeks then.” His tone is so casual that it stuns me for a moment, completely unable to think of a witty retort.

I had assumed that our drunken fling was just that. Never had the thought crossed my mind that he might want to do it again. Okay, that’s a lie. I have thought of little else at night than the thought of Harry on top of me again, his hand replacing my own as I bring myself to climax.

However, watching the way he observes my reaction sparks a disgusting greed within me.

“Hang out when everyone leaves?” he asks, seeing the fire behind my eyes and matching it with his own.

It is all I can do to nod and not pull him aside and let my body mould to his.

The evening passes quicker than I had expected, perhaps my slight exhaustion seems to warp my internal clock, making hours feel like minutes. Regardless, before I know it, Harry and I find ourselves on his bed, lips and limbs entangled.

“I’m really proud of you.” I manage to mumble against his lips in a brief interlude in which they are parted from my own.

“That means a lot.” Harry utters back, equally hindered by my lips against his. Neither of us mind though. If anything, these small and restrained interactions seem to encourage us, raising the heat in the room as hands grasp and grip the other. Our bodies flush together, desperately meeting in any way possible as if trying to verbalise what we do not dare talk about.

We move much slower than the last time, savouring each and every touch as we take turns removing the other’s clothes. Contrary from our previous experience, there is nothing greedy about our movements. Instead, a different type of need drives our bodies to intertwine.

I manage to pull myself away from him for long enough to mutter, “Condom?”

Harry stills above me, eyes averted as he thinks deeply before speaking, “Think there’s some in the bathroom, sorry, I’ll be right back.” With a swift kiss to my forehead, he dashes from the room into his en suite.

“Cute bum.” I call after him, enjoying the way his hips wiggle with his quick pace.

“Cheers!” he hollers back, shortly followed by the sound of skin on skin.

The idea of him slapping his own backside leaves a smile on my face which lasts until he returns with a single condom, declaring it to be the last one and making some teasing comment about how lucky I am. His words fall on deaf ears, however, as I feel the energy in the room shift. My eyes glue to his body as he sits beside me, taking both of my hands in his and pulling me to sit up straight. The muscles of his body grow taut under his skin as he moves me to sit between his open legs. My feet lock around his back, his hands mirroring the same position around my waist as our lips meet yet again.

Into each other we sink deeper, chest meeting chest, rising and falling together. A gentle hand lifts to tuck away a lock of my hair before settling against my cheek, softly grazing his fingertips across the tender flesh of my neck. His lips are like runny honey against my body as they trail across my jaw and trickle down the column of my throat, catching my breath between them. The tip of a thumb under my chin keeps my head high as his lips work lower and lower. My own lips are parted as I melt beneath him.

“Harry,” I gasp, unintentionally making him stop dead in his tracks. Panic instantly flooding through my veins, I cast my gaze downwards to check on him. He looks up at me with soft but needy eyes. “What is it?” I ask cautiously, my hand subconsciously clearing the rogue tendrils of hair away from his forehead.

“I like the way you say my name.” he utters lowly, so quiet it almost seems as though he is afraid of my reaction.

Unsure of what words could quell whatever doubts he is battling with; I replace them with a soft kiss to his lips. One side of his face cupped in my hand, I feel him lean into me, eyelids fluttering shut just long enough to savour the feeling but not so long as to make it obvious that it was his aim.

“Harry,” I whisper, just loud enough to catch his attention and bring his eyes back to mine, “I want you to…”

I falter, unsure of the right word to use here. None seem to fit just right, either feeling too blunt and devoid of emotion or too far the other way.

Regardless of semantics, Harry understands and slips his hips away slightly. I watch as his steady hands tear the wrapper open and roll the condom down his shaft. Without another moment’s hesitation, his hands are back on my body, grasping at the flesh at my sides as he pulls me into his lap. With every move he makes, his lips provide accompaniment. Kisses spread across my face and neck, down to my collarbone and breasts, celebrating each and every part they come into contact with.

Desperate to feel every part of him, I raise my hips. Upon realising my intentions, Harry meets my gaze, watching me with awe-filled eyes as I slip our bodies together. I feel him gasp against the bare skin of my chest. For a moment, our actions are slow, adjusting to the overwhelming feeling of one another. Our hips rock gently into each other, soft moans and sharp inhalations fill the otherwise quiet bedroom, bouncing off the walls I have begged him countless times to add more colour to. His hands grip the flesh of my hips, reaching down sporadically to grope at my cheeks. With each squeeze and scratch, I move faster against him, head thrown back in pleasure as we repeatedly hit every delicious spot.

His hands caress every part of me, truly making love to my body as heated gasps slip past my lips. Our bodies work as a chemical reaction of lust and care, eyes locked as we move quicker and more urgently. Everything we need to say we say with a kiss of the neck, a scratch of bare skin, and a bliss-filled moan.

Two hands slip behind me, swiftly but securely lowering me into the pillows of the bed before returning to my hips and waist. His hands grip me tighter as this new position allows him to sink deeper into me, his body slowing temporarily against mine to savour the feeling of being fully complete. His eyes never leave mine, pupils contracting and dilating, telling me everything I need to know.

My gaze flicks down to the point where our bodies meet, watching in lust-filled awe as we connect. I feel Harry do the same as his forehead rests against mine, hands slipping to grasp at my thighs, squeezing and moulding the flesh in his hands. A groan leaves my lips at the sensation of his adoration. At the sound, his hips snap harshly against my own, eliciting louder, wilder moans. Encouraged beyond belief, Harry chases my pleasure, speeding up the movement of his body against my own. His head drops down to my neck, suckling and licking at the skin growing tender under his control.

Lifting his upper body from mine, he pushes gently against one of my legs until it is perpendicular to my body. Instantly, I melt beneath him, this new angle driving me into a state of madness as he hits harder and deeper, watching with animalistic pride as I clutch around desperately for something to cling to. My fingertips tangle in the bedsheets, eager to anchor myself as a hand slips between my legs. His fingers spin soft circles, their contrast to the speed and force of his hips sending me over the edge, body shuddering violently as he eases me back down. Harry utters soft words, gentle coos that bring me back to him and allow my eyes to unscrunch themselves. When I see him, laying atop me, face just inches from mine, the fire is burning brighter than I have ever seen it, something about watching the pleasure he brings me arousing every sense.

“Fuck me,” I beg, my voice cracking from my raw throat but I don’t care. I need him.

He gives me everything in him, using my body to feel good, knowing as well as I do that nothing could compare to the two of us. Even when his face contorts, jaw slack and breathing halted, I feel the care he has for me. His fingertips caress the softness of my skin, gently roaming the expanse of my body as I tether him to the Earth. Collapsing into me, he buries himself in the crook of my neck. My hands come up to encircle him, grazing up and down his back soothingly as he catches his breath.

“You’re unreal.” Harry eventually mumbles against my skin, producing a breathy giggle from deep within my chest. He pulls away, rolling off me and quickly discarding the condom before laying beside me. Propping his head up with his hand, his body follows the contours of my side in order for us to constantly be touching. “I mean it.”

I turn to him, tucking one knee between his and trying not to groan at the ache in my body.

“I dig you too.” I say with a gentle, slightly exhausted smile.

“Never said that,” he teases, earning a half-hearted frown which just makes him grin even harder. Slowly, his face falls serious, his brows pulling together as he contemplates the thought swimming around in his mind.

“Tell me.” I whisper, a hand coming up to rest on the side of his face, thumb automatically caressing the stubble across his cheek.

“Sometimes I think we’ll end up together.” He tells me quietly. My actions still, eyes flitting to his eyes to search for the tell-tale sign that he is just being mischievous. But there is only a hint of worry in those bright eyes.

“Yeah?” I ask, quickly licking my lips to distract myself from the break in my voice, convincing myself that it is simply because my throat is still sore from moments ago.

“Yeah.”

We lay for a while like this, no words spoken, or action taken. I don’t think either of us would know what to do if we wanted to anyway. Instead we lay. His hand comes up to rest on top of mine, keeping me with him until the rise and fall of our chests sync and my eyelids grow heavy.

“Tired?”

“Little, still a bit jetlagged.” I mumble, already half-asleep despite my intentions to stay awake and look at him all night long.

“Go to sleep.” He says softly before pressing a tender kiss to my hand. His lips work as an immediate sleep aid, relaxing every aching muscle and eradicating every stressful thought.

* * *

Three weeks pass by quickly, work overwhelms me yet again and I spend my days and nights at shoots, silently praying that each director I work with will be less of a diva than the last. Unfortunately, my prayers go unanswered. The increased workload begins to drain every last drop of lifeforce from me. My limbs ache with exhaustion, stomach never fully settled due to lack of sufficient sustenance.

“I’m knackered, think I might be getting the flu.” I explain sleepily to Harry over FaceTime, my body slumping back into the heap of pillows in my unmade bed. His camera flips around from the beautifully clear blue sky above him to a concerned, slightly bearded Harry. “Have you shaved since you left?” I ask with a smirk.

“This is my LA stache.” He grins, smudging and finger and thumb across the width of the hair above his top lip.

“I miss you.” I whisper, not meaning the words to leave my subconscious.

“I miss you too,” Harry smiles, his eyes softening as an excited shade of light pink flushes his cheeks. “Hang out when I’m back?”

I nod and agree to dinner next week before yawning and saying goodbye. Wrapping myself up in the cold duvet, the thought of seeing Harry soon stops me from slipping into sleep. My mind relives our last night together, each kiss and caress playing like a film. We should have talked about it before he left but, as per usual, our work-lives consumed us. What would he say about that night? Did he feel the difference in the way we moved? Is he just as freaked out by it?

The next day, all doubts and fears are drained from my body, a care package waiting on my doorstep as I arrive home. Carrying the box inside, my eyes glance around the box in search of some sign to indicate the sender’s identity. I knew he had been the one responsible for it, but the contents just confirmed it. Tins of soup, orange juice, cold and flu medicine, a box of cherry bakewells (my absolute favourite comfort food), and an unbelievably soft pair of fluffy socks.

Snapping a quick picture of the assortment, I send it to Harry with a string of appreciative words, tearing up due to his sweetness and my sickness.

It does not matter what either of us thinks of feels about that night together, because at the end of the day, it is always going to be him and I, whatever form our relationship takes.

* * *

“You look like shit.” Deb greets as she presses a kiss to my cheek before allowing me to sit across from her and Bri. I fight the urge to roll my eyes and glance down at the menu laid across my plate. The majority of the options made my stomach churn, the thought of pushing eggs down my throat enough to make me gag.

“Can’t shake this bug.” I grumble, sipping at my water as our waitress arrives.

“Three mimosas please.” Bri smiles sweetly at her.

“Oh, no, just two.” I correct, starting to break into a slight sweat. The waitress nods and excuses herself to fetch the girls their drinks, leaving them both to look at me with wide eyes and mouths agape. “My stomach has been in bits for weeks, no way I’m drinking and making myself puke again.”

“Never thought this day would come... I mean its brunch, what else are we going to do?” Bri gasps in a dramatically solemn tone.

“Yeah, can’t remember the last time you didn’t drink with us.” Deb frowns, clearly slightly upset at losing one of her drinking buddies. “Except that one time at uni.”

A smirk ghosts over my lips at the memory. Deb and I, still in our first year, sat in the pub with two pints on the table, both untouched as we watched the pregnancy test stashed in my bag slowly reveal just one line.

Slowly, the smile begins to fall from my face, Deb mirroring me as the penny slowly drops for the both of us.

“When was the last time you got your period?” she asks quietly.

“What?” Bri asks in utter confusion, excluded from our moment of telepathy.

“I can’t remember,” I admit in a whisper.

“Jesus Christ.” Deb sighs, the colour draining from her face as her hand comes up to rub at her forehead nervously.

“I had my implant taken out, the doctor said my hormones would be unpredictable so I haven’t really thought about it.” I rush, desperately trying to defend myself for not noticing the absence.

“Oh,” Deb says, instantly perking back up as if nothing had even happened. “To be fair, when was the last time you had sex anyway?”

She speaks as if the question were simple a throwaway comment, a small joke to lighten the mood. Of course, she would think that, the last time I spoke to the girls about my sex life, it was to complain about its lack of existence. I haven’t quite found the right way to tell them that Harry and I are doing whatever it is we are doing.

“About a month ago.” I admit quietly, unlocking my phone to flick through my calendar, mainly to avoid the harsh gaze of two of my best friends.

“What? Who with?” Bri asks giddily, however her excitement is drastically overshadowed by Deb’s probing.

“You used protection though?”

“Of course we did, I’m not an idiot.” I say, feeling myself getting wound up as the blood seems to drain from my body.

There is no way I am. We were safe. There’s no way.

When I look up to meet their gaze, however, both girls look at me with such sympathetic gazes that it takes everything in me not to burst into tears.

