#this game makes me so giddy ive been wanting something like this for years i swear

[kawaiibarty]

UMMM if this is not an intrusive question, could you pls explain the process of you transitioning? Like whatever made you feel you were with the wrong body? And how did it bother you sm? This is plain curiosity. If u wish pls help me understand.

ahhhh hi hi it's not intrusive at all!

so for me it was really something that took time for me to understand because i didn't know that people were allowed to feel different yk

when i was a child i wore boys clothes because it made me feel happy, during playtime i called dibs on the boy characters, my avatars in video games were exclusively male.

i felt really uncomfortable wearing certain things like skirts and certain shirts and even different types of shoes. my mom said i was really picky and difficult about it lol.

for a while i sort of started wearing skirts and stuff, around 11 to 13 yrs old but, idk it was an odd period for me. i just wanted to be someone my mother liked yk. anyway, for most of my schooling id been in an all girls school up until gr7 when i moved cross country and schools. this new school was co-ed and it was really weird because i felt excluded a lot of the time because i wasn't...yk i didn't act like most of the girls and the people i thought id fit in with didn't like the way i did things LOL. i just felt alienated and like an imposter because i wasn't doing....girl right? iykwim

then i went to highschool a year later and i was shoved back into an all girls class for two years where i realised i properly like girls, except i thought i was homophobic because i didn't like the lesbian label or the bisexual label even though id tried out both at some point. it was like, i know i like girls and i haven't liked a guy properly but that doesn't make me lesbian because...but what if it does because im a girl, right? (spoiler alert, i do like guys and i realised that i could use the label queer without it being a slur also cue asexuality)

anyway, i was introduced to non-binary and it was a reaaaal relief. im telling you, once i was seen as something that wasn't an uncomfortable little girl it was good. but it still didn't feel right so i toyed around with androgyny except i didn't like how uncertain it made me feel yk?

im not saying that people who are enby or androgynous are wholly uncertain but i didn't want to feel like a poseur because i KNEW what i wanted but i didn't know if it was real.

i dont remember when this happened but somebody introduced me to he/they and they/he pronouns and i grasped onto that and it was okay for a while. still didn't feel like i was going it right because i had long hair and wore skirts and was still called a girl or non-binary and i hated my name and everything about the uncertainty yk? like it just came back out of nowhere

then one day this little boy comes up to me, i kid you not it's a CORE MEMORY for me, but this kid approaches me and he's like "are you a boy or a girl" and i start panicking because im not a girl and i hate being a girl and im not a boy because...i mean i don't even look like one right? so i ask him "what do you think i am?" and he says, without even thinking about "you look like a boy. i think you're a boy." and

yk, ive never smiled so wide in my life. i told him "yeah you're right" and he FISTBUMPS ME and im all giddy and excited and i text my best friend @d-rxse and im like OMGOMG YOULL NEVER BELIEVE WHAT HAPPENED DUDE anyway that was three years ago

then i got moved to a co-ed class

it kind of went to shit after that because as soon as i came out as trans i got a new boyfriend and he had never dated a trans person before so for a while he used he/they pronouns for me and we called each other boyfriends up until maybe april of last year where he told me he was uncomfortable with it

so i was an idiot and threw away all my progress and said "you can call me your gf and use they/them pronouns and she/her in front of your friends" and yeah 👍🏼 progress gone. down the drain.

i fixed it tho, by the end of last year i was so done with his bullshit, i broke up with him a week after school started this year, cut my hair short, changed my name, pronouns and got a new phone. cut him out of my life completely. ive never been happier

[apricote]

now that i'm playing a second time ive noticed so many things i missed with rowena, like i never met abdirak in the goblin camp or rescued the owlbear cub. also who tf was the lady who came to kill priestess gut when she imprisoned sirius in chains in her room??? i love this game so much

[dykefish]

sometimes you gotta make the nothingburger doodles with no passion behind them for the good ideas to come. get all the old bad stuff out leave a clean slate for the new. not every art piece needs to be super personal or authentic or whatever. insisting that artists should only create for themselves is kind of stupid bc humans thrive off validation and social behavior. make things that other people want you to make! make something super self indulgent! eventually an idea you like will come to you, you can't force it unfortunately. i have been trying it just does not work. keep drawing soldier i fucking love your art

smiling real wide at you with gratitude

i do make things that other people want me to make, but it feels like thats all ive been doing for a long time, every time i think about drawing i think about posting it later, and while that does bring me something seeing people react and like my art its not a sustainable source for satisfaction, because the more you make the less reactions you get, despite knowing logically everyone likes my stuff, they cant express that everytime, and the joy of showing people my things only lasts for a little bit before i run out and start making something else,

thats the issue, i WANT to make something self indulgent, i want to make something that comes easy to me because its a stupid thing i like that makes me happpy, but theres nothing TO indulge in, i used to be able to do it, i used to make embarrassing gay little doodles of me in scenarios, i used to make stupid yaoi that wasnt very smart but got me THINKING i imagined scenarios and fake fanfics for more than 2 seconds, id look back on the art and get giddy, i want that again, i want to make stories and things that last and things that make me feel like im 9 years old and waiting to get home so i can roleplay on animal jam with my friends

i could coome up with thousands of interesting art ideas that mean something, a billion experimental pieces that make someone in the tags start drooling, and that would give me some sort of satisfaction, but i dont have the energy for that, and even if i did i cant have JUST that, i need something more, and i need to be able to do it by myself, because if i just wait for someone to come play with me its not gonna happen,

i look at my friends and they all could go on for hours an hours on a game or a media they like, they all have SOMETHING to look foward to, something theyre passionate about, no matter how small or silly it is, and they can rely on it to bring them simple joy, i want that

and i want to do that with other people, i REALLY want to do that with people, but i cant force it, so for most of my time i sit watching other people do things, and itd be nice if i had something for myself,

i dont enjoy anything, thats an exagerration, but i dont get hyperfixated easy, i have one thing that i could safely call a special interest, and thats art, but sometimes i dont have the energy to find an artist i like and get neurotic on how to mimic them to get better, i want something stupid to make me happy, i want to do something stupid and feel good about it, i want to be able to think about anything

[princessmishaps]

I'm curious about who the wattane ship is that you tag some things with? (And I know I enjoy it when people let me loose to rant about my faves so consider this a green flag to do that! If you'd like too of course!)

so!! where to even begin! besides i love u for asking me about them because i would do anything to talk about them. wattane is wattson and octane from apex legends, which is a battle royale team based video game. they are the light of my life they are soulmates and the flirtatious lore they originally came from has been abandoned for new flashy storylines and new writers coming in and not caring about past stuff if it doesn't fit new ideas. so wattane doesnt get the respect they deserve imo and i do have alot to say about that. But i Wont. i do not know why they make me so happy but they do and everything comes back to them. they are the perfect opposites attract couple bc while they are so different they have quite a bit in common. both kind and smart and like goofing off, but wattson is a bit more levelheaded in certain ways that octane is not. she is more likely to think three times through before running straight into something where as he is like go now think later its fine (this man literally blew off his own legs with a grenade and was like Kickass i have robot legs now i can be FASTER). both have abandonment issues and a need for acceptance, but they can become one anothers safe space and heal together. ive been working on a longfic for them for a long time (writers block among other things have kept me from finishing it, but im working on it!) but its basically one of my dream plotlines i wish they wouldve been given and less of a fun fic bc i wanted to give them the story i thought they deserved and never got. the worst part is in canon they chose to pick the ships i hate the most for Both of them, and they dont even interact anymore. but its okay bc in my mind they are in love and nothing can change that. plus even separately they are so important to me. they really helped me have something to care about during a dark patch of my life and they made me wanna write again after years of nothing. idk where i would be without them, and thats so weird to say cause they are video game characters that dont even interact anymore but they make me So happy like giddy kicking my feet twirling my hair and thats everything honestly.

also i want to write this week and i finally!! moved my room around today! so now my desk is so comfy and i have a nice place to write new content for them bc its been awhile and im hoping the fresh space helps.

a neat bonus to all of this is the voice actress for wattson knows me and greets me by name whenever i pop into her insta lives and has said she thinks im really sweet and stuff in her livestreams so ive ascended basically.

[goremet-chef]

mannnn me and my friend. teehee

we play games together all the time and we're doing minecraft rn and idk i FEEL like its too sappy to tell her "hey i like how we are" okay like i can tell itd be hard to phrase that in a way that she wouldnt be like ".. thanks?? " OKAY SHE DOESNT MEAN IT we just. IDK how to explain it. so ill just talk about it here 😁😁

we just flow really well together, she can entertain herself mostly and i can be there and we bully the shit out of eachother and god its so fun its genuinely. i told her i was planning to tunnel into her walls but secretly, so she didnt hear it from me and she went "what?im not paying attention to you" i feel like. to other people that would sound bad but i just teeheed so hard man like . QUIETLY THATS WHY IM WRITING THIS we're still in vc but man

its really hard for me to be comfortable in vc with anyone, even if i really want to, but me and her? we just fit man. ive known her for like. 8 years at this point?? maybe a little less but either way. shes the only one of my friends that i can be alone with in vc comfortably as of right now, like IDK i never expected this but im not complaining. like even my friend ive known for 11 YEARS, i love them to bits id do anything for them, but the reality is that we are just AWKWARD PEOPLE and awkward people are sillay when they talk okay its the same with my other friend like we are just very awkward by nature so our awkwardness duplicates when we're alone, to the point where its like. he thinks its awkward and it is but its so awkward that its fucking hilarious i think its so funny man

love my friends with all my heart but something about me and her? like WE'RE SO GOOOOD we werent even that close when we first met? like she was my friends friend and became my friend by proximity but now we're tight bro we get drunk together we get high together i love that for us. i couldnt have guessed it would go this way, but thats the beauty of life 🥳 chaotic and unruly, i wouldnt have it any other way.

