#never running it again. thoroughly awful experience

[alucohc]

maybe killing the oathbreaker knight and taking his place was a bad idea for a run

[coldslaws]

Honestly Alder is one of the best champions in the entire franchise. The amount of depth and story that is both spoken and unspoken in Alder is genuinely amazing but he gets constantly shoved aside because his battle was "too easy" like that doesn't defeat the purpose of his whole character!

He doesn't change the minds of his opponents through battling, but through words and experiences. He helps and teaches Cheren that not everything is about battling and to not make the same mistakes he's made. He tries to see reason with N because he knew he wasn't going to win, and when everything comes to an end he lets N go because he knows she never had a chance.

He's just this funky lil bug type old guy that's been riddled with grief and pain that causes him to go rusty when the region needed him most, he just wanted to retire.

Though fuck anime Alder, they completely dumbed down his character into nothing but a lazy women's pest. Anime Alder pisses me off and I hate when I see people make posts or headcanons of anime Alder because it always includes how much of a creep he is. Bleh.

- 💌

I KNOW!!! i love him :(( him and n are just like. a thoroughly incredible found family pair. i think a lot of my family hcs make his whole situation even worse and gives him more reason to hold onto hope for n as a person than he already has because like, if lance is his sibling (and following pokespe lore where lance can talk to pkm and tries to wipe out johto), that means he's seen n's exact ideals at play all over before. first hand. he knows how bad it can get yes but he also knows that someone like lance can be rehabilitated because lance did all that awful shit, arguably did more damage than n managed to, and yet now he's successful and beloved and happy.

and then ryuki.. i dunno if ill ever get to address this on rh anyways since it's far out, and i did hint vaguely at it on nhp, but there comes a point in the future where ryuki eventually mistakenly gets someone pregnant, drops the kid (benga) in alders lap, and runs away. ive been dropping hints here and there but because of the dragon clan ordeal, ryuki struggles to connect with his dad ever again after that point, and alder struggles to support his emotional needs, which is what leads to ryu leaving for alola and abandoning benga. alder's family is so busted up and in bits and pieces, and as he grows from this hurt, he becomes a more capable guardian through supporting benga and iris, desperate to reach the hearts of anyone he can and save them from disappearing within themselves. all of that why he insists on helping n despite the nightmare they caused for unova and despite the way n came after him personally. not only did she call him names, demean him, and fight dirty against him, but she helped propagate the myth that he'd killed his best friend. his kindness, spurred on through grief and a miriad of major life experiences, is his weakness and his strength.

and like you said, he's hurting, he's old, he wants to retire. n knows to take advantage of this and, combined with his growing insecurity over the death of volcarona, he doesn't stand a chance. while maybe there was never a shot he'd actually win anyways, given that zekrom was in n's party during their battle, he still holds back enough for n to take notice and for it to linger in her brain even after everything happens. which is what eventually causes her to seek alder out, then join him for training, then become a part of a new family altogether. alder won by losing

like. he's just got so much going on and i think it's really cool. and who doesn't like nice old men or bugs. 10/10 character

and then we all collectively say fuck you pokemon anime for reducing his character

[m0srael]

A series in which I ask my mutuals for fanwork recs, and then come back and tell you why I loved them. Any chance you have something to rec (the criteria are virtually non-existent)? Please, please send it on. Here is my original ask with more info.

I Was Recced:

Make This Leap by @oflights [Drarry | M | 118k]

Harry owns a struggling restaurant which is running out of money, and his Head Chef has just handed in notice. He's at a bit of a loss as to what to do until Narcissa Malfoy presents an obvious solution: bring in Draco Malfoy as Chef and part owner. Harry does.

One Sentence Recap: Make This Leap is a lushly detailed, beautifully imagined slice of life-turned-mystery story about the wizarding restaurant industry, yes, but also healing from trauma, learning to stand firm in one's convictions and sort out one's priorities, and cherishing family in all it's forms.

The fact that a sourdough starter--with a name!--is a tagged character should give you some insight into how thoroughly imagined the world of this story is--and yes, you WILL become emotionally attached to Valerius! This is a hefty fic that I consumed (relatively) slowly over the course of a couple weeks, which had nothing to do with the length and everything to do with the fact that each and every chapter of this story feels like a full meal! I would also be remiss if I didn't say that this fic has one of the best final lines I've seen in a long time (yes, you will have to read it to know what it is). There is SO MUCH I could gush about in regards to this story (again, that has nothing to do with the length), but here are a few highlights:

🌍 The World Building Like I said, the level of detail in this story is incredible. I feel like I've been to the White Owl--Harry's restaurant--because the author put so much time and care into imagining and describing it. Even more robust than the place descriptions, though, are the people. All of the characters in this story, whether they are familiar from canon or the author's OCs, are fully fleshed out, nuanced, and entirely relatable. Each new character that we meet is introduced to us for a reason, and all of their stories are treated with the care and attention they deserve. By the end of this fic I was so fully immersed in Harry and Draco's world and so enamored of all the people who populate it that I didn't want to leave.

👩‍👩‍👦‍👦 The Relationships Oflights is exceptionally skilled at building characters with believable personalities and backstories. It's been a while since I've read a fic where the characters feel both so true to their canon personalities and wholly unique and perfectly at home in the world of the story. One standout for me in this story is Hermione--she's frustratingly nosy and presumptuous, assumes she knows what's best for everyone around her, and has a less-than-perfect relationship with Molly Weasley. As much as I found myself rolling my eyes at her, I think she is perfectly written and the love between her and Harry in particular is complex, deep, and so real. Another relationship I absolutely adored in this story is the one between Narcissa and Andromeda--they are sharp, fiercely caring, and hilariously meddlesome, especially when they team up. The family dynamics between Harry, Draco, Teddy, Andromeda, and Narcissa are absolutely pitch perfect and made my heart ache in all the best ways. I loved getting to experience Harry's evolving relationship to the idea of family and the people in his life that he considers family.

🔥 The Pacing Speaking as someone who has never come close to writing a fic this long, I am always in awe of people who can make every single word feel meaningful and engaging! The story unfolds at the most perfect pace, letting the reader come to know all of the different characters slowly but surely. There's a mystery lingering within the story from nearly the beginning, and the moment that it takes center stage feels entirely right and exciting. The slow burn between Harry and Draco is so satisfying, and their relationship (professional, friendly, and eventually romantic) builds at such a believable pace. That said, I do really appreciate that because we're experiencing this story from Harry's POV we get to see how much of a dumb, lovesick baby he is. I deeply appreciate how unguarded Harry is with his affection for everyone around him--Teddy, Andy and Narcissa, and especially Draco. And yet, Harry has a LOT of baggage to work through when it comes to Draco and romantic love--he doesn't figure out his life overnight, and he and Draco have to have some hard conversations along the way.

If you read this (or have read it), let me know what you think!!

*

Make This Leap was recced to me by @geesenoises so I read:

The Best Laid Plans [Drarry | T | 2.2k]

With Harry at Hogwarts most of the year and Draco working at St. Mungo’s, they don't get to see each other very often. So when Madame Pomfrey announces her plan to retire, Harry sets out to change that.

This absolute treat of a fic was written for the Wheel of Drarry Exchange as a gift for @pennygalleon, but it feels like a gift for us all! Geese perfectly captures a very HJP sort of thoughtless desperation and impulsive scheming, driven naturally by desire. He clearly loves Draco so much and is quite dumb about it in the most delightful way. In the end, it turns out Draco might be just as dumb in love, too. I highly recommend nibbling on this as soon as you can if you want something sweet, satisfying, and perfect!

Ride It Like You Stole It [Free! | E | 4.1k]

This is a collection of au ficlets based around the universe of the anime Free! Iwatobi High School Swim Club featuring an incredible mix of rare and not-so-rare pairs. I'm new to the Free! universe and fandom, so when I saw Geese had written my new favorite swim boys I had to dive in immediately. I am in awe of the way that Geese can craft a fully imagined world in only a few hundred words and find the heart of a ship in the process. The au scenarios are inventive and delightful, and this whole collection is so much fun!!

Thanks for sending me a recommendation!

[anditvanisheslikemist]

A's partner, B, has had an awful cold for a couple of days, and after pushing through a workday that was even more miserable than the one before, they've decided that they're done. As soon as they collapse on the couch at the end of the day, they email their boss to say not to expect them in the morning: A sick day is definitely in order. With that done, it's like a weight has been lifted off their shoulders. B puts on their comfiest pajamas and warmest fuzzy robe and curls up on the couch with A, a mug of their favorite tea, and a box of extra-soft tissues. After dozing through a movie, they turn off their alarm and all notifications and settle in for an early bedtime. A joins them after a quick shower, even though it's hours earlier than A normally goes to sleep. By morning, it's clear why: B wakes to A sitting on the edge of the bed muffling shuddering sneezes into handfuls of tissues, looking exhausted and cold even with the covers pulled over their shoulders. "Oh, love," B sighs. "I'm so sorry." "It's okay," A shrugs, so congested it's almost hard to understand. "It was going to happen eventually." "Are you sure you want to go in?" B asks, their voice still tired and hoarse. "I'm sorry to say from experience that it's about to get a whole lot worse." "As much as I would love to spend the day in bed with you, I have some things I need to get done. And besides, if it is going to get worse, I might as well save my sick days for then." They kiss B's warm forehead, and gather up the supplies they'll need for the day, and head out the door.

Their nose starts running badly before they're even five minutes into their commute. There's a much larger bag than they usually bring to work on the seat next to them, hiding a 200-count box of tissues, a Thermos of tea, a bag of cough drops, another dose of the cold medicine they'd taken before they left, and an extra sweater. They've dressed more warmly than normal, but their office is always so cold. At the last minute, they'd thought to throw in a plastic grocery bag for trash as well. There's a tiny wastepaper basket under their desk, but with the number of tissues they're undoubtedly going to use, it could very well be overflowing by mid-morning. A's coworkers are nice enough, but it's definitely a quietly-go-about-your-business type of place. Only the most senior employees have private offices; it's cubicles for everyone else. At least the company never drank the open-office layout kool-aid. Thank god. Especially in the morning, though, it's as quiet as a library. If A's ears weren't so stuffed up, they know they'd be able to hear the clacking of keyboards and the quiet sound of coffee mugs being refilled, placed on the desk, sipped from, and placed back down again. A sighs heavily and sets out their supplies while everyone is still at the getting-coffee stage, when the rustle of plastic and cardboard and foil from all of their supplies won't be quite so obtrusive. They even unwrap several cough drops and set them carefully on a tissue on their desk to avoid the bane of theater-goers everywhere. The only thing working in their favor is that the cold seems to be sparing them from the need to cough, at least more than an occasional clearing of the throat. It's been the same for B, as well, so A thinks their luck will probably hold with that. The thing about it being well and truly a headcold, though, is the endlessly running nose and the ever-present need to... eh... TSHHiew! A tries to keep it quiet and contained, caught tightly in a tissue from the box they'd brought from home, but they're left sniffling in its wake as a chorus of soft "bless you!"s floats in from all sides. EH-ktchu! tgSHHHiew! The blessings are a little more like exclamations this time. A murmurs their thanks, blushing madly, and blows their nose as quietly but thoroughly as they can. Okay. That's done, then. No more outbursts, and they will get through the day with their relatively anonymity intact. A tries to do their work; tries, in fact, to get ahead, as they've already resigned themself to calling out tomorrow, and, if B's experience is any indication, possibly the next day as well. They just have to get through today. A's nose seems to have decided that if it won't be afforded the satisfaction of sneezing, it will have to rid itself of cold by the only means left to it. A gives up quickly on trying to blow their nose: besides the problem of trying to stay quiet, it is simply impossible to keep pace. Instead, they go about their work with one hand pressed to their face, letting their nose run freely into the ball of tissues nested there. When the dreaded prickling sensation returns, a quiet blow is sometimes enough to tame it; if not, A exhales as fully as possible and hold their breath there, fighting the urge for a gasping, sneeze-inducing inhale with all their might. It leaves them twice as congested as before, head bleary and weighted down, but it usually does the trick. A few messy stifles do escape, but they sound close enough to a cough or a noseblow (or some combination of the two) that they don't draw any blessings. A still blushes furiously, knowing their officemates have most certainly heard them now. Getting up to use the restroom always feels a little like being on display in an office like theirs. At least whoever built the place did sound-proof the bathrooms (A has heard horror stories from friends who work elsewhere), but they're multi-stalled, shared with the other company on the floor, and it's rare to find yourself in one alone. When the first round (or three) of tea has made a bathroom trip

inevitable, A stuffs a pocket full of tissues, tucks one more into their palm, and braces themself for the walk. They keep their eyes down as they pass by their colleagues, who all seem to do a double-take at how raw A's nose is; how their color seems unhealthily pale. Of course (of course!) the bathroom is already occupied, and they try to restrain their sniffling while they're taking care of the primary issue at hand. They do get a moment of reprieve, though, when the last person walks out just as A waves their hand in front of the sensor to dispense a paper towel. With an unexpected surge of adrenaline-- now or never!-- A dives into the paper towel and blows their nose hard, already waving at the sensor with their elbow for the next rough paper towel, and then repeats the process twice more before the door starts to open again. It's not enough, but it's so much better, and they sigh with relief as they wash their hands extra well. They can't say that they can breathe through their nose, exactly, but they walk with their head high on the way back to their desk, unworried that their nose will betray them. For the forty-five seconds that trip takes, anyway. Their nose starts running ferociously within a minute of sitting back down. They're starting to shiver, too. Extricating the sweater from their bag takes both hands and requires looking down, a particularly dangerous proposition right now, and A has to stop twice to frantically catch their dripping nose with their bare hand. They huddle into the sweater, willing the warmth to build, and check the time. It's just barely late morning, so many impossibly long hours to go. They very nearly start to cry. And that's what does it, really. They've accomplished nothing they set out to-- certainly in regard to work, but even the occasional stifled sneezes are getting harder to contain. They're shivering and their head is stuffed and spinning and their nose is raw and tears are threatening behind their eyes and they just cannot do this any more. They gather up their things as quickly and quietly as they can, and turn off their computer, and try to walk for the exit as if they're just stepping out for a quick break. This time luck is on their side, and no one asks where they're going or why. They'll send an email before they start the drive home; their boss doesn't require approval for such things, "just let me know what your plan is or what you need," and A has never appreciated it more. A practically collapses into their car. Their parking spot is far from the entrance, which has left them exhausted from the walk but also means there's no one in sight. Part of them wants to just give into the tears, but no, they can keep themself together for just a little bit more time. They put their phone in its mount on the dash, hit "video call" on B's name, and curl up as best they can in the seat. "Hey," B says as they get their phone into their line of sight. B's moved from bed to the couch, still in a nest of their warmest, fluffiest comforter. Their nose is an irritated shade of red and their complexion is washed out, but they look well-rested and relaxed. At least until they catch sight of A. "Oh, love, you look like you feel awful. Please tell me you're coming home?" A nods miserably, blinking against the resurgence of tears. "I just need to--" they sniff, and sniff again, and press a tissue to their nose-- "to email my boss, and then I figured I should..." they're blinking against a threatening sneeze, now, and they smother a messy, stifled hngxxt! into the tissue in their palm. "Should see if you need anything," they finish, consonants even more battered than before. B looks confused as A tries their best to clean up the mess they've made. A is grateful that they'd packed the extra trash bag; their usual method of putting gum wrappers and the like in the cup holder and clearing it out when they stop for gas definitely would not cut it this time. "Like from the store?" B asks. "A, just come home, this is what delivery apps are for." In truth, A's brain had

been so fuzzy all morning that they'd forgotten that there was such a thing. "Oh." The itch is building again, no matter how much A tries to fight it. B is looking at them again like they're trying to figure out what exactly A is doing, until A exhales hard and pinches a breathless sneeze into no more than a squelched sort of sound. B's expression softens into fond exasperation. "Don't try to fight it, A." A looks up through streaming eyes and pitches forward again with the force of another stifled sneeze. There's something about still being on company property, even with no one else anywhere nearby, that's telling their exhausted, slightly feverish brain that the stay quiet, don't let anyone see or hear you order still applies. "It's okay," B says gently as A shakes through yet another stifled sneeze. "Blow your nose." B doesn't always takes the reins like this, but it's a side of them that comes out when A is stressed or sleep-deprived or sick. A is grateful every time. It's so comforting to give over control to someone who knows them, and loves them, so well. A nods, and does their best through the mess of congestion, with B murmuring, "Good, that's good," through the phone. A's eyes are tearing again, breath starting to catch, but their body is fighting itself hard. "No, love, don't hold your breath. Let it in, come on." A's chest stutters, caught between yes, let it happen and no, hold it back, and a weird little half-sneeze escapes: hng... chh! heh... A shakes their head, cold-induced tears escaping from the corners of their eyes. "Deep breath," B encourages. "It's okay, there's no one around, just let it out." One deep breath, letting B's words take hold, and that tips them over the edge. eh... NGXXCHT! A doesn't mean to stifle, but their nose is so blocked they can't really do anything else. "Another deep breath," B is saying, and A tries their best to follow B's instruction while simultaneously mopping up their nose and grabbing for another handful of tissues. ih... ih-NGXX! CHXXT! A manages to blow their nose before the next sneeze takes hold, and there, the worst of the congestion seems to be out of the way, clearly the path for-- eh... TSCHHH! ih-KTCCHU! Desperately trying to find the tissues on the seat next to them with their eyes shut against the force of it all, and B is encouraging them all the while, "That's it, just sneeze, get all that cold out of your head, love, it's okay," and A doesn't quite find the tissues in time to catch a heavily spraying set of kTSHIEWW! eht-SCHUU! ih... ih-hih... KSHHIEW! They're breathless in the wake of all that, head light and spinning, and at some point they're really going to need to disinfect their car. In the meantime, though, the torment they've been feeling in their sinuses all morning has finally started to ease. A blows their nose half a dozen more times, and wipes off the dashboard and phone as best as they can, and clears their throat with their hand pressed to their chest. "Is that better, love?" B asks, and it's so warm and... proud of them, A thinks. A nods and blows their nose one more time. "Come home," B, says, snuggling a little deeper into their blankets. "Don't worry about anything, we'll take care of it all when you get here. Are you okay to drive?" A nods again, and fastens their seatbelt, and puts the car into gear. The trip home feels short, nose still dripping but so much clearer than before. B stays on the phone with them until they pull in at home, and then meets them at the door and pulls them into a warm hug. Walks them to their bedroom, the bathroom, everything they need to get ready for bed, even though it's not even noon. A picks the couch as their place to land, and finds that B has already set up the coffee table with everything they could need right within reach. "Do you need anything else?" B asks once they're settled. All of the necessary emails and delivery orders are completed, and their phones are quiet and placed just out of reach. B rubs A's back with one hand, and the other keeps a light grip on a soft cotton

handkerchief. B's breath quickens, and they raise the handkerchief to their face to catch a satisfying-sounding eh-TCHuu! B hums a little in the wake of it, and A decides to do their best to follow B's approach: not fighting it, just giving into whatever their body decides it needs. "No," A says, letting themself sink down further into their shared blankets, into B's embrace. B kisses their forehead and gently wipes away the wetness from A's nose with the handkerchief still held safely in their hand. B seems to be on the upswing now, fully relaxed and maybe even enjoying the break from the world their cold allows. A lets their eyes close. "Just you."