“Want to get a test to be sure?” Bri asks gently, somehow instantly caught up and fully aware of the sheer internal panic I am feeling.

I nod and we immediately leave the table. Bri takes my hand and waits with me as Deb quickly pays for the drinks that did not even arrive.

“It’ll be okay,” Bri whispers to me, her thumb soft against the back of my hand.

“Yeah,” I nod, trying to shake of the severe sensation of dread smothering me. Swallowing hard, I manage to meet her eye. “Probably just a scare, right? We’ll laugh about it in an hour.”

She does not reply. No one speaks as we walk to the closest shop, thankfully Deb lives close by and is able to source a test and usher us home before I can overthink too much.

I won’t be. What are the odds? Condoms are 98% effective, I checked in the health aisle as Bri went to pay. 98% is far too high to be stressing out over a few potential symptoms.

The girls sit on the edge of Deb’s bathtub, watching me pee and trying to crack jokes to lighten the mood as I place the test on the side and wash my hands, looking anywhere but the stick.

“These situations make me so glad to be gay.” Deb utters to Bri with a ghost of a smirk.

“Totally.” Bri says with a small giggle.

“Not helping.” I groan, pacing back and forth in the small bathroom, my stomach squeezing tighter and tighter into a knot.

We sit in silence for the remaining few minutes. Until Bri finally breaks the tension in the room.

“Do you want one of us to look?”

“No.” I say quickly, undoubtedly wide-eyed.

With a long inhale and slow exhale, trying to draw out these last few seconds of naivety, I give a small nod before approaching the countertop.

Two lines.

“Maybe its faulty, do another one.” Deb reasons.

“You okay?” Bri asks me gently as our friend digs wildly through the box for the second test stick.

“It’s positive.” I whisper, eyes glazing over slightly as I stare down at the white plastic. “I’m pregnant.”

* * *

“Have you told the dad yet?” Deb asks, her voice crackling through the phoneline as I walk into the hospital’s multi-storey car park.

“No,” I sigh, ready to defend my decision to her for the fourth time since the three of us stood in her bathroom, two positive tests laying across the countertop. “I told you, I wanted to know my options before I tell him. Gather some research, you know?”

“How was it?” she asks as I unlock my car door and slump into the driver’s seat.

I give her a quick run through of my appointment, from taking yet another test, it coming back positive yet again, to discussing the three main paths from here. Abortion, adoption, or parenthood. Repeating all the information the doctor had given me makes me want to be sick, all of the statistics and medical jargon feeling foul in my mouth. This was not supposed to be my life. I was not meant to get knocked up by my friend who, oh yeah, just so happens to be internationally acclaimed musician Harry Styles. Blocking the image of telling him from my mind, I focus back in on Deb’s voice.

“You know I’ll be here through whatever you choose, don’t you? I know you’re scared, and I know this isn’t exactly ideal but you’ll make the right choice and me and Bri will do whatever you need. We’ll hold your hand if the dad won’t.” she tells me, unintentionally causing my eyes to fill with tears.

“Love you Deborah.” I mutter.

“Love you loser.” She grumbles back, eliciting a teary chuckle from my lips.

As the call ends, my head lolls back against the headrest, eyes closing momentarily as I allow myself a few seconds of calm to be grateful for my angelic friends. Both had offered to come with me today, or drive me at the very least, but I had insisted on doing this alone. I could not have dealt with any more eyes on me as I was told ways in which I could deal with my situation. An absentminded guilty hand stretches across my stomach at the thought of my ‘situation’.

Adoption just would not be an option. Unless I somehow managed to avoid Harry for nine months and give birth in secret. Even then I would probably just have to remove myself from his life forever, unable to take the pain of looking at his beautifully unaware face and being stricken with the loathing of giving up the only thing that would ever be just ours. No, that is not an option.

So, my choices become drastically limited. Both life-changing in their own ways. Automatically, my brain begins to form lists of pros and cons as I drive out of the city.

I do want children someday, and people always say that there is no perfect time.

No fucking kidding.

Things would be so much simpler if I was not pregnant. I could live my life and Harry could live his. Surely, he will not want the burden of a family at such a young age. I know all about his hopes and dreams. I know how much music means to him, how incredible he feels after each and every performance. How could I take that away from him?

The thought of not telling him circles around my mind as I sit in the familiar traffic of the route. I could make both of our lives so much simpler if I just made the decision for the both of us. But that is just it, I cannot take that from him. He has to know at the very least.

Anyway, who is to say that he will even want to be involved? Perhaps this has happened before. I have heard the stories of tour. What if he already has an illegitimate child out there and simply does not care? Maybe I have been something to pass the time and the reality of our situation will come crashing down around us and make him want nothing to do with me. Would I keep the baby then?

The possibility of Harry wanting nothing to do with his child leaves my mind almost as quickly as it enters it. This is Harry. He has wanted a family for as long as I have known him, he loves kids. Am I depriving him of a potential future with his partner and legitimate children? Would I be in the background of family photos, not even Harry’s ex, just some woman he got pregnant and has to watch him live happily for the sake of her child’s relationship with their father?

Anger bubbles up inside my ribcage as I pull into the garage attached to the house. With a frustrated sigh, I turn the engine off and step out of the car. How could I let myself be so stupid? No one in their right mind thinks that sleeping with their friend is going to be problem free. Clearly this is a sign, a punishment for being stupid enough to open myself up to the potential of a--

“HEY!” I hear him shout from his front door, quickly dashing out barefoot to come and greet me.

For a split-second when I look at him, I forget why I am here. When he wraps his arms around me and pulls me so tightly against him that I worry I might suffocate, all I feel is his warmth and excitement at seeing my best friend home at last. Until he lets me go, and my stomach sinks to my feet.

“Lets go inside.” My voice is hushed, barely above a whisper when he lets go of me. I pull a smile across my face until he nods and walks bouncily into the house, a half-step ahead of me.

“I’m glad you came over, I wanted to talk to you about something.” Harry says, failing terribly at hiding a grin as we move to his kitchen.

I sit myself on one of his bar stools, gesturing for him to put down the kettle in his hand and sit next to me.

“Me first.” I tell him, my face so solemn and opposite to his that were the circumstances different I may have found it comedic.

“It’s kind of a biggie though.” Harry’s smile is completely unaffected by my tone, so wrapped up in getting out what he wants to say that panic starts to bubble up into my throat at the thought of not being brave enough to just tell him what I need to. “You know that night before I left…”

He looks to me with the most hopeful and kind eyes, making me dig my fingernails into the palms of my hands as the realisation sets in that I am probably about to break his heart and have him hate me.

“I’m pregnant.” I force out, voice cracking halfway.

My heart does not thump in my chest like I had expected it to, nor does my stomach churn as I watch him try to process the weight of my words in the slightest. Inside, I feel a sick sense of calm, potentially relieved, potentially too numb to feel the world disintegrating around me.

“You’re… Sorry, say that again.” His eyes search mine desperately for some sign that this is just a cruel joke. Now the pain resurges, wrapping itself tightly around my lungs and squeezing hard.

“I’m pregnant,” I whisper guiltily.

I wait for Harry to speak again, but he doesn’t. He just stares into mid-air, chest heaving up and down as he attempts to make the slightest amount of sense out of this situation.

“About four weeks,” I explain softly, secretly trying to coax him back to me, selfishly desperate to see my friend’s kind eyes. “I saw a doctor today, talked about my options…whether to keep it.”

“Our options.” he whispers, I think mainly to himself before his eyes free themselves from their visual tether and meet my gaze. They are glassy and it takes all I have not to reach out and take his hand and promise him that it will all be okay, because I honestly do not know that it will and I can’t lie to him.

“Our options.” I repeat quietly, ignoring the slight leap of my heart at his sentiment and quickly reminding myself that he has not committed to anything. “I know it’s a lot to process, and you don’t have to say or do anything… but do you have any… strong preferences?”

“Yeah,” he says lowly, “but it’s your decision, isn’t it?”

My heart sinks and throat dries, all moisture heading towards my eyes. With a large, pained swallow, I sit up straight, avoiding his eye.

“Yeah, sorry, I just thought I should tell you.” My voice is quiet, afraid of its own weakness. I stand from the stool, running a hand through my hair out of nervousness.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks quickly, eyes panic-stricken as he stands up in front of me, catching one of my hands in his.

“Going, I didn’t mean to bother you.” I admit, trying my hardest but failing to hide my heart breaking.

“No, no you—I don’t want that.” He says, only now do I notice the texture in his voice, “We don’t leave each other.”

His eyes are every bit as tear-filled as my own, the sight enough to encourage the water in my eyes to slip gently down my face. Standing in Deb’s bathroom, she and Bri had wrapped me in a gentle hug as violent sobs wracked through my body. Now, however, as Harry and I pull each other into an embrace tight enough to keep up anchored to the world, we cry softly.

“We’ll figure it out.” He whispers, resting his chin on top of my head. “Promise.”

* * *

For hours Harry and I sit at his kitchen island, debating our next move. With frustrated sighs and tearful moments, conversation delves into the logistics of each and every possibility at our disposal.

As predicted, Harry is not keen on the prospect of adoption. The notion that his child might discover their father’s identity and potentially make it public, could destroy his image, his career, everything he has worked so hard for. I tell him I understand, that I had thought this would be his fear, and that our options were narrowed down to two.

There is quiet when the topic is first brought up, the eight-letter word stunning him silence.

“It’s your body.” He manages to whisper.

The groan that passes my lips is unavoidable, having heard those exact words from Deb, Bri, the doctor, and now Harry.

“I wish someone could just tell me the right thing to do.” I sigh, holding my head up on the counter, fingers pressing lightly into my eyes to try and relieve the stress headache that has been lingering for the past few days.

“I’m sorry.” Harry utters quietly beside me.

He sits with his hands in his lap, anxiously picking at his cuticles as he watches me with a frown.

“I didn’t mean for…” he doesn’t finish the sentiment, but I understand.

“Me neither,” I admit, softening my gaze and taking one of his hands in mine to stop him from ruining his nailbeds.

He gazes at my hand on his for a moment, afraid of moving and losing the contact. It twists into mine until our palms are touching, squeezing the width of all my fingers with one gentle contraction of his muscles.

Before I let myself get too caught up in the tender comfort of his skin against mine, I speak up, “Fuck it, pros and cons list.”

I stand up from the stool and find a notepad in one of his messier kitchen drawers.

“No judgment.” I tell him, handing him a pen before making a table with my own.

We pause for a moment, and I list something in the negative column.

Everything will change

Harry follows suit and leaves a few words beneath my handwriting.

IMPACT ON CAREERS?

I cannot help but nod my head before we continue to add to the paper, reasoning for and against our little situation.

The process takes longer than I had expected, Harry arguing with some of my cons and suggesting that they are easily fixable or are, in fact, pros.

“Okay, so cons,” I start once we both lay our pens down. “Everything will change, impact on careers, would we be good parents?, don’t want Y/N to have to deal with media, no privacy, custody, would have to co-parent, impact of pregnancy on day to day, this is all a bit mental.”

Harry nods, urging for me to continue to the counterarguments.

“Pros… We both want kids someday and a friendship relationship could create a good support system for the kid… Think the list is pretty clear then.” Looking at him, we both understand logically what we should do.

“Yeah.” Harry says quietly, eyes burrowing deeply into my own before picking up his pen one more time and adding into the left-hand column:

WE’D HAVE A BABY

His eyes seem to take forever to meet mine, flicking down to where my bottom lip is caught tightly between my teeth.

I pick up my own pen and leave my final note, sealing the decision for us.

Its our baby.

Silence fizzes around us, its intensity growing as our eyes meet and have a conversation that we cannot quite pass to our mouths. He looks to me nervously, chewing at his cheek, his eyes holding back the hope building inside him. I want to tell him that I am still scared, that everything about the future is so uncertain. I cannot do it. I cannot deprive him of the joy he is feeling, however shrouded in terror it is.

“So…” he eventually manages to push out, a slight smile creeping on to his lips.

My mouth mirrors him, the muscles in my cheeks aching slightly from the sensation after not being used for the past few days.

“Yeah.” I let out in a shaky breath, eyes watering yet again but this time I welcome it.

“Should we celebrate?” Harry asks quietly, his voice suddenly apprehensive.

“As long as it includes takeaway and a film.” I say, too exhausted to go anywhere or deal with the consequences that come along with being next to Harry in the outside world. Pushing the nagging dread at the thought of people finding out and commenting on us, I pull up Deliveroo on my phone and we settle on the sofa in his living room.

“What to Expect When You’re Expecting?” Harry teases as he flicks through Netflix.

“Too soon.” I reply, smirking down at my phone.