she comes home and tells me all her work drama and then we just pick on eachother for several hours and its so funny to me every time i dont care how many times we say the same things its always funny im always gonna make myself laugh when im mean for no reason and ill always laugh when shes mean back like IDK thats just our friendship and we like it that way its great

also shes been just like? IDK we are all queers (except one of us hes our token cishet i guess) she doesnt even remember my deadname anymore despite knowing me by that for most the time we've known eachother its great. and honestly? this is kind of embarrassing to admit but sometimes when shes making fun of me for being dumb she says 'sillay boy' in a little tune and when i get really stressed out i call myself that in my head to calm me down a bit like. NOTHING ID EVER TELL HER but we know we love eachother teehee. IDK i feel like i just express a lot of gratitude towards my other friends but not much to her, probably cuz we talk so much it just feels agiven like i cannot stand her she sucks thats why shes my bestie 😁😁

like MAN idk theres so much shit i could talk about. we fight and i propose to her in lethal company with the ring and then shes mad at me and divorced cuz i sold our ring to meet quota like. STUPID SHIT LIKE THAT. this is gonna sound weird but i just like being bullied????? like ill always throw it back is the thing we work great cuz its never one sided its a mutual thing. if i go first she say 'shut up dominic' and im like NO fuck you like . to an outsider we do not like eachother but i promise we do its making me like. GIDDY RN i love thinking about it. she just made fun of me for being on tumblr instead of building my GAZEBO but im talking about you dumbass!!!! (she doesnt have a tumblr so. what does it matter SKFJS)

i dont know its so fun for me, im just surprised that like. someone i initially didnt know all that well is now my ride or die and we fit SO GOOD like i genuinely couldve never expected it back in middle school but im glad we are the way that we are. love talking to her, love making fun of her, love when she calls me stupid and WHATEVER ELSE like god its so funny. love ignoring her and harassing children in roblox with her like we have such a good time no matter what

shes one of the very few people i can like. just get in a call with for no reason, like if she has drama to tell me and we arent really doing anything else ill still join for what i think is like 10 minutes and leave 2 hours later 💀 love leaving her too shes so dramatic she knows by the tone in my voice when i say her name that im gonna leave call and shes always like no dont do this to me gurl bye!!!!!i got better shit to do!!!!!!! (lie) love to betray her also she sucks

i remember she invited me down (like an hour drive) to watch mario movie and she took me out to olive garden and i CRIEDD it was the first time i went to olive garden and it was so good and she laughed at me. that high is like. I DONT KNOW i feel like im explaining it POORLY its just so silly to me, its so fucking funny

grining right now. im not even tired weve been playing for hours and im not tired at all. love bothering her she deserves it. like would i lay down my life for her? yes absolutely. would i also insult her randomly while shes not doing anything? yes absolutely. i guess its cuz i know she can take it, thats why she does the same to me. idk its just how we're comfortable, we like it this way!!!! hhehehheehee

this is far too sappy to share with her but we love to hate eachother so i think im doin a pretty good job

[iguanasplit]

hey, its the hottest spring, speudo-summer i might say. i am considering retaking journalling just because i have the hunch it would do wonders to my mind. drawing is too doing wonders to my mind, both simultaneously creating and allowing some information, ideas relief.

i am 24, writing to an old voice, from a website i barely touch but that craddled my dreams when i entered college. and now after eons im here, i do come here sometimes to just talk to you like this, but i do still come sometimes, the same way you pop on my mind sometimes, lighthearted, not always good, but always lovingly. so im here. 4:30pm still working hours but im on lunch break. i work home. extra time i waste because my organizing skills have always been bad and i heard it has a name and im not medicating propperly for it, but then again i never have and ive come this far. so once again, track lost and refound, im here. 24, sitting at home working, drenched in sweat because the weather is awful, but in front of me theres my keyboard, my screen and to my side its the box i set up yesterday, my first and very own CPU. its black, tall and the left side has a pannel that allows me to see the fans spin and the silver of the processors resistance. something i always wanted when i was a child. a real gamer cpu, bought with my own money, and something i wasnt expecting. assembled throught my own hands. i know i shouldnt celebrate departures but in this case i cant help but being way too happy. way too giddy. y' know the way my head just gets stuck on things and wont let go till a big dawn. i hadnt realized how much i was missing, (a pity my brain just wouldnt let go) being entirely obsessed with several groups and such. uh yeah. the posters are there and the albums are too, but i dont burn like i did, desperate to know what did the kpop boys i like this round do today. they seem to be busy, thats good but its as good as i care, i dfidnt realize until i left how in most cases it felt like it didnt quite fit.

now im back on games stuff, its like i should have come here before, you know i knew i would have enjoyed it, their approach, this peoples approach to art is much freer, much more experimental and interesting and i could cry on how well it feels, not just to see things i think about appreciated but finding people who seem to be on that same wavelength. not that i dont appreciate the time, not that i dont love dearly everyone the past around 8 years gave me. i am just simply overjoyed in what i find today. i guess in the end everythings a phase, beginning and end entirely important. how i enter and how i end, what i got in the process its whats really important. i feel youd get it. but more importantly, and the most importantly is that their approach to art reignited mine in a way i hadnt seen in years, that nothing, nothing ever came close to do in the past decade since after you passed. maybe bts came close, but that only solidifies a subject above that has to do with themes and experimentation of art. but back on track. many times last year and in the past few years i was considering jsut leaving art, wanted to rip it off me. wanted off so i wouldnt disappoint myself every single time i tried and tried and failed, knowing i could be normal if i let go something i was never gifted and pretending would just burn me all over. the whole process has been like trying desperately to bury a living thing and hoping it stops coming out. every feet of dirt i just kept disappointing me further, i kept wishing i could take it all lightly. i was so close to dropping it, entirely.and well the regret the regret of seeing how much does everyone around me with real art careers were improving so much while i was crunching code on websites, most time spent trying to tell myself i could make it without drawing, maybe that will ease me out on the paper. but it never did it never came easier, it became harder and harder, and most times i wanted off as if it never existed in first place. not that i didnt love it i simply convinced myself it would be pointless to put on an effort and be disappointed in the end by the lackluster results i end up giving. im sorry, no amount of eroding edges and softening remove how jagged my insides are, and sorry no amount of regret can turn back time and hone the skills for all the time i lost being afraid, thats always been my pitfall. im sorry i only wanted to make you a drawing to explain how much your art ever meant to me and i never got the guts to truly put you in paper. you have always been the most tender of souls and my lacking hand couldnt do justice. but i think im back now. what i mean is that im back to trying this for real, with the intention of breaking, the intention of what i desperately said i did but i never did. im breaking the bones and instead of burying it im ransacking the fucking grave i guess. it all starts the same place it ends. im back where i was in highschool when i decided my young naive self that i wanted to tell stories through art, obsessed with games and animated series, and you were there too, beautiful, so i thought, i should tell you, because i tell you everything.

and so im back where i started, so much time lost but no regrets i guess. sorry not for dropping the pencil but for the many many times i lied about it. you will have my worse because thats after all the most that could be given, stupid, and worrysome, and unable to stop making all the mistakes i didnt make when i was young and too busying trying to make a daughter my parents would be proud instead of whatever i am so theres so much to pick up. i am to be build from scratch, so much to do, so much rough, so much lack of skills, and so you will have me in all the mistakes and loose ends i left, the splinter in the wood from everything i tore apart and never propperly cleaned, but its all of me, and theres so much to clean here before we can propperly start anew. i will take care of it. anyway, i build a computer from scratch like i wished when i was 14 and i still have some tasks to do for work today, but after that im all yours so if youll have me.

[adrina03]

vent post/////

(don’t read rockie)

so when the first spider man movie came out into the spider verse i of course loved it and thought it was amazing. as time went on i think mostly in 2020 and 2021 i wanted to everything to end end my life end whatever i was going through. so what i saw online was you could die rn OR wait till something you really like to come out that you’ve been waiting for like a game or movie sequel… so i told myself like oh i need to wait for the next spider man movie and so much has happened since then. i never actually meant it like it was more of a joking thing to say to myself like it wasn’t like a serious goal but i still told myself to keep going so i watch the movie. mostly this year things got pretty healthy and i wasn’t as suicidal like i had been for the past two three years which makes me happy. when the movie actually came out and i was about to see it, it hit me that oh this kept me alive. ive had such a different headspace for a while that i was shocked and confuse like how did it get like that how im i here what changes and so on. when the movie was nearing its on i stared to realise like oh shit it’s gonna end on a cliff hanger but that made me so excited like i physically couldn’t stay in my seat and looked around if anyone was the same. when ur finally showed to be continued i was like oh this is another sign to keep going to wait n live for the next movie to come out. that literally put a smile on my face and it was on of those smiles were ur made me giddy and my cheeks hurt from how much i was smiling. im writing typing this after reading nth famous a manhwa a drama romance story that is short but packs a punch. it’s a realistic story about love with realist relationships and characters and even though yk the relationship isn’t working out and it’s gonna end you just hope it does. you project on those characters that you see ur own anxieties and worries and want that one person. to try again. anyways yeah it ends and their not together and it hurt it was good though because i feel like it this happiness ive been in n out of delulu and this lice of media is something i needed in general idk reading it now was good but just good in general to read as i only read my delulu isekai romance manhwas. Anyways I just want a hug right now. Like a hug from behind that just holds me. I want one right… now. it’s like 3 to 7 and i haven’t slept. anyways that was my rant/vent.

[bubblyhoney]

sarah i have thought of another fic request or like a cute idea i guess! i didn’t have anyone in mind when i thought of it so you can write it for whoever you want honestly :)

okay so the reader is a streamer but streams games like animal crossing, standew valley, etc. then (insert who you’re writing for) says they don’t like that game, but later ends up buying it and the reader is like “i thought you said you didn’t like this game” and they’re like “well i like you” and they confuses their feelings and they end up playing the game together and reader gives them a tour of their island or farm

i feel like this request isn’t good, but the scenario seemed cute and i wanted to share it. sorry if this is confusing or just too specific cuz i know it can be hard to write requests like that! but yeah i hope it gives you inspiration and you like the request <3

new horizons

warnings: language, a Marvel reference (hint: natasha said it about tony), stupid idiots who don’t realize they like each other, use of pet names, Uno rage, Hasan Piker's presence

words: 1473

tags: sapnap x gn!reader

A/N: i’ve been trying to catch up a little on my requests (i’ve only got a couple so i’m not super overwhelmed) but school and outside life has been taking up most of my time so this one took me a while to make! tbh— ive never played animal crossing so i did google some of the game mechanics and i apologize if anything is inaccurate about the game…. but i liked relaxing and writing this cute one so thank you for requesting hails :3

requests/inbox status: open

-

“This game is trash.”

Your head quirks, fingers stopped on the screen. You’re in the process of giving your character a cute new nickname; it’s kind of hard to decide between “awkward dude” and “elderly skater”.

“Excuse me?” Your chat comes alive with emotes and ‘KEKW’s, obviously entertained by you and your almost-more-than-friends-friend.

There’s a story for that later.

Sapnap’s rough laugh comes through your headset and he audibly swallows, the sound of a water bottle dropping onto his desk echoing.

“I’m just saying—it’s boring. It’s like Minecraft but you don’t like… do anything.” The grainy image of his bearded face shifts and you see him pull out his phone.

“It’s— you can’t even compare it to Minecraft! It’s a completely different game system—you actually interact with other people live in the game.” You huff out a dramatic sigh, slumping in your chair with a pout. “Just because you go into this lucid state where all you know is ‘touch block, hit George’ doesn’t mean this game isn’t fun.” (He scoffs at your awful impression of his voice. Your viewers love it.)

“Jeez,” he mumbles, fumbling with the cap of his water bottle. “Touched a nerve there, bud.”

You roll your eyes, getting back to the village in the game.

“Don't ‘bud’ me.”

The call falls comfortably quiet, the sounds of him tapping obsessively on his phone and you clicking away filling the silence. A gentle bedroom-pop YouTube playlist remains in the background, prompting you to hum along and glance at the chat to see a flood of “check twitter” and “Y/N TWITTER!!”.

“What happened on Twitter?” You mumble, confused, and pull the website up on another monitor. Sapnap just makes a curious noise, swinging back and forth in a circle. “Oh my God,” you say to yourself, fingertips brushing your parted lips.

“What?”

“Hasan Piker just followed me and retweeted one of my not even remotely political old tweets. Like from a year ago.”

“That’s— wow. Congrats?” Sapnap’s voice cracks, and his ears flush pink the tiniest bit when you glance at his face on Discord.

“I’m gonna go on record and say that he could get it.” You shake your head in disbelief.