[turtle-steverogers]

Pre serum Steve once fell of a balcony and Bucky caught him. Bucky reminds him every chance he gets.

anon, you have inspired me... i saw this. thought "YES", then scurried to my google drive

and so here is a fic, wholly based on this ask

-

“Steve, what the hell are you doing?”

Steve twists around from where he’s perched on the fire escape rail, back against the cool brick wall of their shitty tenement. It’s nearly April and the weather’s getting warmer, a soft breeze keeping it just cool enough for long pants. Steve has always preferred warmer weather, though, and he thought he’d take advantage of the first truly nice day that Spring. His sketchbook lies open on his lap, propped against his knee. A light, but detailed sketch of the other tenement buildings that spanned out in front of him fills the page.

“Drawing,” Steve says, glancing at Bucky where his head is poking out the window. He looks concerned and his eyes keep flicking to where Steve’s holding himself stable with his free leg. “Why are you already home? What time is it?”

Bucky’s eyebrows furrow and Steve wants to stick his thumb on the little divot to smooth it out. He always thought Bucky would get a permanent wrinkle there if he kept frowning so much.

“Nearly 6:00,” Bucky says, and Steve realizes he must have let time get away from him. That tends to happen, when he draws, his mind blessedly quiet for a few hours as he loses himself in the methodical scratch of his charcoal pencils. Still, he had gotten home from his work restocking shelves at the local grocer around 3:00. He didn’t think it had been that long.

“Oh,” he says.

Bucky climbs out onto the escape. He’s wearing his work clothes still-- an oily white shirt tucked into heavy denim pants. His hair's hanging down in his eyes. Steve knows he’ll want him to cut it soon.

He wants to reach out to him, but he can’t. Not out here where anyone could see. It’s torture, not being able to touch anywhere but in the confines of their bed, hidden under the covers where prying eyes can’t strip away their privacy-- their God given right to love each other as wholly as human nature could allow. Steve purses his lips and forces himself to look back down at his sketch.

“I don’t like you sitting up there,” Bucky says.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Just because you’re afraid of heights doesn’t mean that everyone else is, Buck. Besides, we’re only three stories up.”

Bucky huffs, stepping closer. “That’s still far,” he says. “You fall, you’ll splatter all over the sidewalk and scar Miss Maggie downstairs for life. I’d have to pay for her heart failure and your funeral.”

Steve snorts and closes his sketchbook, thoroughly distracted now. The sun’s starting to set anyway, and it’s bound to get cold soon.

“You’re so dramatic,” Steve says. “I’m holding myself up just fine. See? I can even reach for my other charcoals and there ain’t no problem.”

To prove himself, Steve closes his sketchbook and tosses it onto the fire escape, sticking the charcoal he was using in the binding. He twists around after that and leans over to grab another pencil from where he’d left his spares on a ledge to his right, his thigh muscles flexing as he holds himself in place. The pencils are farther away than he last remembers them, though, because he feels himself reaching further and further until his balance is tipping and he’s tumbling over the side.

“Stevie!” Bucky’s frantic voice shouts, but Steve can barely hear him, too busy gasping in surprise.

There’s a suspended moment of terror as the world seems to go quiet, his ears ringing in alarm as he feels himself starting to fall and oh god, Bucky was right, he really shouldn’t have tried to reach out for his pencils and now he really was going to fall to his death and Miss Maggie was going to see him break his neck on the sidewalk or he’ll kill an alleycat on impact or--

--A strong hand closes around his bicep, catching him before he can fully go over the side of the fire escape. He’s shaking with adrenaline as Bucky lifts him back to safety. He’s speaking, Steve realizes belatedly.

“--Such a fucking idiot, I swear to god, you’re gonna be the death of me, Rogers.”

“You say that, like, once a week,” Steve says weakly, and he notices then that he’s shaking. His teeth are chattering, adrenaline coursing through him. He must look as freaked out as he feels, because Bucky takes one look at his face and softens.

He glances around, then braces a hand on the back of Steve’s neck, grounding him. A moment later, Steve is being pulled into his chest. He’s sweaty and smells like the docks, but Steve presses closer, inhaling deeply in time with Bucky.

“You okay, kid?” Bucky asks.

Steve nods against his chest, hiding. “Sorry. Spooked.”

“I don’t blame you,” Bucky says, pulling away after sneaking a soft kiss on Steve’s head. He swoops down to collect Steve’s sketchbook. “C’mon, let’s go inside.” He straightens and points an accusing finger at Steve. “I told you so, by the way.”

Steve just rolls his eyes.

-

“No! Not without you!”

“Aw, hell…”

Steve’s going to die.

He’s thought that a lot, in his 25 years of life. But now, as he sizes up the impossible jump between him and Bucky, he really truly believes it.

Bucky made it across, if only barely, and Steve wishes he would just go. There’s a deep pain in his eyes now-- one Steve noticed as soon as he lifted Bucky off that goddamn experiment table. If anyone deserves to get out of this fiery hell, it’s him. But Steve knows that he really won’t leave without him. He’d damn himself to die by the burning hands of war right alongside Steve.

Steve knows this, because he would do the same.

He takes the jump running, giving himself one moment to falter before he’s soaring through the air. It burns, and he knows he’s breathing in so much smoke. Fire licks at his heels and singes his clothes, melting the soles of his boots and mottling his skin.

It feels like he’s caught in midair, flying forever without falling as the other side gets closer and closer and holy shit, he’s going to make it-- he’s really going to--

He manages to grab hold of the railing on the other side, screaming as it breaks and bends, leaving him dangling. The metal is smoltering and he gasps, letting go on instinct as it burns the skin of his palms and shit, he’s such an idiot, but before he can fall, Bucky’s leaning over and grabbing him by the forearm.

He hauls him up onto the platform and they collapse onto the ground, panting as they claw at each other, needing something tangible-- real-- to keep them sane and then they’re kissing, teeth clacking together and noses bumping. Bucky’s sobbing, Steve notices and he pulls back to reassure him, only to realize he’s doing the same. They kiss until the air in their lungs turns to ash and they pull away to breathe, foreheads resting together.

“You’re such a fucking dumbass,” Bucky pants.

“Fuck you,” Steve answers. He kisses him again, hungry for more-- yearning to crawl under Bucky’s skin and hide there. “Thanks for catching me.” And it’s horribly insufficient. There’s so much to say to each other, so many bases to cover and things that can’t go unsaid, but Bucky must understand, because he guides Steve’s head down to his chest. A position Steve never thought he’d have the privilege of falling into again.

“Always gonna catch you,” he says. It’s quiet for a long time, nothing but their heavy breathing and the roaring fire to fill the spaces between them. Steve opens his mouth to say something; anything. He needs to ask if Bucky’s okay-- what they were doing to him-- and he knows Bucky has questions. Ones that he deserves answers to more than anyone, but the words get caught in his throat. It doesn’t matter, though, because Bucky laughs wetly. “Like-- like that fuckin’ time you almost fell off the fire escape and--”

Steve groans, shoving at Bucky before gathering him close and breathing him in, because if Bucky can find it in him to tease, then things have to be okay.

“You ain’t ever letting that go, are you?”

“Never.”

-

thanks for reading, chiefs

[anomander-dragnipurake]

Bowser's Castle Chapter Four: Opportunity

As great as being king was, there were still unpleasant parts; dealing with all the logistics involved in running a whole kingdom, occasionally having to deal with dignitaries from other kingdoms – thankfully very occasionally as his kingdom wasn’t one many wanted to visit – worst of all though was having to take the time to listen to what his people had to say about this or that thing or even worse, their problems. It was tedious.

Perhaps it was time to start making Junior do it too. He was the heir after all thus one day the kingdom would be his and thus he’d have to do it then. Maybe it was time all the Koopalings be given some of the less than pleasant jobs that came with being royalty. Kamek was always telling him that he was spoiling them too much, only giving them jobs they wanted, so maybe it was time to finally listen to him and give them some responsibilities and jobs they didn’t ask for. The kids wouldn’t like it but they’d get used to it after a while. Maybe then Bowser could…

The door creaked open, allowing the next petitioner to approach the throne. It was Luigi, wearing one of Peach’s dresses and a scarf. Last time Bowser had seen him in that outfit had been when he’d been possessed by Cackletta. Bowser suspicions about the disguise had been what alerted Cackletta to the fact that something was off, ultimately blowing Luigi’s cover. Those weren’t times he wished to remember but as much as doing so pissed him off he couldn’t blame Luigi for it like he had with King Boo yesterday.

“Why are you wearing that?”

Luigi flinched a little at his sharper than intended tone, halting in his timid advance. “Uh… Booella said that uh… it’s the only thing in the castle that would fit me and it’s clean so it’s better than what I was wearing before.”

Right, that made sense, Luigi had been more than kind of a mess before. Bowser grunted as he let himself relax once more, slouching back to put his feet up – Luigi wasn’t an enemy is this scenario so it was fine to relax a little in front of him.

Apparently taking that as permission to come closer, Luigi approached further, stopping at the foot of the dais. “So… um… first off, thank you again for saving me, I really appreciate it. I don’t know what more he would’ve done with me if you hadn’t gotten him to leave but… it wouldn’t have been good. So… thank you.”

Bowser grinned, gratitude was always nice, especially when that hadn’t even been the goal. What, if anything, he could use that gratitude for, he didn’t know yet, but it was good to have nonetheless. If nothing else, having Mario’s brother beholden to him as his savior was bound to make Mario mad which was worth it all by itself.

“Second,” Luigi continued, “when Cackletta possessed you we didn’t really take time to consider what you were going through and at the end we kind of just left you after defeating her. Which I now realize was wrong and I apologize for it. And uh lastly, yesterday you said…”

“Wait,” Bowser interrupted, “why are you apologizing about that now?” That had been a few years ago, long enough that an apology for it hardly mattered. And he’d never even been mad at Mario or Luigi for it to begin with. Of course they’d left him, what reason would they have had to stick around? It was better that way anyway, it let him keep at least some of his dignity.

“Because after… my recent experience with King Boo, I realize how horrible being possessed is and so… what you went through must’ve been pretty rough, especially after losing your memory and stuff. So, I apologize for not even really pausing to think about that, let alone anything else. You were kind of our ally at the start of that adventure at least so we should’ve done better.”

“Whatever, I don’t want to talk about it.” That whole outing from very near the start to the finish had been so thoroughly awful he’d rather go back to pretending it had never happened. “What did you come in here for?” Because there was no way it was just to babble about that stuff.

Luigi shifted, lightly crossing his arms. “Well uh… yesterday or last night, whenever it was, after you saved me you said that because you saved me that that meant I was… yours. What exactly does that mean?”

“It means that from here on out you work for me as one of my minions.” Doing what exactly because he certainly wasn’t a normal minion, Bowser wasn’t sure yet. All that mattered was that Luigi was his now, Bowser was responsible for him and whatnot, so he was going to use him.

“Well uh… does that mean I’m not allowed to leave?”

Dang, Bowser should’ve predicted that question, huh? Normal minion rules was that they were allowed time off to do as they pleased, including leaving the castle grounds, on a scheduled basis. Could he get away with having Luigi not being allowed that to make using him against Mario a surer thing? … Maybe he didn’t have to. Luigi had seemed awfully grateful last night, so why would he want to leave? After saving him from that why wouldn’t he willingly go along with being Bowser’s minion? He might push back when Bowser eventually found a way to use him to get back at Mario but a work around could be found for that too… probably. So maybe Bowser didn’t need to restrict him any more than any of the other minions.

“As long as you don’t currently have any orders from me or any of your other superiors and aren’t on duty you can leave whenever you please. You can’t be gone longer than a week without permission though.”

“Oh uh… do I have any orders then?”

“You’re injured so your orders are to recover.” Injured and sick minions were nigh on useless or at times an active hindrance to their peers so they weren’t allowed to work until they got better.

Luigi fidgeted some more before speaking again. “And King Boo? He said uh… that he’d be back.”

“Kamek will handle him if and when he shows up again.” The first thing Bowser had done this morning was order Kamek to start preparing the troops and castle for potential infiltration or even a full-on attack by ghosts and boos. One didn’t anger a nearby kingdom’s ruler without immediately preparing for war the next day if they wanted their kingdom to stay intact. “Now if there’s nothing else, you’re dismissed.” This conversation had gone on long enough already. Now that he was thinking about it again, Bowser should probably check in with Kamek on those war preparations.

“Oh, uh, um… a phone. You think I could make a couple calls? Let uh… my friends know I’m okay.”

“You mean Mario?”

“Uh… yeah. Mario mostly.”

“Yeah, whatever. Go ahead.” Mario knowing was perfect actually. He was going to be so mad Bowser had saved Luigi when he hadn’t been able to.

“Thank you.” With that Luigi was finally on his way out, his dress’ skirt swishing around his feet as he turned and fast walked out. … The dress actually looked kind of good on him now that Bowser was paying attention, though it’d look better if it were green. Maybe he’d order the tailors to make some green dresses later.

~

Bowser found Kamek in his personal library. Not a place Bowser often visited as it smelled of old books and dust, always making him feel seconds away from sneezing at any given moment because Kamek refused to let the cleaners in to touch his precious books or whatever. Kamek and a handful of his magikoopa had brought out a bunch of old tomes and laid them out on the tables to look and sort through.

Sitting at the head of one of the three tables, Kamek looked up as Bowser approached. “Sir, do you need something?”

“A report on what have you been doing to prepare for King Boo?” Bowser had interacted with King Boo enough times during prior occasions to know that, like Bowser himself, King Boo wasn’t one to let something like Bowser thwarting whatever his plan with Luigi had been go without a fight. He was bound to come back with vengeance in mind and Bowser was looking forward to it. He had no intention of dropping his conflict with Mario but he could take a break and have some fun winning for a change. And with Luigi on his side, when he returned to his conflict with Mario, he was bound to win there too. Things were really starting to look up.

“If your conflict with King Boo escalates to involve the whole kingdom, which it has a good chance of doing given his volatile nature, we are less prepared than I’d like. The last time our kingdom had any real conflict with King Boo’s was before my time. However, I know there are old spell books that contain magics for protecting against and fighting ghosts and other undead, in this library somewhere, hence out current efforts.” Kamek gestured to the still working magikoopas. “I also called E. Gadd already but got no reply. I will try again later.”

Crossing his arms, Bowser huffed to try to disguise a growing need to sneeze. “How long before King Boo shows up?”

“I predict not for a while. You cracked his crown pretty severely, your majesty. While he is nowhere close to being powerless without it, it stores and amplifies his magic, making him significantly more powerful. So he’ll likely not want to come back for a rematch until he makes or gets a new one. Which should hopefully give us plenty of time to fortify the castle against him and his ghosts.”

That was significantly less fun, waiting and preparing instead of fighting. Bowser wanted to punch something and maybe breathe some fire too. Yesterday had been fun but not nearly enough thanks to King Boo running away like a coward. “Why don’t we just go to him then? Beat him for good before he comes to us?”

“Brilliant idea as always your royal spikiness. You truly are a genius. Alas, we don’t know where he is so we can’t. And we don’t have a spy in his kingdom so we have no way of finding out.”

“Get a spy in his kingdom then.” Really, they should already have one, why didn’t they?

“Of course, I will get on that as soon as I can. Now, before you leave, I feel like I should advise you against keeping that Luigi fellow around for long. If we are about to get into a potentially serious conflict against the Boo Kingdom, we probably don’t want to risk having….”

“No,” Bowser interrupted. “He’s my minion now and we’re going to use him against Mario.”

Kamek frowned up at him. “And how do you plan to do that, sir?”

“I don’t know yet. We’ll figure it out later. For now, focus on King Boo, understood?”

Kamek sighed. “Understood.”

“Good. Now, hurry up with the preparations. And report to me as soon as you have a spy ready to go to the Boo Kingdom. I wish to meet with them before you send them.” Without waiting for another reply, Bowser turned and left, quickly exiting the library. As soon as he closed the door behind himself, he descended into a sneezing fit that was almost painful in its intensity. Ugh, he hated Kamek’s library. Shaking it off, he started down the hall. He had stuff to do like perhaps figuring out how to pull Luigi even further to his side, really take advantage of this opportunity.