“Sorry,” he says, not at all sorry for getting a positive reaction from me as if our lives would just slip back to how they used to be.

124 notes · View notes

ameliarating · 4 years ago

Note

Since you brought the topic of Untamed/Hogwats houses I have to ask: do you have opinions about how other Untamed characters would be sorted into the Hogwarts Houses? (because I love how you put XXC into Ravenclaw and SL into Hufflepuff and I want others too)

Absolutely! Here comes a nearly-but-not-quite comprehensive list!

So we have Xiao Xingchen, the Ravenclaw who acts like a Gryffindor. Xiao Xingchen is primarily driven by a need to understand things and find a higher truth. It's why he left the mountain to begin with. He was sure he was missing something, something wasn't right in that philosophy, because truth is found among people. It's why he travels. It's why he attaches himself to people.

But that manifests in very Gryffindor way, because he assumes (I'd like to think correctly) that the way to understand the world and universe is through compassion and helping people, which is why he found fault with staying on the mountain. How could that be the right thing to do, how could that be the truth, when it meant leaving people to suffer?

And then when he encounters people who lie, who are hypocritical, who serve themselves when claiming to serve others, he’s deeply frustrated. Since his view of the truth is that it is found in compassion, he has no patience for the structures that lie and keep people down (cough cough JGS). So he wants to change the world and make it better for everyone which makes him look like a Gryffindor, but at its base it comes from very Ravenclaw values.

He’s also the least nerdy Ravenclaw ever, is not at all into texts, and believes that truth, like the Dao, can never be really put into words, but only acted. Though he’d say that there is no truth apart from the Dao, and that to distinguish things, to separate them, is missing the point completely.

Then we have Song Lan, the Hufflepuff who acts like a Gryffindor. Unlike Xiao Xingchen, he's not driven by any grand goals. He's not interested in uncovering some new truth or in changing the world in any big way. He just sees people suffering around him and knows that's wrong and believes that the right thing to do is alleviate suffering in all the small ways he can.

Except that as a powerful cultivator, it's often actually not that small. He doesn't think he can change the world, he certainly doesn't think he has any major effect. (He actually agrees with Xue Yang that it nobody really can), and he was taught since childhood that it was better to follow a more passive path than to try to shape the world into a new image.

But he does believe it's his duty to help the people around him, to make little things more fair, to save lives, to lay suffering ghosts, all of that, because it will effect individuals and individuals matter. He wants to start a new sect with Xiao Xingchen not because he is disgusted with the politics of the sect world (he just doesn't care about it, he's not Xiao Xingchen who is ready to argue with full on sect leaders), but because it will help more people in the surrounding area and it sounds like the right thing to do

But because he's a powerful wandering cultivator, and because he's attached himself to Xiao Xingchen who does have more vision, he comes off as a Gryffindor. - just because the way he operates as a Hufflepuff ends up looking very Gryffindor.

He’s also a very nerdy Hufflepuff who is very much into studying the texts he’s been memorized since his childhood at the temple.

To continue on the Yi City theme, we have Xue Yang, another Ravenclaw. He’s just straight up curious about everything, and since he has no ambition, no desire to change the world, and no loyalty to others, his only real motivation (outside that sweet, sweet revenge) comes from that curiosity.

He wants to know how things work. He’ll spend years studying Yiling Laozu’s notes because they’re fascinating. He’ll teach himself cultivation. He’ll torture someone into revealing themself. He’ll mess with people to learn what their nightmares are and he’ll then he’ll make their nightmares come true, just to see what happens.

He’ll spend three years with his enemy just to learn who he is and what makes him tick. (At least that’s what he’s telling himself... stupid feelings got in their way a bit there.)

If there’s nothing more to learn, he’ll get bored. He needs stimulation. He’s creative. And beyond that, he doesn’t really care.

It’s actually interesting that, like Xiao Xingchen, he is fascinated by so much in the world and wants to learn and learn and learn. And that, like Song Lan, he doesn’t actually think anyone has the power to make a big difference in it.

Rounding off Yi City, we have A-Qing, a Slytherin. She’s goal oriented and protective of the people she decides are worth protecting, and pretty dismissive of everyone else. When we first meet her, her only goal is to get ahead herself. Then she adopts her daozhang (it goes both ways) and she would do anything to get them both ahead.

It’s just that Xiao Xingchen doesn’t really care about getting ahead, or having money, or running away from Xue Yang when he’s going to kill them, which is an issue because he’s become her goal and she won’t abandon him.

I think that if we’d gotten to know her longer, we would have found her to be a pretty ambitious person, but it’s possible that she might have turned out to be a Gryffindor instead. She was just a kid and ghosts don’t really change or evolve. Even in the showverse, where she’s not a ghost but someone living with a sort of slow acting corpse poisoning (??? it’s not clear), she remains frozen as who she was when we last saw her in Yi City.

Wei Wuxian - the Gryffindoriest Gryffindor ever, but if he’d lived in more peaceful times, he would have been, like Hermione, someone with very Ravenclaw tendencies, who uses curiosity and scholarship to change the world for the better. Honestly, not much more to say about him beyond that. He’s just. So Gryffindor.

Jin Guangyao and Nie Huaisang are both pure Slytherins. Jin Guangyao classically so. He’s ambitious, he wants power, he wants to protect what’s his, he’s cunning, and he’ll do just about anything to reach his goals. His eye is on the prize, and that prize is the sort of power that means he can live without shame, except that the more power he gets, the bigger the potential for shame gets too. Poor thing never rests.

Nie Huaisang is less classically a Slytherin, in that he’s not actually all that ambitious, but oh man, is he goal oriented. What he wants, he’ll get, even if that means people have to suffer, either if they’re in the way, or if their suffering is part of his plan itself.

Lan Xichen is a Hufflepuff. Like Song Lan, he is primarily motivated by helping people around them and alleviating their suffering. Even if a part of him wishes he could make drastic changes to the world and how it’s run, he doesn’t believe he has the means to do so, and if he tried, he’d only hurt his own ability to do anything at all, as well as others under his protection.

So instead of fighting the world, he moves within it, being quietly but unusually kind to others, using his position of power to lift people up and protect them, and doing what he can to make the lives of individuals that much better and easier. Sometimes it even works.

He’s trying. The world is set against him. He just doesn’t have the freedom to set himself against the world.

He’s hardworking and he’s loyal and he believes in giving people the benefit of the doubt when no one else will. He has a very clear sense of honor, and it’s all based on what is the right way to relate to others. Like Helga Hufflepuff, he opens his sect up to people others would reject.

Jiang Cheng and Wen Qing are both Slytherins, for similar reasons, but it comes out in different ways. They both believe that their primary loyalties must be to their own blood (Jiang Cheng more expansively to the entire Jiang sect, Wen Qing to her branch of the Wen Clan) and that as leaders, they have to do whatever they can to protect it, even if it means letting others fall by the side.

They don’t think of themselves of heroes. Jiang Cheng is bitter about that and Wen Qing accepts it more easily. They have their own protect and that’s all.

Jiang Cheng is more obviously a Slytherin in that he’s very ambitious (he’s been taught to be, by his mother, it’s unclear to me if he would have been so otherwise), he wants to be on top and be an incredible sect leader, though he won’t use all means at his disposal to get ahead. Like Jin Guangyao, he feels inadequate in second place. Unfortunately for Jiang Cheng, he’s never going to get higher than second place - and often not even that. Wen Qing is not so ambitious herself, and in more peaceful times, might have been more of a Hufflepuff.

Jiang Yanli is a Hufflepuff. She also wants to help the people around her without dreams of changing the world. She’ll alleviate the suffering of others one bowl of soup at a time. Whatever grand dreams she may have had, she’s set them aside for her to nurture Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng which is upsetting, but also, and I mean this very seriously, the people (often women) who spent history quietly feeding the heroes we read about should have made history.

It’s actually enough to be kind.

Nie Mingjue is a Gryffindor, I think? He has a very strong view of right and wrong, and it’s less driven by individuals and more about what the world should look like, even if it’s not what it looks like now. But that’s very hard for me to reconcile with his super-strong views against the Wens, but then again, I don’t want to be all “no-true-Gryffindor fallacy” and claim that real Gryffindors can’t be bloodthirsty to wipe out entire sects.

He, like Lan Xichen, has a very stark view of what it means to be honorable, but for him, honor has less to do with relating to the people around him and more to do with what sort of actions are ever appropriate to take.

Mianmian is either a Hufflepuff or what happens when a Gryffindor is so disempowered as to just give up. She cares very strongly about doing the right thing by others and by setting a good example in the world. She looses her patience with the hypocrisy of the sects but rather than try to tear them down or change things, she leaves and finds her own place to be honorable.

So my question is, is she driven by the needs of the individuals around her (a Hufflepuff), or is she more idealistic and thinks the world should and can be drastically different (a Gryffindor)? Gryffindors work best when they are given the means to change things. Mianmian never really had those.

Jin Zixuan is that kid who sits under the hat and the hat is all, hmmmm, I’m not sure, and he’s all put me where my family is, and the hat is like, really? you sure? not sure you’ll thrive there, and Jin Zixuan says, I’m positive, and then ends up in Slytherin and his father is proud of him, so what could go wrong?

(Jin Zixuan is Regulus Black)

Jin Guangshan is a Slytherin. I mean. Obviously.

Wen Ning is a Hufflepuff. I mean. Obviously.

Su She doesn’t make it to Hogwarts because he’s a Squib, and the evil he ends up enabling says as much about the ills of the magical world as it does about him.

Jin Zixun is a Dursley. I’m taking comments and criticisms on everything else on this post but this.

Lan Wangji ... ???

Like, I dunno! Sometimes I want to say Gryffindor. His early dream was to make the world a better place, at least in the show, I don’t remember in the novel. To protect the innocent and have a clean conscience. He goes where the chaos is. He protects people others overlook. He’s Huangang-jun.

But I suspect he, like Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen, is someone who acts like a Gryffindor but isn’t necessarily, and part of that is because his primary motivation is surrounding one person. Protect Wei Wuxian. From himself, from others, from the world. That’s not a very Gryffindory motivation. Gryffindors tend to have more expansive drives. They want to make more of an impact.

Is he a Slytherin? He’s willing to do just about anything in service of his goals. (His goals are Wei Wuxian.) And he has a narrow group of people that he has claimed as his own and wants to put ahead. (His people are Wei Wuxian and Lan Xichen.)

Is he a Hufflepuff? He is desperate to do right by people and be kind to them and figure out how to alleviate their suffering. (People are Wei Wuxian.)

I’m pretty sure he’s not a Ravenclaw, because while he’s scholarly and does want to learn and open his mind, I don’t think he’s driven by curiosity or a need to attain truth. But even with Ravenclaw, I’d be open to it. So. Yeah.

Soooo, that’s not everybody, obviously, and if people want my sorting thoughts on other characters, feel free to send them my way! But that’s a taste of what goes through my head.

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pls-let-me-out · 4 years ago

Text

Pride and Prejudice

PART ONE

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single Alpha in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a spouse. So one can only imagine Mrs. Solace’s delight, when such a man arrived in their neighborhood.

She had been married to Mr. Solace for not many years, as they had both been widowed, driven together by the struggles of being single parents. They lived with the children they had both previously had–four from Mrs. Solace’s previous marriage, three from Mr. Solace’s–and the one they’d had together, who was only seven years old.

The first thing Mrs. Solace did as soon as she knew of the newly arrived, was telling her dear husband. Although it couldn’t be said that they were madly and deeply in love, friendship had remained between them. Sometimes, at least. In other times, such as this, Mrs. Solace’s insistence annoyed Mr. Solace beyond measure. However, as many other times, his anger had melted into sarcastic amusement.

“Have you heard, Mr. Solace?” She asked, once again, gripping the armrests of the chair, bouncing her leg up and down. “Have you heard who bought Netherfield?”

“I have not,” he admitted. “Although I have reason to think, you will tell me in a few instants.”

“Oh, Mr. Solace, must you always play with me? Do you not know what it does to my nerves?” She fanned her face, her gaze dancing around the room. “You should be delighted at the prospect of finally having one of our children married!”

Mr. Solace abandoned the book he had been reading on the desk, and walked to the window. He caught sight of his aged reflection in the glass. “I know who has bought Netherfield. He has also already arrived.”

“He has? Oh dear, Mr. Solace, you must introduce him to–”

“I have introduced myself already,” he interrupted her. His wife gasped, and he couldn’t hide a smile. “And I have learnt that he makes £5,000 a year.”

Mrs. Solace covered her mouth with her hands, as laughter exploded from behind the closed door. Far too loud and clear to be coming from any other part of the house. When Mr. Solace opened the door with one smooth move, their children almost fell to the ground.

“If anything is to happen,” he said, his voice strong enough to be heard over their giggles. “I believe it will happen at tomorrow’s ball.”