Sapnap falls uncharacteristically non-hyper-verbal, so you look past the frenzied chat and to his screen— wait. He muted and turned his camera off.

“Um,” you start, furiously typing question marks in your private chat. “Where’d you go?” You mute and turn screen share off for your stream, concerned that he might’ve fallen off his chair and broken his neck and needs you to call the ambulance.

The characteristic ding of a twitter notification sounds through your bedroom, and you look at your phone quickly.

“That’s where I went.”

Sapnap Tweeted: “all Y/U stans can choke on my dick”.

“Jesus, Sapnap,” you say, and rapidly refresh to read the replies. This tweet was deleted. “That’s so— that barely makes sense, bro. Why— literally what?”

His snicker floods your ears and you relax in your chair. Crisis: averted. “Don’t fucking— what’s wrong with you?”

“I thought it would be funny,” he offers, shrugging, and fiddles with the straw in his water bottle, smile fading. “And also Hasan pisses me off.”

“Why, ‘cause he wants a piece of this? Jealous?” You think back to your viewers, knowing they’re probably spamming question marks and coming to ludacris conclusions about both of your absences. No offense to them. You remember your stan days very vividly.

“I mean, kinda.” He rubs once at his nose, glancing at the camera (and what feels like you) before taking a sip from his water bottle.

“Wow.” You watch one strand of his hair fall from beneath his hat and brush against his full eyebrows. “I’m uh—I’ll get back to my stream. You coming? Or is it time for a Sapnap-snack?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He snorts and leans his chin onto the balance of his arm.

“That means you like to take a little snack break mid-stream and come back approximately nine hours later and you didn’t even eat.”

“You know what— fuck you.” He flicks the camera as you laugh at the look on his face.

The teasing mood is easily kept as you switch games from Animal Crossing to Uno, all the while slamming Sapnap with +4’s and skipping the newly-arrived BadBoyHalo at any chance you can get. It unironically pisses him off and he has to take a Sapnap-snack break midway through (only a fifteen minute break this time, during which you and Bad take a “What Kind of Bread Are You?” quiz). The rest of the night is filled with devious cackles (you), loud and sudden bangs that sound suspiciously like someone hitting their desk in anger (Sap) and the stupid barking of Rat, AKA Lucy (Bad). She’s cute but a menace to the sound quality of Bad’s microphone. You sign off stream around 2 a.m. with various forms of thanks and kisses blown to the camera. It’s been a refreshing night, actually; you’ve been busy organizing a partnership stream all week and all your friends have been busy filming or editing or what-not. Quackity had time for a little Roblox every couple of days, though. He’s got your back.

The next time you see Sapnap is after a two hour stream of him try-harding in Valorant and you finishing responding to an email from your partnership in the VC.

“Okay, I’m back.” You hear him shift in his chair and click a couple more times on his keyboard. You perk up in your chair, closing the email browser you’d been looking at.

“Do you want to play anything else? I’m down for anything.”

“Absolutely not Uno. You can go to hell for giving me 6 cards that one time,” he jabs. You scoff, crossing your arms and leaning back in your chair.

“Okay, the +4 was on me but it’s Bad who gave you the last two. That’s not my fault, sweetie.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, trailing off as the clicking of his keyboard stops. “Hey, um—Guess what?”

Your heart beats loud in your ears at the tone of his voice. He sounds nervous; that’s never good.

“I’m scared to guess,” you try, playing with a little Minecraft dog figurine you have on your desk with fidgety fingers. “What?”

“I bought Animal Crossing.”

Silence. You stare at his discord icon blankly, trying to reroute the wires of your brain.

“Tell me you love it.”

“Well… I haven’t actually played it— but you said you liked it, so.”

“So,” you repeat him, ears warming but continuing on. “Is that what you tell all your friends when you buy something they like? That it's because of them?”

He seems to choose his next words carefully, pausing a beat to consider your questions.

“Well, I don’t have a crush on all of my friends.”

“You—what?” You stutter, caught off guard and stumbling. What did he just say? “Don’t tell me you mean you have a crush on me.”

“I’m almost positive I just did.” His discord icon stares right back at you, taunting.

“You know, you’re very casual for someone who just admitted they like-like me.” Your cheeks flush pink and you have to press a hand to your chest to keep your breathing sounding stable.

“Yeah, I’m kind of cool like that,” he offers, a huff of a laugh punctuating his statement. The conversation moves into a lull that you can’t help but know is because of you. He must expect you to say something about it, right?

“You are very cool, Sapnap.” You tilt back in your chair, sucking in a breath to prepare yourself for your next words. “And—Isortakindofhaveacrushonyoutoo.”

He must understand you, for you can hear the grin in his voice when he asks “Really?”

“Y-yeah.” You feel like a preteen again, all shaky and giddy in front of the boy you just asked to a middle school dance.

“Um, alright. What do we do now?”

“I don’t know,” you answer genuinely and swing in a happy little circle in your chair. “We could play Animal Crossing.”

“I’m down.”

You swear you’ve never heard more beautiful words.

He keeps his camera off for most of the time you two play, too focused on creating his island and asking you questions about how to fish to turn it on. He silently flips it on when you help him decorate his lawn, needing to show you in real-time the decorations he has bought and where you think he should put them. He looks cute. I mean, of course he does. He always does.

You tell him goodbye late in the night, eyes saying a little more than just “see you tomorrow”.

You like him. He likes you.

It’s even better when you two have matching gardens.

-

A/N: anybody and everybody (especially my precious hailey) let me know what you think!! :]

[botanyshitposts]

Please. I have a pot of aloe vera plant that I'm almost giddy to eat. But then I found out that there's a variant aloe vera that are not edible. Google doesn't help. One website says one thing and a website says another. A houseplant subReddit was against advocating what plants are edible and what isn't. But I've been following you for almost a year, so I know you'd know. I'm sure you're busy, but if you please help me with this.

oh my god, i can’t believe i can actually somewhat answer this question but i did a paper on aloe vera production for an economic botany class a couple years ago (i ported it to my google drive for this blog if you want to read the entire thing here) and although i know less about eating it, i might have info on what you’re talking about. i don’t think they mean like, some forms of aloe vera are toxic and some aren’t, but there probably are some species that have more toxic substances in them than others, which i know less about. the most popular aloe vera species to be used for this stuff and for industrial use is Aloe barbadensis, if that helps at all.

note here: listen. im all for using plant stuff. but plants are excellent chemists and can be unpredictable, so whatever you do from here is up to you. i’m not gonna give instructions or advice about how to eat aloe vera, partially because ive never actually eaten any and i imagine it to be kinda slimy and weird, but also bc that shit is wild in general.

quick big brained aloe vera anatomy lesson. there are three parts of the aloe vera leaf: there’s the rind, which is the outer green part; there’s the thin toxic layer; and there’s the gel that gets used for a ton of stuff both industrially and in peoples’ homes. the gel in its intact form is called a fillet (epic) and most processing in industrial applications revolves around removing the toxic layer from the rest of the gel as much as possible while still keeping it sterile. given that aloe vera is one of the most widely known and used medicinal herbs out there and industrial uses inevitably leave small to trace amounts in products that go to store shelves, i’m guessing the toxic layer is only a super big deal if you’re eating it, although i wouldn’t like, go out of my way to rub it (the toxic layer) on any open wounds or anything, lmao.

the toxic layer is wrapped around the fillet, and it’s made of a substance called aloin. it’s a yellow color. aloe vera gels on store shelves often aren’t completely purified from it for reasons related to lack of regulation that i’ll touch on here in a moment. it’s not toxic in that like, it’ll kill you instantly, but to give an idea here its utilized by the pharmaceutical industry for OTC laxatives. if you live in the US you almost certainly have never encountered aloe vera/aloin based OTC laxatives, and that’s because the FDA barred the use of aloin for laxatives in the US back in 2002, following some research suggesting it’s mildly carcinogenic and not something you want someone to be swallowing every day. so, you know, i’d be a bit weary of it even aside from the laxative effects (eating aloe vera isn’t unheard of, although i only know of it in the context of aloe vera juice, which is a highly distilled and sterilized version of the gel).

so...i suspect that’s what they’re referring to. from what ive read, aloe vera gel minus the aloin layer that surrounds it is pretty safe (and continues to get casually used a lot all over), but i only know that for sure re: A. barbadensis. there are around 300 aloe species in the genus. i’d be sure that’s what you have, if you can find an ID guide or something.

as for regulations, this is a case where....it actually isn’t the FDA ignoring it as a problem or whatnot. the problem with aloe vera is that although it’s incredibly widely used, we don’t exactly know what causes the effects that it has. the gel itself is a highly complex substance with hundreds of moving parts that could be interacting with one another, so it’s hard to pin down even like, a handful of active agents; without knowing what makes the gel work, the FDA can’t test its effectiveness and report on it, or register it as an official drug of any sort with official prescribable properties despite it being known to be effective on burns and wounds. as a result, it’s technically still treated as a homeopathic remedy (the gel, not the drink, which i suspect falls under different rules) that isnt subject to the same FDA regulations as other stuff aside from like, ‘dont have mold or weird stuff in there with it’.

so the name of the game in making commercial aloe vera gel is removing as much aloin as possible while keeping it as sterile as possible (harder because it oxidates quickly once exposed to air, and heating it breaks down the structure of the gel and makes it less effective), but there’s no like, set amount of what can and can’t be in there aside from guidelines set by the industry. the absolute purest you can get is the kind used in cosmetics that comes in a powder, which takes a additional processing to make. fascinating stuff lmao

[backseatloversz]

good brother jeffrey anderson headcanons :)

feat. some anderson family angst . sorry you've been warned<3

(jeffrey? jeffery? jeff.)

he's only two years older than todd, a freshman in college when todd starts at welton, and they've always gotten along well, and talking has always come easy

this talking def includes complaining about their parents. jeff has never liked the way ppl compare todd to him, the way his parents are awfully neglectful, and he's always done his best to make this known

jeff teaches todd card games on rainy days. i think ive said this one before and yes its simple but its very Near and Dear to me

todd likes 2 draw. he insists sports should be left up to jeff and that he wants to be left alone to read and draw and such, but eventually good brother todd anderson caves and lets jeff drag him outside to learn soccer

which. he does end up enjoying. bc jeff is all nice about it and insistent on getting him to have fun!!

and now hes good at soccer. good for him

jeff has always been like that; encouraging him to try new things, but never forcing it

he's always been fine with todd's shyness, taking it in stride when todd asks if he can order food for him, or come with him to talk to a teacher. and he never minds when todd isnt in the mood to talk, content to listen to jeff or just exist together, hanging out in one of their rooms to study, read, draw, or do whatever else kids did back then

jeff is the first person todd ever comes out to

its the summer before 10th grade and he disappeared with a boy during a party he got jeff to take him to. on the drive back jeff asks him abt it, prefacing by saying hes not gonna judge or tell anyone, he just wants to know his little brother is being safe. now which was it. drugs or sex. no one looks as flushed as u do if it was nothing. and todd laughs, saying it was neither, really, he kissed me and we talked

after that jeff loves to tease him about boys whenever he gets the chance, and todd returns the favor, teasing him abt girls and boys, bc hes the one that goes to an all boys school, so.. like.. and jeff always jsut... Shrugs....