[95zintheirownworld]

Since when and why are you an army and like vmin? :)

ive liked bts since 2016 when a youtuber I followed reacted to fire. ive been lowkey following their music since 2017 bcuz a very close friend of mine became an army after dna went viral and used to share a lot of bts mvs and songs with me. i started watching bts edits and clips in 2019 when a twt moot became a minjoon biased army and i had bts content all over my tl, and ive kept up with them ever since lol. but i couldn't Properly get into them until the lockdown in 2020 when I finally sat down and listened to all their songs and watched their performances. i think the BST mv + stage performances rlly solidified my love for them.

I watched a lot of bts compilation vids as well and rlly imo I think once you start watching bts content, there's just No turning back from there. they're so sincerely charming as ppl on top of having a Very solid discography theres no way out loool. in this bangtan sonyeondan shit for life, as a truly wise person once said. and ik in general most yt vids suck and include a lot of stereotypes for members and i don't recommend them as your intro to bts at All but there's So Many Cute ones as well. bts interview compilations, bts taking care of eo compilations, bts being funny compilations, etc. still i switched over to the original content quick enough lol, and there's So Much of it idt I'll ever be caught up entirely.

id say id joined and started interacting with the fandom by may 2020. bcuz i remember theorizing about the countdown to D-2 and screaming about spotting jinkook in the daechwita mv on the tl loool.

my bias has been jimin from the very beginning. ive been crying about how beautiful and wonderful he is since 2019 and im genuinely in love with him in a very best friend way (tae gets it). i think the first bts song i had on loop for a Month straight was filter lol. i saw this one edit by stussyjimin on twt that I was Obsessed with and ive been jimin biased ever since.

joon was my bias wrecker for a while bcuz he is genuinely so charming?? and Smart??? and his lyricism?? is out of this world?? and those yt compilations of him being patient with all the members rly made me love him sm

after i started watching videos of All members during the lockdown tho, i realized i was So Endeared by tae as well. he made me so Fond of him. he's always so sincerely Him. funny and strange and attentive and sweet and Observant. and then i watched a sweet night × tangled edit on twt and his voice??? was so Soothing?? i fell in love with him in a very best friend way too(jimin gets it). he's been my bias wrecker ever since ;-;-;-

when it comes to shipping, i started off as a moonfairy bcuz of the twt moot i mentioned lol. there was a Lot of soft minimoni content at the time, the kitchen run ep, the vlive, promise making behind the scenes and i found them So cute. i think id sat and watched All tae and jimin ship compilation vids at the time tbh. esp taejoon and minjoon. at heart, for some time, i was also a simple vminjoonist.

however as u know eventually yt starts reccing the analysis vids. and Those put me off both jkk and tkk so thoroughly ive never been able to get into the two ships again ;-;-;- it was very frustrating to want to watch minimoni compilations and have yt only recommend slowed down zoom ins on Proof That jkk/tkk Real. the comment section for these videos were also especially awful im ngl. the whole experience made me so sour i quit watching ship compilations on yt entirely. ;-;-;-;

i got into vmin specifically after i first Properly heard the soulmate anthem with lyrics and went ?!?!?!? this + the June 2020 Avalanche of vmin content turned me into a vminie. vmin content doesn't rlly filter into the ot7 spaces as much, so you've to Rlly go looking for it. i think after the unit interview 4 o'clock revelation i got curious about vmin and went ahead and found the small corner of vminies in the fandom bcuz even in June 2020 there Weren't very many of us here lol.

the old vminies kept talking about how vmin had changed over the years, so I went back to watch the old bangtan bombs to pay attention to vmin in particular. and like, once you See it, you can't Unsee it. ive talked about this before, but vmin have gone from The most rowdy best friends who roughouse for fun to The most gentle and tender soulmates and the transition is so ?!?!?!?!?

i think This particular video rlly converted me to vminism and idk why it's not talked about as much

firstly, how does one even reconcile 2014 vmin with This vmin lol. secondly, what even is going on in this video. "when you were dancing i was watching you." "you were?" "ive been watching the whole time." "don't look at me!!" spoken in the softest voices. i couldn't get this out of my head for Days!!! tae is so awed!!! jimin is so shy!!! they're so tender!! why!!!

consuming seven years worth of vmin content where they're just loving eo, comforting eo, writing songs for eo and just declaring over and over that they're The most special to eo even tho they used to fight the Most rlly got me further in. i watched run eps and bon voyages and bts episodes and bangtan bombs. i stalked the vmin archive. @btsandvmin's blog also helps, it's quite well organized. and they have a very Balanced approach towards shipping.

the vmin evolution!!! vmins bond!!! all their moments!!! rlly made me love them sm

for anyone newly getting into vmin, I will Always say watch vmin clips from the source content instead of in isolation. that's the One thing ive always done, bcuz context is very important and also, most vmin content is even more precious With context ;-;-;-

when you realize the sheer number of Times vmin have expressed in big and small ways how much they mean to eo. you Can't not love them. i adore vmin sm i adore their bond i adore how much they love eo there's rlly no way to Not love them tbh.

thank you anon for this ask, i loved answering it <33333

[a-lil-perspective]

Spare Dad Batch with an expecting s/o 👀?

I WILL SPARE DAD BATCH ANY DAY OF THE WEEK especially the pregnancy and baby stuff holy—

I’ll do you one better: Dad Batch Hunter with an expecting S/O feat. Ori’vod Omega.

Warnings for talk of pregnancy and babies and maybeee allusions to a breeding kink if you s q u i n t.

—

I’ve always said Hunter is the first one to pick up on the pregnancy. He can sense the hormone changes early on, just the slightest shift in the composition but it’s kind of a daunting revelation and so he just keeps it to himself for the first few weeks until he’s 100% certain of his suspicion.

Omega picks up on it not long after. Omega is very... perceptive in ways not yet fully understood.

Hunter still thinks he’s the only one who knows and so he’s just been carefully observing the wife while she’s none the wiser and he’s struggling lol like should he say anything or just wait for an opportunity to present itself like how does this work???

The topic is finally broached at the dinner table one night, courtesy of Omega.

She’d long since abandoned her dish in favor of idly turning over the contents, a wondrous look on her face.

Hunter’buir sitting across the way asks what’s got his mirdala so awestruck. She shrugs, but the smile underscoring her features is profound.

“I can’t wait to be a big sister.”

Hunter watches as his wife turns to their Meg, positively befuddled.

She’s able to reign in her confusion enough to run a loving hand through Omega’s hair and ask, “What do you mean by that?”

“You’re going to have a baby.”

Hunter leans back in his chair, feeling very smug with himself while the poor wife just looks shell shocked.

Still, he decides to play along, though he can’t keep the amusement from his lips. “What makes you think that, Meg?”

Omega keeps her eyes trained on her plate. She won’t meet Hunter or Mom’buir’s gaze, but she leans into the touch. “I had a dream,” she murmurs meekly, and then in afterthought adds, “—And, it was just talking to me.”

Mom’buir senses her growing reticence, and keeps a comforting hand on her cheek. “What was talking to you?” She prompts gently.

Omega’s eyes fall to her still mostly uniform stomach. “The baby.”

Both Buirs take too long to respond.

Omega quickly asks to be excused. Hunter gives her a reassuring smile and a nod, and she scampers off without another word. Mom’buir watches her go.

She feels Hunter’s eyes trained heavily on her. She turns slowly to her Riduur, thoroughly unsure of what expression she’ll find.

“You’re pregnant?” His face is pulled taut with solemnity, his antics from a moment ago quickly dissolved. He looks at her almost imploringly, and she realizes, he asks with hope wound tight in his throat. It’s something they’ve talked about extensively, a desire nestled into wantonly moans during the height of their pleasure. She knows beyond a shadow of a doubt, Hunter wants ade more than anything.

She drinks in his heavy expression. What a question to ask, for a man of heightened senses. She knows, Hunter often asks questions he already knows the answer to. “You tell me, Ruus’alor.”

His smirk from earlier returns then, and he shrugs. “I’ve had an idea. Just been waiting until the right moment.”

“How very dramatic of you.”

“All part of the plan.” He fists the hair at the nape of his neck, a nervous habit she is not at all phased by. “Actually to tell you the truth, I wasn’t sure how to bring it up.”

“So you had Omega do it?”

Hunter laughs then. “No no, I had nothing to do with that. I have no idea how she knows.”

“You’re not at all concerned that your child demonstrated prophetic abilities.”

Hunter’s eyes crease, revealing a prolonged weariness. “It’s not the first time, you know.”

The wife nods slowly. Omega she’s... she’s always been ahead of her time, ahead of the game, and the change. The Buirs can’t say they’ll ever fully comprehend it. Her insight is not one to be trifled with. It will never not be slightly unnerving, but they’ve learned to take it all in stride.

She looks to Hunter again, but his gaze is lost to her midsection, to the fantasy-turned-reality. His eyes are soft and elated.

“You’re pregnant.” It’s spoken in a whisper of reverence, and instantly the suffocating feeling that came with keeping it suppressed all this time is lifted. He embraces her in an instant, gathering her adoringly close while his hand comes up to cradle the back of her head.

She hums into him. “And you’re not surprised.”

He kisses her crown. “I knew all that fun would pay off.”

She swats him but can’t help the laugh that escapes. She racks her brain to estimate how far along she could be. Given their... increased activity the past several weeks, she doesn’t have to think too hard, but Hunter makes her promise to get in with the medics first thing in the morning.

Omega of course didn’t stray too far out of earshot; she never does. Which is what earned Hunter his swat. It’s only a matter of time before Meg, with her sweet innocence and earnest mind, begs to know what “fun” Hunter’buir is alluding to.

But for now; she scurries over and wedges in between her embracing parents. She loves seeing them happy, and she feels like she’s flying when they both lean down and kiss her. They don’t have to lean far; she’s getting so tall, growing up so fast. Her thoughts fall to the growing baby.

“I told you,” she beams as Hunter’s lips linger on her cheek.

“You sure did, Om’ika.”

—

Omega’s excitement only grows throughout the pregnancy. When baby becomes more pronounced, Meg is more proactive in her efforts, her delicate hands practically glued to the burgeoning swell as she fawns and chatters away with her growing vod’ika. She simply can’t wait.

Her and Mom’buir grow immensely closer during the process. Omega loves snuggling up with her at night, hands resting on her belly anytime Hunter’s aren’t. She presses an ear to the soft swell so that she can better hear when baby “talks” to her.

They’ll often fall asleep like that, Omega’s sweet face pillowed by Mom’buir’s tummy. The first time she feels a kick, her awe is indescribable. She touches her baby sister every chance she gets.

Yes, Meg is 1000% certain she’s getting a baby sister. Her and Hunter’buir are very proud of their “Team Girl” assertions.

And they are both right.

Ori’vod Omega is a title well earned. She is Mom’buir’s biggest help, always by her side, fussing over her health—her medical instincts never leave her. She’s always asking questions and offering suggestions—even more so when baby arrives.

It’s an intimate experience for her and the Buirs to share, and Omega feels privileged to be apart of this new, unique take on life. It’s so very different to the labs back on Kamino. And, Omega decides, far more beautiful.

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: V

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

As I went about my business through the warning signs

End up meeting in the hallway every single time

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

— Only Angel, Harry Styles

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

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

word count: 34k 

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

///   

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

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

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

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

And much to his satisfaction, Harry gets just that. 

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

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

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

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

The jacuzzi sex sits at the top of that list. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I changed my mind.” 

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

“Idiot.”

“Try again.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The mortal swallows heavily, nodding her head a tad. 

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

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

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

“Y-Yes.”

“Do you want a repeat of that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shit, that’s so��so— fuck!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Daddy.” 

“Say it.”

“I’m...I’m your filthy little slut.” 

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N rolls her eyes at his juvenile answer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“‘What if’ what?”

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

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

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

“How do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

“Are you really not going, then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Harry—”

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

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

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

“Get up. Now.” 

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

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

She obeys. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You like it, though, right?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

Harry drinks from Y/N that night. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck off.” 

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

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

“Karma’s a bitch, Winnie the Pooh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I won’t help next time.” 

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

“You’re a literal child.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dickhead.”

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

“Go back to keeping your mouth shut.” 

“Mm. S’what I thought.” 

Harry keeps his sensual promise, as he always does. 

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

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

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

“Arms behind your back.” 

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

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

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

“‘Yes’ what?”

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

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

“Only for you.”  

“No one else?”

“No one else.”

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

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

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

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

“Pardon?”

“Go deeper. Want it all.” 

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

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

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

“Mmhm.”

“Alright. Ready?”

“Always.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She’s working his praise kink like a charm.

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

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

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

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

Harry loses it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No I don’t!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What was your favorite part?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Asshole.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My pleasure. See you later, Holmes.” 

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

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

///

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

He should have gone on the trip. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is bad. This is really bad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His words sting for some unknown reason. 

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

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

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

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

“I do.”

“Alright.” 

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

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

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

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

“Because Fridays are our days.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Right. Super classy.” 

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

“Fuck off.” 

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

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

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

“Truly?”

“Truly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Keep going.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry is the first to break the tranquil atmosphere. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But I could have.”

“But you didn’t.” 

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

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

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

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

“I refuse to take down Stevie!”

“And I refuse to take down Amanda!”

“You named it?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But could it really be worth the potential grievance?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It would be my pleasure.” 

[cassandraclare]

I'm sorry to hear that your hard work was leaked but I was curious about what happened. I hope the person faced consequences because that was a very selfish thing to do leaking your work like that :(

I haven’t taken action against the person who leaked the book. I know who they are, since they uploaded the page I signed for them, and I was able to match that against my records. 

I haven’t refrained from taking action because I feel sympathy for them. I don’t. It’s beyond shitty behavior to receive an early, signed book as a gift, and to then leak the entire book online. It’s a shit thing to do to the authors and an equally shit thing to do to other fans. However, I don’t want to put myself (and Wes) through the exhausting, grim and expensive process of legal repercussions. It doesn’t mean what this person did isn’t horrible, and it doesn’t mean they haven’t cost the entire fandom any chance of there ever being an early contest giveaway like that again. They did. There never will be. There will be no ARCs of Chain of Iron, either, and you can thank them for that, too. 

Part of what makes piracy such an issue for authors goes far beyond the individual assholes who upload and distribute and translate stolen books. It’s that the whole system is set up to make it incredibly difficult for us to do anything about it. Publishers do little to nothing to prevent piracy, and authors shoulder the entire burden of searching out and reporting illegal copies of their books. And even then, we’re dependent on whether or not the reported website feels like complying with copyright laws or not. Twitter is incredibly slow to respond, Tumblr is about fifty-fifty on bothering at all. They’re legally required to take action, but they also know that the effort of doing something about it if they do not falls on exhausted, overburdened artists who often can’t afford to follow up with a lawyer’s letter.

And like, I get being broke and wanting to read books; there were a lot of books I had to pass up reading when I was broke (I will be forever grateful to the library system of New York and Brooklyn, which is how I read books at all from about 2001-2004.) I was broke enough that I slept on a bare mattress because I couldn’t afford sheets, but I’m pretty sure if I broke into Bed, Bath and Beyond and stole a bunch of fitted percale bedding I wouldn’t have encountered much sympathy if I got caught. 

I talked about this on Twitter before, and I’ll say it again here though I know it will make very little difference: pirating books doesn’t just hurt the author of those books. It hurts everyone at the publishing company, where the margin of profit is razor-thin (and yes, publishers should do more to protect themselves against piracy; I agree there); it hurts bookstores, especially indie bookstores (I remember doing an event at a store that told me, sadly, that they were likely going to have to close because people “came into the store, looked at the books, took notes, then went home and pirated them.”) It hurts libraries, who rely on circulation for funding, and the shutting down of libraries hurts people who actually can’t afford books.

Now, I know is no way to talk people out of piracy; the internet has normalized it, and besides, people will generally do the cheaper, easier thing — you can’t talk people into not doing something they want to do by telling them it’s wrong, in my experience. They’ll find ways to justify it, whether it be that they can’t afford the book or it isn’t yet available in their language or that they find the author “problematic” and this is the way they’ve chosen to punish them. 

The reason I put “problematic” in quotes is because yes, of course you can read and enjoy work that has problematic elements. Pretty much everything has some element that’s going to be found problematic by someone — which is exactly why deciding that it’s morally excusable to steal from people you think are creating flawed work is more than problematic. Holding creators accountable for their work means critiquing that work, not stealing it.

I listen to a lot of political podcasts, and some of them review work by extreme right-wing politicians etc. who have written books that the podcasters find morally despicable but wish to, or need to, review and discuss. Since they don’t wish to give money to the authors, they buy second-hand copies or take the book out of the library. They certainly don’t steal, translate and distribute copies of the books because they genuinely do not like them and do not want more people reading them. That’s what it looks like when you have an actual moral problem with a book or author. 

However, running multiple fan accounts for a book series, naming your internet identity after characters from that book series, and talking endlessly about “your favorite parts” and how this is “your favorite book” entirely invalidates any argument that you’re doing this because you think the books are bad, evil, etc. If you claim a book is actively homophobic or racist but are so desperate to read it that you’ll steal it, so excited about it that you’ll share that stolen copy, so obsessed that you’ll illegally translate a whole book and provide that stolen translation to as many people as possible, and so dedicated to the fandom that you’ll name yourself after the characters in the books and write poetry about them, I have to tell you: the last thing that looks like is that you actually find the books problematic, regardless of what you say to the contrary. It looks like you like them but don’t want to pay for them, because in fact, that’s the case. (Either that or it looks like you’re really into racist, homophobic books, and making sure as many people read them as possible, which is your problem.)