“Mr. Solace, you must–” Mrs. Solace started, only to be interrupted by her daughter Piper.

“Are we going, father?”

Mr. Solace’s smile widened. Chaos among the children erupted.

The assembly rooms often held balls. It was already crowded inside, the whole neighborhood had been invited, and no one would refuse, when they knew that a rich and single man would be present. Will arrived with his siblings, but they quickly scattered around, leaving him alone.

Mr. Solace squeezed Will’s shoulder as he passed by him, leaning closer to whisper into his ear where he’d be going. Will wasn’t surprised to learn that his father would be with his old-time friends, although Mrs. Solace was looking around to find the newly arrived man.

“Lou Ellen!” Will exclaimed, as soon as he saw his friend, moving in her direction through the crowd.

She smiled, nodding in his direction. She was a Beta the same age as Will, and they had been friends even before his father had remarried. As soon as they were close enough, their fingers tangled.

“Your sister is beautiful tonight,” she said, her emerald eyes fixated on Drew.

Will nodded. “She has taken after her mother, she always is, and she always knows.”

Lou Ellen laughed, hitting him square on the chest. Crinkles formed at the corner of her eyes. “Come, concede me this dance, at least.”

“You should ask her to dance with you,” he said, nodding with his head to Drew, although letting Lou Ellen take him to the dance room.

She stomped on his foot as they danced, and he tried to believe her when she said it was just an accident. They were only on the second dance, when the doors opened, and everyone held their breath.

There, in the doorway, stood four people Will had never seen before. The crowd divided, the music died.

“Who are those people?” He asked.

“Mrs. and Mr. Jackson, Alphas, married and mated, cousins to Mr. and Miss Grace, both Alphas. They are siblings. Mr. Grace is our bachelor.”

“Is that strange man behind them with them?” Will said, just then noticing the fifth figure, remaining in the shadows. “Who is he?”

“Oh, that must be Mr. di Angelo,” Lou Ellen said. “Alpha. I heard he makes £10,000 a year, and that he owns half of Derbyshire. I haven’t met him when I visited with my father.”

Mr. di Angelo turned his head to the side, looking at the quartet in the corner of the room, but his high-collar made it impossible to see whether he bore marks of a mating or not. The light put his high cheekbones and strong jaw on display.

The major moved forth, introducing himself, and generally welcoming the five foreigners. Will didn’t listen to a single word he said, too captivated in the way Mr. di Angelo’s eyebrow rose higher with every detail of the room he noticed.

“He doesn’t look too friendly,” he whispered to Piper.

She startled. Only then did Will realize how deeply in thought she had been, how her gaze had looked a little lost. She blinked, looking up at him. “Mr. Grace?”

“No, Mr. di Angelo,” he said. He raised an eyebrow, and hid a smile. “However, what do you think of Mr. Grace?”

“He’s very handsome,” she said. “He looks kind. A little clumsy.”

“You know all of that with only one look?” Will asked.

The music started again, and people moved to dance. Lou Ellen disappeared in the crowd, but Will stayed close to his sister. He couldn’t help but notice, how Mr. Grace’s eyes lingered on his sister when he passed by.

“He’ll ask you to dance,” he told her.

Piper turned red, hiding her mouth behind her hand. “Do you think so?”

Before Will could respond that he did think so, their forearms were grabbed by Mrs. Solace.

“It’s not time to play, sweeties,” she said. “Now we go on scene. Be on your best behavior.”

Will furrowed his eyebrows, but he didn’t have time to ask for an explanation, as she dragged them both to the end of the dance floor, where Mr. Grace was talking to his friends. They major had just introduced them, when Mr. Solace also appeared, looking like he’d been thrown off center by his own move.

For a time that seemed infinite, Mrs. Solace talked with the guests, telling them about their family–only the bright side, of course–and something about many of the other families there–“Lou Ellen, you might know her. She is a Beta, she is such a lovely girl, a pity she isn’t much pretty. Take my Piper, for example. She is much prettier, so beautiful. She has taken after me, but also after her late father, he was so very beautiful, and he did promise me we would have the prettiest children. I had other three with him, although they were all adopted, we were so lucky they were pretty, too. She reminds me of my first daughter, I had her with my first husband.”–and some rather embarrassing things about those other families, that Will tried to forget as soon as they reached his ears. Eventually, she saw a friend of hers on the other side of the room–whom she had just finished gossiping about–and fled the scene, leaving Piper and Will alone and embarrassed.

“I understand that you are step-siblings, am I right?” Mr. Grace asked.

Piper, rather red in the face, didn’t raise her eyes from the floor, muttering a very quiet ‘yes’.

“And are you all related, Mr. Grace?” Will asked, fighting to keep a smile on his face when Mr. di Angelo’s eyes fell on him, and the eyebrow rose again.

Mr. Grace’s smile was small but warm, and it showed a little scar he had on his upper lip. “We are. Thalia is my sister, Nico and Percy my cousins.” When he saw Will’s confused smile, he blushed, and said, “I meant to say, Mr. di Angelo and Mr. Jackson.”

“I believe this is meant to be a lesson for you, Mr. Grace,” Mr. Jackson said, a lopsided grin tugging one corner of his lips upwards. He leaned closer to Mr. Grace, with a glint in his eyes that could only be described as wolfish. “Keep your distance.”

Miss Grace shook her head, as Mrs. Jackson raised her fan to hide a smile. Will couldn’t help but laugh, and Piper smiled. Will’s laugh died short when his eyes met Mr. di Angelo’s colder ones.

“Miss McLean, may I ask for a dance with you?” Mr. Grace asked, his words falling out of his mouth in a single breath, as though he were afraid of never getting the possibility of asking again.

Will’s smile widened when Piper accepted, and they left together. Mr. and Mrs. Jackson both excused themselves to dance shortly after. Miss Grace disappeared, too, and Will found himself alone, in the company of the aloof Mr. di Angelo.

“Do you not dance, Mr. di Angelo?” Will asked.

Mr. di Angelo’s gaze fell on him again, and Will almost regretted his words, however the energy buzzing underneath his skin kept him standing, curious to hear the response, whatever it may be.

“Not if I can help it, no,” Mr. di Angelo said, in a tone that made it impossible to continue the conversation. He excused himself shortly after.

Not much later, Will found himself in the patio with Lou Ellen. They had to be careful when they sneaked around like that. If anyone were to find them alone at night, they would have been believed to be in intimacy with one another. Mrs. Solace already thought so. Anytime she started talking of them as though they were about to get married, Will’s skin crawled.

They talking quietly when new voices reached them from the inside. The first one to talk was clearly Mr. Grace. Sharing only one look, they decided to eavesdrop.

“She is so pretty, but also so humble. She must know that she is beautiful, right?”

His interlocutor huffed. “I’m sure she will know if you tell her.” It was Mr. di Angelo.

“How am I supposed to go up to someone that beautiful, and just tell her, ‘Miss McLean, I believe that you are the most sublime creature I have ever seen in my life’? Tell me and I will!” Mr. Grace exclaimed, sounding agitated.

Lou Ellen elbowed Will in the ribs, and he smiled widely at her, ignoring the pain. Although he had known Mr. Grace would find Piper beautiful, he was still as pleased as if his compliments were a surprise.

Mr. Grace talked again. “Do you agree? That she is beautiful?”

“I am not attracted to women, but I guess that she is.”

“Has no one caught your eyes? No pretty boy for you to dance with?” Mr. Grace hummed, and Will imagined that Mr. di Angelo had somehow responded. Probably raising his judging eyebrow. “Miss McLean’s step-brother is very pretty.”

“He is.”

Lou Ellen elbowed him so hard Will almost yelped out loud. Without the possibility of doing that, he could only elbow her back. She stepped on his foot.

“But not enough to tempt me,” Mr. di Angelo continued, and for a moment everything stood still in Will. “He also smiles a bit too much.”

Mr. Grace sighed, though with a fond undertone, and asked what he should do with Mr. di Angelo. Not long later, they were both gone. Will took one look at Lou Ellen and the surprise written in her dropped jaw, and he couldn’t help a loud guffaw, even bending in two as he laughed.

“What can it even mean that I smile too much?” He wondered out loud. “He may own half of Derbyshire, but I’m now sure that it is the sad half.”

“On the bright side, you won’t have to talk to him, since he doesn’t like you either,” Lou Ellen said, as though she could read into Will’s mind, where he was vowing to himself to never like Mr. di Angelo.

“Maybe Aphrodite is right, and I’m getting too old to temp and seduce alphas. Ah,” Will sighed dramatically, as he had only seen his father and Aphrodite herself do. “The struggle.”

It soon became a recurring joke, between them and his siblings, too, how Will wasn’t aging as well as they had hoped, and Mr. di Angelo’s dislike for him. By the next morning, Will’s own dislike for the other seemed to be something that had always existed, almost like an old friend.

Three days after the ball, Aphrodite, Will, Piper and Mitchell met Mr. di Angelo and Mr. Grace again. They were in the tea-shop, with fuming cups on the table before them, when Mr. di Angelo and Mr. Grace entered.

Mr. Grace greeted them with a smile. Mr. di Angelo’s face remained stoic, but at least his eyebrow remained in place.

“It’s such a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Grace,” Mrs. Solace said, not even glancing in Mr. di Angelo’s direction. He didn’t seem to be paying attention to her, as his eyes were on the world outside the window.

“For me, too, Mrs. Solace,” he responded. Subtly–not enough to not be seen by Will–he nudged Mr. di Angelo’s foot with his own.

Mr. di Angelo smiled, too. It was forced, similar to a grimace. Will didn’t bother hiding his amusement.

“I see you have already found this town’s greatest gift, Mr. Grace,” Will said. “Our tea-shop.”

“Greatest gift after our beautiful Piper, of course,” Mitchell said, batting his eyelashes up at Mr. Grace. “But I’ve seen you found her dancing of your liking, Mr. Grace.”

At that, Mr. di Angelo’s eyebrows shot up, this time both of them. Mr. Grace blushed, as Piper tried to hit Mitchell under the table, and the hit landed on Will. He bit his tongue to avoid gasping.

Aphrodite laughed, looking far too proud of her son’s smooth words. “Darling, don’t embarrass Mr. Grace and your sister.”

“I have to admit to my finding Mr. McLean’s words completely true,” Mr. Grace said.

Will hid his smile behind a sip of tea, only to burn his tongue. Piper looked at him as though he deserved it.

“Forgive me if I say, Mr. Grace, that I am not surprised at all,” Aphrodite continued, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers. “My dear Piper is no stranger to Alphas’ and Betas’ attention.” She sighed, as Will blushed for Piper, trying to catch Aphrodite’s eye to make her stop. “She is just very beautiful. One should do their best to keep her interested.”

Mr. Grace’s calm reached an end, he blinked, clearly unsure as to what to answer, as Mr. di Angelo’s eyebrows rose so high, they might as well have fallen off.

“Are you finding Netherfield of your liking, sirs?” Will asked.

Mr. Grace sent Will a grateful smile, clasping his hands behind his back. “You see, Mr. Solace, life in the city can become too much to bear, at times. Being here, in the country, is far calmer. I’m lucky enough to have friends willing to come with me.” He squeezed Mr. di Angelo’s shoulder, whose eyes warmed, a little smile curling his lips upwards.

Still, Mr. di Angelo cleared his throat. “Your sister is outside,” he said. When his eyes landed on Will, they were completely blank, as though he were looking at nothing more than an ant.

Mr. di Angelo turned, his back stiff, and in a few quick strides, he left the shop.

“He seemed in a rush,” Will said, unable to contain himself. Someone’s foot hit his shin.

Fondness sparked in Mr. Grace’s eyes. “Forgive him, sometimes he lacks in manners. If you’ll excuse me, I’m afraid I have to leave as well.”

At least he smiled and tipped his head before he did.

It was Kayla and Austin who introduced Will to Mr. Bryce Lawrence. The first time they actually met was when the Regiment passed through the city, but Will didn’t notice him, too engrossed in a talk with Piper, regarding a book he couldn’t find at the library. Later, they found Kayla and Drew talking to a man, and they learnt that it was Bryce Lawrence. He wore a red uniform, and he kept his hair gathered on the back of his head.

Mr. Lawrence was beautiful, in a way that didn’t have Will’s breath caught in his throat, but made his heart stutter when he noticed. He smiled, and Mr. Lawrence smiled back.

“Let me walk you home,” Mr. Lawrence said, his eyes in Will’s.

“We have been here much longer than you,” Will teased him. “I find it difficult to believe that we will get lost on the way.”

“Of course not,” Mr. Lawrence said. “But I would love to talk to you a bit more. Forgive me if I am too greedy.”