that aside

when jeff was at welton and todd was at balincrest, jeff always looked forward to the days he could see todd, and in the meantime they wrote often, even if they didnt have much to say

sometimes todd just sends him lil drawings he's made or a nice quote from a book he's reading :-)

alright now time 4 post-canon

todd starting at welton and jeff starting at college made them both pretty busy, they didnt rly get a chance to write much the first few months

sidenote; neil had always been on jeff's radar. they were the same, in a lot of ways; popular golden kid praised for being at the top of his class, maybe they had a couple extracurriculars together

canon compliant;

when jeff comes home for winter break, he can immediately tell something is wrong. sure, todd is a quiet kid, but never like this. conversation is stilted and, eventually, todd quietly leaves when his father asks him about exams. nobody makes a scene, and still neither of his parents will tell him anything, so jeff leaves, too, and knocks on todd's door softly

todd lets him in, and catches him up on ... everything. he must be in shock, at this point, cause it all comes out calm, distant. its not til he admits he loved neil that his voice catches

good brother jeffrey anderson is one thing todd has over neil. someone to confide in at home, someone to tell him he'd make just as big of an awful impact neil did if he were to do something reckless, regardless of the fact he was never anything like neil, never anything like jeff

at this point, jeff is only 20. he's practically a kid himself, reeling from shock over the neglect of his parents, no clue how to deal with this kind of thing, but he does his best, and that seems to be good enough

alright. that's enough of that time for happy canon divergence

the first day of winter break, todd is uncharacteristically giddy, more than happy to answer their dad's questions about how the school year's gone. after dinner he finally gets the chance to drag jeff away, tell him he has a boyfriend now, neil perry, you remember him?? and jeff, ofc, is very very happy for him, and loves how excited todd is to catch him up on the past few months, proud to hear how he's come out of his shell and gotten into writing and stuff :))

after winter break they do get into writing to each other again, and jeff loves the casual updates of how neil's doing, too

in both universes he's more than supportive of todd thru his senior year and dreams of being a writer. in a world where neil lives, he takes him under his wing, too, starts writing to him almost as much as todd and is eager to hear about acting, loves going to his shows whenever he can. and he def doesnt cry when, a few years after college, neil and todd are still living together and he gets invited to their wedding, of sorts. more just an opportunity to talk about how much they love each other all dressed up with their closest friends, but, whatever.

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: IV

“I had a few, got drunk on you

And now I’m wasted

And when I sleep, I’m gonna dream of 

How you tasted.”

— Medicine, Harry Styles

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

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

word count: 26.4k

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why, thank you! 

My pleasure.

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

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

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

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

I wouldn’t want it any other way. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It happens Thursday on two occasions. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re going to regret that. 

Pinky promise?

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What...What are these?”

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

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

Then it all clicks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I just...it’s like…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, it fucking worked.”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am, I can’t hold—”

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

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

“Do I make myself clear?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re pretty stubborn, aren’t you?” 

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

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

“Mm-mm. What?” 

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

He feels her heartbeat trip. 

“And you know what I do to brats?” 

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

“I fuck them until they break.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell me you want it.”

“I want it.”

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

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

“I...I want you to spank me.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yours.” 

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

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

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

“Now beg me to let you cum.”

///

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

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

“You drool in your sleep.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Truly. His dad was hotter.” 

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

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

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

“Couldn’t be me, either.”   

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

She gladly delivers. “Exquisite taste.”

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

“Emmett was pretty hot, as well.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s definitely something.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How chivalrous.”

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

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

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

“I’m just making a point!”

“Yeah, a shitty one.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey!”

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

“You’re a dick, you really are.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What—?”

“And it’s not even ten A.M. yet.”

“What do you—?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whatever.” 

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

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

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

“Wow. I feel used.” 

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

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

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

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

“We could UberEats some iHop.” 

“Who’s gonna get the door?”

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

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

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

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

“You’re so dumb.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, like you’re any better?” 

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uber for Y/N?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh...my God.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Exactly.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You have no idea.

“You underestimated me, Holmes.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The irony of it all. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are those...Are those handcuffs?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You like Hamilton?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You are vile.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Harry, I’m serious—” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[peanut-butter-parkerxx]

plane pillow

where peter planned to play video games with ned through the whole flight but fate decided to take another turn....

*A/N: this isnt related to far from home nor the ending of endgame, just pretend infinity and all the movies after didnt exist since i imagine pete 16 in here. i dont know why 16 i just like that age on him lmao, enjoy reading!*

pairing: peter x reader

status: strangerz (well sort of since they haven't talked to eachother but they're in the same school)

NOT PROOF READ BTW SO SORRY IF THERE ARE ANY MISTAKES

peter's POV

"the flight will be amazing! i heard they'd installed the new game we were talking about" i gushed to ned, excited for the whole flight to be filled with video games.

"im excited" ned stated practically jumping from excitement and i shook my head laughing

"OK CLASS!" Mr Harrington clapped his hands getting our attention "we're boarding the plane in a few minutes so pack your stuff and lets goooo" he pointed at our gate dramatically.

we walked to the gate, scanned our ticket and sat on our assigned seats, ned and i sat on the three seater, he took the window seat by winning a 3 round match of rock, paper, scissors *sighs angrily* and i obvious got the middle, kinda scared of who'll sit beside me though.

we had to wait for a few minutes, since we boarded the flight early. ned and i obviously started playing video games, too entranced by the small glowing screen infront of me i haven't realized a girl.

she hadn't really acknowledged me either because she looked tired, i cursed at the screen for losing the game too quickly and my dumb ass still didnt realize a GIRL, MY AGE, looking PRETTY FUCKING ADORABLE was sitting next to me. oh dear god.

after a couple more games and me being the most idiotic teenager known today for not looking at my right to see her  the flight attendant alerted us that the plane will take off so we the screen will freeze any moment. ned and i decided to sleep, it was very early in the morning and we need to rest if we plan on gaming most of the flight.

i closed my eyes and shifted a bit in my seat, and slept. the plain was moving at the time trying to find the best place to take off. i guess i was really tired that i havent felt someone sleeping on my shoulder.

i was peacefully sleeping still agitated from the uncomfortable seat but i heard a loud noise that frightened the life out of me and due to my spidey senses i sensed a hand on my right, so what did i do? i fucking held the hand. hard, may i add, from the fright.

i opened my eyes quickly and jumped a bit, turning around to see who's the stranger that i held hands with, startled as well. i sighed in relief knowing our plane was safe and it was just about to take off. but then i took a good look on the perso- her, took a good look on her, on her? OH MY GOD ITS A GIRL calm down peter and please dont scare her off. i couldnt stop looking at her and to my luck she was looking at me as well, but none of us spoke

i couldnt help but notice the small part of her y/h/c hair that was shown from her hood looked so shiny and smooth, her eyes were the most perfect shade of y/e/c. the extremely large hoodie looked so comfortable on her which made me think of her wearing one of mine, how big and long it'll look on her body sent butterflies to my stomach. she looked small, and precious so fragile yet she held her body confidently.

the voice of the flight attendant echoed through the speakers which made us both stop our trance of one another. even though the lady's voice wasnt scary it still frightened us. i mean no hate towards miss attendant she called me a cutie and gave me extra blankets

but coz we got startled again we held hands....again looking for the sources of the noise. we visibly relaxed once we realized what it was, looked at eachother and laughed, her laugh was angelic and soft, hands down the best sound ive ever head. she looked rather embarrassed from the encounter but i bet you a thousand dollars i look worse, i could practically feel the blood rush through my cheeks once she realized how long ive stared at her

"i- uhm i-im so sorry for sleeping on your shoulder, and- and holding your hand and stuff" she apologized, it only made me even more baffled by her. how could a voice match with a face so perfectly.

"no no its fine uhh i dont mind *nervous laugh* and for the hand thing i was the one who grabbed yours so i-i should be the one apologizing...im sorry" i rubbed the back of my neck. this is why i dont talk to girls, ever. well mj is an exception since shes like the closest thing i have to a friend other than my best friend obviously.

"i-im y/n, by the way" she lifted her hand properly introducing herself

"peter, peter parker" i shook her hand, it was nice feeling the warmth of her hand again. we probably held hands (for the third time today by the way) longer the we should have but who am i to say i was bothered. i definitely wasnt.

"nice to meet you peter" she smiled shaking our hands one last time then sitting it on her lap. scratch what i said about her gorgeous laugh, hearing her say my name was the best thing ive heard in my 16 year of existence. (her laugh is obviously the second best)

before i could ask anything else, the plane decided to finally take off. i adjusted myself to the seat, not turning to my right side anymore and closed my eyes trying to think of smiling puppies. ive been on a plane before, in fact a private one last year but that was it. this is my second time flying away from new york and i was a bit nervous.

y/n somehow noticed my sudden tense form, who am i kidding i looked like i was about to die coz of my nerves. and held my hand. and i immediately opened my eyes again, the feeling of her skin coming in contact with mine brought chills down my spine, good ones obviously

"you looked rather tense, is this ok?" she leaned into my ear so i could hear her. i looked at her confused on why she would want to help me but nodded as a reply. a smile crept on my face and i couldnt seem to take it off.  the take off went smoothly thank god. and ive occasionally squeezed her hand, usually when the plane made very loud sounds. but i made it! woohoo

i didnt know if i should stop holding her hand or not, even though i didnt want to. will she think im a creep? and if i did, will she think im rude? but i guess it didnt seem to bother her if she went back to sleeping. so i figured i should do the same

i shifted in my seat a couple of times trying to get the perfect comfy spot....nothing. this seat will be the death of m-

"you can sleep on my shoulder if you want" she whispered. "i figured since you let me sleep on yours which im very sorry about, you could sleep on mine" she smiled

"thanks, but i dont wanna bother you or make you uncomfortable"

"oh nonsense! my body is screaming right now cheering for me, well partially scolding at me for saying something risky like that to a good looking guy, its ok" she laughed, her eyes widened in shock from what she confessed. i smiled at her and rested my head on her shoulder

"you think im good looking?" i whispered playing with our fingers, i dont know when i got the sudden confidence but hearing someone like her think a loser like me is cute did something to me.

"shut up" she playfully shoved me and i laughed.

"are you from midtown?" i asked her

"no im from queens" she joked

"oh you're definitely from midtown" i chuckled, next thing i know i was having a normal conversation with me laying my head on a girl i just met like we knew eachother for years, it was nice to talk to a girl i potentially thought was cute instead of talking gibberish

she was very understanding and looked like interested into what i was saying, i was gonna skip my geeky side when she asked about what i like but to my surprise, she mentioned it when i asked her the same, she said she loves comics and likes watching sci fi movies. i asked her if she watched star wars and she said she didnt...yet.

"wanna uhm watch it together?" i played with her fingers absentmindedly nervous if she'd reject me.

"yeah sure" her eyes lit up like she was waiting for me to ask her that. we watched the movie in bliss, thankfully she liked it! and immediately said to put the second one. and surprise surprise, we finished it.

when the credits rolled in, i saw her yawning, shifting in her seat again, i decided to be bold so i lifted her head off my shoulder pulled the arm rest away from us, took a pillow and patted my lap. immediately after doing it i regretted it, she barely knows me, what the fuck peter.

"you sure?" she asked smiling a bit, she looked like she felt something giddy inside which made me feel at peace again and i nodded.