One of the issues I have with piracy is that it teaches you to hate creators. You have to hate them, because you’re doing a fucking awful thing to them and you have to justify it. This results in lying about creators — about their process, their translations, their research — as if somehow, even if they were bad researchers, that would justify widespread theft. (It doesn’t.) Those who steal books wind up in a headspace where they are obsessed with the content of the books, and entirely unwilling to accept the reality that those books were created by a real person that they’re really harming. It encourages the mentality that I didn’t create Jem or Magnus or Will or Cordelia: they came from some kind of sparkly outerspace planet and I was just lucky enough to get to write down their adventures. It invalidates the hard work creators put into what they create, and in fact, erases their very existence. The internet attitude toward creators is already incredibly toxic (especially if they’re women, LGBT+ and/or BIPOC) and the feeling of entitlement to free content, and vicious hatred toward those who aren’t providing it (even though a lot of creators, me included, provide a great deal of free content) contributes to that. Genuinely, if you’re stealing someone’s work, the least you could do is not also be an asshole about them. (Or pretend you’re Robin Hood. He stole from the rich who had taken property and goods from the poor, and returned that stolen wealth. He didn’t steal from artists and independent bookstores and use that stealing to benefit himself and his friends. The idea is actually kind of funny.) 

 I understand there is a pressure to be up to date on the books that are being released so as to participate in fandom, and I do get that. Unfortunately, piracy has real consequences that stretch beyond just hurting me and Wes. Because LGBT+ books are pirated at such an incredible rate, and we’ve definitely seen that with TEC, I am left wondering if there will ever be an actual Spanish translation of TEC, or whether the publisher will decide not to bother because it’s already been so thoroughly pirated in Spanish. I have to wonder if there will even be a third book of TEC at all, or whether publishers will feel it isn’t worth doing. And I have to wonder why the people who create this situation so often have usernames that include Jem or Magnus or Alec or Cordelia or Julian or Tessa. What an incredible misunderstanding of those characters, to imagine a world in which Will Herondale or Magnus Bane or James Carstairs would approve of stealing books and harming writers. And why name yourself after a character who absolutely couldn’t stand you? I don’t know. I don’t get it, any more than I get hating someone who provided you with something you claim is your favorite book. 

That was a much longer answer than you were probably expecting or hoping for, and I know I’ll get yelled at quite thoroughly for writing it. Writers always do, when we engage with the issue of piracy. I know most of you reading this acquire your books honestly; most of you are not like this at all. But like most things on the internet, a small amount of people really do have the power to make things pretty rotten for everyone else.

[obae-me]

Hi, I'm back with another ask (if you're still taking them)! Can I request the demon brothers reacting to an MC who usually shies away from touch, but absolutely melts under headpats? Thank you, I love your works, and I hope you aren't overworking yourself!! 💙

I live for the fluff, and I hope this warms your heart reading as much as I did while writing it! Thank you for your request, stay safe and take care of yourself! 💜

Lucifer

He’s not super touchy himself, so any form of physical affection he shows MC is minimal. A hand on their shoulder, an escorting arm, just simple gentlemanly gestures. When he saw that MC wasn’t quite comfortable with these, going so far as to sometimes move away from his body, he stopped even doing those out of respect for their space. He understood more than most that some people didn’t like being touched.

He wasn’t paying attention when he had first done it, giving MC a pat on the head. He was exhausted, having spent all day in meetings, doing paperwork, and cleaning up the messes of his brothers. He was running low on sleep, patience, and logic. His only main focus was work. MC had offered a helping hand, and he didn’t refuse, in fact he was secretly thankful for assistance. Normally, his pride would force him to carry his own work and burdens on his shoulders, but tonight he would let it slide. They handed him some of his work back, all thoroughly checked and edited by their hands. He took the stack without even looking at them, deeply concentrated in another project.

“Thank you,” he muttered, and raised his free hand to touch the top of their head, tapping them with the softest brush of his fingers. It took a moment for his action to register, and he quickly looked up from his work, opening his mouth to apologize for his folly. Then he saw the expression on their face. For once they weren’t moving away from his hands, but instead even shifting their posture so his fingers were now entangled in their hair. Their cheeks were tinted pink as they blushed, and Lucifer tried to ignore the strange flutter in his chest. He smiled tauntingly, but in a sweet way, happy to see that he had now discovered a way to give them praise. His eyes narrowed in on their complexion as it grew redder the more he moved his hand over their head.

He made a note of this interaction for the future. The next time they were alone and he thanked them, he raised his hand, looking MC with a teasing expression. He watched patiently as they squirmed in place before coming over to him. He made sure they incited the action on their own, placing their head under his touch before he patted their head.

He savors moments like these in private, this interaction a secret and intimate display for just him alone. He adores headpats where he can weave his fingers through their hair, taunting them with merely his fingertips. If he’s feeling extra special, he’ll take his gloves off for it. He’d become secretly addicted to this for sure.

He’ll use this method to reward MC whenever they do something that pleases him. It pays off in dividends. He’ll probably tease them for it later when he discovers they’ve been studying harder and been doing chores without him asking for it.

It fills him with enormous pride that they’ll come to him for this. “Hm, what is it you want? Did you want my touch and praise so badly?”

Mammon

Typically anyone who takes the time out of their day to attempt to touch Mammon is when they’re wanting to beat the Grimm out of him for something he’s done. So, because of this, he’s not super touchy either. It’s not that he doesn’t like touch, he’s just not had too many great experiences. So he can relate to how MC feels.

Surprisingly, it was MC who gave him the headpat first. He’d failed a test, already been through an intense lecture by Lucifer, and now his precious Goldie had been taken away yet again, threatened to be put through a shredder. To cheer himself up, he went to MC’s room. When they let him vent, he couldn’t stop telling them how much of an angel they were. He’d been sitting on MC’s floor, his back leaning against their bed while MC sat on top of their mattress. He was getting real deep with his feelings, saying things MC had never heard him be comfortable enough to talk about.

They wanted to comfort him and to reward him at the same time. Not knowing what to do, MC leaned forward and nervously rubbed the top of his head. “There there.”

At first, all the hair on the back of his neck stood on end, warning signals running through his mind as his nerves went on high alert. But then the soothing circles over his head put him more at ease, MC’s comforting voice lulling his fears away. MC was...was...giving him a...a...He almost found himself slipping to the floor, but then he snapped out of it.

“Oi, oi, oi, oi, oi, what’re you doing?” He tore free from them, getting to his feet as he stared down at them. His glasses were slightly crooked and hanging near the end of his nose in his flustered state. “I’m supposed to be the bigger man here, the one supporting you! So…” With a finger, he pushed his glasses up near his face before he hovered a hand above their hair. He took a deep breath, and then gave them a headpat in return, watching their expression and body language go through the same temporary panic as he did.

But then they practically melted in his hands, their eyes shiny with un-spilt tears as their touch starved body received some physical attention. Mammon did his best to prevent his face from getting even hotter than it already was. Who knew he’d love giving them headpats even more than getting one himself?

He’ll dole out headpats to MC left and right now, doesn’t matter when, where, or why, he’s greedy so when he wants to do it there’s no stopping him, but on this particular matter MC doesn’t bother stopping him anyway. He doesn’t ask for something in return for this gesture, for once, but occasionally MC gives him a pat on the head in exchange, watching him stutter as he turns a deep pink.

He loves giving MC headpats where he messes up their hair, ruffling it up and making it wild-looking just so he can do it all over again when they try to fix it.

Levi

You think his brothers are touch starved? He’s probably not had physical contact for decades, but part of that is his fault. He’s always yelling not to be touched, exclaiming loud enough that people in the Celestial Realm could hear, that he needs his personal space. He freaks out if MC accidentally even bumps shoulders with him.

He notices how MC reacts whenever he accidentally touches them, and he takes it very personally. Self doubt and anxiousness take over his mind as he secludes himself in the safe space of his bedroom. With the assistance of the brothers, MC managed to enter his comfort zone, stepping into his room. They started explaining how they were sorry that they were responsible for how he was feeling. They had to bluntly tell him that they don’t like being touched really by anyone, not just him, most things just make them uncomfortable. If there was anyone who knew about it, it was him. They sat down by him, but not too closely, and asked if watching anime with him would make him feel better.

As they’re both watching one of his favorite shows, Levi notices the expression on MC’s face whenever the main protagonist gives one of the love-interests a pat on the head. He’s the demon of envy, he knows longing when he sees it. MC’s eyes were glinting towards the screen. He had to cover part of his face with his arm just simply thinking about doing something like that with MC. It was no surprise that he wanted something like that too. 

“U-um, MC?” Levi’s brain was short-circuiting, and nothing was even happening yet. MC looked at him, their head slightly tilted to the side in curiosity. His heart was already beating out of his chest, they were cute, too cute. “Can I just...try one thing? And! And then if you hate it you can feel free to never talk to me again!” He just needed to know, the temptation of envy at watching a cartoon complete a gesture that he too wanted to make was too great to bear.

“O-okay.”

It took him a full two minutes of squirming in place and blushing to even build up the courage to put his hand in the air. Once he did, he closed his eyes and turned his head away from MC as he placed his palm over their hair. His hand stayed stagnant for a while, just resting atop their head, but then he started moving it, stroking their hair in the same fashion as he’s seen in so many of his shows. Only, he was near tears. Somehow the real thing was so much better.

Once he had finally had enough--he had wanted to keep going but he was worried his poor heart was about to give out--he apologized to MC again for touching them. MC looked down, their face almost just as red as his. When they told him that they didn’t mind and actually-maybe-kinda liked it, his eyes almost sparkled.

He doesn’t do it as often as he’d like, he’s still much too shy and anxious for that. He will manage to do it every so often, waiting until he’s had plenty of time for mental preparation. He waits to strike whenever MC is sad so he can swoop in and be their hero.

He likes the slow simple headpats, moving his hand left and right, feeling the heat inside his chest grow as MC sways their head with his movements.

Satan

Of course he doesn’t prefer being touched, why would he? He gets angry if someone even bothers him when they happen to be in the same room. He needs his space, he needs people to stay away from him, and if he does so happen to want to be touched, he needs it on his own terms. So he actually enjoyed hanging out with MC, because with them feeling the same way as he did, he didn’t have to worry they’d do something reckless like...hugging him or some awful thing.

They were reading together, his favorite activity. There was nothing better than him and his company doing their own thing within a decent distance, and all while being quiet about it. And because MC was being so well-behaved, he permitted them to sit on the same couch as him should they want it. He almost lost his place on the page as he felt their body heat wave off of them as they sat next to him.

However, MC kept moving, shifting to change position every few moments, trying to get into a comfortable reading position, but not finding one. It was driving him a bit crazy, but he understood their struggle. He weighed the pros and cons of what he was about to suggest in his head. He decided that it would mostly be in his favor. 

“Why don’t you lie down and I read to you?” He asked them, placing a bookmark in between the crevice of his book before placing it aside. They blinked at him, embarrassed that they had bothered him so badly. They got up off the couch, ready to lay on the floor. He gingerly grabbed the fabric of their sleeve. “I’m not asking you to get on the floor, I’m not that rude. To my brothers maybe, but not you.” He took the book that they had been reading and brought it to his face, already feeling some involuntary feelings rise to his cheeks. He patted his legs, hoping they would understand his gesture without him having to go through the pain of saying it.

They understood well enough, getting back on the couch and slowly, slowly, settled down with their head in his lap, their face turned away from him. MC was a bit rigid at first, but slowly relaxed as Satan started reading their story from the point they had left off at. He eventually got so enveloped in the words, he had no idea what he had been automatically doing. It took him about a chapter or two before his actions hit him randomly, his mind going blank, leaving himself tongue tied.

He’d been petting MC’s head for a while now, almost completely unaware. He assumed the feeling in his lap reminded him of a cat curled up over his legs, and he just instinctively had been stroking their head. He’d caught himself in the middle of running his fingers all the way from the top of their head, down to the nape of their neck, almost even scratching behind their ears.

“Is...is something wrong? Why...did you stop?” MC wondered, their voice gentle. He cleared his throat, deducing that their tone meant they found nothing wrong with what he had been doing. He resumed his actions, and felt MC happily shudder in his lap.

Later that night, when he was done reading, he found that he had made MC a little too comfortable, and now they were asleep on him. He didn’t dare move and actually ended up staying there all night.

He’ll only give MC headpats in this exact way, with their head over his thighs, stroking their hair like they were a cuddly pet. He’s melting almost as much as they are. To his enjoyment, MC will ask him if they can read with him much more frequently.

Asmo

He love love loves touch! So seeing MC squirm away from all his forms of affection makes him equal parts gloomy and determined. He’s never had anyone shy away from him like that, even his charm ends up rubbing off on his brothers, and they let him give them physical affection every once and awhile. He knows there has to be some form of touch MC can stand, and he’s ready to find it.

He tries hugs, hand-holding, massages, tickling, cuddling, anything he can think of in hopes MC will react positively. Touch his strongest love-language after all, so he’ll be forever downhearted if MC is never comfortable with it. Never comfortable with him...

He was close to figuring it out though, he knew it. His last massaging experiment had his hands around their head and neck, and he felt the muscles in their body unwind just the slightest bit. So, today he had them in his room, sitting on the chair in front of his mirror as he brushed their hair. Like before, they weren’t as tense, and were surprisingly complacent as he dragged his brush through their smooth strands. He was so jovial over this, he was almost humming to himself.

“MC, your hair is almost just as pretty as mine!” He put the brush down for just a second to run his fingers through their locks. MC’s body shuddered, their eyelids fluttering. The heart in his chest pounded in excitement when MC leaned their head towards his hand. He was almost as happy as the time Lucifer let Asmo give him a shoulder massage. “Hmm, what’s this?” He grinned and played with their hair some more, using his hands to pat down and fix any stray strands. MC refused to look at his gaze in the reflection of their mirror, their face adorably red. He just wanted to squeeze them! Asmo pressed his cheek to their head as he continued to pet and comb his fingers throughout MC’s hair.

He pets their head now as frequently as MC will allow. He especially prefers to do it when he notices they’re tense or stressed. Just a few minutes of his magical hands running over their head and all the tension in MC’s body practically melts away.

His special version of headpats come with special scritches. He’ll let his long nails gently scratch at their scalp, causing shudders to run through MC’s spine. Once, MC even moaned softly in comfort as he did this, causing him to almost collapse. Who knew something so chaste and simple could get him so pleased?

Beel

He’s a big lovable teddy bear, and so he loves to give hugs. It’s third on the list of things he loves, family, food (not always in that order), and comforting embraces following right after. The first time he gave MC a hug, they felt frozen, unable to hug him back. They only began to breathe again after he let them go. He respects the fact that they don’t like touch, but it will make him a bit melancholy for a while.

He only figured out MC adored headpats because they practically told him, he ended up being the only one they felt comfortable enough opening up to. Maybe it was because he couldn’t help but sulk for a few days after MC asked not to be touched. They felt a bit guilty for him, after all, he was only trying to show MC wholesome affection.

He had been in the kitchen, getting a large selection of goodies for his midnight snack when the door opened. He almost jumped when MC came into the room, as he went about clutching the food to his chest. He looked over MC before saying anything, their eyes and face a bit puffy from crying. They looked deeply upset.

Beel got so rattled from their expression, he almost dropped his precious food. He hurriedly put it all on a kitchen counter before talking to them. “MC, it’s so late, what’s wrong?” His natural instinct was to hold his arms out, ready to give them a tight embrace, but he bit his lip as he kept his arms lowered. Not knowing how best to comfort them was killing him, leaving the already gaping hole in his stomach feeling even emptier.

“I...I don’t know...I just…” MC placed their hands over their face as they began to cry some more. Beel got closer to them, every inch in his body twitching as all he wanted was to scoop them up.

“Well...what...what can I do to make you feel better? I’ll do anything!”

As they were sniffling, they outstretched one of their arms, waiting for his hand. He let them take it, taking notice of the vast difference between sizes. They felt so small next to him. MC grasped his hand with their own, doing their best to keep from shaking. Beel hadn’t quite been ready for MC to place his hand over their head, holding onto his wrist. He hesitated for a second, starting off very slow. The more he pet them, the more they started to calm down.

This made his heart swell immensely. He was so overjoyed that he was making MC happy, that he got to touch them, that he got a bit carried away as his built up emotions flowed straight to his hands. He moved his hand back and forth a bit aggressively, all purely by accident. He’d had his eyes closed as he couldn’t contain himself, his heart feeling like bursting. He was shaking MC back and forth so violently, they had to grasp onto his clothes from falling over. He quickly stopped, apologizing profusely while MC held tightly onto him as they waited for the room to stop spinning.

He will want to do this all the time, it satiates some sort of hunger in his stomach when he does, and MC doesn’t complain. Just as long as he does it gently. He’ll pet them like a fragile creature, as he closes his eyes and almost glows in happiness when he does. The gesture reminds him a lot of comforting Belphie.

Belphie

Like Satan, Belphie is only somewhat okay with touch if it’s on his terms. He almost always needs to initiate it, or ask for it at the very least. The only exception to the rule is his twin Beel. His brother is always picking him up, hugging him, or letting Belphie sleep on him.

When MC explained that they didn’t like touch, he was okay with it. What, did they think he cared? It’s no big deal, whatever, he’s too tired to worry about it. It does affect him, but he’s not even sure why. Is it because they look so soft to him that he wants to cuddle them like a pillow? Is it because he just wants to feel their sweet warmth? Is it because he wants to spite his brothers by being the only one able to touch them? He’s unsure. The only thing he is sure of is it’s making him a bit restless.

So, to deal with this, he did what came most naturally to him. That being coming into MC’s room unannounced in the dead of night. He’s still not used to normal human manners or behavior, or he doesn’t really care. Possibly both.

He watched MC sleep peacefully in bed, the silver rays of moonlight seeping through their window and landing on their head, reflecting off the color of their hair. He knelt close to the bed, tucking his pillow close to his chest as he watched them sleep for a bit. Then he lazily raised his hand, plopping it over their head. Their body jolted a bit as their eyelids opened.

“B-Belphie?” MC moved a bit, coming out of their tired haze.

“Shh, this is just a dream,” he told them, abusing his powers a bit as he influenced their exhaustion. A sleepy gaze coated their eyes. They ceased moving, nuzzling their head against the pillow as they no longer went to question why he was in their room.