For no reason at all, Will blushed a deep red. He turned, Kayla hanging off his arm, as they walked back home. Mr. Lawrence walked beside them, stopping at the side of the road to look at the flowers.

“Do you have other siblings or am I meeting the whole family?” He asked at some point.

“We have other four, Mr. Lawrence,” Will said. “The youngest hasn’t presented yet.”

“And the others, if I may ask?”

Kayla giggled, kicking a stone on the ground. It rolled forth, hitting Drew’s feet and making her stumble on her steps. She turned to glare at Kayla, who didn’t pay her any mind. “We are all Omegas,” she instead told Mr. Lawrence.

“It must be quite a hassle for the matters of succession,” Mr. Lawrence said.

“It is,” Piper confirmed. “But Jonathan, the youngest of us, hasn’t presented yet.”

“We all know he’s an Omega,” Drew said.

Piper elbowed her. Even if their succession problems weren’t a secret for anyone who knew them, Mr. Lawrence didn’t need to know just yet. While Omegas, both males and females, couldn’t be heirs, Alphas and Betas could own anything.

“I’m sure you will find a solution,” Mr. Lawrence said, looking in Will’s eyes, for so long it was Will who looked away, and still felt the other’s gaze on him.

“I imagine you have traveled a lot, by being part of the army, Mr. Lawrence,” Piper said.

Mr. Lawrence told them that he had, but he didn’t explain further. Drew used the occasion to talk about the latest gossip she had heard. Ignoring her voice as one would with a background noise, Will couldn’t help but think of his oldest siblings. If they were still alive, the house would be theirs. Then his mind wandered to his mother, and he quickly shut his thoughts off.

Mrs. Solace was in tears when they arrived at home. Will sat close to her, more than he normally would. Piper sat on her other side, putting her face in her mother’s neck to scent her.

It didn’t happen often that Aphrodite broke down. Will had only seen it happen once before, and only as he passed in front of an open door. It was the anniversary of her oldest daughter’s passing, which had happened a few months after her fiancé had died.

“Mom?” Piper asked. “What is it?”

“Your father’s cousin is coming to visit us,” she said, her voice breaking on the last word. “The next week.”

Will froze, his heart ceased, and he couldn’t help but think of his older siblings again. Aphrodite fanned her face, but tears continued falling.

Mr. Solace’s cousin. Finally, they would put a face to such title, putting an end to the sinister curiosity that had haunted them for so long. Mr. Solace’s Alpha cousin, that would inherit his whole fortune when he died, throwing them on the streets. Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Solace had ever stated it out loud, but they knew that a big hope of their marriage had been to finally give Mr. Solace an Alpha heir. Will hoped the knowledge would never reach Jonathan, in fear it would crush him. Drew’s words, as harsh as they had been, were right: they all knew he was another Omega.

“He may decide to let us live in here, after all,” Piper said.

It threw her mother under the waters again. A new wave of tears ran down her rosy cheeks. “He will throw us out,” she hiccupped, almost wailing. “All my children, my dear children, will live on the streets.”

“Father isn’t dead yet,” Will reminded her. “There’s still time to find a solution.”

“Your father never follows the medic’s orders, he doesn’t have much longer, I feel it in my nerves,” she replied. She covered her face with her hands, and Will and Piper exchanged a look, as her scent turned sour. “My only hope is that Piper will get married. At least then one will survive.”

“If I got married, then I wouldn’t let you all live on the streets,” Piper said. “And I’m sure that my husband would have enough heart to not let you, either.”

Aphrodite hiccupped harder, and at that point Will wasn’t even sure what she was crying for. She muttered something about her nerves, curling under the blankets.

“Your husband should be a saint for that,” she said. “A saint! Seven children, only one married. God, my poor, poor nerves!”

Will patted her back. It would be a very long evening.

“What do you think he’ll be like?” Piper quietly asked Will, when all the other siblings were already asleep, buried in the furs on the beds.

“I have no idea,” Will said. “But he’s an Alpha. They are all the same, in my opinion. They only think about their urges, and watch us Omegas like we are nothing more than an object that needs to keep itself pretty.”

“You won’t talk like this anymore when you’ll fancy someone,” she said. She sighed, furrowing her eyebrows. “Have you ever fancied someone, Will?”

“Never,” he said. “I have felt attraction, and sometimes wished to get to know someone better.” And image of Mr. Lawrence flashed behind his eyes, and he blushed again. “But I only want to marry someone for true love, so that I never regret it, and only once I know them enough.”

“I suppose you haven’t had the best examples as for love,” Piper said.

Will grimaced. “I suppose I haven’t. I’m not precluding myself from it, I just want to keep my distance from one that would be terrible for all the people involved. And if my expectations are too high, then I’ll never marry, and I will still find my happiness.”

Piper smiled. “That’s a bit cynical, maybe. But I understand.”

“Let’s not talk of dark matters. They have tired me already.” Will repositioned himself on the pillow, hugging it closer, and Piper’s smile turned shier, as she already knew what he was getting at. They had known each other for a long time, after all. “Talk to me about your Mr. Grace.”

“He is not my Mr. Grace. I have received a letter, today,” Piper said. “I didn’t say it, because my mother already looked desperate, and I didn’t want to tire her nerves more, so I’ll tell her tomorrow during breakfast. Miss Grace and Mrs. Jackson have invited me for dinner tomorrow. I’m so glad I have received this invite. Lou Ellen told me that Mrs. Jackson is a strategist, one of the most erudite women of the country. And Miss Grace is part of an elite group of women in London, who dedicate themselves to advocate for Omegas’ rights.”

“Oh. She is?”

“Yes, she is. Mr. di Angelo’s older sister was a part of it as well, or so I’ve been told,” she said.

“And where is she now?”

Piper hid a yawn behind her hand. “I don’t know. Lou Ellen didn’t know either, or at least she didn’t tell me.”

Will hesitated for a moment. “Don’t you find him a bit weird?”

“He is aloof, maybe he just doesn’t like balls all that much.”

“Nor smiles.” Will furrowed his eyebrows, frowning in the direction of the ceiling, as though he were asking God themselves. “If he didn’t like balls, he wouldn’t have come at all. He just looks down at us, as every other Alpha does. As I have already said.”

“What about Mr. Grace? He has never done such a thing, since he came here, and he is kind.”

Will rolled his eyes. “You never have an ill word for anyone, do you?” With a sigh, he rolled on his side, snuggling closer to Piper. “Mr. di Angelo is as rude as every other Alpha, and Mr. Grace is an exception, needed to confirm the general rule.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Jackson and Miss Grace–”

“Mr. Jackson brooded for the first half of the night, Mrs. Jackson grimaced whenever someone opened their mouth to talk to her, and Miss Grace looked just about ready to kill everyone.”

Piper sighed. “With all the love I have for you, I really wish you would see things a bit differently.”

As predicted, Mrs. Solace was absolutely delighted when Piper shared the news during breakfast. Mrs. Solace sent her to Netherfield with the horse, unwilling to let her use the cart, stating she would need it in the afternoon. When the clouds finally broke, not long after Piper left, Will finally understood.

“Let’s hope Piper’s death is worth winning Mr. Grace’s affection,” Austin commented, as a thunder broke between the grey, dark clouds.

Mrs. Solace waved her hand in dismissal. “She will not die.”

Drew rolled her eyes, sitting by Kayla as she started a new song on the old piano. Austin let his hand fall on Will’s shoulder. Lacy padded in the room, still in her nightclothes, and Mitchell sent her a confused and slightly disgusted glance.

“Who will die?” Lacy asked, her big eyes wide open.

“Piper,” Will replied, turning to rest his back against the window. He could feel every drop of water that hit the glass. “Unluckily, she couldn’t use the carriage, because someone had a plot.”

Mrs. Solace clicked her tongue, fanning her face despite the cold temperature. “I didn’t raise you to be so disrespectful, boy.”

Mitchell laughed. “Mother always has a plot, especially if an Alpha is nearby.”

Lacy groaned. “Mother, you should think about me next, when Piper is finally married to Mr. Grace.”

“I am already thinking about your brother,” Mrs. Solace replied. “He is next in age, and you will not be married before he is.”

Will grimaced, feeling his nose scrunching up. “Her wait will be long and terrible, then.”

Jonathan laughed, and his sweet scent spiked, despite being almost covered by kids’ default one, which they had until they presented. A smile began spreading on Will’s face.

“Who are you even thinking of having him marry?” Kayla asked, a lazy smile dancing on her face. She got up from the piano, stretching her back, and fell on the sofa in a mass of limbs.

Austin took her place at the piano, starting a new melody. He and Kayla were the best of the family when it came to playing, as Mr. Solace had taught them himself. Will never had the patience to learn.

“Miss Lou Ellen Blackstone, of course,” Aphrodite said, opening a book and keeping it in her lap, but with no intention of ending the conversation anytime soon. “She is a dedicated, young, Beta. She makes enough to maintain a family, when the time comes. I have even talked to her mother, she would be happy to see her with Will, too. They have been friends for so long, we all know what the next step is.”

Will could hear Drew’s heart stopping, even though she didn’t move, and the calm on her face didn’t falter. She showed no emotion, and it was far worse than devastation.

“Lou Ellen and I are only friends, and we will never marry,” Will said. He looked in Aphrodite’s eyes as he talked, although his words weren’t for her. “She is interested in someone.”

Aphrodite rolled her eyes. “That someone won’t hold a candle to you.”

Before Will could defend Drew, the door opened to reveal a servant, with a letter to Mrs. Solace. She took it with glee, her voice getting even higher in pitch when she discovered it came from Netherfield.

“What does it say?” Will asked, after Mrs. Solace had read the whole thing, and her smile had grown tenfold. “Is she alright?”

“She is more than alright,” Mrs. Solace said, folding the letter and leaving it on the table. Mitchell moved faster than he ever had, and snatched it. “She will spend the next few days in Netherfield.”

“Why?” Kayla asked. She gasped, and covered her mouth with her hands. “Tell me my horse hasn’t died.”

“Your horse hasn’t died,” Mitchell said, rolling his eyes, although he sounded very delighted. He waved the letter. “We can’t say the same about Piper.”

Will took the letter from Mitchell’s hands. Mitchell’s glare would have sent grown man running, but Will had gotten used to it. As annoying as he could sometimes be, Mitchell would never hurt him.

With the words he had just read spinning in his head, Will looked up at Mrs. Solace. “You caused your daughter to catch a cold.”

Mrs. Solace waved her hand in dismissal. “I caused her to get a husband.”

“Oh, but if she were to die, it would be so worth it, wouldn’t it?” Austin said, his voice dripping in sarcasm.

“Do not use that tone with me, boy,” Mrs. Solace said, whacking him on the head. “She will be treated there. It says right there,” and she pointed at the letter, a smug and self-satisfied smile still on her face, “that a doctor was coming to Netherfield.”

“We don’t even know what doctor,” Will said. He shook his head. “Tomorrow I’m going there.”

Will met with Mr. Lawrence on the way. He was still in his red uniform, and he looked exactly like he did the last time Will had seen him, except for the faint smell of rum clinging to his natural scent.

“Mr. Solace,” Mr. Lawrence said, bowing his head.

Will bowed his back, a small smile blossoming on his face.

“May I walk you to wherever you are going, Mr. Solace?” Mr. Lawrence asked.

“I’m visiting Netherfield,” Will said. “My sister has fallen sick as she was visiting Mrs. Jackson and Miss Grace.”

“And they are throwing her out?” Mr. Lawrence asked. “It wouldn’t be the first time Mr. di Angelo does that with someone who is sick.”

“The contrary, actually. They have offered her to stay until she is well enough to travel,” Will said. “Although I’m sure it wasn’t Mr. di Angelo’s suggestion. You don’t sound fond of him, Mr. Lawrence. Do you already know him?”

Mr. Lawrence sighed. “Oh, I do. We grew up together, my father worked for his. He died when I was only seven, so Mr. di Angelo’s father… well, I saw him as my own father, and I was a son to him. Mr. di Angelo was as dear as a brother to me, but I wasn’t to him. His father died, less than two years ago, when Mr. di Angelo was very young, only nineteen, and he inherited his father’s fortune, but a part of it was meant to be for me.” Mr. Lawrence shook his head, rubbing his cheek.

“What happened then?” Will asked, when it was clear that Mr. Lawrence had no intention of continuing.

“Mr. di Angelo decided that I wasn’t worth their family money.” He took another deep breath, as though he were trying not to cry. “He cut me off the testament, ignoring his father’s wishes. If he didn’t, I would be a clergyman now.” He laughed, looking down at his uniform. “Let’s just say it didn’t go as planned.”

Will couldn’t find anything to say. Mr. Lawrence excused himself, and by the time Will had reached Netherfield, his dislike for Mr. di Angelo had morphed into something far more dangerous and deep-rooted into his chest.