"good night" she whispered snuggling her head on my lap, i hesitantly put my arm over

"good night, y/n" and we fell asleep like how ned slept the whooole time i was talking to her, wow we have a lot to catch up on

bonus:

peters pov

i didnt know the whole plane (our class) practically gushed over my interaction with y/n, i know its been a while since i liked a girl but betty and the rest (including Mr Harrington) practically begged mj to take photos of us since she was the closest, not that she wouldnt have done it without them asking her....

*A/N: idk what this bonus was lmao but i had to add the school feeling happy for our boy pete*

have a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening/night!

-quacksonlover

[jiikyu]

Taste of Marigolds In Bloom

Herb of the Sun — Or Marigold was often used during the Middle Ages as a love charm. Carrying one of these brightly colored flowers was thought to bring love. Though be warned for they are also poisonous. Chapter IV. Sitting in the back of a police car was not how you anticipated your night ending — And certainly not with Mirios arms wrapped around you all the while. You’re not sure how you got here. ∘◦ ✿ ◦∘ All characters are 18+ Yandere!Mirio x Fem!Reader(AΩβ) Y/N = Your Name F/N = Your Full Name E/C = Eye Color H/C = Hair Color

Warnings: Yandere / Unhealthy Behavior / Delusions / Angst / Possessiveness / Violence and uh Fluff? First Chapter Here❦ Previous Chapter Here❦ Next Chapter Here ❦

∘◦ ✿ ◦∘ “Oh hey!” Mirios leans his arm against the doors frame. “Isn’t this a lovely surprise.” “Hey, do you wanna come to Nabezos with me?” Your question takes him by surprise and he feels his arm slipping. It’s raining. “Sure, let me grab my jacket.” ∘◦ ✿ ◦∘ The little droplets from above mean the sidewalks are clear of people, it’s not often you practically get the city all to yourself. When Mirio agreed to come with you to the popular restaurant off campus grounds, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous. It wasn’t like you to swing by unexpectedly, at least not without some form of prior acknowledgement. Like a text. What’s even stranger was that you wanted to go to Nabezos, in the rain. Maybe it’s nothing to be get riled up over... The conversation flows in it’s usual lighthearted manor with you both throwing in the occasional jab. It’s normal. But if that’s truly the case then — Why won’t his heart stop hammering violently against his ribs? Somethings not right. He just knows it. Mirios pace starts to slow to a crawl, and little by little it all together stops. And you had been so close to making it to Nabezos, maybe two blocks down the sidewalk? Suddenly his appetite is gone. When there’s no respond to your corny joke do you turn to see the blond fallen behind. Everything about it feels so very wrong. Standing like motionless his yellow umbrella rests loosely in his grasp, shoulders slouching forward. But — You catch sight of something that freezes the blood in your veins. Tears threaten to spill from those blue pools. How had this happened? Only a few seconds ago were you chatting like normal. This proves all of your fears and suspicions, that there is something deep troubling Mirio. That’s why you were doing this right? You were going to do your best to gently coax out whatever was bothering him. Had you already messed up? The gap made between you wasn’t large by any means but by gods do you close it fast. Abandoning your umbrella to ground below as shoes splash against the wet pavement, now your standing before him in the rain. “Wait Mirio what’s happening? Why are you crying?” “Y/N...” His voice has been reduced to a rasp whisper, the usual optimism drained and you can see the bottom of the well. “Are you leaving?” Huh? The question confuses you even further. That cannot be the root of the problem, a small idle conversation between you and your friend could not have been the cause of this. “What? Of course not!” As much as you want to stay in Musutafu — Your words are not quite the full truth, are they? “Well I... I don’t actually know yet.” Do not make promises you cannot keep. The way he kneads his lip with his teeth, suffocating any sound from escaping, it does nothing but further shatter your heart into tiny fragments. If this continues you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to put the pieces back together. You’re about to speak again when the blond does the unexpected. Taking a deep breath he exhales, then the corners of his mouth upturn. It is nowhere near as radiant as his signature smile, and you know it’s not real. But now it’s his turn to close the gap. Taking the step forward Mirio dips the yellow umbrella so it no longer hangs over his head but yours. The thrumming of his heart drums against his ears, he’s sure you hear it too. “Y/N, what if I told you I don’t want you to go?” Oh. Wait? Does that mean? Oh. You feel the heat rise to your cheeks. “I —“ The soft pitter-patter of raindrops against the umbrellas canvas matches your own heartbeat. Fast and light, like suddenly you’re floating. You watch the collar of his gray gym shirt start to darken with moisture and droplets catching in that sunshine soaked hair. You swallow down your shame because — You’ve never been more sure of anything in your life. “I would say, I feel the same.” You’ve never seen someone visibly light up the way Mirio does when those words leave your lips. The very words he oh so desperately needed to hear. Was that all it really took? No, he must be dreaming. “Really?” The single word is laced with so much hope it’s palpable, it’s followed by a sniffle as he brings his thumb to wipe away a stray tear. “Of course idiot!” Your own eyes start to blur and you blink them away before it’s too late. “Now stop it, you’re gonna make me cry!” Your fingers grab a hold of the umbrellas metal handle, just above Mirios hand. You push it towards him, so it’s no longer covering only you. “There, now we can both stand under it.” Sure, both of you have a shoulder that’s going to get absolutely drenched, but do you care? No. Mirios eyes go big when you do this and you swear you see literal stars dancing in those pools of blue. You’re so blissfully unaware that everything you’re doing only furthers you both down this spiral. He’s staring at you like you’re his entire world. And he wouldn’t change a single thing about you, for anything. “Aw you’re such a softy Y/N.” “Wha — You were crying first! You started it.” It’s not fair. He really does have the most contagious smile you’ve ever seen. Hand in hand you and Mirio continue to make your way to Nabezos, your own umbrella is left forgotten to the rain. ∘◦ ✿ ◦∘ Dinner had gone so well that you’re left giddy and boy, does it show, your smile never once falters. Not even when the scent of cigarettes and alcohol starts to overflow your senses. Currently you’re leaning against the outside of Nabezos, the buildings bricks now having imprinted into your back. Awning overhang keeps you dry from the rain while your eyes stay trained to the bright screen of your phone. Sun having started its descent the color slowly begins to fade from the sky. But you’re not worried, campus is only a few blocks away.

And you have Mirio.

Now you’re just wait on him, who, being the forgetful man he is forgot his wallet at the table you had eaten at. Never in a million years would you believe someone as breathtaking as Mirio would return your feelings. 

Your happiness leaves you blind to the world.

“Hey are you d-deaf or do you just think it’s cute to ignore someone talking to you?”

Huh? Only when you look up from your phone do you realize there’s a man, who you don’t recognize, staring directly at you. Your mouth is suddenly dry. The stench of booze and smoke is so strong your nose is set ablaze. You can’t help but take shallow breaths. When had he gotten so close? Were you really that oblivious to your surroundings? Your pulse is racing but you don’t move, maybe if you continue to ignore him he’ll leave you be. What a stupid idea. Suddenly your wrist is grabbed, phone slipping from your grasp and it falls to the pavement. And now you’re trying desperately to yank yourself from of his grasp. But his fingers have an iron clad grasp around your limb. “What sort of game are you trying to play?” He’s shouting at you and you have no idea what he’s going on about, you just want to get as far away from him as possible. Your eyes barely catch the flash of yellow that appears over the drunks shoulder and before you know it he’s no longer holding onto your wrist — Or rather he was flung off you by an impact to the gut. The stranger lets out a cry as his back slams against the hard concrete below. You listen to him cough and sputter for air, but you don’t look — Your eyes stay glued to your savior. Mirio. Besides the loud grunting coming from the man who just got his guts rearranged, it’s eerily silent. You cannot see the blonds face, so you can only guess what expression he wears... But something feels off and that scares you. You finally tear your eyes away from Mirio when you hear the other stand. The stranger regained his footing but why isn’t he running away? Isn’t it enough? Mirio hasn’t moved an inch since landing the first strike, standing between you and the man. A shield. Neither move for a while, just staring each other down and you can see the sweat beading down the strangers face. You never would have expected Mirio to be the one to break the stalemate. Basically just straight up breaking into full sprint towards the stranger before banking a quick left. “Oh shit —“ Is all the man manages while raising his right arm, taking shaky aim at the blond, some sort of liquid ejects from his fingertips? Mirio makes it look so incredibly easy to dodge, the inky black substance lands somewhere in the shadows. Forgotten. The man does not get a second shot. An earth shattering blow lands under his chin and you swear you hear an echoing crack of bone against bone. And just like that it’s over — Or at least that’s what you tell yourself. Anyone would be knocked unconscious by the sheer force. But Mirio doesn’t stop. What if I told you I don’t want you to go? Those are the words that come to mind as your E/C eyes follow Mirios fist. Over and over again it connects with the strangers face. Time slows like some form of torture, you watch the man take each crushing blow. As you watch the blonds knuckles begin to turn a dark crimson. And you do nothing but stand frozen, a bystander, a participant. Even the ability to speak is lost to you. Only when the terrible sound of blood starts to bubble up from the man’s throat does Mirio finally release his white-knuckled grip from the shirts collar. Without the Alphas hold the unconscious body rag-dolls to the pavement below. God, does the sickening thud make you shudder in disgust. Now it’s just you — And the man who has only ever showered you with warmth and overbearing kindness. Towering over the bloody pulp of a man he stands with his back towards you, chest heaving as he attempts to recapture his breathing. Your mind is so vary far away right now but somehow, somewhere in your anxiety riddled state are you able to produce a single cohesive repeating thought. It’s something that comes so naturally it almost terrifies you, you might even loath yourself later for it... You cannot help but be frightened, not for the beaten man lying against the cold pavement, no your fears are for Mirios safety. For his sake. When he turns to face you you’re met with the burning blue of the ocean. And within seconds you swear you see the raging sea already starting to simmer. Your feet stay planted as your hero takes the first step towards you. Even if your life depended on it you’re not sure you’d be able to move an inch — Though it’s too late for that now, isn’t it? By the time you notice he’s practically all over you, but there is an invisible wall of tension that keeps him from touching. With the back of your shoulders pressed against the brick wall there is no escape from the cage of muscle surrounding you, thick forearms having rooted themselves on either side of your head. Every instinct screams at you, to run, to submit, to hide, to do anything useful. Maybe you’re broken. Instead, you find yourself entranced, E/C eyes trace along the scars of those very forearms keeping you trapped. The healed skin darkened where deep gashes once bled. Following the perfect blemishes to the meat of his shoulders you accidentally meet deep iris pools, completely and utterly awestruck. The expression Mirio wears is one you’ve never seen before. You want to tell yourself that it’s the shadows casted down by the looming cities walls — Or that’s it’s just the dark clouds raining down on you. But... You’re having a difficult time convincing yourself. “Are you hurt?” A low breathless whisper pulls you from muddy waters, dredged up from the murky depths of your mind. Was that Mirios voice? He’s close, so close, his ragged breathes ghost across the bare skin of your neck. Your eyes fall to the filthy lot concrete, where you’re barely able to make out the motionless mans shape. Why is it so hard to see? You hadn’t even noticed your eyes gloss over, fat tears already rolling down your cheeks. “M-Mirio you —“ The pain in your voice has his chest twisting in agony. Sharp thorns digging into the delicate flesh. Seeing you like this hurts worse than the searing ache in his knuckles. But it’s okay. Because you’re safe. The thin threads holding him back finally fray and snap. Mirios arms abandon the wall behind you, pulling you flush against his broad chest, muscled arms wrapped around your frame. “It’s okay. I’m here now.” His head rests atop your own, you feel his lips move against your locks as he continues to reassure you. “I’ll always be here — I promise.” You won’t ever have to be worry again. Being held only makes the flood tears worse, when your body melts against his so does the last bit pf willpower holding the dam together. Slowly you begin to hiccup into his shirt, your arms shakily wrapping around his neck, falling further into the embrace you feel his arms tighten. And now your balling in a empty public restaurant parking lot with a bloody unconscious body only a few yards away. The dying rain isn’t strong enough to wash away the scent of copper. ∘◦ ✿ ◦∘ Blinding red and blue lights flash across the cities walls. When you speak with the police — Well actually, it’s not so much you speaking with them as it is you listening to Mirio tell them the details of what happened and offering a weak nod when they wanted your input. You haven’t spoken much since exhausting your lungs and draining a lakes worth of tears onto Mirios shirt. His eyes keep darting to meet yours between every couple of words. You watch on as the blond speaks clearly and calmly with the officers, you envy his ability to do so. He’s even able to smile as if nothing happened — You finally tear your eyes away, choosing to look at a lone anthill, inches from your foot. The weight of his jacket keeps you semi-warm as you stand under the overhang of Nabezos, the smell of ocean and sun clings to the leather, you pull the fabric tighter around your shoulders. You had watched as three first responders wheeled the stretcher to the waiting ambulance. As soon as its doors slammed shut the siren blared to life and the vehicle sped away. It was a good sign you tell yourself. A sign that the man was alive. The invisible weight on your shoulder lifts, if only by a hair. “Do you need a ride home?” The question snaps you from staring at the pavement. A male officer, possibly a Beta? It’s hard to tell in the rain, he has kind eyes. There’s no time for you to search for an answer before a firm hand finds itself planted the deputies shoulder. Mirio now stands behind the rather startled man, all smiles of course. Though something about the curve of his lips doesn’t sit well with you.  “That would be great actually, can you give the both of us a ride?” It takes you a second to realize he’s answering for you. “We’re both headed the same direction.” “Of c-course.” The officer shakes away his initial fright by the time he finishes speaking. And you still have yet to process what’s happening. ∘◦ ✿ ◦∘ Sitting in the back of a police car was not how you anticipated your night ending — And certainly not with Mirios arms wrapped around you all the while. You’re not sure how you got here. But what you are sure of is that there isn’t an inch of you that doesn’t smell like the Alpha. He’s been scenting you ever since entering the vehicle, practically pulling you into his lap. It’s not so uncommon amongst friends — Although, you’re no longer just friends, are you? His hand could wrap around your wrist two times over. The blond has a delicate touch as he traces the pad of his thumb over your skin, he holds you as though you’re porcelain. The entire time your eyes are glued to the red busted skin of his knuckles. An uncomfortable clearing of a throat breaks the moment. You had almost forgotten about the police officer who so politely offered the ride home. You blame it on overactive instincts, that this is probably the norm, it’s a lousy excuse and you know it. And a part of you, one that you’re desperately trying to drown under the surface until there is no oxygen left, knows instincts are not the only thing at play here.