He ran his hand gently over their head, watching color flush their cheeks as they stared at him in their dreamy state. Their lips almost curled into a smile, and Belphie pulled his cow-printed pillow closer to his chest, hoping to muffle the rapid beating of his heart. He pet MC’s head until they fell fast asleep again.

In the morning, MC looks at him in a weird way, more flustered than usual. He’ll tease them about it a bit, questioning their actions and feeling twisted satisfaction when they explained that they simply had experienced a strange dream last night.

He might continue to do this, giving them affection before bed and persuading them it was nothing more than a dream, but eventually he’ll want them to know it was real. He’ll just enjoy this secret interaction a little more before he does tell them, though.

He likes to pet their head in a way that lets their hair look like sleepy bed-hair, he finds it unbelievably adorable. He’ll start from the top of their head and work down towards their cheek, letting MC nuzzle against his palm before they sleep.

[vintage-writes]

Yes I’m Mad, You Broke my Leg (Tomura Shigaraki x Reader)

Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x Fem!Reader

Summary: You are currently undercover at U.A High School as Aizawa’s teaching assistant. One day on a field trip with Class 1A the League of Villains shows up and you now have to pretend that you’re definitely not in love with the leader. Of Course, Maybe you took it a tad too far. >-<

Warnings: None, Fluff. Slight bit of Angst but otherwise it’s just a pouty Shigaraki..

Word Count: 2 057

_________________________________________________

“Shigaraki is dead ahead moving into the back alley. Y/n, I need you to cut them off,” Aizawa’s voice echoes in your ear. “I’ll handle Kurogiri.”

Your feet continuously pound against the stone floor. You pass several run down buildings as you sprint down the deserted streets. The League of Villains recently attacked an old hospital currently experimenting on quirk enhancement. Seeing as the U.A. students were conveniently nearby, the Saturday school trip has turned into yet another effort to finally get a hold of Tomura Shigaraki, head of the League of Villains. Because God forbid, we actually do something normal for a change.

As Aizawa’s newest teaching assistant, that he reluctantly agreed to, you were now careening around corners on foot to catch up to him and cut him off from behind while Aizawa took chase from the front. So far, you just wish you had stayed home.

As you make your way around the final corner you run into the man himself. His cotton blue hair billowing behind him, his cloak flapping around in the wind. His trademark hands are currently in place blocking your view of his handsome face.

“Hello Villain”, you say.

He says nothing in response, simply tilting his head at you.

“I’ve been ordered to stop you here”, despite not being able to see his face you can tell by his body language, he isn’t pleased with the idea. “Why don’t we have some fun.”

“Let’s not”

You quickly slip the knife waiting in your belt into your right hand. Using your quirk you block off all the exits except for the one in the direction of Aizawa. You lunge forward and swipe your knife at him but he jumps backwards in time to avoid the edge. You swipe again, he dodges again, and like this you proceed to dance around another with jabs and slashes. Despite his size and lowered visibility, he is able to move rather smoothly.

Again, you decide to emit your quirk to land a blow on him which he narrowly avoids. However this time, as he dodges away he latches all five fingers onto a column supporting a nearby building. His quirk manifests at an alarming rate and eats away at the majority of the column before swiftly shifting over to eat away at the bricks and chipping paint of the building itself.

“Wait! NO!” You lunge forward intent on stopping him, knife discarded. The area didn't have any time to be evacuated, therefore, many people were still residing in the houses. If the building collapsed, it could definitely take a life or two.

Surprised by your sudden cry, he jumps away from the wall. Between the fingers, you can see his eyes have widened considerably. Before you had any time to say or do anything that could potentially explain the sudden outburst, you hear Aizawa’s voice shouting from behind.

“Y/n, get him now!”

Right. Remain focused.

You turn back to the task at hand only to freeze. Rushing towards you at an alarming rate was Shigaraki, hand outstretched, aimed at your face. On pure and absolute instinct, you drop down into a crouch before swinging your left leg around to connect with the corner of his knee. The blow lands with a sickening crunch and he immediately drops like a sack of potatoes as you roll out of the way. Adrenaline thrumming through your veins as you roll onto your feet again, turning to face Shigaraki. He’s lying on his side, hand fallen beside him and face in full view. Shigaraki’s face twists in pain as he lets out a strangled cry. However, this time,  Kurogiri sits beside him and without wasting time, the two disappear. 

“Dammit!” Aizawa says as he rocks up beside you. “Nice job though, that will definitely throw a wrench in their plans.”

You look up at Aizawa, confusion written all over your face.

He chuckles softly, “Nice job on breaking his leg, it’ll give the heroes a chance to breathe and track them down.” Aizawa begins to walk away and motions for you to follow so that you can meet up with the students. However you remain frozen in place as realisation begins to set in. Guilt immediately floods over you. You broke Shiggy’s leg. You gave him a clean break to HIS LEG. You wander after Aizawa in a daze. Meeting up with the students feels like a nightmare as each one compliments you on a job well done. It doesn’t feel like a good job. You plaster on a realistic smile as you pretend to revel in the glory. It’s an incredibly strange feeling to be praised for doing something you really didn’t want to do.

You’re never going to hear the end of this.

___________________

Three agonising days pass before you’re allowed off campus. You send in a request with Principle Nezu and he allows you to stay off campus on Friday night for your ‘Mom’s birthday’. Aizawa gives you papers to mark and sends you off with a pat on the head and a request to remain safe. 

“I doubt Shigaraki’s allies will be too pleased with you, stay out of the spotlight.”

You gave him your thanks before leaving campus. Now you stand in front of a rundown warehouse, cake in hand, mentally preparing yourself for the shit you’re about to get into. God can only prepare you for the amount of petty, pouty rage, Shiggy’s about to send your way. You move forward and slowly open the door. It swings open on its hinges anyway, screaming into the open space. On the musty couch sits Dabi and Toga watching some god awful American drama.

Dabi looks up and with a teasing smile and proclaims, “Would you look at that. It’s the hero.”

“Shut up, Dabi”

“Oh, Y/n, Y/n, Y/n”, he tuts. “I feel like maybe you should be a little nicer, especially with the mood he’s in right now.”

“Don’t you think I know that”, you hiss back, holding up the cake tin.

“You think Cake is going to fix this?”

You pause before softly mumbling a tired ‘maybe’. Dabi bursts out laughing while you throw a venomous look at him.

“Oooohh, no need to be like that, or are you going to break my leg now too-- ow!” He shouts out, rubbing his head. Toga raises her arm again, TV remote in hand. A warning written all over her face. 

“He’s in the back Y/n”, she says. She offers a smile, hand still raised. “Don’t worry too much about it.”

You thank her and send Dabi another mean look as you duck around the corner, striding towards the back room. As you reach the door you release a breath before entering.

Shigaraki sits on the couch, head in his hand as he watches the news. Surprisingly enough he’s staring intently at the sports channel. He’s avoiding you, you realise. You walk in on soft feet to stand in front of the couch. You place the cake on the coffee table. You decide to be straightforward and address the elephant in the room.

“Hey Baby, how’s the leg”, you say gently.

“Hi Darling,” he starts off, “It’s fine.”

Darling, he says. That one’s new.

“Are you mad?” you whisper. He finally meets your eyes. Crimson eyes burning with heat.

“Why would I be mad? It’s not like you broke my leg”, he says, gravelly.

“Baby, I promise you, it wasn’t on purpose. You caught me off guard. I barely even knew what I was doing, it was all on instinct”, You start off desperately. “I swear, it will never happen again. Aizawa just caught me off guard.”

His eyes fixate on you. He’s studying you thoroughly, doubt swirling in his eyes. His calm face remind you of someone in mourning. He leans forward, hands interlace, elbows resting on his knees. He doesn’t look at you again. Instead, he stares into the spot above the TV. Ideas turning behind red eyes. You feel your heart drop. Does he no longer trust you? Is this the end of the relationship? You’ve always known Shiggy’s trust was difficult to earn but you never thought it would be lost, especially not like this.

“Do you not trust me?” he asks at last.

You still. Do you not trust him? That’s ridiculous. Of course you trust him. You’d lay down your life for this man. For the opportunity for him to be happy, to burn the world down that betrayed him. To cripple a society that is unequal and cruel.

However, the scene plays back in your mind, the sight of his hand moving towards your face. His pinky tucked beneath it, only the thumb and forefinger truly posing as some form of a threat. Granted the only reason you had done what you did, had more to do with an object coming towards your face then a lack of trust in him.

You kneel down in front of him and rest on your knees. You remain on the side of his good leg, eye-level with him.

You reach forward and grasp his interlaced hands, unlocking them and entwining your own within his gloved fingers. Slowly you lift each hand up and place a kiss on the knuckles.

“I love you so much, of course I trust you.” You say gently. “This will never happen again.”

He smiles and then proceeds to lift up your hands in order to place kisses on your knuckles. Sincerity pooling in his eyes.

“I love you too. Please be safe.”

You send him a wink, “Always, and one really good thing came from this. The Pro’s trust me a whole lot more now.”

His smile drops suddenly and so does your heart. Maybe that came out wrong.

“I’m still in a lot of pain”, he says, looking away with a pout, “I’m still mad.”

You climb onto the couch next to him and place a kiss on his cheek before whispering, “I brought cake.” You beam up at him and he lets out the softest little chuckle.

“What kind of cake?”

You giggle.

“Chocolate, Delicious Chocolate.”

“Alright, I’ll eat the cake and then see if I’m still mad.”

You let out a laugh before kissing him full on the lips. Slightly chapped as his lips are, they’re still soft to the touch. He places a hand on your cheek and deepens the kiss, groaning. Warmth spreads over your body as you feel at peace.  Wrapping his arms around you, you fall into him. The worrying for the past few days suddenly feels silly now as his gentle heat engulfs you.

You pull away breathless. Eyes like plated Mars, stare into your own. His beauty is stealing away all reasoning. Taking away the very air of your lungs.

“Cake?” you ask, a blush spread across your cheeks.

He nods back, “Cake.”

You reach over for the Cake tin and hand it to him before reaching down again for the spoons. As you turn back you see that he’s already opened the tin, a card sits in his hand as he stares down at both, a look of confusion written all over his face. 

Oh Yeah, that’s what you forgot to do. He looks at the card, then at you before lifting the cake out of the tin and displaying it for you. Out of the corner of your eye you can see the card has been placed aside. Without looking at it you already know what it says. 

A quick note to “Enjoy the precious time spent with family” signed by Principal Nezu.

“Babe”, he says “Why does this cake say ‘Happy Birthday Mrs (L/n)’”

You Throw him a sheepish smile.

“Happy Birthday, Mom”

_______________________________

A/N: There is nothing anyone can say to convince me Nezu wouldn’t do this.

[forever-rogue]

Hello! Congrats on your follower milestone! 🥳🥳Can I request the prompt "Are you hitting on her for me?" with Pero Tovar? (I love the grumpy Spaniard) I'm a sucker for some hurt/comfort, but you decide where you want to take this. Thank you so much! 🥰🥰🥰🤗

Here we have just some soft, fluff! Enjoy!

Pero Tovar x Fem!Reader ; warnings: none

Pedro Characters Masterlist

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Working at the small, aging tavern wasn't an ideal situation but it was enough to pay the bills and then some. Plus free drinks every now and then. And getting to meet some interesting characters. Maybe it wasn't bad at all.

You had a lot of leeway and flexibility and if anything or anyone or anything ever got out of place, you were quick to put an end to it. Your fiery and no nonsense attitude had quickly earned you a reputation that you didn't mind.

So it was interesting when one particular man caused you to experience a bout of nerves. And hells, it wasn't even a stranger...this man had come around many times before whenever he was in the area which seemed to be an awful lot lately. Perhaps the mercenary had laid down his weapons and decided to take on a more and quiet life.

You'd catch his eye almost as soon as he'd walked in, offering up a nervous smile while he gave you a nod of acknowledgment. Was that a smile gracing his own features? 

Pushing away any thoughts - innocent or more lusty - you went back to preparing drinks for the Spaniard and his companion. It was just his usual, nothing fancy, and you quickly padded over to give it to them. Both men thanked you politely and you quickly scuttled away, ready to hide behind the counter. Your cheeks and whole body felt like they were on fire. And from what? A five second interaction in which you couldn't even meet his eyes? Pathetic, you chided yourself. 

Grabbing your previously discarded rag, you went back to scrubbing at the grimy counters.

The little looks and glances that were stolen between the two of you weren’t lost on either one of you. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

And so, it appeared anyway, the two of you continued your little cat and mouse game for some time. And what a wickedly fun little game it was - Pero, you’d learned his name some time ago but found it too intimate to use it, even think it to yourself, would come in and spend his evenings having a drink and reading by himself or in the company of another. He’s started to make it a point to greet you eagerly, and try to hold small conversations with you, coaxing out bits and pieces of yourself. In turn you did the same to him, trying to get to know as much as possible about the former mercenary. But it had never led anywhere more than friendly conversations or lingering looks and salutations. The idea of proposing anything more seemed to knock the wind right out of your sails. Instead you continued to dance the same dance, going round and round again. 

Maybe one day you’d get over him. Him - Pero Tovar - the one that had managed to make you feel small and weak. Yet somehow...you thoroughly enjoyed how he made you feel.

»»————-　♡　————-««

It was several months later when his companion, a man who’d also seen quite often, couldn’t take it anymore. But then again, there was only so much that could happen before it all gave way and snapped.

After a quiet round of drinks, the man had seemed to be having a lively discussion with Pero before shaking his head in amusement at the dark haired man. He stood up and shamelessly pointed at you, something you instantly noticed before making his way over. The look on Pero’s face was of shock and awe as he wished his friend would sit back down. 

“Wait,” he hissed through gritted teeth, “are you hitting on her for me?”

“You’re seemingly never going to do it,” he insisted with a coy little shrug, “might as well be me. I’m just pushing you both in the right direction!”

“I implore you to stop,” Pero groaned as his friend just gave him a wicked smirk but continued to walk towards you. He sighed heavily, wanting to slam his head on the table, “fuck.”

“Hello,” the pleasant voice caught your ear by surprise as you jumped from behind the counter where you had been organizing some supplies. Almost stumbling over your own feet, you caught yourself before offering him a small, but nervous smile.

“Hi,” you sounded as nervous as you felt, despite your best efforts, “h-how can I help you?”

“What was your name?” he asked as you gave it to him, trying your best not to glance back over at Pero, who was very pointedly looking away, “my friend over there, Pero, he’s quite smitten with you. He’d never admit it of course, but I figured if he wasn’t going to make a move I would for him.”

“I-I-I...umm. What?” seriously you couldn’t have heard him correctly. Pero...smitten with you? Impossible, “surely you have me mistaken for someone else. I’m just...I’m just…”

“The apple of his eye?” he challenged as you felt your whole face warm up, “he has not stopped talking about you for months. I told him that if he doesn’t gather up his courage and actually speak to you, I would do it for him. So here we are.”

“Oh,” you couldn’t but grin at his words, feeling Pero’s dark eyes on you, as he tried to read your reaction from the distance, “I...I’m quite fond of him too. He’s very kind...and handsome. He’s not like the others around here…”

“He’s a Spaniard!” he joked as you both laughed, “but if it should please you, I’m sure he’d be over the moon to enjoy your company.”

“Ay, that may be true,” you grinned from ear to ear, “but however, I still have duties to attend to.”

“How about we swap?”

“What?”

“Yes,” he held out his hand for the rag you were clutching onto, “how hard can it be? You speak to him, and I’ll handle the counter. Not like it’s terribly busy here, right?”

“I...okay,” you handed over the rag and shuffled around the counter, pulling your apron off and making quick work of discarding it as well, “thank you!”

Slowly making your way over to Pero, you watched as his face shifted through a series of emotions as he tried to remain calm. But before you fully approached him, he jumped out of his seat and pulled the chair opposite him out for you. Stopping short of him, you extended your hand to him, and he easily wrapped it up in his own, giving yours a firm squeeze, “Pero.”

“Querida,” he whispered softly before pointing at the chair. You sat down, wondering what the nickname - not that you minded. It sounded lovely coming from him either way, “I’m sorry about all that. He doesn’t know when to shut up.”

“It’s no matter,” you promised softly, “he’s right...I’ve been...wanting to spend time with you too. I just didn’t think it would be something that you wanted as well.”

“Of course it is,” he admitted, almost shy as a flush of red crept into his cheeks, “I’d really like that, I just needed a push in the right direction apparently.”

“Well,” you grabbed the old mug of ale on the table and knocked it against his, “cheers to that.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

Six Months Later

“Pero,” you grinned at the tickle of mustache as he kissed along your jaw and neck, your name spilling reverently off of his lips. You couldn’t help but as his hands found purchase on your waist as you tried to give him a gentle push back, “anyone can see, silly man!”

“Let them see,” he insisted in a low, teasing voice, “what are they going to do?”

“Brand us as the sinners we are,” you reminded him as you pulled his face up to meet yours, “they’re all the same - just like us - but you know how people get.”

“Then we’ll run away,” he suggested softly, and you weren’t sure if he was joking or quite serious. He traced a hand over your features, gently resting his hand on your cheek before pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead, “we’ll go and live in sin by the sea - just the two of us.”

“What if I wanted more than living in sin?” you asked softly, biting on your lip as you tried not to seem too forward, “I want it all, with you my love.”

“I will marry you in a heartbeat if you want it,” he promised as you nodded before beaming at him, “and make the most honest woman out of you for the world to see, while remaining sinful behind closed doors.”

“Such lofty promises,” you stole a quick kiss, “but will you make good on it? Truly?”

“Of course,” he insisted with a soft nod, “you are everything, querida, and I will give you everything you want.”

“A cottage by the sea, marriage, and perhaps a babe or two?”