Piper knew Will would have come, or so Mrs. Jackson said. Will didn’t see any of the other Alphas for a while, as he was brought into Piper’s room. She told him about the doctor, but mostly about Mr. Grace, and the things Miss Grace and Mrs. Jackson had said about him.

“And he’s so kind,” she kept on repeating.

He must be saying the same of you, Will thought, but he didn’t dare saying it out loud.

Piper fell asleep mid-sentence, and Will tucked the blankets around her, before leaving her to rest some more. He followed Mrs. Jackson’s previously given instructions to find the parlor, were he found everyone else. Even Mr. di Angelo, whom Will did his best to ignore.

Will apologized for the inconvenience, but Mr. Grace said it was a pleasure – “I mean, I’m not pleased that your sister is unwell, but I’m, I’m honored to have her here” – and he insisted Will stayed, too.

For a while, things were pacific. No one talked much, as Mr. Grace and Mrs. Jackson were having a chess match. Mr. di Angelo was writing, looking absolutely detached from the world, and Mr. Jackson… well, Will wasn’t sure what Mr. Jackson was doing, and Miss Grace was sitting beside Will, with a book open in her hands. Will took another book, and read half-heartedly.

“Tell me, Mr. Solace,” Miss Grace said, her eyes never leaving her book. “Do you often read?”

“I do,” Will responded, hiding his surprise at being spoken to by Miss Grace. She hadn’t been very friendly either, although far less than Mr. di Angelo.

“Isn’t it curious, how all Omegas share the same hobbies?” Miss Grace asked, side-glancing her brother.

Mr. Grace and Mrs. Jackson raised their eyes from the chessboard, while Mr. di Angelo didn’t even blink.

“I find it far more curious how we are required to have these hobbies to be considered instructed,” Will replied.

Mr. di Angelo turned to look at him. “So you agree that it is a choice.”

“Is it?” Will tilted his head to the side. “A choice between never finding a spouse, because we are deemed unworthy, and suffering through endless hours of playing piano and studying. How fair.”

“So you see studying as a suffering, Mr. Solace?” Mr. di Angelo asked.

“No, I do not. I see playing piano as a suffering, not only to myself, but to anyone forced to listen to me. Unlike my younger siblings, I have never managed to get the hang of it.”

“That’s clever, Mr. Solace. When you put yourself down, you make others want to know whether you are as terrible as you say, or you are just too humble. In any case, you increase other’s interest in you.”

“You are very suspicious, Mr. di Angelo. When you do that, you make others wonder what has happened to you to make you such, and whether there’s more to you than that. In any case, you increase other’s interest in you.”

Mr. di Angelo blinked, slowly, as though he wasn’t sure he had heard Will’s words right. Will, on his part, recalled every lesson Aphrodite had ever given him on how to be a perfect Omega, and kept a cordial and innocent smile on his face.

“That was very beautiful to watch,” Mr. Jackson said, his chin resting on his fist as he watched the spectacle unfold. “I have never seen Nico speaking so many words to someone he barely knows.”

“Dear,” Mrs. Jackson said, moving a piece on the board. “Let the boys be.”

Mr. Jackson’s smile widened, but he didn’t look away from Will. “You see,” he said. “I have known Nico for so long, he is almost like a son to me.”

“You are barely three years older than me, Jackson,” Mr. di Angelo said, resuming his writing.

“I have three years of experience on you, yes,” Mr. Jackson replied, continuing as though he had never been interrupted. “Truth be told, I have a younger sister by blood. You have many younger siblings yourself, don’t you, Mr. Solace?”

“You have met them all, Percy,” Mr. di Angelo said, but his words sounded gritted through his teeth.

For some reason, Miss Grace scoffed. “I can’t recall half their names.”

“You haven’t met them all, Mr. Jackson,” Will said, ignoring Miss Grace’s intervention. “My youngest brother is too young to be a part of society.”

Mr. Grace smiled. “Jonathan, yes? Your sister has talked about him.”

“I’m not surprised,” Will said. “She has always had a soft spot for him. Everyone in our house does.”

“It must be hard, living under the same roof as so many people,” Miss Grace said. “We’ve been here together for a week, and I already want to buy a house for myself.”

“My, thank you, cousin,” Mr. Jackson said.

“Not really,” Will said. “At the begging it wasn’t easy, but it was more about our new relationship with our step-parent, than that with our step-siblings. After all, I had known them my whole life.”

Mrs. Jackson smiled. “It must have been hard for your parents, too.”

“They had been friends before their marriage, too,” Will said simply. He didn’t add that their marriage had dimmed such friendship to barely kept civility with one another.

Will had thought that a group of Alphas wouldn’t have much to talk about, if not politics and their riches (and also which Omegas they found more appealing) but that particular group seemed to do. During dinner, Mrs. Jackson asked about Mr. di Angelo’s sister.

“She is an Omega,” Mr. Grace quietly told Will. “She is a lovely girl.”

“Why has she not come with you?”

Mr. Grace leaned closer. “Mr. di Angelo had planned for her to come, too, but she has chosen to stay at Pemberley House. And I have to admit, it is a good thing.”

“It is?”

An apologetic smile tugged Mr. Grace’s lips upward. “Forgive me, Mr. Solace, but I have said too much.”

After Mr. Grace leaned back in his seat, Will didn’t have the possibility to talk to him anymore.

On the third day of Will’s stay at Netherfield, Piper was finally well-enough to travel, and Mr. Grace offered them to travel with his carriage. Piper accepted with a shy smile, and Mr. Grace blushed beyond reason.

They walked outside, and found Mr. and Mrs. Jackson with Miss Grace, already waiting to bid them goodbye.

“Mr. Grace and Mr. di Angelo will come with you,” Mrs. Jackson said, squeezing Will’s hands. “It was a pleasure having you here. Both of you. I wish it hadn’t been under such circumstances, but I’ll look forward to having you again.”

Mr. Jackson smiled, putting his arm around Mrs. Jackson’s waist. “You can’t invite people to others’ houses. Although I do agree, and I’d like for you to visit us soon.”

“It would be our pleasure,” Piper said.

Mr. Grace opened the door for them, and he and Piper stayed there, for a few seconds, just looking into one another’s eyes.

Mr. di Angelo, on the other side of the door, offered Will his hand, as soon as he walked close to the steps. Will, only because he had been raised with manners and wasn’t rude, accepted the hand. However, when he took it, he saw how Mr. di Angelo’s body reacted, as though he were fighting the urge to flee. Had it been a sort of challenge? He had to have thought Will wouldn’t have accepted.

His hand was cold, a bit calloused, although Will hadn’t seen him spending time outside, or engaging in practical activity. In reality, during their stay, Mr. di Angelo always seemed to be inside, almost following Will around, as though he were afraid he was a thief.

“Thank you, Mr. di Angelo,” Will said, finally sitting down.

Mr. di Angelo’s expression fell back to his usual bored one. He didn’t even bow his head at Will, nor in any way replied, only took a couple of steps back, looked down at his hand, flexed his fingers, and quickly walked away.

The doors of Netherfield closed behind him, and the carriage started. Will hadn’t even noticed Piper entering.

“He will be here tomorrow morning,” Drew said, all siblings on only one bed, when the night had long since fallen. “Father didn’t want us to know.”

Mitchell stretched his legs, and they ended up over Will’s and Kayla’s lap. “How do you know, then?”

“We heard him talking to the steward,” Kayla replied. She threw an apologetic glance at Piper. “We didn’t want to eavesdrop, of course.”

“Of course,” Drew echoed, but her smile wasn’t apologetic at all, and she rolled her eyes.

Kayla looked at Piper as though she were the best thing to have ever happened to the whole world, Drew tried to be as different from her as she could. When she was younger, Piper couldn’t find much to like in Drew, either. The loss of their oldest sister had hit them in different ways.

“Don’t you find it strange to think?” Austin asked. “We have grown up in this house. Jonathan is still doing so. How can he just come and get it?”

“It’s not strange, it has happened to other before. Mr. Markowitz’s Alpha father was the cousin of the previous owner, who didn’t have any Alpha nor Beta heir,” Will said, a knot slowly tightening his throat. He gulped, but it didn’t loosen at all. “And no one bat an eye.”

Piper’s head fell on his shoulder. Jonathan was asleep in her lap, his mouth hanging open. “We don’t know him yet, he might surprise us.”

“Right, he might want to keep a harem of Omegas in his house,” Will said.

Lacy widened her eyes, her jaw falling slack. Piper took her hand between her own, shaking her head.

“Will is only joking,” she said. “We can’t know anything without knowing him first.”

Will chuckled. “Although he is a man called Octavian Caesar. We can’t expect him to be humble or pleasant, can we?”

Will was proved right the very next morning. Mr. Caesar spent breakfast talking of novels, and how they were deceiving.

“Your considerations are so interesting, Mr. Caesar,” Will said, his innocent Omega smile on display. “I wonder whether your salmons are half as much.”

If looks could kill, Will would have already been dead. However, since they could not, he could keep on enjoying his breakfast, even with Mrs. Solace glaring in his direction. Mr. Solace brought the calix to his lips, hiding a smile. Mitchell openly laughed.

“I have been told that they are, Mr. Solace,” Mr. Caesar said. His voice was monotone, no emotion ever filtered through his words. “In the evening, I often enjoy reading the classics, although I much prefer the Holy Bible.”

“Completely understandable,” Will said, nodding his head.

Mitchell snickered, as Drew turned her red face away from the others’ sight. Her shoulders shook, but she didn’t emit any sound. Kayla was equally red in the face, but she managed to stay more composed.

“Thank you, William,” Mr. Caesar said. “May I call you that?”

Will smiled. “I would prefer to keep formalities, Mr. Caesar.”

Aphrodite’s fork fell in her plate, with a loud clang that resonated in the silent room. For a long moment, as he chewed with red cheeks, Will believed that he could even hear the dust settling.

“As you wish, Mr. Solace,” Mr. Caesar said, although he looked a bit constipated. He turned to Mrs. Solace. “May I ask which one of my cousins I have to thank for this well-cooked meal?”

Her smile turned sharper around the edges. “We are comfortably able to have a cook.”

“Does that mean none of them can cook, Mrs. Solace?” Mr. Caesar continued.

Maybe looks couldn’t kill, but Will wasn’t as sure about Mrs. Solace’s smile.

“No well-instructed Omega would spend their time in such a way,” she said.

Mr. Caesar dropped the matter.

Whenever the siblings went, whatever they wanted to do, Mr. Caesar was watching like a hawk from behind their shoulders, giving unwanted comments to unwelcoming ears. He was a dark shadow of despair.

One of Will’s hobbies, if it could be called that, was gardening. He liked growing flowers and plants to put in his teas and infusions. Even the doctor had asked for the recipes of some of his pharmaceutic creams.

He usually cultivated this hobby twice a day, in the morning and late in the evening, when his younger siblings were studying with Mrs. Solace, helped by Piper. Sometimes he had to help them, too, but most of the time he was left alone. He wasn’t patient enough to deal with them.

With Mr. Caesar in the house, he found himself with no free time to care of his plants in peace. The first day, Mr. Caesar followed Will in the garden, his breath constantly on the back of Will’s neck, as he gave many unwanted (and also untrue) tips.

The second day, Will woke up with the sun, and sneaked outside. He found his usual peace, and when he was done, he was much calmer and satisfied.

When he turned, his eyes met his father’s, who was watching him from his studio, and gestured for his son to reach him.

Will walked through the house without making a noise, and hoped he wouldn’t meet Mrs. Solace. She would have fainted, if she had seen the dirt on his fingers. And Mitchell would have either been disgusted or thrown a tantrum, but it was too early for him to be up.

“Were you calling me?” Will asked, pocking his head in the studio.

Mr. Solace nodded, but didn’t other move as Will sat in front of him. He kept his fingers intertwined on his lap, and simply watched Will. Sometimes he did. He looked at Will, and he thought of his siblings and his mother, and Will let him.

“I saw you in the garden,” Mr. Solace said. “I always wonder who you got it from. Neither me nor your mother ever liked caring for plants. Your mother always forgot to water them, and thought they would still be alive when she returned to them much later.”

In one of his books, Will had read that plants were much like feelings, that needed to be nurtured and treated every day. Maybe his mother had thought that Will would be waiting for her, young and in blossom, the same way she had thought her plants would.

Mr. Solace had fallen for his first wife quickly, and asked her to marry him, even if it wouldn’t bring him any benefit. Not only did they marry, but they also mated, a bond which would never break. However, Mr. Solace had wanted children, and since his wife didn’t want to carry them, as she was too frail of health, they had adopted. They had adopted two at the same time, and they had both been Alphas. A little later, they also decided to adopt another, thinking another child might bring them only pure happiness.