∘◦ ✿ ◦∘ When Mirio told you he’d be staying the night at your place you thought it had been an offer. Not a fact. You remind yourself that you know Mirio. Know that he would never hurt you, that he’s only looking out for you. That’s why you agreed. 

So what if your every attempt to convince him you’d be fine staying alone was disregarded. Right? 

You stare into the mirror, letting the sink fill with water. Paying no attention to the temperature you soak a hand towel into the ice cold liquid. Bringing the damp fabric under your eyes you wipe away the last remnants of tears marks. The soft knock on the door startles you from your haze, looking over you notice the shadow of what can only be a pair of feet peeking under the thin frame of wood. “Are you okay?” Mirios voice may be muffled behind the wood but it’s impossible to ignore the worry bled into every syllable. “Yeah.” Your own voice is still raspy from your crying, it reminds you how weak you truly are. “Just give me a few minutes... Okay?” “I’m here.” What you can’t see is the large hand pressed into the creases of door. “When you’re ready.” The outside noise seems to die down with that and you listen to the static of the running water as you strip out of your soaked clothing, peeling the wet material from your skin. The jacket that had kept you warm now hangs off the tubs edge. ... Mirio stands guarding the entrance of the restroom. Like a good boyfriend. Foot tapping nervously against the carpeted floor. This is all so new, usually the hero is in full control of his actions. But now — Every passing second is another nail plunged into his coffin, he might have really screwed up big time... And just when the two of you had finally become official. He doesn’t know what took over. But he does. When saw you cornered by some low life — He only remembers the feel of white hot burning rage coursing his veins and the look of terror in your eyes. He really dropped the ball hadn’t he? He doesn’t regret it. Not even for a second, he’d do it again, for you. His only regret is scaring you. Suddenly his foot stops its anxious drumming. It becomes apparent to him that — With you in the bathroom he has full range of your dorm, unsupervised. Not that he would do anything fishy, of course not! It’s just the first time he’ll get to appreciate your little temporary home. 

A glimpse at the future you’ll share.

Waiting by the door for another minute he takes the first experimental step away from his post, waiting with bated breath. Nothing. The only sound is the continuous running of a faucet. It’s the only sign he needs to continue onwards, down the hallway. By all means it’s not a long journey, in only a few of feet does the blond find himself in front of a cracked door, a dim light streams through the gap. With a featherlight touch he pushes it open to reveal what he’d hoped for. Your bedroom. He’s not disappointed, the room is so very you. It smells like you. Even when Mirio’s absolutely drained he can’t help but admire every little detail, even down to the lone sock lying forgotten in the center of the floor. A tired smile makes its way to his lips as he goes to pick it up, tossing it in the hamper sitting only a few feet away, a smile resting pretty on his features all the while. How forgetful you were. He doesn’t mind this, in fact quite the opposite — He can’t help think it’s quite domestic. Who knew he’d windup such a hopeless romantic? Before the blond knows it he starts to wonder what living together would be like. It really can’t be helped.

Mirio can almost envision you seated at his table waiting while he cooks your favorite meal, it might take him a couple of tries to nail but he’s anything if not persistent — Or perhaps, waking up to morning kisses with your legs tangled in knots. Maybe one day a couple of children that share both your and his qualities pop into the picture. He understands how silly it is all is, that he can’t help but feel as though he’s already been living this life with you. Too bad it doesn’t last. The sweetest of daydreams are cut to shreds when blue eyes catch the unmistakable flash orange and white of a bottle. On your nightstand are your suppressants, sitting carelessly for all to see. After staring for what is probably considered far longer than normal a not so innocent thought just sort of floats its way into his system and... Suddenly Mirio’s being crushed under the weight of something tremendous and hideous. Guilt. He could never. Everything’s falling into place, just the way it’s meant to. But — Some stranger had basically gone and flipped his world upside down in the matter of seconds. That drunk bastard leaning in close you, probably whispering dirty words to you... His fist clenches into a tight ball, knuckles still burn from the impact of skin against skin. God only knows what that creep was gonna do? That filth had tried to take you from him, there is no mistaking. Was it some sort of cruel joke, turning the best day of his life into one of the worst? A bead of sweat breaks along his brow as blue eyes continue to stare down the bottle of white pills. Fear has got Mirio in a chokehold and right now it’s a losing battle. You are someone he wants — No, needs to protect, that’s why he can’t stop but think... What would he do without you? He doesn’t notice his fingers have started moving on their own volition. Mirio cannot picture a world without you.

[goremet-chef]

its so cute i need to. ramble okay

in creatures of sonaria like. man. a year ago at this point? i made friends with someone and like. just by chance, they decided to add me to their pack and let me kill with them and like. I WAS NERVOUS im not known for. my social prowess 💀 but they liked me? and they added me as a friend and idk it was nice. like it was a group and i was kinda in the group? even if i was mostly quiet the whole time, i was still helping and covering for them yknow?

i didnt play for a while, i went from like. playing daily to playing monthly but i started playing again and i remember i think they invited me a few times to come play like with the roblox invite function but i wasnt online at the time and so. IDK i didnt think anything would come from it yknow? but. when i joined their server on accident, they added me to their pack immediately and said hi and im like SHOCKED. did i matter enough for them to like. feel the need to say hello to me and invite me to hang with them? IT. its happened more and more, i like to play with them whenever i can and i get nervous maybe im annoying them by joining them all the time but they always invite me and say hi, and its to the point where other people in the group also say hi to me and it

you must understand! im a fucking loser man, im not someone people get along with, im painfully awkward, i feel like an alien trying its best to act human okay. but it feels good, it feels like. NORMAL. we arent serious friends like i dont know shit about them, probably never will honestly i just like to wreak havoc with them. ive always been afraid of like. INFILTRATING a group, thats what it feels like!! whenever im accepted anywhere, im so terrified im latching onto false hope, im scared that im forcing my way in and im too happy to really see it. but. they say hi to me and they mess around with me and they JOKE WITH ME like. OKAY!!! im still quiet like 90% of the time but they know alright im busy playing the game, its not like i have much to say anyways!! its fun to be. social? like im too scared, fearing itll go so horrible wrong and bruise my already quite small and fragile ego, so when it goes RIGHT?? idk i just wanna. ramble about it cuz

i joined today and one of the other members said "YAYY looksee" and it. MY HEART... i like all of them cuz i hang out with them enough like. i really only talk to the one who has me added since they will actually say things to me directly but i feel like im opening up more? just a little, im still shy but. IDK knowing theyre like getting used to me? yay looksee?????? teehee!!!!!!!!! idk why it makes me so happy, i guess im easy to please if you show me the slightest bit of. positive acknowledgement im absolutely giddy. the bar is on the floor 💀 but i dont care!!

when have i ever made a friend on roblox? ive been called slurs and insulted and told to kill myself more times than anyone has ever like. tried to be my friend 💀 i get it, im not very welcoming, its not like i try to be. im friendly sure, but quiet, and if im in any sort of social interaction (which can range from someone speaking to me and not going away after they say what they wanted to say to literally just. something cute, like someone sitting with me or giving me some food) i cant handle it (i scream and close the game as fast as possible, my heartrate goes up im BREATHING HEAVILY IM SCARED... it was nice but. terrifying!!! i feel the obligation to stay and thats too big of a commitment OKAY... roblox creature you must understand)

ITS A LOT FOR ME OKAY.. and i mean. i know how my roblox avatar looks, ive been told its cringe enough times for one lifetime, im tired!!! i get it. catboy with a skirt ooo so scary. that boy is a faggot, yeah yell it louder at me.

the worst part about that is like. IT HURTS... i know i shouldnt care about what a child on roblox says to me in creatures of sonaria trade realm, but lord! it hurts. i dont socialize, ive had enough bullying!!!!! ive done my time IN SCHOOL. alright thats enough im good on the bullying. idk im just weak i guess I CANT HANDLE IT. im not good with confrontation, i wont come up with a witty response, ill just sit and wait for them to get bored from me ignoring them and leave me alone. ITS ROUGH. especially cuz its ALWAYS about my avatar, i look gay i get it, thats the point.