“Consider it done,” Pero grinned from ear to ear as he picked you up and spun you in his arms, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Pero Tovar,” you whispered softly, “more than you will ever know.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[ayellowcurtain]

Can you possible write something about how one night after Robbe and Sander have sex Sander says his favorite part is making Robbe feel good and it makes Robbe think Sander doesn’t like what he does or he doesn’t make him feel good and he starts to feel insecure about how he Sander was the first person he was with and was completely inexperienced when they first started having sex? Then they have a conversation that results in a lot of kisses and Sander reassuring Robbe that he is perfect and makes him feel amazing.

Smut ahead!!!

Sander moves on the bed, stretching his legs after hours sleeping in the same position. The bed feels nice tonight, he opens his eyes just enough to understand it’s still dark out and Robbe is still sleeping behind him, so out of it Sander can feel his very slow breathing blowing the hair at the back of his head.

He smiles to himself and pushes the sheets down to his waist, rubbing his palm against his nose for good measurement that he’ll be as comfortable as possible to go back to his much needed sleep. Tonight is a good night, he thinks as he closes his eyes, letting his tiredness take over again. The last few seconds awake are very happy, reminding of the amazing night they shared, tangled together for hours, doing everything slow, holding for as long as they could so they wouldn’t have to stop feeling exhilarating, out of this world good any time soon. Sander can’t believe his luck, finding someone that matches him so perfectly.

It feels like a second later, and he feels the bed moving slowly, carefully. It feels nice when the sheets move against his naked skin, leaving him completely uncovered but it’s not cold, not too warm, just perfect. He tries to open his eyes when he realizes hands on his calves, moving him to the end of the bed. His legs are hanging down now, and slightly open. His body is quickly starting to get too warm, but it feels too good still, he feels his stomach tingling and suddenly he’s wide awake, moaning as he realizes in awe what’s happening.

He forces himself to prop his body on his elbows, meeting a still messy from sleep Robbe in the middle of his legs, slowly taking him completely. Sander almost passes out from the image, needing to lie down again, touching his whole body thoroughly until he finds Robbe’s soft hair, holding what he can not too tightly just so he can be sure this is really happening, it’s not another wet dream.

Nobody is home, thankfully, because Sander can’t find it in his half asleep brain the will to hold back his moans, calling for Robbe every few seconds because this boy will kill right this second. He’s so eager, so sloppy, and so fucking good Sander has to let go of his hair not to hurt his boyfriend. Robbe is clearly wanting to do this his way so Sander lets him. With his not too slow, not too fast pace, wanting to swallow every inch every single time and Sander will never complain about that.

Robbe’s hands run through all the way from his belly to his thighs, squeezing hard, pushing Sander up on the bed a little bit, making him arch his back, feeling all his skin get raw and sensible for a few seconds with the hard and perfect touch.

He thinks about telling Robbe about how fucking nice this feels but all the wires are messy in his brain and his thoughts don’t meet his open mouth, constantly making noises, small or big ones.

Since Robbe wants to go the sloopy and mind blowing route, Sander follows his lead with that, opening his legs as much as he can with no shame, and Robbe moans at that, scratching his thighs. Sander forces himself on one elbow again because this obscene moment has to be seen and saved. With the other hand he messes Robbe’s hair a little more, biting his lip when Robbe opens his mouth even wider.

Sander feels like he’s on the edge of passing out when he comes, a surprise for him and Robbe, washing over him all of a sudden after what it feels like a lifetime and not long enough. He’ll never forget the scene they both made in that position.

He smiles to himself, enjoying the high for as long as he can, only then realizing his hair sticking to his skin, to the back of his neck, the sheets almost as damp under him, and Robbe finally, finally climbs on the bed again, sitting on Sander’s stomach and he sighs, looking at his even messier boyfriend, with his tinted cheeks, his curls perfectly turning outwards in every angle.

The sunlight is managing to get inside through the crannies between the curtains, right behind Robbe, creating his aura around him, naked, sitting on Sander, a little bit shinny and blotchy, and as perfect as one can be. But when Sander really pays attention, he sees in Robbe’s eyes a hint of worry, and he pushes himself to sit up properly, not too quickly so Robbe won’t move away to sit somewhere else. Sander puts his arm around his boyfriend’s waist to keep him exactly where he is.

“What’s wrong, Robbe?”

-

Robbe checks with himself again. It feels nice, amazing. There are very few things he likes more than to be this intimate with Sander. To feel him give himself completely to Robbe. For so long he wanted to feel this peace of mind, this feeling of home in someone who would love and take care of him. And he found it. He was more than lucky enough to find all of it in one person.

But he can’t stop thinking about what Sander said yesterday, and the tone he used. He likes taking care of Robbe a little too much. Not only when they’re having sex. He’s always the one on the lead for everything. Decide what they’ll do, what they’ll eat, what movie they should watch. And Robbe never thinks about it too much because, again, he likes letting go and having someone he can trust blindly to know everything he can ever want. It feels so extremely nice to finally not have to worry Robbe could really cry thinking about it.

But in moments as intimate as sex, Robbe starts to worry Sander is only taking the lead because Robbe is not as good at it as Sander is. Maybe he makes the wrong decisions, or does things in a way that makes Sander prefer to make the calls instead of letting Robbe do so.

“I want a brutally honest answer.”

Sander frowns, completely caught off guard, and Robbe pays attention to that one hair strand that’s peaking from behind Sander’s neck and he focuses on that, trying to put it back in place as he asks, “Who was the best sex of your life?”

He only looks at Sander at the very last second, feeling all his insecurities shout at him for ever bringing this up, ready to put a fake smile when Sander tries to change the subject not to say it wasn’t Robbe.

“What kind of question is that? I thought it was pretty clear…”

“That’s not an answer.” Robbe tries to laugh it off shyly, and Sander doesn’t buy it, and Robbe hates how he can see through everything. His boyfriend adjusts his posture so he can pull Robbe even closer.

“Robbe.”

“It’s just one question. I won’t be upset, I promise.”

“Robbe. There’s nothing to be upset about.” Sander looks up at him with those puppy eyes. “It’s you. I feel even ashamed at how fast I come because I look like a dumb teenager that can’t hold it for a second. I have to hold myself back so much to not come the second I see you naked.”

Robbe snorts quietly, making himself smaller to hug Sander like a koala, nuzzling into his neck.

“Why is that even a question?”

He doesn’t answer because he doesn’t want his insecurities to awaken Sander’s too. Sander waits patiently, and Robbe for once wishes Sander would change the subject like he does when they’re trying to have a serious conversation. But he doesn’t deflect this time. He waits in silence and Robbe decides to get it over with already.

“Yesterday you said how much you like making me feel good…I thought maybe it was your way of trying to tell me I’m not as experienced, or as...skilled as you are.”

Sander frowns even deeper, and snorts, and that combo is the biggest sign that Robbe just said the dumbest things, making himself look even more insecure and like a baby.

“You’re acting like I know what I’m doing…” Sander smiles thoughtfully, and Robbe tilts his head, resting his forehead against his boyfriend’s. “I never had sex with a guy before you. Or anything at all, actually.”

Robbe tries to find the right words to put his thoughts out. “But still. You had a girlfriend, you had sex, you went out and made out with people…”

Sander rolls his eyes, turning them around in one motion, putting Robbe back on the bed, with Sander lying in between his legs.

“I had one girlfriend, and I made out with a bunch of strangers when I was basically a baby before meeting Britt. It’s not the same.”

“It’s still experience.” Robbe whispers, trying to justify his thoughts.

“I promise, it makes very little difference when you’re about to be with the person you love. I got just as anxious, as nervous, as insecure as you did, I’m sure.” Sander kisses his jaw, still staring right back at Robbe’s eyes. “It doesn’t help that you were mad at me, thinking I was back with Britt. I was so nervous I thought you would feel how my hands were shaking while we were in that elevator to go to the flat.”

“I was busy with other things during that minute…”

Sander snorts, kissing him again, his hand gently caressing Robbe’s cheek.

“When I say nothing ever felt like this before I mean everything. The feelings, the love, the ‘my brain can only see, think, talk, and listen to Robbe’, the hormones…”

Robbe smiles, feeling his insecurities slowly turn into dust inside his brain to give it more space to think, see, and hear Sander.

“And I promise you...this was the best blowjob of my life.” Sander lifts his eyebrows and Robbe shakes his head, looking to the side to hide his face a little bit on the pillow, purring when Sander relaxes on top of him, holding him in that way that makes Robbe feel so secure, kissing his whole face, promising the world to Robbe, to them.

[renegadewangs]

Van Zieks - the Examination, part 9

Warnings: SPOILERS for The Great Ace Attorney: Chronicles. Additional warning for racist sentiments uttered by fictional characters (and screencaps to show these sentiments).

Disclaimer: (see Part 1 for the more detailed disclaimer.) - These posts are not meant to be taken as fact. Everything I’m outlining stems from my own views and experiences. If you believe that I’ve missed or misinterpreted something, please let me know so I can edit the post accordingly. -The purpose of these posts is an analysis, nothing more. Please do not come into these posts expecting me to either defend Barok van Zieks from haters, nor expecting me to encourage the hatred. - I’m using the Western release of The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles for these posts, but may refer to the original Japanese dialogue of Dai Gyakuten Saiban if needed to compare what’s said. This also means I’m using the localized names and localized romanization of the names to stay consistent. -It doesn’t matter one bit to me whether you like Barok van Zieks or dislike him. However, I will ask that everyone who comments refrains from attacking real, actual people.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

How the turnabouts have turned! It's time for Twisted Karma and His Last Bow!

Episode 2-4: Twisted Karma and His Last Bow

With Van Zieks's tragic backstory (…) exposed, it's time to head on into waters we've charted before, waaay back in the very first Ace Attorney game: The Prosecutor becomes the Defendant. It all starts off with some shenanigans which appear to have very little to do with Van Zieks (the arrival of Mikotoba and Jigoku, the Red-headed League, a missing prison warder, etc.).. Ryu does still run into Van Zieks very briefly in Stronghart's office, with Susato noting that there appears to be an awful lot of tension in the air. I expect Van Zieks is questioning that decision to leave Genshin Asogi's son in his care, but even so, he's very civil towards Stronghart. Susato also notes that Van Zieks gives Ryu a cold stare as he leaves, with Ryu wondering what he's done to earn that. This may also be a result of him being besties with Kazuma, since Van Zieks had already buried the hatchet towards Ryu for the most part. When Ryu asks about the decision to leave Kazuma in Van Zieks's care, Stronghart explains it was to best keep an eye on this 'mysterious amnesiac with no identifying papers'. Well OK then. Stronghart also explains he made Kazuma wear a mask because he didn't want to “burden Van Zieks with tiresome explanations about why he had an Eastern appearance.” … I would assume the very simple explanation is that it's because he's of Eastern descent, Stronghart. Regardless, the Lord Chief Justice has high hopes for Kazuma's future and isn't at all bothered by the fact that the guy has gone missing for a little bit.

Things take a turn later when Gina Lestrade comes barging into 221B with some pretty shocking news. Inspector Gregson was murdered. Yes, THAT Inspector Gregson. The suspect has already been arrested:

It's true that to the average civilian like Gina, Van Zieks's name is pretty much synonymous to the Reaper (of the Old Bailey). Even so, to have her outright calling him by that title adds a sort of emotional distance that's really striking. Gina explains they caught him at the scene and there were several witnesses, but Ryu thinks to himself that there's no way Van Zieks would have taken Gregson's life. So naturally, we owe it to our good pal Gregson (who actually was just coming around and being nicer to Ryu) to find the truth. Time to go have a talk with Van Zieks in prison!

… Okay that's funny. Don't worry, Barok, one day we'll all look back on this and laugh. Anyway, Van Zieks says he's in the last place on earth he'd want to be, with the last person on earth he'd want to see. And this line can easily be misinterpreted as Van Zieks saying he hates Ryu more than anyone else in the world, but what he's actually saying is that Ryu is the last person he wishes would see him in this troublesome situation. Ryu says he couldn't very well not come, but Van Zieks tells him to go home since it has nothing to do with him. Susato interjects, pointing out that Gregson has helped them out on numerous occasions and so, they're indebted to him. She pleads for Van Zieks's help with the investigation and he's silent for a moment, only to say: “There's really nothing I can tell you.” Which I suppose means he doesn't think he has anything helpful to say. Ryu asks about what Van Zieks was reading when they came in and assumes it to be a case report. Van Zieks says the Yard wouldn't share case details with a suspect (keep that one in mind) and explains it's a letter from Albert. Dear Professor Harebrayne has arrived in Germany safely! Ryu notes that Van Zieks usually never minces his words, but they seem to have less bite than usual now. No wonder, really, since he's in prison for the murder of an old friend. Van Zieks asks how much they already know about the case, so the two of them go through the facts and Van Zieks says they're well-informed. He's got nothing to add, because... Well.

Oh, this is going to be another one of those cases, huh. Susato asks what Van Zieks was doing at the crime scene in the first place, but Van Zieks points out he doesn't need to answer that, as they aren't representing him. When asked who is representing him in court, he says it'd be anyone other than Ryu. That said, he doesn't actually have any representation because of his reputation as the Reaper. Sixteen people he's prosecuted have mysteriously died and now that he's actually been apprehended for a murder, that whole Reaper ordeal is sure to be thoroughly examined.

BOY, have we got news for you! When it's pointed out that Van Zieks didn't actually have anything to do with those mysterious deaths (right???), he replies that no one wants to know the true identity of that killer more than he does, but it seems things may come to a head before he can uncover the truth. Van Zieks basically tells Ryu to leave, but being the kind-hearted gentleman that he is, Ryu offers to advocate for him in court. Van Zieks asks whether Ryu trusts him, which is a pretty fair question to ask. He's built up so many racist scumbag points and has such a bad reputation in town, it would be weird for Ryu to trust him unconditionally. Luckily, Ryu has been paying attention just as much as I have; he's heard Van Zieks speak in court and seen the way he treats people (uhh, English citizens, anyway), so he doesn't believe this 'Reaper' has it in him to take a life. Unfortunately, Ryu also has to acknowledge that feelings can't be used as evidence in court. Van Zieks considers the offer gracious, but...

“Not the police, not the judiciary... And not you Nipponese.”

One more scumbag point for putting “you Nipponese” in its own category for no reason. Either way, this man has built up such high defensive walls, you could see them from three galaxies away. Trusting no one is a pretty drastic way of living. Ryu thinks to himself that there's a chasm between the two of them that's 'just too wide and too deep'.

As a sidenote, presenting the attorney armband doesn't lead to any interesting conversation this time, but we can also present the Red-headed League advertisement! Van Zieks surmises that if it were a Black-headed League, Ryu would join without delay, which Ryu then confirms. Van Zieks says that sadly, his hair is neither black nor red. He goes into a most curious identity crisis of sorts, where he looks quite anguished as he wonders which coloured league he should join instead. There have been several debates over his hair color, actually, from lavender to purple to grey. Regardless, Susato points out that “people are troubled by the most unexpected problems at times.” It is unexpected, since Van Zieks needs neither the money nor the company that he would get from joining any such league. It's just the principle of the matter, I suppose.

Over by the crime scene in Fresno Street, Gina gets a little razzled when she suspects Ryu is thinking of defending “that Reaper bloke”. Susato points out that if “Lord van Zieks” really is responsible for the crime, he'll be judged fairly in court. This gets Gina to calm down again, because she really wants to know the truth of what happened and much like Van Zieks, she must know that getting the truth is what Ryu does best. A bit of conversation later, Gina points out one more interesting thing; Gregson apparently held a lot of respect for 'the Reaper'. “I take my hat off to that fella,” were his exact words, apparently. Ryu is skeptical, as am I, because I've seen the way Gregson talks about Van Zieks behind his back.

Gina explains that's exactly why he respected Van Zieks. That's... a little weird and ambiguous. So either he respected Van Zieks's ability to stand tall despite all the public scorn, or he respected the fear he struck into people's hearts. There's one more option; Gina keeps talking about the Reaper instead of Van Zieks, so it's possible that Gregson was talking about the actual Reaper. This seems unlikely, though, since he didn't seem to enjoy being part of the Reaper organization.

And now that we know Van Zieks is the defendant, one might be wondering: Who is the prosecutor? Who is the antagonistic force who will try to stop Ryu from uncovering the truth? Well, we find him over in Stronghart's office. Apparently he took an express train back to London from wherever it was he's been these past few days.

YOOOOUUUU!!! Though before we can address his presence properly, we need to discuss the new case. Stronghart wastes no time asking Ryu and Susato whether they've heard “the sickening news about the Reaper's latest devilry.” Which stands out, to say the least, since Stronghart has always been a strong supporter of Van Zieks up until this point. When Susato points out that surely he doesn't believe it, Stronghart says he believes only in facts, which all point to the unavoidable accusal of Lord van Zieks. Someone sure had a quick turnaround when it comes to his number one prosecutor, geez... Stronghart points out the irony that there's no salvation for anyone prosecuted by the Reaper of the Bailey, and now the Reaper himself must stand in the dock. Just as Van Zieks had already alluded to, Stronghart now claims the public will want answers about those mysterious deaths. Ryu and Susato both point out that which had been rubbed into our faces several times already; Van Zieks denies any involvement, and also there have been several investigations into whether he had anything to do with it. Stronghart kind of brushes this off, though. Turns out, Van Zieks is being traded in for a newer model number one prosecutor: Kazuma Asogi! Which seems weird at first glance, since Kazuma is a defense attorney, but Stronghart considers that a bonus:

“A devastation combination, wouldn't you agree?”

I do agree. Granted, it seems Van Zieks had already figured out the defense's strategies too, he just never actively used them to his own advantage. It also turns out that Kazuma personally requested the prosecutor position for this trial. Susato thinks it's pretty unprecedented to grant a newcomer exchange student such a request, but Stronghart offers some petty excuse about how this way, it won't look like the judiciary are closing ranks. Kazuma, who assumes his friend will take on the defense, says he'll see how Ryu's skills have been honed after practicing law in England for so many months. (Uhh. Actually, bestie, it was only about two months of being a defense attorney and six months of disbarment.) Ryu notes that Kazuma is being hostile towards him and wonders why. On a final note, when asking Stronghart about the gun found at the crime scene, we're told that it's issued to all members of law enforcement, including prosecutors. Van Zieks claims to have lost his. That's a troubling claim indeed, because it's difficult to prove or disprove. GOSH, if only fingerprints were allowed in court.