His mother had faded right before their eyes.

“What do you think of Mr. Caesar?” Will asked, willing the lump in his throat away.

“He seems very self-absolved, doesn’t he?” Mr. Solace chuckled, the crinkles at the corner of his eyes deepened. He leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table. “When I die, whether you are still in this house or not, destroy it as much as you can. The thought of him keeping it makes my skin crawl.”

The Solaces met with Mr. Grace and his companions after the Mass. It had been a terrible experience for Will, who was forced to sit next to Mr. Caesar, and suffer through his comments, all his ‘A beautiful salmon, but I would have changed this into that, and that into this,’ with escape nor hope to do so.

When he was finally outside, Mrs. Solace brought them over by Mr. Grace, who was talking with Mr. Jackson.

“Mrs. Jackson isn’t with you, Mr. Jackson?” Will later asked Mr. Jackson, as Mr. Grace and Piper did their strange dancing around each other, as they always did when they were together, and Mrs. Solace was embarrassing them both in ways Will didn’t want to listen to.

“Please, don’t try to seduce me just because my wife isn’t here,” Mr. Jackson replied in a teasing tone.

Will only shook his head. In the days spent at Netherfield, he had come to know that Mr. Jackson was often sarcastic, teasing people whenever the possibility presented itself, but with no ill-intent.

“I find your wife far more appealing,” Will said quietly, so that his siblings wouldn’t hear and report back to Mrs. Solace. “Her I would certainly try to seduce. You, on the other hand, Mr. Jackson, not so much.”

Mr. di Angelo’s stoic face contorted into a strange expression, and he quickly turned away. At least he was learning to hide his disgust, or so Will thought to himself, as Mr. di Angelo’s shoulders shook as though he were shivering.

“My wife and I are waiting your next visit,” Mr. Jackson said. He threw a glance at Mr. Grace and Piper, not far from them, still talking in hushed tones. “So is my cousin.”

Will smiled. “Maybe you should invite us,” he suggested.

“You can’t invite people over at someone else’s house, Jackson,” Mr. di Angelo said, his face back to being stoic.

Mr. Jackson laughed. “Excuse him,” he told Will, whose blood was flowing in irritation. “Today he isn’t feeling well.”

“That’s not true,” Mr. di Angelo immediately said. “Today I feel rather well, far more than I usually do, as a matter of fact.”

Mr. Jackson smiled in a way that said he knew far more than anyone else. “And I wonder why that is.”

Will lost Mr. di Angelo’s response, as he noticed Mitchell and Kayla going back to where Mr. Grace and Piper were standing, with Mrs. Solace watching it all unfold before her eyes. Will excused himself from the conversation, to reach them, and possibly put Piper out of the misery she seemed in.

“–it unfair?” Drew was saying, smoothening her gown, a little pout curling her lips. “Piper has seen Netherfield, and this I can understand. But William, too?”

“Of course you are always welcome in Netherfield,” Mr. Grace said.

It seemed the right thing to say, as Drew’s mood lifted visibly. “Then it is decided! We must visit!”

Mrs. Solace giggled, hiding her mouth behind her hand. Piper looked ready to be sent to Heaven.

“Please Drew, don’t invite yourself to other people’s houses,” Will said. He took her hand, and peeled her away from Mr. Grace’s side.

“It’s no problem at all,” Mr. Grace said. “And it would also be a pleasure to have all of you over. Mr. Solace, too.”

“Oh, he is right there, if you have anything to ask him,” Mrs. Solace said. “Wouldn’t it be nice, if you were comfortable enough when you talk to him, that asking questions one would otherwise be nervous about, such as matters of love, didn’t make you nervous at all, Mr. Grace?”

Piper’s cheeks seemed to be on fire. “Mother, please,” she muttered.

Mr. Grace wasn’t much better, his eyes fixed on Mr. Solace’s back. “Is it little Jonathan with him?”

“Yes, our youngest child,” Aphrodite said. “He will be so pretty when he grows up, I already know. He’ll have as many Alphas at his beck and call as my Piper does.”

Piper blushed a deeper red. “That is completely untrue.”

A frown appeared on Mr. Grace’s face, but it smoothed away on its own. “I will formally ask your husband to come to dinner,” he told Mrs. Solace. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Dinner was a tremendous affair.

Will could stand his family’s antics. At balls, they were generally scattered around, and he didn’t have to suffer through seeing them humiliate themselves all at once. When they went to dinner with people of their neighborhood, their personalities were already known. No one was surprised by Mr. Solace’s sarcasm, Mrs. Solace’s long ill-talks about her friends, nor by his siblings’ lacking manners.

What he couldn’t stand, was Mr. Caesar’s additional antics. Since he was their guest, it wouldn’t have been polite to leave him home alone when they were all invited to another’s house, so they had been forced to bring him along.

Unfortunately, he had also recognized Mr. di Angelo as his patron Lady Demeter’s grandson. Will found himself sitting between Mr. Caesar and Jonathan, Mr. di Angelo in front of Mr. Caesar, and Jonathan next to him. Will hated to admit it, but he had ended up in the sad part of the table.

Mr. di Angelo seemed to share his opinion, as he looked into his plate as though afraid it would disappear if he didn’t, and Mr. Caesar kept on talking. Mainly about himself. Jonathan was the first of them to grow tired of him, as he turned to look at Mr. di Angelo next to him, and cleared his throat, also interrupting Mr. Caesar, who sputtered with indignation.

“Where are you from?” Jonathan simply asked him.

Mr. di Angelo’s eyebrow rose. “Derbyshire.”

“You name doesn’t come from there. My mother told me.” Jonathan took a sip of water, wrinkling his nose as he drank.

“Jonathan, be polite,” Will reprimanded him. He (Piper, too, but secretly) was hoping to instruct him well enough in manners.

“Mr. di Angelo,” Jonathan said, turning back to said Mr. di Angelo. “Your name does not come from here. Am I right?” He looked back at Will, as though asking for approval, and Will nodded. Jonathan’s shoulders visibly relaxed.

“You are right, Mr. Solace,” Mr. di Angelo said. A glint Will had never seen before shone in those dark eyes. Jonathan giggled. “My name comes from Italy, as my mother did. She lived in Venice.”

Jonathan hang off every word Mr. di Angelo pronounced, even when he was only replying to Mr. Caesar’s questions about the well-being of his family. Mr. Caesar actually seemed to know more about the topic than Mr. di Angelo did, as he had been away from them for less time. Mr. di Angelo managed to look annoyed at Mr. Caesar’s questions, even though his face was carefully blank. Usually only boredom slipped through the cracks of his mask. It irked Will the wrong way.

After dinner they moved to the parlor, and Will found himself sitting beside Mr. and Miss Grace, Mr. and Mrs. Solace with Mr. di Angelo on the sofa in front of them. Piper was at the piano, playing it with the ease Will lacked, but also not with Austin and Kayla’s skills. Mrs. and Mr. Jackson were offering the other siblings a tour of the house. Will wasn’t sure where Mr. Caesar had gone, but he surely didn’t want to know.

“You see,” Mrs. Solace quietly told Mr. Grace. “Some years ago, when my dear Piper was only fifteen, an Alpha took an interest in her.”

Will met Mr. Solace’s eyes, begging him to stop his wife before it was too late, but Mr. Solace was already wearing a resigned expression.

“He wrote some very good sonnets dedicated to her and her beauty,” she continued, with the tone one would use to talk about the greatest of news. “I still have them somewhere.”

“As one could have imagined,” Will smoothly cut her off. “Those sonnets killed the romance.”

“Shouldn’t sonnets and poetry feed romance?” Mr. di Angelo asked, with the tone of someone who already had their answer, and no intention of listening to anyone else’s.

“If it is already strong,” Will replied. “Otherwise, the spark dies, leaving nothing behind.”

“Wouldn’t that make love an ephemeral spark?”

“Love is a flame, romance a spark. The flame comes from the spark, only if one keeps the second alive, otherwise it dies.”

Mr. di Angelo seemed ready to answer, but Mr. Grace’s low chuckles interrupted the two of them. Will realized that the whole room had fallen into silence, watching the two of them as though enjoying a play at the theatre.

“Forgive me,” Mr. Grace said. “But you two always amuse me.” He looked back at Mrs. Solace, with which he seemed to find himself more comfortable with than Mr. Solace. “I’m afraid your son and my friend don’t get along much.”

“That’s not surprising,” Mrs. Solace said, pettiness written all over her face, as she hadn’t yet forgiven Mr. di Angelo’s words about Will at the assembly rooms. “They are very different, after all.”

“Why do you dislike Mr. di Angelo so much?” Piper asked him when they were laying side by side in bed.

“He’s rude and prideful.”

“That doesn’t make him a bad man.”

“And what about the things he has done to Mr. Lawrence?” Will asked. “Doesn’t that raise any concern to you?”

“You have only heard Mr. Lawrence’s side of the story. And even before that, you didn’t like Mr. di Angelo.”

“He’s far kinder than Mr. di Angelo, that’s for sure. And I don’t think hearing the other side of the story would make me any less disgusted. You are naïve, sometimes.”

“And you judgmental. Mr. Grace is kind, and he is a dear friend to Mr. di Angelo, does that mean nothing in your eyes?”

“They are cousins, of course they need to be friends. That’s the explanation that I gave myself, or at least the preferable one, the other being that Mr. Grace is actually just another Mr. di Angelo disguised as a sheep.”

Will could see Piper rolling her eyes even if the darkness.

“A wolf disguised as a sheep, if anything. I don’t think Mr. di Angelo would ever willingly dress himself as a sheep. And we are cousins to Mr. Caesar, but I don’t see you trying to be his friend.” There was a long pause, and Will thought that Piper had fallen asleep, when her voice reached him again. “One day you’ll see that there’s always more than meets the eye, and maybe you’ll regret disliking Mr. di Angelo so much. Mr. Grace told me he is a good friend to him.”

“Poor Mr. Grace,” was Will’s last comment, before Piper bid him goodnight with a loud sigh. “He must have had terrible experiences in friendships.”

Lou Ellen glared at Mr. Lawrence, but he didn’t move from his spot next to Drew. She had been watching their moves like a hawk, ever since she had sat with Will at the table near the window.

“You have no right to be jealous,” Will told her, stirring the tea in his cup. “She doesn’t know you fancy her.”

“I wouldn’t even if she did,” Lou Ellen said.

Mitchell and Drew had convinced Mr. Grace to hold a ball at Netherfield, not that it had been hard. He was convinced the second Drew said ‘Piper always has so much fun at balls’. At the moment, Drew was with Piper, Austin and Kayla, buying some ribbons to go with their dresses. Drew had invited Mr. Lawrence to go with them, as soon as she had recognized him on the street.

“You should ask her to dance with you tonight,” Will said. “Before Mr. Lawrence does.”

“You should worry about Mr. Caesar, who never leaves you alone.”

Will rolled his eyes. “He has no second intention. He is just a strange man.”

“Aren’t you the same one who says Alphas that give more than a second glance to Omegas, do so because they want to bed them?”

Before Will could respond, Mr. Grace entered the shop, the dark shadow that was Mr. di Angelo right behind him. Will had to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

“Do not turn,” he quietly told Lou Ellen. “But Mr. di Angelo and Mr. Grace are here.”

Lou Ellen promptly turned, giving the both of them a bright smile. They stood to greet Mr. Grace and Mr. di Angelo, who bowed their heads right back. When Mr. Grace asked to sit with them, Mr. di Angelo sent him a glare that screamed betrayal.

“Of course,” Lou Ellen said. “It would be our pleasure, Mr. Grace.”

“I hope we will see each other at the ball, tomorrow,” Mr. Grace said.

Will smiled. “Of course. I wanted to sincerely apologize for my siblings’ manners, or lack of thereof. Sometimes, they don’t realize how they are acting.”

Mr. Grace reassured Will, but Mr. di Angelo’s attention had been caught by something outside the window, and when Will followed his gaze, he realized he was watching Piper and Mr. Lawrence. Mr. Lawrence’s confession came back to Will’s mind in full force, and he had to fight against the anger clawing in his chest.

“Mr. Lawrence,” Will said. “I heard you already know him, Mr. di Angelo.”

Mr. di Angelo startled, hitting the table with his knee. Mr. Grace’s attention quickly shifted to him, as did Lou Ellen’s.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Mr. di Angelo said, before standing and leaving quickly.

“What did you tell him?” Lou Ellen asked, crossing her arms on the chest.

“Nothing,” Will said. “I only noticed that he was watching my siblings on the other side of the road, and I told him who the man with them was.”

Mr. Grace looked over at Will’s siblings, squinting his eyes. “Oh, I don’t think Nico knows him. He probably remembered about something he needs to do.”