im a very like. ive spent TOO MUCH TIME kicking myself down over 'cringe' alright. i literally lost my interests and passion cuz i was scared of being cringe, wanted to fit in better. it made me MISERABLE. im very pro cringe i love it cuz? its only cringe if you suck, things that are 'cringe' i never find cringey even a little bit, cuz i like it when people are happy. but. i find it hard not to be a little embarrassed. its ROBLOX i get to look however i want!! i love silly roblox avatars okay, i dont want to be embarrassed about mine!!! im not a confident person, i wear it around because i like the image of this stupid catboy clothes on a very man shaped man alright looksee is my pride and joy i give him a little kis. but maybe they get the wrong idea? idk. i dont think so, i think they just dont like how i look. whatever. also my avatar matches with my friends really well so. its iconic to me!!!

still, like i said. its why i try not to play social games alone on roblox, im scared to be bullied i will admit 💀 if my friend was there, she'd tell them to kill themselves for me!!! but. shes not always there. i literally panic anytime someone runs up to me directly i sigh and say 'here we go again' cuz im waiting the imminent insults alright. IM TIREDDD so tired. they dont get him like i do. hes an avatar ive DRAWN before hes just an oc at this point, i wont ever change him cuz i like him but . sometimes it gets hard!!!

im so off topic here i just. NEED TO RANT A LITTLE cuz it. it does genuinely bother me but im too scared to like. VENT ABOUT IT to any of my friends cuz im absolutely sure some of them would roll their eyes, its just a game!! game is important to someone like me, game is the closest i come to like. living in a real social world, of course its important to me!! game is the easiest way for me to interact with strangers and not die of a panic attack immediately after 💀

WHATEVER im yapping i love to yap but. idk i just wanted to talk about it, im still so . it feels good to know that even if im weird and quiet, im not so weird and so quiet that people want to avoid me all the time. theres SOMETHING about me that they think is cool enough, like. well. i can overthink if i want to. maybe theyre adding me into their pack out of pity? maybe they dont actually like having me around but they feel too awkward to like. they feel like its gone too far now? in too deep? or maybe. im not as awful as i think i am!! maybe im weird and offputting but its okay :]

LISTEN. maybe this is normal for everyone else but its a big deal for me oky. ITS HUGE ACTUALLY. like just to have a mindless video game buddy? someone i dont even like. I DONT EVEN KNOW THEIR PRONOUNS BRO thats how little i actually converse with them but. like its not serious its just a little treat for myself, a little thing i can have. shaking like a chihuahua right now. its embarrassing to be so excited about it but. i dont do this sort of thing ever really, maybe im getting better? even if im not, ill still enjoy it

[sortagaysortahigh]

Skeletons In The Closet | R.B.

Hey babies, Ive been sitting on this teaser for a while because i wasn’t sure about it but since Im taking a tumblr break i decided to just queue up all of my finished fics across multiple fandoms. So this is my oc x robin fic for stranger things :) it will be following a lot of the canon plot but things are going to be tweaked for obvious reasons

Warnings: cussing, mentions of homophobia, mentions of racism (this takes place in the 80s so), spellinh and grammar errors, mentions of the aids epidemic, stranger things spoilers

Word count: 1.7k

Natalie Sinclair (OC) x Robin Buckley

The sound of her somewhat long acrylic nails tapping on the dingy old countertop blended into the background noise of the busy ice cream shop. It was a habit of hers, one she’d picked up from her mother as a child and it sort of just-stuck.

“Can you quit it?” she blinked a few times, looking from her colorful nails to the white boy across the counter, squinting his eyes trying to read the menu before looking back at her. “Can you order already? It’s been like seven minutes-most people only need about three.” he scoffed, craning his neck back slightly, rolling his eyes while mumbling under his breath.

Most people wondered how she’d managed to keep the job at Scoops Ahoy, considering she was blunt and nonchalant. She wasn’t the type to smile at every customer, nor was she the type to ask them how they were doing and present an obnoxious-overly charismatic facade. But it was also something people really liked about her, things never really got to her-she had a thick skin and she didn’t care for miniscule interactions with people she’d see for a total of fifteen minutes out of her entire day.

The guy looked to be around her age-maybe a year younger-and based on the look he gave her, she knew everything that she needed to know. The looks were easily recognizable-it didn’t matter if it was the eighties, things hadn’t changed that much.

“Lemme guess, something bland and boring-like yourself-two scoops of vanilla on a cone?-” he furrowed his brows, his thin lips slightly parted making her roll her eyes “-yeah I know your type kid. Whatever, that’ll be a buck twenty five, it’s extra if you want sprinkles” her sarcasm made him roll his eyes, she raised a brow watching him dig into his pocket, pulling out the exact change then placing it on the counter instead of in her hand.

“Wow aren’t you such a tough cookie!” she grabbed the money and placed it into the register, then scooped the bland ice cream into a cone, handing it to him with a blank expression. “Aren’t you supposed to tell me to have a good day-” he squinted looking at her name tag “Natalie”. She scoffed “have a splendid day! It would be a shame if you choked!” he blinked a few times, taken aback by her giddy tone.

It couldn’t have been five minutes before her little sister and her posse of overdressed ten year olds walked in.

“Nat we’re here to try some free samples” she scoffed from behind the counter, shaking her head slightly before flipping her blown out black hair over her shoulder. She took a moment to ignore her younger sister, grabbing the compact mirror she kept in her work uniform's apron pocket then adjusted her perfectly bumped bangs.

“Hello! I know you can hear me!” after promptly closing the mirror and placing it on the counter she blinked a few times. “I’m not giving you or ya little friends free samples, I’m not Robin-and I sure as hell am not Steve-so cut the attitude. Erica take ya little butt elsewhere before I call momma and tell her you’ve been running around the mall stealing things and kissing ugly boys, and don’t let me catch you trying to run this game again. I’m nineteen not nine, watch ya mouth”

The ten year old crossed her arms over her chest, her friends biting back laughs while avoiding eye contact with Natalie. “It’s company policy that you have to give us free samples.” “yeah and it’s family policy that I can and will whoop yo little ass so if you’re not here to purchase ice cream, you and the seven dwarves can exit this establishment.”

“One day you’re gonna realize how much you need me!” Natalie laughed at her younger sister, leaning forward, raising her brows with the same smile on her face. “It’s a good thing one day isn’t today, now go on-and I better not see the rest of yall in here again-better ask ya parents for some money next time you decide to spend your day at the mall. Now go on, the doors that way-and Erica if you see Lucas tell his ass that I need to talk to him.”

Natalie smiled when her sister rolled her eyes, turning around and motioning for her friends to follow suit. With that she sat on the back counter, swinging her legs back and forth while the navy blue sailor-themed shorts slightly rode up her thighs, exposing the scooby doo themed bandaid on her upper thigh.

When the sliding etched window opened behind her she leaned back slightly, turning to look at one of her co-workers, her least favorite of the two-Steve Harrington. “Nat you could at least try to be nicer to your sister” she rolled her eyes, ignoring the way he leaned closer to her, resting his palms on the counter.

“We both know Erica likes to think she’s grown-besides if I don’t put her in her place then she thinks it’s okay to talk to me like I’m one of her bratty ass friends-not to mention the way that she somehow manages to walk all over Lucas already, granted she doesn’t know anything about the whole upside down thing, the demodogs, and all the other weird shit we’ve been through-but still”

He nodded his head slowly, taking a second to trail his eyes along her side profile.

It was no secret that Steve Harrington had quite the crush on Natalie Sinclair-everyone knew about it, and the girl had tried countless times to let him know that she’s not interested-however he wasn’t the best at getting hints. He was kind of oblivious, but they both valued their friendship-and oddly enough she was okay with him having a crush on her as long as he understood that it wasn’t going anywhere.

Sure she knew it was kind of messed up to constantly turn him down while simultaneously being close with him-but she had her reasons. Or rather she had one very large, very personal reason that she preferred to keep a secret.

To put it in simpler words, Natalie Sinclair is what one would refer to as a closeted lesbian-something that she hated about herself, but it was also something she couldn’t control. She’d tried dating guys-hell in high school she had a boyfriend for three years-they never did anything more than kiss, but even that was something she forced herself to do.

She wanted to be what was deemed as normal, sure being gay was decriminalized in the late sixties, and the entire gay subculture as a whole was picking up speed-but so was the AIDs epidemic-and it didn’t exactly paint homosexuality in a good light.

It was hard enough being a black woman in America-adding being gay on top of that was welcoming in a lot of other struggles that she wasn’t ready for. So she kept things to herself, she laughed with her friends, told the perfect lies about certain guys-mimicked their behaviors and opinions just to get by. But she knew-she’d always known.

She just knew how to ignore it.

“Hey Lady and Gentle-idiot, what’d I miss?” Natalie turned around slightly, pushing Steve back then jumping into the back room of the storefront, adjusting her shorts accordingly before handing Steve his hat “duty calls Harrington” he nodded his head, snatching the hat from her, holding in a laugh then making his way to the front, closing the window-leaving the two girls alone.

“Your sister came back?” “Of course she did Rob-is that even a question? We both know Erica and her look-alikes love to run games on you and the hair” she nodded her head, grabbing the metal chair, sitting backwards in it while motioning for Natalie to be quiet.

The two of them stared at each other while they listened to Steve’s horrible attempts at flirting with some girls. “Why does he always introduce himself? This isn’t high school, it’s a shitty summer job” Robin stifled a laugh, shaking her head at Natalie’s harsh whispers, the both of them putting a hand over their mouths-trying their best to suppress their obnoxious laughter.

When the sliding window opened again they immediately started laughing.

“It’s not funny! It’s the hat okay! It covers up my best feature!” Natalie shook her head, turning to look at Steve “If your hair is your best feature, you really need to work on your self esteem Stevie” every few words she’d let out a slight giggle-and the evident blush on Steve’s face was proof of that.

“Don’t worry Stevie, one day you’ll actually score-try working on the whole ‘I don’t know what I’m doing with my life and it’s inhibiting my self esteem’ thing first. Girls see right through the facade, and if they don’t-you’re just bad at flirting.” he scoffed, shaking his head, taking off the white sailor hat-leaving it on the countertop then letting out a loud groan, his hands covering his face.

“‘M gonna be single until I die” Natalie leaned forward, grabbing his wrist, pulling one of his hands away “Steve, everyone dies alone-so you’re gonna be single in death too” his mouth dropped at her comment, but Robin’s laughter bounced off the walls, the other two followed suit.

“Your fourteen year old brother has a girlfriend-how does a fourteen year old have a girlfriend and I don’t? Am I repulsive?” Natalie glanced back at Robin who was trying her best to keep a straight face-but the corner of her lips were slightly upturned at his outburst.

Natalie shot the girl a quick wink before turning back to Steve “You’re not repulsive, you’re a hopeless romantic who used to be the king of high school, and now you’re just you. It’s kinda like the assholes who peak in high school-except you almost peaked-but you didn’t.”

But the one thing that Natalie missed was the red flush taking over Robin’s freckled face-she was quick to stand up, walking over to the sink, turning it on-acting as if she was washing some of the extra ice cream scoopers.