As Ryu and Susato turn to leave, Kazuma stops them. He once again states he wants Ryu to witness this trial as the defense counsel, to “see how it ends”. Since Kazuma has a very distinct vision for how he wants it to end, I guess this means he intends to confront Ryu with Van Zieks's guilt and have his bestie see that a man like him is unworthy of his trust. Either that, or he expects Ryu to use this trial to find the truth of what really happened with the Professor ten years ago, just as he used Albert's trial to dig into that incident. Still though, this reads as pretty scummy to me, because it means he wants Ryu to lose a trial and lose some of his belief in his clients. In the trial itself, it seems to me that Kazuma desperately believes Van Zieks to be a horrible person deserving of the guilty verdict. Therefore, he in no way can hold hope that Ryu will prove him wrong (unlike what went down in case 2-3 with Albert). Anyway, Ryu says that Van Zieks would never put his fate in his hands.

“... It's not easy to see behind the facade sometimes.”

Case 2-3 already told us this, but it's nice to have it confirmed by someone who was closer to Van Zieks. Because remember, Kazuma spent three months by Van Zieks's side (and even fighting by his side), so of course he would know more about his personality than we do. Kazuma hands over a photograph of Barok when he was younger and

GOOD LORD, HE CAN SMILE. Or he could when he was younger, anyway. Kazuma states the picture was displayed in Gregson's office. What he's 'trying to say' is that if Ryu really thinks he can trust “the Reaper” (distancing choice of words again), he might find that some straight talking will change his view. I got the impression we've been straight talking Van Zieks ever since we first met him, but okay. Let's take the picture and back to the gaol we go! Van Zieks is once again reading from some paper and Ryu points out that either he's an incredibly slow reader or it's an incredibly long letter, but either way, Ryu might even be able to read English faster than him. Naturally, this was said loud enough for Van Zieks to overhear.

Scumbag point for hypocrisy, but also a scumbag point for “Nipponese”. When Ryu asks whether it's still Albert's letter he's reading, Van Zieks says he had the case report brought to him in secret. So wait, the Yard does share case details with its suspect? Hilarious. Once again, Van Zieks insists the situation has nothing to do with Ryu, up until the prosecutor's name is revealed to him. And so, the masked cardboard cutout student has become the master! Ryu notes that all the color drained from Van Zieks's face, which is pretty impressive when there's barely any color there to begin with. Ryu has the opportunity now to thrust the photograph into his face, so let's do that. He's immediately alarmed, since he assumed it to be lost and would never have expected Gregson to have it. When Ryu says that Gregson had a deep respect for him, he dismisses that as nonsense, only to correct himself. “There was a time things were like that.”

Van Zieks thanks Ryu for that nice glimpse into the past, and Ryu thinks to himself that there was a glimmer in Van Zieks's eyes- a brief twinkle. He considers that “an insight into the true nature of this man known to all as the stone-cold Reaper of the Bailey”, with “the true nature” being highlighted as orange. So this right here is undeniable; this is what the narrative is illustrating to us now. The true nature of Barok van Zieks is that of someone who was hopeful and jovial; kind-hearted, as Albert knew him. What we see now, that harsh exterior full of harsh words, is not his nature at all.

Van Zieks is more willing to talk now. He once again speaks of Klint, rehashing the same story we've heard several times already. Van Zieks claims there's not a single day where he doesn't curse the name Asogi. He considers it a cruel twist of fate that the man's son intends to crucify him in 'some kangaroo court'. Clearly, he doesn't think highly of the upcoming trial if he refers to it as a kangaroo court, but that's likely because he knows he isn't the real killer. When Ryu points out that he still doesn't understand why Stronghart apprenticed Kazuma to Van Zieks, the explanation is that “it's what he does”. Van Zieks believes that Stronghart knew Kazuma's true identity from the outset, but still provides no real explanation as to why Stronghart 'did what he did' and even assigned Kazuma as the prosecutor this time. Van Zieks goes on to contemplate the name Asogi some more and calls it 'the epitome of his bane'.

I've talked before about how utterly flawed it is that Van Zieks attributes Genshin's crime to his race and/or cultural upbringing and proceeds to tar every single Japanese person with the same brush. There's no need to go into this again; we all know it's wrong. Turns out, even Van Zieks knows it's wrong, but we'll get back to that momentarily. First, Van Zieks needs to talk about Klint even more. (good lord...) He explains that Klint van Zieks was hunting down a mass murderer and “assigned to the investigation as his partner was a certain visiting student dispatched by the Yard.” This was Genshin, of course, and I believe this is the first time it's said that he too was looking into the Professor case. So Van Zieks already mentioned in the previous case that the Japanese students had left a deep impact on him, and also that he once toasted friendship with a Japanese person, but now we have this:

“But none of us saw the true nature of the man.”

True nature is once again in orange here, but this time as a red herring. Van Zieks believes that the Professor murders were Genshin's true nature, when it isn't quite true at all. Regardless, since Van Zieks was still in university at the time the exchange students were in the country, I don't think he would've had that much contact with Genshin. I expect he encountered the man on rare occasion while Klint associated most with him. Every meeting was enough to foster this respect and friendship, though, so it's clear that young Van Zieks was easily influenced and had a very open mind towards a foreign exchange student. But then, that's what makes the next portion of the story all the more damaging.

“My esteemed brother... The people I believed in... And any semblance of right prevailing over wrong!”

As Van Zieks also already alluded to in the previous case, he found himself in a very dark place. That isn't surprising. Every positive thing Van Zieks knew in his life, from his family to his closest friends, was ripped away from him in extremely close succession. What must've been the final nail in the coffin was Genshin outright admitting to his crimes. It erased all doubt that perhaps there was some sort of misunderstanding or a frame job. Going over everything Van Zieks has said so far, it seems he didn't just blame Genshin for the tremendous loss he suffered; he blamed himself. He must believe that his trust in Genshin blinded him to this supposed 'true nature', just as it must've also blinded Klint, and that the whole tragedy could've been prevented if only he'd been more cautious. So now, in present day, he no longer trusts anyone. He outright says so.

Van Zieks goes on to talk about how he was the one who prosecuted the Professor. Since he'd only just graduated, such a thing usually wouldn't be allowed, but he “beleaguered the ascribed prosecutor until he consented.” This person was Mael Stronghart, who back then was apparently still no more than a prosecutor. A highly accomplished one, but a prosecutor nonetheless. Since Klint was the Director of Prosecutions (or Chief Prosecutor???) at the time, that means he actually ranked above Stronghart. Interesting. Regardless, since Stronghart agreed to let Van Zieks lead the prosecution and instead only acted as an advisor, Van Zieks now feels indebted to him. That certainly explains why he's usually so good about following Stronghart's orders and not asking questions.

“And, of all things, as a lawyer.”

Ahhh, this is the part where Ryu enters the chronology. Our protagonist points out that he's felt Van Zieks's animosity since the first time he faced him in the courtroom; his obvious deep loathing of Japanese people. And here comes perhaps one of the most important, yet most overlooked lines Van Zieks will ever utter in these games:

“But for so many years, that hatred had festered inside me, I could no longer control it.”

So here, Van Zieks admits to two things. First of all, he admits that he was wrong to hold such deep loathing and by extension, to give that loathing a voice. He's a man of logic, after all. To cling to something which he refers to as illogical is about as wrong as one could get. Not only that, he admits that this was an unstoppable force he should have controlled, but was too weak to do so. The hatred overpowered him and did away with common sense. He behaved stupidly and irrationally because for ten years, hatred and negativity was all he knew. But what's even more striking here is Ryu's answer, which is also often overlooked:

Ryu, bless his heart, doesn't blame Van Zieks for succumbing to this weakness. Bear in mind, he's the victim here. Van Zieks wouldn't have encountered many other Japanese people in those ten years, if at all. This means the first person he lashed out against was Ryu. Naturally, Ryu can't speak for Susato or Soseki, who received their own verbal assaults and might have different opinions on the matter. Ryu is just one man, but in our narrative, he's the main protagonist and the main target of these outbursts. Is it misleading and perhaps even problematic in the grand scheme of things to have the protagonist sympathize with such motivation? Well, that depends on many different factors. There's no easy answer for this because it's a nuanced, cultural sort of thing. Personally, I was a bit bothered by it, but not to the point that it ruined the experience for me.

Van Zieks admits that just as the Japanese were the bane of his life, Kazuma Asogi must believe Van Zieks to be the bane of his. He is, after all, the Reaper who sent his father to the gallows. Van Zieks thinks that Kazuma intends to take revenge in court and... Really, this is true.

There's a quick bit of conversation about Gregson now. Turns out, the only reason the Professor was caught at all was because Gregson forced an autopsy on Klint despite it being considered the highest taboo at the time. Van Zieks says that as a result of Gregson's powerful conviction, he could avenge his brother's death. He looks quite torn, a bit pained. He must believe he owes Gregson something for this. The conversation then moves on to Van Zieks's revolver, which he claims to have misplaced an undetermined amount of time ago. “I must have stowed it somewhere, I suppose. Or left it somewhere, perhaps.” Van Zieks clearly doesn't think highly of firearms as a weapon, since he's constantly carrying a sword around instead. Susato points out that Ryu has a talent for misplacing things in common with Van Zieks, which leads to one more scumbag outburst.

… Dude. Come on. You just admitted it was illogical. You came so far! Scumbag point for you. Still, as the conversation rounds to a close, Van Zieks utters the words “Mister... Naruhodo”, much to Ryu's surprise. This is the first time he's actually said Ryu's name! Van Zieks once again reiterates that he's lost all confidence in England's judiciary system. He doesn't trust the police, the judiciary or lawyers. Even so, there's still one thing he's willing to believe in.

“That which you see in the eyes of another across the courtroom: a simple determination to know the truth. From the very first time we clashed in the Bailey almost a year ago now... I couldn't deny it, even though I dearly wished I could. 'Here is a loathsome Japanese... who has absolute integrity as a lawyer.' There are only two other men I've known with that same look in their eyes: my brother, Klint. … And Genshin Asogi.”

This is interesting. So at first when he saw that look in Ryu's eyes, he must've been reminded of Genshin. And again, this is why he directed such hatred towards Ryu; he saw someone who wasn't alive anymore. But now he recalls that Klint also had that same gaze, and so he wants to believe that Ryu is not similar to a deceitful murderer, he's instead similar to his beloved brother. (Boy is he going to have to reevaluate how he judges people when he finds out that his beloved brother was the deceitful murderer.) Van Zieks says that when he saw the photograph, he was reminded of a time when he could laugh, free of the shackles of mistrust which plague him now. This is very relevant since Van Zieks indeed can't laugh anymore. We never see him do it. He can't even smile.

“But at times the mire into which I've sunk makes it almost impossible to breathe.”

Someone please get this man to a professional therapist. If he means that in a more literal sense and he does occasionally feel like he can't breathe, that's telltale signs of panic attacks. It could just be, of course, that he's being overdramatic and the “impossible to breathe” bit is just fanciful wordplay to go with the mire analogy. Still though, considering he's also mentioned being in a dark place and that he's willing to die so long as it serves a useful purpose, and that he drinks his wine to stave off tedium... He's clearly depressed. But then, he seems to know it. He acknowledges that the way he is now is not the way things should be, and that he needs to fight to overcome it. And so:

“... In tomorrow's trial... Will you advocate for me?”

Boom. Swallowed his pride and turned to Ryu for help because he knows it's what's best for him. He no longer trusts anyone, but he's willing to trust Ryu because once he starts opening up again and has that trust repaid, then perhaps things can gradually go back to the way things were when he was younger. Mind, he still hasn't apologized for his actions, but that doesn't change that Ryu at least is willing to extend a hand to Van Zieks. It's a little sad that Susato doesn't properly form her own opinion on this and instead just goes along with whatever Ryu says. I would've liked to know just how she feels about Van Zieks's attitude and whether or not he deserves to be helped. She doesn't object to it, at least, and since Susato usually always speaks her mind, I can only assume she genuinely agrees with Ryu's sentiments.

The next day, in the defendant's lobby, it's remarked there's a 'menacing tension' in the air and Ryu surmises out loud it's the result of the menacing appearance of the defendant. Well-deserved, that remark. Touché. Van Zieks asks him for a little more courtesy in a polite enough manner, but considering the lack of courtesy he's shown Ryu over the past 8 months, that's hypocritical. He informs Ryu that this is a closed trial without a jury, which bums me out because it means no more Summation Examination. I would've liked to see Asogi react to that. (S)Holmes comes in and has the weirdest little banter with Van Zieks that I honestly can't... really decipher. There's several things about it that really strike me as being off:

- “And I you. I see London's celebrated great detective is as active as ever.”

- “Oh, you exaggerate, my dear fellow. Compared to my paltry engagements with a few trivial cases... The Reaper's overbearing presence is a far greater deterrent to the black roots of crime in our capital. And whilst I may not agree with your methods... There is at least one point on which I would readily commend you.”

- “What an honour. And that would be...?”

- “Your eye for a good lawyer, sir. […] Behind this lawyer there is a very great mind. My own.”

Alright, so... First of all, we know (S)Holmes is super arrogant and would never refer to his past cases as “trivial” in all sincerity. Plus, it's established that he's very weird with compliments, such as referring to Gregson as “the best of those blunderers of the Yard”, so complimenting Van Zieks directly on the effect he has on crime feels off. Aside from that, (S)Holmes addresses Van Zieks as the Reaper and continues to talk about 'his methods', when it's already been established (S)Holmes doesn't believe Van Zieks has anything to do with the Reaper killings. Taking all that into account, I can only really assume that the first half of this above conversation is (S)Holmes being weirdly passive aggressive towards Van Zieks, with Van Zieks being passive aggressive in turn. It really, truly feels as if there was some sort of backstory between these two that they had to scrap at the last second. Regardless, the exchange ends with (S)Holmes warning Van Zieks that this will be “quite a trial”.

Gina Lestrade shows up with Yujin Mikotoba (….. when did they meet???), saying they intend to watch the trial, and I am very impressed with how (S)Holmes manages to disappear from the scene and not say a word when his old partner arrives. Anyway, Gina looks Ryu square in the eye and asks him why he agreed to take Van Zieks on. Everyone's saying it was him who killed Gregson. Considering everyone was saying it was her who killed Pop Windibank six months ago, you'd think she might want to tone down her attitude, but she's clearly in mourning and lashing out. See? People who are hurting can say insensitive things. Ryu insists he doesn't believe it to be true, but Gina demands to know that if it wasn't him, then who?

“An' if it turns out it was 'im wot killed the boss... Then God 'elp 'im!”

It's interesting to remember that during The Unspeakable Story, Gina wasn't afraid of Van Zieks for his Reaper reputation. She didn't believe in the curse and didn't think she would end up like the other defendants. Now, she absolutely no longer gives a damn whether Van Zieks is the mysterious Reaper or not. She only thinks he might be a murderer who took away her mentor and that's what has her judge him so fiercely. Van Zieks remarks on her fiery eyes and tells her that the culprit does indeed deserve every inch of her loathing. “At least that may be some solace to the deceased.” So here, in a roundabout way, it rather looks as if Van Zieks is sympathizing with Gina's anger. At the very least, he's condoning it, just not towards himself.

Entering the courtroom, it becomes clear very fast just how serious this trial will become. Just as was alluded to before, the judge confirms that the 'Reaper of the Old Bailey' has been undermining Her Majesty's justice system and therefore, the people will demand answers on this matter. Ryu thinks to himself the trial will be a lot more far-reaching than just Gregson's murder. Sure enough, Kazuma is at the prosecutor's bench and ready to get that vengeance Van Zieks referred to in jail. Shockingly, the first witness he summons is actually Van Zieks himself. The judge is surprised, but Kazuma explains that as a prosecutor, Van Zieks believes in the oath of office he's taken; he'll be compelled to tell the truth. Because contrary to what happened in Memoirs of the Clouded Kokoro, Van Zieks is against perjury! (I WILL NEVER GET OVER WHAT HAPPENED WITH SHAMSPEARE!) Sure enough, he takes the stand and Kazuma says the court would like to hear him explain some things away.

He really is just brutally honest, isn't he? Both in his courtroom methods and in how he shows his emotions. He doesn't sugarcoat, he doesn't beat around the bush, he definitely doesn't lie... At most, he may withhold some information. Unfortunately, his testimony is mostly useless. The judge remarks that he didn't want to imagine this day would come, but ever since Van Zieks became known as the Reaper, he's been dreading it. The judge, our neutral ground, seems to be convinced that Van Zieks may have actually done the deed. That's not good. Kazuma acts all smug, saying that Van Zieks indeed hasn't explained anything away and that his testimony barely qualifies as an excuse. Van Zieks notes that his 'mute apprentice' has a way with words. Meanwhile, Ryu thinks to himself that Kazuma isn't behaving like himself, which is a sentiment they'll keep repeating throughout the case. … I gotta be honest here, I didn't notice all that much of a difference between this Kazuma and the one from the very first case of the game. I mean, come on, he sliced a man's hair off and cursed his descendants just for insulting Ryu. He's slightly more arrogant here, maybe, but since he was only the assistant there and is a leading counsel here, it makes sense for him to be more proactive and confident in his methods. Then again, I'm not a Kazuma expert; maybe there's something I'm missing.

In his testimony, Van Zieks revealed that he was investigating Gregson, but when pressed on it he won't admit the exact reason for it. He only says he'd identified a distinct possibility Gregson was involved in a case he was investigating. When asked how he even knew where Gregson would be, he openly admits to having stolen into his office and consulted his diary. (“Dear Diary, today I dropped my fish 'n chips on the way to Fresno Street-”) When told that illegally entering Gregson's office would warrant serious consequences, Van Zieks says he was aware of that risk.