So Will had his confirmation, that Mr. Grace simply didn’t know much of Mr. di Angelo, especially what type of man he was, to steal from someone for simple pettiness.

“He seems so mysterious,” Lou Ellen said. “Mr. di Angelo, I mean. No one seems to know a thing about him.”

Mr. Grace scratched his neck, a shy smile on his face. “He doesn’t like it when people pay him too much attention.”

Will had to restrict himself from scoffing. As if. Mr. di Angelo had proved himself to a be a prideful and arrogant man, time and time again. He was the type of man who would have walked into a duel without a gun, believing himself that much better than his opponent. He wasn’t the first Alpha of the type that Will had met, although he was the first to make flames spark in his chest.

The ball was absolutely beautiful. Unluckily, it didn’t seem like Will would be enjoying the night. As soon as he had tried to reach Lou Ellen and Cecil, Mr. Caesar had attached himself to Will’s side, as though afraid to leave him.

Once more, Mr. Caesar thought himself in need of congratulating Mr. di Angelo on both his family and his achievement. Mr. di Angelo didn’t seem pleased in the slightest, but Will took the possibility, and escaped.

“You won’t believe what is happening,” Cecil said, as soon as Will reached him.

Before Will could give a response, Cecil turned him by force, so that he would face the dance floor, where Lou Ellen and Drew were twirling together.

“How has that happened?” Will asked, in complete delight.

Cecil laughed. “I told Lou Ellen I was about to ask Drew to dance, and that I planned to see whether we had what we needed to mate.”

“Oh, good Lord, that’s disgusting,” Will said.

“How is that the point? Lou Ellen got offended and told me to know my place.”

Will laughed. “It’s disgusting because the thought of any of my sibling with you, makes me want to puke, Mr. Markowitz.”

It was later, when Will and Cecil were resting on the sidelines with Kayla and Austin, that Mr. Caesar found him again, and revealed, as his pale, blue eyes never left Will’s, that he planned on enjoying the night in Will’s company.

“After all,” Mr. Caesar continued, ignoring how Austin and Kayla were holding onto each other, shaking with silent laughter. “I have been told many times that I have a very light footage, perfect for dancing.” He offered Will his hand, too fast, barely missing sticking it in his face. “If you’ll concede me the honor of proving myself.”

And as they walked to the dance ground, Will looked back at his siblings and his friend, but they were all laughing at him. He even caught Mr. di Angelo’s eyes, and he seemed amused plenty.

Another dance began, and Will positioned himself next to Piper. She was dancing with Mr. Grace, and she seemed to share his pain when she saw who had come with him. As they moved, Will found himself following two conversations, separated from one only to continue the other.

“You won’t believe what I heard,” Piper told him quietly. “Mr. Lawrence–”

“You see, Mr. Solace, my patron, Lady Demeter, she wishes for me to–” Mr. Caesar started.

“–Mr. Grace had invited him, but he had to return to London abruptly–”

“–take a spouse, she is a traditionalist, and I couldn’t help but come to–”

“–and I was told that he actually wanted to come, but then–”

“–Longbourn with the desire of finding my spouse amongst one of my cousins–”

“–Mr. di Angelo went in search of him, and after their talk he disappeared.”

Will missed a step, and stumbled. He turned to Piper, but she had already moved, while Mr. Caesar was looking around, confused as to where his partner had gone. However, the song had come to an end, and Will sneaked off the dance room.

Austin was sitting at the piano with Mitchell, whose head rested on his shoulder. As Austin played the piano flawlessly, Lacy screeched obnoxiously, in what she thought was a perfect example of good singing. Mitchell’s shoulders shook, and his face was red. Although he was laughing like a madman, poor Lacy didn’t have a clue.

Will walked to the side of the room, where Mr. Solace was quietly enjoying the show.

“Father,” Will pleaded him. “Can you do something before they humiliate themselves and us further?”

Mr. Solace sighed. “They are only having fun.”

“Father,” Will said again.

Mr. Solace shook his head. “You will be the death of me,” he said, but he moved, and less than a minute later, another Omega girl had sat at the piano.

Will avoided the stairs, where Mrs. Solace was talking animatedly and loudly to Mrs. Blackstone and Mr. Wakefield about what a beneficial wedding Piper would have. To avoid being seen by Mr. Caesar, Will had to step aside, and walked into Mr. di Angelo.

Mr. di Angelo looked at him, the imperious eyebrow raised. If Will had some more of his family pettiness in himself, he would have told Mr. di Angelo to have it checked by a doctor.

“Mr. Solace,” Mr. di Angelo said, with a quick bow of his head.

“Mr. di Angelo.” Will waited for Mr. di Angelo to say something else, or to move out of the way, but when he didn’t, he took it upon himself to talk. “It is a beautiful ball.”

“Yes,” Mr. di Angelo said, as though it had been a question. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“I am,” Will said, and only later realized it wasn’t the truth. “Are you?”

“I rarely enjoy myself at balls.”

“Then do you come to make sure everyone else is as miserable as you, Mr. di Angelo?”

“I never said I was miserable. Not enjoying myself doesn’t equal them. If I were miserable, I would make sure to mask it, as to not offend anyone.” Mr. di Angelo tilted his head, almost exposing his neck. While Omega showed theirs, Alphas and Betas usually kept it covered. “As to why I come, I am respectful enough to not ignore people’s invitation. In this particular case, wouldn’t it be even worse, being in a room alone when I can hear the music and others?”

Will’s next words were proof that he had indeed some of his family’s pettiness. He smiled, so sweet it was saccharine. “Music you wouldn’t dance to, because the company isn’t pretty enough for you?”

Mr. di Angelo had the audacity of blushing. Will found a particular kind of pleasure in it, that slowed his heart and relaxed his muscles.

“The company is pretty plenty,” Mr. di Angelo said, as though the words were crawling their way out of his throat. He looked at the other side of the room, before squaring his shoulders, and turning to a confused Will, to say: “Would you dance with me?”

And Will, as he wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, gratefully accepted.

Mr. di Angelo’s heart was beating wildly, and Will could hear it even above the music. Maybe he really didn’t like having people’s attention on himself, and everyone’s eyes were on them. Mr. di Angelo had only ever danced with his group, after all.

“Life in the countryside must be boring to you,” Will said. The imperious eyebrow rose, and he had to restrain himself from stomping his foot, preferably on Mr. di Angelo’s. “If you are used to the city.”

“Different, but not boring,” Mr. di Angelo said. He added, as if it were an afterthought, “I thought it would be.”

“Maybe because you moved with a group,” Will said. “Everything is more enjoyable that way.”

“If that is what you think, being in such a big family must be a pleasure to you.”

“A group to move with can be chosen.” Will sent a glance at Mitchell, who was chatting up a man in the corner of the room. “However, family can’t.”

Mr. di Angelo followed his gaze. For a moment, something like understanding filled his eyes.

Their dance came to an end. Will had to admit that Mr. di Angelo wasn’t a terrible dancer, but he also had to remind himself that it didn’t make him any less of a terrible person. Mr. Lawrence’s story was proof of that.

Mrs. Solace had drunk too much at the ball, and to escape her and her nerves, Piper, Will and Drew escaped to the fields. They went out before breakfast, Will didn’t even have time to tame his curls or to wash his hands after caring for his plants. Drew and Piper appeared at the door, and Drew put a hand on his mouth before he could protest. Piper had a basket in her hands.

“We are escaping,” Drew whispered. “You can come with us, or forget we have ever existed.”

Right that moment, Mrs. Solace’s cry of despair reached their ears. Piper flinched. Will took a decision, and they ran before anyone else could notice they weren’t in bed, buried under their furs.

So they sat on a blanket by the river, the rising sun turning the sky pink. They chatted, but the silence would have been filled by the birds’ chirping and the river flowing, if they hadn’t.

“How was it, dancing with Lou Ellen?” Piper asked Drew.

Something shut in Drew’s face, and she turned to Will, as though unsure on what she should respond.

“You know she has fancied you for years, right?” Will asked.

Drew’s eyes filled with wonder, as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She tilted her head to the side, and for once she looked her age, and so beautiful and confident in her skin. “She does?”

Will’s smile turned softer. “Of course she does. Why do you think she has kept me around for so long? She just wants to know about you.”

“I liked it,” Drew revealed. She avoided both Piper’s and Will’s eyes, instead focusing on the slice of cheese in her hands. “I liked dancing with Lou Ellen.”

“She is a good Beta,” Piper said.

Drew rolled her eyes, shrugging with only one shoulder. “Whatever.” She couldn’t hide the smile on her face.

“What about Mr. Grace?” Will asked Piper. “Do you think he has the intention of marrying you?” He knew the answer already.

Piper blushed to the tip of her ears. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Have you never talked about the future?” Drew asked. She narrowed her eyes. “What do you spend so much time together for, if you don’t even talk?”

“We talk plenty,” Piper defended herself. “What I mean, is that I don’t know whether he sees that for our future.”

“What will you answer when he asks?” Will asked.

Drew giggled, covering her mouth with her hand, while Piper rolled her eyes, and corrected him.

“If he asks.” She looked down at her hands, and smiled. “I would say yes.”

“I want you to know,” Mr. Solace told Will, as soon as he, Piper and Drew walked in the house. “That I will not force you.”

“But it’s the only way,” Mrs. Solace added, her enchanting smile a force of destruction. “So you will know what to say, for your family.”

Mr. Solace exhaled sharply, but Will interrupted them before it could evolve into a real fight.

“What is going on?” He asked.

Neither of them had time to respond. Mr. Caesar arrived from the stairs, peeling Jonathan’s grabby hands off himself. Jonathan, who smelled distressed, and had tears running down his face.

Will kneeled, and Jonathan ran past Mr. Caesar, throwing himself at Will, muttering about not going, not leaving. Mrs. Solace bent down, trying to take him. He had his face hidden in Will’s neck, scenting him heavily before giving up, and letting go.

“Would you accompany me for a walk?” Mr. Caesar asked, and it took Will a moment to realize that he was the one being talked to.

Will searched for his father’s eyes, but he looked away. Mrs. Solace looked far more delighted than she had sounded in the morning. She hadn’t looked so happy in years. She accepted Mr. Caesar’s offer for him, pushing Will out of the door, and he didn’t even realize until the sun was shining in his eyes.

Mr. Caesar walked closer, but Will took off walking before he could offer his arm. They hadn’t even reached the gates when Mr. Caesar started talking.

“As I tried telling you yesterday night, I have been wanting to take a spouse,” he said. Will stumbled, his throat dry. Mr. Caesar didn’t even notice. “When I came here, it was with the idea of finding one amongst my cousins. I would have preferred to take a female one, as I have always found the adoption practice quite tedious.”

“Mr. Caesar–”

“There are many reasons I find the union between us will be beneficial. The first, I am a very generous man, you would never need anything, so long as you are with me. The second–”

“Mr. Caesar, I–”

“–I am a clergyman, I live by the rules of the Lord, which bring me to–”

“Mr. Caesar,” Will interrupted him again, stopping in his tracks, and the other had no choice but to notice, and stop, too. “I haven’t said I would marry you.”

Mr. Caesar blinked. “Are you one of those who wish to hear the question?”

“There’s no need for that,” Will said. His heart was beating so loudly, he was sure Mr. Caesar could hear, too. “I already know my answer. And it is a no. I won’t marry you.”

Mr. Caesar blinked again, furrowing his eyebrows. “You won’t marry me.”

“No, I won’t. I have no intention to do so.” Will took a step back, without breaking eye-contact. “Apologies for wasting your time and attention. I would ask you not to follow me.”

Will turned, and didn’t wait a second more before he started running. He passed through the gates. Behind him, the door of the house opened, and Mrs. Solace ran after him, shouting about what an ungrateful son he was.

Mr. Caesar and his belonging were gone by the time Will returned home. Kayla said that he had left as soon as Will had ran away. Mitchell laughed when they met in the bedroom, but he was ignored in favor of Austin and Piper on the bed. The scent of distress was hanging in every corner of the room.

“I’m sorry for the house,” Will blurted out, falling on the bed. “But I couldn’t marry him, I don’t–”

“Will,” Austin interrupted him, shaking his head. Piper’s head stayed in the crook of his neck. “It’s not that.”

Austin offered Will a crumpled letter. Will’s fingers shook when he opened it, and smoothed it out. It was from Mrs. Jackson.

Will had to reread several times before he finally understood. She said they had returned to London, and didn’t know when–nor whether–they would be back. Mr. Grace had some urgent business in the city.

In the meantime, I would hope to keep a correspondence with you. I have found a friend in you, and it would break my heart to lose that.

Mrs. Jackson.

PS: my husband says he will miss you, too.

#solangelo #solangelo fic #solangelo au #nico di angelo #will solace #riordanverse

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