“Haha very funny Nat, if only you were as funny as you were beautiful” Robin rolled her eyes at his horrible attempt at flirting, focusing on the pink sponge in her hand, tossing it around the sink-not actually washing any of the scoopers or other miscellaneous utensils-but Natalie’s loud gag made her smile.

“Would you look at that, you’ve earned yourself two more points under the ‘you suck’ category-if you’re lucky you’ll hit ten before the day is over!”

-

Taglist (just my friends as of rn but if yall wanna be tagged the form is in my masterlist overhaul!)

@dmonchld @damndunner @anxietyandtacos @jellyfishbeansontoast @bricksatlandyswindow @babytkachuks @kiedhara

[lover-of-trash-and-people]

netflix shadow and bone s1 e5 pt3: peak darklina

the first kiss scene Alina is so beautiful Her little smile as she picks up his kefta after he hears him call out for Ivan to get it like ooh I'm gonna play a little trick on Alek Her making him smile with a joke that's not even funny The tentativeness of it all, them tiptoeing around each other, testing the boundaries Him being taken aback by her offering to help him put on his kefta but still wanting her to and immediately resorting to business voice asking questions about official sun summoner stuff And putting on his serious business face him trying to explain away the gloves by calling them a safeguard, not a sign of him not trusting her abilities the face he makes after saying spectacle either depicting his distaste for the showiness of the event or depicting his embarrassment at how he phrased the sentence, like what the fuck did I just say (more likely the first one) Her quickly turning around and walking away after the eye contact makes her realise how close they are and him pulling a puzzled look as she does so Just. Just how adorable the energy is. Both of them making jokes to diffuse the tension, her gripping the table to maybe steady or calm herself, the looks they give to each other as if engaged in a delicate dance; god-like Him straight up just blinking and looking down and gulping as she says 'we can offer Grisha and Ravkans hope' (could be multiple things he's thinking at this point, and all of them interest me) 'That means a lot to me, Alina.' *her turning to look at his face* 'You mean a lot...' *her immediately lowering her gaze and tracing where her mal scar used to be lmao* 'to everyone' *her raising her gaze to him again* The music swelling as she walks up to him, her barely grazing her fingers against his collar, his eyes looking across hers as if in disbelief, her looking at his lips, and then her closing the gap between them. Him being a little stiff, indubitably from being shocked, and yet giving into it almost instinctively as if he can't help it. The violin coming in powerfully yet softly to emphasize the tenderness of it all. This thing has been made with so much love and I can't contain myself about it. Him opening his eyes half a second after Alina, almost as if waking up from a dream and then, following a relaxing of his facial muscles as he clearly regains his composure, immediately looking inscrutable. Her doubting herself, not losing eye contact as he stands up from the desk, but her sudden fear, regret, and embarrassment clear on her face. Her sides of her lips slowly rising giving way his own self mirroring her and breaking into smile and composing himself and breaking into smile again before saying 'Not many people surprise me, Miss Starkov'. Her now fully breaking out into a smile, her face a picture of unguarded joy, she looks down only to have his gaze follow her face. Both of them giddy in the other's presence and the audience can feel it. It feels like he is leaning in for another one when the sound of the door opening makes them spring apart, regaining their composures and standing at a respectable distance from each other. Her poorly suppressing a smile, him looking at her visibly, her mimicking him with a glance out of her periphery, causing her to give in to her smile completely. Him looking visibly distracted as he attempts to pay attention to whoever came into the room. the Jesper of it all Jesper the mega idiot not being able to control his face from doing a thing as he realises the person who caught him where he wasn't supposed to be is the same person he was making sexy eyes at before and yet regaining his composure in record time The poor stable hand actually being interested in Jesper and being adorable with Jesper just being like charm itself Can you believe looking at Jesper Llewellyn Fahey in the flesh and having him make sexy eyes at you and then forgetting about it? Because I simply cannot. The line about light role play? Felt a little not right. GO OFF STABLE HAND WHO PUSHED JESPER AGAINST A WALL AND KISSED HIM, HE LITERALLY SAID IM POPPING OFF AND

THEN HE DID Zoya Zoya saying fuck off to the random racist comment made by one of the guests, but she was racist to Alina herself? (I mean South Asian-East Asian hate is not uncommon so idk) David omg the cutie pie adjusting his hair at the fete HEARTRENDER FUCKING HUSBANDS Fedyor insisting on Ivan eating the sweet and Ivan's solemn head shake like no babe im on a diet and Fedyor being like heart eyes please eat the sweet my love and then Fedyor holding Ivan's face to make him nibble off a corner and Ivan's face splitting into a reluctant grin Kaz the actor Seeing Kaz the actor instead of Kaz the master of trickery and plans is an interesting thing Kanej being Kanej cute banter interaction, would recommend, 10/10 hints at Arken being sus The look Kaz gives Arken when Arken leaves, I really should have known, I was simply being a clown Darkling and the dumb royalty We love the Darkling suppressing his anger at these otkazat'sya rulers dissing the grisha and the little palace Alina's entrance The soft hum that we hear when Alina enters but we don't see her face Alina's adorable peeking The Darkling's expression changing despite being done af with these mfers and instantaneously on catching a glimpse of Alina, she really has that power huh He really made it look like his pupils dilated and who knows maybe they did Him trying to call her out for not following protocol but him melting and saying 'you look lovely, by the way' Her saying 'you look like you needed saving' I can't breathe you're so cool ballroom at the little palace I must confess I expected the ballroom of the winter fete to be bigger

GENYADAVID looking at each other and pretending not to look at each other, my fucking heart Kanej being Kanej Kaz implying they're gonna try to trick the people into thinking that the fake sun summoner is real and Inej being done with his shit Alina's demonstration HER NAME IS ALINA STARKOV yes mfer The way people back away as he steps, god the power of this man Inej looking at Kaz omfg Okay him clapping the darkness into the room was cool af I love the shadow summoning effects so fucking much The first bit of light that Alina summons lighting up the gold parts of her black kefta, absolute perfection Alina just enjoying her power and then looking to Alek, his lips parting when she does Aw Fedyor looking at Ivan in a I told you she could do it way Genya and Fedyor exchanging glances as Alina besties THE CROWD SAYING SANKTA ALINA INEJ SAYING SANKTA ALINA WITH HALF A TEAR IN HER EYE DAMN THIS IS POWERFUL Jesper and Dima IMMEDIATELY TRANSITIONING TO JESPER SAYING 'SAINTS' AS A NAKED STABLE BOY GETS OFF OF HIM AGAHSJSJSJKS I CAN'T IM CACKLING AT THE AUDACITY OF THIS SHOW HOW ARE THEY SO PERFECT (his name's dima btw) Poor fucking Dima getting frightening orders from his superior as his hookup sneaks out with horses that are definitely not his Arken the little shit Ah Arken why'd you have to go and do this I was actually amused by you before the malyen factor omg Mal's here and someone saw him getting here apparat and faith? The apparat literally jumping out of the palace walls at Alina lol man I do love the religion angle of this universe and it would have been so fucking cool if it were explored a bit better ew apparat that grab was very violent mal/darkling interaction the darkling's reaction at his recognition of mal was so funny ah yes my arch nemesis, the other angle of this teen immortal love triangle how utterly delightful someone explain the darkling's 'are you alright' to mal, is it because Alina was worried sick, is it mind games, is it curiosity, what is it Im still don't know how to feel with them attaching a literal symbol to the sun summoner, to Alina's dreams and to the stag itself 'not until I see Alina' THE LOYAL HIMBO ENERGY IN THIS ONE ISTFG I have never known nose acting until I saw Ben Barnes, he uses his nose in his acting and it is absolutely wonderful; case in point, the 'i beg your pardon' to mal with the rage making his voice shake okay but why is every mal darkling interaction like, everything the prompt answer our baby mal gives and the satisfaction it brings to his face, fucking amazing the darkling being literally struck by this, his mouth literally agape, king this is a 20 year old lmao Baghra! OMG WE GOT A GLIMPSE OF BAGHRA'S FIRE YES Genya supremacy Genya beating Arken up let's fucking go Marie's plot influence and Racism? Yellowface? again? hmm bardugo (then again, I have no authority over this, I'm south asian) Ive already talked about how I'm interested in knowing if and how changing Marie's time and place of death going to influence the plot much because in the books it caused a chain reaction doing a lot of stuff Alina, my love Alina just, laughing with other Grisha, feeling at home, ah be still my treacherous heart Mal's confrontation scene with Alina that was in the books being retconned to Mal calling out to her body double, hmm, probably to make Mal more likeable, I don't have any feelings about this particularly Nadia and Fedyor Okay the both of them, smiling and walking, hand in hand, cute mlm wlw solidarity moment that I missed during the first watch Kanej interacting with Alina Why is Alina literally so adorable The music picking up as the Inferni catches sight of the 'limping man' (what? it was funny when he said it) Blue Irises Alina's face showing a certain sense of calm when Alek shows up Alina's face after the Darkling says 'for you' and presents her with blue irises is something like gasp okay you've got game sexy shadow man mal fite time omg I thought she was taking mal to talk to Baghra or smth not to kill him 🤡 aren't oprichnikis like

otkazat'sya or am I missing smth? Because Baghra's spy is obvs a fabrikator THE DESK SCENE omg the scene hath arriveth the fact that Alina can't stop smiling gods, the flirting 'I don't recall this, being part of the schedule' him turning back and saying 'it isn't' her hiding her face through the cover of smelling the flowers and just how coy she acts, like the literal eyelid batting Ma'am how embarrassing for you to have feelings rn these two are my absolute favs of all time the camera moving as they move from their spots on which they had to stand on to get the shot of their shadows almost kissing her nodding and smiling at him saying 'she'll probably be alright' like okay I'm ready for smooches kiss me already and him going 'don't you think' trying to savour this moment IM SORRY BUT THE FUCKING SCORE AT THE MOMENT THEIR LIPS MEET YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND I CANNOT COPE the way his hand is so big that he can almost hold her entire face in it the way she grips the back of his head I'm sorry I feel so disrespectful saying this but the sounds they make+I think that's a um titty grab or maybe it's just a holding someone and the placement was um unintended but I doubt it because everything in this fucking show is so intentional+ the lift up onto the desk+ the faces they make+ um god I'm going to hell for this but when they sort of grind into each other (I understand this is acting and they're just good at their job) but god does all of this make my heart race and also makes me happy I guess LITERAL GIGGLES I can't I'm soft 🥺🥺🥺 his little head shake at the knock on the door when he goes in for one last kiss before she gets off the desk and her eyes going all oy you, go get the door, I'm not going anywhere don't make whoever it is wait is so adorable and domestic her just standing there mouth agape to herself when he walks away HIM STILL FLUSHED AND BLUSHING AND HIS HAPPINESS CLEAR AS DAY ON HIS FACE WHEN HE OPENS THE DOOR his gaze flits to her when Ivan says Alina was the target 'I'll be waiting' love, I physically can't anymore Little cheek hold and walk away Her little smile to herself nearly fading before he jumps back in again to her surprise and to ours to hold her face with both his hands and kiss her one last time, and yes, he does kiss like he's being drafted for the war in the morning Her little mouth open and close and then her little smile to herself after he leaves I refuse to watch the rest of the episode right now because no let me steep in the darklina bliss