The rest of the testimony is pressed without further hitches, though what did strike me as interesting is that at one point, Ryu suggests the gunshot might've originated from outside the room, but Van Zieks immediately says it's out of the question. He shoots the possibility down with evidence only he could have experienced (the bang sounded inside the room and he could smell gunpowder), and in doing so, only implicates himself further. Detrimentally honest, this one. Not only that, but he picked the gun up.

NO KIDDING that was carelessness. Is he related to Miles Edgeworth after all? Kazuma talks about how three street peddlers overheard the bang and burst through the door with some force. Van Zieks states they almost gave him a heart attack in the process (omg) and Ryu thinks to himself: “(But you're supposed to be the Reaper...)” C'mon Ryu, haven't you seen enough of this man by now to know he gets jarred easily?

When the testimony rounds to a close, things get interesting. Kazuma uses his defense attorney skills, as promised. He uses evidence from the Court Record to point out contradictions in Van Zieks's testimony, thereby 'proving he's lying'. Hey, what happened to Van Zieks believing in the oath of office and being compelled to tell the truth? Did Kazuma call Van Zieks to the stand just to expose him as a liar? He wins the judge over quite easily by illustrating these contradictions and casting doubt on Van Zieks's integrity. Tragic, because as Van Zieks says:

Van Zieks steps down from the stand and disappears for the remainder of the trial day. He doesn't even show up during intermission in the defendant's lobby. Characters do still talk about him, though!

I mean... He ain't lyin'. At one point, Kazuma utters the words “the defence is fated to lose. And the prosecution to win,” which once again confirms that Kazuma basically asked Ryu to take part in an 'unwinnable' trial. Which, y'know, is technically fine. Losing a trial isn't the end of the world, especially when the defendant (in Kazuma's eyes) is actually guilty. Still though, personally asking Ryu to take on Van Zieks just so he can watch the man be exposed as a killer is kind of... Kazuma, sir, are you also unable to control your hatred and having it lash out in illogical ways? Is that a parallel with Van Zieks I spy?

The rest of the trial isn't directly related to Van Zieks. It's just a whole bunch of roundabout arguing with street peddlers, red-headed scammers and the revelation that one of those peddlers is actually Daley Vigil, the missing former prison warder. Despite knowing of the dangers, Kazuma asks Ryu to help him forcefully break some of the man's black psyche-locks (c'mon, we all know that's what's impeding his memories) and they send the man to the hospital as a result. Welp. Unveiling the truth is becoming increasingly dangerous in this game and that's really upping the stakes for us.

Into the next investigation day we go! Ryu surmises that it's clear now “Van Zieks definitely didn't do it.” Even so, there are some unanswered questions about the man. What was he even doing at the crime scene and what's with that investigation into Gregson he didn't want to talk about in court? Heading on over to the Chief Justice's office, we overhear him pressuring Kazuma into 'continuing the trial as instructed'. Once he takes note of Ryu and the others, he tells them that he wanted Van Zieks's trial concluded that day and blames 'Asogi's unwelcome inquiries' for it taking longer than necessary. Stronghart's becoming increasingly ominous, here... I don't know for certain why he doesn't just go the extra mile to have Van Zieks proven innocent so he can keep using his Reaper tool to intimidate the masses. I suppose it's because with Gregson dead, he's lost his most important strategist in the killings and the tool of the Reaper's curse can't be used as easily anymore. Assassins probably come a dime a dozen, so Shinn can be replaced, but Gregson... Not so much. Ryu asks Stronghart whether Kazuma truly believes Van Zieks to be the Reaper, but Stronghart says he wouldn't know. He once again talks about the history of the Reaper with its very long run of coincidental deaths and tells us nothing new or interesting.

To prison we go, to visit Van Zieks himself! He's reading a book now, but we're never told what it is. He tries to ignore the visitors, but just as always, eventually comes up to the bars to talk.

YOU FREAKIN- I CAN'T- WHY- How many more times must we teach you this lesson, old man?!!! Thankfully, even Ryu is fed up at this point.

Finally. He spoke up. I've seen a lot of people criticize the fact that Ryu never properly confronts Van Zieks with the damage he's been doing, and on the one hand I would agree. Calling people out on their bullshit is a very useful step in having them notice their mistakes. However, I'd be remiss if I didn't point out that is also a very Western view. It's very easy for us to think that Ryu should stand up for himself and call Van Zieks a prejudiced little tosser who needs to think before he speaks, but that simply isn't part of his character. There may be several reasons to explain why he doesn't confront Van Zieks more firmly, but I'd like to focus on just two. The first is that Ryu is an exchange student who came to England as a 'guest' and is facing not just one racist. Not even five or ten. Everywhere he goes, he's surrounded by people just like Van Zieks. We've seen it in the judge, we've seen it in the jurors, we've seen it in Gregson and in witnesses... Ryu is a minority in a very literal sense, since there's only one other Japanese person (two if we count Soseki) we know of in this entire city. There's a very natural, very understandable defense mechanism which may kick in when surrounded by potentially dangerous individuals, and that is to withdraw; to be as quiet as possible and to attract as little trouble as possible, since 'they outnumber you'. Bonus points for the extreme difference in social standing between Ryu and Van Zieks.

There's one other thing which adds to the above. Ryu was written to be your everyday Japanese person, and their view on confrontation is quite different from our own. I remembered this from a job interview I once had with a Japanese company and looked into it again to refresh my memory: Japanese people are non-confrontational. It's very important for them to maintain a sort of harmony during conversation and therefore, they'll rarely utter negative sentiments, such as criticism, in a way that will cause embarrassment to the person they're addressing. Instead, they employ something often referred to as indirect communication. “The pattern of Japanese indirect communication uses far less words to convey intent in a more subtle manner. Indirect communication uses expression, posture, and tone of voice of the speaker to draw meaning from the actual conversation.” This is very deeply ingrained into the Japanese culture and, if the sources I reviewed are correct, it goes all the way back to the feudal days. Mind, this attitude isn't even limited to Japan. I've been told there's several other countries who adopt that very same attitude and if you cause someone else to lose face, it can have some very severe repercussions for you. Kazuma is a bit more outspoken than Ryu, for example when they face Jezail, but this makes sense also, since Asogi was written to be more progressive. It seems to me that Ryu has been using indirect communication quite often already and, since Van Zieks is woefully unequipped to read this type of communication, Ryu has now finally resorted to something more direct. It's still not a sharp call-out, but rather, the above line reads to me as something in-between direct and indirect communication. And it works.

HELL FROZE OVER! We've done it, lads! Or, as Iris puts it:

So even the rest of the cast is acknowledging this is a big deal and we've made tremendous progress. Could someone else have confronted Van Zieks in a more direct, more Western way before this point? Sure. But would he have listened? The judge has already snarked at him several times during trials and it's always been brushed off as nothing. The only person he might've listened to would've been Albert, but what is the narrative significance of having a side character confront Van Zieks? There isn't one. This was a very impactful moment where Ryu himself resorted to a more Western tactic to get his point across and Van Zieks, in turn, finally uttered an apology. So now we get to have an earnest conversation with the man at last. Van Zieks says he was impressed; not by Ryu but by Kazuma. On first glance, this seems like a mean thing to say, but... Van Zieks is already intimately familiar with Ryu's performance in the courtroom. Why would he still be impressed by that? Kazuma, however, he's never seen in action before. Van Zieks thinks it's all rather “sardonic”.

It's called a cruel irony, Barok. A common tool in storytelling. He himself considers it “retribution for having played the part of the Reaper all these years”. So once again it's discussed how the Reaper minimizes the amount of crime in the capital and since that's a goal Van Zieks is committed to, he never said anything to disprove the rumors. Ryu insists that someone else is profiting off Van Zieks's silence on the matter and is basically using him as a scapegoat. As it turns out, Van Zieks wasn't quite as passive about the matter as he's led us to believe.

Hm. Alright, so he thinks it's good the Reaper's curse is reducing crime in London, but clearly he wants the Reaper organization brought to justice. In a way, he's profiting off these 'accidental deaths' since the fear that comes from them aligns with his goal of crime reduction, but he doesn't actively condone the Reaper murders and wants them halted. Since there's so much accurate information about the accused used in the killings, Van Zieks surmised a while ago that someone from Scotland Yard must've been involved in the killings. It's taken him “many years” to identify the central figure in the organization: Tobias Gregson. Naturally, everyone is shocked. We knew Gregson! And sure, he wasn't exactly a kind person, but he certainly didn't appear to be a killer. He was very rough around the edges, but from what we'd been led to believe, he had a good heart. … A decent heart. Mediocre, one might say. Ryu asks whether the reason Van Zieks was investigating Gregson was to expose him as the Reaper, but Van Zieks repeats the notion that the Reaper is not a single person. He doesn't have a doubt, though, that Gregson was a key member of the organization who did all of the planning. Believe it or not, Gregson was the brains behind the killings; the tactician who investigated and plotted, then left the dirty work to an assassin by the name of Asa Shinn. (LOCALIZATION WHY)

So now that we have this information, we can come to a very interesting conclusion. Both Gregson and Shinn are dead now, so by Van Zieks's reasoning, the Reaper is dead. You'd think this is good, but it does in fact make it very difficult to find the truth. Rather, Van Zieks believes that the truth died with Gregson (he hinted as much twice already) and while the seasoned Ace Attorney player knows it won't be impossible to expose a dead person as a killer, it'd be a hectic ordeal. The seasoned Great Ace Attorney player will know the Reaper hierarchy extends just a bit higher and the two who died are only pawns, but... Y'know. Approaching this from a first-time-player point of view, you'll know things will get troublesome.

There's another topic of conversation where Van Zieks once again addresses how sharp Kazuma is in court. He didn't miss a thing.

OUCH. So when Ryu first arrived, Van Zieks saw Genshin whenever he looked at him, not only due to his roots but due to 'the look in his eyes when searching for the truth'. Now, he sees Genshin in Kazuma, which surely makes a lot more sense. Van Zieks goes on to say that it's true some of the aristocracy from 10 years ago were problematic and abusing their power. “In a way, Asogi was carving out a canker from society that we British couldn't deal with ourselves.” So here, he sounds almost complimentary of the Professor's actions- specifically Asogi's actions. As if it would've all been well and good, were it not for the Professor's final victim. “But that's precisely why it makes no sense. Klint van Zieks was a noble and upstanding man. He wasn't corrupt.”

Remember way back in The Unspeakable Story when I surmised that Van Zieks boiled Genshin's actions down to his race in order to avoid the belief that there might've been a reason his brother was killed? We see it here again. Van Zieks is in doubt. He may say vocally that “it makes no sense”, but that line in itself is already telling. The fact that he acknowledges it and draws it into question implies to us that he's skeptical of the story. Deep down, he knows something is amiss. He knows there's some sort of explanation he's missing, but if he were to dig too deeply into it, he'd have to acknowledge that perhaps his brother was corrupt. And this still isn't all of it. There's one more thing Van Zieks has to discuss before we can round this conversation to a close. Ten years ago, shortly after Klint died, Genshin saved his life.

There's that phrasing again. “True nature”. It's not in orange this time, but it's there all the same. Van Zieks is convinced that Genshin is the one who had a hidden true nature. In this story, we learn that 'the scum of London' had already targeted him several times even before he became known as the Reaper, simply because of who he was and who his brother was. JEESH. Harsh. So on the night in question, a couple of thugs also tried to kill him (allegedly) but Genshin stepped in to protect him. Genshin became lightly wounded as a result. This is the part where I would have expected them to explain Van Zieks's scars, but he never mentions being wounded himself, so we can't be sure this is when it happened. Curious. This was the perfect opportunity and they let it slide. So anyway, two days after that incident, Genshin was arrested.

Some more telling lines here. Van Zieks thinks he'd never recount the story to anyone; not because there's no need to tell it. It's because it must be difficult to talk about. On its own, that might be a farfetched conclusion I wouldn't make, but Ryu confirms it with his follow-up line: “Thank you... for confiding in me.” We can take this line to mean exactly what it says; Van Zieks confided something painful. He let down some more walls. Growth!

So with all this out of the way, there's a whole load more investigation to do before this case is over. Most of it has to do with Genshin's will, a mysterious trunk belonging to Gregson, the missing time of death on the autopsy report... Nothing too relevant to Van Zieks's character. However, if we go into the prosecutor's office and examine things while Kazuma is there, we do get some fun tidbits about how Van Zieks wouldn't trust anyone else to touch his things and would rearrange it all himself whenever needed. From the sound of it, Van Zieks is very meticulous and a loner, which aligns with what we know about him. Some more conversation later, we reach the topic of the Reaper with Kazuma. He agrees that Gregson was definitely involved in the Reaper organization, but there's one thing that's more important. “Who's been giving orders to the Inspector?” In my eyes, it's a bit of a stretch to assume with certainty anyone was giving orders; Gregson might've just taken up the vigilante justice by himself and found some way to pay Shinn enough money to get in on it. Kazuma insists, though, that Van Zieks is 'the real Reaper'. We as the audience already know that's nonsense, we know Kazuma is wrong. Or perhaps we might think that if somehow Van Zieks pulled the wool over our eyes and Kazuma is correct, that'd be one heck of a wild twist. Kazuma gives no real reason why he believes this, he only goes on to say that ten years ago, it was Van Zieks who 'decided his father must be a mass murderer'. Shockingly, Susato is the one to jump in here and outright say to Kazuma that he's wrong; that Van Zieks only saw that 'justice was done as the law dictates' and he wasn't to blame for Genshin's execution. Kazuma insists that people condemn people and the law is just a tool they use for it. So I suppose that's exactly what he's doing right now. He's condemning Van Zieks, just as Van Zieks once condemned Genshin. We're cycling! And my main question now is this: If Stronghart had been the prosecutor in the Professor's trial instead, would Kazuma be just as vengeful towards him? Because remember, it's people who condemn people. This implies that anyone who had taken on the job of prosecutor at that time is the one who 'decided that Genshin must've been a murderer' and would need to take responsibility in Kazuma's eyes. Kazuma's beef isn't with Van Zieks personally, it's with the prosecutor who used that tool of the law and also evidence.

HAHAHAAA! HAH! If you align this screenshot next to the “Klint van Zieks was a noble and upstanding man” line, you get a wonderful parallel. These two prosecutors are both dead wrong about their beloved family, and they're about to find out in the worst way possible.

One murder mystery spread out over two episodes? You bet! Stay tuned for the last case, The Resolve of Ryunosuke Naruhodo!

[save-the-spiral]

Wiztober 2022 Day Eight: Existential

part of maliswap :) ill properly link stuff when its not past my bedtime and i have an 8 hr shift tomorrow so. dedicated to @woop02 ty ty ty for the feedback and likes!!

content warning for child neglect, child abuse, emotional abuse, manipulation, funerals, grief, dead parents and stuff.

(Prompt List) (buy me coffee?) (Maliswap AU Masterpost)

Your father dies and the world ends with him. You hear secondhand news of it and run back home to Wizard City, away from the life you made for yourself in Marleybone.

You return and your mother is nearly catatonic with grief. You speak to your uncle and he hides his own grief with biting words that bring you to tears, embarrassed and ashamed to have even asked, as if you had no right to know how your father died.

At some point you get the message and stop trying to involve yourself in any of it, the funeral planning, the funeral itself, the grief. You don’t speak at the funeral itself, instead just standing there with a trained stoicism so you don’t shatter into a million pieces.

Already you want to go back to your shitty flat in Marleybone, where the water pressure is awful and you scrounge to properly feed yourself but at least you are free and left well enough alone. You forgot how much the ambient magic of Ravenwood grates at your skin, makes it hard to breathe.

You sit in your empty childhood bedroom, waiting for an opportunity to go back home, when your mother finally speaks to you after weeks of nothing.

She offers, yet again, to teach you magic. You nearly dismiss her immediately.

You are not good with magic. You cannot cast spells. Your mana is nonexistent, and so casting magic draws only on your health, breaking your body down in substitute. There is a reason you chose Marleybone, where magic is less common and even frowned upon in some circles, as a home.

Your mother brings you a book, however. It is not Life or Death or even Myth like your family has tried to teach you before. A dark swirling spiral inside of a squared triangle rests in the middle, gleaming mercurial in the light of your lamp. You don’t plan on reading the book, but take it anyway because this is your mother giving it and she is already so fragile with grief and its the first time she’s spoken to you since you moved out of the house nearly five years ago now.

The book sits on your nightstand for only a few hours before you succumb to boredom and curiosity and read it.

And it makes so much sense.

Magic always hurts you, but this magic is made to hurt. It is a balanced trade in exchange for changing something so integral to the fabric of the universe, for bending the light that weaves the celestial schools, for twisting the wizard that is made of the spiritual schools, for the change of the fundamental pieces of the universe that is the elemental schools.

This would be worth it, you think. 

It is late enough for your brain to buzz and eyes to ache when you finish reading the book. You did not realize how absorbed you were, how thoroughly you immersed yourself in the new knowledge.

How easy it was to read, for being in a language you don’t know, a language that has been dead for eons.

When you ask your mother about why she gave you the book, she seems to almost smile and its enough for you to not question her vague answer.

The magic of the shadow school is something new, something you can finally handle. You can finally become the wizard your father and mother and uncle wanted you to be, powerful and able to defend yourself. Able to make changes and live as you want.

Your mother gives you advice, tells you to write down your experiences. She gives you exercises to attempt and says they’re a part of standard magical training that you never got after failing to even cast a firecat without coughing up blood as a kid.

This magic, this guidance, it gives you a purpose in the grand scheme of the Spiral. It gives you what you’ve lacked for so long. It gives you so much and you return in kind as one should, as is only polite.

You give so much of yourself away until there is so little left.

Your mother is so proud of you.